Le Weekend, Le Deluge

February 22, 2013 § Leave a comment

NPG 142; George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron replica by Thomas Phillips

Kind Readers,

My last entry was a reblog of a tiger mom corralling her kits, and it occurred to me this is the perfect leavening for my too-often-monochrome depression postings. I didn’t get much sleep last night—cappucino with Robin (nice, but I shouldn’t have had two) agitation re psychic contamination and then woken by the insane jungle animals—but am not in a bad mood now, so I thought I would tell all my beloved readers that I am not ALWAYS in a bad mood, not as long as there are tigers, my menagerie, heaps of beads to make jewelry from and all sorts of words lying around free.

I looked at a novel I haven’t been able to finish—started in 2004—and saw that it was good. Like, excellently good! Also saw what it needed, which is not the same as doing what it needs, but good.

I reread my post of last night and feel like I didn’t adequately explain what interested me so much about Taleb’s book. That’s not a job for today, poor sleep deprived brain that I am coping with, but I will get to it. I’ve been thinking a lot about how stress and change lead to growth and hesitate to discuss it only because I always feel if I talk about the good stuff, someone will take it away. You’d think I’d have learned by now that talking about the bad stuff doesn’t result in anyone taking it away-:)

“Save me, save me!”
“No,” says the world.
“Why not?”
“Why you?”

…because…I can’t remember…I’m sure there’s a reason…

Moving on, did you read this in the Times? “College graduates are just more career-oriented,” said Adam Slipakoff, the firm’s managing partner. “Going to college means they are making a real commitment to their futures. They’re not just looking for a paycheck”… Besides the promotional pipelines it creates, setting a floor of college attainment also creates more office camaraderie, said Mr. Slipakoff, who handles most of the firm’s hiring and is especially partial to his fellow University of Florida graduates. There is a lot of trash-talking of each other’s college football teams, for example. And this year the office’s Christmas tree ornaments were a colorful menagerie of college mascots — Gators, Blue Devils, Yellow Jackets, Wolves, Eagles, Tigers, Panthers — in which just about every staffer’s school was represented.

“You know, if we had someone here with just a G.E.D. or something, I can see how they might feel slighted by the social atmosphere here,” he says. “There really is something sort of cohesive or binding about the fact that all of us went to college.”

Don’t you want to throw him into a dumpster, have toothless ancient homeless women (who are of course avatars of the Great Goddess) draw hex signs all over him with dog shit, then afflict him with a recurring nightmare of not being able to do anything right at work, and when asked about his education, realize, in horror, that he never finished college, just forgot those last exams?

Have a good weekend, dearies. It’s going to rain here. Not as bad as in Athens, I hope. I wish I could take a year and see the world, before we destroy it all.

But I’ll shut up about that. It’s time for tea. All will be well, and all manner of things shall be well, as long as you believe. In what, I have no idea. The Easter Bunny’s been on my mind.

Here’s some culture for you.

Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage [There is a pleasure in the pathless woods]

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean–roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin–his control
Stops with the shore;–upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

His steps are not upon thy paths,–thy fields
Are not a spoil for him,–thou dost arise
And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields
For earth’s destruction thou dost all despise,
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
And send’st him, shivering in thy playful spray
And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth: —there let him lay.

-George Gordon Byron

By the way, check this out
For my email readers, for whom links don’t work, here’s the address

And look at my other Treasury lists. Amazing stuff out there!


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