Ruminatrix
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Saturday, Aug 16, 2003
service interruption
Sounds of the big blackout, likely soon to be forgetten: the explosive silence I heard at 8 Friday morning when a loud generator, the only one in the neighborhood, suddenly cut out and died; and the rolling cheers of unseen voices all around as the juice came back on at 9:03 last night. Laughter and the sound of guitars, during our backyard cookouts the last two nights.
I was in midtown at work when the electrical failure hit us Thursday afternoon around 4:15. We had a few stressed-out folks stop in to get some shade and water, but the crowds of commuters started their long walks home within a half hour, as if people just knew what to do, even with cell-phone networks down. We put stuff into fridges, locked up, hit the streets.
It's the third time I've been in huge crowds of New Yorkers in the past two years (9/11, February's chilly antiwar march, this) and people are used to getting on with things. Pedestrian traffic shared the streets with cars, with surprisingly little fractiousness or impatience despite the lack of traffic lights. On the walk home in the East Village, car radios were on, providing the only source of information on the scale of the failure. Autonomous power systems mounted on rubber tires -- how clever!
The vibe was even warmer on Clinton -- LES residents really know how to hang out on the street. Everyone was happy not to be stuck underground or in a high-rise elevator. Some kid had a monster sound system blasting merengue from the back of his trike.
Yesterday MB drove Theo out to Long Island (she's going on a camping trip with her cousins Derek and Deedee) so I went along for the ride, a fix of air-conditioning (!) and to hear some radio news. There wasn't much to hear -- the causes are still obscure, but it wasn't triggered by excess demand. No solutions were being suggested, but the grid was being brought back slowly online.
However if this outage does lead to improvements in the supply network, it does seem ironic that this most anti-big-government of Presidents would oversee a project requiring massive public spending and even energy price re-regulation.
As others have noted, it would be good practice to have one of these power outages once in a while. I found it useful:
- --to be reminded of the need for unmediated human contact and conversation;
- --to see how much we depend upon the electric grid (and just how little I know about the way it works);
- --to show me how little I really need some other things: TV, cell phones, DVDs, devices that require more than four batteries...
- --to be reminded that some problems are quite unrelated to the endless War on Terror.
We now resume regularly scheduled programming...
Tuesday, Aug 12, 2003
..And Back
Weather forecasts threatening continuous rain and thunder-showers kept us from wandering far from Shelter [Island]. The actual weather, even if overcast, was delightful (breezes 10-20 mph), so we could have taken Blue further than we did. Why does the Weather Channel turn every threat of precipitation into a potential calamity requiring constant monitoring? Just to keep us glued to the tube, I suppose... Me, I'd rather get wet.
Meantime, Theo, back on the water for the first time in a year, got her sea legs back and did excellent service as dinghy captain.
Friday, Aug 08, 2003
Out
Off to sail for three days with Theo, a short passage: Shelter Island NY to Newport RI. Hope we get some wind between the thundershowers of August!
Thursday, Aug 07, 2003
Global warming good for wine-growers
Acidity versus ripeness: if it's not quite a paradox, Asimov argues the case for the beneficial effect of the warming trend -- unless you're making eisswein, growing gruner, or other cool-climate varietals:
Global warming is a fearsome proposition, dredging up visions of rising tides engulfing shoreline cities, and other cataclysms. For winemakers, especially those in historically cool grape-growing regions, the changing climate has already markedly affected their lives and wines.
"This has been great, no doubt," said Johannes Selbach, speaking by telephone last week from Zeltingen, Germany, where his family has grown grapes along the Mosel River since the 17th century. "Just look at the row of fine vintages we've had. From 1988 through this year it has been strikingly warmer than any time I can remember. Everybody talks about it here."
Monday, Jul 28, 2003
Milestones
My grandfather Jerzy Casimir Pajaczkowski turned 109 last week -- belated birthday greetings to dziadzio. This week my parents will mark the 50th anniversary of their own marriage. I can't be there to offer my congratulations in person, but my sister Claire is marrying her partner Barry in a civil ceremony on the day in question, which seems very appropriate. They have two sons, the oldest already ten.
And two days ago we attended the funeral of Walter, my father-in-law's younger brother. His interest in genealogy led him to trace his own ancestry back to the Middle Ages through extensive email correpondence with parish archivists in Norway. Walter encouraged Theo's own sense of history, drawing an elaborate family tree of her Nelson/Nielsen forebears. Of course he found there were Norwegians and Swedes taking Polish princess-brides back around the first millennium. Back then Norsemen or Vikings were skilled at combining raiding with providing what we would now call "security services." More sedentary peoples such as the Franks bought them off with land (the Duchy of Normandy) and money. They had sailed their longboats around the strait of Gibraltar to create kingdoms in Sicily and Apulia, contested by Fatimid caliphs in North Africa. As the Varangians they were professional bodyguards to the emperors of Byzantium. Trading up the Black Sea coast, and up and down the Dnieper, Volga and other rivers they became the "the Rus" for whom Russia is still named. They engirdled Europe and almost certainly "discovered" North America but I suspect they couldn't find enough booty to make it worth staying on. Walter wandered less far afield, moving from Bronxville New York to Long Valley New Jersey, but was a great explorer in his own way.
Closer to home our own Theo (b 1993), who is not descended from the circus entertainer who married Justinian and became Empress of Byzantium (d 548) -- at least not as far as we know -- has her first sleepaway camp upstate this week. Cell-phone communication is making the separation both easier and [a little] harder.
Friday, Jul 11, 2003
It's about oil
It sounds impossible (or oxymoronic) but there's a very interesting piece by John Cassidy in the New Yorker on the Iraqi oil industry -- past, present and future. In the print edition only, unfortunately (what is it with these people?):
Critics in Europe and the Arab world suspect that [the Bush Administration's] agenda includes encouraging Iraq to leave OPEC, thereby challenging the oil cartel's power to set prices. Attempting to undermine OPEC would be a big snub to Saudi Arabia, America's most important ally in the Arab world, which dominates the organization. But some people in the Administration seem willing to countenance such a move. One of them is Ahmed Chalabi, leader of the Iraqi National Congress, whom the Pentagon flew to Iraq during the war. "We have a new ally in the Middle East -- one that is secular, modern, and pro free market," Francis Brooke, an American political strategist who has been Chalabi's adviser for almost a decade, told me. "It's time to replace the Saudis with the Iraqis." Since the war ended, Iraq has missed two OPEC meetings, raising further questions about its relationship with the oil cartel...The Iraqi Republic (founded in 1958) had only a few years of unalloyed prosperity (1972-80) before Saddam's ten-year war with Iran (and other ruinous arms races) drained profits. That war in turn severely damaged the Rumalia oil fields in southern Iraq, engendering the crisis that led to the invasion of Kuwait and the subsequent UN sanctions. So what are the odds of prosperity and peace under the new order?
Cassidy estimates that with a population estimated to be about 30 million in 2010, and $55bn/year in oil revenues, Iraqis would each earn around $5 per day. While this is above the current World Bank poverty line of $2 per day, Iraqis would still be much poorer than Kuwaitis or citizens of the Gulf Emirates. "If Iraq is to prosper during the decades ahead, it will have to diversify its economy and other sources of income, something that will only be possible only if Iraq is transformed into a peaceful, stable land with an effective and stable leadership."
The alternative is long-term civil war, as in Angola, Congo, Indonesia, Nigeria and Sierra Leone: "developing nations with valuable natural resources, [where] violent internal conflicts are the norm."
Wednesday, Jul 02, 2003
Fun in the sun
A new issue of New York Review of Books features: Norman Mailer on GWB qua male model and model of masculinity. There's also Luc Sante on Arthur Kempton's book Boogaloo from the gospel roots thru George Clinton to Tupac on down; and some Elizabeth Hardwick Russian litcrit. (The print edition also has an excellent piece on Iraqi Shiites, plus Misha Glenny on murders and the mafia state in Serbia, by the way).
Though why you'd want to read when it's gloriously sunny outside I don't know. Find a shady tree.
Saturday, Jun 28, 2003
Sleepless in Mecca
Back in this hot city I am reading Elizabeth Hardwick's extraordinary memoir "Sleepless Nights." Two excerpts:
"The unspeakable vices of Mecca are a scandal to all of Islam and a constant source of wonder to pious pilgrims."Of an ex-lover:
For the pilgrim to Mecca the life of the city trembled with its dangerous salvations.
The 1940s
New York: there I lived at the Hotel Schuyler on West 45th Street, lived with a red-cheeked homosexual young man from Kentucky. We had known each other all our lives. Our friendship was a violent one and we were as obsessive, critical, jealous and cruel as any ordinary couple. The rages, the slamming doors, the silences, the dissembling. Each was for the other a treasured object of gossip and complaint. In spite of his inclinations, the drama was of man and woman, a genetic dissonance so like the marital howlings one could hear floating up from the courtyard or creeping up and down the rusty fire escapes....
I slept with A three times and remember each one perfectly. In all three he was agreeably intimidating , and intimidating in three ways. 1. The murmured bits of dialogue, snatched from the air, grammatical encrustations, ellipses. Isn't this the kind of evening the best of all? or, usually I. On and on in small whispers: better than and women who and one time -- small, dark drifting comparisons. 2. A seizure of spritual discontent and graver asceticism, mournfully impugning. 3. Regretfulness, kindness, charitable good humor, apologies for the lateness of the hour. Where's your little red coat? Can I take you to a cab? Or: You'll never want to see me again... too late... too early... no cigarettes left.Wonderful, lucid, as un-nostalgic as can be. Happy Gay Pride Sunday and a hug to the Supreme Court -- or a majority of them, at least.
...In those days I did not care to enjoy sex, only to have it.
Bunkerland
A weekend out of town in Montauk (water too cold to swim in), a week of dawn-to-past-dusk workdays afterwards -- pretty soon a weblog's gone to weeds. Or maybe just overgrown with all the rain. And now the sun is out at last it's hard to stay indoors again.
During World War II the hills just below Montauk Point held a barracks/gymnasium, disguised as the church of a "typical" fishing village, its spire an observation post. It was part of Camp Hero. First the base housed 16" gun-batteries protecting the entry to Long Island Sound, and later a military radar station looking for Soviet bombers New York-bound. Now it's open to the public, or at least the above-ground portions of it.
I don't know why the melancholy of empty seaside forts appeals to me. But they feel haunted, either by their vanished garissons or by the returning beachgoers who replace them. Airplanes made all those coastal bases as obsolete as battleships, but there are plenty of other surviving blockhouses bunkers and casemates left --- they are indestructible, even as the ocean reclaims them with its relentless erosion. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.
Eleven miles up the road from Camp Hero in Amagansett, in the ill-fated Operation Pastorius, four German saboteurs went ashore from a U-boat in June of 1942 with instructions to blow up American power stations(four more were landed in Florida) . One of them, after checking the expired dollar bills he had been issued for money, turned himself in to the FBI almost immediately. The eight became legal pioneers of a sort, as their secret trials at the Justice Department set the precedent for the still-evolving (or -devolving) treatment of "enemy combatants" during wartime in this country. Six went to the electric chair; two were imprisoned then released in 1948. Nowadays, GPS- equipped and able to call in airstrikes rather than carrying plastique, wouldn't they be considered "Special Forces," the vanguard of a modern fighting force?
Friday, Jun 20, 2003
Locked and Loaded on the F train
On the F train yesterday, a man is declaiming to everyone, in a deep James Earl Jones tone, carefully enunciating, as if reciting lines: "Check your weapons guys, we hit the beach in five...no four minutes..." He is of indeterminate age, somewhere beyond thirty. At one point he holds a plastic soda bottle to his ear like a walkie-talkie. Then comes: "Many weapons of mass destruction can be carried in a suitcase. You all know what a suitcase looks like, don't you?..." I catch a few bars from the Star Wars theme hummed deadpan.
Each sentence is repeated two or three times, in case you didn't hear him the first time. Are these lines from old movies or is he an addled combat veteran? Or just one more of the city's walking wounded, back in the subway to shelter from the rain? But I can feel unease building among the passengers -- his doomsday ramblings are more troubling than any of the common variety spare-change pitches. You don't hear much about suitcase bombs on the subway these days, though I've seen soldiers patrolling the Union Square station at night-time with their M-16s at the ready...
Then, just before my stop: "Don't touch women. Don't let them touch you. Only gays and children do that." Is that from Full Metal Jacket? Consternation...What's with this guy? Then he says: "I never met a woman who wasn't a government agent. They ask for all kinds of information, try to get into my stuff..." And at once smiles break out all around the subway car, even the women, well some of them at least...