NationStates Jolt Archive

I know I will. It was the day I woke up, drank coffee, farted, kanoodled Grace, then ate some food. I think we should all take a moment to think about that. A minutes silence, perhaps?

I know I will. It was the day I woke up, drank coffee, farted, kanoodled Grace, then ate some food. I think we should all take a moment to think about that. A minutes silence, perhaps?
What’s everyone worked up about the 9th of November for?

Im sorry...

Kanoodled?


"The mere fact you call it that, tells me your not ready."

I know I will. It was the day I woke up, drank coffee, farted, kanoodled Grace, then ate some food. I think we should all take a moment to think about that. A minutes silence, perhaps?


Why ?

I know I will. It was the day I woke up, drank coffee, farted, kanoodled Grace, then ate some food. I think we should all take a moment to think about that. A minutes silence, perhaps?

In the US, you might, but not over my side of the pond. However, a minutes silence, at least to me, seems wrong. As far as I'm concerned, that's a one-off (like at football match after a player died, for example, or 1 year on after 9/11) or for Rememberance/Veterans Day. But that's just an opinion.

Finally, as a general point, the worst thing to do is get too worked up about this. 9/11 should be a day to remember, if you like, not to be a rallying point for over the top jingoism. That's not what rememberance is for.

What’s everyone worked up about the 9th of November for?

Best post on the subject I have seen......pure class:)

Im sorry...

Kanoodled?


"The mere fact you call it that, tells me your not ready."

To you, good man, I say "pfft!"

I’m not sure what effect 9-11 had on you. I was on the roof of the parking garage near Qwest in Arlington, when I heard a boom, and saw a pall of black smoke rising from the area of the Pentagon. Here’s something from a bit later (the following spring):


I spent some time at my daughter’s elementary school, which despite its presence in a fairly good neighborhood is probably as old as I am. I met her music teacher. She had gathered two classes of vocal students, separated by age, and gave private lessons in piano and a few other instruments. Things wore out, things atrophied; and yet so much of what I remember from my own experience in elementary school remained, essentially intact.

“Come see my primary chorus, John. You know, the little ones really have better voices than the older kids; it's always that way. Your can eat lunch with us, and then you can stay and listen till you get bored.” And so I lunched with them, and stayed and listened. The children arrived promptly, in clusters, obviously experienced pupils—feral out of doors, noisy but tractable as soon as they crossed the threshold. It was true that their voices had not yet lost the sweet clarity that their souls, being human, had never had; and she had schooled them into a lusty approximation of accuracy and order. They sang “John Peel” and “Auld Lang Syne” and “I've Been Workin’ on the Railroad.” They sang, pristinely as an inspiration:

Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow,
Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow.
Do you, or I, or anyone know
How oats, peas, beans, and barley grow?

I stayed longer than I had expected. They sang “America the Beautiful.”

How long since I had heard that song, or any such song? At least a few years, it must have been. I tried to recall some real or plausible last occasion from my disintegrated memories of the Time Before, and could not. And since that lost last time, my ears had been filled with the sad, wild anthems of the sterile plateaus.

Oh, beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life.

And suddenly a real beauty trembled vainly up from the foolish words, and I was homesick, soul sick, for those alabaster cities that had never been and would never be. There people lived whose right name was patriots, and fed upon the golden wine of pride, the snowy bread of love. But there had never been a past from which that future might have come.

Had there been? I had been a child, too young to do anything real, too young really to understand; and when I began to understand, and to be old enough, it was too late for doing. That was easy to say.

I’m not sure what effect 9-11 had on you. I was on the roof of the parking garage near Qwest in Arlington, when I heard a boom, and saw a pall of black smoke rising from the area of the Pentagon. Here’s something from a bit later (the following spring):


I spent some time at my daughter’s elementary school, which despite its presence in a fairly good neighborhood is probably as old as I am. I met her music teacher. She had gathered two classes of vocal students, separated by age, and gave private lessons in piano and a few other instruments. Things wore out, things atrophied; and yet so much of what I remember from my own experience in elementary school remained, essentially intact.

“Come see my primary chorus, John. You know, the little ones really have better voices than the older kids; it's always that way. Your can eat lunch with us, and then you can stay and listen till you get bored.” And so I lunched with them, and stayed and listened. The children arrived promptly, in clusters, obviously experienced pupils—feral out of doors, noisy but tractable as soon as they crossed the threshold. It was true that their voices had not yet lost the sweet clarity that their souls, being human, had never had; and she had schooled them into a lusty approximation of accuracy and order. They sang “John Peel” and “Auld Lang Syne” and “I've Been Workin’ on the Railroad.” They sang, pristinely as an inspiration:

Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow,
Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow.
Do you, or I, or anyone know
How oats, peas, beans, and barley grow?

I stayed longer than I had expected. They sang “America the Beautiful.”

How long since I had heard that song, or any such song? At least a few years, it must have been. I tried to recall some real or plausible last occasion from my disintegrated memories of the Time Before, and could not. And since that lost last time, my ears had been filled with the sad, wild anthems of the sterile plateaus.

Oh, beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life.

And suddenly a real beauty trembled vainly up from the foolish words, and I was homesick, soul sick, for those alabaster cities that had never been and would never be. There people lived whose right name was patriots, and fed upon the golden wine of pride, the snowy bread of love. But there had never been a past from which that future might have come.

Had there been? I had been a child, too young to do anything real, too young really to understand; and when I began to understand, and to be old enough, it was too late for doing. That was easy to say.I think you made a wrong turn looking for the thread where people care

I think you made a wrong turn looking for the thread where people care

no...he's just posting that (literally, copy and paste) in any thread that has 11-9 or 9-11 in the title.

no...he's just posting that (literally, copy and paste) in any thread that has 11-9 or 9-11 in the title.

Because I actually give a shit, unlike some people here.

I think you made a wrong turn looking for the thread where people care

Somebody [YOU] is an asssshollleee!

Because I actually give a shit, unlike some people here.

Which is precisely why I lurk around sometimes. I do too, bro. I'm with ya. [ high fives ]

I think you made a wrong turn looking for the thread where people care

You may consider yourself "too cool for school" (assuming you can actually spell it), but you are sorely in need of education.

I’m not sure what effect 9-11 had on you. I was on the roof of the parking garage near Qwest in Arlington, when I heard a boom, and saw a pall of black smoke rising from the area of the Pentagon. Here’s something from a bit later (the following spring):


I spent some time at my daughter’s elementary school, which despite its presence in a fairly good neighborhood is probably as old as I am. I met her music teacher. She had gathered two classes of vocal students, separated by age, and gave private lessons in piano and a few other instruments. Things wore out, things atrophied; and yet so much of what I remember from my own experience in elementary school remained, essentially intact.

“Come see my primary chorus, John. You know, the little ones really have better voices than the older kids; it's always that way. Your can eat lunch with us, and then you can stay and listen till you get bored.” And so I lunched with them, and stayed and listened. The children arrived promptly, in clusters, obviously experienced pupils—feral out of doors, noisy but tractable as soon as they crossed the threshold. It was true that their voices had not yet lost the sweet clarity that their souls, being human, had never had; and she had schooled them into a lusty approximation of accuracy and order. They sang “John Peel” and “Auld Lang Syne” and “I've Been Workin’ on the Railroad.” They sang, pristinely as an inspiration:

Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow,
Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow.
Do you, or I, or anyone know
How oats, peas, beans, and barley grow?

I stayed longer than I had expected. They sang “America the Beautiful.”

How long since I had heard that song, or any such song? At least a few years, it must have been. I tried to recall some real or plausible last occasion from my disintegrated memories of the Time Before, and could not. And since that lost last time, my ears had been filled with the sad, wild anthems of the sterile plateaus.

Oh, beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life.

And suddenly a real beauty trembled vainly up from the foolish words, and I was homesick, soul sick, for those alabaster cities that had never been and would never be. There people lived whose right name was patriots, and fed upon the golden wine of pride, the snowy bread of love. But there had never been a past from which that future might have come.

Had there been? I had been a child, too young to do anything real, too young really to understand; and when I began to understand, and to be old enough, it was too late for doing. That was easy to say.

Well stated. Thank you.

Somebody [YOU] is an asssshollleee!

Somebody [YOU] just flamed.

Because I actually give a shit, unlike some people here.

I cared...until politicians, the media, celebrities, and the average joe brought it up every fifteen minutes for five years straight...taking what should have been a sobering and defining moment for our nation and cheapening it into a sound-bite used to win votes and sell comemerative coins.

You may consider yourself "too cool for school" (assuming you can actually spell it), but you are sorely in need of education.
That cut me deep, you must have stumbled onto the secret illiteracy of the liberal elite.

And suddenly a real beauty trembled vainly up from the foolish words, and I was homesick, soul sick, for those alabaster cities that had never been and would never be. There people lived whose right name was patriots, and fed upon the golden wine of pride, the snowy bread of love. But there had never been a past from which that future might have come.
WTF? What, in Eris’ sake, does this actually mean? It’s this sort of jingoistic waffle that makes people around the world cringe.

The golden wine of pride? Are you talking about pee?

I know I will. It was the day I woke up, drank coffee, farted, kanoodled Grace, then ate some food. I think we should all take a moment to think about that. A minutes silence, perhaps?
A minutes silence?
Nah, a +1 for sure and that doesn't take a minute.

WTF? What, in Eris’ sake, does this actually mean? It’s this sort of jingoistic waffle that makes people around the world cringe.

The golden wine of pride? Are you talking about pee?

I thought that post was by Barbara Cartland not DK

Because I actually give a shit, unlike some people here.

Meh ... I hold little stock in buildings and random meat sacks.

Do you have some other motive to starting this sort of thread about 9/11 aside from flamebaiting and goading American's?

Honestly, I have seen more threads in the past three days saying something critical about our reaction to 9/11, then you get up on your little pedestal and rub yourself about how we're reacting like "typical Americans". Most of us don't give purple shit what you think about 9/11, but when you try to be condescending, out comes the sleeping giant.

I think some threads on the 9th of november will be in order.

but when you try to be condescending, out comes the sleeping giant.

Eh ... not really. No it doesn't.

I think some threads on the 11th of november will be in order.

For the signing of the armistice in WWI or Patton's birthday?

For the signing of the armistice in WWI or Patton's birthday?

touche.

Because I actually give a shit, unlike some people here.

Those are lovely poetic sentiments, and your reputation hangs on this: you wrote them yourself. Didn't you?
White bread, golden wine. It worked for me.

Those are lovely poetic sentiments, and your reputation hangs on this: you wrote them yourself. Didn't you?
White bread, golden wine. It worked for me.

Yes, I did. Would you like to see more?

I have a degree in English Literature for a reason.

Yes, I did. Would you like to see more?

I have a degree in English Literature for a reason.

I'm not sure if I want to see more. I'll judge it on it's merits, in the context I see it. Your degree means nothing to me. I liked this bit.

I'll happily quote the passage which got me, though, for it says much about myth, about the purpose served by myth, far beyond making anecdote memorable or preserving the sentiments of the past:


And suddenly a real beauty trembled vainly up from the foolish words, and I was homesick, soul sick, for those alabaster cities that had never been and would never be. There people lived whose right name was patriots, and fed upon the golden wine of pride, the snowy bread of love. But there had never been a past from which that future might have come.

I cared...until politicians, the media, celebrities, and the average joe brought it up every fifteen minutes for five years straight...taking what should have been a sobering and defining moment for our nation and cheapening it into a sound-bite used to win votes and sell comemerative coins.
That is very true.

It would have a more meaningful impact if the media hadn't molested every last iota of sobriety out of this history-changing event.

Im sorry...

Kanoodled?


"The mere fact you call it that, tells me your not ready."


Yeah- thats what guys with a tiny penis are required by law to call that function.

Its kinda sad.

I have a degree in English Literature for a reason.
Righty-ho Mr. English Lit. Care to explain the meaning of ‘alabaster cities’, the ‘golden wine of pride’ and the ‘snowy bread of love’ to an uneducated goon like meself?

Righty-ho Mr. English Lit. Care to explain the meaning of ‘alabaster cities’, the ‘golden wine of pride’ and the ‘snowy bread of love’ to an uneducated goon like meself?

Wrong answer. DK citing his degree, when complimented on his writing, was bad form, but this "uneducated goon" stuff is worse.
You have the internet
There's no excuse -- if you're uneducated, it's by choice.

EDIT: I forgot to be nice. Dammit, gotta stop that before I turn to stone.
"Alabaster cities" is from a patriotic song "America the Beautiful" :
"O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!" etc.

"The golden wine of pride" refers to the sparkling and beautiful drink made from grapes, which intoxicates and undermines reason. "Golden," as some cynic earlier observed, could as easily refer to urine as to wine, so add a reference to wealth and status here.

"The snowy bread of love" is a very complex construction, possibly refering to the poverty and unwholesomeness of mere subsistence as an expression of love, love of life, and 'this day our daily bread.' If you think of white bread, stored in the freezer, you wouldn't be far off the point I think, though I'm not the author. Perhaps he just means "white bread."

Wrong answer. DK citing his degree, when complimented on his writing, was bad form, but this “uneducated goon” stuff is worse.
You have the internet
There’s no excuse — if you’re uneducated, it’s by choice.
Eh? So I have to rely on searching the internet for a meaning to a poem that no-one will have critiqued, instead of asking the author who has an Eng Lit degree?

That’s a bit unfair, dontcha think? I shouldn’t be to blame just because I chose to persue my education in an area away from literature. I wasn't being sarky with my "uneducated goon" comment. I really don't know much about English literature.

And I really would like to find out if DK has substance behind his poem; I may be mistaken with calling it jingoistic waffle.

Because I actually give a shit, unlike some people here.

I'm sorry, but why the hell can't we just move on with life?

I'll happily quote the passage which got me, though, for it says much about myth, about the purpose served by myth, far beyond making anecdote memorable or preserving the sentiments of the past:


I am known to wax philosophic from time to time.

Wrong answer. DK citing his degree, when complimented on his writing, was bad form, but this "uneducated goon" stuff is worse.
You have the internet
There's no excuse -- if you're uneducated, it's by choice.

I'm also alluding to Christianity (or its ideal). Heaven with its alabaster cities, as well as bread and wine.

I've got quite a bit of material that constantly references Last Supper images.

“Alabaster cities” is from a patriotic song

“The golden wine of pride” refers to the sparkling and beautiful drink made from grapes, which intoxicates and undermines reason. “Golden,” as some cynic earlier observed, could as easily refer to urine as to wine, so add a reference to wealth and status here.

“The snowy bread of love” is a very complex construction, possibly refering to the poverty and unwholesomeness of mere subsistence as an expression of love, love of life, and ‘this day our daily bread.’ If you think of white bread, stored in the freezer, you wouldn’t be far off the point I think, though I’m not the author. Perhaps he just means “white bread.”
OK, thanks. Though it still seems full of vague symbolism to me. And I don’t see much connection with 9/11, apart from the patrioticness already mentioned. Appy polly loggies if I’m missing something here.

OK, thanks. Though it still seems full of vague symbolism to me. And I don’t see much connection with 9/11, apart from the patrioticness already mentioned. Appy polly loggies if I’m missing something here.

Have you ever thought what Americans thought of their own country, prior to 9/11? Was it really an ideal place? And afterwards, were we really the same kinds of people we idealized who had fought WW II? Were we really the same people who fought for our freedom during the Revolutionary War? People of honor, and sacrifice, and purity of spirit?

Or are we a decayed remnant of something that never was?

it is a day to remember the complicity and corruption of conscousless economic interests and the dishonesty of their pretentions of pseudoconservatism.

the amreican cia invented al quida 30 years ago. and the direct order to not interfere or in anyway prevent the events from taking place came from the highest levels, both of elected officials and their real puppet masters who pull their strings.

=^^=
.../\...

Have you ever thought what Americans thought of their own country, prior to 9/11? Was it really an ideal place? And afterwards, were we really the same kinds of people we idealized who had fought WW II? Were we really the same people who fought for our freedom during the Revolutionary War? People of honor, and sacrifice, and purity of spirit?

Or are we a decayed remnant of something that never was?

I think I read you right :)

But even in a scientific age, myth has some point to it. So it's not scientific, it's not historically accurate. But it shows what we want to believe, and it should no more be discarded as foolish self-delusion, than it should be taught as gospel truth. Myths, urban myths and religious ones, show what we want to believe, and at the very least are warnings of the lies we might believe. Perhaps they are much more than that.

Have you ever thought what Americans thought of their own country, prior to 9/11? Was it really an ideal place? And afterwards, were we really the same kinds of people we idealized who had fought WW II? Were we really the same people who fought for our freedom during the Revolutionary War? People of honor, and sacrifice, and purity of spirit?

Or are we a decayed remnant of something that never was?
Ahhhh, it makes more sense now. A bit waffly for my tastes, but I can see where you’re coming from at least.

I’d plump for something in the middle of what you say above.

This view of America/Americans, or for that matter any nation and it’s past citizens, is a bit unrealistic. Especially (and I suspect we’d differ on this point, though I may be wrong) the idealised view of those who fought in WW2. Today, our respective governments hold up veterans as defender’s of democracy; marching into battle to protect our freedoms. At best, that’s a very generous retrospective take on things.

Yet the ‘American Project’ of Franklin, Washington, Paine, et all, I do see as a somewhat noble venture. A venture that has been hijacked, inverted and mutated beyond all recognition, but a noble venture nonetheless.

Righty-ho Mr. English Lit. Care to explain the meaning of ‘alabaster cities’, the ‘golden wine of pride’ and the ‘snowy bread of love’ to an uneducated goon like meself?

Sheez, I am not a native english speaker and I got those. Either I am too high, or you are too low.

Sheez, I am not a native english speaker and I got those. Either I am too high, or you are too low.
See above. I’m not versed in critiquing poetry, and neither do I have in-depth knowledge of American patriotic songs. Great for you if you are.

I know I will. It was the day I woke up, drank coffee, farted, kanoodled Grace, then ate some food. I think we should all take a moment to think about that. A minutes silence, perhaps?

Silence is better then the idiodic playing of 5 year old tv shows and such that has been going on

Thank god thats over so we can move on

For the signing of the armistice in WWI or Patton's birthday?
I thought you held little stock in random meat sacks?
Meh ... I hold little stock in buildings and random meat sacks.