With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.
The good life, as I conceive it, is a happy life. I do not mean that if you are good you will be happy - I mean that if you are happy you will be good.
Too much sanity may be madness and the maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be.
I enjoy paying taxes. With them I buy civilization.
April 28, 2004 - 12:17 p.m.
I graded my algebra and trig class’s test yesterday and was pleasantly surprised. The mean was 81 and the median an 85. Only one student failed and three got a 99 or 100. The thing that made me happiest is that one student went from a 64 on the first test to a 100 on the second. I thought she was a better student than she showed on the first. It is about time I something good to report from school.
I rewarded myself for doing the grading by giving the marvelous Lori a call. We had talked eight days ago which isn’t that long but we hadn’t talked online at all in that span, that isn’t usual. It meant we had a lot to catch up on. Lori is great, she lets me talk about my problems and also talks about fun stuff to take my mind of them.
Last night I went to see Bela Fleck and Edgar Meyer at Joe’s Pub. It was an amazing show. I think I had seen Bela once with the Flecktones at a festival and I had never seen Edgar. I guess they aren’t household names so I should say who they are. Bela is a bluegrass banjo player who strays into jazz. Edgar Meyer is a classical double bass player who was awarded a MacArthur Genius Fellowship. They make beautiful music together. There was bluegrass, jazz, and Bach. I never realized how well a banjo could double for a harpsichord. The hallmark of their music is the dialogue between their instruments. They have such chemistry together. I have never heard the double bass as a lead instrument before, Edgar makes me wonder why. If anyone wants to buy me their new album, Music for Two feel free. I won't object.
The show was just for FUV members, it was offered at a premium for a $250 pledge. People who give $1,000 get invited to all the concerts. I got to go because Jim is had tickets but couldn’t make it. There were other volunteers at the show, it hadn’t sold out so they offered the volunteers the extras. I ended up sitting with Bryan, who I had just met this drive. We and Bill were the first people on line.
The show started late, 9:30 but the timing was perfect, I was able to catch the 11:19 train home so I made it home by midnight and didn’t turn into a pumpkin.
On the train yesterday I remembered something I wanted to do here on Monday or Tuesday. New York had a very bad sports weekend. The Mets and Yankees were both swept in three game series, the Yankees to their archrival Red Sox. The Knicks lost on Sunday completing their first round sweep. I wanted to name the entry “No Joy in Mudville.” Does everyone get the reference?
People always talk about how baseball has changed, how it isn't what it used to be. That poem was written in 1888 and fans can relate to it now as well as they could then. We still all die a bit inside when our team loses, especially when our hopes are high.Casey at the Bat
by ERNEST LAWRENCE THAYER
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that --
We'd put up even money now with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake.
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat.
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Johnnie safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place,
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped --
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.
From the benches, bleak with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm waves on a worn and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone in the stands,
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clinched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville -- mighty Casey has struck out.
The International Jewish Banking Conspiracy - October 07, 2008
On the Road to Westchester County - October 06, 2008
Inside the Madison Square Studio - October 05, 2008
I'm a Bosniac and I'm debating like I've never debated before - October 03, 2008
Islands in the Stream of Consciousness - October 02, 2008
Email me: GordonLew at gmail
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 License. Horvendile April 28, 2004
