Let me set the scene: it’s a brisk spring day in Paris. The HB and I are at the Museé d’Orsay. For many reasons, it’s our favourite museum. It’s more than the contents, though that can’t be beat. It has an incredible collection of modern art especially the Impressionists.

It’s more than the structure: it was a railway station that has been converted magically into a light-filled ode to art. It’s impossible to describe the feeling of entering the building. Its long central hall has rooms filled with treasures off to each side. At the far end there is an exhibit for the child in each of us: miniatures of the great buildings of Paris, including a cut-away of the Paris Opera. The best though is the exhibit in the floor under glass of the Opera district of Paris with Haussmann’s boulevards in their full glory. Adults react to this model in reverential awe. Children always get it right, they start walking all over the glass. They treat this Lilliputian Paris as the fun thing it’s meant to be.

It’s more than the ambience: from the huge railway clocks to the wonderful restaurants, it’s a welcoming palace of art. There is one restaurant, on the quay-side of the museum; that is moderately priced and serves excellent food. This is where my story begins.

We had a wonderful meal. I had an outstanding Potage Crecy (a creamy carrot soup). We were well-sated when we strolled back out to the museum. Then, nature called. “Need to ‘spend a penny’” I said. HB and I aimed for the loo. These particular conveniences were located down a narrow hall and across from one another. (more…)

I have been reading some fanciful tales about presidential approval ratings lately. On the right end of the political spectrum, their collective memories are betraying their prejudices. The claim, to paraphrase, is that Bush’s poll numbers aren’t any worse than Clinton’s were. Ergo: Bush is not truly sliding into the cellar. He’s merely in a little slump.

Facts are such stubborn things. They have this inconvenient way of interfering with what we choose to believe. First of all, you will need to understand something about polls and polling. The most reliable polls are the big ones. Why? Because they have the resources to do have a large sample and to do it properly. They also have trained people working for them who don’t try to skew either the questions or the results. How can I say this? If you’re a pollster and you skew your results, you will be discarded like yesterday’s newspaper: It’s bottom of the birdcage time. (more…)

I’d like to think that I’m a sophisticated kind of person, but there are things that just get me where I live and there’s not a thing sophisticated about them. I can do the puppy thing and the baby thing; but the best (or worst) of things-that-makes-me-whimper are WPA murals.

I first discovered one in the Hollywood High School library that had once been the auditorium. It had a WPA mural that depicted the history of the theatre. It was very fanciful in its chronicle from Greek amphitheatres to motion picture studios.

Later, I found another WPA mural in the dining room of the Natural History Museum in downtown Los Angeles, California. This particular mural portrayed the history of eating from cave dwellers to modern days. My favourite character in that mural was King Henry VIII. He had a big bone in his hand and was gnawing away at it. No flatware for those Tudors. When last in Los Angeles I was disappointed to find that some troglodyte(s) had completely covered the mural. (more…)

Now you’ll remember my friend who went to Mexico and met up with Montezuma, and his revenge. Well, I had another bud who actually tried to change history, his own.

My friend, Dick, grew up in a time when there was still a draft. A real military draft, not just registering and forget about it like now. Dick was about to get drafted out of college and so he joined the Air Force. He figured that would keep him out of the trenches. Unfortunately, for him, world events intervened and he was sent to Korea. Not knowing how long the conflict in Korea would go on, Dick decided that he had to find a way home. (more…)

If you like to rush through museums, you don’t want to go with me. I have been known to plunk myself down in any museum and let the world go by while I look at a painting or sculpture. I’ve also been known to get emotional: the first time I saw Van Gogh’s “Sunflower’s” at the National Gallery in London, I wept. Yeah, hard-arsed Anon wept. Ya wanna get in my face about it?

So, today, whilst I was looking at my digital Hopper collection, I started to think again about the painting here. It’s titled, “Soir Bleu.” The obvious focal point is Pierrot. Not only is he in the centre, and his colouring forces our eyes to him; but most of the people in the painting are looking at him. (more…)

I say HOORAY for technology! I made it through this election cycle without picking up the phone and finding some push-poll or political operative on the other end.

As I’ve said before, I have no shame when it comes to avoiding annoying telephone calls. Furthermore, I have no patience for telephones games of any sort. I will put up with a legitimate telephone poll, but they are few and far between. As to the others, they can get stuffed! My ear drums will not be assaulted!

So I have done everything I can to avoid unwanted calls. I’m on the National Do-Not-Call list. I have distinctive ring tones on my mobile for everyone whom I may or may not want to talk to. Finally, I have caller ID on the home phone.

If I get any call that says “unknown caller” or even if I don’t recognise the name and/or number, I let it ring. And ring. And ring. I have no guilt whatsoever. Let them deal with my voice mail. My meals have been so peaceful. My television viewing has been blissfully uninterrupted. Conversations could take place without annoyance. When I did go to vote, I had a smile on my lips.

Now if there were only a way to stop junk mail. Of course, I laughed maniacally as I shredded the junk mail from the candidates. I was Zen-ed out during the whole run-up to the election. Ah, peace! I’m in my happy place. Caller ID: it’s a good thing.

It’s the 400th anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot. Back in 1605 a group of Catholic men decided that they wanted England to proclaim its fealty to Mother church and the Pope. So, they decided to blow up Parliament and King James the 1st along with it during the annual opening day ceremony

So, these fellows rented a house next door to Parliament and dug a tunnel (sounds like that Woody Allen movie, right?). The real ringleader wasn’t Fawkes; it was Robert Catesby. Unfortunately for Guy Fawkes, he drew the short straw: he was left to light the fuse on the dynamite.

To add to Guy’s misfortune, someone in on the plot wrote a little billet doux to a certain Lord Monteagle (great name, huh?) warning him to stay away from Parliament on the 5th of November.

Well, Halloween is over and it’s time for La Dia de los Muertos. The Day of the Dead isn’t the same as Halloween. It was a harvest festival for the Aztecs, but the Catholic padres insisted on shoehorning it into the church calendar.

In conquering the new world, when the Church couldn’t eradicate a ‘pagan’ ritual they would co-opt it. Thus, La Dia de los Muertos is now celebrated the first 2 days in November. This coincides with All Souls and All Saints days.

The Mezoamericans didn’t fear death the way the Spaniards did. The Spaniards couldn’t wrap their brains around this concept. Of course if one isn’t afraid of death, then the Church loses a lot of its clout. (more…)

Well, it took me a while for it all to sink in. The White Sox won the World Series in a clean sweep. I found myself wishing it would go on for at least one more game. But a clean sweep, it’s just brilliant.

Chicago is not the biggest metropolis, though it’s certainly substantial, yet Chicagoans manage to support two major league teams. Not only do they support these teams, they fervently support these teams. The most amazing thing about this support is that neither the Sox nor the Cubbies have been winners. Is it America’s love of the underdog?

Does this also explain the disdain for the Yankees? ‘Damn Yankees’ is part of the American vernacular. Outside the 5 boroughs is there anyone who really roots for the Yankees? I say this even though I have a soft spot in my heart for Derek Jeter. He always puts the team before himself. But, Derek Jeter does not a team make.

I just remembered a song from ‘Damn Yankees’: “You’ve gotta have heart“. The coach is talking to the disgruntled players: (more…)

It’s hard to know where to begin when discussing Judith Miller’s role in the Wilson/Plame/CIA leak case. Ms. Miller sees herself as a latter day Joan of Arc. In fact she appears to have been so intoxicated by her proximity to power that she was willing to lie.

Here is a telling snippet: In her breakfast meeting with Scooter Libby in DC, Miller has testified that Libby asked her to not identify him as a “senior administration official.” Rather he wanted to be cited as a “former hill staffer.” This would obfuscate the source of the leak (in Libby’s mind anyway). What’s most egregious is that Miller immediately agreed to this lie.

So, Bill Keller, executive editor of The New York Times, has now, in an internal memorandum meant for public dissemination, apologised to the staff of the Times for his own missteps in dealing with Ms. Miller (and Miller has answered back). It begs the question: Did Keller just want to believe a Pulitzer Prize wining reporter or was he afraid to reign her in because of her ties to the administration? The truth is somewhere in there and we’ll probably never know. We must ask of everyone concerned from the White House to the press the old Howard Baker question: what did they know and when did they know it?

What the public do know is that journalistic integrity was thrown aside like yesterday’s news. It was at the bottom of the cage and Judy Miller was posing as the bird who wouldn’t sing after having sung many front page arias written by the White House.

It’s a funny thing about lies, they have a way of coming back and sticking to the liar. Lies are tar babies.

Right about now, Ms. Miller is having to douse those flames in her knickers.