Papa Neutrino and Julian Assange

What else to do on a cold and snowy Sunday other than sit next to the fire and curl up with the NYT? Been doing it for more than 50 years.

After reading sports, obits, and the Magazine section, I went down to the Lake for a walk with the two stories resonating in my head. Neither the cold, the damp, nor the gray could hide the natural beauty. But, I just couldn’t get Papa Neutrino or Julian Assange out of my head. They both be dreamers who wanted to change the world-one by being a part of it and the other by leaving it. Charge…

People celebrated Papa’s departure with song, champagne, and fireworks. No one on the shore admitted that they didn’t think the craft would make it, though everyone hoped it would. I watched them put it together; Papa was a little ballast short in this shipbuilding experience. And don’t forget, a few days before the departure, he had his pacemaker replaced. His cardiologists even came down to visit the boat with their kids. Not sure they were on board with the trip, but they be healers not seers.

Papa sort of gave everyone a dream that you don’t have to be tied down to your things to have a good life. Who knows if he left anything other than dreams? He knew the score, but didn’t seem to notice if he was ahead or behind. To him, the system was going to do what it was going to do and he was going to do what he was going to do and he didn’t care about the power structure and they didn’t care about him, other than to make sure he secured permission to take his craft out on the Lake, something he did by showing the Coast Guard the raft floated and had running lights.

Well, he left and we all know what happened. Some of his junk remains here, although it is covered by the snow.

When I read Bill Keller’s article on Julian, I sort of got the feeling that he, too, thought he could take on the system and prevail. Both guys battled against the system. One’s dream was built on leaks, the other derailed by one. Ultimately, nature and biology got to Papa. Too early to tell what will happen to Julian. His stuff was not as blockbusting as republican critics have shouted. Nothing changed. We knew most of what he told us. And as for what the materials said about the caddiness of diplomats and world leaders was no surprise. Papa’s ill fated voyage had the same effect.Both didn’t understand that you don’t step on Superman’s cape and you don’t piss into the wind.

I thank the NYT Managing Editor for his work in telling us how respectfully the paper balances the competing interests of the First Amendment. I question, though I do not reject, the judgment that went into selecting Papa for a William Grimes obituary. Aware as I am of the NYT policies on publishing alleged classified documents, assuming that is what Julian’s were and its standards for selecting people for obits, instead of paid death notices, they did what they do. As for both of those guys, though,neither is or was as big a deal as they thought they were, but the world would be a lesser place if individuals didn’t think they could live a life that makes a difference.

Snowflake Bentley.

Jay Maisel told a story about Snowflake Bentley at the Maine Media workshop I attended. Allegedly, Snowflake Bentley was being honored by a photographic society at a fancy hotel in NYC. During the awards ceremony, as he was about to speak, he learned that snow had begun to fall. He announced to the crowd that he had to be going, picked up his camera, and left.

So Jay lives in the heart of museum country. I don’t. He loves to see the work of others, framed or just published. And he loves to teach, sharing with others his passion for making images and his love of art. So when I read the January 3, 2011 New Yorker  article on snowflakes that referred to Snowflake Bentley, a photographer of note whom I had only learned of from him, who, as Adam Gopnik pointed out lived in Vermont, I went to the museum in the next town which houses his equipment and work.


His microscope.

A quilt made by his wife.

Thanks Jay. Who knew it was just up the road a piece.

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Church Street Christmas


Buses don’t run on Christmas in Burlington. If you be here, you be here. If you not be here, you be somewhere else. Odd. You can hear the traffic signals. No outsiders. College kids home. Street people all snuggled up in shelters and motels and camps. No stores open, except for Rite Aid. No restaurants. Gray. Cold. Deserted.

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Stephen Shore at Bard

Who knows what be next? Visited Bard to hear an explanation of the limited residenct MFA program. Took a tour of the campus. Walked past Steven Shore’s office in the photography building. Left my card on his door. I wouldn’t say it was the functional equivalent of what Philip Roth described in The Ghost Writer where the fledgling writer spends the night at the home of his idol, but I felt the vibes. Shore doesn’t teach in the MFA program. Too bad.

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Demolition of New Car Garage and Battery Jeans

Heard on the street that Homeland Security had bought the building. Then I read in the paper that a permit had been obtained to build an office building and maybe some coops. The developers took Waterfront Video. Then they took Battery Jeans and Good News Garage. The face of downtown Burlington be a changing.