The Mona Lisa: What's All the Hype?

A number of years ago I found myself wandering among the halls and great labyrinth of the Louvre. Stuffed in a corner one might find a limestone bust of some forgotten nobleman or great statesman of the past. you might stumble upon some decapitated Greek Adonis with it's arms cut off and it's penis severed. Then, you might come across some morbid delineation of what some long dead artist envisioned Hell might look like after he was dead. At various points throughout the museum are small placards about the size of a postcard. Each one with an image of the world's most overrated painting. There is an arrow placed near each of them informing the visitor that "If you follow me you can see me in all my Venetian glory. They are ubiquitous. A person cannot help but notice them. In fact, as a member of a sub-species of human called "The Herd" I found myself following these signs (with my wife) however, I was in no way in any hurry to get there. There was other art in the Louvre that I found a lot more interesting. Inevitably, however, my wife and I found ourselves drawn into a room where at least 100 people or so were gathered around a roped off section centered around a small painting which was situated behind a protective glass. Was that all? That was my reaction when I first saw it. It was a lot smaller than I thought it would be. For all the attention that it gets one might think that it covered an entire wall. We stood gawking for a minute or so along with the rest of the herd who were snapping pictures as if their photograph might one day bring them down memory lane. It is funny what some people consider worthy of being saved by a photograph. For instance, I recently came across a photograph of a Dodo bird that I took at the British museum back in 1997. Why? ...A Dodo bird? I can remember what it looks like...why take a photo of it? Perhaps I was a Dodo to even consider it? I guess that it is all in taste. There is something about the Mona Lisa that fascinates people. What it is I cannot say because I can't see it. Perhaps I am too ignorant. I don't know. Perhaps some people enjoy seeing the image of some long dead nobleman's wife...or...Leonardo in drag...who knows...but there it sits waiting for you to cast a glance its way as people have done for the lat 500 years.

A Certain Encounter: Nelson Rockefeller

In April of 1975 I was in the first grade. My parents thought that it would be a good idea to take a family vacation to Washington D.C. Although I was only not quite 7 years old at the time I can remember this vacation very well. One of the reasons might have been the distance involved in getting there. We lived in Massachusetts. Back in those economic crunch times when petro was at a premium, small economy cars began to saturate the market. My father bought a Pinto, you remember...that small Ford hatchback that would blow up when it was rear ended? It was an ugly puke brown, but I can remember that car fondly. There were five of us going on the trip; my parents, myself, my twin brother, and my 11 year old uncle. Needless to say it was a tight fit in the Pinto. We awoke early on Saturday morning, it was still dark and us kids were still tired so my father put down the backseat. We three children lay down to sleep with our heads against the back waiting for a car to rear end us so that we would be killed instantly and suffer no pain. These were in the days before seat belts became mandatory. In this paranoid day and age my parents would probably be carted off and charged with child endangerment. Then, when my father would complain to the arresting officer and bite his tongue in anger he would be sent to Guantanamo Bay as a security threat. But...alas...those were the days! It was 1975, not 2012. I can remember waking up.The sun was just coming up and I remember the Empire State building standing majestic against the New York skyline like a great needle beckoning the god's of capitalism. Anyway, we arrived in Washington that afternoon. I don't remember the exact day, but sometime during that week, in the late afternoon, I crossed paths with the subject of this post...then Vice-President of the United States Nelson Rockefeller.

                             Vice-President Nelson Rockefeller (1908-1979)
   
      Nelson Aldrich Rockefeller was born into a life of privilege in 1908. He was the grandson of Standard Oil founder John D. Rockefeller. His maternal grandfather was former Rhode Island Senator and Federal Reserve co-founder Nelson Aldrich. He graduated from Dartmouth and for a while worked in various acts of the family business,including a stint as President of Chase National bank which later became the hydra known as Chase Manhattan. Rockefeller became governor of New York in 1959 by defeating the incumbent Averell Harriman. As governor, Rockefeller was known as a big spender. He was big on making improvements and modernizing New York's roadways and infrastructure. He was also instrumental in the building of low-income housing. He also formed a narcotics commission which supposedly counteracted drug trafficking, but usually accomplishes very little and costs much. Rockefeller stepped into the Vice-Presidency after Richard Nixon resigned and the new President Gerald Ford appointed him to the second spot. He had always desired the top spot for himself, having run for President on three different occasions, but apparently his name must have had a stigma attached to it (Rockefeller=Money) which forced the Corporatists to prop up other less conspicuous candidates (Nixon,Johnson, Ford) to the supposed highest office in the land. Rockefeller died in 1979.

                          Rockefeller and Ford in the Oval Office in March, 1975
    
     We were walking on the sidewalk close to the White House on this sunny April afternoon in 1975. About a block in front of us were a man and a woman walking together. Suddenly the man shouted out "look it's Vice President Rockefeller!" Looking up I can remember seeing two black limos coming around a corner at a slow rate of speed. The first one passed us, it's windows as black as the ace of spades. However, the second one coming along side of us had it's rear window on the passenger side partly rolled down. I could see a man wearing what I took, and still believe to be horn rimmed glasses looking out at us, his head tilted somewhat downward at an angle. His countenance was stoic-like as if made of stone. There was a certain sense of great power and formal dignity associated with the countenance, yet when we raised our hands and waved...I could see a hand raise up which was attached to an arm of this somewhat omnipotent and regal form. He had waved back to us! Had I also detected a faint trace of a smile on his hardened face? Was this possible? The car rolled by and we watched until it had amalgamated with the Washington scenery in the distance. It has been 37 years since this fleeting, inconsequential and otherwise unimportant incident which is almost not even worthy to bring to any ones attention. After I am gone...and my brother and uncle too, it will disappear into the recess' of time as if it had never occurred. Time distorts a persons memory of things, especially when there are many layers of forgotten and somewhat garbled memories stacked up on older ones. My brother remembers things a little different...for instance,the car coming into view from a dip in the road instead of coming around a corner...but does it really matter? As hardened as I am toward the Corporatist state, and how it might be destroying our country, I cannot help but hold a soft spot for one of them...he couldn't be all that bad...Rocky...the man who was almost President...he waved, and smiled...and with that... he was human.

A Certain Encounter: Thomas Paine

I was walking down the street one mild spring day when who should I happen to encounter but old Tom Paine author of Common Sense, The Rights of Man, The Age of Reason, Agrarian Justice, etc...etc...Tom looked pretty good for a guy who was almost 275 years old. A little jaundice in the cheeks perhaps, but I guess that he has been getting regular prostrate exams and taking a statin to maintain a decent cholesterol level. I was able to immediately recognize him by his long waistcoat, knee breeches and buckled shoes along with his prominent roman nose. I stopped him and asked him if he were indeed Thomas Paine the writer.
"My good sir" said he "I am indeed that man, author of Common Sense, The Rights of Man, The Age of Reason, Agrarian Justice...etc...etc...what can I do for you on this most pleasant May day in the 236th year of independence and freedom from that tyrannical despot King George!"
"Well sir... I must say that I am overwhelmed to be talking to a man of your capacity...but I would like to ask you a question...will you humor me?"
"Indeed sir... ask! come on...come on...out with it!" he said impatiently.
"Well sir..." I stammered "do you really believe that we are free and independent?"
A puzzled look crossed Paine's statuesque and dignified features. He then cocked an eyebrow, tilted his head at an awkward angle, leaned somewhat forward, and said bluntly but forcefully "Well sir...what do you think?"

                                        Common Sense by Thomas Paine

I must say that I was taken aback by his throwing my own question back at me, as I expected some well thought out, erudite, probably somewhat preachy response from a man of his stature. So what did I do...I merely shrugged my shoulders and said "I don't really know what to think."
Paine cocked his eyebrow again. "you don't?...well tell me what form of government you support?"
Again I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't really know that either" I said.
Paine let out an exasperated, mocking laugh and looked at me square in the face over a pair of bushy eyebrows. "you don't seem to know much about anything sir do you?"
One again I shrugged. "I guess not...I must say that I am a bit confused about the current state of things." I stated earnestly.
"Confused?...sir do YOU have any convictions whatsoever?" he asked condescendingly.
"Not really" I replied "I guess that I am a sort of fence sitter...everything is so confusing. I seem to find myself going round and round in circles going this way, going that way, I don't know what to think half the time."
Paine moved closer to me, getting in my face, I could smell his halitosis as he pushed a bony finger in my chest "Sir" he sang at me "A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong gives it a superficial appearance of being right and at first raises a formidable outcry in defence of custom, but... SIR...the tumult soon subsides....TIME! makes more converts than reason!...Think that over SIR!"
I had had enough of Paine's finger and I pushed him back. Paine got a wild look in his eyes.
"You impudent scoundrel sir!" he exclaimed, and I almost thought that he was going to challenge me to a dual...until I remembered that he was against duelling. Instead I was surprised when he took a swing at me. I ducked. We then squared off, Paine taking a stance resembling some 18th century version of what an MMA fighter might have looked like. It was an appalling spectacle. I must say that I did not think the contest quite fair, after all my opponent was nearly three centuries old. However, he was persistent so I reluctantly obliged him. Paine landed a few ineffectual jabs, and then attempted a roundhouse kick but I blocked it which caused the old sage to lose his balance and land on his revolutionary butt.
"Ha! not a lot of Common Sense in this is there Paine!" I exclaimed boldly.
Paine was raging mad. "I'll have you yet you bloody Tory!"
Somehow the old man was able to grab me in a headlock and pound at my skull with his bony fists, but I soon extricated myself from this. After we both threw a series of ineffectual punches that completely missed their target we decided to call the heated contest off. At that moment the clock struck the top of the hour and we heard the distinct sound of a church bell not too far distant. Paine looked at me, a disagreeable expression on his ancient face.
"Those infernal bell!...My own mind is my own church damn it!...say old chap, how about a cup of coffee?"
I shrugged again "sounds good to me Mr. Paine"
"Do you always have to shrug Sir! Paine scolded me as we walked together, best of friends toward old Will's coffee house.
It was only then that I realized that he had answered my question.

Didius Julianus: An American in 2nd Century Rome

As we find ourselves embroiled in yet another Presidential election year here in the United States I cannot help but wonder how anyone can be excited over the prospects presented to us. In one corner stands Willard Mitt Romney, 65, former Governor of my home state of Massachusetts, son of the late Governor of Michigan, George Romney (Hereditary succession anyone?) who was himself a candidate for President in 1968. Willard represents a body of blowhards known as the Republican party. In the other corner stands the reigning champion Barack Hussein Obama, 51, current President of the Corporatist States of America. Barack represents a body of blowhards known as the Democratic party. One of the biggest things that bothers me about American politics is the way candidates for political office submit their own names as candidates and demean themselves by begging for votes. Each candidate, especially on the national level endeavors to worm their way toward a middle ground, disregarding their own beliefs and core values (regardless of what they are) in order to gain the most votes possible. Not that it really matters since the election is rigged anyway. Both candidates serve the same Corporatist master. An outside candidate that attempts to run in one of the two corporatist parties is doomed to fail because he either cannot raise the funds, or lacks enough media coverage which the Corporatist state controls. Oh well, maybe I'm wrong. I am certainly no expert on these matters. Just a few observations on my part. This brings me to the subject of this post, Didius Julianus 20th Emperor of Rome, who, would have been a great fit in 21st century American politics.

                                               Didius Julianus (133-193)
    
     Marcus Didius Severus Julianus was born at Milan in the year 133 during the reign of Hadrian. He was of noble birth, and early on became a commander of the XXII Legion. He then served in various Governorships (Romney) before becoming one of Rome's Senators (Obama) In March, 193 Pertinax, Emperor of Rome was murdered by the praetorian guard after ruling for only 3 months. Didius Julianus, who was by this time 60 years old and one of Rome's senior Senators caught a gleam in his eye and decided to make a bid for power. However, a rival candidate Titus Sulpicianus had the same ambition. Both candidates had their supporters and bribed other factions for their support. It finally came down to the candidate that had more money, and Didius Julianus was elected Emperor of Rome. His power (if he ever had any) was short lived. Unknown to Didius Julianus, another rival candidate Septimius Severus had himself proclaimed Caesar at a town called Carnuntum in present day Austria. Severus had gained the support of 16 legions and marched toward Rome to face Julianus. When it became obvious that he would soon be crushed and most likely suffer the same fate as his predecessor he begged the Senate to appoint Severus as a co-emperor sort of in the same mold as Lucius Verus and Marcus Aurelius 30 years before. Severus, who had the upper hand merely laughed at his rival when he heard this. The Senate, now fearful of Severus' approach on Rome took matters in it's own hands and passed down a sentence of death on Didius Julianus. It is said that Julianus broke down and began sobbing as his executioner found him alone and deserted in his apartments. He begged for his life telling his executioner "what evil have I done?...Whom have I killed?" (Source: Chronicle of the Roman Emperors; Scarre)

     There is a striking similarity between the ambitious Didius Julianus and most current politicians. They both used or use money to gain what they want, and will do whatever it takes to retain power, even if that power is merely superficial. In  the case of Julianus, real power was in the hands of the praetorian guard and the military. While today in the case of Obama, and Romney (who  are slaves to their own sycophants) it is in the hand's of the Corporatists. It is mere vanity...a glossy show that we are witness to. If anything the deception is amusing entertainment sent our way by our true masters who we never see. So...who am I going to vote for in 2012...well you might have guessed it by now I'll cast my vote Didius Julianus!

 

Longevity

I have always been fascinated with oddities, prodigies, myths, frauds and other like subjects. When I was a kid I use to study the Guinness Book of World Records until the binding cracked, and it's pages became heavily thumbed and dogeared. Eventually the book would become almost unreadable. But there was always the next years edition. Some of my favorite topics in the book were human oddities; the world's tallest man, the the heaviest man, etc..etc... However, the one that I was always the most curious with was the oldest living person. When I was 8 years old back when America was celebrating it's Bicentennial I went on vacation with my family to Well's Beach in Maine. My family had been renting the same cottage on the beach for decades from a family that we had gotten to know. However, it had been a few years since we had been up there, and being only 8 I had no recollection of having been there before. This year we went with my grandparents. We arrived late at night and I recall walking up some stairs to the front door of a large cottage near to the smaller one that we would be staying in. There was a dim light on the porch and we knocked. When the door opened I was amazed to see one of the oldest people that I had ever set my eyes on. She was the matriarch of the family, nearly 100 years old flanked by her two eldery sons, who, at the time were probably as old as my grandparents who were both nearing 70. She was so old that her wizened face appeared to made of peanut shells. Her hair was a wispy white. It struck me funny at first at how small she was, shrunken and stooped by age I was able to look at her straight in the eyes without looking up. She held herself in a very dignified manner but when she noticed my twin brother and me with our thick wavy red hair she could not resist reaching out with her attenuated and bony hands and run the hair through her fingers. "My, how big they are getting"  I can remember her saying. Of course, I had no recollection of her. It is funny how elderly people have different perceptions of the younger generations. I can remember when I was about 32 my great-aunt (who was around 95 at the time) taking my mother aside and telling her (while pointing to me) "He is getting so tall" Did she still believe that I was growing up at age 32? Perhaps out...but hardly up!

     History tells us of people that have supposedly lived to extreme ages. The Old Testament patriarchs were suppose to have lived for hundreds of years led by Methuselah who was said to be 969 years old when he passed. Of course, this is absurd. The human body without some sort of futureistic scientific interference is not made to last more than about 5 score. The chance of a person reaching 100 is rare, reaching 110 extremely rare, and 120 almost non existent. According to the Guinness Book the oldest documented person was a French woman named Jeanne Calment who lived to the age of 122. She died in 1997. Currently, it appears that the oldest person in the world is a woman living in Georgia U.S.A. who was born in 1896. There are, however, undocumented cases of people living to age 130 and beyond.

     It has been years since I have been to Well's Beach. My grandparents are long dead, as is the old matriarch of Wells, who if she were still alive would probably be blowing out 130 candles or more. Yet the memory of this woman remains with me, even if my only recollection of her is of her running her hands through my hair smiling behind an aged but kindly face. I often wonder how much history I had contacted that night back in 1976. When she was a young girl of 8, with a smooth face, full of hope, beauty, and youth, an eternity away from the peanut shell she would become, the ocean was still in the majestic age of sail which was at that time nearing it's end. Yankee Clippers ruled the sea, sails flapping in the breeze, while their tall masts on the horizon reached for the infinite and beyond. There were no automobiles, and people were living without electricity. One thing, however, remains the same, and that is the surf. At night one can still go out on the beach and look out across the dark expanse of ocean and imagine the times of old while the waves and the wind continue to perform their repetitious but melodious sound... as they have for eons. On this Mother's Day, the matriarch lives in them.

Made in China

When I was ten my parents sent my brother and me to scout camp. This was in the summer of 1979 when bell bottoms and cut off jeans were still the rage. One day, I was heading to the mess hall when a camp counselor informed me that New York Yankees catcher Thurman Munson had been killed in a plane crash. why I remember this I cannot say. Perhaps death has always fascinated me. It's finality and swift and often times arbitrary end to a once vibrant and healthy life is hard to contemplate. Anyway, turning the dead catcher aside, I found the rest of my troop and we ate heartily. At Camp that summer was a gangly youth from China named Ben. He was probably 5 or 6 years older than me. I believe that he was a foriegn exchange student, but am not sure if he was from Red China or Taiwan. If I were to guess, 33 years later, I would have to say Taiwan, only because of the travel restrictions on the former. Anyhow, everyone, including me, wanted to be Ben's friend. He was a popular guy. The kids at this camp were of mostly English, French, Danish, Finnish and Irish stock along with a smattering of other mostly European ethnic groups. Basically, we were some of the whitest kids on the planet. Needless to say, Ben, hailing from China was a somewhat cultural oddity and was therefore well received at the camp. Everyone wanted to know about China. After eating I can remember leaving the mess hall and started walking back to our campsite with a couple of friends when I noticed a large group of kids gathering around some picnic tables ina shady crop of trees. Curious, I ventured over to see what all of the hullabaloo was about. It was Ben relating some of his experiences in China while his culturally deprived audience, now including me was held spellbound by some of his tales. Near the end of our stay at camp that summer, Ben made each of us a tee shirt with an iron-on logo written in both Chinese and English that said "Scouts of China."

     China has been in the news a lot lately. I no longer have a television, so I get my news from the internet, usually from the BBC or some other news outlet. Apparently the United States is running a trade deficit with China. This is no real shock. just look at the clothes you are wearing, or the toys that your kids are playing with. It might say "Made in China" or "Hecho en China" Sometimes it says "Made in China" but "Assembled in the U.S.A." and there is a little U.S. flag next to it. What is this suppose to mean? We support communism, but have pride in us? Who knows...I quit guessing what kind of tricks these corporatist sharks throw at us. Oh well...so be it, a few corporatists making buku buck through slave labor. I guess that is the American way. So what if small business can't compete. It's their problem for being small. Survival of the fittest...human nature. Oh you can also throw in a few laws that make it virtually impossible for a small business to compete; tax laws, zoning laws, unfair trade laws, building codes and regulations etc..etc...Oh and don't forget the kid with the lemonade stand in front of his house that's against the law too. Anyway, there stands China, a behemoth, a billion strong and growing. The land of the Great Wall, the Ming Dynasty, Ghengis Khan and Egg Foo Yung. I have nothing against the chinese people, they are merely doing the best they can under a despotic regime. But that is another story.

                                      Thurman Munson (1946-1979)    

     It has been 33 years since that week at scout camp. 33 years since Thurman Munson and his pork chop sideburns met his maker, and 33 years since Ben was a superstar for a bunch of kids at a now forgotten scout camp. I wore my yellow tee shirt with blue lettering with pride. At first it fit large on me, but as I got older it sort of molded to my skinny frame. After a while stretch marks began to show in places until it became almost transparent. Eventually, one day, my tee shirt disappeared. I did not notice it's passing. One day when I was about 16 I can remember looking for something under the kitchen sink, and presto! there it was in all it's yellow glory, now somewhat discolored, indignant but proud relic of my past having found a new life as a cleaning rag. It was my introduction to another culture beside my own, my Chinese tee shirt probably made in the U.S.A. These days I have plenty of Chinese tee shirts, one of them even has a picture of the U.S. flag on it. Oh well...such are the times. I don't know what ever happened to Ben. For all I know he could have been that guy that walked out in front of that tank in Tiananmen Square back in 1989. He would have been about the right age. Of course that is an absurd assertion. As far as Thurman Munson...I don't even know how the hell he made his way into this post. Perhaps Curt Gowdy was something of a prophet when he called the last play of the 1978 World Series. "popped up behind the plate....going back Munson...throws his mask away...he's there...it's all over! it's all over!"

Time continues to roll on...

Myles Standish & the Mayflower

Not too many people today have heard of Myles Standish. This was not true in another age. Today, Myles Standish would be considered...well...how should I say it without offending anyone..ok...damn it!...Politically Incorrect. He was a pilgrim...well not really, only sorta. He came over with the pilgrims on the Mayflower. He was actually hired to be their military Captain. He had been a professional soldier in the army of King James I of England, but little is known of his career before embarking on the Mayflower in 1620. When I was a child I remember hearing stories about Standish along with the pilgrims first Thanksgiving with the Wampanoags. Since I am a native New Englander I was fascinated with these tales and legends which happened nearly in my backyard. Some of the tales were obviously fabrications passed down through the generations as fact. For instance, Myles Standish never fell in love with Priscilla Mullins (who married John Alden) This legend came about through the vivid imagination of Longfellow in his Courtship of Miles Standish in the 19th century.

                              Myles Standish Trading Card 1933

     Myles (Miles) Standish was born in England around 1584. The location of his birth is not known with any certainty, however, tradition holds that he was born either on the Isle of Man or in Lancashire in England. He was a man of short stature probably standing a little over 5 feet with reddish hair. His height was mocked by one of his contemporaries, Thomas Morton, who ran a trading post and traded guns with the natives. Morton referred to Standish as "Captain Shrimp." Standish arrived at Plymouth colony in November 1620, and was one of the signers of the Mayflower Compact which essentially was a document that installed law and order to the fledgling colony at Plymouth which at the time only consisted of the ship in the harbor, and a few makeshift structures on the shore. His wife, Rose was among the colonists who died during the first winter when a sickness engulfed the colony. Standish was put in charge of some of the early expeditions that set out to explore the countryside. At first, the colonists got along well with the natives. This, however, changed as the colonists spread into the interior. In the spring of 1623 Governor William Bradford received some intelligence from Massasoit  that some natives were threatening to attack the English colonies at Plymouth and Wessagusset. Standish and a troop of men were sent to investigate. The leader of the troublemakers was a native named Pecksuot who was said to be a man of gigantic stature. Standish and his men met Pecksuot and his men at a small village. According to most accounts, Standish and Pecksuot went inside a small house to perhaps parley. Pecksuot then started to insult Standish, apparently making remarks about his small stature. It is said that Standish tired of these insults grabbed Pecksot's knife and plunged it into his chest killing him. After this there was a brief skirmish between the English and the natives in the woods around the village. Eventually the English were able to drive them off.

    
        I have always been fascinated with Standish and the trials and tribulations of the Mayflower. After all, if it were not for the good Captain I would not be here today writing this little post about him. You see, he eventually remarried and had a son Alexander and eventually after 12 more begats came me. So I guess I can call him Grandpa Standish. Maybe that's where my rather puny stature and red hair comes from?  Eventually Myles Standish moved to Duxbury where he died in 1656. Some good books on Standish and the pilgrims are Miles Standish by J.S.C. Abbott, Of Plymouth Plantation by William Bradford, and The Mayflower And Her Passengers by Caleb H. Johnson which gives mini-biographies of all the passengers on the Mayflower and is an invaluable source. Also, for Standish buffs only there is the fictional Courtship of Miles Standish by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. A rather sentimental story, but good neverthless.
    

                                     Classics Illustrated Comic Book