This is one of my most favorite commercials of all time:
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Monday, September 29, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Voltaire, Candide, and Cultivating your own Garden
When I get frustrated with the way things are going in this country, sometimes I think of the final scene in Voltaire's 'Candide'. It refreshes me, and maybe will do the same to you. I'll paste the ending below.
""Work then without disputing," said Martin; "it is the only way to render life supportable."
The little society, one and all, entered into this laudable design and set themselves to exert their different talents. The little piece of ground yielded them a plentiful crop. Cunegund indeed was very ugly, but she became an excellent hand at pastrywork: Pacquette embroidered; the old woman had the care of the linen. There was none, down to Brother Giroflee, but did some service; he was a very good carpenter, and became an honest man. Pangloss used now and then to say to Candide:
"There is a concatenation of all events in the best of possible worlds; for, in short, had you not been kicked out of a fine castle for the love of Miss Cunegund; had you not been put into the Inquisition; had you not traveled over America on foot; had you not run the Baron through the body; and had you not lost all your sheep, which you brought from the good country of El Dorado, you would not have been here to eat preserved citrons and pistachio nuts."
"Excellently observed," answered Candide; "but let us cultivate our garden." "
""Work then without disputing," said Martin; "it is the only way to render life supportable."
The little society, one and all, entered into this laudable design and set themselves to exert their different talents. The little piece of ground yielded them a plentiful crop. Cunegund indeed was very ugly, but she became an excellent hand at pastrywork: Pacquette embroidered; the old woman had the care of the linen. There was none, down to Brother Giroflee, but did some service; he was a very good carpenter, and became an honest man. Pangloss used now and then to say to Candide:
"There is a concatenation of all events in the best of possible worlds; for, in short, had you not been kicked out of a fine castle for the love of Miss Cunegund; had you not been put into the Inquisition; had you not traveled over America on foot; had you not run the Baron through the body; and had you not lost all your sheep, which you brought from the good country of El Dorado, you would not have been here to eat preserved citrons and pistachio nuts."
"Excellently observed," answered Candide; "but let us cultivate our garden." "
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Patrick's Memorial
Last weekend I attended Patrick’s memorial service in Bethesda, MD. There was quite a crowd there. Maybe 300-400 people packed into a local high school theater. I spotted quite a few people from Dickinson whom I haven’t seen in years because they had graduated earlier than I did.
I had run track with many of them. At one point, we stood together and talked and laughed about Patrick’s antics at track practice. We all had the same memories and laughed at the same stories. Seeing the others gave me a sense of togetherness, that we were all connected in this particular way, through track and through Patrick. We had come together again, maybe for the last time, but in a way it felt good to know that my memories of Patrick and of track were shared by others.
I guess that’s the silver lining at funerals. That people separated by distance, age, and experience can share a connection that impels them to come together at the end of things.
Another silver lining, for me anyway, was that I was able to pay a visit to my friend Julia, who lives in the DC area and whom I hadn’t seen in long time. We went to dinner at a nice burger joint in DC, sat by a fountain drinking coffee and catching up, and then at night walked the length of the National Mall from the Capitol to the Washington Monument.
From directly beneath the Washington Monument, on one side you can see the WWII and Lincoln Memorials, far off to your left you can see the dome of the Capitol, and across the water you can just glimpse the Jefferson Memorial.
Let me tell you: it was great. Washington is a majestic city, especially when compared with NYC. There are lots of marble and granite building, and the whole place just emanates feelings of power, history, and importance. This, I suppose, is why you find so many power-hungry blood sucking politicians in the area.
It was a day of conflicting feelings. I said goodbye to Patrick, but reaffirmed connections with many other people. As bad as this might be to say, I felt lucky that I hadn’t been extremely close to Pat. I can’t imagine the devastation of his parents, of his brothers, and of his close friends. The whole day made me feel very mortal, but contentedly so.
I had run track with many of them. At one point, we stood together and talked and laughed about Patrick’s antics at track practice. We all had the same memories and laughed at the same stories. Seeing the others gave me a sense of togetherness, that we were all connected in this particular way, through track and through Patrick. We had come together again, maybe for the last time, but in a way it felt good to know that my memories of Patrick and of track were shared by others.
I guess that’s the silver lining at funerals. That people separated by distance, age, and experience can share a connection that impels them to come together at the end of things.
Another silver lining, for me anyway, was that I was able to pay a visit to my friend Julia, who lives in the DC area and whom I hadn’t seen in long time. We went to dinner at a nice burger joint in DC, sat by a fountain drinking coffee and catching up, and then at night walked the length of the National Mall from the Capitol to the Washington Monument.
From directly beneath the Washington Monument, on one side you can see the WWII and Lincoln Memorials, far off to your left you can see the dome of the Capitol, and across the water you can just glimpse the Jefferson Memorial.
Let me tell you: it was great. Washington is a majestic city, especially when compared with NYC. There are lots of marble and granite building, and the whole place just emanates feelings of power, history, and importance. This, I suppose, is why you find so many power-hungry blood sucking politicians in the area.
It was a day of conflicting feelings. I said goodbye to Patrick, but reaffirmed connections with many other people. As bad as this might be to say, I felt lucky that I hadn’t been extremely close to Pat. I can’t imagine the devastation of his parents, of his brothers, and of his close friends. The whole day made me feel very mortal, but contentedly so.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
The End of Things
A college friend of mine died over the weekend after falling off the roof of his apartment building in New York. We heard from his parents that he “slipped while climbing to his favorite spot.” I don’t fault him his affection for the rooftop view. The Manhattan skyline is spectacular at night.
I ran track with Pat for either one or two years, I can’t remember exactly. He was incredibly outgoing and pretty wild. I know that he left school for a couple of semesters to deal with depression, so I’m sure that the wildness helped deflect attention from the sadness.
I’m not used to people from my age group dying. I’ve never been to a friend’s funeral. It feels like there’s a big difference between the death of a young person and the death of an older person. When we young people go to an older relatives’ funeral, it seems to make more sense. A life has ended, but at least a life has been fully lived.
When our friends die, we are not comforted by the ordered nature of everything: the funeral, the burial, the grieving process. Everything is new, nothing is familiar, and the finality of it haunts us. There is so much left undone. You just can’t get your head around it.
I ran track with Pat for either one or two years, I can’t remember exactly. He was incredibly outgoing and pretty wild. I know that he left school for a couple of semesters to deal with depression, so I’m sure that the wildness helped deflect attention from the sadness.
I’m not used to people from my age group dying. I’ve never been to a friend’s funeral. It feels like there’s a big difference between the death of a young person and the death of an older person. When we young people go to an older relatives’ funeral, it seems to make more sense. A life has ended, but at least a life has been fully lived.
When our friends die, we are not comforted by the ordered nature of everything: the funeral, the burial, the grieving process. Everything is new, nothing is familiar, and the finality of it haunts us. There is so much left undone. You just can’t get your head around it.
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