You’re not going to believe these aren’t photos.

Spotted at Twists and Turns blog.

Looks like the bulls are raking up a good score in Pamplona this year. At the risk of being tactless, I always root for the bulls. Hemingway notwithstanding, this is a stupid, anachronistic and cruel practice.

Here’s an interesting article by Michael Kanellos, CNET News.com. He says that writing of handwritten letters is making a comeback in the business world.

I used to write letters all the time. Before I became surgically attached to this Dell, I had good handwriting. In my desk, I still have boxes of fine stationary – some custom made – and an elegant box of nice fountain pens. If you received a one page, handwritten letter from me, back in those days, you can bet I spent two hours on it. And I had the time to do so.

Now I fume over the two minutes it takes me to delete the approximately 100 pieces of spam I receive each day. And if your e-mail takes me five minutes to read, God help you. This evening, I sent three “letters” by computer to old friends in the 15 minutes before dinner.

If letter writing comes back, I’ll be ready. Maybe. If my bottled ink hasn’t all dried up.

Getting a writing idea is like someone handing you a dandelion in a high wind. Better make wine quickly.

I can’t imagine better advice to our fractious, agitated world than that from the Pope today.

Slow Down and Think

And as a Russian Orthodox Christian, I’m please to see the Mother of God of Kazan is going home.

It’s hard to live in the moment. In the moment, the glare of the screen hurts the eyes, and the sunlight bouncing from the wall as well. The edge of the chair hurts in the back of the legs, the belly hangs tight over the waistband, and the lower back aches as the body slouches into the computer.

I think it would be nice if people quit telling me to live in the moment. The occasional pleasure I take in life tends to derive from a tangential impression that a span of time has proven to be benign. A stretch of rough road may have a beautiful view; the path through thorny weeds may be freshly paved. There’s pleasure in either, over a few miles. As for true happiness, we tickle it with our metaphysics.

— my writing journal, 4/1/03

I’ve been staying up pretty late in the last few weeks. My internal clock is all out of what. So I’ve been watching Northern Exposure on the Hallmark channel, weeknights at 1am. I loved that show.

After watching tonight, I googled Peg Phillips, who played Ruth Anne Miller on the show. I learned that she died in November 2002, in Seattle. That’s sad. I hope she’s found peace.

Oh, this is just great. I have always loved telling people what time it is. In recent years, it’s become sort of an existential metaphor, like “I’m gonna eat your lunch for you.” But even as a kid, I liked setting clocks and letting people know when things were off kilter.

One time, at my older old job, we were having a meeting. The supervisor was chewing us out for being late in the morning — most of us had to be there by 7am, I shit you not. She said that we were consistently coming in two or three minutes late. I pointed out that the clocks in our department were almost ten minutes fast, and I’d been coming in by the big clock in the lobby at the one in Administration, which were right.

She took my head clean off. Just reached over, removed it, and handed it to me. In front of everybody. OK, that was a stupid move.

But if you want to know what time it is — like time to get somebody else in the White House — I’m here to tell you. There’s a clock right here on my blog. Tick tock, George. Heh heh.

I don’t know how he got it up there, but not to worry. He caught a bus.

The Patriot Act has kept its teeth.

“This new world we live in is going to force us to have some constraints.” So said Rep. Zach Wamp, R-Tenn, as he and 209 other patriots — in the new sense of the word — voted to leave the nefarious Patriot Act as it is, so the government keeps its power to spy on us. And I believe the gentleman from Tennessee is right. We’re forced to have constraints, we’re forced to lose our liberty, we’re forced to betray the legacy of our nation and our veterans. Because we’ve elected idiots and cowards to Congress. So it goes.

Shame!

“‘Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us

comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes

seeming to divine a purpose…. From the standpoint of

daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: that

man is here for the sake of other men — above all for

those upon whose smile and well-being our own happiness

depends, and also for the countless unknown souls with

whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy.”

~Albert Einstein

I went down to the shopping center today, to have coffee with Dad. When I drove up, I noticed a man sitting on the ground, next to the bench, in front of my insurance agent’s office, near the coffeehouse. Another man was with him, though not sitting on the ground. We got our coffee, and sat on a bench nearby.

The second man walked some thirty feet away, made a call on his cell phone, then returned to the first man – whose name we soon learned was Robert. Robert had gotten off the ground and was sitting on a bench. His friend spoke to him. I only heard little bits of what he said, but it went something like this:

“Man, they say you have a warrant out for your arrest. … Robert, you know I’d help you, but I’m on probation myself. … You think you should turn yourself in? … You know you can’t run. … Robert, you can’t run. … You have people who love you. … You’re a wonderful man. … You go in, you can get into detox.”

We drank our coffee, and in a few minutes, a police car cruised slowly by, then another, and a third. They took parking places among the other cars in the lot, discreetly.

I told Dad, “I had a feeling they’d be here. Maybe we should move, give them a little room to work.” So we moved a little farther away, but we were still within earshot of what was going down with Robert.

The police officers walked up and talked with Robert’s friend, who told them Robert “needs help.” Then he left, drinking a Starbucks Frapucino through a straw. I don’t mean to seem flippant, it’s just a fact. He’d done his best for his friend.

The cops woke Robert up – he was drifting off in a sitting position – and helped to his feet. They handcuffed him, and let him sit on the bench, while one of the officers went to get a car to take him in. Another officer asked Robert why he was drinking so much today, and if he always does. He didn’t answer; in fact, I never heard him say anything. The cop added that this was for the best: “You can go in take care of your warrants tomorrow.” They put him in a car and took him away. I noticed he was laying across the back seat.

I told my Dad, and I’ll tell you, that alcoholism ruins countless lives. It never lets you go. There’s no cure. Did you know that? Alcoholism/drug addiction is a progressive, incurable, ultimately fatal disease. There is a treatment, by which the disease can be arrested – so to speak – and I pray to God that Robert finds it, before it’s too late.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could find a source of the resources to find a more compassionate way of dealing with the victims of the disease, besides taking them to jail. That’s a good dream. Meanwhile, let’s pray for Richard and all those who suffer.