Archive: August, 2005
The pitch was tight and to the point, what you'd expect from a veteran newsman: "Philly and Jersey items, political, satire, etc., from perspective of long-time reporter gone to the right side," wrote Lou Antosh, former Bulletin scribe, now public relations man.
His latest post is inspired by a network television piece on Hiroshima's 60th anniversary, and Antosh noticied some facts went missing in the anti-nukes message. Hundreds of Pacific Theater vets must have wondered "what had happened to their history," he writes.
No mention of the Japanese military aggression at Pearl Harbor among other places, he notes, or the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of Asian neighbors. Or how the bomb halted the rising toll of American soldiers. "It was a simple equation," he writes. "Kill Japanese to save Americans."
He'd been shining shoes in Havana when Ry Cooder asked this master of the son and bolero styles to come out of retirement and join the Buena Vista Social Club. In 2000, at the age of 73, he won a Latin Grammy for best new artist, this gentle singer in a trademark cap and ghostly mustache.
"I pinch myself all the time," Ibrahim Ferrer once said of his re-discovery. "It is a dream come true. When I was younger I thought I was going to travel the world with my music. The only chance I got was when I came to Europe in 1962. Then there was the missile crisis. I played in Paris and Eastern Europe with Pacho Alonsos orchestra and then I was stuck in Europe. I had to stay until everything settled down again before I could go home. Then nothing happened for thirty-five years. This has given me the will to live. Im living the dream of my youth in the body of an old man."
Ibrahim Ferrer, dead at age 78.
Will Bunch, the venerable Ataturk at The Daily News, commented on an earlier post this morning, asking me if I had gotten over not being mentioned in the 100 People Screwing Up Philadelphia. I told him that yes, of course, I had. And I conceded I had no idea what he was talking about.
Then I Googled "100 People Screwing Up Philadelphia."
One hit. A map. At this address.
Time to get off work for the weekend in Tirana, so why not drop the Friday Random Ten, in which we press shuffle on our jukebox and are forced to listen to and publish for all to ridicule a list of tunes. Peskyapostrophe's done it already today. Nice work, the Donnas into Depeche Mode. The Long cut has another, of legal downloads. Here goes:
1. You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will - Bright Eyes
2. Lady Madonna - The Beatles
Friday morning, cotton-eyed, resorting to the first-in, first-out blogging method. Boing Boing finds the tender tale of a South Carolina man who had a little brain-freeze while packing up a brush trimmer for shipment to Vermont. Which is why five kittens wound up getting Fed-Exed to the Ben & Jerry state. They're fine.
Suburban Guerrilla points to another one of those Internet tests - I have determined my IQ, placed my liberalness/conservativeness on a grid that included Hitler and John Kerry, and predicted my life-span lately. Now I know what kind of funny I am. Dark funny. Clean, complex and dark. Strangely, so is Susie Madrak at SG. And six of seven people who commented on her blog. Not sure if it's the test or the sort of person who reads Suburban Guerrilla. Take it here. It's called the 3 Variable Funny Test, which is not a funny name. She also posts a test of seduction styles, but unless it credits doing the dishes, I'm probably not going to score well.
Blogger and PR guy Bill Avington picks his all-time Phillies team - well, 1980-2005. Who would object? I'm sure someone.
She's spread out at my feet, 80 fragrant pounds of Bouvier des Flandres, 10 and a half years old, white-whiskered, and with a black diamond of soft new fur spreading across her stomach from the ultrasound. She's on the floor where a rug should be, but we took up the rugs when she her thyroid starting going nutty. She's on the mend now, after a couple months, and still poses a formidable threat to moles, rabbits and boiled chicken with a little garlic and salt.
Front page of the paper's got a story that makes me look twice at Twinkle. (Sounds like an ironic name for a lumbering yak of a dog, but she was the runt of the litter from a breeder called Star, and when we adopted her, he didn't have the heart to change her name.) South Korean doctors have leaped ahead of an American team, and successfully cloned a 3-year-old Afghan hound.
In the photo it sits between its father and a surrogate mother, tongue out, blissfully ignorant of the fuss that is brewing and before my stomach can turn over this freakish Boys From Brazil science, I think of my heavy-breathing friend at my feet, who is approaching 80 years old in human terms. She traveled to Europe with us for three years, was welcomed in nine countries, rode the rails, sniffed through department stores and restaurants, and warmed the hearts of scores of Berliners, who were not quite sure what she was. She's survived a difficult cancer surgery, and this latest problem, and each time she springs back, although we all think about the day she will run out of game.
From the people who brought us a Henry Kissinger gatefold, Bored of the Rings and Helen Gurley Brown's "Shoehorns fascinate me" column comes Back to the Planet of the Apes II. The Harvard Lampoon writers take on Hollywood sequels in their parody of Premiere. (No, Tom Hanks isn't really dead.)
American blogger/journalist Steven Vincent - killed in Iraq by Shiite gunmen dressed as police. Probably the people he complained about in a July 31 New York Times piece, a guest blogger says on Vincent's site. Classical Values writes about what made his posts so appealing. His neutrality.
"Running the world like a ranch" - a view from Europe about President Bush's recess appointment of hard-liner John Bolton to the United Nations's most powerful diplomatic position.