826. McConnellian.

Linda Blackford, writing in the Lexington Herald-Leader, uses the word McConnellian, writing

"McConnell's vote to acquit, shortly followed by a fiery speech denouncing Trump is McConnellian hypocrisy, coming right after his next best in saying he couldn't convict Trump after his presidency was over when he delayed the trial until his presidency was over.  That's a lot of contorting."

What a great adjective. Until now, there hasn't been a good word to fully describe the betrayal of Mitch McConnell to Kentucky, the memory of Henry Clay, the U. S. Senate, and the United States. Now we have one.  It occurs to me that "McConnellian" sounds remarkably like "Machiavellian." 

© Jeff Noble, Louisville, Kentucky, February 14, 2021.

825. The Wolf Moon: January's Full Moon, 2021, in Lower Clifton Heights

The snow is still falling here in Lower Clifton Heights*. There are about 2.5 inches of the fallen flakes on my deck. The snow will eventually come to an end in a few hours and when it does we're in for even more magic in the wintry firmament.

To borrow a few lines from Clement Clarke Moore, "The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below." That luster will be from the first Full Moon of 2021, cresting tomorrow afternoon at 2:16 p.m., but go out tonight and see the wonder!

It's the Wolf Moon, the most appropriate night of the year to Howl at the Moon!

(* - Lower Clifton Heights. I live in a neighborhood called Clifton Heights, named for the hills above the Clifton neighborhood along Frankfort Avenue and overlooking the Muddy Fork of Beargrass Creek and in the distance, the Ohio River. But I live at the foot of the hill. Leaving from where I live is uphill in any direction, albeit to the west or east not a terribly hard incline but to the north or south, the grade is quite steep, including the driveway of our condos leading back to our carports. Thus I've decided to christen our little section of town, which lies along "Lower" Brownsboro Road, as Lower Clifton Heights.)

© Jeff Noble, Louisville, Kentucky, January 27, 2021.

824. Another "Antifa" Terrorist and Traitor to America caught in Nashville

Another one of those "Antifa" people, Eric Gavelek Munchel, 30, was arrested this afternoon and booked into a Nashville jail about two hours ago. This is the "Antifa" guy with the zip-ties, allegedly carried to tie people up so they could later be taken to the gallows that had been erected on the Capitol's South Lawn to be hung.

Those of you who continually try to dismiss this aggression against our Capitol as an expression of First Amendment Free Speech are ignoring what is clear to nearly every public safety agency not just in America, but around the world. Those who were in the Capitol illegally, however they gained entry, had as a goal, the overthrow of the United States Government and the murders of Vice President Pence and Speaker Nancy Pelosi, among others. The woman who was shot, being celebrated as a martyr by the right, was breaking and entering and had been warned by the police to back away from the door. She disregarded a command from an officer of the law and continued her aggression. She is not a martyr. She died as a criminal and should be posthumously charged.

As I said in a post on Wednesday, and as is becoming very clear, the Trump Campaign assuredly, and possibly several Republican members of Congress, and perhaps the Republican National Committee, coordinated the efforts at the overthrow of America. In a separate post, I suggested that cameras in the Capitol, of which I can tell you there are many, coupled with all the videos posted to Facebook and Instagram, will allow most, if not all, of these terrorists to be caught, arrested, and prosecuted by Federal authorities.

There is much talk about the one single "John Sullivan," an Antifa guy on the inside, who "led the insurrection." Those of you Trump supporters who are pinning your hopes on that single person are going to be greatly and gravely disappointed. He, too, will find his actions captured by the myriad cameras in the hallways of Congress. We'll know what his role was. This was not Antifa. This was the traitor Donald Trump and his family and his campaign attempting to overthrow the government.

Eventually, Trump will be charged with sedition, irrespective of whether he is impeached or removed under the 25th Amendment. Between now and the 20th, all Americans, all across the Republic, need to be fully aware of their surroundings. Trump and his supporters are planning another coup for Inauguration Day. This time the newly re-formed Capitol Police, the District of Columbia Police, the National Guards of the District of Columbia, the States of Maryland and New York, and the Commonwealth of Virginia, all will be prepared to mete justice to any attempts at insurrection and sedition.

© Jeff Noble, Louisville, Kentucky, January 10, 2021.

796. On Assange

I'm glad he's been cut off. I remember once when I was six or seven (so this was fifty years ago) laying in the backyard by my grandfather's workshop staring up at the sky. I noticed something very small fly over. In time it flew over again, maybe an hour later, in the same pattern. Curious, I spoke to my grandfather about it. He told me it was the government and if I had done nothing wrong I had nothing to worry about. I still remember that conversation.

I've always known the government was up to something ever since that day fifty years ago. The military-industrial complex Eisenhower warned against was already in place on that day five years later and was probably in place when Ike gave his warning. I also learned that day not to fear my government if I have done nothing wrong. So far, that belief has worked. You may call it naivete; I call reality. The government does things I'll never know about for reasons I'll never understand. It doesn't matter which party is in power. So I choose my politics on which party I believe does the best for the most and I accept that whichever choice I make will never be the best choice which can be made. And I accepted a long time ago that given we have many people making these choices, all with our own perception of what is good and evil and right and wrong - this year about 110,000,000 will be doing so all with their own personal agendas.

None of us are completely right or wrong. Nor will we ever be. I'm content with that.

Here's the closing paragraph of a poem I learned when I was 8 years old by James Whitcomb Riley:

"My doctern is to lay aside

Contensions, and be satisfied:

Jest do your best, and praise er blame

That follers that, counts jest the same.

I've allus noticed grate success

Is mixed with troubles, more er less,

And it's the man who does the best

That gits more kicks than all the rest."

793. Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.

There's an old saying, "Everything in moderation, including moderation."  It's been attributed to many people including Ben Franklin and Oscar Wilde.  It comes to mind of late when thinking about the Duke Boys and their car, the General Lee.  I'm just not all that clear that taking the Duke Boys off the air accomplishes much.  Understand, this doesn't affect me.  I stopped watching TV in 1984, about six months before the Dukes of Hazzard series came to an end.  Then I think about places like Gettysburg and Perryville, both of which I've visited and both of which are celebrating battle anniversaries today.  People from Kentucky on both sides of a war fought and died acting mostly on orders well above their rank. In my post of June 28th I mentioned my unsettled and unsettling self-to-self discussion on the Old South, revisionist history, censorship, and the potential of book burning.  I'm still having that discussion.  Censorship is a big problem for me.  Book burning, deleting history from our history, is also a big problem for me.  How can we learn from the past if we have relegated it to the rubbish heap?

781. Come, October, make us whole.

Of Septembers past I've complained but small
Some bad, most good, oft middlin' be.
But this one ending here today
I'll say "be gone, be gone" from me.
Come, October, come quite soon
Come, October, soothe our soul.
Come, October, be welcome moon
Come, October, make us whole.

775. Random thoughts on a park bench memorial

Ah, Old Man Bucklesby. He used to come to the park and sit for hours, ostensibly collecting ideas for his latest little novel or series in the grocery store magazines. But for this bench and the people he observed whilst sitting here, he would have been a complete failure. Rather, though, like much else of what he did, even his failures were incomplete. He hated everybody. (Credits to Jamie Maslin).

765. Guess who's coming to dinner!

The question was asked on Facebook by a Kentucky political site, "Which politician would you wish to have dinner with and why?"  I offered the following lengthy answer, or four answers, living and deceased for both Kentucky and the Republic.

Here are the responses.

National (deceased) - John Hay, secretary and biographer to Lincoln, later US Ambassador to Great Britain, and later US Secretary of State under McKinley and Roosevelt, and a native of Salem, Indiana.

Kentucky (deceased) - James Wilkinson, American soldier and statesman in the mid to late 1700s in Pennsylvania, Virginia, and Kentucky. Laid out and named the streets in Frankfort, was involved in a scandal with Spain over Kentucky and access to the Mississippi River, friend of presidents and vice presidents including the notorious Aaron Burr. Teddy Roosevelt, 65 years after his death, said of him, "In all our history, there is no more despicable character." He is buried in Mexico City.

National (living) - George H. W. Bush, who had the best-ever resume upon running for the White House - not that I voted for him (I didn't), had served under a known traitor (Iran-Contra) and early-on recognized that Trickle Down was, as he called it, voodoo economics. He lived through the transformations of both political parties, saw his sons elected governors of two different states and one elected president, and was himself the son of a US Senator. And he wears cool socks in his old age.

Kentucky (living) - this one is difficult. I remember my conversation with the late Frank Burke, mayor and congressman, just before his passing on the 20th century political history of Louisville which was fascinating. That would have been my answer. So my answer may need to come from a politically related person and not a politician. In that respect, I would turn to journalism and narrow my choices to Al Smith or David Hawpe. Hawpe and I are friends so that can be arranged. That leaves Al Smith as my answer.

What are your thoughts?

760. A little Wilde.

“Life is not governed by will or intention. Life is a question of nerves, and fibers, and slowly built-up cells in which thought hides itself and passion has its dreams. You may fancy yourself safe, and think yourself strong. But a chance tone of color in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play - I tell you that it is on things like these that our lives depend.”

From Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1890.

746. Lunatics At Large

Some of my seven faithful readers may recall this entry's name as that of a play written by James Reach in 1936 and performed at least once here along the Left Bank of the Ohio River near Milepost 606 by the thespian troupe in the Class of 1976 at my high school alma mater, Sallie Phillips Durrett High School, in its erstwhile location on Preston Highway.  It was a grand play complete with a butler who may (or may not) have been the murderer.  But this entry isn't about that.

This entry is about the word itself, lunatics, with an etymology related to the moon, from the old Latin word luna.  It is also related to other "l" words such as lumen, lux, and light.  Those who are followers or worshippers of the moon, or specifically moonlight, have been known to be called lunatics, although not in the best of light.  Ha!  Last night as I sat with friends enjoying a sarsaparilla at one of those Baxter Avenue shebeens (although this one was licensed), we discussed the upcoming phase of the moon, the full moon.  But, first, something else.

Tomorrow, August 1, is a holiday of sorts in the pagan world, and extended into the non-pagan world, especially in the British Isles.  It is Lammas Day, a feast of the first wheat harvest.  The word itself is a contraction of sorts, on Loaf and Mass, thus the wheat harvest yielded a loaf of bread, something for which to be thankful.  Another bit of trivia related to the day is that one of the Bard's most famous characters was born on Lammas Day Eve, which is today.  Do you know who she was?

Tomorrow also marks a full moon, the "full sturgeon moon" at least in America, so named for the fish which are abundantly caught during the month, especially in the Great Lakes of the great midwest.  Having a full moon on August 1 will also afford one of those moons we've all heard of but may not really know what they are.  "Once in a blue moon!"  You've heard the expression, no doubt, meaning "not very often."  The name has come to be applied to the third of four full moons within a quarter of the lunar year.  In lay terms, that is usually interpreted as a second full moon in any given month.  August 31 will bring us a second full moon for the month of August, a blue moon according to the legend.

To begin a month and end a month with full moons is certainly something to be celebrated, notwithstanding the pagan celebration of Lammas Day, also tomorrow.

Need something more to celebrate, at least on August 1?  My maternal grandmother, Vivian "Tommie" Hockensmith, was born on this date in 1916.  She died in 1976.  Another dear friend of most of my life, Mary-John Celletti, will also be celebrating the anniversary of her nativity tomorrow.  I know the year of her birth, but, alas, I'll keep it to myself for now. 

Happy Lammas Eve!  Celebrate. 

738. Futura, by Theatre [502] - and some discussion therewith

Theatre [502] is in the middle of their production of Jordan Harrison's play Futura at Actors Theatre in downtown Louisville.  It is directed by Theatre [502]'s Co-Artistic Director Amy Attaway.  Migael and I took in the performance last night in the Victor Jory Theater in the Actor's complex.  The setting is identified as taking place in a university lecture hall in the "near future."  As the play is performed in one Act, with scene changes executed by a darkening of the theater, the presumption, though odd, is that the entire play takes place somewhere on that same college campus.  The adjective "dystopian" has been used in all of the media hype for the play.  Dystopian is, I suppose, the opposite of utopian.  If you learned language as I did based on Latin, Greek, and other word-roots, you will recognise the "dys" which is bad, as opposed to "u" which is good.  The other root is "topia," from "topis" for place.  We get the word topography from the latter. So, if utopia is a good place, dystopia isn't.

Let's start at the end of the play, an uncomfortably small library in a secret room, with a teacher and a student beginning the process of learning to write all over.  "Put your name up in the right-hand corner of the paper" the teacher tells the student.  That's how we all learned, first to print, and later at the end of second grade, to cursively write on those ubiquitous writing tablets from kindergarten through fourth grade.  A chilling, indeed dystopian, place to end a play.  It is a great lament of the day that young students no longer learn to cursively write.  In fact, they typically learn to type, or, euphemistically - and there's that "u" for good spelled slightly differently - kids do not learn to type at all; they learn to use the keyboard.

Today's keyboard has all kinds of characters on it besides the 26 letters and 10 numbers of the Latin-based alphabet we use in the United States.  A few strokes away are symbols for Spanish, Portuguese, and other languages as well as signs for "libra" or "pound," a unit of money and weight in British-speaking places, or other signs not normally used in our Americised English.  And with the help of our computers, word-processors, iPads, and telephones, we can change the size and font of what we read and what we "write."  And all of this is safely stored away in some computer world, the "Cloud" perhaps, understood by some, but for most of us just "accepted" as being the way things are.

This play deals with the notion that all written forms and the means to create them have been put away - hidden away under the control of some "1984"-type business or entity or, perhaps, a college.  We never really know.

The play starts with that same teacher, a widowed college professor, giving a somewhat tortured lecture about type fonts.  Yes, type fonts.  Probably not the most exciting lecture for most, although I was totally involved.  As a reader and writer and student of words, languages, thoughts, and ideas, I found the subject totally engrossing.  To my surprise, Migael did too.  Anyone who has taken the time to read about the invention of the printing press, or the politics and intrigue which gave us the King James Version of the Bible, or any other histories of the beginning of the printed word, will find this part of the play familiar. 

The play takes a violent unexpected turn with the professor's kidnapping and the rest of the story revolves around her eventual escape, if one could call it that.  Three people are integral to the kidnapping - a bully, a character who first appears to be a street-thug, and - without giving too much away - another professor.  And at first it is difficult to know exactly what separates the protagonists from the antagonists, if one judges those roles by who comes out doing what is best for humanity.

The bully, whose use of variant forms of the "f" word is simply gratuitous - most modern plays have adopted this gratuity for some unexplained reason (there was some discussion of this by three of the patrons on the Main Street sidewalk after the play) - is quickly offed in another unexpected scene, lending credence to the street-thug's character.  And, as with all "bad" plots, there is the weak spot, in this case the same street-thug who, as it turns out, not only has a soft spot for the type-font lecturing professor - he was one of her former students we learn - but also for the written word itself, the anathema of the play, as he attempts to smuggle a book of poems for his own use.

The middle of the play is occupied by a great deal of dialogue between the two professors - and quite a bit of it went unheard by me, in part because because I do not hear well and in part because the acoustics for the play weren't the best.  On several occasions my date relayed some lines to me recognising that I did not hear them.  But the one I did hear during the professorial dialogue was paramount in understanding the play - a war between the format or platform for retaining information - whether electronically or in hard copy form.  I will return to this thought at the end of this essay because it remained on my mind through the course of the play and indeed well into the night.  But, I digress.

Let me speak here about the acting itself.  I hesitate to say I wasn't as impressed as I was expected to be but maybe that was appropriate given the subject matter.  The players seemed disconnected and distant.  One of the "hallmarks" of modern communication is the distance and disconnectedness [a new word, perhaps] of we the speakers.  We speak via chat boxes, email, text messaging, tweeting, and updating our Facebook statuses as if that is communication, as opposed to what they really are, simple electronic comments for which we may or may not receive a response, comments typically unadorned by accent, emphasis, or even bolding or italics; nor do we experience any body language or kinetics in these brief typwritten exchanges, the psychokinesiology involved in person-to-person communications.  So it is possible the acting was intentionally disconnected and distant.  I certainly felt that vibe.

Of the four actors, I have previously seen the work of three.  The rather stoic and emotionless type-font lecturing professor was well-portrayed by Laurene Scalf, a veteran of local theater.  Another veteran actor with many years to his credits was Tad Chitwood who is the other professor and boss, Edward Wexler, to the bully and street-thug characters.  I was back-and-forth on whether he was a good-guy or a bad-guy, but more on that later.  The unknown to me was the bully, acted by Betsy Huggins, a Marylander-turned-Louisvillian.  She has recently acted and performed at a variety of Louisville venues including Actors and the Walden Theatre's Young Playwrights Festival.  The final character, the street-thug - and in the final scene a student once again - was portrayed by Drew Cash, who I've seen here and there in various performances.  I'm intrigued that the playbook mentions he'll be performing later this year for a two month national tour of King Arthur and Hamlet.  As the seven regular readers of the Left Bank of the Ohio River near Milepost 606 are aware, things Arthurian and things Shakespearean are leit-motifs of my favored reading lists.  I hope to learn more about Drew's upcoming plans.

But, back to the play.  Another gunshot, this time from the stoic professor as aggressor and the boss-professor as victim effectively take the latter character out of the action of the play.  The street-thug turns in favor to his former professor and they make their escape arriving at the "zero-drive" destination, an unknown and underground bunker, a small dark room of books and writing accoutrements, things our escaping professor, and perhaps her reprised student, believe are keys for the future.  Eerily uncomfortable and dystopian indeed.

Let me return to the middle of the play and the discussion between the two professors, some lines of which went unheard.  I wrote above, Laurene, the type-font lecturer, makes the argument, in so many words, that books and libraries, the traditional repositories of the written word and the information relayed by those words, are necessary for the future, for future generations to know and understand all that has been written before them.  Professor Wexler argues, in turn, that much of what is recorded in books and then retained on library bookshelves is, for the most part, inaccessible to the great masses, and that the panacea for such is making all that is available in the electronic avenues which serve as the new and updated repositories of information.  And the argument is hinted that such a reliquary as a library has limited use, its "books gathering dust," whereas modern electronic media is more widely acquired and used by far greater numbers of people. 

"But the one I did hear during the professorial dialogue was paramount in understanding the play - a war between the format or platform for retaining information - whether electronically or in hard copy form." 

It was at this point I decided that Professor Wexler was not an antagonist but a protagonist, ultimately the only one in the play.  He is right - the wider accessibility of electronic media is better than all the libraries of the world sitting in quiet and staid possession of all the books on their shelves.  This is not easy for me to write or admit to - it is, in fact, quite a revelation, perhaps an epiphany for me.

In my house are many, many books.  I've estimated there are about 3000 books somewhere and perhaps another 1000 in the boxes of my garage.  I am a hoarder of books.  Most are political, historical, or theological in nature, as are the entries of this blog.  But there are also most of the texts I purchased in high school or college.  There are dozens of Bibles and interpretations of Bibles.  There are so many Penguin and Folder editions of Shakespeare's works such that I could probably provide every actor in a performance of As You Like It with their own copy of the play.  At the auction of my great-grandfather's possessions in 1979, I purchased all of his library materials.  When my high school was closed in 1981 and a number of books marked to be discarded, I salvaged them from the dump and allotted them an eternal home in my library.  There is presently the one overdue library book, an autobiography of Gore Vidal, part of the public treasury of the Louisville Free Public Library.  There are probably  six or eight books belonging to other others.  I know for a fact I presently have books belonging to Tony McAdam, Bobby Simpson, Ken Herndon, and one belonging to the late Ed Prichard.  And there are a number of books taken from the shelves of libraries due to changes in accepted language, books which may use words no longer deemed acceptaable by many.  While the word "fuck" is regularly acceptable, the words "colored" and "negro" are, for the most part, not.  This is an entirely different discussion so let's let that go for the moment.  Ironically, there is one book missing from my library, borrowed in 2005, and the culprit of its absence was Migael Dickerson, my date for the night.  If anyone comes across an errant copy of "Getting Life in Perspective" please reclaim it for me.  It was written in 1991 by Toby Johnson and is a very intersting read - almost utopian.  But, again, I digress.

Of all these books in my personal library, few if any have ever been perused by anyone other than me - the notable exception being the missing Getting Life in Perspective.  Professor Wexler's character points out the error of this misfortune.  Books aren't meant to be hoarded, or if so, such a hoard should be made available to anyone and everyone by the most efficient means possible.  His answer for that is an electronic-media warehouse of some sort.  Of course, that isn't possible with my collection of mostly non-fiction hardbound writngs.  I must endeavor to make my library more accessible, something that has never occurred to me before.  And, while a morbid thought, I think I need to specify in my Will some more specific disposition of this most valued part of my estate.  That, too, has never crossed my mind.

Thus, even if the acting wasn't up to my expectations and the acoustics less than desirable, the play's message was heard loud and clear.  For that I am grateful.

The play's run continues this weekend.

727. Of Vital Importance - a theater review

I'm politely shocked that there is only one mention - on March 15, 2007 - of Oscar Wilde's play The Importance of Being Earnest anywhere to be found on my blog. Rather like those precious cucumber sandwiches Aunt Augusta was expecting, there just isn't any, more than the one instance, of Earnest to be found - not even for ready money.

Oscar Wilde's play, The Importance of Being Earnest, was written in the town of Worthing, England in late summer of 1894. Its first performance was made on February 14th of the next year, a date which has a role in the play. It has long, long been one of my favorite plays and I have seen several performances of it over the years, the first I recall being in the Fine Arts Center at the University of Kentucky on Rose Street, just south of Euclid Avenue. I also have several copies of the play itself, and have committed to memory many of the lines, many of which set me on an uncontrollable laughter for minutes at a time. The play is a series of witty puns and wordplays mostly about the importance of the trivial versus the inanity of the serious. It follows the story of two mischievous friends, John "Jack" (and later Ernest John) Worthing and Algernon Moncrieff.

Earlier this evening, my friend Preston Bates and I took in the Savage Rose Classical Theater Company's performance of this favorite play of mine, staged at Walden Theater, housed in the former Saint Aloysius School on Payne Street in Louisville's Irish Hill neighborhood. Tonight was the closing show, a run which began on March 9th.

This production was played in three acts - in Algernon's home, then the garden at Jack Worthing's Manor House, and finally the interior rooms of the Manor House. The characters of the play, in addition to Algernon and Jack are Lane, who is Algernon's manservant; Algernon's aunt, Augusta, and her daughter Gwendolyn; Jack's ward, Cecily; Jack's butler, Merriman; Cecily tutor, Miss Prism; and the local rector, the Rev. Canon Chasuble. And a handbag, with handles, which had been inadvertently left at the Victoria Station cloak room of the Brighton Line. This performance was under the direction of Charlie Fields, director, and Melinda Crecelius, assistant director.

In tonight's performance, two portrayals easily stood out - that of Lady Bracknell - of course - and that of Jack Worthing, later Ernest Moncrieff.

Lady Bracknell was portrayed by J. Barrett Cooper. In all the performances I've seen of the play, Cooper's crossdressing to create Lady Bracknell is the most overwhelming I've ever encountered - truly Wagnerian. I've always had an image in my mind of what Lady Bracknell should look like and up until tonight I had not seen that character. That has changed. The Cooperian Lady Bracknell was truly Wagnerian, to say the least. Some of the pregnant pauses taken by the character were a little too pregnant and the effect was, ever so slightly, sometimes lost by a second or two. But the change in voice when Lady Bracknell recognises Miss Prism, or Prism or, as you would text it to indicate the boldness of the voice, PRISM, brought the character back to a full dramatization. Her stern looks and, what can I say, broad shoulders, brought Lady Bracknell to the stentorian life which Wilde's pen had truly created for her - a good performance.

Cecily Cardew, the ward of Jack Worthing, was portrayed in sweet and enchanting innocence by Julane Havens who has been seen over in Central Park in recent years. My seven faithful readers will recall that I am a faithful attendee at Shakespeare in the Park in the summer months. Ms. Havens was wonderful as the young ward and love-interest for Algernon. Her foil in the play is Gwendolyn Fairfax, Lady Bracknell's daughter. Gwendolyn was performed by Natalie Fields, a graduate of Walden School who went away to college for her drama degrees. She and Cooper's Lady Bracknell looked amazingly "related." Ms. Fields must somehow be "really" some kin to Mr. Cooper.

Cecily's love-item in the play, stated earlier, is one of the two main characters, Algernon Moncrieff, played by a personal acquaintance and Facebook friend, Mike Slaton. Mike has been on local stages for years and I have seen him in a variety of roles. His performance tonight as the idle but handsome Algernon was fun to watch, especially as he described and defended his bunburying activities. (One might ask some of the Yarmuth for Congress 2006 campaign crew to define "nobling" for you as it is related to "bunburying.")

Tony Prince is another long-time local actor this time portraying the Rev. Doctor Chasuble, the local rector, provider of unpublished sermons and adult christenings at the ring of a bell. His opposite-sex interest in the play is Miss Prism, played by Kelly Moore, reprising the same role she played a decade ago. She is appropriately deferant to Lady Bracknell when the details as to her unfortunate day "28 years ago" are bought to life.

The two "manservants" were played by Gerry Rose, as Lane in Algernon's household, and Monte Priddy, as Merriman in Jack's country residence. I am not familiar with Rose but will make the guess that his last name is somewhat responsible for the Rose name in the theater company. I don't know that - just venturing a guess. Monte Priddy has been acting in Louisville as long as I have been alive, many times at Central Park. I've seen him in more roles than I can remember. He is a Louisville drama treasure.

But for me, the Oscar easily goes to Neill Robertson and his portrayal of the central character, indeed the title character, of the play, Jack Worthing, who in the end discovers the vital importance of being earnest. Mr. Robertson is unfamiliar to me, and I would easily remember his striking facial features and beautiful curly gingerhead curls. (Baldies notice hair). Robertson played the role to the top of the game, responding to Algernon, Lady Bracknell, and all the characters with a variety of looks, some of fear, others of anger, and others of interest. His voices in the play were much on target. He reminded me of my friend Callaway Kosine in appearance and demeanor and tone of voice and I said as much to Preston who, he informed me, has yet to meet Callaway. But, I digress.
Robertson was absolutely delightful to watch in every way and I look forward to seeing him again. His was the worthiest Jack Worthing I've had the pleasure to watch.

It was a wonderful, wonderful night. We began a little early at the Garage Bar and ended with dinner at Ramsi's. Quite and pleasurable evening. Thanks, Preston.

For more information on the Savage Rose Theatre Company, visit their website at savagerose.org.

723. Once In A Blue Moon - presented by Le Petomane Theatre Ensemble - A Review

Ninety years ago, Pirandello's play Six Characters In Search of An Author made its way to Broadway to mixed reviews. While the play Once in A Blue Moon and Pirnadello's have nothing else in common, a thread could be drawn between the title of the latter and the formation of the former.

Last Friday, at the invitation of my friend Gil Reyes, Theatre 502's co-artisitic director, my date - Callaway Kosine - and I attended the opening night perfomance of Once in A Blue Moon, created, staged, and performed by the ensemble of Le Petomane, at the Rudyard Kipling on W. Oak Street. The play was a lot of fun, a little disjointed, but a nice story nonetheless. It seemed like six or seven vignettes in search of a common theme.

But, there was a common theme, that of the play's heroine, Ruby, and the loss of her voice and the journey to reclaim it. Through a series of scenes - a streetyard, a field, a diner, and some others I wasn't quite able to place, Ruby meets with adventures and antagonists in her effort to follow her heart and find her voice.

There were bits and pieces of familiar feelings - some spoken verse that sounded Elizabethan, some eerie dance from the 20th century, evocations of mystery in the form of a Coyote, and a Blue Moon which seemed to be the magical force keeping it all together. For those who follow me on Facebook, you know that I am strongly attached and attracted to the moon, a personal sort of lunacy.

There were doses of rhyme and rhythm, singing and dancing, and even sword fighting. I was intrigued by and completely enjoyed the music created by the playing of a propane tank. Listening, I envisioned in my head scenes from some Mithraic celebrations in one of Mary Stewart's Merlin trilogies - or maybe it was a scene from the Mists of Avalon, I forget which.

The ensemble is four actors, three of whom, Heather Burns, Tony Dingman, and Kyle Ware, played a variety of roles - too many to list and sometimes hard to distinguish, especially since I've waited a week to write my review - apologies extended. The fourth was Kristie Rolape in the lead as Ruby. One role played by Kyle Ware was that of narrator, in the character known as Fairy Thoughtfather. Dingman roles included Ruby's father, high school friend, truck driver acquaintance at the diner, and some slickster who looked remarkably like a young Frank Sinatra. For me, the star role wasn't the protagonist Ruby, however. It was Coyote Blue, as played by Heather Burns (who I know from somewhere but I can't quite place where). Her moves around the stage and through the audience as the Coyote, a non-speaking role, were mesmerizing, hynotic, and elegant, all at once. The Coyote character appears at different times throughout the play and the delivery was top-notch at all times. I found myself anticipating the Coyote's next appearance on the stage. The threesome also played a blue-haired stoner band in one scene which was a lot of fun. Dingman, as the trucker, is also a rapper - an interesting performance. In the diner scene is a dance number which was straight out of Stomp - a clogging in rhythm which provided a musical perfomance all its own - or maybe it was reminescent of the old Hayloft Hoedown, for those of you old enough to remember that local show which played for many years, on WHAS at first and finally on WLKY, in the golden days of television here along the Left Bank of the Ohio River near Milepost 606. But, I digress.

Like every good tale, the heroine succeeds in her mission; her voice is found and the show comes to a quick end - a little too quickly although the play ran a little over an hour and twenty minutes the opening night. Perhaps because of the bareness of the stage, or the venue itself, a very intimate space with dinner tables and chairs - and dinner and drinks all around. I've always enjoyed that sort of venue but it isn't for everyone. My friend Callaway seemed as equally pleased with the performance. And, the truth is I have been going to events at the Rudyard Kipling for almost thrity years. It is a great place for some sometimes less-than-serious fun.

After the play, the cast and most of the patrons retired down into the bar part of The Rud for some music from a band called Neulore - or something - at that point I was on my third glass of Pinot Noir and they sounded pretty good.

Two more showing for Once in A Blue Moon are offered - tonight (Friday the 17th) and tomorrow, both at 7:30 pm. While it wasn't polished theater, it was fun and engaging, and a little quirky. I give it a B+.

718. The Twelfth Lesson

A LESSON FOR THE TWELFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is today, January 5th

As many of you know, I like to drive - a lot. In these trips, labelled in 2006 by the then-Yarmuth for Congress Campaign Manager Jason Burke as "nobling" it often appears that the drives are aimless wandering. I know my "greener" friends will not appreciate the idea that I like to drive aimlessly here and there. The truth is it usually isn't aimless at all. I often have a desitnation in mind, whether it be Frankfort or Perryville or Madison (IN) or Corydon (IN) or Maysville, as was the case a few weeks ago, or even Washington DC or Brooklyn NY. The wandering part comes in the route getting from Point A, somewhere near the Left Bank of the Ohio River near Milepost 606, to Point B, wherever the destination might be. There is an entry on the blog called the Twelve Roads to Frankfort (or something like that). It could have just as easily been titled the Twelve Roads to Bardstown or Owensboro or wherever. Owensboro, technically, is not the easiest place to get to unless you are in Henderson or Evansville, just for the record.

In any event, I've known all along what the Lesson for the Twelfth Day of Christmas would be. It is a poem I've written about before on the blog, James Whitcomb Riley's My Philosofy. I learned it as an eight year old at the direction of my late great-uncle, Bob Lewis, Jr. I recite it all the time, to myself, and often to friends. I recently recited it at the 30th birthday party of Elizabeth Sawyer, a successor to Jason Burke as manager of the Yarmuth campaign. At the time I was with Kathy Wright, a Democratic Party activist from southeastern Jefferson County. It is my favorite poem.

Earlier today on Facebook, I rhetorically asked "who would provide the Twelfth Lesson?" I got feedback from several people including my friend Thomas A. "Tony" McAdam, who offered a 1925 quote from Lord Arthur James Balfour, "Nothing matters very much, and few things matter at all." I am familiar with that quote and really like it. I reduced that to the words from Bobby McFerrin's a capella song from September 1988 - "Don't Worry, Be Happy." McFerrin borrowed the line from an Indian guru/mystic, Meher Baba, who used it as part of his teaching in the mid 20th century. Interestingly, McFerrin's song and Tony's suggestion from Lord Balfour aren't far from the snetiments expressed in the poem which I knew would be the final lesson. Of course the poem is a much longer version, but it is one I have always known and somewhat followed.

I am understood by many to have a philosophy - I'm fairly liberal, fiercely partisan, and have sometimes been called a socialist, probably deservedly. I was so earlier tonight, in fact. But I have tried with great earnest throughout my life not to hold another's religion or creed or personal mantra or family status or any other distinction from having and keeping friends who are different than me. I believe I have been successful as most of my friends do share differences of opinions, beliefs, lifestyles, social strata, and many other measures of differentiation. I've never, or perhaps rarely minded. I am more of a process person than policy person. Sure, I support policy but I especially support policy if it is attained through the proper processes. I've been criticised for that over the years, most recently by Curt Morrison, but I haven't changed much in response to that criticism.

James Whitcomb Riley's poem has been a guiding light since the age of eight, which at 51 now was a long, long time ago. Here is the poem with its original rural gothic spelling -

MY PHILOSOFY

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY


I ain't, ner don't p'tend to be,
Much posted on philosofy;
But thare is times, when all alone,
I work out idees of my own.
And of these same thare is a few
I'd like to jest refer to you--
Pervidin' that you don't object
To listen clos't and rickollect.

I allus argy that a man
Who does about the best he can
Is plenty good enugh to suit
This lower mundane institute--
No matter ef his daily walk
Is subject fer his neghbor's talk,
And critic-minds of ev'ry whim
Jest all git up and go fer him!

I knowed a feller onc't that had
The yeller-janders mighty bad,--
And each and ev'ry friend he'd meet
Would stop and give him some receet
Fer cuorin' of 'em. But he'd say
He kindo' thought they'd go away
Without no medicin', and boast
That he'd git well without one doste.

He kep' a-yellerin' on--and they
Perdictin' that he'd die some day
Before he knowed it! Tuck his bed,
The feller did, and lost his head,
And wundered in his mind a spell--
Then rallied, and, at last, got well;
But ev'ry friend that said he'd die
Went back on him eternally!

Its natchurl enugh, I guess,
When some gits more and some gits less,
Fer them-uns on the slimmest side
To claim it ain't a fare divide;
And I've knowed some to lay and wait,
And git up soon, and set up late,
To ketch some feller they could hate
Fer goin' at a faster gait.

The signs is bad when folks commence
A-findin' fault with Providence,
And balkin' 'cause the earth don't shake
At ev'ry prancin' step they take.
No man is grate tel he can see
How less than little he would be
Ef stripped to self, and stark and bare
He hung his sign out anywhare.

My doctern is to lay aside
Contensions, and be satisfied:
Jest do your best, and praise er blame
That follers that, counts jest the same.
I've allus noticed grate success
Is mixed with troubles, more er less,
And it's the man who does the best
That gits more kicks than all the rest.

*****

Merry Christmas on the Twelfth Night. Tomorrow is Epiphany. Thanks Be To God.

713. The Twelve Days of Christmas - Lessons from Quotes

PREFACE

There is that old carol which begins "On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me," which presupposes a true love, which I haven't. Still, I am offering below, one Christmas Day at a time - for the next twelve of the calendar - a short quote which has advised me, either in recent times or in the long distant past, or perhaps from the "dark vast and middle of the night."

A LESSON FOR THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is today, December 25th

Today's quote is from Abraham Cowley, a 17th century poet from the City of London. It applies specifically to, first, the events of a party held at my friend Aaron Jent's a few nights ago. And twice now of the same person, the first being an Election Night party in 2010, I've felt some betrayal - which is far too strong of a word yet I can think of no other - by certain actions. Here is the quote --

A mighty pain to love it is,
And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;
But of all pains, the greatest pain
It is to love, but love in vain. (1656)

An other lesson from a quote will follow tomorrow.

A LESSON FOR THE SECOND DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is December 26th

Today's entry comes to us from Stanley Kunitz, an American poet who died in 2006 at the age of 100. He twice served as the Poet Laureate of the United States, most recently from 2000-2001. He was a conscientious objector in the Second World War although he did serve in the military. Such status may offer insight to a line in his work called Foreign Service, which serves as today's entry.

Doomsday is the eighth day of the week. (1958)

I have not read the context in which the line is written, but it does work for me. There is no eighth day of the week. I am an optimist and have always been, although I am often a quiet optimist. For me optimism doesn't mean that things will always turn out well. It does mean that our lives have purpose and every event in them can be used for learning. Some of those events are not pleasant and others are as endearing as possible. Optimism lies in the idea that tomorrow there is more of life to be lived, and I think that a good thing.

An other lesson from a quote will follow tomorrow.

A LESSON FOR THE THIRD DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is today, December 27th

Know your station.

Sounds a little elitist, I know. It can be, but it isn't meant to be. During the 1990s and the first few years of the 21st century's single digits years, I worked in the private sector for attorneys. One of those was Norma Miller. She was a school teacher-turned-lawyer who at one time taught at my alma mater, Durrett, as Norma Osborne. She offered this advice with good intentions. Know who you are, where you stand, and what you can and cannot get away with. She didn't mean to limit yourself forever to a station in life in which you are unhappy. Just understand there are processes which can move you up and down the ladder and one part of a trip in either direction is to understand your present starting point. Having been around some of both Louisville's wealthiest and poorest of people, and counting friends in both spheres, I've appreciated this advice. Unfortunately, I haven't always followed it.

An other lesson from a quote will follow tomorrow.

A LESSON FOR THE FOURTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is today, December 28th

For many of us, the image we have of Four-Star General George Smith Patton is that portrayed in the movie starring George C. Scott. I prefer to remember Scott in Dr. Strangelove, but that is a different story for a different day. Today's quote is from the general to his son, George Smith Patton IV, who was a cadet in the Army on June 6, 1944, a well-known day in American history. Among the advice given is the letter is the following:

"Take calculated risks. That is quite different from being rash."

This is another piece of advice I wished I had began following earlier in life. Calculated risks means just that - you've made a calculation as to the outcome of whatever, and assessed the risks of both success and failure and are prepared to live with either outcome. Being rash involves no calculations, nor any plans for either outcome. There is a reason Patton rose to his four-stardom. He assessed risk and executed. It is great advice.

An other lesson from a quote will follow tomorrow.

A LESSON FOR THE FIFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is December 29th

In my Facebook profile you will find a quote of mine which reads "Remember your yesterdays, Celebrate your todays, Pray for your tomorrows." That quote is in the running to end this litany of "quotes to live by" and may show up again on the 5th of January. Today's, however, is a corollary of sorts taken from the Bard - I'm surprised it took me this long to get to Shakespeare. From his play King Henry the Sixth Part II, in Act IV, we find

"I will make it felony to drink small beer."

I'll be honest - I do not know the context in which the words are spoken. However, it must have been a common expression as it appears in at least two other of Shakespeare's plays, Othello and King Henry the Fourth Part II. I take it as an encouragement to celebrate life, something many of us at times fail to do. We know that we are appointed a certain number of days to live and to each of us once to die. The problem is we don't know when any of them are. Therefore, rejoice and be glad. Celebrate and enjoy. And while one should do all things in moderation, or so the saying goes, do not have "small beers." If your way of celebrating is drinking Diet Cream Soda, do so with gusto. If, like me, you like a glass of Merlot on the days which end in "Y" make sure you smell the bouquet and drink to the end. Some of you may be partakers of Kentucky's most infamous product, hemp, in its smoking form. Far be it from me to judge you for that either. The Gospel of Matthew, in fact, at Chapter 7, tells me not to. The point is this - we are all one in the eyes of our Creator. He did not mean for us to be gloomy or sad or mean or morose. "Don't drink small beer" is what he meant, I think.

An other lesson from a quote will follow tomorrow.

INTERIM OBSERVATION - I stated yesterday that I was "surprised it took me [to the Fifth Day of Christmas] to get to Shakespeare." Well, it didn't. The closing phrase of the Preface to this entry, written back on Christmas Day, is from, perhaps, the most well-known play in the world, a work of the Bard of Stratford.

A LESSON FOR THE SIXTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is December 30th

Today's "quote to live by" is from a Louisville native, Louis Dembitz Brandeis, nominated by President Woodrow Wilson as Associate Justice of the United States Supreme Court on January 29, 1916 and confirmed by a strongly divided United States Senate on June 1st of the same year. Brandeis is one of the leading lights of American jurisprudence and liberalism. His face is familiar to eastbound Liberty Street drivers as one of the large murals adorning Louisville's buildings. And for those readers who wandered in and out of the Louis D. Brandeis School of Law at the University of Louisville, a small cemetery greets you at the entrance under the portico where the remains of Justice Brandeis and his wife are interred. The words and works of Justice Brandeis are many. For me, the following is an underpinning of my belief in government and liberalism.

"What are the American ideals? They are the development of the individual for his own and the common good; the development of the individual through liberty, and the attainment of the common good through democracy and social justice." (1915, True Americanism)

My seven faithful readers will recall that I have often railed against the individualism which has controlled this Republic for the last thirty years, "rugged individualism" fostered by a president who lead the country deep into debt and did very little to correct the problem he created - Ronald Reagan, one of America's worst presidents as far as the common good is concerned. And it is in this last instance where Brandeis guides us. The American ideal is both the successes of the individual and the common good. While Brandeis lists only one avenue for the success of the individual - liberty, he offers two for common good - democracy, and as a back-up, social justice. I have been in an ongoing conversation With a dear friend who has become enamored of liberty and individualism. And while I have often been frustrated by his beliefs, it isn't because liberty and individualism are bad. But they are if they stand alone. Standing alone they will lead to the fall of the Republic. We are well on the way. Restoration of the "good old days" will require restoration of both a belief in and support of the strong central government, one strong enough to provide for the common good of all 308,000,000 people who call themselves Americans, as well as one strong enough and willing to create and sustain social justice. That is my America and I believe it was the ideal America of which Justice Brandeis wrote.

An other lesson from a quote will follow tomorrow.

A LESSON FOR THE SEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is December 31st

John Greenleaf Whittier was a 19th century American poet, politician, and newspaper writer. O that we would have such people today. (As an aside, Louisville had a newspaper writer-turned-politician in Henry Watterson. I do not know if he was into poetry). Whittier was a native of Massachusetts and failed in his only run for Congress, which we are told led to a nervous breakdown. He also founded a political party called Liberty (of all things). One must wonder what this man of peace and ardent abolitionist wished to do had he been elected to the Congress. Today's quote leaves much to the imagination.

"For all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: 'It might have been.'" (1856, Maud Muller)

Most questions in life, ultimately, have only one answer from a choice of two, either Yes or No. Certainly there are shades of grey here and there, but from the ridiculous to the sublime, most answers end up being some form of either Yes or No. Yet, some questions go unanswered because they go unasked. We've all heard presenters make the statement, "there are no stupid questions" to which some will add, "only those not asked." Whether the topic be politics or religion or love, things either are or aren't, answers are either yes or no. The sole exception to this is mathematics, where it is my belief there is always only one answer, the correct one. Mathematicians leave much to be desired when it comes to imagination. I prefer those who, while fearing the answer, do go ahead and ask. I have tried to follow this maxim, often knowing the answer, especially when it wasn't the answer I wanted to hear. The lesson here is fear not to ask, and fear even less the answer. For some answer is better than none at all. A corollary for New Year's Eve, as I find myself single in the largest sense of the word, is "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." This, from Tennyson.

Happy New Year's Eve, one and all.

An other lesson from a quote will follow tomorrow.

A LESSON FOR THE EIGHTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is January 1st

Today is New Year's Day, usually celebrated the night before with revelry and fun. I was among those reveling in fun well into the night. But we all have holidays all the time, and we are prone to celebrate them in our own private ways, based on a song or a scene, or a cold snowy day or a splash in the cooling waters of North Benson Creek on a hot summer day in our youth. I have all of these. Listening to Jackson Browne's Running on Empty immediately places me, sometime in the early 1980s, in Mary-John Celletti's old brown Mercedes she called Winston along the Old Frankfort Pike in Woodford County. Watching the Kentucky Derby on TV evokes memories of when I attended in person with regularity, along with my grandfather Dan Hockensmith, my uncle Noble Hedger, and another so-called uncle, Harmon Moore. I recall the deep snows of January 1994 and driving to work where my friend Evan and I played Jeopardy on the earliest of computer-based games. North Benson Creek, especially along the Devil's Hollow Road in far western Franklin County, has been a cooling refuge for generations of my mother's family - both sides - and I often swam there in my teenage years when I was chasing after a girl named Ann Rochelle "Shelly" Dean. Such thoughts bring me to today's quote, to wit -

"The holiest of all holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart." (c. 1879)

These words were penned by another of America's 19th century poets, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, a native of the "Maine district" of Massachusetts, Harvard lecturer, and historical lyricist. He was born in 1807 and died in 1882. Many of us learned to recite a part of one of his most famous poems as part of our American Revolutionary History course, the lines from Paul Revere's Ride. "Listen, my children, and you shall hear, of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, on the Eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five, hardly a man is now alive, who remembers that famous day and year." We all have those "famous days and years" which we will always cherish in our heart, our own collection of these holiest of holidays.

An other lesson from a quote will follow tomorrow.

A LESSON FOR THE NINTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is January 2nd

One of my seven faithful readers happens to be one of the biggest fans of The Beatles this side of Liverpool. Olivia Fuchs, who is otherwise an attorney, makes endless You-Tube posts, newsletters called the Bea-letter (or something), and other event-related comments about the Fab Four, especially as the Abbey Road on the River, conventiently abbreviated as AROTR in most of the posts, makes its way to Louisville late each Spring. Olivia, however, knows that while I share a great love for music in general, the Fab Four aren't among my favorites. That isn't to say I do not like their music. There are a few songs in particular I love - I Wanna Hold Your Hand and Twist And Shout come to mind immediately. Today's quote is from a different Beatles' song, one written by Paul McCartney with input from the late John Lennon. The song was written and recorded in March 1967 and released on June 1st of that year. The song is my story as it relates to the last few weeks. The quote below was the working title and it appeared on the Sgt. Peppers Lonely Heart Club album.

"I get by with a little help from my friends." (1967)

Followers of my Facebook page may recall a status update of mine posted back around Thanksgiving. It expressed my concern, for myself and others of my ilk, who find the holidays - now thankfully past - difficult at best and extraoridnarily lonely at times. Yet, we manage to make it through the seven weeks or so from Thanksgiving to yesterday, New Year's Day. And, again for folks of my ilk, we could not do so without (more than) a little help from our friends. Late in the night, actually about 3:15 am on New Year's Day, one of those friends called me. It was a call I was hoping for, worried about getting and not getting, and most pleased to have received. The caller, Michael, reminded me of our friendship, the other friends I have, and the support they have all given me, some in large and known ways, others in the quiet corners of the season. Each year I do dread the holiday season. Thankfully, I get by with a little help from my friends. Thanks to all of you. Happy New Year.

(This entry will be amended and re-posted as the first official entry for 2012)
An other lesson from a quote will follow tomorrow.

A LESSON FOR THE TENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is January 3rd

Will Rogers, a beloved American actor, writer, and satirist, offers up today's quote - not necessarily "one to live by" on a regular basis, just one to ponder on the first day of Election 2012. There is probably a lot of truth in it. Briefly, first, about Rogers, he was born in 1879 in what was called at the time "Indian Territory." We now call it Oklahoma. He died in an airplane crash 55 years later in another soon-to-be-an-American-state, the "Alaska Territory." Of his Native American heritage, he once remarked, "My forefathers didn't come over on the Mayflower, but they met the boat at the shore." Here is today's quote:

"More men have been elected between sundown and sunup than were ever elected between sunup and sundown." (1924, The Illiterate Digest)

I find the quote appropriate tonight, even for a slight smile. At 7:00 pm CST, 8:00 pm here along the Left Bank of the Ohio River near Milepost 606, and thus after sundown tonight and before sunup tomorrow, voters in the midwestern state of Iowa began their infamous quadrennial caucus where just a few minutes ago, it appeared to be a three-way tie between Congressman Paul, Governor Romney, and the latecomer, Rick Santorum. Santorum has never impressed me. Paul once held my fancy, but that was many years ago and until he disavows the racist and homophobic statements made in his name, I have no plans to ever support him again. I have spoken to one of his more ardent supporters, Preston Bates, on this matter and Preston agrees with me that Paul should say these were not his thoughts, words, or beliefs. Preston is, as we speak (and assuming he has told me the truth) working for the Paul campaign in New Hampshire, where voters will next week take to the polls in the latest installment of the long and winding road which will probably lead to the nomination of Governor Romney as the GOP standard-bearer. We'll see - the show goes on. Happy Election Year, 2012.

(This entry will be re-posted as an entry of its own).

An other lesson from a quote will follow tomorrow.

A LESSON FOR THE ELEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is today, January 4th

Gatewood Galbraith, who passed away today at the age of 64, was known to be something of a "happy warrior." Serious about his political platform, he was, as far as everyone seems to say, a very happy person to be amongst. Today's quote to live by, more for the Republic than any single one of us, comes from a man who was known in national politics as "The Happy Warrior," Hubert Humphrey, who is one of my personal political heroes. Humphrey lived from 1911 to 1978 and served as Vice President of the United States under LBJ, another personal political hero. Both before and after his term as Vice President, Humphrey represented Minnesota in the United States Senate. As we enter the 2012 election season, let's not forget these words, undated, offered by Humphrey -

"Compassion is not weakness, and concern for the unfortunate is not socialism."

All too often in the national discussion compassion is looked upon as weak and silly. It is a result of that "rugged individualism" that President Reagan, one of America's worst presidents as far as the core fibers of our democracy are concerned, taught us to be a good thing. It isn't. We are Americans first and individuals second. Our sovereignty is granted through our citizenship as Americans. Humphrey understood this. Socialism is basically a four-letter word in the lexicon of American politics. Yet, we have been practicing forms of it throughout the history of the Republic, all the way back to the Revolution when one famous American is said to have commented "we must all hang together or we may all hang separately." Socialism has moved into the way we help young people in college, help lead adults into home ownership, and provide medical needs to our elders. And while there is no doubt that corruption has bred itself into the system, and needs to be systematically removed, our way of life - our uniquely American way of life - has benefitted from the veins of socialism which course through our government. Most of the Republican candidates for president are working hard to bring to an end our American way of life. Humphrey would have fought those efforts, but also would have done so smiling all the way.

(This entry will be re-posted as an entry of its own).

An other lesson from a quote will follow tomorrow.

A LESSON FOR THE TWELFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, which is today, January 5th

As many of you know, I like to drive - a lot. In these trips, labelled in 2006 by the then-Yarmuth for Congress Campaign Manager Jason Burke as "nobling" it often appears that the drives are aimless wandering. I know my "greener" friends will not appreciate the idea that I like to drive aimlessly here and there. The truth is it usually isn't aimless at all. I often have a desitnation in mind, whether it be Frankfort or Perryville or Madison (IN) or Corydon (IN) or Maysville, as was the case a few weeks ago, or even Washington DC or Brooklyn NY. The wandering part comes in the route getting from Point A, somewhere near the Left Bank of the Ohio River near Milepost 606, to Point B, wherever the destination might be. There is an entry on the blog called the Twelve Roads to Frankfort (or something like that). It could have just as easily been titled the Twelve Roads to Bardstown or Owensboro or wherever. Owensboro, technically, is not the easiest place to get to unless you are in Henderson or Evansville, just for the record.

In any event, I've known all along what the Lesson for the Twelfth Day of Christmas would be. It is a poem I've written about before on the blog, James Whitcomb Riley's My Philosofy. I learned it as an eight year old at the direction of my late great-uncle, Bob Lewis, Jr. I recite it all the time, to myself, and often to friends. I recently recited it at the 30th birthday party of Elizabeth Sawyer, a successor to Jason Burke as manager of the Yarmuth campaign. At the time I was with Kathy Wright, a Democratic Party activist from southeastern Jefferson County. It is my favorite poem.

Earlier today on Facebook, I rhetorically asked "who would provide the Twelfth Lesson?" I got feedback from several people including my friend Thomas A. "Tony" McAdam, who offered a 1925 quote from Lord Arthur James Balfour, "Nothing matters very much, and few things matter at all." I am familiar with that quote and really like it. I reduced that to the words from Bobby McFerrin's a capella song from September 1988 - "Don't Worry, Be Happy." McFerrin borrowed the line from an Indian guru/mystic, Meher Baba, who used it as part of his teaching in the mid 20th century. Interestingly, McFerrin's song and Tony's suggestion from Lord Balfour aren't far from the snetiments expressed in the poem which I knew would be the final lesson. Of course the poem is a much longer version, but it is one I have always known and somewhat followed.

I am understood by many to have a philosophy - I'm fairly liberal, fiercely partisan, and have sometimes been called a socialist, probably deservedly. I was so earlier tonight, in fact. But I have tried with great earnest throughout my life not to hold another's religion or creed or personal mantra or family status or any other distinction from having and keeping friends who are different than me. I believe I have been successful as most of my friends do share differences of opinions, beliefs, lifestyles, social strata, and many other measures of differentiation. I've never, or cpehaps rarely minded. I am more of a process person than policy person. Sure, I support policy but I especially support policy if it is attained through the proper processes. I've been criticised for that over the years, most recently by Curt Morrison, but I haven't changed much in response to that criticism.

James Whitcomb Riley's poem has been a guiding light since the age of eight, which at 51 now was a long, long time ago. Here is the poem with its original rural gothic spelling -

MY PHILOSOFY

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY


I ain't, ner don't p'tend to be,
Much posted on philosofy;
But thare is times, when all alone,
I work out idees of my own.
And of these same thare is a few
I'd like to jest refer to you--
Pervidin' that you don't object
To listen clos't and rickollect.

I allus argy that a man
Who does about the best he can
Is plenty good enugh to suit
This lower mundane institute--
No matter ef his daily walk
Is subject fer his neghbor's talk,
And critic-minds of ev'ry whim
Jest all git up and go fer him!

I knowed a feller onc't that had
The yeller-janders mighty bad,--
And each and ev'ry friend he'd meet
Would stop and give him some receet
Fer cuorin' of 'em. But he'd say
He kindo' thought they'd go away
Without no medicin', and boast
That he'd git well without one doste.

He kep' a-yellerin' on--and they
Perdictin' that he'd die some day
Before he knowed it! Tuck his bed,
The feller did, and lost his head,
And wundered in his mind a spell--
Then rallied, and, at last, got well;
But ev'ry friend that said he'd die
Went back on him eternally!

Its natchurl enugh, I guess,
When some gits more and some gits less,
Fer them-uns on the slimmest side
To claim it ain't a fare divide;
And I've knowed some to lay and wait,
And git up soon, and set up late,
To ketch some feller they could hate
Fer goin' at a faster gait.

The signs is bad when folks commence
A-findin' fault with Providence,
And balkin' 'cause the earth don't shake
At ev'ry prancin' step they take.
No man is grate tel he can see
How less than little he would be
Ef stripped to self, and stark and bare
He hung his sign out anywhare.

My doctern is to lay aside
Contensions, and be satisfied:
Jest do your best, and praise er blame
That follers that, counts jest the same.
I've allus noticed grate success
Is mixed with troubles, more er less,
And it's the man who does the best
That gits more kicks than all the rest.

*****

Merry Christmas on the Twelfth Night. Tomorrow is Epiphany. Thanks Be To God.

709. The advent of snow and other seasonal commentary

Ok, it's December and I've been away for a while. I have had a few of my seven faithful readers ask if I have given up on the blog, a logical conclusion given I have made few visits here recently, or for that matter in a long while. The end of the blog shows the number of entries for each month and year and as we approach the fifth birthday of the blog, now less than a month away, the numbers - as they always do - speak for themselves. There has been a steady decline month-by-month, year-by-year. My hope is to reverse that trend and given that 2012 is an election year, and my highest numbers of viewers and page visits came in 2008, I am hopeful to get the blog back on track. Today's entry will be simply a few catching=up items and little more.

First, you all know I am a big admirer of the heavens when they open up with the white stuff. I cannot remember any year where we had to wait until December 7th for some of it to fall here along the Left Bank of the Ohio River near Milepost 606, but that is the case for 2011. As I am typing, off to my right is a mirror through which I can see the weather outside to the north (along with the garage door and window, and the factory mill on the other side of the floodwall). And there it is - snow, glorious snow. I'm not sure if it was in the forecast or if this is just a few flakes passing through the area. In any event, now that I've seen the snow, I am a little recharged for the season.

Speaking of seasons, I snuck one in the title of the entry - Advent. In the liturgical calendar, we are in the season of Advent, the few weeks in preparation for the birth of Jesus and the concelebrated Mass honoring His birth - Christ's Mass, or Christmas, as it has come to be called. In Advent we wait, recall, preprare, and then celebrate. It is akin to Lent in preparation for Easter. I've written about Advent before and you can use the search bar at the top of the page to look at that entry. Christmas, then, and its "Twelve Days," arrives the night of the 24th and extends to Epiphany in the New Year. So, if any of you are out singing "On the First Day of Christmas, My True Love Sent to Me," you are ahead of schedule.

The immediate future has enough on its plate as it is. Today, of course, is the National Day of Remembrance for Pearl Harbor, a day which lives in the infamy promised to it by President Franklin Roosevelt in his speech after the attack, which took place seventy years ago today at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, back when Hawaii was still a territory, or possession, of the United States. On this day I think of my grandfather, Dan Hockensmith, who wasn't there but was a Seabee in the United States Navy during the Second World War, and loved to sing the Song of the Seabees, where one of the lyrics is "And we always will remember, the Seventh of December!" So, as I always do on this day, I am thinking of him and his war buddies, many of whom I knew when I was a little kid, almost all of whom have probably passed on to their eternal glory.

Next week marks the 23rd birthday of a favorite person of mine, Preston Bates, who is often mentioned in these entries as well as those of my Facebook page. Now, understand Preston and I are miles and miles, chasms, even canyons apart in our political beliefs. He is a libertarian of sorts and at times has called himself an anarcho-capitalist (although he has backed off that for the moment). I, on the other hand, believe in a strong system of governments at all levels, from the local municipality - something we gave up in a vote back in November 2000 (I voted NO) - to the County to the State and to the Federal, along with a willingness to work with other governments worldwide in an effort at peace and stability. Suffice it to say, Preston doesn't. But in our discussions, we find room for agreement here and there. Some of it is simply the experience of politics and government. There were many things I didn't do when I was his age that I wish I had of. One was to participate in a meaningful way in a presidential campaign at the earliest of stages. The only presidential campaign I was ever a part of to any degree at an early stage was that of United States Senator Paul Simon (D-IL) in 1988. That didn't get far, but it was fun and quite an experience. I've expressed to Preston that should he ever be offered the opportunity to have such an experience to do everything he can to make it happen, even if it is a candidate and party I could never support. And, I've promised to help him however I can. Irrespective of the candidate, the party, and the outcome, being involved in a presidential campaign is a near-unique experience and I hope he gets to live it. After all, in the 235 year history of the Republic, only 43 men have been chosen as a leader of the free world and Commander-In-Chief of the Armed Forces of the United States of America.

A different discussion Preston and I had a few weeks ago at the Granville Inn on S. Third Street in the U of L neighborhood focussed on music and math, two things we both enjoy (in different ways) and can easily agree on. In that conversation, we discussed the relationship between the two, or even the idea that they are ultimately the same. A few days later I went to see a theatrical performance at the indoor venue of the Iroquois Amphitheater. The play called Broadsword, a production of a local theater company, Theatre [502], whose artistic director and one of the founders is Gil Reyes - see their website at www.theatre502.org. The play's run, locally, is over and I meant to post about it before it was over. The play is set in urban New Jersey and is centered on a reluctant reunion of a heavy metal band after the death of one its members. Pretty cool play but the thing that stood out - gave me cold chills, in fact - was one of the lines in the play wherein was discussed the relationship between math and music, mimicking the earlier discussion between me and Preston. It wasn't a theme, just a line in the play, but it underscored the proposition of that relationship that Preston and I had posited a few days earlier. As for Mr. Reyes, I've been following his work, or works in which he has been invovled, since about 2002 if memory serves me. It was through Gil I first met Stuart Perelmuter, another friend mentioned here and there in the blog. In one of Gil's productions, another friend of mine, Josh Peters (who celebrated a 32nd birthday a few days ago) played a key part. The Theatre [502] troupe produced three plays this year, two of which I had the good fortune to see.

That's all for now. I'll be back soon.

I would ask, since it has been so long since I've posted, that if you've read this far - to the end - please post a comment below - even anonymously - to let me know I still have some readership out there in the ether.

708. Theater Review - H2GT2G

Tonight's activity was a visit to the theater, in this case The Alley Theater, which isn't a theater at all but a performing troupe which uses space in the nearby group of buildings known as "The Pointe." The Pointe is located not far from my house in Butchertown in a collection of old industrial warehouses which have been converted for a variety of uses, including at least one large hall which serves as a makeshift theater. The buildings are located on East Washington Street, just east of the R. J. Corman RR line and west of Cabel Street. "The Ponte" name probably refers to the name of an old neighborhood just north of Butchertowm, no longer extant, which was washed away by the Great Flood of 1937.

Lynn Fischer and I attended a performance of "The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy" which originally aired on BBC Radio 4 in Great Britain the year I graduated from Durrett. The series of radios and books has something of a cult following and there was a time I was an unofficial member of that cult. There really isn't a guide, per se, but there are radio shows, books, and movies, and this play tonight, which internally refers to a book entitled The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, sometimes shortened, as I have in my title, to H2GT2G. My seven faithful readers will know that I am fond of the play-within-a-play genre and this is a perverted twist on that, being that the title is that of a fictional book within the play.

The play as performed covers the work as performed on the BBC network back in '78, telling the story of one Arthur Dent, portrayed tonight by Kent Carney, a veteran of several local productions. The narrator of the play is acted by Alan Canon, a Louisville native. He also plays several other roles, all speaking roles, as this is a play about a radio show.

Another actor playing several speaking roles is Tom Dunbar. His various voices add to the fun of the play, from that of one of the other-galactic leaders to the seemingly simple scientist/engineer who had the job of "creating the fjords of Norway" as one of his projects in the experiment known as Earth.

The "love interest" in the play is Trillian, acted by Kimberly Taylor-Peterson, a WKU grad in Theater and Music, who has been involved in various performing companies here along the Left Bank of the Ohio River near Milepost 606. Like the other actors, she covers several other roles in the play and other than Arthur Dent, Trillian, formerly Tricia McMillan, is the only other "earthling."

Another Louisvillian in the play is Scott Goodman, the love interest in the role of Zaphod Beeblebrox, to the abovementioned Trillian. His portrayal of a money-grubbing but somewhat shortsighted businessman is set-off by some extraordinary pants which no person should be caught dead in, onstage or off, something straight out of the late 1960s/early 1970s.

The title of the show refers to a book introduced to Mr. Dent by a alien who has inhabited the Earth for fifteen years in the person of Ford Prefect, named for a small car popular in Europe in the 1970s. Prefect is understatedly played, in the tradition of a good Britisher, by John Aurelius, who bears a striking resemblance to two friends of mine, Aaron Jent and Chris Payton. Aurelius (what a name!) is a recent U of L grad in music, and plays a recorder in different scenes of the play.

The play is directed by Dana Hope and the stage manager is Amelia C. Pantalos.

In the rear of the room, refreshments were available which included a nice Cabernet for me and a Chardonnay for Lynn. And popcorn.

This was a fun, lighthearted trip into the future and the past hitchhiking our way through the galaxy. The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy was written by Douglas Noel Adams. He died in 2001 at the age of 49.

701. Variety Pack - HL#20 revealed; Fischer to Obama; A Man of No Importance; Redistricting

HIDDEN LOCATION #20
Hidden Location #20 was promptly located in Camp Taylor by Nancy Howard, and properly identified by Fr. John Schwartzlose, Johnny to those of us who watched him grow up, as the foot of Indiana Avenue, where Belmar Drive and Lee Avenue intersect. I lived one door off this corner for seventeen years. I used to tell people I lived at the very bottom of Camp Taylor, which was true. Johnny grew up a few blocks down Lee and up the hill on Orchard.

At one time Indiana Avenue didn't end here. It ran along what is now called the 1600 and 1700 blocks of Belmar Drive out to Poplar Level Road. As a side note, for many years Belmar Drive did not have a 1700 block at all, as it does now from Fincastle Road out to Poplar Level Road. A second side note is that the Fante's house in the beginning of the 1600 block used to have a 1/2 attached to its address - 1603 1/2. It was renumbered sometime in the 1970s.

The other part of Belmar Drive, that from Lee Avenue westward back to Preston Highway was originally called Kentucky Avenue, one of several scattered around what was then rural Jefferson County. Another Kentucky existed in Fern Creek, another in Middletown, and two others, all in addition to the Kentucky Street in Louisville. When the Camp Taylor post office was annexed into the Louisville post office, Camp Taylor's (and Prestonia's) Kentucky Avenue was renamed Belmar Drive. Loosely translated, Belmar means pretty lake. One may recall that the area where Standiford Field, Edgewood, and the north end of Okolona now exist was once basically a swamp called the Wet Woods. Perhaps calling the street Belmar was an attempt at a euphemism.

FISCHER TO OBAMA
I've read some criticism and cynicism about the mayor's visit and chat with the president over the Sherman Minton Bridge, which has locally been dubbed Shermageddon, a name which at least four of my friends, and I am sure countless others, are taking credit for. I have to think about the president visiting Ohio and our neighbors in northern Kentucky, where very few people cast their ballots in the president's favor in November 2008. On the other hand, the two counties which are connected by the Sherman Minton, Jefferson in Kentucky and Floyd in Indiana, gave candidate Obama a 38713 vote margin over the very senior United States Senator from Arizona. [I have to admit the margin was all on the Kentucky side of the river. Floyd cast 3694 fewer votes for Obama than McCain]. As Greg is mayor of the largest city in this area of vote-largesse for Obama, I can't imagine anyone being in a better position to address the absence of traffic on the Sherman Minton than our mayor, who hasn't already offered up an opinion. And we know Obama likes Louisville. He was here several times as a candidate and once, on a beautiful September night in 2006, even before he was officially a candidate. And our side of the river is represented by one of his earliest supporters in the Congress, which can't be a bad thing. Our congressman alerted The White House to the situation twelve days ago and has been in constant contact with the Federal Highway Administation officials on a non-stop basis, and is bringing the top two from that department to Louisville in the very near future. The next logical person to get involved, since the two Republican United States Senators do not seem too interested, is the mayor. To the naysayers who have something nay to say on all-things-Fischer, give it a rest. Quite a few people in the community who didn't vote for him last November are having second thoughts, crossing over to his side. I will admit Greg and I do not entirely agree on the Bridges issue, although we do both support building the East End Bridge first. But our agreement ends there. He is supportive of a downtown bridge which I oppose. Where he stands on a Southwest bridge, an idea I've supported for a decade, I do not know. But, he is the mayor and I am happy to have him communicating with the president on our current lack of a second bridge across the Ohio.

A MAN OF NO IMPORTANCE
Last week I attended Pandora Productions' 16th season opener, A Man of No Importance, with music by Stephen Flaherty, lyrics by Lynn Ahrens, and book by Terrence McNally. Set in 1964 Dublin, it is a story of a man's sexual identity, church identity, hidden loves, and ultimately long-lived friendships. That's quite a few hot buttons to hit in one play, but it was all well done, moving, and enjoyable. Pandora's Michael Drury played the lead (and title role) as Alfie Byrne and it was an excellent perfomance of a tragic character. Although I've never had a sister, the role of Alfie's sister Lily, played by Tiffany Taylor, is an excellent role model and played as such. Alfie's love interest, Robbie, was acted by Jason Brent Button, the adorable blue collar worker who isn't quite the lover Alfie wants but proves to be a very good friend. Alfie's other more prurient interest, Breton Beret, was played quite well by an alluring Michael Mayes, a student at U of L. I know a lot of people recognized the character, the ploy, and the ultimate but sad reward of giving in to one's temptation, as Oscar Wilde counsels Alfie to do. The entire play has as a backdrop Oscar Wilde, my favorite playwright, and the name is, of course, taken from one of the great writer's plays. In the production, the presence (or ghost) of Wilde is played understatedly and dramatically by Patrick Brophy.

The entire cast is an ensemble of fifteen players, playing both their roles and those of their assigned roles of the play-within-the-play, Wilde's Salome, which causes problems for the players' venue, Saint Imelda's Church. I've been a fan of the play-within-the-play genre since my own performance in high school of a production called Here and Now. But, I digress.

I have to say I very much enjoyed A Man of No Importance. The other actors, besides those mentioned above, are Laura Ellis, Rusty Henle, Obadiah Ewing-Roush, Josh Richard, Bob Zielinski, Kristy Calman, Betty Zielinski, Chris Cook, Meg Caudill, Daniel Cooper, Anthony Ransom, Amos Dreisbach, and Blair Boyd.

METRO COUNCIL REDISTRICTING
Back on March 17, 2011, we learned that the official 2010 population of Jefferson County was 741096 people, and it is on that number that under state law the Council is required to reapportion its people into 26 districts of legally-equal size. The ideal population for a district is 28503.69 persons and legally-equal is a measure created by previous court cases allowing a difference of 10% of that number between the most populated and least populated districts. Redistricting is a fascinating once-a-decade project which purists love, I being one of them. Unofficially, I created a map of 26 districts, with some help from Ray Manley and others, back in May, a map which met certain requirements and parameters.

Once you agree on those certain requirements and parameters - that incumbents (of both parties) will remain in their respective districts, that districts with minority representation will remain (or achieve) minority-majority status, and that you will comply with all legal requirements, and that you will split as few precincts as possible - there really aren't very many ways to divvy a county up into twenty-six districts of legally-equal size. Most districts retain 70%-80% of their original territory, one way or another. There are exceptions in far southwestern Jefferson and susburban southeast Jefferson.

Metro Council President Jim King (D-10) has, since August, done an excellent job of bringing the maps from computer-images to paper and an ordinance will soon be introduced redistricting the Council constituencies. That map will look remarkably similar to one a few of my seven faithful readers have seen. I've very happy with President King's guidance on this very delicate matter.