Bush: "Worst in History"

Much was made this weekend over Jimmy Carter's remark that the Bush presidency was the "worst in history." For decades there's been a tacit understanding in the rarefied world of ex-presidents that one doesn't openly criticize one's Oval Office successors. Indeed, to watch the clips of Bush the Elder and Bill Clinton jetting around the globe in the last two years, one might conclude that the two had long been the best of friends and members of the same party. Sure, Bush and Clinton were opponents in the '92 election and were sharply critical of each other over various policy decisions. Given their polar opposite ideological and social foundations, that's not surprising. Nevertheless, in retirement they've become quite chummy, recognizing the bonding nature of membership in that elite fraternity of U.S. presidents. (A few commentators have humorously suggested that Clinton is the son Bush wishes he had.) Moreover, the meetings of former presidents over the years have taken on an obvious poignancy because so many of those gatherings have taken place at funerals for their peers, as demonstrated at the service for Gerald R. Ford only months ago.

Jimmy Carter, however, has never quite assumed quietly the mantle of "ex-president" in its most traditional sense. Where other presidents have retired to a life of crafting memoirs and tending libraries under perpetual Secret Service protection, Carter emerged from his 1980 defeat against Ronald Reagan committed to making a difference following his departure from Washington.

Historians will likely judge Carter's administration rather benignly, underscoring the perceived "malaise" (one of Carter's favorite terms) that punctuated American society in an age of inflation, high interest rates, and declining national confidence. Moreover, the hostage crisis in Iran will be used again and again by Carter's critics to bolster charges of ineptitude and weakness. Yet Carter will also garner considerable credit for restoring public confidence in the Presidency in the aftermath of Watergate. (Watergate seems rather insignificant now, as we begin to expose the diseased heart of the current Bush administration.) We also can't forget the role Carter played in brokering a deal between Egypt and Israel, as embodied in the Camp David Accords.

In the end, however, history will be kindest to Carter as the ex-president. He has worked tirelessly in the last 25 years on myriad causes, particularly in the creation of affordable housing for low-income Americans through Habitat for Humanity. Jerry Falwell and other right wing Christians assailed Carter in the 1980 campaign, preferring instead the pseudo-religiosity of Reagan. Carter has, by contrast, lived the Christian life in word and deed ever since. (The fact that the "Christian Right" adopted Reagan as its torchbearer in the 80s only highlights the extent to which the Reagan camp successfully duped the Religious Right with an acting job worthy of a special Oscar.)

The current Bush administration has responded to recent remarks with a claim of Carter's increasing "irrelevance." Yet Jimmy Carter has actively demonstrated an integrity to which Bush and his cronies can only aspire. One suspects that their greed and penchant for personal gain at the expense of the public good, will negate attempts to mirror Carter's legacy.

If anyone has a right to criticize openly the choices made by a sitting Chief Executive, surely it's those individuals who have already spent time in the Oval Office, pacing the floor over the difficult decisions that must be made in the exercise of one's Constitutional authority. Unfortunately, George W. Bush doesn't appear to have given much thought to the consequences or constitutionality of his actions. One suspects that his life after leaving office in January 2009 will be spent answering the charges of mismanagement and recklessness that will bedevil his legacy into the next century. We can only hope that by the year 2100, this "worst in history" administration will have been consigned to the dustbin of presidential memory, therein to reside with the legacies of our other inept and ineffectual chief executives.

Field Trip

Had the day off and served as a chaperone on my younger son's class field trip to the farmer's market at Union Square. I've been on plenty of these trips, but never quite grow accustomed to the difficulty of keeping 20 first graders in line and relatively attentive. It's like herding cats.

Nevertheless, the weather was beautiful in the City today and it was a perfect day to wander through the stalls of veggies and flowers. Here are some images from the market and the walk back to school.

The irises, which have just started to open, were stunning. And like orchids, their appearance always elicits comparisons to human genitalia. Hmmm, I guess the fully open iris does resemble a woman aroused, with its delicate vulvular folds and subtle color variations from light centers to the more vibrantly-hued edges. Ok, stop that! Get your minds out of the gutter! (There's only room for me in the gutter right now.)

The red rose is the first I've seen blooming this season. Found it at the Jefferson Market Garden in my neighborhood. They have a pretty substantial bed of hybrid teas (on which I've commented before) and some mature climbers on the iron fence that surrounds the garden. I love clematis, by the way. This purple variety was climbing on a fence at school. These will die off by summer but will be replaced by morning glory in the school gardens.

And finally, these pink dahlias were at the farmers' market. I'm always amazed at dahlias because they come in so many sizes and colors and they continue to bloom for a long time. I don't know any of the science behind their cultivation, but I'm guessing they're pretty easy to hybridize, hence their incredible variety. When I lived in Tennessee I always had lots of dahlias in the garden. They're easy to grow, will survive fairly cold winters, are cheap, and widely available . . . even at Wal-Mart or Home Depot. For color in the garden, they're obviously much less work than roses and are a perfect flower for those who claim to possess a "brown thumb."

Impeach Bush

You'll notice a new "Impeach Bush" banner in the right margin of the blog. I've voiced this sentiment before in other posts, but only recently have started to investigate seriously our options on this issue as politically concerned citizens. Please check out this link and learn why George W. Bush deserves impeachment more than any other President in U.S. history (including Nixon).

Let your voice be heard!

Photos by Stephen Shore

If you enjoy photography, particularly documentary photos with a twist, check out this New York Times article on a new show of Stephen Shore's images at the International Center of Photography.

It's hard to explain the appeal of his photographs . . . I just know that when first encountering them several years ago, I was hooked. Perhaps it's the way in which many of his photos - particularly those taken on several cross-country drives in the 1970s - reveal the starkly mundane in American life. Indeed, he often recorded the everyday details that most of us miss. Enjoy!

While walking in the rain yesterday . . .

. . . I spied these giant allium rising above a bed of rather weary-looking purple tulips in Madison Square Park. By the way, the allium is a member of the same genus and shares characteristics with onions, shallots, garlic and leeks. I used to grow these in Tennessee and they're great to use as a rear border of color in beds of mid-spring bloomers. As bulbs, they'll reproduce over the years, giving one a chance to divide them and plant more! The bees love 'em too! Enjoy.

Twenty Years Online!

I just realized that I’ve been writing and meeting people online for twenty years, beginning in 1987 with an account on the old Compuserve, and continuing with accounts on Prodigy (anyone remember Prodigy??) and AOL. There were also the local dial-up bulletin boards, the BBS’s that had all kinds of content. Remember those? And the software that we used to connect to these boards? The old DOS-based Procomm Plus on a 1200 baud modem ring any bells? I hadn’t thought about these for eons until yesterday when the realization of having spent two decades online popped into my cluttered head. (In the photo above, I'm - where else - sitting in front of the computer!)

I think from the start, being online was all about meeting people. Indeed, thanks to Compuserve I had my first online romantic connection in 1990, meeting a very nice woman from Savannah, Georgia. Only later, when Mosaic was the browser of choice, did I begin to exploit the vast amounts of information increasingly available. (I’ll never forget logging into the Library of Congress website for the first time and downloading samples of early 20th century film footage. Don’t laugh! At the time I was a history professor at the University of Tennessee. When one reaches that level of geekdom, it’s easy to get excited over a film clip of William McKinley’s funeral!)

When my first marriage ended in 1997 I took the fateful step of turning to the Internet to meet someone new. Putting a profile up on the relatively new Match.com, within days I found the woman who would become my wife. Our families thought we were crazy . . . but in May 1998 we married, becoming one of the early Internet couples to wed.

And here I am ten years later, writing a blog and continuing to meet people. It’s been fun, stimulating, and I look forward to what the next ten years will bring. For those of us who started using computers in the pre-Internet days of TRS-80s and the first IBM PCs, the pace of change can sometimes be staggering. For my parents’ generation, many of whom are buying their first computers in their 60s and 70s, it’s just overwhelming. So, given the tempo of change in the last 20 years, it’s hard to imagine what the future could hold for those of us online.

Jerry Falwell: American Fascist

Much has been written and said in the last 24 hours celebrating the legacy of Jerry Falwell, a leader of the "Christian Right" who died in Lynchburg, Virginia, yesterday. Certainly he was influential in bringing together the seemingly disparate worlds of politics and religion and proved instrumental in organizing the Moral Majority. Indeed, his activism mobilized conservative voters and likely contributed to the election of Ronald Reagan in 1980.

Nevertheless, he also promulgated the divisive doctrines of homophobia, misogyny, thinly-veiled racism, and intolerance for other spiritual creeds. His voice for "creationism," added to the chorus of fundamentalist anti-intellectualism, did incalculable damage to the teaching of legitimate science in the nation's schools. In short, Jerry Falwell was a disciple of America's nascent homegrown fascism. And, as a propagandist in the information market, responsible for the dissemination of ideas to millions through his television and radio broadcasts, Falwell was an agent of evil no less toxic than Nazi Germany's Joseph Goebbels.

No surprise here!

Your Brain is Orange

Of all the brain types, yours is the quickest. You are usually thinking a mile a minute, and you could be thinking about anything at all. Your thoughts are often scattered and random - but they're also a lot of fun! You tend to spend a lot of time thinking about esoteric subjects, the meaning of life, and pop culture.

What Color Is Your Brain?

Religion Redux

In the last couple of months I've had the good fortune to meet several transplanted Southerners who now call New York City home. Oddly enough, we each had been raised as Southern Baptists and, reaching adulthood, rejected that denomination in favor of more liberal religious climes.

If you follow politics, the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) will be a familiar entity because the denomination always places itself squarely on the right wing of the "right wing." To non-Southerners, the denomination is often conveniently lumped together with other evangelical, conservative groups. And Southern Baptists do mirror the views of many of these organizations, including the Christian Coalition, Promise Keepers, Focus on the Family, and Pat Robertson's army of followers.

But the Southern Baptist Church wasn't always this conservative or politically involved. (Given their recent political connections and attempts to control their members' electoral habits, the SBC's tax-exempt status should be revoked.) Prior to the late 1970s the SBC was a large, but relatively quiet denomination among America's mainstream religious groups. The Southern Baptist Convention leadership, which oversees the denomination, engaged most of its energy and resources in mission work, both domestic and foreign. Individual congregations were largely independent, particularly in terms of what was preached on Sundays.

Beginning in the late 1970s, however, a faction of "fundamentalists" who believed, for example, in the inerrancy of every word of the Bible, began to hijack the denomination and Convention leadership. By the early 1980s, having succeeded, they began the process of enforcing dogmatic belief among congregations and ministers, while purging Baptist seminaries of women (students and professors) and those who didn't subscribe to the fundamentalist party line. In some cases, students and teachers were even forced to sign statements avowing the "literal truth" of the Bible. From that point on, it was just a downward spiral for the SBC as it joined the ranks of America's fascist organizations. Although the vast majority of congregations fell in line, lock-step, behind the Convention's leadership, a few more liberal churches openly broke away, some forming a group called the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship.

Thus it's no surprise that this conservative shift alienated countless individual members who rejected the SBC and, in many cases, walked away from organized religion altogether. So as one of those apostates, I was thrilled to meet people who had experienced the very same thing. I think I've mentioned in earlier posts that religion to Southerners is interwoven in the very fabric of our region's culture. It permeates southern society and affects one's life in the South whether one attends church or not. For those of us who had attended Baptist churches as children - and enjoyed the benefits of Sunday schools and summer "vacation Bible schools" - we understandably felt betrayed by a denomination now preaching a doctrine defined by hate and intolerance. The SBC's pathological anti-intellectualism - most often expressed in its disdain for Darwinist concepts and acceptance of "creationism" - likewise proved unacceptable to more liberal-minded adherents.

To make matters worse, much of what fundamentalists espoused had nothing to do with basic Christianity or traditional Baptist doctrine. Indeed, as Bruce Bawer revealed in Stealing Jesus: How Fundamentalism Betrays Christianity, fundamentalist beliefs were largely of 19th century origin and had no intellectual foundation in the Bible. Add the rise of similarly extremist "Christian" organizations and their cozy relationship with the Republican party, and a sense of betrayal among former SBC members often turned to outrage. (I dealt with the theme of outrage in Friday's post.)

In meeting these "Southern" New Yorkers I was amazed to learn that we had each experienced strikingly similar spiritual journeys that often included years of agnosticism and a rejection of church affiliation. Although I eventually turned to the Episcopal Church as an outlet for my convoluted faith, I still find it very difficult to actually sit in a church or follow a liturgy - as much as I enjoy some segments of the liturgy. I've also begun to incorporate ideas from Buddhism and the Quaker expressions of Christianity, making more traditional outlets of incorporated worship increasingly difficult to accept. I'm comforted by the discovery that many of my ex-Baptist contemporaries have adapted their spiritual lives to accept this admixture of religious doctrines. In the end, I believe that they're all expressions of the same basic human need to understand the concept of "god" in its most universal connotations.

Anodyne for Outrage

A friend of mine who just learned about my blog asked the inevitable question: "Why do you blog?" I had attempted to answer this question in this blog's first entry. Indeed, it seemed necessary to establish the parameters for those who might stumble upon this site, particularly when some of those stumbling here are old friends and family members. Now, four-and-a-half months into this exercise, I guess I've refined those parameters a bit. Yes, it's still an outlet for observations on life in the city, with plenty of photos of my travels. I've also put up more of my paintings than I had anticipated, and received some nice feedback on those. The number of wackos has been minimal, thankfully.

But I'm also realizing that "My Tears Spoiled My Aim" is a great anodyne for outrage. Of course, I've always been an outspoken opponent of President Bush and the Republican party. Yet through my freelance work with a couple of scientific publications - as well as lots of reading on topics related to global warming and climate change - I've learned about some of the more insidious examples of Bush cronyism and corruption. To characterize my reaction as outrage is an understatement. Indeed, as a former presidential scholar and American historian, I have to declare that the Bush administration has been one of the most corrupt, secretive, and ideologically myopic presidencies in U.S. history. I won't even begin to address the ways in which Bush and his minions have been destructive to the very fabric of our liberties. I won't belabor the point, having touched on this before.

My goal in the coming months is to revisit some of the more "southern" themes, from country music to country-fried steak. I welcome feedback and comments, but please don't post anonymously.

The bottom line: This website has allowed me to express some of my opinions and vent a little, particularly after I've just read the latest headlines.

Anna Ostroumova-Lebedeva

In my search through art catalogs and monographs I ran across an interesting Russian artist, Anna Ostroumova-Lebedeva (1871-1955). Little is known about her: she was born in 1871 in St. Petersburg, and died in Leningrad in 1955. She studied at the Imperial Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg, and later at James Whistler's studio in Paris (1898-99), before returning to Russia to become a master printmaker.



These images are color woodcuts, for which I have a keen interest. (I'm experimenting with monochrome woodcuts and will display the results here if I'm ever satisfied with the finished product.) Of course, because she worked in Russia, her works were not as well known in the West. She seems to have survived the ideological shift from Czarist to Soviet control, which can't be said of many artists in that period. But looking at her works, they don't appear to exhibit any ideological undertones.

Enjoy!

Showing a bit of leg . . .

I'm sooooo glad that the warm weather has finally arrived in NYC. It means I can finally slip into my uniform de jure for just about every day, including time at work. (Luckily I work in a nonprofit where shorts and sandals are fine for most occasions.) For me, the most comfortable clothes are some long, baggy shorts, preferably madras or seersucker, an old oxford shirt that's been washed a thousand times and my Keen sandals, which are the most comfortable sandals I've ever worn.

Now don't get the impression that I always look grungy in a pair of shorts. On the contrary, I almost always look neat. And when I'm not wearing shorts and sandals, that "aging preppy" persona reasserts itself in the form of bow ties (the only kind I'll wear . . . and yes, I tie them myself), khakis, lots of tweeds or seersucker depending on the weather, and loafers without socks. In short, my wardrobe has been in an ossified state since about 1982, when I graduated from one of those "preppified" private schools in Virginia.

Ironically, the wardrobe confuses people, since they assume I'm going to have a personality or viewpoint that mirrors the sartorial milieu. Once I open my mouth, however, people quickly discover that I'm the antithesis of conservative or staid, particularly in terms of my anti-Bush, anti-Republican rhetoric.

So at least I can now walk around the city in comfort . . . and I can go from the office to the playground without missing a beat.

Friday Walkabout

Another beautiful day last Friday and too good to pass up a walk home. Here are a few photos from the trek. They include tulips from Union Square, the front garden and redbud tree of Church of the Ascension on Fifth Avenue, a beautiful wisteria on 10th St., and the Jefferson Market Library on Sixth Avenue. (Last week I had posted photos of tulips in the Jefferson Market Garden, which sits on the west side of the library.)

Satan's Immigrants

Thanks to Dooce for sharing this link to a story about Utah Republicans who recently argued in their state convention that illegal immigrants are being driven by no less than the dark lord himself - Satan - to move to the U.S. Apparently Satan's immigrant minions are here to undermine our values and overthrow the country.

Hmmmm, I may be wrong, but I think most of these immigrants - legal or otherwise - are coming to the U.S. for economic reasons. And although the concept of the "American Dream" may be increasingly unattainable for many Americans (See Barbara Ehrenreich's Bait and Switch), that promise still means something to those coming from impoverished or politically unstable countries.

Of course, I'm not surprised by their rhetoric, since it's nothing new in terms of our country's long tradition of juggling nativist prejudices and democratic ideals. Look at the mid-19th century, for example, and one finds vehement opposition to the influx of Irish and German immigrants who poured into this country in the 1830s and 1840s, particularly after the Irish Potato Famine. Nativist groups assailed these recent arrivals for drunkenness, promiscuity, and of course their Catholic faith. By the early 1850s, a network of often secret nativist societies coalesced into a national political organization - the American Party, which was popularly known as the Know-Nothing Party. (My doctoral dissertation was on the genesis of the American Party in the urban South.) As a political movement, the American Party ultimately failed as the antislavery movement of the 1850s took center stage.

Still, the same vitriolic rhetoric was repeated in the late 19th century as immigration to the U.S. increased dramatically, this time bringing millions from eastern and southern Europe (a majority being Italians and Russians). Cartoonist Thomas Nast, perhaps most famous for his Harper's Weekly attacks on "Boss Tweed" and the corruption of New York's Tammany Hall, published numerous images in which Irish immigrants were depicted as monkey-like ruffians who brought only the baggage of hooliganism, alcoholism and Catholicism. On the West coast, Chinese immigrants were treated similarly, eventually prompting Congress to pass a series of Chinese Exclusion Acts that severely restricted their immigration.

So these Republicans in Utah are hardly novel in their sentiments. I suspect that a few of them could claim some of those persecuted Irish and German immigrants as forbears. But such a revelation would likely carry little weight among these self-appointed guardians of the commonweal. What does surprise me in the Utah debate is the explicit invocation of "Satan" as a player in the immigrant drama. Indeed, some of those present, while supportive of the concept, argued that such harsh language would only perpetuate the impression that Republicans are extremists. Members countered these differences of opinion with jeers.

Although one might read this story and attribute the events to the petri dish medium of zealously conservative, Mormon-influenced Utah politics, one can find such expressions of nativism - representing an admixture of religious zeal and thinly-veiled racism - in every part of the United States. As a nation we like to make the claim that the U.S. represents the "better angels" of human nature, to borrow a phrase from Lincoln's first inaugural address. Certainly Lincoln, facing a nation in crisis when he took office in March 1861, hoped Americans would recall these attributes. Unfortunately, the Bush administration, the Republican party, and even more cynical Democrats, only pay lip service to these "better angels," preferring instead to employ "democracy," "tolerance," and "compassion" as rhetorical scalpels in an effort to reshape the nation and undo a century of progressive reform.

Photos from Yesterday's Walk Home . . .

The light was exceptional yesterday, so couldn't resist walking home. Found myself passing two favorite locations for photography - Grace Church, where we were married (one of NYC's most historic Episcopal parishes . . . it even made it into an Edith Wharton novel and has a cool memorial to parishioners who were Titanic victims), and the Jefferson Market garden, which sits at the point at which Greenwich Avenue merges into Sixth. I can't imagine living in any other part of New York City. Enjoy!

Republican (d)Evolution

So, last night marked the first debate for the ten Republican candidates who aspire to the Presidency. I couldn't watch, of course, because my wife didn't want to listen to me scream obscenities at the TV or clean up the vomit from me getting sick over the candidates' comments. (I preferred to read about it later.)

They showed their typical conservative feathers, trying desperately to woo centrist voters without alienating the right-wing, Christian voting bloc so important to electoral success in the South and Midwest. They paid proper homage to the legacy of Ronald Reagan - significant since the debate was held at the Ronald Reagan Library. John McCain likely upset some right-wingers when he voiced support for stem-cell research . . . but doubtless made Nancy Reagan happy, since she's become an outspoken supporter of this research in the wake of her husband's battle with Alzheimer's.

For me, however, the highlight of the evening came when the moderator asked which of the candidates did NOT believe in evolution. THREE raised their hands: Mike Huckabee, Sam Brownback, and Tom Tancredo. THREE!! At that point, the moderator should have excused those three and informed them that they would not be allowed to continue to the next round of the campaign. How can one claim to have any intellectual credibility and then admit that you don't believe in one of the most basic scientific ideas of the last 150 years? Instead of promising leadership into the 21st century, these knuckleheads promise to drag us back to the 19th century.

No doubt Huckabee, Brownback and Tancredo will attribute their views to a conservative Christian outlook. That's their right. But to me it's not about religion ultimately. Their views - Christian or otherwise - underscore a fundamental anti-intellectualism that increasingly plagues this country. Having been raised in a Christian environment that also valued education and intellectual rigor, I can also note that one can subscribe to Christian principles and espouse a belief in evolution. But these guys just don't get it. Their world view is so myopic that they have no business whatsoever running for president. And considering the status of the Huckabee, Brownback, and Tancredo candidacies, I suspect they will soon join the ranks of the also-rans. We can only hope.

Can you tell I'm upset? This kind of stupidity gives me fits! The fact that millions of voters will agree with the three Republican "Stooges" only makes me scared for our future.

Wally Schirra, 1923 - 2007

One of my childhood heroes died yesterday - Wally Schirra, one of the seven original Mercury astronauts. Schirra was the only one of the seven to fly in the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo programs. His passing leaves only two of the Mercury astronauts left - Scott Carpenter and John Glenn. Looking at the photos from Schirra's missions, it's hard to believe that they were roughly 45 years ago . . . and that he was 84 at the time of his death! (Neil Armstrong, first man to walk on the moon, is 76!)

When I was a kid these guys represented the acme of cool. Sure, I liked baseball and football players and idolized many sports figures, but astronauts played in a much higher league in my book. If you had asked me, at around age 10, "Brian, what do you want to be when you grow up," I would have responded astronaut, followed by archaeologist or astronomer. Of course, it didn't hurt to have my dad's older brother - an engineer for NASA in Houston - who sent me NASA-related books and toys. Visits to the Johnson Space Center in Houston or the Smithsonian's Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C., always left me in rapturous awe. I wanted, for just 5 minutes, to try on one of the suits and sit in a capsule. To be honest, I haven't lost that enthusiasm . . . nor have I discarded that child-like yearning to climb into an old Mercury or Gemini capsule, just to have a momentary sense of what the astronauts experienced. (Jim Lovell, who flew with Frank Borman on the 14-day Gemini 7 mission - a mission that executed a rendezvous with Wally Schirra and Tom Stafford in Gemini 6 - likened life in a Gemini capsule to living for two weeks in the front seat of a Volkswagon Beetle.)

Schirra, his contemporaries, and their colleagues at NASA represented the best of American bravado and technological wherewithal in that period. Although critics like to argue that NASA and its astronauts were pawns in a "space race" fueled by the Cold War, one can not discount the commitment and personal bravery of these guys - the "right stuff" according to Tom Wolfe in his book about the seven Mercury astronauts. Additionally, the scientists and technicians who put Schirra into orbit - people like my uncle - reflected the optimism of the U.S. in those years before assassination, Vietnam and Watergate robbed the country of so much energy.

So here's a tip of the hat to Wally Schirra and his fellow astronauts, whether American or Russian. Let's hope that we can honor their legacy by recapturing that spirit of adventure in the 21st century.

"Your son is a fucked up genius . . ."

Ok, maybe the shrink who evaluated me at age 10 didn't use quite those exact words, but that represents the crux of his conclusions. Over thirty years later, I mainly remember the battery of tests and puzzles that I had to endure for them to reach this conclusion. To say I was a moody kid is an understatement . . . but back then, circa 1974, they didn't throw pills at the problem. My parents and I were sent on our merry way with the suggestion that perhaps a change of schools would might prove helpful. And that was the result: I changed schools.

Fast forward to 2007 and I'm still dealing with the problem, albeit armed with a bit more insight and patience than I had in 1974. I've also had some good meds, from zoloft, prozac, depakote, and topamax to strattera, having also been led to believe that I suffer from adult ADD. Hmmmm, where was I??

I bring this up now, because I've had neither pills nor a doctor in a year. (I won't go into the reasons ad nauseum. Let's just say a combination of frustration with the process and a gap in health insurance prompted a cessation of treatment.) Yet I'm starting to feel as if I need to revisit the couch. One of my doctors had said that I exhibit some of the classic bipolar symptoms, although not to an extreme degree. I'll admit that I've had my share of emotional rollercoaster rides. In my manic stages I tend to spend money like crazy and obsess about sex. Before I had kids, manic phases led to the purchase of cars on two occasions: a classic 1972 BMW 2002 and an MG Midget. Sure, they were fun cars that I had long coveted, but they were foolhardy purchases at the time, given my status as impoverished grad student. Having children has provided a natural check to some of these sprees - certainly lessening their severity - but I'm still prone to stupid spending. Conversely, my depressive phases would leave me without energy or passion for anything. I'd have to force myself to get up and go to work. Again, having children heightened this sense of responsibility and forced me into the office regardless of how I might feel.

Finally, about four years ago, I sought treatment after years of fighting it without any weapons. Started on prozac, eventually shifted to zoloft about two years into the process. I think their main benefit was lessening the severity of each phase . . . think of a sine curve getting flattened out a bit so the climbs and dips aren't so extreme. Sometimes they would leave me in a fog, unable to think in a linear fashion, which is frustrating/enraging if one is trying to work, deal with a spouse and children, AND find time for creative endeavours. On antidepressants I had no creativity. What's the old van Gogh-inspired adage about depression inspiring artistic expression? (Off the medicine, I'll get into a manic phase of painting in which I want to paint everything I see AT THE SAME TIME . . . which is similar to my manic attempts to read EVERY BOOK on my "To read" list AT THE SAME TIME. Both efforts yield nothing but frustration and unfinished paintings/books.) As for side effects, the only side effects I ever experienced were of the "certain sexual side effects" variety mentioned on commercials. In my case, the pills made it more difficult to achieve orgasm. It would take forever, about which I can't say either I or my wife ever complained. Who doesn't want the stamina of long distance runner?

Then there's the ADD label. How to explain this . . . Over the years I've been handed the usual nicknames of "geek" and "nerd" by detractors and close friends have added "polymath" and "renaissance man." I blush over either appellation (and now wear "geek" or "nerd" as a badge of honor. Truth be told, I have a natural curiosity in lots of fields. Sure, I have a ph.d. in history, which says as much about my masochistic tendencies as anything else. I'm also into science, gardening, politics, cooking, philosophy, sports, antiques, architecture . . . and the list goes on. I've also found it easy over the years to pick up new skills pretty quickly, particularly when it's computer related.

When I answer a question or tell a story, I can't do it without giving you the background info plus footnotes and a bibliography. And I can be long-winded in conversations as a result. This personality trait enrages my wife, who prefers "yes or no" answers to just about everything. When I apologized to a friend recently for digressing during one of our environmental think-tank sessions, he replied, "Go right ahead; it's part of your charm." That's always nice to hear - certainly after your wife has stormed away for the umpteenth time because you couldn't answer "yes" or "no."

Without sounding arrogant, I do have an incredibly large amount of info - from myriad subjects - at my fingertips. Don't ever play against me in Trivial Pursuit. But what good is it, one might ask, if I can't marshal these resources, if I can't channel this ability to digest info and skills into extra income or notoriety . . . not that one's quality of life is defined by either income or notoriety, our celebrity-obsessed society's fascination with both notwithstanding. So as I said in the first post of this blog, this is one of the reasons I write: to try and make sense of the maelstrom swirling about in the gray matter. And given the added clutter of late, I guess it's time for some spring cleaning with a visit back to the couch. Will meds again be a part of my equation? Probably, if only to take the edge off some of the anxiety and sleepless nights.

Several months ago I executed a painting of a fire escape on an apartment building on Perry Street near my home. Since I finished it, it's become the work I'll pull out if showing someone my paintings for the first time. (I posted it on this blog a couple of months ago.) It really speaks to my artistic emphasis on the interplay of light, geometry, and architectural texture. But it also says something about my personality vis-a-vis the stark contrasts between light and shadow in a bipolar context. I guess one could also say something about the implied choice between climbing up or climbing down. And, if one looks closely enough through the window, there's the faint outline of someone there. It's me, I think, trying to observe the world without being seen.

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Yesterday I again walked home through Madison Square Park, and although I didn't have the great light that had enhanced Monday's photos, I did see more tulips and evidence that Spring has finally arrived in the City. So I snapped these photos and while downloading the tulip shot to the computer I was greeted by something I hadn't notice while snapping the photo - the bumblebee in mid-flight!

Now if only I could control the depth of field with this crappy digital camera! The tulips and bee would have been in sharp focus and the background could have been an unobtrusive blur. Guess I'll have to start carrying around the 1952 Praktiflex with the Zeiss lens again. It weighs a ton for a camera, but produces incredibly sharp images.

The weekend is supposed to be spectacular, so I'll try to get to Central Park in between baseball and soccer commitments. When I worked a block away I went to the Park daily . . . now haven't been in a month. Here's the "detail" shot showing the bumblebee. The bee's doubtless thrilled to have such an abundant supply of pollen.

While walking home yesterday . . .

. . . I snapped these pix in Madison Square Park. The polished aluminum trees, installed over the last couple of weeks, are obviously sculpture, but not having seen an identifying plaque or sign, I have no info on the artist. Still, they're beautiful, and offer a stark contrast to the increasingly green park. The tulips reminded me of my own gardening efforts. When I lived in Tennessee and engaged in serious gardening I always had several hundred tulips in myriad varieties, including the miniatures and the frilly "parrots."

Alas, my favorite garden residents haven't started blooming yet: roses. I once had over two dozen different roses in my Tennessee gardens. Most people just go to Home Depot, grab a "hybrid tea" variety like Double Delight or Queen Elizabeth as an afterthought while shopping for Impatiens or Begonias, and drop it in a flower bed in front of their ranch or split-level homes.

First, from an aesthetic standpoint, this just doesn't work. One should plant several roses that form an anchor for a flower bed. Then, planted around are various annuals and perennials that will bloom at different times between spring and autumn and complement the roses' colors. Second, do not purchase "hybrid tea" roses, unless you enjoy dealing with blackspot and aphids. Just as overbreeding in the canine world has caused serious health issues for many dog breeds, overbreeding in roses has yielded varieties that, yes, will produce large blooms, but will also be more susceptible to the various diseases which plague roses. My mother, who inherited a green thumb from my grandfather (who gardened with a passion), could kill roses faster than anyone. She's never understood that roses demand attention.

Spend the extra money (not at Home Depot, Wal-Mart or Costco) and buy some of the "old garden roses," many of which were popular in the 19th and early 20th centuries before the hybridization craze, or as a compromise grab a "floribunda" variety, which is widely available. (The rose pictured above, an "Eglantine" or "Sweet Brier Rose," is an ancient variety, often called a "species rose" because it represents the oldest of rose stocks, not produced as a result of human intervention. Our modern hybrid roses all derive from these "species roses," in effect the numerous "Adam and Eve" plants of the rose world.) If you're looking for hearty roses that will stand up to harsh conditions, get some of the "rugosa" varieties. They're beautiful, produce voluminous displays of flowers, and will tolerate even the most neglectful gardeners. Left alone, they'll spread quickly and form an impenetrable hedge. If you don't have a really good garden retailer in your area, google "roses" and check out some of the catalogs devoted to the more historic or obscure roses available. The Antique Rose Emporium, for example, has a wide selection and good reputation.

For now, I'll just have to wait for the City's roses, which won't bloom until later in May or early June. Jefferson Market Garden near my home has a nice display . . . although it's littered with hybrid teas. The New York Botanical Garden has nice roses and the little Shakespeare Garden in Central Park actually has a nice group of rugosas. If you live in East Tennessee or western North Carolina (or if you're headed to Asheville soon), stop in at the Biltmore Estate for one of the best gardens in America . . . and their roses are fantastic.