Some things shouldn’t come from Target

I was cruising through my local Tar-zhay the other week when, on a lower shelf, this display caught my eye:

Menorahs at all price points. At the top end (on the left) is your silver-plated electric Menorah with flickering bulbs (sorry for the picture quality, these were shot with my cell). This hallowed religious icon can be yours for the low, low price of $39.99 plus Virginia sales tax (render unto Caesar…).

If you’re a more traditional M.O.T., Target gives you your choice of two lo-fi candle-type Menorahs. Pick from either the silver plated model with a Star of David ($24.99 plus tax) shown in the middle of the first picture…or the bargain basement “basic” (says so on the price tag) bronze Menorah for $9.99 (plus tax).

Is it just me or does this seem just slightly…wrong? Now I don’t know, but aren’t Menorahs the kind of thing you would get from … well, not from Target. Maybe handed down from generation to generation, father to son, mother to daughter?

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I know Target and Wal-Mart and Sears and Home Depot and all the rest of these stores have aisles upon aisles of Christmas decorations, usually on display since early August. But that part of December 25 is, for the most part, the commercial part. I really can’t see my mom heading to the local discount department store for a crucifix or a crèche.

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Am I all alone in this, or does this kinda weird anyone else out?

Frozen in Time

I got a unique opportunity last night. It was a chance to not only get a sneak peak at the National Geographic Society’s latest exhibit, Terra Cotta Warriors: Guardians of China’s First Emperor, but also to photograph these pretty amazing artifacts.

The preview only lasted an hour, but this was more than enough time to appreciate the timeless warriors and the other treasures in the exhibit. The exhibit at the National Geographic Museum (17th and M NW) runs from today through March 31, 2010.

The boilerplate: “Terra Cotta Warriors: Guardians of China’s First Emperor provides an in-depth look at the enormous tomb complex of Emperor Qin Shihuangdi that contained thousands of terra cotta warriors intended to protect him in the afterlife. The warriors were discovered in 1974 by a group of farmers digging a well near Xi’an in Shaanxi province. When archaeologists began excavating the area, they uncovered a subterranean vault containing fragments of thousands of terra cotta figures in three large pits. More than 1,000 life-size figures have been restored as part of the site’s ongoing excavation.”

Along with the nine terra cotta warriors, two musicians, the strongman, court official, stable attendant and a horse, the exhibit also has bronze animals, stone armor, coins and jade ornaments.

Trust me, it’ll be worth the price of admission. Or, if you’re more frugal-minded, the Terra Cotta Warriors will be open late on Wednesdays (till 9 p.m.) and there will be 200 free, same-day tickets available on a first-come, first-served basis. Line up by 5:30 p.m. for your chance at a free viewing.

And now, on to what you came here for, the pictures. And these pictures are pretty special to me because, although they were allowed last night, cameras won't be allowed into the exhibit. Sorry 'bout that.

One of the emperor's guardians. As big as this picture is, it still doesn't begin to show the detail and precision of the ancient craftsmen who made it.

A chariot, just in case the boss man wanted to go for a drive around the afterlife.

Another of Qin Shihuangdi's men-at arms who, before being rudely dug up, was a chariot driver. Otherwise, that pose would be kind of silly.

The stable attendant. I spent most of my time around this guy, fascinated by its beauty. If you look closely at the horse's mouth, you'll see the artisans even sculpted its teeth. I'm guessing that somewhere there is a stash of terra cotta oats.

The stable boy in profile.

But can he make it drink?

I couldn't quite get all of the horse into this frame...

Like I said, I think it was the detail of the bridle and reins that most amazed me.

That was until I noticed how in the sculpting/casting process, they even remembered to include the hair on this guy.

For those long, everlasting nights in the afterlife, the emperor brought along his own entertainment. But, like many entertainers who hang around too long, they've come to show their age. Kidding, but you can see the level of restoration that's gone into some of the figures.

This guy is known as "The Sitting Musician."

"The Kneeling Musician" and behind him is "The Strongman," who, apparently, wasn't strong enough to keep his head. You can't see it in this picture, but the big fella may have made a trip to Sleepy Hollow.
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Terra cotta statues isn't the only thing the exhibit has to offer.

This piece of jade is about the size of a silver dollar, making those carvings pretty darn impressive.

Even the emperor's trash is interesting. Here we have some defective roof tiles found outside a workshop. Art is where you find it.

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And, finally, because I liked it so much, I call this one "The Horse and His Boy."

Happy trails (and go see the exhibit).

Dive

The arts and entertainment section of The Daily Tar Heel, my college paper, is called “Dive”. Our cute little shorthand for “Diversions.” Anyway, I thought it might be an appropriate title for this and other reviews of stuff I’ve seen, read and heard. Today you get a movie and a book.

“Skin” Flick
First up for review, the movie “Skin” staring Sophie Okonedo as Sandra Laing, Sam Neil as her father, Abraham Laing and Alice Krige as her mother, Sannie Laing. “Skin” is currently playing at E Street Cinema.

According to the movie’s Web site, which says it better than I can, “10-year-old Sandra is distinctly African looking. Her parents, Abraham and Sannie, are white Afrikaners, unaware of their black ancestry. They are shopkeepers in a remote area of the Eastern Transvaal and, despite Sandra’s mixed-race appearance, have lovingly brought her up as their ‘white’ little girl.”

Apparently, as much as the Afrikaners hated the idea and thought it impossible, many of them had black genes running through their veins. Usually not a problem, until two of them got together and had children in Apartheid-era South Africa.

I’m not going to ruin the film by going into deeper details of the story, suffice it to say Sandra has a difficult life caught between two worlds, neither of which accepts her. While the movie is “based on the incredible true story,” this means some things are left out or added or changed to help it flow better. They don’t tell the whole story, but this doesn’t lessen the movie. The only thing missing are a couple 10-year-or-so gaps in her life, but the film hits the high (or rather, low) points in Sandra’s life.

Two thumbs up and 3.5 stars out of 5. One warning: If, after seeing the movie, you go out for dinner or drinks, just be careful discussing Skin. The folks at the table next to you might have no idea what you’re talking about, and when you use the word “coloured” they may look at you funny.

“Ummmm…brains…..”
Thanks to my friend Alice and her random number generator, I came into possession of what is probably one of the best books I read this year (and I’ve read a bunch according to the list on your right).

The book is World War Z, An Oral History of the Zombie War, by Max Brooks.

Even though it seems the walking undead are as popular as beautiful teen vampires, I highly recommend this book. First, it’s a quick read that draws you into the story and makes you want to know more. It’s also a bit of a critique on today’s society, but not so much that it bogs the story down. And finally, the style it’s written in, a series of interviews with survivors of WWZ, is pretty gripping.

WWZ attacks, so to speak, the idea of a world-wide infection (that starts in China, of course), and the fight against the undead created by the infection on several fronts. Think about it, how do you fight an enemy that’s already dead and can only be stopped by destroying its brain? An enemy that doesn’t need food, water or air – which means they can walk under bodies of water – and is only slowed by freezing weather, but start moving again in the spring. Oh, and how do nations that hate each other, or can barely get along within their own borders, come together to fight the zombie hoard?

All good questions, all answered well in WWZ. Get it, read it and maybe you too will survive.

Oh, one last thing. On the WWZ Web site, there’s a “Risk Calculator.” By answering the questions like “where do you live” and “what are your skills” you can find out how well prepared you are for WWZ. The Foggy Dew has a 42 percent chance of surviving, how ‘bout you?
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The Battle of Yonkers

Always look on the bright side...

My boss sends out a joke or the likes just about every morning. This morning, I actually laughed out loud when I read what he'd sent. So here's a little something to make you laugh on this Tuesday in November.

The day after his wife disappeared in a kayaking accident in the Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia, a man answered his door to find two grim-faced Mounties. “We know it’s late, sir, but we have some information about your wife,” said one of the Mounties.

“Tell me! Did you find her!?” the husband shouted.

The Mounties looked at each other. One said, “We have some bad news, some good news, and some really great news. Which do you want to hear first?”

Fearing the worst, the ashen husband said “Give me the bad news first.”

The second Mountie said, “I'm sorry to tell you, sir, but this morning we found your wife’s body in the bay.”

“Oh my God!” exclaimed the husband. Swallowing hard, he asked, “What’s the good news?”

The Mountie continued, “When we pulled her up, she had six 25-pound snow crabs and 12 good-size lobsters clinging to her.”

Stunned, the husband demanded, “If that's the good news, what’s the great news???”

The Mountie answered, “We're gonna pull her up again tomorrow.”

Remember

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Lt. Col. John McCrae

Canadian Army Medical Corps

1872-1918

Happy 234th Marine Corps Birthday!

My boss, a former soldier, came over to me this morning to wish me a happy birthday, a Happy 234th Marine Corps Birthday. Along with his greeting, he mentioned a friend's son who is spending his first birthday at P'cola (Naval Air Station Pensacola, Fla.), locked down and confined to barracks because of Tropical Storm Ida. This made me think back to my first Marine Corps Birthday, way, way back when and many years ago.

I spent it, appropriately enough, at Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island, during the fifth or sixth week of basic training – boot camp. Along with a slice of birthday cake in the 3rd Battalion mess hall, a rare enough treat, I remember the DIs (drill instructors, not drill sergeants) - maybe - being just a little bit easier on us that day. It was as if they were saying, "You may not be Marines yet, but this is OUR day and we're going to give you just a taste of what it's like to celebrate with us."

It was Sergeant Hart, Sergeant Vann and Sgt. Pearson's little gift to us, Platoon 3099. And yes, I do remember all of their names all of these years later.

Other Marine Corps Birthdays were spent in Twentynine Palms, Calif., Camp Lejeune, N.C., and Greensboro, N.C. (when I was in the reserves). All of them different, all of them special.

In '89, at Lejeune, I cleaned up at a friend's poker game. The following year we – Bob, Puddin, Lumpy, Underdog, Mike, Roof, Jenny, I Am The Way, Pepe, J.E.B., Bird, Tony and I – celebrated knowing sometime soon we'd all be heading overseas to war. And, in '95, I went to the ball in Greensboro in my Dress Blues with a beautiful girl I was madly in love with on my arm.

But, somehow, it's that first, humble birthday on the third deck of Building 423 at Parris Island, spent in utilities without an Eagle, Globe and Anchor on the pocket* that remains the most special.

Semper Fidelis! The Foggy Dew

As is tradition around here, here is this year’s Birthday Message from Gen. James T. Conway, Commandant of the Marine Corps. (Note: Before someone mentions the all caps, that's just the way All Marine -ALMARs - are transmitted. Nothing I can do about it since I'm not going to retype the whole thing.)

UNCLASSIFIED//
ALMAR 033/09
MSGID/GENADMIN/CMC WASHINGTON DC DMCS//
SUBJ/UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS BIRTHDAY MESSAGE - 10 NOVEMBER 2009//
GENTEXT/REMARKS/1. UNITED STATES MARINES REPRESENT THE BEST YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN OUR NATION HAS TO OFFER. TO BE A MARINE IS TO BE A MEMBER OF AMERICA'S WARRIOR CLASS - TO BE ONE OF THE FEW WHO STEPS FORWARD WITH THE COURAGE AND CONVICTION TO FACE WHATEVER DANGERS AWAIT. OUR NATION EXPECTS HER MARINES TO BE READY WHEN THE NATION CALLS; TO LEAVE FAMILY AND THE COMFORTS OF HOME BEHIND; TO MARCH INTO BATTLE AND THRIVE UNDER AUSTERITY; AND TO COME HOME UNDER A VICTORY PENNANT.

2. FROM AL ANBAR IN THE WEST OF IRAQ, TO HELMAND PROVINCE IN THE SOUTH OF AFGHANISTAN, OUR CORPS OF MARINES CAN ALWAYS EXPECT TO BE FOUND WHERE THE FIGHT IS TOUGHEST. SUCH IS OUR HISTORY. TODAY, AS WE WRITE THE FINAL CHAPTER ON OUR VICTORY IN IRAQ, WE WILL INCREASINGLY TAKE THE FIGHT TO THE ENEMY IN AFGHANISTAN AND ADD NEW PAGES TO OUR LEGACY IN PLACES CALLED DELARAM, NOW ZAD, AND GARMSIR. ONE DAY, WE WILL RETURN TO OUR NAVAL HERITAGE AND PATROL THE HIGH SEAS WITH OUR NAVY BROTHERS. SUCH IS OUR FUTURE.

3. AS WE CELEBRATE OUR CORPS' 234TH BIRTHDAY, WE FIRST PAUSE TO REFLECT AND PAY TRIBUTE TO THOSE MARINES WHO HAVE GIVEN THE LAST FULL MEASURE IN DEFENSE OF FREEDOM. WE EXTEND OUR DEEPEST GRATITUDE TO OUR MARINE CORPS FAMILIES - THE UNSUNG HEROES WHO ENDURE HARDSHIP AND SACRIFICE SO THAT WE ARE ABLE TO GO FORWARD AND ACCOMPLISH ANY MISSION. WE EXTEND OUR APPRECIATION TO OUR COUNTRYMEN WHO HAVE ANSWERED OUR EVERY NEED. AND WE CELEBRATE THE MAGNIFICENT MEN AND WOMEN WHO WILLINGLY AND SELFLESSLY CONTINUE TO GO INTO HARM'S WAY TO PROTECT THIS GREAT NATION.

4. TO ALL WHO HAVE GONE BEFORE, TO THOSE WHO WEAR THE UNIFORM TODAY, AND TO THE FAMILIES THAT GIVE US THE STRENGTH TO FORGE AHEAD - I WISH YOU ALL A HEARTFELT HAPPY 234TH BIRTHDAY!

5. SEMPER FIDELIS! JAMES T. CONWAY, GENERAL, U.S. MARINE CORPS, COMMANDANT OF THE MARINE CORPS//

*I don’t know how they do it at Parris Island today, but back in the Old Corps the camouflage utilities we wore at boot camp were devoid of markings. No name tags, no rank insignia and, most definitely, nothing that might tend to identify us as Marines since we weren’t yet Marines. The day we got to iron on that black Eagle, Globe and Anchor to our breast pockets was a proud one.

Checked that box...

If anyone's thinking about heading up to Delaware next November for the Silver Anniversary of the Punkin Chunkin, I highly recommend taking a day and making the trip. Back in September I said I was going to do it and, true to my word, a friend and I hammered up to the First State to see some punkins' meet their maker on Saturday.


Just be ready to sit in line for a while.

Still, the 90+ minutes sitting in the car waiting to get in the gate were well worth it. The pressure builds exponentially the closer you get to the firing line. You're still sitting in line the first time you hear the "WHOOOSH!" when one of the big air cannon sends its punkin' into the wild blue yonder.

Kinda like this, when Young Glory took the final air cannon shot on Saturday which went 3,718.51 feet (in case you're interested).

Or this shot by Chunk-n-ology which traveled 3,442.33 feet.

You know how people have their favorite wrestlers from WWE? Well, if I had to choose a favorite air cannon, it'd be this one -

Here's a close-up in case you can't read the sign in the other picture...

[Note: I checked the results and guess what? The Big 10 Inch won the Chunk with a shot of 4,162.65 feet. It's always nice rooting for a winner.]

Anyway, I wish I had more pictures of the cannons firing, but remember what I said about the line to get in? We missed most of the firing by that division. I'm particularly annoyed because I was never able to get a picture of the punkin' coming out of the barrel. Trust me, it's not impossible (especially at six frames a second), and I say this as someone who once got a picture of the shell coming out of the barrel of a real cannon.

Moving on, thankfully the cannon weren't the only game in town. There were also the siege machines of old. This, my friends, is a trebuchet called the Yankee Siege, which holds the current trebuchet (I really love that word) punkin' chunkin' world record of 2,034.21 feet. It's also available for party rentals.

Here it is in action setting the above record of 2,034.21 feet. In case you don't know how a trebuchet works, here it is in a pie shell: The big weight on the right of the fulcrum is released.

As it falls it pulls the arm on the left up accelerating the attached sling, which contains the punkin' (or cow for those of you who are Monty Python fans).

At the top of the swing, the punkin' (or cow) is ready to be released back into the wild...at least for as long as it takes it to fly 2,000+ feet.

If you look real carefully at the top right corner of the picture below, you'll see the punkin' in flight.

And that is how a trebuchet works. But, what was that? You ask why would grown men build these machines and launch perfectly good gourds into the atmosphere? Why did Hillary climb Everest? Why did Orville and Wilbur head to the OBX? Because this is America and they could (all except for that mountain thing, that guy was British).

You need another, better reason, you say? OK, how about this -

A trophy so big it comes with it's own trailer and forklift skid. According to the Science Channel, the trophy weighs around 300 pounds and requires a major home renovation, since you have to reinforce your mantel so you can stick it up there.

Of course, like any festival/fair/concert, there are drawbacks...but I respect the woman's ingenuity of drinking in the line for the porta-shitter.

All in all, the Punkin' Chunkin' is nothing but good family fun, especially if you have an elevated seat on Dad's shoulders and can see over the crowd.

Oh, and you didn't think I'd let you get away without a sunset shot, did ya?

The gunline as the sun settles in the Western sky. Sleep well, chunkers...dawn comes early.

Go Ahead!

Kick me in the Jimmy!

This is what Coach Bradley Buzzcut used to tell Beavis and Butt-head to try to prove to them how tough he was. Yeah, he was a tough guy.

Or not. Perhaps “stupid” is a better word. Seriously, getting kicked in the sack is the one thing all guys fear. There’s no pain like ball pain. Yeah, you know it, this look:

I don’t know if there’s an equivalent for you girls – those ovaries are pretty well protected – and you know? I really don’t want to know. I don’t know if I want that kind of power.

That’s why stories like this, about the Serial Groin Kicker in Vancouver are just so disturbing. Even from 3,000 miles away, reading about gives me an ache in my pants, and I’m not talking about the good kind. I was going to hotlink it, but that’s not enough, read for yourself from the National Post:

LANGLEY, B.C. – Police in Langley are investigating after a woman kicked a man in the groin so hard he lost a testicle – the latest in a series of similar assaults.
.....“I just want to know what her problem is,” victim Anthony Clark, 22, said this week. “People like her shouldn’t be on the streets.”
.....Mr. Clark was walking in the Brookswood area of Langley in early September when he passed his assailant on the sidewalk.
.....“I was looking down and then I took a passing glance and saw her walk up to me,” he said.
.....That’s when the young woman inexplicably kicked him in the groin hard enough to send one of his testicles into his abdomen. Mr. Clark said he wasn’t aware of the severity of his injury until later that night when he “noticed something was missing.” [ed. “He noticed something was missing? It took him that long to figure out he was missing a ball? I don’t know about you guys, but I’m pretty conscious of where mine are at all times.]
.....He consulted his doctor and a specialist, both of whom believed his testicle could be brought down again with surgery. It wasn’t until he woke up afterwards that he discovered the doctors were wrong – the force of the assault had caused his testicle to rupture. It had to be removed and will be replaced by a prosthetic before Christmas.
.....“My doctors say I will still be able to have children,” Mr. Clark said. “But at 22 that’s
not something I want a stranger, this woman, to decide.”
.....Embarrassed by the situation, Mr. Clark didn’t go to the police until nearly four weeks after the attack. Constables have told him there have been three or four similar assaults on other men, Mr. Clark said.
.....Langley RCMP said they would like to speak to other victims, although there have been no official reported incidents, spokeswoman Const. Holly Marks said.
.....The suspect is described as a Caucasian woman, in her late teens or early 20s. She was between five-foot-five and five-foot-seven and 130 pounds with a slim build and brown hair.

I’m wondering: Did this chick get dumped while “You Oughta Know” was playing on the stereo? You know, just a little something extra to twist the knife of rejection?

Seriously, Canada, what the fuck’s up with this shit? Is the RCMP going to catch this woman before the world comes for a visit during the Olympics next February? Or will her reign of testicular terror continue?

And, because it’s her birthday, this post is in honor of Shannon, who kicked off (so to speak) her blog way, way, way back when with stories of genital trauma.

Here’s looking at you kid, Happy Birthday Shannon!

Up close ... and far away

I kind of promised myself a little while ago I wouldn't turn this into a photo blog, but the best laid plans of mice and men and all that...

During the past two days, through design and by chance, I've taken some interesting pics. And, since we don't seem to print the things out, stick them in envelopes and mail them to each other; or pull out the albums when friends come over anymore, I figured I'd put them here.

Yesterday, since the Steelers weren't playing and I didn't really give a damn about any of the other games, and since I told myself a little while back that yes, while Sunday's were made for football, I should probably avoid sprawling on my couch every Sabbath from now until the first week of February. That in mind, I headed downtown...in the rain...to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History.

I hope you'll forgive me for not taking notes about all the names and such of the crystals below. It wasn't until I was most of the way through I remembered the old sports photographer's trick of, after you take a picture of someone doing something, make sure to get a picture of the back of the jersey for future reference. When I eventually remembered, it was only then I started taking pictures of the crystals' names. Live and learn.

But first, on the way in to the museum, this caught my eye. I hope you don't need an explanation of what it is.

The funny thing about D.C., it's a pretty town and all that, but it really doesn't lend itself very well to fall. But I gave it my best shot.

This is in the Sculpture Garden, a new installation in fact. Kind of interesting, but also a bit depressing. Unless this is some kind of magic metal tree, even in the height of summer it will give no shade.

And now on to the cool stuff.

This, according to its description, is a world-famous example of millerite.

Crocoite

Mesolite

No name available at this time

Another anonymous purple crystal

This is a very small part of one of my favorite exhibits. It's a 325-pound piece of copper that was found in a Michigan mine. Somehow, some way, the rocks surrounding it were removed leaving just the vein of copper.

This is a close-up of a sandstone concretion discovered in France.

Oh, and speaking of France...the Hope Diamond, out of its setting. It is believed the Hope was once part of a diamond known as the French Blue. The last French king to wear the stone was Louis XVI. Anyway, here's a good look at this 45.52-carat blue diamond out of its setting for the first time in decades.

And here's the part of the show were I came across by chance. Driving home from work tonight I, along with many other denizens of D.C., noticed the full moon hanging low over our fair city. Cursing the slow drivers in front of me, I hurried home as quickly as the law would allow (of course), rushed upstairs, grabbed the camera, tripod and cable release, and headed for the roof of my building.

Both of these are 20-second exposures at ISO 100, the first at f13 and the second at F16. The streaks of light (more visible in the first than the second) are the navigation lights of aircraft leaving National.

My question is this, and if anyone has the answer I'd be very grateful: How do you take a night picture and get better detail on the moon?