Category: Uncategorized
Parisian flea market
Charlie McCarthy and a friend.
— Post From My iPhone
Location:Boulevard Saint-Germain,Paris,France
Paris Subway
Rumbling into the station.
— Post From My iPhone
Location:Boulevard Saint-Germain,Paris,France
Brunch at the Odeon
We returned to the Odeon for Sunday bunch. Scrambled eggs and bacon. It’s chilly but sunny. Going to the catacombs. Apparently, not for the claustrophobic. Martha is anxious.
— Post From My iPhone
Andrew Sullivan on Good Friday
Today, he comments on a David Brooks column that is essentially a review of the Broadway play, The Book of Mormon.
My favorite paragraph is the following:
Does a force exist that is behind everything we are and see and know? Is that force benign? Does that force love us? Was the only way that truth could be revealed was by God becoming man and sacrificing himself to show us the only way to save ourselves? Today, in the darkness of the Cross, I say yes to these questions, which go to depths that literal parsing of parables or Gospels misses entirely.
Keith Moon
I think the author nails it.
Take the interplay between tension and release in the song “Won’t Get Fooled Again” by The Who. Three-quarters of the way through the song, the guitar, bass and drums cease and are replaced by the droning sound of a synthesizer. The electronic sounds lull the listeners, providing a brief respite from the wild musical anarchy that precedes it. Suddenly, Keith Moon’s drumming comes charging out like a bull at Pamplona. It sounds as if he is hitting his tom drums with six arms, in a machine-gun frenzy of notes. As the drums build, so does the tension in the listeners. Just as the tension has built to a pinnacle, listeners are rewarded with one of the most gratifying releases in rock music—a boisterous explosion of sound punctuated by Roger Daltrey’s barbaric howl that seems to come from another world. “Won’t Get Fooled Again” is lengthy for a rock song, but when a listener surrenders to the song and allows its time, tensions and expressive elements to unfold, the reward is extraordinary.
Here’s a video of that exact drum solo. Awesome.
Dinner at Cynthia’s
It was short dinghy ride to the restaurant, named Harris Restaurant. The restaurant was right on the beach. There was sand under foot.
Cynthia, pictured above with Captain Jean, greeted us like we were old friends and promised to take very good care of us. She didn’t disappoint. She was a very hard working woman, and treated her other customers like she did us, visiting tables frequently, checking on the service. There were only two other parties, separate groups of Canadians, but everyone sort of merged together under Cynthia boisterous social skills. The meal consisted of soup, salad, some huge lobsters and pie for dessert. The setting and the meal were very special, but Cynthia was particularly special. I’d love to know her story. I’m sure it’s a good one. The most interesting person I’ve met on this trip.
My admiration for Cynthia was even increased the next morning. I was out on the deck of the boat at about 6:30, reading. At 6:50 am, I noticed Cynthia exiting the small building that houses the restaurant, marching purposefully toward her SUV. She was all dressed in white now with a white knit cap. She got into the SUV and headed up the mountain. I followed her until she was out of sight. I’m sure a novel could be written about where she was headed.
— Post From My IPad
Little Harbour on Jost Van Dyke
We entered Little Habour at about 5 pm. There were a number of moorings and we found a good one right off the restaurant and bar that were the only commercial establishments in the harbor. It was surrounded by very steep hills, so the sun went down early.
Minutes after we arrived and secured the mooring, we visited by a woman dressed totally in black, with dreadlocks and a black knit cap. She was very friendly and gregarious and invited us to her restaurant for dinner that night, saying it was lobster night. We readily accepted and reserved a table for 7 pm. She said that the mooring was free and she would see us that night.
— Post From My IPad
Sandy Cay, off the coast of Jost Van Dyke, BVI
Our ultimate destination for Monday was Little Habour on Jost Van Dyke. This would be a return trip to Jost, having spent an overnight in White Bay. Our overall objective is to sail generally toward our return to Nanny Cay. Ultimately, we will have circumnavigated Tortola.
On the fly, we decided make a side trip and anchor off Sandy Cay (pronounced “key,” I’m repeatedly reminded. Repeatedly, because I keep saying it wrong). It’s a tiny patch of land with a beautiful white sand beach. The picture above shows the entire island.
It was an idyllic setting. A few other boats had moored. A group of people were conducted a sand castle contest between the boys and the girls.
I went snorkeling, which was good, but challenging because there was some heavy surf around the rocks and coral where the fish were. It was also challenging taking pictures with all the swaying back and forth. This was my only decent shot.
The rest of the crew took a swim. Note that two members of the crew are toasting their wives. The other would have, but neglected to bring a beverage into the water.
— Post From My IPad
