Weather or Not

This is true.

I turn on the weather channel this morning. It is exactly 9 a.m., and I want to get a professional opinion about the weather today. The Weather Channel's anchor turns to a young weatherwoman to give the opening report. She says (only a bit of a paraphrase):

"Winter is still here. In Hyde Park NY this morning, there is about a foot of snow on the ground. I spoke to my mother this morning. She lives there. That is what she told me. At least, she said that that is what it seems like, looking out her window."

Family Secrets (1 cent)

The Post gave one-woman show Family Secrets a glowing review, and the audience tonight at Theater J seemed very appreciative.

I thought it was awful. Given a choice of seeing the show again or becoming a suicide bomber, I am not sure which one I would take.

Is Sherry Glasser without talent? No. Does her portrayal of five different characters contain some universal truths? Sure. But is it clever, or is it funny? Not to me.

So, here we go again. Everyone else liked the Cardinals, I liked the Browns...........

Year of the Devil

The "Year of the Devil" is a 2002 Czech movie that has won a bevy of awards in the Czech Republic. It stars a number of apparently very prominent Czech musicians (including Jaromir Nohavice, Karel Plihal and the band Czechomor) in a not quite true to life documentary about Nohavice's alcoholism, Plihal's emotional breakdown during which he did not speak for a year, and their recovery tour with Czechomor. While sticking to the facts in a general manner, there is a lot of mockumentary fol-de-rol thrown in, including a Dutch photographer, filming everything that is going on and himself become part of the show, and a general theme of people disappearing through spontaneous combustion. AA is featured (is it glorified or critiqued? hard to say), as is spiritualism (non-main stream) of the highest order. The movie switches between English and Czech, with the subtitles moving just as rapidly; I found that to be a little headache producing.

Did I enjoy the movie? I found it interesting. Not enjoyable. Should everyone run and see it? No. Unless you are Czech, and know the characters, and know the music. Then it is apparently a do not miss situation.

It played at the Avalon, as part of their once a month Czech film series.

Cherokee Maidens

Some time ago I wrote about a fascinating book I just happened to pick up about the "black Seminoles". It told the story of a group of African Americans who moved to Florida and joined with the Seminole Indians, before they were removed to Oklahoma Territory, and how this group of "black Seminoles" were sometimes part of the tribe, and sometimes not. Their fate was unfortunately, and certainly undeserved. But, although there were a few old people who remembered the black Seminoles, this was history, and interesting as history.

But now, it turns out, that there were also African Americans who affiliated with the Cherokees. In this instance, history seemed a bit different. For one thing, the "black Cherokee" had inter-married with Cherokees, just as other groups had inter-married with them. For another, they were long ago identified as tribal members. But now, the Cherokees have voted to de-tribe them. Not only full-blooded African-Americans, but any descendant of an African American, even if the majority of his or her ancestors were themselves Cherokee. Offspring of these relationships would be treated differently than any other group descendant from a mixture of Cherokee and non-Cherokee forebearers.

Racism is racism. It should not be allowed in this country, no matter who practices it. Tribal autonomy should not be permitted to abrogate this most basic fact.

Fiddler in the Sanctuary

The cast of Fiddler in the Roof deserve a lot of credit for staging this difficult show in the Har Shalom sanctuary, without a hitch. Michelle and her sisters looked and sounded great. And the show is a very good show, no matter how you look at it. On any hand.

What Happened to Tania Libertad? (1 cent)

So, as of Saturday morning, I was not certain how we would spend the evening. Looking for something a little different, I saw that there was a concert by two Latin American singers at Lisner Auditorium that night, Tania Libertad and Jorge Drexler. The price was right, tickets were available, and so we went.

We did not know at all what to expect, having never heard either of the headliners. I had seen some of the ads, which touted the fact that these two stars were going to be on the same stage. I looked up both on Google, and saw that Libertad was Peruvian, but lived in Mexico, and that Drexler was from Uruguay but lived in Spain. I also saw that Drexler had written the theme music to "Motorcycle Diaries", the movie about the life of Che Guevera (interestingly, like Che, Jorge is a physician by training), and that he had won an academy award for his efforts. I had not seen the movie (but wanted to), and I certainly did not know the song.

When we picked up our ticket, I saw that Drexler's name was bigger than Libertad's. This surprised me, since is contradicted the pre-show publicity I had seen.

There were no programs.

We took our seats in the big auditorium. It was announced that Libertad would be first, followed by an intermission, followed by Drexler.

Libertad came on with four musicians, two keyboards, and guitar (bass?) and drums.

She is a big woman with a big voice. She is not 'pop', but more like a singer of stories, who wails the stories. Her voice has no rhythm; it's qualities are almost, but not quite, operatic. She is very good. She is very loud. Her accompaniment was odd, to my taste. I guess I would call it fusion; it was much more modern than she was, it played with different (and competing rhythms), particulary in the person of the drummer (who played on drums more akin to folks drums than snare drums). She was well received. She may have spoken no English; if she did, you sure couldn't tell it.

After the intermission, Drexler came on. Everyone seemed to know him. He was all by himself, with his amplified acoustic guitar and his keyboard/synthesizer. He played both. He spoke and sang in two languages. He was very charming, very disarming, and had an infectious smile. His voice does not nearly have the calibre of Libertad's; but he is clearly much more engaging. By himself on this big stage, he was your friend. He got raves. He sang three encores. He took bows. He loved Washington, and Washington seemed to love him back.

Libertad did not come back on for a bow; it was like she was already back in Mexico.

The concert was reviewed in the Post Tuesday morning. Drexler got a very good review (it was pretty much as I said above). Libertad was not even mentioned.

What happened to Tania Libertad???

Growing Up (8 cents)

Everyone else liked the Cardinals; I liked the Browns. Everyone else liked the Post-Dispatch; I liked the Globe Democrat. Everone else liked hamburgers; I liked fried chicken. Everyone else liked chocolate ice cream; I liked butter pecan. Everyone else went to Shaare Emeth or Temple Israel; I went to United Hebrew. Everyone else went to camp in Wisconsin; I went to camp in the Ozarks. Everyone else had their hair cut by Earl; I had my hair cut by Walter. Everyone else got Pevely milk at their house; I got Sealtest. Everyone else used Ipana toothpaste; I used Colgate. Everyone else wore blue jeans; I wore khakis. Everyone else went to Dr. Deutsch; I went to Dr. Gibstine. I didn't do anything anyone else did, did I? And I turned out so normal.

Daylight Savings Time

Winter ahead, fall behind.

Taps for the Caps? (25 cents)

After last night's 3-0 loss to the Hurricanes (and the second shut out in a row), coach Glenn Hanlon appeared to refuse to say whether he saw any light at the end of the tunnel. He did volunteer that he wasn't having fun.

So what happened? Well, yes, there have been a very large number of injuries, including another dumb one last night to defenseman John Erskine. But there have also been two trades that clearly have no helped. Trading Dainius Zubrus to Buffalo for a draft pick seems pretty dumb. And trading Jamie Heward for virtually nothing seems dumber. Not only with regard to the skating ability for a team strugging anyway, but maybe even more so psychologically.

But we have seen this before with late season trades by the Caps, where the season is lost and the promise is "wait until next year".

Perhaps the problem really is George McPhee, the long time general manager who does not seem to do too much that is right. The "Trade McPhee" cheer that started up one day while we were at the game is probably right on.

McPhee tried to justify the trades in a letter to the fans, saying that the Caps will be a much better team next summer. Great! I understand the Nationals were not too bad this past winter, either.

Sumner School Today

Last year, I wrote about an exhibit on the life of Adolph Cluss, German-born self trained architect, who emigrated to Washington early in his life and designed an extraordinary number of the city's public buildings during the second half of the 19th century. The buildings were, I think, notable for the way they combined comfortable architecture to formal architecture.

A suprising number of those buildings have been demolished in the name of progress. Those that remain include both the Sumner and Franklin Schools.

The Sumner school is used for temporary exhibits, concerts, and so forth. I think it can be rented for functions generally (perhaps only by not-for-profits). It belongs to the school system and houses the public school archives among other things. It is fully restored.

Last year, they had an excellent exhibit about Cluss that very rew people went to see. They issued an excellent coffee table book on the exhibit, which I have recently seen for sale at the excellent store at the Building Museum. It is filled with photographs and interesting items about the history of the District in the post-civil war years.

I was in Sumner School today for other reasons and see that one room of the Cluss exhibit is still open, and encourage you to walk through it.

Why was I in the museum? Because I saw that there were two other exhibits which had recently opened. One, sponsored by a group called Friends Forever, which is a Zimbabwean art collective, is showing several hundred sculptures in stone by contemporary Zimbabwean artists. While some of the prices are in the thousands, some (most, perhaps, are in the $200 to $500 range. They are worth looking at, both for the artistry as well as the quality and variety of the stones used, as well as purchasing. The exhibit will there until the end of June, and it is to be replenished as works are sold.

The other exhibit, is by a Philippino-American artist named Nilo M. Santiago, whose works are primarily water colors. They are half-way between cartoons and traditional water colors (i.e., there is very little fading in and out, and many fine line boundaries), and are filled with bright colors. American subjects, Philippino subjects, and subjects painted on a round the world tour (including some interesting paintings of Russian cathedrals). The most interesting to me is a series called My Philippines, which treat his early life with his family in almost collage fashion (but not collages) with written explanations of the events taking place woven into the fabric of the oversize paintings. Would I acquire a Santiago? I liked the series on his life (about $700 each), but would hate to see the series broken up (there are five or six of them). The others, I would probably pass up.

I Should Say Something About Scooter Libby

If your testimony is "I just don't remember" and you can be convicted because you are not believed, I hope I am never put on trial. I believe anyone over the age of 55 (Scotter is 56) who says that they can't remember something.

So, I am sorry that Libby was convicted.

And I hope that George Bush pardons him (soon, before he needs to mortgage his future in legal fees). And then I hope Bush gets raked over the coals because of it.

There is Nothing Like a Cold (one cent)

Nothing in this world.

There is nothing like a cold, to give you time to read.

So, having awakened with a sore throat on Sunday, which continued for 48 hours, I got to read two books.

The first was a fascinating book, "Shadow Warrior" by Felix Rodriguez, a Cuban native and Castro foe, who was involved in the Bay of Pigs and other contemporaneous anti-Castro measures (and there were surprisingly many of them), chasing Che Guevara in the jungles of Bolivia (while an employee of the CIA) and being the last person to speak with Che before he was murdered by the Bolivian military, as well as accompanying Che's body back from the jungle restreat where he was captured and killed, counter intelligence in Viet Nam, assisting an Argentine reform government, and being involved with the Contras in Central America (before becoming thoroughly disillusioned with Oliver North). Rodriquez, who is just a year older than me, and who now lives (apparently quietly) in Florida, certainly passed his time differently from the way I have. This is a book to read (co-written by a John Weissman).

The second, because a cold calls for light reading, was a thriller by T. Jefferson Parker, whose work I had not read before. "Red Light" is quick reading (another requisite for a cold), filled with somewhat snappy dialogue, but burdened by a predictable, yet unlikely plot that makes the entire book fairly worthless. I won't give it away, but it involes police officers (current and retired), prostitutes (alive and dead), mobsters, politicians, and newspapermen. The customer reviews on Amazon.com are pretty good, but I am not sure why.

Catching Up Before I Fall Behind Even More (15 cents)

1. The low point of the weekend? Waking up with a sore throat on Sunday morning and feeling sick all day long.

2. But what about Saturday night? What about Saturday night? It was fairly typical. We went with out of town friends to see Little Red and the Renegades play at the annual Ambassador's Ball sponsored by the Maritime Republic of Eastport at the Eastport Democratic Club in Annapolis. Got home at about 1 a.m. Heard a lot of zydeco accordian sounds, along with drums, steel drum, keyboard, baritone sax, trumpet, trombone, bass and assorted vocals. Drinks might have been $6.50, but a Diet Coke was only a dollar.

3. The restaurant of the weekend? Montmarte next to Eastern Market on Capitol Hill. Lunch was cauliflour and mussels soup, and chicken and spinch quiche. Everyone was pleased. And I did not have to pay, because our out of town guest turned out to be a very tricky person. "Excuse me while I go to the bathroom" was the line that let her accost the waitress and pay the bill. (I wish more people were like her.)

4. The song? Not what Little Red played, but rather the Teapackets' "He's Gonna Push the Button", Israel's entry this year into the Eurovision song contest. Look up the title in Google, and you will get both Myspace and Youtube URLs.

5. The book? Another popular title, "My Yesteryears" by Lee Meriwether, St. Louis attorney and sometime diplomat, published in 1942 by the International Mark Twain Society in Webster Groves. Have you read it? Interesting in many ways.

Meriwether was a distant relative of Meriwether Lewis, the explorer, who is widely believed to have committed suicide. Meriwether doubts this, suggesting that he was murdered and that the murderers conjured up the suicide story to cover up their unwitnessed crime. This theory is apparently still alive. But who ever heard of this possibility?

Meriwether was born in Mississippi after her mother was unceremoniously booted out of Memphis, when occupying General Sherman decided that the arbitrary exile of southern women from the city would convince the Confederacy to stop some of its military actions. The tale of his birth is pretty shocking. Who ever heard of this?

It is true that in many ways, Meriwether remained a southerner at heart, even after moving to St. Louis (as if that would make a difference) and his view of the south during reconstruction could be used as corroboration for W.D. Griffith's portrayals in "Birth of a Nation". Carpetbaggers, scalawags, and former slaves run wild. What is interesting about this is the casual way that he presents it, as if it were a known fact that no one could (or would ever think to) deny or argue against. And, similarly, the Ku Klux Klan is described as a most beneficial organization. "From this frightful fate the South was saved by a plan as fantastic as it was illegal. The Ku Klux Klan was organized by the best men of the South".

He worked first for his brother, a journalist who put out a periodical dedicated to free trade policies. Until his brother tied, and Meriwether, still a teenager, decided to see the world, and ran off to Italy. But Italy was quite primitive in those days and he returned, following up a meeting with someone abroad by applying for and getting a job with the state Labor Commission.

Suddenly, he was a labor expert and the state commissioner, and before long became a public figure with his critique of the mining companies and their treatment of their employees. He was a marked man, who escaped being targeted for murder, and was considered an appropriate candidate (twice) for mayor of St. Louis. As an anti-establishment and reform candidate, according to his memoirs (and from what I can see, accurately so), he won twice, but lost both times because of vote rigging.

So, like all others with nothing to do, he became a lawyer, and then became a diplomat, being assigned the the American Embassy in Paris during the First World War, when he proved himself unable to stick to the party line and became a rescuer through the issuance of unauthorized paper of Americans caught behind the lines, and an acquirer of furniture which had not been approved. The latter was enough to get him dismissed (although he noted that, years later, he visited the embassy and the furniture was still there and in use).

His position was somewhat ambiguous during the war with regard to the satanization of Germany (he thought we were being very one-sided), but it changed abruptly when Hitler became chancellor in 1933, and Meriwether became outspoken as to the evils of Naziism.

He then seemed to have segued out of the law business, and spent much of his later years (he was 80 when the book was written) traveling with his wife. But it was not winters in Miami. They went to the Soviet Union in the 1930s at the height of Stalinism; they toured southeast Asia. And he writes interestingly of what he saw, and of the people he met.

Meriwether's life was clearly eventful, and in an odd way, as he just sort of went about his business, and Forrest Gump-like (or Zelig), there he was.

I know you have not read the book. I know you won't. But you would find it very worthwhile.

Oh, and by the way, it is readable, and filled with humor and irony.

6. And the magazine? I would suggest the February issue of the Jerusalem Report. Boy, do they collect interesting articles. For example, what do you know about black Muslim refugees from Darfur who have found their way to Israel and asked for asylum? Or, continuing with Africa, about the current status of the Jewish community in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe? What do you know about the conditions faced by female Zionist pioneers in the early 20th century? Or, for that matter, about the life (and death) of Houdini? Do you know that Ehud Barak wants to come back as prime minister (as does Benjamin Netanyahu), and that in spite of the failure of his early term, he might have a chance to take over leadership of the Labor Party (and do you know how he might accomplish this, and with whose help)?
What about conflicts between Arab and Jewish cattle ranches in the Galilee over grazing land? What about Tali Fahima, a young Israeli woman of conservative (Likud) background, who wound up as a defender of a young Islamic leader from Jenin (West Bank) and served almost three years in prison because of it; her story is absolutely fascinating). And do you know that there are big battles (with significance) going on amongst students at the universities in Lebanon? And, truth be told, that is only part of what is in this 48 page magazine.

7. What about the exhibit? The Portrait Gallery and Museum of American Art's first floor is a bit chopped up, because they are preparing for a Saul Steinberg exhibit opening early in April, and have a couple of other rooms in transition as well. But I did look at the one room exhibit on Walt Whitman (1819-1892), which provided a pleasant 30 minutes or so. There is only one large oil painting, by John White Anderson, but a large number of photographs of Whitman, from when he was a young beardless man (1848), when he first came to Washington, during the Civil War Years and towards the end of his life in the 1880s. There are also some of his possessions on display, including a walking stick, a pocket watch (the name of the maker is so small, that even with my glasses I could not figure it out), and a pen of his. There are photos of three individuals whom the exhibit's director believes to have been most clearly influenced by Whitman: Alan Ginsburg, Charlie Parker and Jackson Pollack. There is a first edition of "Leaves of Grass" as well as originals of some of the illustrations in the book. There are photos of places in DC connected to Whitman, including the Pension Building where he worked (before he was fired when it was discovered that he was the author of the immoral "Leaves of Grass") and Harewood Hospital, where he worked with the wounded of the Civil War. And a photo of his house in Camden NJ.

8. Tomorrow's highlight? Jury Duty

All the News That's Fit to Print (2 cents)

From yesterday's New York Times, page 1:

The audacity of a suicide bomb attack on Tuesday at the gates of the main American base in Afghanistan during a visit by Vice President Dick Cheney underscores why President Bush sent him there.

Well, we know what they mean, I think.

But it raised the question of what would happen if something happened to Cheney. For one thing, there would probably be less of an incentive not to impeach the President.

And, under the same Constitutional provision that allowed Richard Nixon to appoint Gerald Ford as Vice President, George Bush would get to appoint someone, subject to Congressional approval.

Who would it be? Would we have our first African American female vice president??

Israel (28 cents)

Coming back from Israel, I am continually asked what the political mood was, particularly with respect to Iraq. (The fact that the questions focus on Iraq show how little the questioners understand the issues facing Israel. Iran, Palestine, Syria and Lebanon all pose greater risks to the country than Iraq)

Nevertheless, the tenor of the question is clear.

The answer is somewhat more difficult, and of course we spoke to a very small percentage of Israelis, and those with whom we spoke tended to be unrepresentative of the population in general.

Putting this aside, what struck me in Israel was that, on the one hand, if you ask people what they thought about the future of the country, they all express pessimism (i.e., the problem will continue to be unsolvable and then Iran will get the bomb).

But, if you ask them about their lives generally, or if you just look about you, you will see people who are planning for the future as if there is not a cloud in sight. They are building buildings, starting careers, getting married, having children, and so forth.

How is this dual existence possible? I guess you have to be Israeli to answer that.

Back in the U. S. of A. ($1.36)

The jet lag is not too bad. In the first day or so, here is what has happened.....

1. The Book. On the trip, I had a great time reading "The Way of All Flesh" by Samuel Butler. Written in the late 19th century, this extended coming of age story is a delight to read, and full of clever social commentary that is as appropriate now as it was then. Semi-autobiographical, they say, it tells the story of the early years of Ernest Pontifex, who started out as the moderately abused son of a conventional clergyman (being a clergyman and a good father is not possible, according to Butler), is sent to a very unpleasant English boarding school, becomes of interest to his unmarried and fairly wealthy aunt in London, who somehow winds up in Cambridge and himself becomes ordained as a clergyman, who goes on cycles of losing and gaining his faith in various ways, who enters into an unfortunate liaison with an alcoholic and already married (to Ernest's later surprise) young woman of considerable beauty but no social standing, and who becomes (of course) a writer, one whose books are always reviewed poorly in comparison with his previous book (whichever one it is at the time), which is then described as an overlooked classic. You may not like his treatment of women in the book (when he treats them at all), but you have to admire Butler's writing style, incitefullness and humor.

2. The restaurant. Yesterday, we had lunch at Thai Kitchen on M Street. We didn't think so at the time, but it was probably a mistake. We ordered Tomkha, kanom Jeeb, PadPoyZian, and Rama Jay. OK? (Actually we ordered too much, so it became lunch and dinner, but a very unsatisfactory dinner).

3. The concert. Also, a mistake. It was part of our scheduled Smithsonian Jazz concert, this one concentrating on the music (compositions and big band arrangements) of Benny Carter, who died at 96 in 2003. The first half of the concert left us both cold, so we left, thinking that the problem was probably not Benny Carter's. I found some of Benny Carter's original recordings on www.tuxjunction.net, and we confirmed our belief. Carter had an extraordinarly smooth and sweet tenor sax style; he clearly differentiated between the role of the sololist and the band. The Smithsonian band was filled with technically proficient musicians whose style did not resemble Carter's in the least, and there was little differentiation between soloist and backup; it was simply loud, with little variation in tone. At one point, the conductor (who had done some of the transcriptions) said that Carter's style was unique, but his music could, when played by others, could be equally appreciated. I agree with half of this, and I think that the fact that it was mentioned at all meant that we were not the only ones who were dissatisfied. I do not think, however, that many in the audience left when we did.

The Reduced Israel Company

Benni Fish, Roaming through Jerusalem, Israel Museum,Fish and Olives, Caesaria, Tel Aviv, Mullet at Michael's, Tiberias, Rabbi Meir, Many, many salads, Pekein-Druze Village, Shimon's cave, Cafe Masada, Michal in Modiim, Zicharon Yaakov and hike through park, Nomi's cousin's restaurant, Eretz Yisrael Museum, Museum of the Diaspora, Noa Restaurant, lunch with Miriam, window shopping on Dizengoff and Ben Yehuda.......

The Reduced Israel Company

Benni Fish, Roaming through Jerusalem, Israel Museum,Fish and Olives, Caesaria, Tel Aviv, Mullet at Michael's, Tiberias, Rabbi Meir, Many, many salads, Pekein-Druze Village, Shimon's cave, Cafe Masada, Michal in Modiim, Zicharon Yaakov and hike through park, Nomi's cousin's restaurant, Eretz Yisrael Museum, Museum of the Diaspora, Noa Restaurant, lunch with Miriam, window shopping on Dizengoff and Ben Yehuda.......

Day One - Yesterday

We had the hotel wake us at 7, which was a good thing, and we hurred through the David Citadel breakfast buffet, so that we could meet our friends at 8:45 at Yad Vashem. We made it by cab with a few minutes to spare.

We had been at Yad Vashem in 1999, although we had not toured the museum itself. We had been in the children's building and seen the eternal flame, and then went to the library to register Edie's family members who were lost during the Holocaust.

A new museum opened last year, and we were told by all who had seen it that it should not be missed. And they were right.

Yad Vashem is by and large a very solemn place. The pathways through the garden of the righteous where placques commemorate gentiles who saved Jews during the war period, the children's memorial, where five candles reflected through an infinite number of mirrors in an otherwise dark building, looking like so many stars on a clear night, and the remembrance building where the eternal flame flickers over a listing of death camps.

We can't speak to the old museum. The new museum is, in fact, extraordinary. It is underground, and is centered on a single corridor, which serves as a spine for the exhibit halls and extends, I would say, from 600 - 800 feet. You cannot walk the whole corridor, however, as it is broken up by a number of low exhibits (so that your view is not obstructed), which force you to go through the exhibit rooms on both sides of the corridor in order to proceed. The walls of the corridor are triangular, so that the top of the corridor is a line of glass windows coming to a point; there is no roof. The corridor narrows as you go along it. So, to commmorate the Shoach, you are forced underground, with no light except for the band of hope/light at the top, walking along an ever narrowing corridor.

The exhibits are extraordinary as well. Not so much for the story line (it is what you would expect), but for the amount of incredible material on display (from pre-Hitler Europe through post-Reich immigration to Israel. Nothing is left out (i.e., no subjects appear taboo).

And it is not only the objects that they have, but the amount of objective documentation of every sort. Including unlimited numbers of photographs, and a tremendous amount of movies, both original footage and survivors' testimonies.

How long would it take to absorb everything in this museum? I would guess 2 or 3 days. Would you get bored? Not for a minute.

Our guide was Nurit. It was her first Yad Vashem tour. She was terrific.

We had a quick and not very satisfactory lunch in the cafe, and then went on to the Old City. Again for Nurit's tour. The only problem was the weather, which turned very chilly, very windy and very wet. But that did not stop Nurit.

We visited the Arab market, the Cardo, the Burt House Museum, the Temple Institute and the Archeological Park.

More later.

Israel: The Trip

At the airport, the passengers waiting for Delta Flight 152 from Atlanta to Tel Aviv had a rather motley appearance. Christian tour groups, Spanish speaking teenagers, military personnel (American), religious Israelis, secular Israelis, people of all ages, and all races. Most looked like they were expecting to have a good time.

We were very lucky because, although the plane was pretty well filled, the third member of our three seat group never showed, so the two of us had room to spread out, and Edie could even lie down to sleep.

Having flown to Atlanta from Washington, we were surprised when we looked at our route to Tel Aviv to see that the plane was going to return to Washington and leave the continental U.S. in mid-Delaware. This means that, in addition to the almost two our wait in Atlanta, we would have flown a total of three hours just to get where we started. In fact, the plane went a little south of DC and crossed into the Atlantic at about Newport News, but still......

I wondered what, if any, additional security we would have in Atlanta. And, in fact,w e had to go through the metal detector twice. When we flew from DC to Atlanta, our boarding passes stayed in tact. In Atlanta, they kept half and gave us half. By mistake, I gave the gate officer (at the second security entrance) the boarding pass to get us to Atlanta, not the one to Tel Aviv. What did he do? Point out my error? Arrest me? No. All he did was say 'thank you' and let me pass. Gives you confidence, doesn't it?

What characterizes a plane to Israel? My experience says, generally, chaos, with people sitting, standing, moving around, and especially playing with their hand held baggage. Put it under the chair. Good. No, take it out and put it above the seat. Fine. No, not there, move it further back; there may be more room. OK. No, that's too far back, bring it back here. If you want. Wait a minute, I need something from the bag; bring it down. No, never mind, I don't need it. And on and on.

The flight was fine, for an eleven and one half (but who's counting?) hour flight. They fed us three times. A meal, a breakfasty snack, and a lunchy snack. At 5 a.m. EST, the religious men on the plane (surprisingly few, maybe a dozen) did Schachreit in the vestibule where the breakfasty snacks were prepared, so they got first choice. (The yogurt went fast)

Towards the end of the flight, when it was clear that I had done all the dozing I was going to do, I watched a movie, "Volver" by the Spanish director who very long name begins with an A, and is written something like Almovodar. A young girl murders her pediophilic (I thought he was my) father, and her mother hides the body in the freezer of a friend's restaurant. Meanwhile, her aunt dies, who is totally mentally and physically incompotent, but who lives by herself in a big house, where she is apparently taken care of by her (she's supposed to be) dead mother. And then it turns out that her mother isn't dead (or Russian), but that she killed in an arson set fire her husband and his mistress, who was the mother of a close friend and neighbor, who everyone thought simply disappeared. And everyone (who is alive at the end of the movie) lives happily ever after.

So, we got to Tel Aviv early. Michael met us at the airport and announced he was sick. Yorem met us at the airport to pick up the camera equipment we brought for him, and by default got to drive us into Jerusalem, which is a long ride, to our hotel (which he seemed to have some trouble finding). That was very nice.

We went out for dinner. Turing left from the David Citidel Hotel past the Skirball Museum, the King David Hotel and the YMCA and stopping at a fish/dairy restaurant called Rosemary. The Greek salad that we split would have fed the Greek Army. The Bulgarian feta on the salad was Israeli. The trout was really what I call salmon trout and was quite good, but was served with another salad, 3 to 5 baked potatoes, a cooked tomato, a cooked yellow bell pepper, and a half of a roasted onion. Enough for the Turkish army too.

That was day number one.

A Temporary Change of Direction (3 cents)

We are flying to Israel this evening (and tonight and tomorrow morning) for a 12 day visit. I will not have my computer with me, but we will be staying at hotels with business centers. I will try to keep everyone posted, although each time we have taken a trip and I have promised this, I have failed. Because I will be recapping our trip, there will be more pointed references to individuals living and dead than usual.

"The Blue Mountain"

Each of the four readers of Meir Shalev's "The Blue Mountain" who reviewed it on www.amazon.com gave it four (the maximum) stars. It is the story of a settlement in Israel's Jezreel valley, clearly not a kibbutz, perhaps a moshav, perhaps something unique in its organization. Started by four friends, three male members of the second aliyah and one woman, who marries one of the three (she marries the winner of the lottery they held for her). Others of their generations come and leave, more marriages occur, children and even grandchildren are born and die. The characters are both humorous and sad, one of a kind and universal. There is a little more fantasy in their makeup than reality.

I thought the book started very well and for the first hundred pages, I was certain that the remaining two hundred fifty would be very enjoyable. But it was (for me) to be. (For me) the book went nowhere. And, by the way it was organized (or perhaps better because it seemed to lack any form of organization--it certainly had only a semblance of chronology), it was impossible for it to go anywhere.

So, at page 150, I gave up. But not before I read the last chapter to see what happened. It was as I feared. If anything more happened, I did not care. The last chapter chapter 51, I read after chapter 27. I did not miss a beat. And at the end of the book, chronologically speaking, we were back in an earlier chapter, as if it was the present not the past, and as if the future (which I had read about as if it were the past) had not yet occurred.

Perhaps this is a four star book. But to my surprise, I didn't think so.

Cybertime (2 cents)

I am driving to work, and the car in front of me looks new, and has one of those 60 day temporary tags that says that it expires on February 29, 2007.

This is How It Goes (46 cents)

Neil Labute seems to take promising situations and turn them into a disaster. The first of his plays that I saw was "The Shape of Things", where a promising young romance turned into a menage a trois ala "Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf?" Then, I saw "Fat Pig", about a young man who falls in love with an obese young woman, only to dump her when his friends disapprove. And dump very unceremoniously.

So, when I went to see "This is How It Goes", billed as a play based on relationships and racism, I feared the worst. I thought it a profound play, much to my surprise.

Three characters, twelve years after their high school graduation. Two (black man, white woman) are married; the third (white man), recently divorced, returns to his home town and becomes the tenant of his married friends, living in an apartment above their garage.

It gets very complicated very fast. The black male is an alpha-male, handsome, wealthy, charming, driven, goes to sleep at 2 a.m. and runs ten miles in the morning before work. The woman wants to be noticed. She is attractive, nice, but maybe not much else. The white male, who is also the narrator, speaking to the audience and setting the scenes that he is usually in, is even harder to read. He is charming, seems to have had some troubled years behind him, but makes a lot of mischief. He has always been in love with his former classmate, present landlady. And he has always resented her husband, who was a bit too-alpha for him, and who bullied him around when he, the white man, was a pudgy high schooler.

You can see the tension building. I am not going to tell you how it goes. And even, when you see the play, you may not know. The while male tells the audience at the beginning that he may not be a credible narrator. He says that truth is illusive, as it in fact always is.

Yes, racism is there, both as an assumption and an undercurrent, until it erupts, and then again recedes.

There is a lot of truth in "This is How It Goes", illusive as it may be.

Lisa Nowak

A friend of astronaut Lisa Nowak was on CNN this morning. He was a clean and articulate white guy, so he convinced me that Ms. Nowak, when she put on a diaper, a wig and a trenchcoat, and drove 900 miles from Houston to the Orlando airport with a BB-gun, folding knife and chemical spray, to accost another woman who was involved with another astronaut with whom Nowak had "more than a working, but less than a romantic" relationship, was acting out of character.

What a weird (and tragic) story. But it will be interesting to see how it plays out, and what motivated Nowak (some physical malady, some psychological problem?) to take this bizarre path.

And, contrary to the O.J. Simpson saga, at least everyone is still alive.

A good meal

I hadn't been in the restaurant at One Washington Circle (anyone guess the address?) for years, maybe decade. But I had lunch there today, meeting a friend whose office is equidistant from the hotel in a different direction.

I had salmon, served with "shaved" onions and Jerusalem artichokes. The salmon was about as good as it can be. Moist, tasty and just the right size. The onions were sweet (sweetened?). The Jerusalem artichokes were a problem, though, only because I forgot what they were. They looked like potatoes, but they didn't taste like them, so I thought maybe they were bad potatoes (bad in a unique way), and I ate about three of them, but left on the plate about 20. Had I remembered they what they were, I probably would have liked them, and eaten them.

I also had dessert (how often do I do that at lunch?). I had a lemon-orange tart of some sort. It was only so-so, and I scooped out the insides and left (after just one taste) the crust.

The espresso was perfect, but there sure wasn't much of it.

It was too expensive for lunch (I normally pay about 1/3 the price), but would I go back? For the salmon, to be sure.

The Jewish Hospital of Berlin

Several years ago, I read a book titled "Stella", written by journalist Peter Wyden, father of Oregon Senator Ron Wyden. Wyden had grown up Jewish in Berlin, moving to this country with the advent of the Nazis. One of his school mates was a very attractive, blond, Jewish girl named Stella Kubler. He had lost track of her after his move to the United States.

At some point many years after the war, he discovered that Stella was still alive in East Berlin, and that she had survived the war in Berlin acting as a 'Spitzel', a name for a Jew who was given survival preference by cooperating with the Nazis to seek out and finger other Jews in hiding in the city. Not, as you can imagine, a very well respected occupation.

The story he wrote of Stella was an important one, because it took and black-white situation and painted it gray. After all, Stella acted in part to save her parents as well as herself. It was clear that the motivation was mixed. It was also clear that Stella did not survive the war whole, that she had been internally compromised, and that in her older years, she did not present a sympathetic face to the world, and especially not to the Jewish world.

One of the interesting facets of "Stella" was the reference to Berlin's Jewish Hospital, which Wyden reported as having continued to function with Jewish staff throughout the war (and with, for a while, sheltering Stella).

The fact that the hospital continued to function in this manner (and still does today, by the way) was beyond fascinating, so when I saw a fairly recent book, "Refuge in Hell" by former CIA and NSA general counsel Daniel B. Silver, I was intrigued.

The story is indeed fascinating, and its survival (and the survival of about 800 employees and patients and prisonsers upon liberation) cannot be fully explained. But it did function, as the sole hospital for sick or injured Jews, as a prison for Jewish prisoners (some of whom needed medical care and some of whom did not) and as a collection point, like so many others. Under Gestapo control and the leadership of Dr. Dr. Walter Lustig (he had an MD and a PhD), the hospital provided medical care until liberation and, as well, became the home of the Jewish Gemeinde, the recognized Jewish community. Staffed largely but not exclusively of Jews married to Aryans, or children of mixed parentage, it and its staff had its share of troubles (including arbitrary punishments, some fatal, and forced 'selections'), but formed an unknown repository of Jewish continuity in the Prussian capital.

A very interesting book.

Dreamgirls (1 cent)

After watching Dreamgirls last night, I decided to look on the indb site and see what others thought of the movie. Obviously, it has won many awards and been nominated for others, but the reviews that I have seen (not studied, just seen) have not been all that great. So what does the reviewing public think?

Well, it is extraordinary, because the reporting viewers are completely split between those that thought it was just one of the best movies they have seen in a while, and those who thought it was an absolute waste.

It would be interesting to have some sort of a study done of these viewers, to see if those who liked shared any characteristics others with similar feelings about the movie, or whether it was all random.

I fall on the "I really like it" side. I am not sure why, but I did enjoy the music, and thought everyone did a great job. Jennifer Hudson's voice is obviously extraordinary, but there was not one miscasting or subpar performance in the entire cast. Even those who didn't like the movie thought that Eddie Murphy was great, which he was, and no one (for reasons unknown to me) complimented or even mentioned Danny Glover, who I thought was terrific.

It makes you realize how things have changed from the days when it was hard to find experienced African American actors. This is one extraordinary talented and, as Senator Biden would have it, articulate cast.

Is "Nine to Five" the worst movie ever?

Having just seen it, I believe the answer is definitely 'yes'.

Lena Pillars

Along the Lena River, south of Yakutsk.

Huh??

Oops

Several months ago, I attended a fascinating lecture/book signing by Timothy Naftali, the new director of the Nixon Presidential Library. Held at the Spy Museum, he spoke about his new book, Khrushchev's Cold War, which he co-authored with Russian historian Aleksandr Fursenko. Based on newly released Kremlin archives, it told the story of the Kennedy-Khrushchev years from the Russian point of view, purporting to unravel what was really in the minds of the Soviet leaders, how they were misunderstanding us and how we were misunderstanding them. It was fascinating.

Today, I decided to go back to the Spy Museum for another booksigning lecture, this time about preparation for the invasion of North Africa by the Allies in 1942.

Much to my surprise, then, when I opened the Washington Post this morning, and found a review of the Khrushchev book. And much to my surprise, the review, by Michael Dobbs of the U.S. Institute of Peace who is writing a book about the same time period, was scathing.

Basically, although the Naftali book contained much new information (some from sources since re-closed), Dobbs claims that the book is short on accuracy. Very short on accuracy. He points out serious factual discrepencies between this book and a previous book by Naftali (for example, one individual was a Captain in one book and a Colonel in another, when he was in fact a Major; then there was an incident which one books tells of involving four submarines and the other book two submarines, but none of the ships are the same in both books). He also points out serious problems in the Russian material (Fursenko's responsibility) based on published versions and translations of some of the source material.

The problems were so widespread that the Post authorized Dobbs to contact the authors, something rarely done by reviewers. And, in fact, Naftali both admitted some mistakes and implied that he was unable to check the facts given him by Fursenko. Fursenko was less forthcoming.

This shows what happens when you collaborate with someone without sufficient safeguards, I guess. It may be a particular problem in dealing with Russian historians who were formerly part of the old Soviet intelligentsia.

Let's hope that "12 Apostles" does not suffer from the same deficiencies. Paris based American journalist Hal Vaughan narrated an interesting story, basically as follows:

FDR decided as early as 1940 that the U.S. would have to enter the war in Europe, and that this would be done first by wresting north Africa out of Axis hands, and then moving onto the European continent. In order to prepare the way, and to keep his preparation secret both from Congress and the American public, he recruited twelve individuals, working under the supervision of diplomat Robert Murphy, who under the guise of being involved in govenment regulation of American shipping, were able to map the country (we are talking about Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia) and set up clandestine partisan groups ready to spring into action, their goal being freeing France (all three countries were under French domination) from Vichy control.

The plans were successful, paving the way for the landing of British troops in Algeria and Americans in Morocco under Eisenhower, but everything did not go by clockwork. At times, it appeared that everything would backfire. People were approached who should not have been. Communications broke down. The landing forces were delayed. Problem upon problem, but all worked out for the best (assuming an invasion that cost life upon life could be looked upon as having worked out for the best)

The crowd was not very large (the topic? the weather?), and I am not sure how many books were sold. Vaughan told the story so well, that I decided whateverelse was in the book would not remain in my memory in any event.

It was certain a worthwhile hour. One more story about which I knew absolutely nothing.

After Leaving Mr. Mackenzie

As part of my marathon reading, I read a short novel by French author Jean Rhys, "After Leaving Mr. Mackenzie". An English woman, Julia Martin, with a troubled domestic past, winds up in Paris, dumped by her "lover", Mr. Mackenzie. Mackenzie promises to keep her solvent and for a while does so, until his lawyer stops the payments. What happens to Julia as she sinks into depression and returns to London only to find her mother dying, and her relatives wanting nothing to do with her, is quite moving. Like "To Have and Have Not", there is a lot of alcohol in this book, but because of Julia's situation, her pernods seem more excusable than the booze they drank in Havana and Key West.

But who am I to judge?

Harry Morgan

"To Have and Have Not" contains three stories, all centered on one individual, Harry Morgan. Morgan, who dies in the third and longest story, is one of a number of individuals whose misspent lives revolve around boats, fishing, alcohol, more alcohol, Key West and Havana. The prose is sparse, and coarse, and to the point, like all of Hemingway. It was written in 1937. I still don't understand how he won a Nobel Prize.

Yea, for WETA

WGMS, Wasington's long time classical music station and, at last rating, one of the most listened to stations in DC, is no more. Having been shunted first from its original AM slot, and the from its original FM slot, and placed into a new FM-only location with less power than it needed, it has now been mercifully been euthanized.

To make up the loss, PBS station WETA is now an all-classical station. No silly ads. And much greater power.

Of course, a second classical station would be welcome. Perhaps it will show up one day.

The Sad Story of 4221-A Connecticut Avenue

This is a tough block only in the sense that it is on a busy street with virtually no parking, and with no anchor establishment to attract crowds. But the small Chinese restaurant seems to do all right, as does the combination KFC/Taco Bell. But the space next door is an address of problems.

For several years, there was an Indian restaurant there (I have already forgotten the name, but I think it was the Bombay something), which was managed by the former owner of the Peacock and Katmandu restaurants. It was a typical Indian restaurant, with typical Indian food, and typical Indian restaurant decor, and very few customers. We went there a few times, but as the years went on, we went less and less and then not at all. Perhaps, we were not alone in dining elsewhere.

After it closed and stayed vacant a while, a restaurant called Redel's opened. It seemed to be a barbecue restaurant, but you really could not tell what it served, or who it wanted to attract. It was, you would say, non-descript. We never went there; I am not sure if I know anyone who did.

Then one day in the Northwest Current, I saw an article saying that Mr. Redel was really pleased how well his restaurant was doing, but that the was completely revamping its menu, and it would now attract everyone from the neighborhood, because of its new broad choice of selections. Two weeks later, it closed.

And it stood vacant again. Then, a sign went up saying that The Coat of Arms was opening. Again, there was no clue as to what kind of food The Coat of Arms would serve, but the restaurant appeared to undergo some renovation, and in the plate glass window in front, there was a knight in shining armour. Or at leat the shining armour part. It didn't look like it came from a museum, but rather from a costume shop. But nevertheless it was a knight, and it certainly fit in with the name of the place.

I don't think that the Coat of Arms ever opened. If it did, it must have closed within a week, but it stayed there looking like it would open for some time.

Then, there was a big paper sign on the plate glass window (the knight having been removed), which said something like Indian Ocean, Indian cuisine, opening soon. Full circle, I thought. This would be another typical Indian restaurant in a building without parking. I must remember not to invest.

But then, having been out of the city for five days, I drive by and Indian restaurant sign is gone, the knight it still away, but the sign says: Opening Soon, The Coat of Arms, under new management.

Stay tuned.

The Collector (1 cent)

The third short book I read on our short Florida trip was John Fowles' 1963 book, "The Collector", the story of a young asocial butterfly collector, who stalks and kidnaps an attractive young girl, secreting her in the basement of a country house, where he fantasizes about her falling in love with him. The book starts as a first person account of the events leading to, and following the kidnapping; I thought this (and at this time the book) rather worthless. Then it switches to the victim's diary, where you see the same events from her point of view, along with aspects of her young (but intellectually precocious) life. This was the best part of the book, and makes reading it worthwhile. In this age of focus on kidnapping and prisoners, I thought that Fowles captured the emotions of a kidnapping victim very well. Of course I also thought that the victim was a much more interesting character than the perpetrator.

A movie with Terrance Stamp was released in 1965; it won a number of awards, and I would like to see it.

And, I would like to know if the heroine of the book (Miranda) is a somewhat older Lolita, and if the butterfly collector is a somewhat younger Nabokov. There are significant differences of course, but enough common grounds to make you wonder what was really on Fowles' mind.

Boris Pasternak

I never could get through Dr. Zhivago. This time I tried The Last Summer, a short novel by Pasternak which takes place in pre-revolutionary Russia, and tells the story of a young Russian man, who has been disconcerted by his mother's death, and comes to spend some time with his sister in a factory town, but he falls asleep and dreams of his earlier years as a family tutor, when he fell in love with the Danish housekeeper but spent his time with prostitutes.

I couldn't understand it at all. Was it Pasternak or the translator? I will never know.

Of Moon and Sixpence

"Of Moon and Sixpence", loosely modeled after the life of Paul Gaugin, is Somerset Maugham's novelette about an English stockbroker who abruptly leaves his wife and two children to move to Paris. Thinking that her very conventional husband has fallen for a young shopgirl and is living the life of luxury, she sends a friend to retrieve him. The friend finds there is no shopgirl, and no luxury, and that the stockbroker has been driven by an uncontrollable urge to become a painter. Unsucessful in Paris (and blessed with a horrible personality and value system), the painter winds up on Tahiti where he paints until he dies of leprosy. After his death, he is recognized as a genius and major artist of the century.

The book is well written; it moved me right along. I read it on the airplane between Washington and Ft. Myers.

Is it realistic? Not really. Is each scene credible? Not at all. But does it hold together? Yes, in large part because of Maugham's artful use of language.

Sunny (not) Florida (7 cents)

I am in Florida for the second time this week, this time in Naples, where we will be for the next four days.

But let me tell you about my one day trip on Monday to Ft. Lauderdale. The plan was to take a 7:30 a.m. flight from DC, arriving about 10, and leaving on a 6:45 flight to get home about 9:15.

Everything went like clockwork at the beginning. Getting up at 5, I scraped the ice off the car, and was at the airport by 6:45 and on the plane by 7. We got our instructions and were promised a wonderful flight. Although all this was hard to hear because there did not appear to be a microphone on our Spirit Air flight.

We were then told that there would be a brief delay because they needed to load the passangers manually. (Yes, you read that correctly; that is what they said, and all they said).

Then we were told that the gates were closed and we would push off in two to three minutes.

Then 20 minutes passed.

Then we were told that there were two passengers who had not yet been boarded because of a computer malfunction and that we were waiting for them to get cleared.

Ten more minutes passed.

Then two men got on the plane, presumably the passangers, but at least one must have been special because he went right into the cockpit. Five minutes later, he came out and took a first row seat.

Then we were told that there was one maintenance issue that had to be checked, but it should not be a real problem. More time passed.

Then a new maintenance guy comes on the plane and goes into the cockpit.

Then we are told that everything is OK, but that there is a required computer diagnostic check on the plane because it is Monday morning, and in order to run the check, the plane's electronic system will be shut down. We should not be alarmed. It will start up in two minutes. It is like rebooting a home computer. ("We have all had that happen, heh,heh", said the pilot). It would check out fine immediately and we will be off.

The electric system was never shut down. We do not know if a diagnostic check was made, or if it needed to be.

Then we were told that people connecting to San Juan were going to miss their connection; they should get off and their luggage was being unloaded. About 5 or 6 passangers left.

Then we were told we needed to take on "several thousand pounds" of additional fuel, if we were going to get to Ft. Lauderdale, and that people on the right would see the fuel truck loading the fuel. I was on the left; the people across the aisle reported no fuel truck.

Then the Punta Gorda passengers had to deplane.

Then we taxied out. Then we stopped. Then for about 20 minutes we were de-iced.

Then, at about 10:15, we took off, so my arrival for my 12:00 presentation before a client board of directors was delayed from 10:30 to 1:15. I had to speak quickly.

Coming back everything was on time. But not pleasant as the gods bounced us around the entire way. A lot.

So, what was the story of the Spirit a.m. flight? We'll never know.

(Last night, to Ft. Meyer, USAir worked perfectly.

Highlights of the Weekend

1. Not the 4-1 loss the Caps suffered to the Panthers on Saturday. It was an awful game.

2. Not "Ultima Thule", a Swiss movie about a man in a coma who dreams of Alaska, while the hospital tries to keep him alive. They should have dropped the plot and made it an IMEX movie. It would have been a hit.

3. Perhaps, the C-Span caller, who confidently said that sometimes the voters get ahead of the people.

4. Perhaps, the delicious (but highly priced) red snapper at Luigino's.

5. Not the fact that my barber shop raised the price of haircuts by $1.

6. Perhaps the snow, although we had to cancel our dinner with friends (who got stuck in Fairfax).

7. Maybe, but not quite, "The Two of Us", 1968 movie about 8 year old Jewish boy in France farmed out to Christians in a village for the duration of the war.

Quick Takes (2 cents)

1. Theater. "Sleeping Arrangements" at Theater J. A feel good fantasy memoir of growing up in the Bronx in a very odd family. Your father was killed in the war (OK, so there was no war going on, but you're just a kid), your mother dies when you are seven, you best friends get you into trouble, your summer camp experience is a disaster, you move in with your two odd (and too odd) uncles, and your wacky grandmother, Etka from Minsk, joins the household. It is not profound, but it is simple and it is cute and defintely worth seeing.

2. Movies. "Live and Become", about a non-Jewish Ethiopian boy who, at age 11, in pushed onto an Operation Moses plane by his mother to help him escape a refugee camp, and live and become. And never to tell anyone that he isn't Jewish. For the first half of the movie, the boy, adopted by a white French Jewish family, is extraordinary; in the second half, as he becomes a doctor, and joins Medicines sans Frontieres and returns to the camp in Sudan to work, it begins to unravel a bit only because it tries to do too much. Absolutely worth seeing; also provides very good visuals both of dusty African refugee camps and of parts of Israel not normally seen on the screen. Also saw two movies on television, "A Song for Bobby Long" with a graying John Travolta (he is in his mid-50s? I thought he was still 35) and Scarlet Johanson, and "Creche" a new French film. "Bobby Long" did not get terrific press, and it is clearly not a masterpiece, but it catches the rhythm of the city that was New Orleans as Johanson, returning to her estranged mother's house after her death, finds it inhabited by Bobby Long and a friend, and has to make do and accommodate. "Creche", having to do with strange messages and drawings being delivered to the home of a TV journalist, perhaps traced to a man from Algeria who the journalist's parents almost adopted as a young boy. We kept watching hoping something would happen that was both interesting and would pull the movie together. No such luck.

3. Book. Finished "A Matter of Opinion", the memoirs (part personal, part history) of Victor Navasky, long time editor and sometime publisher of 'The Nation' magazine. It bogs down in places, but it is by and large a fascinating story of American opinion magazines, and all of the extraordinary and well known people who wrote for them, and tried to keep them functioning. For anyone interested in the topic, the book is highly recommended.

4. Restaurants. "Frascati", an Italian restaurant in Bethesda which has been around a long time, was surprisingly good. We had a whole tilapia and osso bucco. I am not sure I would do the osso bucco again, but not because of the way it was prepared. Just not my favorite. Another good meal at Logan Tavern.

Book Two: The Greek Treasure

I had never read an Irving Stone book. He was of course the examplar of the historic biography, with books like "Lust for Life", the story of Van Gogh.

One of his later books was "The Greek Treasure", the story of Henry and Sophia Schliemann and the search for Troy and Mycenae. Henry, German by birth, American by citizenship, marries a Greek teenager and (sometimes with her, sometimes on his own) uses the fortune he made in Russia and California to fund his dream: the discovery of Troy. He succeeds, navigating a course between being a loyal family man and a self-centered fanatic, between Turkish (Ottoman) and Greek officials, between his pledge to display the treasures in Greece and competing pulls from Constantinople, Paris, London and Berlin.

The life is one of luxury and hardship, but on the whole, Schliemann succeeded in meeting his goals, and his young wife (30 years his junior) became quite an active partner and archeological exploer in her own right. It is quite a story.

The book? It reads quickly. It takes the basic history and fills it in with a lot of domestic dialogue. While the domestic subplots might not be necessary, they don't interfere with the story.

There are really three story lines, I guess. The personal story of the Schliemann's, the history of the discoveries, and significant amounts of retelling of the stories of the ancient Greeks that fueled the need to make these exciting, but exhausting, discoveries.

I cannot speak for the accuracy of the history, but assume it. As to the fictionalized story, it is credible. As to the descriptions of ancient history, I found it a little dry, particularly when compared to that other popular reteller of these tales, Richard Halliburton, who also popularizes ancient history, but in a much more unique and entertaining fashion.

The treasures of Troy wound up in Berlin, apparently to be lost during World War II.

The Right Word

The topic on this morning's talk show was the "surge", and the question was: is this the right word?

Quoted was Mark Twain, who apparently said something like: "The difference between the right word and almost the right word is the difference between 'lightning' and 'lightning bug'.

Book One: Betraying Spinoza (5 Cents)

Our study group this evening is meeting to discuss Spinoza. The basic text is chapter 40 of James Carroll's "Constantine's Sword", but we have also read Rebecca Goldstein's "Betraying Spinoza", which has the benefit of being readable, short, informative and interesting.

Spinoza comes across as a very modern guy, living at just the wrong time. He was excommunicated from the Amsterdam Jewish community (the precise reasons are not quite clear, but he was obviously a pain in their side) when he was still a teenager, but he never converted to Christianity, so he had to live outside all of the religious communities of his time, when the ONLY communities were religious communities. So when someone says: "I wonder why Spinoza never married", it seems clear to me that (putting aside whether he could find a ready spouse in his situation), but how could he find anyone to conduct a marriage ceremony if the idea of civil marriage did not exist? You can see his problem.

At any rate, here was a modern philosopher who said that the entire universe if a manifestation of God: God is everywhere. Not in heaven sending down his son to die, nor in heaven promising a return to a promised land. Not a God of historical progression, but a God who permeates everything. Not a God who requires specific ritual or observance. There was simply no religion to encompass what today does not sound weird at all. And maybe it did not sound weird then, either. It was just highly, entirely politically incorrect, threatening every political and social structure that existed in this very precarious liberal country in a very precarious world.

Baruch Spinoza: the right man and just the wrong time?

As Easy as One, Two, Three....

The final touches are being put on the renovation of the Connecticut Avenue tunnel under DuPont Circle.

Admiring the speed and quality of the work, as I drove through this morning, I was impressed at the concrete blocks that have been put in place to separate the northbound and southbound lanes of travel.

I noted that the architect/engineers had carefully marked each piece, so that the workmen would have no problem in determing what goes where.

And there they are, with their identification numbers not yet cleaned off.

From South to North, you will find 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 8, 9, 11, 12

A real contest (10 cents)

Where is this? If you are clever (some of you), you will be able to let me know.

Andy Rooney at Politics and Prose

Andy Rooney has put out a new book, titled "Out of My Mind". He appeared at Politics and Prose last night with his publisher, Peter Osnos, in dialogue.

He is 87. I don't think he wants to be making appearances like this. He did not make a presentation, but answered questions, first those posed by Osnos and then by the audience. His answers were not expansive, only a few were clever, he told very few tales of his past.

It was not a painful evening, and we did learn a little about his early days as a reporter for the Stars and Stripes during World War II, and his take on journalism and the media today, but you just got the feeling he'd would rather have been somewhere else.

His journalism start came after he was drafted out of Colgate when he was 19, and wound up in England, first in artillery and then in journalism (he'd edited the Colgate paper), where he covered the war for the "Stars and Stripes". Then, he said, reporters had their own jeeps, could buddy up (he often traveled with Ernie Pyle, whom he liked a lot), and go wherever they wanted. You did not have to check in first and say where you were going. Today, he says, the military first needs to know where you are, then prepares people to talk to you, and the news is hardly news. He also says that, in Baghdad, for instance, the journalists are in worst shape because they either stay in the Green Zone, or they go out and get killed.

My guess is that his war time recollections (I think the book is called "My War") make for good reading. Apparently, you can see some of his original dispatches on the Stars and Stripes website.

Does anyone buy his books? I guess so. Does anyone read them? Probably fewer.

I was thinking about all the books that are published as I stood watching him last night and looking around the store. The many chairs were filled when we got there about 15 minutes early.

Who reads all of these books? Who buys them?

I was standing on the cookbook wall, where they have hundreds and hundreds of cookbooks, of every flavor imagineable. Why just where I was standing, right next to my left knee, they had four copies of a very attractive looking book called "The Man and His Meatballs".

No bestseller, this.

"I Drive the Speed Limit" (3 cents)

This was the bumper sticker on the car driving in front of me this morning down Brandywine Street.

Of all the irritating bumper stickers I have seen, for some reason this one irritated me the most.

"How sanctimonious", I thought. "Holier than thou."

I followed this car as it crept down Brandywine at about 20 miles and hour, my irritation growing, until it turned left, without signalling and after running a stop sign.

Violet Bonham Carter

Violet Bonham Carter was the grandmother of actress Helena Bonham Carter, the daughter of British prime minister Herbert Asquith, and close friend of Winston Churchill. In 1965, when she was almost 80 years old, she published her memoirs of Churchill, entitled "Winston Churchill, an Intimate Portrait". They are fascinating to read, if a bit dense at times.

Churchill was about 15 years her senior and they met when she was a teenager. She was taken by his charismatic personality from the beginning, as were most people. She tells of his early life, and the adventures he found as a soldier in India and a reporter in Africa, including his escape from a Boer prison. And his start in politics as a Conservative, before his defection to her father's Liberal party. Irish home rule, and World War I are important parts of this story, including Churchill's failure at leadership in connection with the fall of Antwerp, and the loss at Gallipoli where 40,000 British soldiers died.

Churchill was always sure of himself; he was also often inconsistent. Although he became a great war leader (as a soldier, as head of the Admiralty and eventually as prime minister), he early on said of war: "when mighty populations are impelled on each other, each individually severallyl embittered and inflamed--when resources of science and civilization sweep away everything that might mitigate their fury, a European war can only end in the ruin of the vanquished and the scarcely less fatal dislocation and exhaustion of the conquerors. Democracy is more vindictive than Cabinets. The wars of peoples will be more terrible than those of Kings".

Violet Bonham Carter was a very bright woman. In another era, she would have been a politician in her own right. In early 20th century England, she was an intimate advisor to her father, and an intimate (not physical, but in every other way) friend of Churchill's. Her story is an insider's story, and you can see how close many of the issues and emotions facing politicians and their relationships with each other are to those facing politicians today. But, England being England, their dialogue was sharper, "rapier-like" you would say.

Her writing is incredibly well crafted; this seems to have been an early English trait. On the death of Lord Kitchener: "To the nation, to whom Kitchener was a legend, it was as thought Nelson's Column had suddenly fallen at their feet." On C

Her quotations from Churchill (on painting "just to paint is great fun. The colors are lovely to look at and delicious to squeeze out"), from her father's diaries and speeches, from her father's rival within the party Lloyd George's speeches, and from Conservative Arthur Balfour's speeches are equally elegant. What has happened to this type of rhetoric and oratory?

The book ended abruptly, and I assume that she was anticipating additional volumes. It is 1917, and the Americans have not yet entered World War I. Bonham Carter says:

"In the years that followed, thought we never lost our way into each other's minds, and though at moments nothing counted but the unbroken bond between us, there were times when our passionate disagreement was vehemently expressed; others when our differences seemed too deep to be bridged by words and silence fell between us--times of incomprehension and bewilderment. Until at last a day came when the paths that for so long had parted us suddenly met. And as they brought us face to face we knew that we were once more side by side."

Jo Davidson

Jo Davidson is a sculptor. I always thought he was a she, but it turns out that she is a he. His long career was primarily as a portrait sculptor, and next to the Josephine Baker exhibit, you will find about 15 of his busts, including one of himself, as well as Gertrude Stein, FDR, Andrew Mellon, Clare Booth Luce, Sinclair Lewis and others. Very nice.

You've Come a Long Way From St. Louis (3 cents)

I am speaking of Josephine Baker, who ran away from St. Louis to sing and dance when she was only 13, and who was "discovered" at 16 and cast in some of the country's top African-American variety shows. Then came Paris, and (often dressed not at all), she became the biggest celebrity in France and the center of a large black American expatriate artistic/entertainment community.

And she lasted a long time, going from stripper, to chanteuse, to movie star, to woman of the world. Quite an impressive history. A long way from St. Louis.

The Portrait Gallery has a Josephine Baker exhibit, which contains by my count 101 different pieces: photos, paintings, posters, movies, programs, books, advertisements and endorsements, masks and sculptures. A very nice exhibit, not only because Baker was so ingratiating, but because of the quality of some of the pieces themselves, especially the art nouveau posters of Michael Gyarmarity, and the lithographs of Paul Colin, both of whom were very close personally to Baker.

Yes, a long way from St. Louis. But, in 1952, she came back for a homecoming performance at the old Kiel Auditorium. The program is in the exhibit (and is probably the least artistic of any piece).

The Weekend

1. The Museum. The Hirshhorn, where we saw two closing exhibits, one called John Baldessari Explores the Collection, where the museum is giving various artists and critics the opportunity to choose works belonging to the museum which are held in storage to be put on display. Our reaction was that most of them should remain in storage, particularly Man Ray's Blue Bread (a sculpture which looks like a blue baguette), which should probably be sent down the garbage disposer. There were works of art by many well known artists (including Karl Appel, Claes Oldenburg, Joan Miro, Thomas Eakins, Mary Cassett, Jean Dubuffet, Alexander Calder, Frank Stella, Rene Magritte and Milton Avery), but no well known works, and no works which would have given the artists any degree of fame (well, maybe one or two exceptions). The second exhibit was an exhibit by a number of modern sculptors (may their names soon be forgotten), who not only had their own works displayed but were able to select works by other artists who influenced them. This exhibit made the Baldessari look good.

2. The Restaurant. This time it was Zaytina, and everything was excellent, the salmon, the bronzini, the ground beef and lamb, the imam balydi, the fritters, etc. Everything but the Turkish coffee.

3. The Game. Caps 3 - Thrashers 2 in overtime. Semin scored with 17 seconds left. Went with friends Steven and Rene. Terrific game.

4. The Sale. The $1 per book moving sale at Wonder Books in Hagerstown. I saw very few books which approached $1 in value.

5. The Book. Nina Burleigh's A Very Private Woman, the story of Mary Meyer, wealthy young woman, wife of diplomat/CIA official Cord Meyer, mistress to John F. Kennedy, friend of Jackie, artist member of Washington Color School, friend of Timothy Leary (and advocate of LSD), and victim of murder on the C and O Canal Towpath. More insight into the Kennedy years. Nicely written book. Makes you shake your head and wonder.

I had read Burleigh's other books about Smithsonian founder James Smithson. Enjoyed that one, as well.

New Restaurant (2 cents)

We tried a new(ish) Thai restaurant last night, with excellent results. It's called Kanlaya (I think that is a Thai name), and is located in Chinatown, on 6th Street, under the venerable Burma Restaurant. Burma? Thailand? And it's Chinatown?

Pleasant atmosphere, good prices, nice service, and good food. I had a duck curry, Edie had a vegetable tofu dish, and our friends had a vegetarian pad thai, and a tofu and snowpea combination. Appetizers included a vegetarian soup, house salads with peanut dressing and fresh papaya salad.

With something to drink, it came to about $20 per person.

Top to it off, we went to the Caps/Canadiens game. Caps won 5-1. For a change.

The Red Dragon and the Beast from the Sea (1 cent)

I went to three first floor, west building exhibits at the National Gallery of Art today. An exhibit of British romantic art primarily from the late 19th century, an exhibit of Rembrandt drawings, and an exhibit of photographs of New York from the 1930s and 1940s. You would think that at least one of these would have captured my interest, but none did.

I have seen a lot of black and white photos of New York. These just were not that illuminating. After all, how many subway passengers do you want to look at? As to Rembrandt, he was quite prolific, as every city seems to have 400th birthday Rembrandt exhibits, but how many small drawings or etchings can you appreciate at one time? As to the British art, none of it was bad, but was any of it that good?

The engraving above is by William Blake. There were a number of similar pieces, along with landscapes, and biblical scenes and everything you would expect. Mainly watercolors, the landscapes could be pleasant (but it was not like seeing the Constable exhibit, even though there was a drawing of a tree in winter by Constable). The "horror" engravings, like Blake, could be fascinating, but I couldn't put them in any sort of context.

It's always nice wandering through the National Gallery, but I don't think these three are worth the trip.

Jan Karski and the "Story of a Secret State"

Jan Karski taught international politics at Georgetown for about 40 years. But before that, his life was something else.

A well to do, and well educated Pole, he was called up for military service just before the Nazis attacked Poland in 1939. He never saw action, because the Nazi conquest was so fast (so unbelievingly fast to a country which believed it could withstand the attack; but again, so did France). But no sooner did the Germans attack Poland from the west, but their allies the USSR attacked from the east, and Karski found himself a Soviet prisoner of war.

He was freed in a prisoner exchange with the Germans, and escaped from the westward bound train. He saw how devestated Poland was, even Warsaw. He joined the underground, went on a mission to Lvov, became involved in being a courier and an underground journalist, and was chosen, in part for his language ability, for a mission to London to meet with General Sikorski. Of course, a trip to London was not a walk in the park, it was a train ride to Germany pretending to be German, and to occupied France, and travel to Vichy France, and then a hike over the Pyranees, entrance into Spain pretending to be Canadian, finding one's way to Algiciras and onto a fishing boat which took him to an English boat, which finally got him to England. He never lived in Euorpe again, and became an American citizen in 1954.

The book was published in 1944, and apparently sold about 400,000 copies in the United States. The book has 33 chapters. It can be divided into parts. Part 2 starts at chapter 29.

The first 28 chapters, after describing the events I set forth above, talks about the extensive organization of the Polish underground, the people in the underground, the risks taken, and the often tragic results for participants. The words "Jew" or "Jewish" are hardly mentioned, leading the reader to think that the fate of the Jews was simply not within the amit of Karski's concern.

But then come his meeting with two Warsaw Jewish leaders as part of his preparation for the Sikorski meeting. And his two trips to the Warsaw ghetto and his trip (disguised as an Estonian guard: "No one will question you being Estonian, as long as you stay away from the Estonians.") to a concentration camp, where Jews are being liquidated. He identifies it at Belzec, but its description does not fit and he later agreed that he must have been taken somewhere else.

He is appalled by what he sees, which are conditions so much worse than the terrible conditions the Poles are facing. Apparently, he really did not know this. But shortly after his visits, the Warsaw ghetto uprising occurs, it is cleared out and burned, and everyone then knew what was going on. Beginning with chapter 29, this is a different book.

He tells what he has seen to exiled Polish Jewish leader Szmuel Zygelbojm (who commits suicide days later), to Polish prime ministor in exile Sikorski (who soon dies in a plane crash in Gibraltar), to Prime Minister Anthony Eden and to Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

Karski started out as a fairly normal guy (Karski was actually a nom de guerre), thrown into extraordinary circumstances, seeing his normal world destroyed as quickly as if an atomic bomb had been dropped, and seeing the absolute lack of humanity in the German invaders. Something he never could have imagined before.

On his way out, he visits an old "liberal" friend in Berlin. He is again appalled. His liberal friend and his friend's liberal family talk about "Hitler knows best", and how it's too bad when the Jews have to suffer as they are killed, but they won't infect Germany any more, and so forth.

You learn a lot about Poland during the war, and about the risks taken by the underground, and of course (in the second part) about the fate of the Polish Jews. But a warning: if you are squeamish, I would stay away from chapters 29 and 30.

As we have for several years, the entire family went to the Caps New Year's Day afternoon game. We expected to win, but we lost. We have now lost five or six in a row. I thought that the only highland was Nicholat, the defenseman recently brought up from Hershey; it looks to me like he is here to stay. I am not sure when John Erskine will return, having a broken bone in his foot, but without him, the defense is pretty weak. Brian Muir is also out with a foot injury.

I think this is what led to the three Coyote goals in the first period. If I were a better viewer, I could gauge whether the goals are caused by goalie or defense shortfalls (or both), but I can't.

The other problem was our weakness on the power play and that even Ovechkin, Semin, Clark and Zubrus seemed off their game.

Next one: Thursday against Montreal.

Other than that, things were pretty quiet. That's good. Having been disappointed at the articles in the Smithsonian Magazine's January issue, I was happy to see that I had overlooked December, which is filled with interesting stuff: 'The Treasures of Timbuktu' [thousands of handwritten Arabic books, ignored for centuries, being preserved where possible and restored], 'Antarctica Erupts' [Mt. Erebus, 1700 degrees Fahrenheit in the crater) and 'Rembrandt at 400' (powerful paintings, filled with emotion, unlike anything else being done at the time], amongst other things. There is a Rembrandt drawings exhibit at the National Gallery. And we just saw one in St. Louis at the St. Louis Art Museum. Prolific guy.

Just When You Think You Know Everything

An obituary in the Post announced the death of Alfred Burger, 90, a Vienna born nuclear engineer. Burger left Austria after the Anschluss in 1938 and wound up in England. To quote the article: "Caught up in a sweep of suspected Nazi spies in the early days of World War II, he was among more than 2000 Jewish regustees placed aboard the ship Dunera, destined for an internment camp in the Australian outback. He survived the harsh conditions of the voyage and two years in the camp before authorities, realizing that they had made a mistake, released the prisoners. A movie, "The Dunera Boys" (1985) chronicled the plight of the refugees."

Just when you think you know everything.....

The End of 2006

We spent a very nice New Year's eve with our friends Bob and Nona. Very casual, we went to supper at our neighborhood Chinese restaurant, Shanghai Garden. Normally closed on Sundays (family values), Rae and his sisters decided to open on New Year's eve. We expect, when we walked into the restaurant at 7 p.m., that we would be one of very few customers, since (a) customers would not expect SG to be open on a Sunday, and (b) who would go to a neighborhood Chinese restaurant on New Year's eve?

It turned out that the place was packed (I think to the surprise of the staff and perhaps the dismay of the kitchen). The food as usual was good. We had egg rolls and quick fried eggplant slices with scallions as appetizers, while for main dishes there were salmon with Hunan sauce, du bien tofu (I am not sure what makes it du bien; it sits above a flame on a chafing dish, and is an off-menu choice), chicken and sauteed spinach, and a seafood and vegetable soup that Nona had.

Afterwords, back at the house for dessert (Edie had made a chocolate something or other that everyone loved and I stayed away from) and champagne (again I just said no), and to look at our pictures from Hawaii (where I realized how quickly I had forgotten some of the names and references).

Our guests left about 11, and we wound up watching the William Hurt/Kathleen Turner movie "Body Heat", while I thumbed through this extraordinary photography book I picked up a couple of months ago by the photographer Donald Robinson. The book is called "In Harmony With Nature".

There was an additional highlight of our 12/31. We had gone down to the National Gallery to see the Constable exhibit on its last day. Constable painted in England during the first third of the 19th century, specially in very large (his six foot paintings) canvasses showing landscapes mostly near his area of birth, northeast of London. Virtually all of his large work is in England (the Tate, National Gallery and Royal Academy), with only once painting hanging normally in Washington, and one at the British Art Museum at Yale.

His procedure was unique as, in addition to making pencil sketches of his subject areas, he painted full size oil sketches. This exhibit was the first to bring together all of his six foot paintings along with all of the sketches. He had apparently kept the sketches, which look to have been painted much more quickly, although they themselves are worthy of attention. It was interesting to see the small changes he made from sketch to final product, not only in subject matter (moving a tree, adding a person, etc.), but in tone and coloration. His sense of composition was excellent.

His life sounded far from perfect. Born to a fairly well to do family, he seems to have gone through good and bad times economically, and his wife, with whom he was obviously very close, died young of tuberculosis, putting him into somewhat of a tailspin. He died, it said unexpectedly, at 60.