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Everything posted by bignosedcopperking

  1. Great poems by the masters

    When I read the poem I immediately imagined a young boy, as cupid is usually presented. That's fine it does not have to be Cupid. But I can still picture a man as representative of the abstraction love, and so I imagined other human images as fear and scorn and sorrow. It is hard for me to understand the poem otherwise. So if it is a personification of emotions, then you, Brian, do see human like forms when you read the poem, right? Jose.
  2. Great poems by the masters

    What is Cupid or Love for Swinburne? Does he actually believe that an anthropomorphic god exists or is it a conscious symbol? So is the poem an analogy of what is going on in the mind of the uncertain lover? Jose.
  3. Great poems by the masters

    SONG-- by Swinburne Love laid his sleepless head On a thorny rosy bed; And his eyes with tears were red, And pale his lips as the dead. And fear and sorrow and scorn Kept watch by his head forlorn, Till the night was overworn, And the world was merry with morn. And Joy came up with the day And kissed Love’s lips as he lay, And the watchers ghostly and gray Sped from his pillow away. And his eyes as the dawn grew bright, And his lips waxed ruddy as light; Sorrow may reign for a night, But day shall bring back delight. ------------------- So, is this a nightly occurrence for Cupid (Love), exhausted from his daily toil of uniting lovers? Or has he been up for too many days working in uniting lovers? Or did Cupid himself attempt to love on this day and fail, and is he exhausted with melancholy? Or is Cupid dying once and for all and human love with him—and has Joy come to his rescue?
  4. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    Though this poem is beautiful and very pleasing to read aloud, the only way I can understand its meaning is if "echo of the echo" are the concepts of in our minds, in that when we speak a word, it will surely echo, but the echo's echo can only be in our minds, and eternal; so that in "soars in every story," a "story" is a story in the conceptual architecture of our minds. Am I correct?

    Francis Bacon, The New Organon
  6. Great poems by the masters

    I first heard of O Captain! My Captain! from the movie Dead Poet's Society, which is a very beautiful movie by the way. The poem in that context fits well the character played by Sean Robert Leonard (House). Perhaps in that movie it mentions that it was for Lincoln but I'm not sure. But I knew in investigating a little more about Whitman that it was for Lincoln. I chose to include it because one needs to know that Whitman wrote it, in light of what one might find of his other poetry, as Brian mentioned. Some of his free verse is very discomforting. However, some lines in some poems, and some poems like them, are very beautiful still. Like the one I include after O Captain! My Captain! It suddenly hit me yesterday that perhaps I had included the first poem as a tribute to Ayn Rand--it must have been subconscious--where the Captain is Rand, and the ship is America, or where ever her followers roam. Now the second poem I included consciously because I personally really enjoy the sentiment and meaning of it. However, if one pretends that the speaker is Rand, I think it becomes quite apt. Happy Birthday Ayn Rand, Jose Gainza.
  7. Great poems by the masters

    WALT WHITMAN: O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red! Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here, Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. WHEN I HEARD AT THE CLOSE OF DAY When I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that follow'd, And else when I carous'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd, still I was not happy, But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health, refresh'd, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn, When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in the morning light, When I wander'd alone over the beach, and undressing bathed, laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise, And when I thought how my dear friend my lover was on his way coming, O then I was happy, O then each breath tasted sweeter, and all that day my food nourish'd me more, and the beautiful day pass'd well, And the next came with equal joy, and with the next at evening came my friend, And that night while all was still I heard the waters roll slowly continually up the shores, I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands as directed to me whispering to congratulate me, For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night, In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me, And his arm lay lightly around my breast--and that night I was happy.
  8. Great poems by the masters

    The last was quite beautiful and I welcomed it very much for my own enjoyment. Perhaps these could be words a man could say for the beautiful, shining Marilyn Monroe. Jose.
  9. Perfect Pancakes

    Yes, the Kitchen Aid Mixer is one of the best inventions every designed by the mind of man ... So I wonder if I use Martha's recipe..... Basic Pancakes will that suffice to succeed with the alteration Aurelia has advised? And it were these Pancakes on Martha's Live show .... German Apple Pancakes that showed me how to take pancakes to heights never before dreamed of yet. I didn't know men were capable of such pleasure until that morning, watching Martha's smile, while pouring the batter. And I still haven't tasted this recipe. Perhaps the idea was enough, just like I can still taste the first crispy cream donut I had several years ago, and never since. Jose Gainza.
  10. Perfect Pancakes

    I know, who doesn't have a box of pancake mix in there cupboard? I often don't. And there's a simple recipe, probably the same that my mother once taught me, that I got from Martha Stewart's website most recently. Basically, flour, sugar, baking powder, eggs, milk. How would your recipe alter if you make the pancake mix from scratch? I like my pancakes thin. But I don't mind fluffiness. So I'll try doing the egg white thing. Now, I like syrup on my pancakes, and sometimes jam. I like syrup because I like my pancakes with a side of not too salty, nor fatty bacon, and I like to pour syrup on them too. And I have some great memories of adding chocolate chips to the pancake batter on the pan. Jose Gainza.
  11. The Ruined Dress

    Some of you may have read this story on another forum, with author name being a pseudonym. I was that writer. I needed to use a pseudonym back then because some of the stories I had written at the time, if my true identity was known, would have cost my life great and unneccessary hassles at the time. It was an attempt to hide my identity from the envious people around me, if such were they, because I didn't know for sure. Anyways, I wish to share this story, because this one is very beautiful in spirit. --------------------------------------- THE RUINED DRESS—By Junius Junius Natalia Brown cried that night, though she managed to avoid it for the twelve hours prior. It was just past four in the afternoon when she was told by Diego of his news. Her affection for him struck her only in sparing moments so that she usually forgot those seldom, too seldom, moments of longing. And so she accepted his news with a military indifference, like a General who is told by his man that the enemy city has been nuked. She smiled as an effort to express her relief that he had moved on to someone else. Despite her insistence that he not waste his time, he had persisted for a whole year in trying to conquer her. He left love poems he had penned outside her townhouse door, and roses of all colours, packages with garments that he wanted to see her wear (like a silver silk scarf that caressed her cheek) though she only wore them inside her home. Her first instinct was always to throw away the gifts and send him e-mails of scornful reproach. She only succeeded in sending him polite e-mails reminding him of her wish not to be pampered, not to be shown his affection. It was after a week of every morning finding a VHS movie outside on her doorstep that she sent him the following e-mail: Since we work together and we both love our jobs, it is unavoidable that we see each other. But we will no longer chat like friends. We will say ‘hello—how are you—good-bye.’ We will discuss only what our work requires. And besides, I’ve moved past VHS long ago. Diego was devastated but he accepted it, though hope still lingered somewhere inside him, for there was a quality in the way she gazed at him still that still fanned his flame for her. One Monday after work, she bought a VCR again, and over dinner watched the movie Crime and Punishment. She found herself crying at the part where Raskolnkov’s beloved is waiting for him, living nearby in Siberia. She was reminded of the dress she had stolen for her prom and that she had never been caught. It occurred to her that perhaps this was the reason why for eight years since, she had never fallen in love. And then she grew angry and muttered, “How dare he?” On Tuesday she hurried home to watch Camille. And she ordered a pizza instead of cooking. She was surprised that she was touched by the idea, that even though this prostitute died, she died knowing that someone could love her. But soon Natalia said, “How dare he?” On Wednesday she watched Notre Dame de Paris. She felt a choking in her throat at the image of Quasimodo’s warped skeleton embracing that of his Esmeralda in their tomb, to which he snuck into after her death. It was an ever so touching symbol of eternal love. “God damn you,” she whispered. She grew colder and colder towards Diego at work, which saddened him greatly but he persisted to her doorstep every early morning still. On Thursday she saw Cyrano de Bergerac and was furious at Cyrano for not telling Roxanne the whole truth, right then and there on the battlefield. And she predicted that Cyrano would never tell her. And when he declared his love under the tree, and as he swung his sword at his tormentors in the air, and as his last breath slipped away, she said, “You deserve it, fool.” Though tears streamed down her cheeks. On Friday she saw Ninotchka and found the fate of the communist belle too unrealistic. She chuckled. But on Saturday, she fell in love with Mulligan of An American in Paris, and when it had ended, after the long celebratory dance of love for love’s sake, she danced to some mysterious music within her. And when she imagined the face of Diego, she stopped and went to bed. On Sunday she was angered even before she put the movie into the VCR because it was a 1980’s version of Zorro. And declared, “I don’t need saving.” But she watched it anyway. On Monday it was the last straw. By the time Rourke of The First Hander leaves his beloved’s room after the violent act of ownership, she turned off the VCR, despite the happy trembling within her. And she said, “you wish.” And in that moment she sent him the aforementioned nasty e-mail. A week later he was waiting for her outside her town house, with a big smile on his face. He reported that he had just finished a short novel. He had written it for her. It was a modern adaptation of Don Carlos by Schiller, but he made Carlos choose love over the ideal of liberty, making Carlos the protagonist once again, instead of Schiller’s Posa. He did not tell her this but she had read it and was moved at his ambition, and at the fulfillment of her need to see Carlos’ better choice upon her reading Schiller’s version. She sent him the following e-mail: Thank you, Diego. It was beautiful. However, I must insist that it is never going to happen. We cannot be. Though no one has ever performed such a grand affectionate gesture for me. Though hope still lingered somewhere within him, he was resolved to let her go. If that story would not conquer her, then nothing he could do could. But the next day she looked at him with a mysterious gaze like he never thought he would ever see. But she just walked past him. He would let her go no matter the torture that her gaze enacted. It was one of those first spring nights, blessed by a gentle breeze, and the glow of the full moon. That, and the memory of her gaze filled him with an erotic intoxication, which he needed to dilute. He chose beer. And he travelled from bar to bar. When last call passed and he had to leave his last bar, he thought that he would be saved from the betrayal that he had been ready to commit for some hours now. And then he saw her. She had short black hair and tight jeans. He offered to recite her one of his poems, and she asked him to take a walk with her. She subsequently invited him to her place and he accepted. The next time he saw Natalia at work he took her aside. “I don’t blame you Natalia, dear. It is not your fault. But I’ve betrayed you … yes, what you’ve meant to me all this year, my sacred longing. I was with a strange girl the other night. I was very drunk but that is no excuse. I didn’t enter her; I did not climax; I couldn’t get hard. Yes, I was too drunk—but more, it was the knowledge that how you looked earlier that day was what first filled me with such erotic intoxication. … and so often does … how the mere dream of your scent, or of some garment that you’ve worn drives me mad with frustrating hunger. I’m sorry. You’re the only one I need … thus will I be forever tortured.” “It’s honourable what you are attempting but there is no need.” And she walked away seemingly with indifference. That night they both cried lying in separate beds. And then it occurred to Diego that if his hope was at all valid, and if their love was really true, then she must have surely been crying at this hour too. He needed to know. He dressed. He rang her doorbell for an hour. And she heard every ring with a certainty of who it was. But she was honest and angry. And then she answered the door. Her eyes were swollen from tears. And she saw that his were too. “You love me!” he exclaimed. “I believe you,” she answered. “Only you,” he declared. And he kissed her passionately. And they ascended the steps to her bed. And he cried at the fulfillment of his most violent longing. And she laughed in her newfound-happiness. In the morning she asked him to marry her and he accepted. It was to be a simple and small wedding but the dress she wanted cost ten thousand dollars, though it was simple, though too expensive for her budget. It was by Armani and of the softest, pearly silk. It went just passed her knees but the cut at the side went up to her hip. It had no back, and a collar around her neck held up the front. And she looked stunning in it, no veil, just her luscious wavy black hair let loose. She would not, could not, buy the dress and she placated her desire with the thought of the dress’ imperfection, in that, she wanted cleavage shown so that a thick web united with the collar, revealing her naked skin. He mother noticed that though she was happy to be marrying Diego, a melancholy over the dress still lingered in her soul. Nadine, her mother, made it a habit to shop at Goodwill for used books. Very often she found some great deals. One day, nearing the wedding day, she entered the store to find two long rows of wedding gowns at the front entrance. She browsed through the racks; she couldn’t help it. Then she saw it. It was just like her precious daughter wanted. Except this one had the web for naked cleavage. It was destiny. The dress cost one hundred dollars. She looked at the tag and saw the letters “A.O” along with a year, “1928,” and a place, “Hollywood, California”. Nadine thought to herself: It’s impeccable, though. I must buy it. But if she knows it’s second-hand, she’ll never stand for it, no matter how perfect it is. I found it in a boutique in Montreal—that’s it. She’ll be so excited she won’t ask anything further … just my wedding gift … Nadine learned that there was a celebrated Tango competition being held in Montreal. And this is where she told Natalia she was going. So for that weekend Natalia did not meet or talk to her mother. Nadine exposed herself again on Monday and met her daughter for brunch. She entered the café with a large, flat, green box. Natalia could not touch her food once she saw the dress. And she asked no questions, or rather, she was satisfied that it was found in a Montreal boutique. The following were the vows two Saturday’s later: Diego: “My first few years as an adult were torture because I was in love with a girl named Rachel, who never loved me, and who left me all alone. But I was a child then still. And when I grew up, having left that infatuation go, I began to deserve the happiness that is you. And then you came into my life … and I had the courage to look into your eyes, and to see that you were like me—and my new and genuine reason for being. I don’t need to promise my loyalty. Even the idea of my betrayal is impossible. I am yours forever.” Natalia surprised Diego with her vows in verse, which are too precious to reveal right now, except that it must be mentioned that Diego did cry because of the sudden experience of the contrast with that year he wooed her, and that year she hurt him so, and now she was now declaring her love in language that, for the moment, seemed too good to be true, except for the gaze that sanctified it as reality. They only succeeded in staying at the reception for an hour. Their hotel room was too persistent a beckoning scream. When Natalia returned from her Miami honeymoon, she had lunch with her mother. She insisted that Nadine give her the address of the gown’s boutique so she could send them pictures and a thank you note. After several unsuccessful lies, Nadine broke down with the truth. Natalia was speechless except for the following question, “Second-hand?” Natalia explained the origin of the dress to Diego and promised not to let it upset her marriage. But Diego had noticed that he had begun to live with a stranger. She came and went but showed no affection, and hardly noticed him. After a week he could not stand it any longer. He played the role of detective. He went to the Goodwill head offices and asked for the origin of that dress. The donor was a man named Samson Brand. The dress belonged to his grandfather from California and he had it inherited upon his death, along with a letter explaining the criminal way it had reached the hands of Nathan Brand, his grandpa. Diego was shocked but he knew that the story would help his wife. Diego left Samson Brand immediately and rushed home to inform his wife of his news: the dress’ real origin. However, he was shocked at the spectacle that awaited him when he entered his living room. Natalia was stretched out on the sofa, wearing her wedding dress, watching some movie. She was recklessly swirling a glass of red wine, and Diego could not miss the trail of red spots that descended from her breasts to her navel. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony, though it was regrettable because of what he was about to tell her. “The dress is ruined,” he commented. “It doesn’t matter; it’s not mine.” “But you look so beautiful in it. We didn’t even take it off the first time of our wedding night.” “That was before I knew.” “I know where it came from.” “I don’t care.” “I think you will.” “It won’t make a difference.” “Can I tell you the story?” “Sure,” she drawled. “It comes all the way from California. A high school teacher here inherited it in Toronto. He is homosexual so he will never have use for it, he says. His name is Samson Brand. Does the name sound familiar to you?” “No.” “I didn’t think it would. Samson is the grandson of Nathan Brand. He was once a protégé of a great writer.” “Let me guess, Alicia O’Connor,” she chuckled sarcastically. Diego laughed at her naiveté, which she mistook for recognition of the impossible. She let him continue. “He was once the student of a great female writer. She was an immigrant from Russia with a dream of writing for the movies. Almost immediately during her stay in California Cecil B. DeMille gave her her first break. He taught her some important elements about writing. She would grow to write one of the greatest novels ever written, about a hero with a severe integrity. After this, Nathan Brand came into her life. But during her early struggle she met an actor during the making of King of Kings. She pursued him. She thought that she would lose him forever. And then she ran into him in a public library all by chance. It was an unending Romance. “So she welcomes Nathan into her family. He becomes the protégé of her ground breaking philosophy … they become lovers … the husband consents … but Nathan betrayed her.” “How?” “He fell in love with an ordinary woman after he had already declared his love for his teacher. The deceit goes on for too long until he gathers up the courage to tell her the truth. But he predicts that she will disown him. So he goes into her closet and takes a box with him, as a memento; an act he did instinctually; a motive unconscious. Inside is her wedding dress … the dress she wore to marry Cyrus O’Connor … the dress that she designed and made herself … the dress that showed off her fantastic legs … and the dress he slid off of her on the first night of their married bliss … the dress she wore to marry the man who would love her enough, and to realize her value enough, to let her free to investigate a potential greater happiness than the one she found with him.” “And when Nathan told her?” “She disowned him.” “What was her name?” “Alicia O’Connor.” “What? … I didn’t know that about her; I never looked into her biography. I just read her fiction and philosophic papers.” “I know. You have just spilled wine on the dress of the author of THE FIRST HANDER.” After the honour of owning that dress had settled within her, she took off the dress very delicately, and folded it back in the box. Then she stood before him naked, ready, and once more his most precious, magnificent wife. “Who owns me?” she asked .....The video of the wedding does show and presents the wedding vows of Natalia. You must know what made Diego cry so much and at all. You must experience the words that expressed her deepest hunger, the words that validated Diego's one long year desire ... What must be revealed is that for some weeks Natalia insisted that Diego suck her neck every morning to renew his initial bruise from their first time. Though Diego could not guess the real reason, he realized such upon her first kiss upon their "wedding alter": Thus Natalia spoke: Gold does not adorn my throat. Pearls do not bedeck my neck. Diamonds do not emblazon my neck. Every morning I have asked you to bejewel my throat. Every morning I have asked you to sustain this bruise. Oh, the violence that your teeth and lips denote. Oh, the tablet that I am and that you choose. Why this cruelty I demand, you ask? … As the broadcast of our love filled play; As the adornment from our life-long pact; As a memento of what lovers do all day. How’s this a symbol of a marriage bright? It’s the symbol of your special right, That would mean betrayal if not done by you. It’s a reminder of why I love you. Why dare I wear it on this wedding day? To show our audience that love cannot wait— To proclaim your title on this sacred day— To exhibit what will be our fate. Friends, you wonder why his neck is bare? It’s how I planned it with conscious care. My bruise connotes our forever-dare, And all the joys, burdens, and toil we’ll bear. Watch me seal it with my mouth and swear With violent bruising on his neck so fair.
  12. Rocky Balboa (2006)

    Thank you for this review. I would have to watch it anyways because, the first one is wonderful. I was really young when I saw Rocky IV for the first time, but I loved it! Even back then I understood on some level the difference between Americans and Soviets. It is movies like Rocky that had instilled in me the American Sense of Life. Yes, Rocky V was a disappointment. But the attempt was good. The young impulsive, fame driven "hot shot" against the legendary "master" who knows what it takes. Now we have a boxing sage you say. I hope that the movie does indeed show the soul of Rocky Balboa. Thanks, however, first on my list is The Good Shephard; I'm saving this one for myself, or to go with someone new. But I think I can take my friend Paul to watch Rocky, and because of that, it might be something I watch before The Shephard. Let the commentaries continue. Jose Gainza.
  13. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    This one was fun to read aloud. For me it is a dance song, drum beats or tap shoes. It could be a poem one can memorize and choreograph one's own tap routine for, while reciting (singing) it aloud. Thanks again, Jose Gainza.
  14. The Objectivism Research CD-ROM

    This will actually be an interesting post: Even an Objectivist can ask for charity ... or a just reward? Simply put, this has never been in my budget because I have in text most of what is available. But there are things that are available on the CD that one can't do with books. Like search. Like cut and paste and organize material for good works on my computer. Wow! However, when it has come down to this CD or buying some lecture by an intellectual, I have always chosen the latter. It is still not in my budget. So anyone who would like to buy me a copy, or give me their used copy, PM me and I will give you my address. I don't think this is altruistic since I'm naming my terms and don't think it is anyone's duty to give me this great product--but I would be filled with glee if someone would. For those who think I have the makings of a great intellectual, you can only benefit from me having such a CD, since I am relatively active in Objectivist forums. I guess I have to say PLEASE? Love, Jose Gainza.
  15. Coffee

    I love the taste of coffee and yes, of course the smell. But the good coffee shops, like Starbucks, is unbeatable. But the smell of Brandy in a large sniffer is divine. Or the smell of red wine once one's palette has adjusted is like Candy Apple. I think coffee is an acquired taste just like the last two things, and whiskey.
  16. The best two one-hour TV shows back-to-back

    There was a period when Prison Break and 24 were back to back. I haven't been able to get into Heroes. I'll wait for it on DVD. I'm watching too much t.v. as it is. But Studio 60, when I catch it, has this special something. It is the same thing that Saturday Night Live has: I may not laugh at every attempt at humour, I may recognize the obvious silliness, I may regret that they wasted my time for some five minutes, but for some reason I just have to keep on watching it. What I like about Studio 60 is how it depicts the quickness of the mind's orginality and creativity. It seems that some of the skits are thought of while the variety show is actually on, and within a matter of minutes the actors have to learn the skit, and then present this live. I find this amazing. Larry King asked Alec Baldwin recently why he loved Saturday Night Live so much. Baldwin: There's just nothing else like it. And he cited his last appearance where Steve Martin was a surprise guest, then suddenly Martin Short appears, and finally all three are surprised by the appearance of Paul McCartney. In addition, I've was certainly impressed by Matthew Perry's and his partner's last television characters. Jose Gainza.
  17. Onions Are Evil

    You've obviously never had Pork sandwiches in Quito, or a Shrimp Ceviche in Guayaquil, or a bistec en Guayaquil, or a great portion of the chinese food in Toronto ... I'm serious. Jose Gainza
  18. My experience in the inductive approach to learning has only been in literature and philosophy. I would use the same approach in learning anything else. I'm at home with that method, not an expert, but at home, in that it is the primary method I know how to learn with. Ever since I listend to Peikoff's Objectivism Through Induction, I knew I didn't know what learning was prior to it. But this is not the point I want to make, but rather: if the Van Damme methods work, if this no homework policy does work, then I can see other benefits for a more fulfilled life. The time at home can thus be spent with one's parents and deepening the love one has, on learning painting, reading literature, watching good movies, learning an instrument, deepening a friendship, learning farming, i.e., becoming a loving, benevolent, renaissance man. Now all we need is to apply this no-homework policy in the workplace. Jose Gainza.
  19. "Sparrowhawk" completed!

    The fruit gardens of the worlds are so vast--no matter what people say ... I remember in Second Renaissance Books catologues, the name, SparrowHawk. That's how long ago I heard of the name, and I've been getting acquainted with other books. I didn't know, or I haven't been able to recall that these books deal with 18th Century America. You see, for years now I've known that one day I would have to write--maybe at sixty--a book about the American Revolution. Perhaps I will not have to. I haven't read these books. But now I have to. There are three books that should occupy my time for the next fifteen years or so. Besides these, I definately envision one about Plato and Aristotle; this is a must if I live long enough. And everyday I would like to write others, like perhaps one on the French Romantics, or Edmond Rostand. Or even a just, fictionalized, dramatization of Ayn Rand's life, not requiring so much the events of her life reported about in other biographies, but more of a thematic-intellectual biography. Anyways, I'm inspired, thanks to all the commentators, to save to buy these books. It's always a good thing when someone eliminates the need to do work one has felt needed to be done, so that one can concentrate on perhaps more enjoyable endeavours. Because it was really only the experience that I longed for, to live in that glorious age. I'm confident these books will turn out to be good. Thanks, Jose Gainza.

    First of all, thanks for this little essay. It's important. I just found this link about Chanticleer: I include these links because I think more people should no about this neat little Rostand play. I desperately want someone to make a movie about it. What do you think Bill?
  21. House (2004)

    It seems appropriate that "the rat" did what he did. It seems logical and just given his maltreatment. When that one half of the peanut butter and jam sandwhich was stolen, it really upset me. I wanted in that moment to send the thief into the hellfire. The references to the famous biblical betrayal was very symbolic. I never thought of the sandwhich thief that way: the secular and selfish version of Christ. Is House going on Hiatus too until January? Jose Gainza.
  22. Prison Break (2005)

    Yesterday's episode was a very pleasant surprise and I can't wait until January, almost February, until it returns. Now, I'm just anxious to see if our new saviour has committed more evil deeds than Bagwell. He must have, no? Jose Gainza.
  23. Teen Goes Nuclear in Garage

    I hope John Galt gets to humble Thiago first.
  24. "Prison Break" vs. "24"

    Thank for this I'm glad you started it. You must see the rest of the 24 seasons. I missed the first three, I think and have only caught parts of them. But the President of last season was one hell of a character. In hindsight, the actor acted the part superbly. His facial expressions are awesome and apt to his character. Just a note: the problem with 24 and characterization is that the whole season takes place in twenty four hours. Maybe that's where your disappointment lies in the show--that in twenty four hours the characters should be much more essentialized. Jose Gainza.
  25. House (2004)

    Fair enough; let's see how the year progresses. I suspect both of us are anxious to see how it develops, for good or for bad. (Can't say much more because I'm watching Redford on The Actor's Studio). Jose.