Before I venture out into the arctic wasteland known as New England to walk the Bloodthirsty Puppy, let me dispel the fright and worry of infanticide and Liberal Fascism with this wonderful, awesome, spirit-livening sonata by Domenico Scarlatti.
I’ve been listening to a lot of Scarlatti lately—a whole lot—but this is the piece (and the performance of the piece) I keep coming back to. During the two and a half minutes of its duration, I am never more grateful to be alive. Can I bestow higher praise?
When I mentioned this piece to an acquaintance, she came back with Dubravka Tomsic:
We were eight years old on Saturday, thanks for remembering. (Don’t worry, we forgot too.) Blog years are like dog years, or close enough. A lot of blogs our age are long since dead. Maybe they were on to something.
We’re moving a little slower these days than in our heady youth. Indeed, we tried to end it all last year (or I did). But Aggie bound our wounds and sent us back into the fray. For which we are grateful. Imagine having signed off before the worst year of Obama’s presidency (among stiff competition)!
When we started, Barack Obama was a simple senator; the surge had “won” Iraq; kill ratios against the Taliban were routinely 100-1; and the economy had been kicking tail for years. Now look at us—rather the US.
Some may call this blog a failure, a useless pursuit, “the expense of spirit in a waste of shame” (as Shakespeare described us). Guilty as charged.
Though I prefer the few epithets we’ve set aside over the years: “The hobgoblin of little blogs.” “A knack for taking the already disturbing and turning it into the abjectly ghastly.” “Hamsters with hobbies.” Guilty as charged.
We used to have higher hopes… I guess, No, really, we did. We—I—thought this might be a tiny cherished gem buried deep within the mountainous blogosphere. Not the Mother Lode, maybe, but not pyrite either. The fool’s gold was in thinking we made a difference. That we made a sound. That we made a ripple in the great ocean of the Internet. Even if we did accomplish the latter two, sounds die away and ripples are lost to other ripples, waves, tides.
In the end, we just scratched an itch—like we all do every night in our sleep, in unmentionable areas. This isn’t the end, of course, though that will come eventually. Until we find the right ointment, however, there will be itches to scratch. If you don’t want to watch, avert your eyes.
By all means, please toast us, if it crosses your mind.
There has been an outpouring of support on Twitter and other social media sites as police continue their search for the missing son of Boston Globe columnist Jeff Jacoby.
Caleb Jacoby, 16, was last seen at about 12:30 p.m. Monday. His apparent disappearance has triggered a police investigation and a grassroots effort by members of the local Jewish community to find the missing teen, an 11th-grade student at Brookline’s Maimonides School, a religious institution focusing on the teachings of the Torah.
The investigation was ongoing as of early Wednesday morning, according to a spokesman for the Brookline Police Department. “It’s still active; no changes at all,” he said.
Efrat Lipshitz, Caleb’s Hebrew teacher, is helping to distribute fliers with information about the teen, who’s about 5-foot-11 and 140 pounds with short, light brown hair.
“We don’t know anything. We don’t have even a clue,” Lipshitz said Tuesday about the whereabouts of his quiet and serious student.
Authorities said Caleb is known to frequent public libraries and Young Israel of Brookline on Green Street. There have been no reported sightings at those venues since he went missing midday Monday, however, and his family hasn’t received any communications from him, electronic or otherwise.
Wicked Local Brookline reports that police do not suspect foul play and are treating the matter as a missing-person case.
Those of us who read Jacoby regularly, know Caleb—or of Caleb—well. Jacoby has written an open letter to his son since Caleb’s birth.
Of course Mama and I care about your progress in English and science and religious studies, too. Sure, we want you to grow up to be good at math. But it’s even more important that you grow up to be a mensch.
It’s a message I try to reinforce whenever I can. After every meal, I tell you constantly, make sure to thank the person who prepared it — and that includes the “kitchen ladies” at school. When you play with your brother, you’re not allowed to torment him — kindness and courtesy aren’t only for outsiders. “Make me proud of you,” I say each morning when I drop you off at school — a daily reminder that while your parents’ love is automatic, their admiration is something you must earn.
At 9, you’re off to a great start, Caleb — bright, energetic, inquisitive, articulate. Who knows what great things await you? Just remember: Whatever else you grow up to be, make sure to be a mensch.
All my love,
I’m praying, as best as I know how, for the safe return of Caleb Jacoby. Please join me.
December 18, 2013 at 7:46 am
· Filed under Blogging
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My only comment on the Red Sox 3rd World Series title in ten years:
Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds is the signature tune of Sox outfielder Shane Victorino. I love it because it’s the antithesis of the hard-rocking, bad-ass-rapping of most ball players’ in-themes. A perfect musical expression for the wide-eyed Flyin’ Hawaiian. And wonderful for the fans to adopt it so full-throatedly, as they already had with Sweet Caroline.
There was nothing inevitable about this world championship. Unless ultimate victory was ordained the moments two bombs went off at the Marathon finish line, maybe a mile and not more than a few minutes from Fenway Park where the Sox had just defeated the Tampa Bay Rays, 3-2. The connection may be lost on the rest of you, but we would ask you how else to explain the improbable success of this season. Just as a team named the New England Patriots won the Super Bowl after 9/11.
We can’t explain it. But we don’t have to. We know that “every little thing goin’ to be alright.”
Aggie, I know (or at least assume) that your rodentia prognosticators, Barney and Frank, are hamsters, not gerbils, and boys, not girls—but what’s the difference?
The American Gerbil Society’s annual pageant brought dozens of rodents scurrying to New England this weekend for a chance to win “top gerbil.”
The Bedford competition called for agility demonstrations in which the gerbils must overcome obstacles and race to the end of a course. Breeders of the small animals vie for coveted ribbons based on body type and agility.
“A male gerbil should be a good, strong, hefty-looking gerbil,” said Libby Hanna, president of the American Gerbil Society. “If you are going to think of it in human terms, you might think of a football player — somebody who’s big, thick neck, nice, strong-looking male gerbil.”
An ideal female gerbil will have a more streamlined appearance that even humans covet, she said.
“So she would be strong and athletic-looking — not really scrawny, but slim,” said Hanna, who serves as a judge in the show.
Someone get me a fan! I’m feeling flushed!
Check out the tail on her!
If Barney and Frank are anything like their namesake, they don’t take after either ideal. As for “coveting” either one, gerbils are not my type. Though I did feel something when a chipmunk gave a come hither look the other day.
There are some good facts in this story worth telling. However, I am most surprised that there has not been any mention of the fact that Obama pretty much admits that Head Start is mostly a free day care program, especially combined with the study showing that Head Start does not give kids any measurable advantage over children who did not attend Head Start.
I am not completely against a free day care program for poor mothers to get an education that will eventually remove them from welfare. Really, it’s another way the country can be the husband they don’t have and isn’t that what we are trying to do?
I knew several young women in the early 80′s who were doing this exact thing. They received welfare, in those days around $440. a month, food stamps, medicaid, and lived in subsidized housing that cost the government $760. a month (for a townhouse that would rent for about $400., much higher than an average apartment in that area). And on top of that, the cost of Head Start for a few kids and an education program for mom. It was hard to see that amount of money being spent but if it got them out of the welfare system I thought it might be worth it. Now, seeing how many more people are on welfare, and how many are single mothers, maybe not.
This is all part of a much longer story and now I realize that this nice young man who decided to get involved and help these families (to get assistance in paying their utility bills) was a community organizer. I never understood his motives for wanting to get involved. I thought he must have been a college student studying social work. He’s probably retired from a nice comfy government job by now and spending his free time protesting Israel.
January 18, 2013 at 7:11 am
· Filed under Blogging
Today marks seven years since Bloodthirstan became an independent republic.
I think that’s time enough. I’m stepping down.
I mentioned this to Aggie well before the election, which I thought Romney would win. If he had, I would feel better about the decision. But the prospect of beating Obama about the head and neck for the next four years, much as he may deserve it, wearies even me. To paraphrase Dr. Johnson, he who is tired of berating a pompous, liberal, narcissistic prick is tired of life.
I’m not; in fact, I intend to carry on assailing liberal orthodoxy and standing up for Israel in every venue, at every opportunity. Just different venues, different opportunities. Life moves forward.
I can’t tell you how much fun it’s been to be Bloodthirsty Liberal, and to have had you as readers. I always wished we had more of you, but, judging by your comments and emails, I’ve never found the quality wanting. Besides, we’ve never been about (solely about) compiling numbers, as even our off-putting blog name demonstrates. Thanks for clicking on the link the first time, wherever you saw it, whatever prompted you to do so, and thanks for coming back. Buck, Judi, Jeanette, Joe, Carol (where did she go???), Yerushalimey (who’s been with us from almost the beginning), even Saul, and some of our illustrious readers of the past, Barb—the Jewish, conservative lesbian from Pittsburgh—and the late, lamented Martino… thank you all. Aggie and I didn’t change the world (or if we did, we should be charged with malpractice), but we persuaded you to read us. That’s more than enough, and we’re very grateful.
The rent on the site is paid up till August. I can’t say what Aggie will do—heck, I can’t even say what I will do. A seven-year habit is hard to break. Wish me luck in trying.
Feel free to comment or to write us an email at bloodthirstyliberal-at-comcast-dot-net. We’ll meet again/Don’t know where, don’t know when/But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.
PS: Back again. Miss me? I always promised myself that if I ever gave up this gig, this would be my last act. Promise kept.