1. My roommate will be out of town this weekend. I may have knitted a car by Monday. I’ll let you know.
2. There’s a demoltion derby at the Logan fairgrounds Saturday at 7:00. Gates open at 5:00. There’s a even a dance contest between heats.
3. Here’s a cute kitten picture. (This kitten’s name is Enid–cute!)
4. And here’s a sign from a site, www.engrish.com, that collects and posts such things.
Happy Friday, habitual drinkers!
This is good for a few hours. Put in a word or phrase and it will rearrange it into every imaginable combination. “Jolly roger” comes up with “rye jog roll,” for instance. Yes. It’s fun, I tell you.
I was one of the lucky ones who got a four-day weekend, but I had to share this belatedly patriotic quote. I felt the same way coming back from Paris–even though I loved it. Jefferson liked France, too.
[A trip to France] will make you adore your own country, its soil, its climate, its equality, liberty, laws, people and manners. My God! How little do my countrymen know what precious blessings they are in possession of, and which no other people on earth enjoy.
Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826), U.S. president. Letter, June 17, 1785, to James Monroe.
“The chief feature of the landscape, and of your life in it, was the air. Looking back on a sojourn in the African highlands, you are struck by your feeling of having lived for a time up in the air. The sky was rarely more than pale blue or violet, with a profusion of mighty, weightless, ever-changing clouds towering up and sailing on it, but it has a blue vigor to it, and at a short distance it painted the ranges of hills and the woods a fresh deep blue. In the middle of the day the air was alive over the land, like a flame burning; it scintillated, waved and shone like running water… Up in this high air, you breathed easily, drawing in a vital assurance and lightness of heart. In the highlands you woke up in the morning and thought: Here I am, where I ought to be.”
Waking up Thursday morning about 4:30, the sky just getting light, the air was the coolest it gets all night in the high desert and there was the smell of dry grass with the dew on it coming from the foothills. And I breathed the grass smell and rolled over (no, not even I can think of long literary passages at 4:30 in the morning). But later I thought of this perfect and heartbreaking passage from Out of Africa. (Notice the change of tense in the third sentence–writing this years after leaving Africa, she gets so caught up in her description she forgets it’s past.)
I’d forgotten how much I love this book (sorry, Dad, I think I took your copy). The first seven pages are, I think, the most brilliant beginning of any book, ever. Well, maybe Anna Karenina ties in brilliance. But that’s pretty brilliant.
Old Pliny Dance-for-Ham. (See Tuesday’s post, if you’re confused.)
And here’s some literature for all those who don’t find hobo names as hilarious as I do. It’s summer, as you may have noticed, and that means Big City Soup is now serving gazpacho, which gets a passage in Hemingway’s The Garden of Eden:
It came in a large bowl with ice floatingwith the slices of crisp cucumber, tomato, garlic bread, green and red peppers, and the coarsely peppered liquid that tasted lightly of oil and vinegar.
‘It’s a salad soup,’ Catherine said. ‘It’s delicious.’
‘Es gazpacho,’ the waiter said.
#131: Sherlock-Holmes-Hat Carl III
#217: Joachim Bat-in-Hair
#277: Pally McAffable, Everybody’s Friend
(I know, it’s not much. You expect more from me. I’ll see what I can do.)
1. The poem from yesterday is called “Tahoe in August.”
2. Here’s a key to symbols used by hobos to communicate with each other.
3. The origin of the word “hobo” comes from “hoe boy,” which stems from the post-Civil War South, when farm boys would go out with their hoes in search of farm work.
4. The bundle-at-the-end-of-a-stick-thing hobos carry over their shoulder is called a “bindlestick.” I don’t know the orign of that term.
5. Have you ever wanted a hobo name? Here’s a list of 700 hobo names. Some have been illustrated. They come from a book. It’s a long story. (My top hobo name picks for today: #153, Slo-Mo Deuteronomy; #614, Salad-Fork Ron; and #335, Crispy-Whiskery.)
HOURS of fun to be had on this blog, folks…
I might try a summer theme this week, if I can plan ahead enough to get my literature in order. I was walking to the car this morning and it was already warm, and I thought of more Robert Hass. These are the first two lines of a poem I can’t remember the title of, but will find and report tomorrow:
“What summer promises is simply happines:
heat early in the morning, jays raucous in the pines…”
Part II of an extremely occasional series brings us this article from today’s Salt Lake Tribune: “Jacob’s bad luck – is it…Satan?”.
(“Now, Karen, having the Prince of Darkness sabotage your political campaign is NO LAUGHING MATTER.” Gosh.)