Spend enough time in the wilderness -- or what passes for wilderness in these United States -- and grim reality begins to fade. Let's see, we're fighting wars where? There's still Iraq (called Eye-rack around here); Afghanistan, Pakistan, Libya . . . Yemen, is that an official war yet? Hell, everything, all the clandestine crap, the hired-hand killings, all the stuff that sustains the insatiable greed of the military-industrial oligarchs, it's all war. War's our bidness, Bubba, and don't you ever fergit it.
But out here, I'll try.
We mount a vistaed slope of pinion, juniper and Mormon tea. Brandi, a rambunctious pup who's trying to learn, between bouts of mischief, to be a trail dog, looks for something to chase. Finding nothing, he decides to run around In circles while I rest on the fallen trunk of a juniper, savoring the view of distant valley and more distant pink and gray cliffs. I imagine this tree was standing tall and green and lush with berries when Silas Smith and his scouts passed by here in 1879, looking for a shortcut across the Colorado River. When Brandi tires, and flops down beside me for a drink, we consider the next leg of our morning walk.
It's so quiet that even I, thanks to my high-tech and even higher-priced new hearing aids, can hear the gnat buzzing two feet from my head, looking for an unbitten place to have lunch. You pay a price to walk in places such as this, but the precious silence alone makes it worthwhile. Thirst-slaked and bored, my companion begins to dig in the dry, red earth. An abundance of ornery critters is part, too, of the price of being here; wouldn't want my curious pup to get acquainted with one the hard way. We move on.
Half a mile further on, we gaze down into a deep gulch, carved by snow melt and spring and autumn rains to nurture the green valley below. I can see a negotiable route down to the dry bed, and back up the opposing slope to an inviting plateau. Once, and it doesn't seem all that long ago (but it was), I'd have gone that way without hesitation, maybe even raced my dog to the other side, but that wasn't an option now. My tired old legs had just enough gas In the tank (I hoped) to get me back to the campsite. We had walked somewhat farther than I intended, and it would be uphill all the way back.
Brandi led us home. Like all good trail dogs, he stops periodically, turns, and waits for his Geezer to catch up. "How was your walk?" the Boss asked when we returned. "Piece of cake," I said. "This is my favorite place in the entire world." When I'm not near the girl I love, I love the girl I'm near.
We were low on some supplies and would normally have driven to the nearest town to replenish them, but they'd lost one of their own in one of our wars, and the memorial service was to be held this day: businesses were closing and mourners were coming from miles around. They'd wave flags and the high school band would play the Marine Hymn and some Sousa, maybe, and they'd say how proud they were of Our Troops over there fighting for democracy. Over There. Endless war can seem right, and heroic, even, as long as it's always Over There. Last time I looked, only one member of Congress, and no senior administration official, had close blood kin among Our Troops Over There. Still, said the clerk at the local hardware store, who knew the dead local soldier well, "it's better to fight them Over There than here at home."
This is a beautiful place, undisturbed, sparsely populated and lightly visited. Brandi's snoozing at my feet. We're at peace here in our shady place, but the sun is high in the sky, and soon we'll have to go out into the blazing heat, another of the costs of experiencing silence and beauty.
Even in Paradise, reality intrudes.
Bahrain. I forgot about Bahrain. The CIA is on the ground there, isn't it ?
"Don't tell Momma I'm a journalist; say I play the piano in a whorehouse."
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
The Affirmation of the Great Tennis Paradox
The match was over after the tenth game of the first set. Rafael Nadal, certainly the best player ever to set foot on a clay tennis court, would win his sixth French Open championship, tying him with Bjorn Borg for most ever.
He'll break the record with his seventh title in 2012.
Not even Borg could have executed the two shots that enabled Nadal to break Federer's serve in that tenth game, with Federer serving for a set he had dominated up to that point.
Federer hit two shots that were sure-fire winners -- except that somehow Nadal returned them both. He lunged desperately for a ball no other player could hope to reach, and threw up a lob that enabled him to take control of the point. He followed with an impossible backhand to win a point any other player in the world would have lost.
Yes, there were more sets to be played before Nadal's victory was official. Yes, Federer, a man of incomparable grace and artistry on any surface, made the second set close, and managed to win the third before Nadal performed the coup de grace.
Yes, it was an exciting match -- another in a string of gems these two men have played. But it was, as usual in the Big Ones, another victory for Nadal. It reinforced the irony of their rivalry: Federer, who otherwise, with his record number of Grand Slam championships, has a claim to be called Best Player Ever, clearly is only the second-best player of his era.
The two impossible shots in the tenth game tell the story: on clay, when Nadal is at his best, it is impossible to hit a ball that stays in the court that he can't, somehow, return, often for winners of his own. If not the greatest player of all time, he is surely the finest defensive player of all time.
These matches are contests of will; a brutal test of which player can impose his will on the other. After that tenth game, even Roger knew, deep, deep inside, that this was another day when Nadal's will would prevail,.
Federer prepared assiduously for this tournament, adding topspin to a vulnerable backhand so that he could place the ball deeper on Nadal's side of the court. He played the best clay court tournament of his career, losing only one set -- to soon-to-be No. 1 Novack Djokovic--en route to the finals.
He was confident, as always, before the match, and played confidently for nine games. One could forgive him for thinking, "This time, it's mine!" But then he hit two sure winners -- and lost both points.
And so the man many tennis aficionados have anointed Best Player Ever remains only the second-best of his own era.
Go figure.
He'll break the record with his seventh title in 2012.
Not even Borg could have executed the two shots that enabled Nadal to break Federer's serve in that tenth game, with Federer serving for a set he had dominated up to that point.
Federer hit two shots that were sure-fire winners -- except that somehow Nadal returned them both. He lunged desperately for a ball no other player could hope to reach, and threw up a lob that enabled him to take control of the point. He followed with an impossible backhand to win a point any other player in the world would have lost.
Yes, there were more sets to be played before Nadal's victory was official. Yes, Federer, a man of incomparable grace and artistry on any surface, made the second set close, and managed to win the third before Nadal performed the coup de grace.
Yes, it was an exciting match -- another in a string of gems these two men have played. But it was, as usual in the Big Ones, another victory for Nadal. It reinforced the irony of their rivalry: Federer, who otherwise, with his record number of Grand Slam championships, has a claim to be called Best Player Ever, clearly is only the second-best player of his era.
The two impossible shots in the tenth game tell the story: on clay, when Nadal is at his best, it is impossible to hit a ball that stays in the court that he can't, somehow, return, often for winners of his own. If not the greatest player of all time, he is surely the finest defensive player of all time.
These matches are contests of will; a brutal test of which player can impose his will on the other. After that tenth game, even Roger knew, deep, deep inside, that this was another day when Nadal's will would prevail,.
Federer prepared assiduously for this tournament, adding topspin to a vulnerable backhand so that he could place the ball deeper on Nadal's side of the court. He played the best clay court tournament of his career, losing only one set -- to soon-to-be No. 1 Novack Djokovic--en route to the finals.
He was confident, as always, before the match, and played confidently for nine games. One could forgive him for thinking, "This time, it's mine!" But then he hit two sure winners -- and lost both points.
And so the man many tennis aficionados have anointed Best Player Ever remains only the second-best of his own era.
Go figure.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Shut Up. Stop Whining. Vote Republican. Especially, Shut Up!
Once again the Republican party, including the Worst Congressman in History who is named Stevan Pearce and purports to represent southern New Mexico, is calling its jackass a pony and putting a feather in its cap. But that's not Macaroni. That's equine excrement.
They're trying to bully television stations into refusing to air an ad by a progressive group that asserts -- accurately -- that the House Republicans' infamous "Ryan Budget" would end Medicare.
It is a clear and obvious fact that House Republicans would end not just Medicare, but also Medicaid and other social programs that benefit the aged, the sick, the unemployed and the impoverished.
The Republicans say they are not, either, ending Medicare; they would still call their program "medicare," even though it would NOT pay for your medical care the way Medicare does. Confusing? The Republicans want it that way. What they call "medicare" is in fact a system of providing vouchers that you could use to pay a private insurer for medical coverage -- if you can find one that will accept your vouchers as payment in full for a policy, which of course no private insurer will do since they'd all be free to raise premiums far above the value of the vouchers. It would legalize robbery by insurers from the people who can least afford to be robbed.
This is the basic Republican philosophy: government exists to serve the interests of only the richest and most powerful people and institutions in the land. The most powerful institutions in the land, of course, are corporations, which, according to the Worst Supreme Court in History are people, too. Real people -- workers, family farmers, small businessmen, the unemployed, the sick, the tired, the poor, those who speak with funny accents, those whose skin is the wrong color -- are not entitled to suck at the teat of government because that causes the richest and most powerful people to pay taxes, which are sinful, evil things that only the sick, the tired, the poor and the afflicted should have to pay because they can't afford multimillionaire lawyers and accountants and lobbyists to create loopholes that allow them to pay virtually no tax.
So stop whining. Crawl off somewhere and suffer in silence, you lazy unemployed slobs, you welfare queen sluts, you baby-factory refugees, you ignorant non-English speaking leaches, you tree-hugging enviro nerds, you bleeding-heart Commie ratfink libruls, you . . . well, you know who you are.
This is Merka, by God, the land of the Red, White and Blue, the flag-waving, tea--bagging, race-baiting, other-hating, war-making, bloodthirsty, world-ruling home of the brave and land of the free.
Love it or leave it.
They're trying to bully television stations into refusing to air an ad by a progressive group that asserts -- accurately -- that the House Republicans' infamous "Ryan Budget" would end Medicare.
It is a clear and obvious fact that House Republicans would end not just Medicare, but also Medicaid and other social programs that benefit the aged, the sick, the unemployed and the impoverished.
The Republicans say they are not, either, ending Medicare; they would still call their program "medicare," even though it would NOT pay for your medical care the way Medicare does. Confusing? The Republicans want it that way. What they call "medicare" is in fact a system of providing vouchers that you could use to pay a private insurer for medical coverage -- if you can find one that will accept your vouchers as payment in full for a policy, which of course no private insurer will do since they'd all be free to raise premiums far above the value of the vouchers. It would legalize robbery by insurers from the people who can least afford to be robbed.
This is the basic Republican philosophy: government exists to serve the interests of only the richest and most powerful people and institutions in the land. The most powerful institutions in the land, of course, are corporations, which, according to the Worst Supreme Court in History are people, too. Real people -- workers, family farmers, small businessmen, the unemployed, the sick, the tired, the poor, those who speak with funny accents, those whose skin is the wrong color -- are not entitled to suck at the teat of government because that causes the richest and most powerful people to pay taxes, which are sinful, evil things that only the sick, the tired, the poor and the afflicted should have to pay because they can't afford multimillionaire lawyers and accountants and lobbyists to create loopholes that allow them to pay virtually no tax.
So stop whining. Crawl off somewhere and suffer in silence, you lazy unemployed slobs, you welfare queen sluts, you baby-factory refugees, you ignorant non-English speaking leaches, you tree-hugging enviro nerds, you bleeding-heart Commie ratfink libruls, you . . . well, you know who you are.
This is Merka, by God, the land of the Red, White and Blue, the flag-waving, tea--bagging, race-baiting, other-hating, war-making, bloodthirsty, world-ruling home of the brave and land of the free.
Love it or leave it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)