Happy B-Day, USA

So this was the "Poem of the Day" in my inbox, and I wanted to share. I like to imagine Amy Lowell writing this many July 4th's in Brookline or Cambridge.

To Recap:

There is a lot to do today...

Including Harborfest & Tall Ships and fireworks...

It's probably too late to print out decorations or get a cheap boat ride, but there's always next year.

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"Pyrotechnics"
by Amy Lowell

I

Our meeting was like the upward swish of a rocket
In the blue night.
I do not know when it burst;
But now I stand gaping,
In a glory of falling stars.

II

Hola! Hola! shouts the crowd, as the catherine-wheels sputter and turn.
Hola! They cheer the flower-pots and set pieces.
And nobody heeds the cries of a young man in shirt-sleeves,
Who has burnt his fingers setting them off.

III

A King and Queen, and a couple of Generals,
Flame in colored lights;
Putting out the stars,
And making a great glare over the people wandering among the booths.
They are very beautiful and impressive,
And all the people say "Ah!"
By and by they begin to go out,
Little by little.
The King's crown goes first,
Then his eyes,
Then his nose and chin.
The Queen goes out from the bottom up,
Until only the topmost jewel of her tiara is left.
Then that, too, goes;
And there is nothing but a frame of twisted wires,
With the stars twinkling through it.

WED 6/13: Talk, Beach Boys, Low Rock

On the birthday of William Butler Yeats, let's have a little verse:

"A Drinking Song"

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

Sure, it's a bit melancholy. That's how Irish people are when they're not jolly...

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WED 6/13

7pm
Science in the News: "The Biggest Mysteries of the Tiniest Things: Exploring the Frontiers of Particle Physics"
at Pfizer Auditorium Hall, Mallinckrodt Bldg, 12 Oxford St, Cambridge (Harvard campus)
FREE

One can assume that on the Large Hadron Collider will actually provide insights on how the universe works, and it's not just an expensive way to keep smart people occupied.

Or one could listen to a few grad students who have worked on LHC projects explain the concept of smashing particles for the benefit of science and what has been learned so far.

Although intended for the non-academic crowd, it would be helpful if you were paying attention to high school science teachers.

WED 6/13

6pm
Charles Bahne, "The Chronicles of Old Boston": Book Launch Celebration
at Old South Meeting House, 310 Washington St, Boston (Downtown Crossing)
FREE

As an author, tour guide, historian and seasonal park ranger; Charles Bahne knows and loves Boston in ways that few can match. The new book looks back at a bunch of historic moments of the last 400 years.

A book-signing follows after the discussion.

WED 6/13

9:30pm
DJ Will C, "Almost Summer Beach Boys' Party"
at Good Life, 28 Kingston St, Boston (Downtown Crossing)
FREE

It might be cloudy outside, but the sound of endless California summer reigns in the Good Life downstairs.

The Beach Boys are on a 50th anniversary jaunt around the country that lands at Harborlights in a couple weeks. For considerably less money, DJ Will C is hosting his own tribute as a fan with lots of hits and deep cuts.

He has created a whole album "Adieu or Die" that's been described as 'Beach Boys meets Hip-Hop'. The samples are much subtler that others might use -- most are instrumental passages that are difficult to identify and lots of studio banter/interviews. Everyone who shows up will get a free copy.

WED 6/13

10pm
Members of Morphine & Jeremy Lyons
at Atwoods Tavern, 877 Cambridge St, Cambridge (near Inman & Kendall Sq)
FREE

Every now and then, we need to be reminded that this amazing music is happening on almost every Wednesday for free. Sax-man Dana Colley and drummer Jerome Deupree revive the "low-rock" sound they pioneered in Morphine with New Orleans blues-guitar ex-pat Jeremy Lyons.

It's not like seeing Mark Sandman, but it's still pretty damn good especially whenever Dana Colley is doing his thing.

Now! The Transit of Venus, Last Night

As mundane the image may be, it is so mind-blowing that the advances of science allows us to see our celestial clockwork like early astronomers could only dream about. (It seems this feed is on New Mexico time.)

While it would be nice to expound philosophically, let's review Monty Python's "Galaxy Song":

Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
And revolving at 900 miles an hour.
It's orbiting at 19 miles a second, so it's reckoned,
The sun that is the source of all our power.
Now the sun, and you and me, and all the stars that we can see,
Are moving at a million miles a day,
In the outer spiral arm, at 40,000 miles an hour,
Of a galaxy we call the Milky Way.

Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars;
It's a hundred thousand light-years side to side;
It bulges in the middle sixteen thousand light-years thick,
But out by us it's just three thousand light-years wide.
We're thirty thousand light-years from Galactic Central Point,
We go 'round every two hundred million years;
And our galaxy itself is one of millions of billions
In this amazing and expanding universe.

Our universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding,
In all of the directions it can whiz;
As fast as it can go, at the speed of light, you know,
Twelve million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure,
How amazingly unlikely is your birth;
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere out in space,
'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth!

An Ode to Fenway Park

If you didn't go to Fenway's Centennial Open House last Thursday, you missed out. It was pretty cool even if you showed up during the last hour.

For the Red Sox fans out there, this poem written in honor of the anniversary will give you a warm 'n fuzzy feeling in at least a few couplets...

This is just one of Dick Flavin's wonderful Sox-related poems.

As one might expect, there is Thursday & Friday cheapness on the calendar.

(Yes, I took that photo a few years ago with my crappy point-and-click.)

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LONG LIVE FENWAY PARK
By Dick Flavin

For a hundred years she's stood here,
Heard cheering, seen our tears.
Through all the good times and the bad
Fenway perseveres.

She's baseball's great crown jewel,
A treasure - this is why.
Look out there on her field, you'll see
The ghosts of games gone by.

There's Babe Ruth standing on the mound,
Ted Williams at the plate.
And someone's great grandfather
Just came in through the gate.

That's Yaz patrolling in left field,
In center, Freddie Lynn;
Cronin's playing shortstop
But Pesky's coming in.

Luis Tiant whirls and spins
And then he lets it go.
There's another leaping catch
By Dom DiMaggio.

Jim Rice lines one off the wall,
Malzone comes in to score.
Pedroia makes a diving stop,
Or is that Bobby Doerr?

Fisk hits one deep into the night.
Will it be foul or fair?
It caroms off the foul pole
And the cheers still fill the air.

Dewey Evans' rifle arm
Just cut a runner down.
There's Tony C, still young and strong,
The toast of his hometown.

Roberts steals another base
Pinch running for Millar.
There's Radatz, Lonborg, Jimmie Foxx,
And Pedro and Nomar.

Look closely. You can see them all.
They come here everyday.
Fenway was and is their home.
It's where her ghosts still play.

And in the dugout by first base,
There sits the current squad.
Someday they will take their place
With all the Fenway gods.

That's why this place is magic,
Why she's made such a mark.
She's one hundred and still going strong.
And long live Fenway Park!

Off-Topic: Gratitude

Turkey is in the oven, green bean casserole is ready to go, and the 7-layer dip is made. So I'm going to do a little blogging.

I don't have to spend the day with my family, but we love each other. These are a few things I'm thankful for.

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"Thanks"
by W. S. Merwin

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
smiling by the windows looking out
in our directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

Off-Topic: Living at Full Volume

Instead of going to a club and having fun, I went to a wake tonight.

When I woke up this morning, I would've preferred to have a few pops and hear some good tunes; but I'm actually grateful to be reminded how precious every breath of life is.

There were so many mysterious layers to this situation that could fill a novel, but I was especially struck by the sudden death of this man who was originally from Haiti.

There has already been too much sadness in every Haitian family this year, yet it was cathartic to see so much real emotional outpouring.

I felt luckier than everyone else on the train home, because they didn't seem to appreciate the value of the moment.

I've often wanted to retreat in the face of profound sorrow, but tonight implored me to face the sadness and use that energy for something positive.

I also kept thinking about this poem by Dylan Thomas, and I hope to live until my last day.

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.