OBAMA WANTS TO TRAVEL
ON A FINE CHINESE TRAIN

JUSTIN SAYS "YOU CAN HAVE IT"

[I fixed about a dozen typos -- Justin had had a hard day]

The train was unbelievable, I don't know where to start.

We climbed onto the carriage with our rucksacks to a sight of hoards of Chinese sitting, standing, hanging and perching everywhere imaginable. Everybody stopped talking as the 2 aliens (thankfull pretty wasted by this point) made their way down the carriage to their seat, pushing, climbing, even standing on the locals to sqeeze through.

Once seated a crowd gathered around us just staring with the occasional comment in Chinese. After about an hour of this we got talking to a local boy and spent the next few hours drinking more and helping him speak English, by the end he was fully fluent in almost 6 swear words and our job was done.

Did I mention that every other minute someone is coughing up phlegm which either goes straight onto the floor with the discarded newspapers/ciggarette ash/cashew nuts/locals who couldn't afford a seat, or gets launched out the window with an amazing noise that I've grown to love.

Night time comes so it's time to sleep...yeah right. Even with a travel pillow and a an eye mask it's impossible. Either the food trolley is rammed down the aisle into your leg every 30 minutes, or a local is leaning on top of you snoring (thankfuly they don't dribble), or someone with a megaphone (yes really, at 3am this morning) is standing in the carriage selling socks or newspapers or horns are blowing and at 2am the fella behind me went through his entire polyphonic ringtone collection...twice.

Glad to be off the train but it was certainly an experience. We are shattered.

[Yeah, I know, it was 2005. But my reliable source told the same story just a year ago.]


THINK THE OBAMESSIAH WOULD ENJOY THESE ARRANGEMENTS? :

FRACK!!!!!

WE'RE BACK!

Sunday, 6 a.m. here:

Sunday, 6 p.m. (7:30 in Newfoundland) here:

ACK.

[P.S. If it's not frackin' obvious, number 1 son has now got us hooked on Battlestar Gallactica]

IT'S BEEN A QUIET WEEK AT LAKE WOBEGON.....

But here in remotest Newfoundland, it's been a Newfie-palooza.

It was all work and no play for several weeks while house and garden underwent further transformations, much of it geared toward looking all pretty for the Unveiling of the Plaque, following our recent heritage restoration award.

Then, at the appointed moment, scores of the curious descended upon the old house on the cove, and sniffed out every nook and cranny to their satisfaction. Local political bigwigs made their little speeches, the little girl with the big voice sang Oh Canada, and Ode to Newfoundland, the veil was dropped, and the good times rolled.

Say, what's up at the big house?



Well, in the living room there was....



And in the dining room there was....



And in the kitchen there was....



Ya don't git one 'o these every day, eh b'y? It's a beautiful day in the neighbourhood.



MEANWHILE, BACK ON PLANET EARTH....

Satire was in fine fettle, both over the pond, from Gerard Baker at the Times of London:




And over at Scrappleface, where we'd expect nothing less: "McCain backs Timeline to get Obama Out of Iraq."


Even Letterman got into the act:




Yeah, I know I'm days behind the news curve -- we're a little slow out here at Lake Wobegon, b'gosh. Another ten days, and they'll be dragging me onto the plane back to civilization. Pass the Screech.

YOO-HOO!!!

ANYBODY STILL AWAKE OUT THERE?

Rumours of Winefred's death have been greatly exaggerated -- it's a matter of being alternately asleep at the wheel, travelling hither and yon ocean to ocean, or trying to put life back in order in the home we haven't been in much this summer.

One day we were in Newfoundland for dinner, and the next day in San Diego for breakfast. A study in contrasts. San Diego is a landscape of burnt toast interrupted by lush greenery, courtesy of mass irrigation borrowed from nearby states. Hangin' out at the beach can look like this:

or this:

[Not bad, really.]

Newfoundland, on t'other hand, is lumpy, rugged, and [seasonally] green all over. Checkin' out the other ocean can look like this:

Newfoundland also has a moose population of over 150,000 on a land mass less than half the size of Norway.

That's Norway-- which boasts only 120,000 moose, but is apparently in a panic about their greenhouse gas emissions (that's eco-talk for moose-farts). So says Germany's Der Speigel, so it must be true. If Newfoundland is similarly doomed, no one seems to have noticed, b'y. Folks there have other things to worry about.

["Crazy Moose" -- hat-tip to the Computer Science Dept. at Memorial University of Newf'n'land]



Meanwhile, back in civilization:

BRAVELY VENTURING INTO THE "DMZ"

That's the "Dennis Miller Zone" for you civilians out there, the talk radio guy with the most laid-back temperament and absolutely THE best guest-list.

In his copious free time, the aforementioned Mr. Miller appears on one or two FOXNews shows. It seems that during a recent Half-Hour [Alleged] Comedy Hour (sorry-- I only watched the first one and it reeked), Miller did a riff on Defeatist-in-Chief Senate Majority Loser Harry Reid, which immediately went viral on the internet. No comedy here, folks, just a flat-out statement o' fact and a challenge for Reid to do the honourable thing and, if not fall on his letter-opener, at least shut his Mojave-dry pie-hole. Watch and snort:

Miller is also to be congratulated for proposing to the squealing infants of both Houses of Congress that they pass urgent legislation at the earliest opportunity, called the "LET'S SHUT UP UNTIL PETRAEUS GETS BACK" ADULT ACT -- and that we all pledge to adopt the mantra that until the General returns and makes his report, WE DON'T SAY NUTTIN' ABOUT NUTTIN' !!!

Hear, hear.

Got it, Senator Reid? And Mr. Dodd-Murtha-Kennedy-Obama-Rodham/Clinton? And on the distaff side, Ms. Pelosi-Boxer-E.Edwards-J.Edwards/Breck? And from the booth/keyboard: Mr. Blitzer-Moyers-Olberman-Matthews-Schneider/ Sullivan-Fisk-Herbert/ Cronkite-Gregory-blah-blah-blah-BLECH?????............

In the absence of up-to-date info from The Source on the Field, wouldja just, as the kids text it, STFU -- 'K?



U.S. NAVY TRAGEDY -- NEWFOUNDLAND HEROISM -- 1942 -- LEST WE FORGET

Early August: visited the site of the horrific wreck [February 18, 1942] of the U.S.S. Truxtun near St. Lawrence, Newfoundland.

In the pitch-dark pre-dawn, during a sleet-chucking gale, three American Navy vessels ran aground on massive rocks at the base of 200-foot cliffs that form the southern tip of the Burin Peninsula, between the fishing/mining town of St. Lawrence and the fishing village of Lawn.

The flagship Wilkes eventually floated loose and was saved, but the Truxtun broke up and lost 110 of 156 on board. Those who survived did so because the local inhabitants braved the ice and snow to haul the near-frozen, oil-encrusted bodies of the sailors up the cliffs, all day and into the next evening, and delivered them into the tender care of local women who scrubbed and warmed them back to life. Every available scrap of extra clothing and foodstocks in the St. Lawrence area went to the shipwrecked men.

Below: the cliffs at Chambers Cove where the Truxtun was impaled between the two projecting offshore rocks:

Pink cliffs at the right are still stained with the black oil which was hurled at them from the shipwreck by 40-foot swells.

To the west of Chambers Cove, at Lawn Head, the Pollux heeled over but remained partially intact. The crew and officers eventually executed the textbook maneuver, attaching a lifeline to the shore and getting as many across as possible. As it turned out, they might have done better to have stayed on board the remnants of their ship. Those who weren't drowned in oil or dashed against the sharp slate cliffs [one sailor was seen decapitated in an instant] were stranded on a frozen ledge. But 140 out of 233 survived, thanks again to the local men who raised them one by one up the cliffs and got them to safety.


A rusted cross, raised by the Catholic parish of St. Thomas Aquinas, pays tribute to the dead of the Truxtun.

In 1954 the American government built the U.S. Memorial hospital to serve the inhabitants of St. Lawrence and Lawn, in gratitude for their sacrifice. (It has since been demolished, and services are provided by a small modern hospital in Burin.)

In 1992, on the 50th anniversary of the disaster, a memorial called "Echoes of Valour" was unveiled in St. Lawrence, honouring the perseverance and and sacrifice of the sailors and their rescuers.

Read Cassie Brown's Standing Into Danger, a gripping hour-by-hour account of the sea disaster and the flawed investigation that followed it.

Survivor tales are equally fascinating, such as that of Lanier Phillips, a black cook's-assistant from Georgia, whose life was saved, and changed forever, in 1942 by the first white people to ever show him kindness. Meet him here [CBC video] on the occasion of the christening of the sixth U.S.Navy ship to be the Truxtun, which took place in June of this year.

This inspiring story and its majestic setting seldom peep on the radar screen of American tourists and admirers of military heroism. Attention should be paid.

And no (in case any of you are wondering), there ain't too many of us who are made of this kind of stuff anymore.

Thank God there are some-- maybe just enough.


HANGIN' OUT -- NEWFOUNDLAND STYLE -- IN ST. JOHN'S

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Sant

Happy
Saint David’s Day!

Eat a leek for the
Wonder of Wales.



Fond memories of residence and holidays in fair Gwallia.


SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 18
PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 22
HOUSTON, TEXAS

IN BETWEEN: AIR CANADA
My new bumper sticker (feel free to duplicate and distribute at will -- copyright is hereby waived)

If the only way to get to Heaven was on Air Canada, I wouldn't go.
...They'd probably just cancel the flight anyway.

I could tell the whole tale, of the four flights between February 16 and the 26th, but we'd all be asleep in short order. Let's just start with lost luggage.

February 18, PVD to YYZ:
on a Beechcraft (about 20 seats) with a total of 6 passengers. Six pieces of luggage (four checked, two carry-ons). My suitcase does not appear. I join the angry, seething crowd at the baggage claim desk and, while trying to file my report, am told by the Air Canada employee that "Whining will get you nowhere." There are five or six telephone calls to the baggage tracing number, one trip to the airport, and numerous attempts at the internet bag tracer. At the time of my departure for IAH on Wednesday, February 21, the bag is somewhere in limbo, waiting for customs clearance.

Departure to IAH:
Delayed because neither the flight attendant nor the ramp crew notices that there's an electrical cord lying in the hatchway when they pull the door closed. The cord winds around the emergency chute, which will deploy if they open the door to get the cord out. We change planes. Our 8:40 a.m. flight leaves at 2:00 p.m., minus 14 of its passengers who didn't get seats.

Cut to Monday, February 26:
YYZ has cancelled numerous flights due to an onslought of 3 or 4 inches of snow. My 5:00 p.m. flight from IAH to YYZ is filled with people who've been waiting since early morning. We depart IAH at about 8:00 p.m., and arrive YYZ just after midnight.

Not one single piece of luggage belonging to the 70 passengers emerges onto the carousel. An angry, seething crowd clusters around the baggage claim desk. It appears that the cargo hold of the plane did not leave Houston empty (one of our fears), but the Toronto crew did forget to remove the luggage once it arrived at YYZ. All passengers eventually receive their bags and are ready to leave by 2:00 a.m.

This delay affords me time to comb the rows and rows of abandoned luggage between the ten huge carousels in the international claim area. Twice. I do not find the lost bag of February 18. (But I do find heaps of bags thrown into corners, one cluster of at least forty pairs of skis-- what a great vacation those people must be having!!-- and mass disorder on an epic scale.)

I am then directed to the domestic claim area, on the other side of a glass wall, where, I am told, a huge load of baggage has recently been cleared by customs. I exit the international area and then push my cart backwards through the exit doors to the domestic area, and begin to comb the rows of baggage there.

It's not here:



Or here:



Or here:


Or here:
The sorrowful voice of a fellow bag-pilgrim is heard nearby: "This is like a needle in a hay-stack."

I reply, "This airline is beyond embarrassment." He responds, "I agree-- and I work for them."

He wears a dark blue uniform with braid on the cap and sleeves. He is an Air Canada pilot, whose bag is also lost.
In the spirit of kindness he tells me, "If you don't find it here, there's a room, over in the corner, where there are about 200 bags. Just ask at the desk and you can look in there."

I have always known, in my heart, that somewhere there's a room.

I walk over there. No one pays any attention to me, so I find the room on my own, and walk in.

Nine days, with more phone-screaming and swearing and walking up and down amid piles and heaps of lost luggage than I dare relate, and at last I have found my bag. Of February 18. I arrive home, with all my luggage, 2:30 a.m., February 27.

Richard Branson could put this airline out of business in 2-3 weeks. I wish he thought it might be worth it.



AIR CANADA -- STOP THEM BEFORE THEY KILL AGAIN.

FOX NEWS -- SO HIP IT HURTS

Threw away a late Sunday evening recently watching the FoxNews lineup of, er, um, “light?” – “comedy?” – programming. Started with the second half of If Hollywood Ran America. A great idea, lots of fodder for mockery, comedy, or dry and biting satire. Alas—none of these to be found anywhere.


Followed by The Half-hour Newshour, Fox’s new venture into the “fake news” market now dominated by Jon Stewart’s Daily Show and Stephen Colber-r-r-r-r-e’s Colbert Report.

Jon— Stephen— a word to the wise: lie quiet and content, your jobs are secure. The best comment on The Half-hour Newshour (and I can’t hat-tip this because I don’t know who said it first) has to be that it resembled nothing less than the script which would have been produced had a bunch of rabidly left-wing bloggers and activists set out to create a satire of the type of mean-spirited, puerile show that their mean-spirited conservative enemies would think was funny. Padding out the occasional genuinely funny line or bit was a bunch of limp and lame-o pokes in the liberal eye that went from sophomoric to really offensive.

Next on the lineup was It’s Out There, Fox’s new cutting edge overview of what’s hot on the blogs and the ‘net in general. Hosted by Kirsten Powers and the often grating Michelle Malkin—a woman whose thought processes are usually on course but whose TV presence can leave me clenching my teeth. Malkin has been a blog pioneer, and has been on the receiving end of vile dirty tricks and verbal abuse (apparently there are those on the left who think that calling her a “Chink” constitutes an argument against her positions—she is, in fact, a Filipina)—so she knows the workings of the blogosphere as well as anybody. When it comes to being annoying, she’s certainly not in the Ann Coulter league (nightmare hag!), but... I dunno, sometimes she bugs me. Also assisting on It’s Out There is some guy named Griff Jenkins, a Fox roving video reporter and techno-geek. Also a little irritating—nothing I couldn’t handle.

Nevertheless: I didn’t last through the entire show. The information was less than exciting, some of it downright stale, and the inter-hostess banter was oh so lame-o.

Dear FoxNews: GIVE IT UP!!!!

COLBERT COULD BEAT YOU SENSELESS WITH A POPSICLE STICK!!!

NEW SUNDAY PROGRAMMING = SUCKS!!! HUGE!!!!

And while you’re at it, lose Shepard Smith. My initial impression of him turned out to be bang-on.

Just found this on YouTube. It's more entertaining than the subject it parodies.

HEATHROW AIRPORT, AUGUST 2006:
All my worldly goods in a clear plastic bag

Just returned from London, filled, as usual, with admiration for the way official Britain acts in the face of terrorism (as opposed to the way they speak of late, which can only be described in Mrs. Thatcher's famous term, as "WET"). All passengers were kept out of the terminal until a couple of hours before their departure time, corralled on a 4th-level parking lot. Folding chairs, marquis tents, free water, sandwiches, and granola bars all provided, as well as four to six highly visible information officers at each door with lists of which flights were operative and had or hadn't been called in yet--all of the representatives of officialdom, by the way, sporting generally pleasant attitudes and good manners.

There were numberless whiners, of course, but that doesn't mean that things weren't being handled reasonably well-- the unpleasantness of the experience did not come close to our worst expectations. And, bottom line, is there anything quite so unpleasant as being blown out of the sky by some freaking jihadist with explosives in his lemonade bottle?????? I'll trade a couple of hours on the sidewalk for that any day. It was not nearly as chaotic and irritating as Toronto's Pearson airport two days after a bunch of flights had been cancelled due to a couple of days of serious thunderstorms.

My capsule assessment of the Israeli/Lebanese mini-war: The Rumsfeld Doctrine [attack of the High-Tech Toys instead of massive waves of boots on the ground] FAILS AGAIN.

* * * * *

Very much enjoyed being, on the whole, detached from reality in Oxford and environs for ten days. Would much prefer to think about earlier times when folks had a better notion of what was what, while sitting here:

and being one of these:


We thought we'd be fighting off the students and tourists to sit on these hallowed benches, but the nook was empty and we had it to ourselves.

I have seldom hoisted a pint in better company.

Other Tolkien haunts enjoyed:

--the Oxford Oratory
--Pembroke College
--Holywell Street
--Blackwell's bookstores

and these:

ROLLRIGHT STONES (possible Weathertop?)















ROLLRIGHT -- "WHISPERING KNIGHTS"
















ROLLRIGHTS -- RETURN OF "THE KING"

















ROLLRIGHTS -- NEARBY VISTA

WHERE TOLKIEN VISITED [I never read it in a brochure, but you can bet on it] -- a little piece of Normandy in Iffley village, Church of St. Mary, ca. 1170


When reality sucks, try this. Well, this is more real than "reality".