As reported in America’s Finest News Source, Hurricane Katrina returned to New Orleans yesterday to apologize for what she done.
It ain’t Junior Kimbrough. It ain't Junior Walker. It ain’t Junior Wells. It’s Junior Brown.
The most popular version of “Man of Constant Sorrow” is probably the one by Union Station, sung by Dan Tyminski and lip-synced by George Clooney on Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? But with all due respect to Dan, the best version may be Ralph Stanley’s (the voice of “Oh Death” on Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?). But hell, both versions are damn good.
For more of Ralph Stanley, see this Adrastos post—more proof that bluegrass is blues with twang.
Let’s say you’re a tenant who pays the rent on time. Unfortunately, your landlord defaults on the mortgage. Result: the bank forecloses and you are evicted.
Or not, if you live in Cook County, Illinois. The Trib reports:
As the nationwide mortgage crisis puts the squeeze on homeowners, the Cook County sheriff's office is on pace to evict more people than ever from foreclosed homes.
At least it was until Wednesday, when Sheriff Tom Dart announced he wouldn't do it anymore.
Dart cited the growing number of evictions that involve rent-paying tenants who suddenly learn their building is in foreclosure because the landlord neglected to pay the mortgage. By refusing to do any foreclosure-related evictions, the hope is that banks will change their policies....
See also the Sun-Times story. Hat tip to God’s Politics.
Sean Payton’s Hall-of-Fame namesake has the answer to the Saints’ kicking woes.
In Stockholm, the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences has begun handing out this year’s Nobel prizes. Meanwhile, another august group recently bestowed this year’s Ig Nobel prizes for “achievements that first make people laugh, then think.”
Sometimes the work honored by the Ig Nobel prize has more immediate, practical ramifications than the work honored by the Nobel prize. Consider physics:
Here’s a lovely story found in The Heart of the Enlightened:
A woman in a village was surprised to find a fairly well-dressed stranger at her door asking for something to eat. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I have nothing in the house right now.”
“Not to worry,” said the amiable stranger. “I have a soup stone in this satchel of mine; if you will let me put it in a pot of boiling water, I’ll make the most delicious soup in the world. A very large pot, please.”
The woman was curious. She put the pot on the fire and whispered the secret of the soup stone to a neighbor. By the time the water began to boil, all the neighbors had gathered to see the stranger and his soup stone. The stranger dropped the stone into the water and then tasted a teaspoonful with relish and exclaimed, “Ah, delicious! All it needs is some potatoes.”
“I have potatoes in my kitchen,” shouted one woman. In a few minutes she was back with a large quantity of sliced potatoes, which were thrown into the pot. Then the stranger tasted the brew again. “Excellent!” he said. But added wistfully, “If we only had some meat, this would become a tasty stew.”
Another housewife rushed home to bring some meat, which the stranger accepted graciously and flung into the pot. When he tasted the broth again, he rolled his eyes heavenward and said, “Ah, tasty! If we had some vegetables, it would be perfect, absolutely perfect.”
One of the neighbors rushed off home and returned with a basketful of carrots and onions. After these had been thrown in too and the stranger tasted the mixture, he said in a voice of command, “Salt and sauce.” “Right here,”said the housewife. Then came another command: “Bowls for everyone.” People rushed to their homes in search of bowls. Some even brought back bread and fruit.
Then they all sat down to a delicious meal while the stranger handed out large helpings of his incredible soup. Everyone felt strangely happy as they laughed and talked and shared their very first common meal. In the middle of the merriment the stranger quietly slipped away leaving behind the miraculous stone, which they could use anytime they wanted to make the loveliest soup in the world.
Usually I tackle English-language uses and abuses on my other blog. But I try to keep that blog non-partisan. So I’ll use this one to post a link to Diagramming Sarah, in which Kitty Burns Florey attempts to diagram some of Gov. Palin’s sentences. (Hat tip to my sister Wendy.)
A millions thanks to Greg Peters for introducing me to Alex Johnson. Here is Alex’s performance at the 2007 King of the Blues competition. After watching this, I can’t believe he was merely a runner-up.
In any twelve-step program, the first step is admitting the problem. But when that step is taken, recovery becomes possible. Even for these people.
As reported in America’s Finest News Source, Hurricane Katrina returned to New Orleans yesterday to apologize for what she done.
Yesterday was the feast of St. Vincent de Paul. Here is my favorite quotation by Vincent:
It is not enough to give soup and bread. This the rich can do. You are the servant of the poor, always smiling and good-humored. They are your masters, terribly sensitive and exacting master you will see. And the uglier and the dirtier they will be, the more unjust and insulting, the more love you must give them. It is only for your love alone that the poor will forgive you the bread you give to them.
When I was in seminary college in the late 1970s, I first started hearing about Henri Nouwen. But only recently have I read any of his writings. Right now I’m reading a book of his selected writings, which blows me away just about every time I turn a page. Here’s a taste, an excerpt from Bread for the Journey:
Often we want to be able to see into the future. We say, “How will next year be for me? Where will I be five or ten years from now?” There are no answers to these questions. Mostly we have just enough light to see the next step: what we have to do in the coming hour or the following day. The art of living is to enjoy what we can see and not complain about what remains in the dark. When we are able to take the next step with the trust that we will have enough light for the step that follows, we can walk through life with joy and be surprised at how far we go. Let’s rejoice in the little light we carry and not ask for the great beam that would take all shadows away.
So how fucked up is the U.S. economy? Yesterday’s edition of the New Orleans Times-Picayune points to a disturbing answer.
The newspaper carried a Washington Post story about the prior evening’s failure of Washington Mutual, it’s seizure by federal regulators, and its sale to J.P. Morgan Chase. Since Washington Mutual was the nation’s largest thrift, you would think that this story would be front-page news.
But the editors of the Times-Picayune couldn’t make room for it on the front page. It was crowded out by several other stories about our sinking economy, including two front-page stories about the treasury secretary’s quest for a $700 billion blank check and three other Section A stories about the financial crisis. Nevertheless, the Times-Picayune editors found room in Section A for the Washington Mutual story, squeezing it in on page 7.
On my other blog, I write about legal writing. But here, I’ll express this thought:
Typical lawyerspeak: However, I inflicted a gunshot wound on an individual in Reno, for the sole purpose of observing his expiration.
Johnny Cash: But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.
The lesson: Shorter words are more powerful than longer ones. And as Martin Luther once said, “The fewer the words, the better the prayer.”
But this post isn’t about words; it’s about music. Here’s Johnny Cash in an early performance of Folsom Prison Blues, the song that prompted this post.