H. L. Mencken on Kissing

Mencken once joked that life would be perfect with a good sauce, a cocktail, and a
girl who kissed with her mouth open.  Well, two out of three ain't bad.

Easter on the Outer Banks: A Roaring Good Time

     Seekers of a peaceful place to celebrate one of the highest holy days of the Christian calendar did not find it on the Outer Banks this weekend.  The roads to and from the churches were clogged with what seemed like thousands of blatty motorcycles as the final few days of "Bike Week" happened to coincide with the three days of Easter this year.  God and Mammon duked it out and Uncle Jack isn't sure who won.
     Except for a quick trip to Manteo (which reverberated like the inside of a motor velodrome on Saturday afternoon) Uncle Jack and Mrs. U.J. stayed close to home in relatively peaceful South Nags Head and took several  long beach walks while enjoying the balmy temperatures that prevailed most of the weekend.  Tomorrow it's back to the peace and quiet of Baltimore where four persons were shot to death and one severely wounded by unknown assailants on Easter Sunday.  Maybe the motorcycles weren't so bad.

South Nags Head on Dwellable

                             Sunday afternoon in Sonag.  Don't you wish you were here?

                                Nary a fish was caught but who could care on an afternoon like this?

This house at the head of Pelican Street in Sonag burned several weeks ago.  Right now it's Motif #1 for amateur photographers like Uncle Jack.  Will it still be here when he returns next month?  Stay tuned.

The derelicts of Sea Gull Drive are still in place (sort of).  Don't be surprised if they're back on the rental market shortly after beach renourishment is finished.  The Lord works in mysterious ways, especially in the wonderful world of Outer Banks real estate.

The extraordinary height of this cottage near Sea Gull suggests just how much sand Mother Nature has removed from this section of beach.  No doubt she is licking her chops in anticipation of all the fresh, new stuff she can started moving around after beach renourishment

                      Only certified rappelers and sky-divers are allowed to use this beach access walkway.

                Hopefully beach renourishment will cover up this mess---for a little while anyway.

Sunrise in Sonag

     Uncle Jack and Mrs. U.J. are very happy to be in South Nags Head on this beautiful, balmy, sunny Wednesday morning.  As the pictures show they were up before sunrise and took a walk on the beach up to the new Jennette's pier before breakfast (whole wheat everything bagels from the Nags Head outlet of New York Bagels, now open for the season at the Outer Banks Mall).  There is a goodly crowd here in the run-up to Easter including a few hundred motorcycles left over from last weekend.  Many businesses sport fancy "Welcome Bikers" banners which they one day may rue if the experience of other resort towns like Myrtle Beach is any guide.

South Nags Head on Dwellable

6:20 The unspectacular adumbration of a rather puny sunrise to come. Taken from the beach at Whitecap Street in South Nags Head.

                                   This is as exciting as it got this morning.  Uncle Jack is spoiled.

At low tide the beach was wide and flat and great for walking.  Looking north toward Jennette's Pier.

A measure of this winter's erosion.  A root from what must have been a pretty substantial tree at one time.

Beach nourishment can't come too soon to the Comfort Inn South whose time has nearly run out.

The new 250-car parking lot at Jennette's Pier awaits paving which looks like it might begin today. The Grand Opening is only a month away now.

Sam and Omie's is ideally situated to attract pier-goers. Sigh.

This is a very sturdy-looking pier.  Mother Nature has her work cut out for her if she plans to knock this one down.

Recent bulldozing helped to soften the sheer dropoff in front of these Sonag condos.  The owners will no doubt welcome this summer's beach nourishment project no matter when it comes.

Ditto for these.  Renters should have a great view of the proceedings from their oceanfront decks.  Maybe next year they can sit on the new beach if it's still there.

     

The Humble Farmer Speaks

     Uncle Jack has a friend named Robert Skoglund who lives up in Maine and calls himself The Humble Farmer when he is doing his radio show or his TV show or giving speeches or writing his "Whine and Snivel Newsletter".  Humble and Uncle Jack are in complete agreement about most matters political and economic and every once in a while he writes something that expresses Uncle Jack's views better than he could do it himself.  He did it this morning in his Newsletter so Uncle Jack thought he would pass it along.  He and Mrs. U.J. are leaving tomorrow morning for a week in Nags Head so he will have some pictures---maybe even a sunrise----later this week.

                                           Humble Explains How it Works

We read in the newspaper about a No Labels political organization that describes itself as a grassroots group that aims to convince politicians to put aside their party affiliations and, instead, work together to address the country’s problems. Ho ho ho, thinks I.  To begin with, in every country in every age there have really only been two political parties. One party, whatever it is called, is a collection of people who have banded together to support the financial interests of the wealthy merchant class. Back in the good old days, they bought slaves. Today it is only by keeping wages as low as possible that they can keep profits as high as possible. The other party, whatever it is called, consists of the millions of people who work for wages and the folks who work 18 hours a day to try to keep their little mom and pop stores afloat. These people have the same goals as the wealthy --- they also want their income to be as high as possible.  So there is an inherent conflict of interest between these two groups when it comes to the bottom line, which is --- how do we divide up the amount of money that came into our collective till on this working day?   The wealthy merchants have always had an advantage when it comes to getting more than their share of the money in the till because there are many ways to keep wages as low as possible. War is a sure-fire means of sucking the lifeblood out of the most prosperous society. Nothing makes the rich richer like a good meaningless war to “protect our freedom.” You can also create a recession and lots of unemployment. Unemployed people are more than willing to work for whatever scraps they can get. Because men are trying to feed hungry families, there is likely to be an increase in crime --- another win-win for the rich who own and service the privatized prisons.   About the only way the working class can negotiate for better wages and working conditions is to band together into an organization which, in English, is called a union. Unfortunately for working people everywhere, management has whispered in the ears of millions of its employees, “If you have to work for me for three dollars an hour, why should your friends across the street be getting four?” How can management lose, when it can get 75 percent of an uninformed labor force to write letters to the editor that cry out for lower wages? “I work as hard as they do. Why should they get more than me? These are hard times. We all have to sacrifice.” When it is possible to get millions of working people in any country to honestly believe that they deserve lower wages, that country is in grave danger.    

But back to the No Labels organization. When I read of any organization, the first thing I do is to Google around to find out who is behind that organization. In other words, which of the two so clearly delineated classes of people in any society is behind that particular organization: Who is going to get the money?   Would you believe that the page that came up on Google belonged to Rush Limbaugh? And in the middle of that page is a big circle. And in the middle of that circle it says --- in capital letters, “No Brains. IT’S ALL ABOUT THE MONEY.”

(And so it goes)

+

FQF

Uncle Jack is pleased to report that he and Mrs. U.J. have survived another French Quarter Festival and are safely back in Charm City.  He uses the term "survived" advisedly because each year, as this magnificent free extravaganza of music and food grows larger (and they grow older) it has become a little more taxing and a little less enjoyable.  As usual they heard a lot of  music, much of it sublime and entirely too much of it wretched.  And they feasted on a number of culinary delicacies that simply do not exist outside of  New Orleans---mufulettas from the Central Grocery on Decatur Street, oyster po'boys from the Acme Oyster Bar, garlic soup and sweetbreads at Bayona, crayfish crepes from Muriel's on Jackson Square and pralines from Loretta in the French Market, all enhanced by that golden elixir known as Abita Amber beer.  There was much to enjoy----vastly more than they could manage in the heat and crowds.

    French Quarter Festival is one of America's greatest parties along with Jazz Fest and Mardi Gras, the major economic engines of the Big Easy.  It is much more family oriented than the others and probably the only time of the year when baby strollers outnumber Harley Davidsons in the narrow streets of the Vieux Carre. An estimated half-million people attended this year's expanded four-day celebration and it seemed like twice that many to Uncle Jack.  The weather man had predicted four straight days of uninterrupted heat and humidity with no hope of rain and that seemed to swell the crowd to unprecedented size.  Getting from Point A to Point B became such a struggle at times that Point B completely lost its allure.

    With all that they had a wonderful time and they are happy they went but whether they can save up the wherewithal, physical and fiscal, to do it again next year remains to be seen.  They have already made their hotel reservations just in case.

    A festively dressed couple enters Jackson Square, focal point of the FQF.  Those parasols are de rigeur when the sky is cloudless and the temperature reaches 90.  Parasol, after all, means "against the sun". Did you know that?

Part of the crowd listening to the New Orleans All-Stars and Pete Fountain give out with some rousing dixieland on the main stage in Jackson Square.  Pete is 80 this year and has suffered several strokes in addition to losing everything to Hurricane Katrina but he can still play and obviously loves FQF.

A portable police observation tower looms over the crowd in front of St. Louis Cathedral.  It wasn't needed for the very orderly FQF crowd.

One of the not-so-good bands that play on streetcorners all over the Quarter hoping for tips.

As usual the balconies along the Rue Chartres were bedecked with plants and flowers.  They have to be watered several times a day which makes for hazardous walking below.

The mighty Mississippi was nearly at flood stage trying to accommodate all the snow melt from regions as far afield as Montana and North Dakota.  The breeze off the river was almost like air conditioning for overheated festival-goers who flocked to the "Moonwalk", the promenade along the river named for mayor "Moon" Landrieu, father of the present mayor Mitch Landrieu and his sister, senator Mary Landrieu.  Politics seems to run in the family.

 One of the many art works that brighten the old French Market in the Quarter which has undergone major rejuvenation in recent years.

This lovely bas-relief celebrates the Old Market when it was a major source of fresh fruits and vegetables, fish and oysters.  Today it more resembles a bazaar in the Middle East with table after table of imported schlock.  

This young woman danced frenetically in the blazing sun in front of the Southern Syncopaters jazz band for nearly two hours.  The Department of Energy should be investigating her as a possible alternative energy source.  Uncle Jack would love to know what was in that gallon jug she sipped from between every number.

Meanwhile, back at the Johns Hopkins library building site, the work goes on.  At this point it is beginning to resemble a modern-day Stonehenge.

     

FQF

Uncle Jack is pleased to report that he and Mrs. U.J. have survived another French Quarter Festival and are safely back in Charm City.  He uses the term "survived" advisedly because each year, as this magnificent free extravaganza of music and food grows larger (and they grow older) it has become a little more taxing and a little less enjoyable.  As usual they heard a lot of  music, much of it sublime and entirely too much of it wretched.  And they feasted on a number of culinary delicacies that simply do not exist outside of  New Orleans---mufulettas from the Central Grocery on Decatur Street, oyster po'boys from the Acme Oyster Bar, garlic soup and sweetbreads at Bayona, crayfish crepes from Muriel's on Jackson Square and pralines from Loretta in the French Market, all enhanced by that golden elixir known as Abita Amber beer.  There was much to enjoy----vastly more than they could manage in the heat and crowds.

    French Quarter Festival is one of America's greatest parties along with Jazz Fest and Mardi Gras, the major economic engines of the Big Easy.  It is much more family oriented than the others and probably the only time of the year when baby strollers outnumber Harley Davidsons in the narrow streets of the Vieux Carre. An estimated half-million people attended this year's expanded four-day celebration and it seemed like twice that many to Uncle Jack.  The weather man had predicted four straight days of uninterrupted heat and humidity with no hope of rain and that seemed to swell the crowd to unprecedented size.  Getting from Point A to Point B became such a struggle at times that Point B completely lost its allure.

    With all that they had a wonderful time and they are happy they went but whether they can save up the wherewithal, physical and fiscal, to do it again next year remains to be seen.  They have already made their hotel reservations just in case.

    A festively dressed couple enters Jackson Square, focal point of the FQF.  Those parasols are de rigeur when the sky is cloudless and the temperature reaches 90.  Parasol, after all, means "against the sun". Did you know that?

Part of the crowd listening to the New Orleans All-Stars and Pete Fountain give out with some rousing dixieland on the main stage in Jackson Square.  Pete is 80 this year and has suffered several strokes in addition to losing everything to Hurricane Katrina but he can still play and obviously loves FQF.

A portable police observation tower looms over the crowd in front of St. Louis Cathedral.  It wasn't needed for the very orderly FQF crowd.

One of the not-so-good bands that play on streetcorners all over the Quarter hoping for tips.

As usual the balconies along the Rue Chartres were bedecked with plants and flowers.  They have to be watered several times a day which makes for hazardous walking below.

The mighty Mississippi was nearly at flood stage trying to accommodate all the snow melt from regions as far afield as Montana and North Dakota.  The breeze off the river was almost like air conditioning for overheated festival-goers who flocked to the "Moonwalk", the promenade along the river named for mayor "Moon" Landrieu, father of the present mayor Mitch Landrieu and his sister, senator Mary Landrieu.  Politics seems to run in the family.

 One of the many art works that brighten the old French Market in the Quarter which has undergone major rejuvenation in recent years.

This lovely bas-relief celebrates the Old Market when it was a major source of fresh fruits and vegetables, fish and oysters.  Today it more resembles a bazaar in the Middle East with table after table of imported schlock.  

This young woman danced frenetically in the blazing sun in front of the Southern Syncopaters jazz band for nearly two hours.  The Department of Energy should be investigating her as a possible alternative energy source.  Uncle Jack would love to know what was in that gallon jug she sipped from between every number.

Meanwhile, back at the Johns Hopkings library building site, the work goes on.  At this point it is beginning to resemble a modern-day Stonehenge.

     

When will it end?

     Mother Nature threw Baltimore another curve this morning.  Yesterday (Monday) was a flawless summery day---perfect for the Oriole's home opener which drew 45,000 deliriously happy fans to Camden Yards to watch their new heroes stomp Detroit 5-1 for their fourth consecutive win. Sometime in the middle of the night a storm swept through Charm City with winds that shook Uncle Jack's 15-story condo building and driving rain that splattered the windows and woke him out of a sound sleep.  By dawn the temperature was back down in the low 40's, the wind continued unabated and a fine drizzle continued to fall until late in the afternoon.  Uncle Jack found little consolation in the fact that something very similar happened on the Outer Banks yesterday.  Enough already.
     Other than taking the Mini in for an oil change there were no cultural activities on his calendar for today so he had time to root around in the archives for a while and find an ancient column somewhat appropriate for the season, to wit:



                                                                March Madness


     Uncle Jack will bet that he is not the only person on the
Outer Banks who is glad that March---the longest March in the
history of weather---is finally over. Coming on the heels of
what had to be one of the worst Februarys ever, this March
was nasty enough to make even Canadians grumble.        
       As usual there was something bad about March besides the
weather, to wit: the NCAA basketball tournament which never
fails to turn Uncle Jack into a quivering pudding of guilt as
he wastes hour after hour watching sweaty young men in short
pants engage in ferocious dunk-to-dunk combat in an effort to
establish the supremacy of their respective "institutions of
higher learning" as colleges and universities are still
laughingly referred to in some circles.  
     Each year the spectacle gets a little harder for Uncle
Jack to enjoy even though he knows he is watching some of the
finest amateur athletes that money can buy---many of whom will
soon be earning more money in one week than he has amassed in
his virtuous lifetime of incessant toil. (If they are not already
getting it under the table, stuffed into their capacious Nikes
by greedy agents and overzealous alumni).
     If Uncle Jack sounds jealous it is for good reason because
he knows full well that had he been born 40 years later he,
too, might have a shoe contract to fall back on in his old age.
It is an incontrovertible fact (anybody who might have
controverted it is already dead) that at one time Uncle Jack
owned the deadliest two-hand setshot ever seen in northern
Wisconsin. He stood at the threshhold of fame and fortune but
only briefly because unbeknownst to him in a gym in faraway
Indiana Oscar Robertson had invented the one-hand jumper and
rendered Uncle Jack obsolete overnight.
     But that was long ago and Uncle Jack has long since
adjusted to the fact that he will never amount to anything.
His problem with the NCAA tournament, that which causes him
to writhe in his Barcalounger, his hair shirt soaked with
the sweat of guilt, is his knowledge that the whole thing
has become such an embarrassing travesty in the name of
higher education.
    Colleges and universities, many of them actually worthy
of the name, have been sucked into the sordid business of
recruiting and maintaining semi-professional teams of so-called
"student athletes", most of whom never see a diploma much less
earn one. (A few probably couldn't read it if they did get one).
  The reason for all this chicanery, of course, is money--vast
amounts of money derived primarily from lucrative TV contracts.
College basketball sells products---with a vengeance as any
frazzled survivor of "March Madness" can tell you.
    For this reason even prestigious universities like Duke
and Stanford are willing to prostitute themselves to hucksters
and world-class windbags like Dick Vitale, who has single-
mouthedly done more to turn off intelligent basketball fans
than anyone he can think of.                                    
    Uncle Jack is not kidding when he says that if anything
ever goes wrong with his "mute" switch he will never watch
another basketball game on ESPN.                          

     Anyway March and the NCAA tournament are over and now
Uncle Jack can look forward to doing his taxes. This is something
that always makes him angry but at least he won't feel guilty
and he doesn't have to listen to Dick Vitale while he does it.

Coming soon to a beach near you?  The Nags Head Town Council is threatening to start beach renourishment by mid-June and continue through the summer.  They say it's the only way to save our beautiful beaches.  If this reminds you of the reasoning behind the My Lai massacre you could be right. 
                                                         








   

Culture redux

   Uncle Jack and Mrs. U. J. returned to Charm City from a respite in Nags Head ten days ago and  immediately resumed their spring round of cultural activities.  (The calendar says it's spring but apparently nobody has told Mother Nature who continues to torture Baltimoreans with freezing temperatures and the occasional snow flurry even after the forsythias and dogwoods have bloomed).
    The first of two Baltimore Symphony concerts they attended last week featured a 29 year old pianist named Orion Weiss who was unknown to Uncle Jack but not to regular BSO patrons who were present twelve years ago when Weiss, who was then a 17-year-old high school student in Cleveland, was called in on 24 hours notice to substitute for the world-renowned pianist Andre Watts who cancelled out of a performance of Shostakovitch's second piano concerto.  Orion aced it and the event gave his career a huge boost and since his graduation from Juilliard  four years later he has been in great demand as a soloist with orchestras all over the world.
    The second BSO concert last Thursday evening was even more heartwarming.  It featured several dozen Baltimore public school kids who participate in the BSO's "OrchKids" program.  They joined the orchestra on stage for a performance of a specially commissioned composition based on the Pied Piper story.  They did a wonderful job and it must have been the thrill of their young lifetimes for these budding musicians.  No doubt the BSO management hopes they will all grow up to be season ticket holders.
    Sandwiched between the two BSO concerts they enjoyed a performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony by a local group called the Concert Artists of Baltimore.  Somebody once made a list  of ten things every person should be lucky enough to do before dying and one of them is to hear Beethoven's Ninth performed by first-rate musicians and now Uncle Jack and Mrs. U.J. have had that inspiring pleasure.  (He is not ready to die yet, though----not until he has achieved his lifetime goal of making 50 free throws in a row).
     They almost missed a third concert on Friday when the Vinca Quartet got caught in a horrendous traffic jam while driving down I-95 from New York City.  They arrived a few minutes late and breathless but they regained their composure and played quartets by Bartok and Beethoven beautifully.  Three of the four members of the group are young ladies of such surpassing beauty that one wonders how they ever found time to practice back in their high school and college days.
    Two not-very-good plays rounded out their cultural activities for the week unless one is broadminded enough to include watching the Orioles play baseball as a form of high culture.  Uncle Jack is happy to report that the Birds are off to a splendid start under their new manager, Buck Showalter, winning their first three games against the Tampa Bay Lizards in convincing fashion.  Reality will probably set in soon enough. The home opener is tomorrow against the Detroit Tigers.

    They are counting the days until their departure for New Orleans to attend the French Quarter Festival for the umpteenth time next Thursday.  Uncle Jack is going to enjoy this one like it could be his last because when you get to his age it might very well be.  That folding chair he hauls all over the Quarter for three days gets heavier every year.

We took a stroll through the neighborhood this afternoon and found this tree abloom in the park across the street. Soon there will be hundreds more.

These are a few of the 80,000 tulips that have been planted in nearby Sherwood Gardens, waiting to burst into bloom sometime toward the end of the month.  Google Sherwood Gardens for the full story on this incredible free park maintained by residents who live in the Guilford neighborhood of Baltimore.

                          This forsythia decided not to wait for the tulips before showing off.

Tremendous progress has been made on the Johns Hopkins library addition since ground was broken back in September of last year.  We think this latest batch of columns may support the roof but that remains to be seen.

    The facade at this level will be all glass. Installing it should be an interesting process to watch.