Archive for July 28th, 2010

Moving Parts

So it is not only the bones of the Admiral that have not been allowed to rest in peace.

Last week we learned that the (alleged) remains of former Romanian dictator Nicolae Ceausescu, and his wife Elena, have been brought out of the ground there in Bucharest, so that Science Men can paw over them in an attempt to determine whether those bodies are really who they say they are. The Ceausescus’ heirs successfully sued to reopen the graves, in response to two decades of wild Romanian rumors insisting that the bodies Are Not Really Them. If the bodies are Them, the heirs want to reinter them in a family plot.

Give us about six months, said the Science Men after the exhumation, then we’ll give you the Truth.

Meanwhile, over in Italy, the Galileo Museum in Florence has decided that The Thing To Do is to put bits of Galileo’s body on display—”three fingers and a gnarly molar.”

“He’s a secular saint, and relics are an important symbol of his fight for freedom of thought,” said Paolo Galluzzi, the director of the Galileo Museum, which put the tooth, thumb and index finger on view last month, uniting them with another of the scientist’s digits already in its collection.

“He’s a hero and martyr to science,” he added.

Jesus wept. Is there a reason why people can’t let moldering corpses lie? And what in the sam hill is it?

furthur=>

Finger Of Fate

She rounded a thicket of pomegranate trees which were shaking bare limbs in the cold wind and saw him leaning on his axe, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He was wearing the remains of his butternut trousers and one of Gerald’s shirts, a shirt which in better times went only to Court days and barbecues, a ruffled shirt which was far too short for its present owner. He had hung his coat on a tree limb, for the work was hot, and he stood resting as she came up to him.

At the sight of him in rags, with an axe in his hand, her heart went out in a surge of love and fury at fate. She could not bear to see him in tatters, working. His hands were not made for work or his body for anything but broadcloth and fine linen. God intended him to sit in a great house, talking with pleasant people, playing the piano and writing things which sounded beautiful and made no sense whatsoever.

—Margaret Mitchell, Gone With The Wind


When I Worked

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