Remember them always.........

May the memory of this president fade into nothingness as the memory of the soldiers he wasted in battle grows to greater prominance. May we all be "rebels of the Sacred Heart" with solidarity forever.

Not just the worst foregin policy

Jimmy Carter meant it......I will say it....

George W. Bush is the worst President in United States History....on all counts!!!!

Finally, A President With Some "Constitution"

I would just like all to note the words of President Jimmy Carter. The man, for however much people dont like him, really came through here and I hope citizens (in addition to the readership) will consider what he has to say:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/6672035.stm

Mr Carter told the BBC Mr Blair's backing for US President George W Bush had been "apparently subservient".

He said the UK's "almost undeviating" support for "the ill-advised policies of President Bush in Iraq had been a major tragedy for the world".

His comments came as Mr Blair paid what is likely to be his last visit to Iraq.

He flew into the capital, Baghdad, for talks with President Jalal Talabani and Prime Minister Nouri Maliki at which he is expected to push for greater reconciliation between Iraq's Sunni and Shia factions.

Mr Blair is due to leave office at the end of next month.

'Global schisms'

Mr Carter said that if Mr Blair had distanced himself from the Bush administration's policy during the run-up to the 2003 invasion of Iraq it might have made a crucial difference to American political and public opinion.

"One of the defences of the Bush administration... has been, okay, we must be more correct in our actions than the world thinks because Great Britain is backing us," he told the Today programme on Radio 4.

"So I think the combination of Bush and Blair giving their support to this tragedy in Iraq has strengthened the effort and has made the opposition less effective and prolonged the war and increased the tragedy that has resulted."

The war had "caused deep schisms on a global basis", he said, and he hoped Mr Blair's successor, Gordon Brown, would be less enthusiastic in his support for it.

The former US president has been a fierce critic of the US-led war in Iraq.

In an interview last year, he said he was "disappointed" by Tony Blair's failure to use his influence with President Bush more wisely.

In 1976, Mr Carter unseated the incumbent Gerald Ford to become the 39th US president, serving until 1981.

He won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2002, for what presenters cited as decades of work seeking peaceful solutions and promoting social and economic justice.

--Courtesy BBC

Back to English

I changed the language of the Blog back to English. I wish I knew Italian so that I could have changed it to that. Someday I will remove the bushel basket from the light.

We fought a revolution to rid ourselves of the British Monarchy. Why do we welcome the Queen to our shores to celebrate what they tried to destroy?

Need a Night at Nanny's

I need a night at Nanny's. I miss the uncompromised atmosphere that we get at the bar. Plus I want to try out my new video phone and see if we can add some things to the blog.

I also want to discuss what direction we should take the evolution of Norm at Nite for the summer. I just realized that we missed the road trip for Flogging Molly. Oh well.

Of note to us at PaddyWop

Here is an article in the 4/30 Post that is relevant to us here at Paddywop. The truth has enemies everywhere.

It has been a month--

It has been a month since anyone has posted to Paddywop. I am a bit disheartened by the size of the audience but then I guess I nothing to complain about. Life goes on and I am a bit sad is all.

I did get a new cell phone today. I have wonderful plans for it but i am sure none of them will come to pass.

I wish I was still at Hogwarthe but I am not. Mark my words...I will always be a "rebel of the sacred heart!" and for that I thank paddy and Flogging Molly.

And, of course, history doesn't really matter anyhow

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdHF2T3MdmU

Ouch!! I toyed with the idea of putting this on the Euro site, but then I'd be accused of "liberal bias" since there is nothing such as 'truth' anymore. Any yes, WOP, I'm stifling all comments on affirmative action as well...well, except that one.

oh and let's not forget http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VjSoKy7jNUQ&mode=related&search=

Surviving the night on handfuls of gorp and with the aid of my amazingly versatile new light saber (more of a light dagger actually), we broke camp and headed back down the mountain to where we had left the car the day before. The temperature had risen a bit during the night, so a thaw was on. While enjoying a cup of coffee a lone X-country skiing slid past our camp – she had been on the mountain alone the night before and had a difficult day ahead of her in the slushy snow; not sure how far she had to go, but she had a large pack. Made me think how heavy my pack would end up if I ever decided to go long-distance solo. Hmmm…and whether or not my failing knees could take it. About a mile down, the extent of the thaw quickly became apparent and spirits lifted as the sun came out to warm our descent.

Most of the snow on the road had already melted within abut a half mile of the car, so there was no real problem at all making it back down to the valley. However, we still had three free days and needed to figure out exactly where we wanted to spend them. Sobin relentlessly harped on the point that ‘we should’ve headed to North Carlonia’ as originally planned. Ah well, as the poet said, ‘the best laid plans…’ (Ours, however, we not exactly laid well, let alone in competition for the best laid.) Of course the world famous Smoke Caverns were just a few miles down the road, but I could garner no support for the side-trip, despite the added attraction of West Virginia’s largest souvenir shop AND FOOD!

Ah yes, food. Stopping at the Little Mountain General store (it may have been he 'FOR ALE' sign outside that worked on my subconsciousness and made me pull in) for a “cheese-burgar” [sic] and a cup of coffee, we sat at the food counter, chatted a bit with some locals trying to devise a new plan for continuing the trek, and speculated on how odd, or rather I should say unique, this Spring Break trip might appear to mot people (boring people). But the ‘burgars’ proved tasty, the locals somewhat taciturn, but friendly and helpful, and the Potomac Valley, though not yet touched with the breath of spring, still looked quite lovely in the mid-day sun; the snows of Dolly Sods behind us, we headed 30 miles north to Wardensville to make our way up to the Tuscarora Trail. [To be continued – please feel free to add your thoughts here Sobes.]

Rebels of the Sacred Heart

Now I'm aimin' for heaven
But probably wind up down in hell
Where upon this alter I will hang my guilt ridden head
But it`s time I'll take before I begin
Three sheets to the wind, three sheets to the wind
Rebels are we, though heavy our hearts shall always be
Ah, no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We're the rebels of the sacred heart
I said no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We're the rebels of the sacred heart
Terrified of the open road
Yeah, where it leads ya never know
But rest assured he'll be on you back
Yeah, the holy ghost through his tounges in black
As the band dog howls and the young girl cries
The blessed virgin in her proud dad's eye
The albatross hangin' round your neck
Is the cross you bare for your sins he bleeds
Rebels are we, though heavy our hearts shall always be
Ah, no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We're the rebels of the sacred heart

Genuflect all you refugees who fled the land
Now on guilt you kneel
And say a prayer for those left behind
From beyond the pale to the northern sky
So you saved your shillings and your last six pence
Cause in God's name they built a barbed wire fence
Be glad you sailed for a better day
But don't forget there'll be hell to pay
Rebels are we, though heavy our hearts shall always be
Ah, no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We're the rebels of the sacred heart
I said no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We're the rebels of the sacred heart
Reserrection no protection all things life must be
Ah no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We're the rebels of the sacred heart
Now bless me father for I have sinned
But it's the same old story again and again and again
Ah well, such is the bread of an everyday life
From mornin' to noon to this shadowless night
Rebels are we, though heavy our hearts shall always be
Ah, no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We're the rebels of the sacred heartI
said no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We're the rebels of the sacred heart.

Thanks to C, the Poet, and of course Flogging Molly for a beautiful Saturday spent in a land far far away. And to all of those unfortuntes we slammed into, my apologies; Paddy and Wop together in motion add up to a good deal of momentum. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MhN7peFZdp0

A Most Curious WV Adventure

Spring Break! For some this dredges up images of drunken idiots shedding clothing and inhibitions in direct relation to the number of beers consumed in some vain attempt to prove something, earn a hallowed place in someone else's lexicon of buffoonery, or pretend that they had an 'awesome' time of it all. Those who know me - and at this point, considering the restrictions on PW at the moment, that's anyone reading this - that particular ritual was neither written into Paddy's liturgical calendar nor intrigued me as a pastime. Spring Break 2007 took Paddy and two traveling mates about as far from the hyped beaches of college misery as possible. We had five days set aside for a backpacking adventure, and eschewing the long drive from DC to the Smokey Mountains we headed westward into the mountains, destination Petersburg WV and the Dolly Sodds Wilderness. Keen on tackling a good first day trail, we reluctantly passed up the opportunity to visit Smoke Caverns and ‘West Virginia’s largest souvenir shop and food’ (Paddy was intrigued by the claim to WV’s largest food, but owe drove!). We did, however, stop at an Army surplus shop in Pertersburg with a might fine collection of camies, where we should have paid more attention to the woolen gloves. Shortly after departing Petersburg, home of the Golden Trout and WV’s largest military museum, we left the Potomac Valley and began our ascent. Having made it about halfway up the mountain, we suddenly became aware of the fact that Spring had not yet made it to this part of West Virginia, as the dirt road turned to mud, then slush, and finally to snow-covered track. Onward and upward we climbed in our new-model, mid-range Japanese sedan, sliding round one precipitous corner and up till we simply could get no further; we actually ground to a halt in about 6 inches of wet snow and were lucky to get the thing turned around, still about 3 miles from the parking place, our proposed jump off onto the trail into Dolly Sodds. Not to be thwarted, however, we all agreed to leave the car on the side of the road, don our packs, and hike the rest of the way to the car park. Before setting out we chatted with a couple of local boys and their dog coming down the mountain; they had tried the ascent in their 4x4 but had been forced to turn around as well. A cold, steady sleet began as we began the trek to the top. Now dear reader, you might expect that a three mile hike up a road would prove relatively easy and straightforward. Let’s just say that there were times when one or another of us actually vocalized the phrase, ‘are we crazy.’ A rhetorical question of course, but it perhaps needed saying, if only to reassure ourselves that we weren’t.

We started out at 4:35pm. By 5:30pm we had made it as far as some crazy hunter’s shed, still something like a mile and a half from our destination, at which point we decided we would spend the night camped near the car park and set off down the trail in the morning for a full day’s hiking and three stream crossings. Shortly after the hunter’s shack, all vehicle tracks came to an end on the road and we found ourselves slogging it up the remainder of the mountain in about six to twenty inches of snow. 6:10: we reached the summit but still had a remaining 1.2 miles across the ridge before the jump-off point down the trail. A brief conference ensued as to the feasibility of reaching the trail-head before darkness descended, cut short by a return of the sleet; we headed west into the woods. By 7pm our light was failing, the sleet, made more bone chilling by an cruel wind that whipped across the ridge, was taking it’s toll (I failed to mention that one of us made the ascent without gloves or woolen cap), and we experienced while hastily trying to get the tent up that brief moment when you wonder if this is the point when it all starts to go really, dangerously wrong. I’m not playing at the melodramatic here; there was indeed an instant when the thought passed over me that we should have set up earlier, a mile down the path. Anyway…we managed to get the tent up and passed the night without incident, though our planned dinner of beef stew had to be replaced with handfuls of gorp and cheese consumed within the tent. Oh, Matt did manage to boil enough water to produce a couple mugs of raman. Reassessing our situation in the morning, we decided, with the trail being completely snow-covered and the prospect of even more intense winter-camping ahead of us, to sod Dolly Sodds, and head for greener pastures (and greener mountains if possible).

I'd Say He Had a Damned Fine Time of It

Irish Fest

It is off to RFK today for some Irish culture. I am very excited to be seeing the "famous" Flogging Molly. Sounds a bit kinky:). I will let you know how I liked it when I get back tonite.

C

Me First Post

Well Gents I'd say something along the lines of its nice to be brought into this lovely blog, but I've been around awhile now, so enough with the formailities.

Thought I'd give the ol' Paddywop a bit of my specialty, and that's music. I've been telling Paddy that I wish politicians could only express themselves musically for more purposes than one, but primarily so that when they wanted to propose something idiotic no one would get caught up in high falootin language, but could see (or hear rather) straight to the point. My hero Woodie Guthrie was known for his down to earth music and the witty bites he'd take at the well to do senators back in Washington. I hope you enjoy this note written to Alan Lomax at the Library of Congress September 9th, 1940:

"The boys and girls down in Oklahoma make as much of a celebration out of election day as they can. Most of them are still full of pep and vinegar and body politics. Wait a second there's a guitar falling off of the wall and I got to run and catch it. A Catholic family just moved in down below us with three kids and they shake everything out of the other four floors of this old building. There is a lady thats pregnant visits on the first floor and she might of dropped a little something. Yes Texas is interested in politics too but not so much elections. Down there its mainly who can play the best hoedown music. Well its sort of that a way in Oklahoma too and even in California because after W. Lee. O'Daniels got to be governor on a break down fiddle the musicians has sobered up a little and are we getting big ideas. Now I said that they was all a sobering up and maybe I didnt exactly mean that. The other half of them is a drinking more than both sides use to and a practicing up to beat the devil. Yes sir musical elections is what we got down there. And Roosevelt or Willkie one would do dern good to make that stretch of country with a guitar fiddle or something -- but Roosevelt has been a fiddling around now all over the 48 states for some long time. Why I've seen judges and repersentatives and all kinds of congress men get elected down in there just on one good greasy string. And I personally know of one colored boy down close to Seminole that has put three district judges and 2 county sherrifs and 11 members of 4 school boards into office just with a 50-cent mouth harp and it aint what you say in your speech down yonder its just who hires that colored boy to blow them freight train blues and play that Lost Indian and The Fox and the Hounds on that french harp. I feel like I ought to mention in a round about way too that he has kept 17 preachers their jobs down through that particular country for the last five years. I guess its about the same all over. Some folks think Im just a joking but this is history. This is what you got to know before you can win a election, music and womens legs -- but with music and bathing beauties you can really sack up -- look what Hitler's done with naked women. Well you take both and you dont need an office. Senators under 12 years aint suppose to read this. We got a little of both back where I come from. Lets see what was I going to say before I spoke? Oh yes it was elections. The average elections are about as useful as a slop jar without a bottom in it. Pardon me a lady just fell out of the top story and I got to run and snatch her. Down in Baltimore Md., they wont let you buy no liquor on election day and so they sell more than ever on that day. They say they want you to vote sober. What difference does it make, you couldnt vote no wronger. Sometimes I think they ought to try it the other way. If the people was to ever win an election, they'd think they was dead and in heaven, I mean in heaven without a having to die. Who started that stuff about you got to get killed to be happy? Some states charge you $1.75 to vote they call it poll tax, that takes a weeks groceries and snuff and most folks figure that the democrats aint worth 1.75 and the republicans aint worth that much. What the world needs to do sometime or other is to vote right just once and win just one election and then it would be a whole lot different. What we need in this president is somebody that believes in his country."

To see the whole letter, which I highly recommend, see and look for the letter title "Vote for Bloat" http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/wwghtml/wwghome.html

Killkenny Sound and the White House Poets

I recall WOP urging me years ago to check out the blogosphere, but it wasn't until I destroyed my TV that I found the time to check out that world, and I have to say I find the activity much more stimulating, edifying, bizarre, and satisfying than anything on the boob-tube. For those out there not living a numbed, wasted, semi-existence in TV-land, you may wish to check out some poetry. http://www.myspace.com/thewhitehousepoets
YITS: whaddya say we make a road trip to Limerick for a wee visit to the White House with a satchel of your work in hand!

And for those who miss the session scene at Nannys: http://podcast.kilkennymusic.com/ There are some good Irish and Scottish music podcasts on ITunes as well. Have a listen to The Angus Sessions http://www.myspace.com/theangussessions or http://www.myspace.com/theangussessions if you want a taste of the Scottish Pub scene. Thistlepod with Fionna Ritchie remains among the best in Celtic music broadcasting. Temple Bar Trad is also quite good. Try a sample of Culturesluts too, if you want to sit in on just a goodchat.

A View From Catholic Scotland

[I pulled this off of a blog from the westcoast of Scotland. Thought some PW faithful, many of whom are fellow Catholic travellers, might find it interesting. The original is here http://www.west-coaster.blogspot.com/]
It's sometimes strange what people type into Google and find West Coast Ramblings. The most common search phrase that finds my blog might be 'An analysis of a poem by Keats' or 'TMA02' or some such associated with my OU studies and it's nice to see new visitors, isn't it. Imagine my surpise therefore when I discovered I was up there on Google for the search phrase 'Imagine all the proddies', because that is exactly the phrase that someone has typed in and found me. What do you think it means? Did John Lennon write another version of his most famous song especially for the Catholic/Protestant divide?I was born and raised in the West of Scotland and although raised a Catholic I never identified with that section of the populace who were descended from the Irish Catholic. There were at my school more Dochertys and Gallaghers, O'Neills and McLaughlins, than there were more commonly perceived Scots names such as McDonald and Mackenzie etc. They were still running a weekly bus between Glasgow and Donegal in those days. But although many of my classmates aligned themselves as being Irish first, Scots second, Celtic supporting etc. I really never, except for a period when I used to take advantage of a free entry into Parkhead after shaking a collecting tin for one of the local priests, I really never felt myself to be in the same mould so to speak. Well I didn't have the genetic background for a start; my mother's side were originally Scots and Welsh and my father's lineage goes back to the Cromarty Firth area for some hundreds of years.I suppose I must have made a conscious decision at some point that if I was going to support any team then for me it felt better to support the local team, Greenock Morton, and so I could stand aloof from all that Rangers/Celtic/Proddy/Catholic crap that so many people wanted to hang on to. Serving an apprenticeship in the local shipbuilding and marine engineering industry in the early sixties I was nevertheless exposed to anti Catholic bigotry and in my naievete my reaction was bemusement, perhaps even bewilderment. Still I was never tempted to react either by pretending to be what I wasn't or by going to the other extreme and adopting the green and white of the Catholic bigot.We've moved on from those days and now although Orange marches and Irish republican marches in the west of Scotland are not entirely a thing of the past they, and the people who promote such things, are increasingly irrelevant and in the general perception so insignificant as to be nearly moribund. And a good thing too.Anway the number one result for the Google search 'Imagine all the proddies' will take you to a letter in the on-line Scotsman which begins thus:It was deeply disappointing to see Sam Galbraith's comments that Catholic schools are the "root cause of sectarianism" (your report, 26 December). As one who travels frequently in other European countries, and has seen separate Catholic schools in action with none of the prejudices that exist in Scotland, it is clear bigotry is bred in the home and the community. Now I can't say I know Sam Galbraith but I used to live in the same scheme as him and looked up to him when I was a Boy Scout and he was a charismatic Venture Scout. His career as a consultant neuro-surgeon, Westminster MP and cabinet minister in a sense mirrored the heights he scaled as a first class mountaineer. He went to Greenock High School, the local 'proddy' school as we used to think of non-denominational schools in those days. And I agree with him; I just hate this separate school system we have in Scotland. It is divisive and it is also simply unfair. There is no justification for it and it should be scrapped. And it would be except for the disproportionate power wielded by the Catholic church in central Scotland local and national politics. I bow to no-one in my support of people to practice their religion but that religion should stand on its own two feet and not depend on an unfair advantage in order to achieve a dominant position in society.This is a secular society and our schools should reflect this. Fuck religion. Now I welcome your comments on the above but here's a challenge for you; if you wish to offer an argument in favour of separate Catholic schools you are not allowed to use the word 'ethos'.
Posted by west coaster at 9:59 PM 1 comments Links to this post

Final Thoughts?

I had hoped we might get more interplay with our discussion of The Painted Bird, but the fact that a few of us at least read together and forced ourselves to think about something long enough to comment pleases me deeply. One final thought for me, and this goes back to an earlier commentary I posted on YITS' observations: Glancing at the Makovsky quotation he inserted before the text, I am convinced now that Kosinski consciously sought to write a novel about humans in the natural world acting as animals. What perhaps distinguishes man from other animals is another constant in the narrative, i.e. the comet, the all-important fire that literally could mean the difference between life and deah for the boy, who Prometheus-like, had to steal his own comet from another man. (Not sure how the Greek analogy works here, since Prometheus obviously belongs to the world of gods rather than men or animals.) I am much less sure how to address the theological issues contained in the narrative, a point that Sobes and YITS brought up for discussion, except perhaps to say that Kosinski's outlook seems rather dim on the idea of God caring much about the world He's created. If anything, I think he definitely mocks Christianity in general and the Catholic beliefs of the peasantry among whom the boy wanders in particular. It is possible Kosinski is making a distinction between religion, what he seems to think is the blind adherence to bizarre rituals and superstitions (the boy you will recall is frequently the victim of their 'misguided' beliefs), and spirituality, but I tended to percieve more a voice of almost total spiritual despair and contempt for those who don't quite 'get it' yet. People had always been comforted by their belief in God, K writes, And they usually died before their children. Such was the law of nature. [my emphasis] God was always in people's minds, he goes on, even when He Himself was too busy to listen to their prayers and keep track of their accumulated days of indulgence. Perhaps Kosinski wants to believe in a God, or grew up with belief and in a religious tradition he would like to have maintained, but his own experiences, similar to another famous Holocaust novelist, crushed him so completely as to extinguish God from the world and the divine spark from humanity (again, without the comet's spark, man whithers and dies). And here we return to where we began, Kosinki's own life story and its relevance to the text. What wasn't included in the Afterward (for some reason placed at the beginning of the novel), and for obvious reasons since that was written by Kosinski himself, is the fact that in 1979 Jerzy Kosinski took his own life.
Thanks to all who contributed their thoughts on the book. I hope more readers will join us in our next literary excursion, this time to Transylvania (Wallachia?) as we read The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova. Let's shoot for 1 April for our next discussion. Oh, and as a final thought I have no idea why someone would think The Painted Bird is pornographic! Oh, and no one mentioned the rat scene - OUCH! [YITS: your copy is on its way to Belfast, so don't worry bout buying one there.]

The Painted Bird

Well i've just finished the book and I would have to agree with the opinions offered by my esteemed collegues here on PaddyWop. Humans are selfish bags of water whose sole aim in life is to live longer and more lavishly than his neighbour, and if that means being cruel or even taking a life, we find a way to justify it by convincing ourselves that the meaning, and the reason for living is surviving and anything we do in the name of survival is alright. I got the impression while reading that Kosinski felt that humans are the bane of the earth and they have even corrupted the natural world; such as the story of how Lekh took revenge on a stork which ultimately led to its death. Man is fundamentally cruel; in his experiences in the countryside Kosinski came across people who did'nt want to aspire to any 'superman' status, instead he is content to just suvive while cloaking himself in superstition as a means of enhancing some lives while condeming others to misery. Kosinski highlighted that, especially in times of war, everything is decay and decaying and those who live in those times are either decaying or feeding off the decay. On a less depressing note, however, I also think there was a somewhat positive tone, especially toward the end. The episode when he jumped under trains and the feeling he got from that plus his feelings about revenge, were interpreted by me as saying that the best revenge to get on anyone, any god even life itslef, is imply to live and enjoy life and to make it fulfilling.

I'm not sure whether I would consider it to be a great book, not on the surface anyway, but it did raise some interesting philosophical questions. Nor would I consider it to be simply an example of twisted Holocaust-ponro because any book that can provoke the type of complex thought that this book obviously did is worthy of a better description. I was wondering, though what conclusions people drew on the superstition and religion in the book? Are they one in the same?

Finally I would also like to commend Paddy on the most fitting and beautiful eulogy he wrote for the Nanny's below. Ne'er a more fitting wrtiten send off could anyone hope for, nor was there ever anyone more fitting than Nanny.