"I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills,
Like that above."
Excerpt from "My Country, 'Tis of Thee"
(Also known as "America")
Written by Samuel Francis Smith, 1832
Via The Orthosphere, July 24, 2018
From the Article "The Shabbiest Gospel"
By: J. M. Smith
Bourdain in Ethiopia for hs CNN show taping with another "celebrity Chef" Marcus Maya Samuelsson
I can't remember what exactly I was watching when I had this "flash" about Bourdain's "suicide."
Of course Bourdain looks creepy with his tattooed arms. And his super skinny body (especially his legs) indicates a drug-addict's appearance. But cooking for one's job is tough. Cooking is tough, period. The heat, the slippery floor, all that washing, setting the timer, and setting it right, so food doesn't burn, or worse over-cook (you can throw burnt food out), tasting, and finally the verdict (too much salt will get the frying pan out!) A "celebrity" "international" chef is not a glamorous career. Traveling is very tiring. You get sick in foreign, third world, lands which even the best of treatment and the most sophisticated "anti-malarial/anti-bacterial/anti-everything" medications cannot prevent.
But Bourdain was a good sport. He enjoyed traveling despite its grueling schedule. He sat down and ate with the "natives." He went beyond the food and really tried to understand the cultures. He was professional and kept up his CNN reportage diligently.
But. No-one was able to report on the "suicide note." We don't know what it said and even to whom it was addressed. Presumably it is to his young daughter. He split up wth his wife (or she split up with him more likely), and was with a new girlfriend, who also split up with him recently! These professional feminists just cannot stand the idea of supporting a man with a super busy life who would have time for them only during brief "down times" and when all he wants is a comfortable and familiar home with a wife and family who can welcome him full heartedly. Think of soldiers and warriors who, if they didn't have their stable homes and loving wives, COULDN'T fight dedicatedly. Who would they be fighting for?! Who would Bourdain be cooking for?
Asia Argento, his new girlfriend, used to travel with him, but I guess the exoticism wore off when she was left in empty luxury hotels as Bourdain went off into the common quarters to find that special local dish. She was seen wandering around with a new boyfriend.
The conclusion by journalists is that Argento's new affair was what triggered off Bourdain's suicide.
Maybe so. The account I have written certainly can explain it.
But I don't think so. A man dedicated to his work, a kind of a chef-warrior, seasoned, experienced and who has probably been through all kinds of social and professional obstacles, doesn't suddenly kill himself because his new girlfriend split up with him.
Others say that he contemplated suicide for a long time because of a nihilistic streak of "is life worth living?".
No. If you have travelled at all, you know that traveling, and with a cause (like finding great recipes) can be invigorating. And Bourdain was with people all the time. Helping people. Talking and joking with people. Showing the world in his globalist liberal way that we are all one big close-to-happy world. A bit like his close-to-happy chef's life.
Maybe if he had built his career solely in a big city (like New York) and was a drug addict in his super-luxury enclave (like Kate Spade), abandoned by wives and girlfriends and pushed to go on by his heroin and other drugs, he might have become that white male suicide victim.
Perhaps. But how many alcoholics and drug addicts commit suicide?
The statistics of white male suicides is apparently on the rise. But is it really an epidemic? Does Bourdain fit that profile other than "middle-aged white male?"
Here is an interesting video which suggests that his shift towards more conservative ideology may have ignited the wrath of his globalist liberal followers. The youtuber - goes on to say that Bourdain might have been privy to all kinds of illicit and illegal international activities, like pedophilic sex trafficking, prostitution rings, border-crossing guides for illegal migration, etc. etc.
Alex Jones at Info Wars: Learn What Anthony Bourdain Was Planning To Say Before He Died
This makee complete sense. If he talks to village henchmen in an African village, they will TELL him things surely. If he cooks with the local chef in some South Asian town, he will reveal the next river crossing on the way to Australia. He cannot enter into these Third World countries without the special permission of the top leaders of these countries. And so on.
This fits with Bourdain's do-gooder personality. His missionary-chef zeal. Hs one-world ideology.
Before we jump on to band wagons that white men are killing themselves off and dying like flies, let's not put every suspicious death into the same basket.
The what male is still strong, clever, curious, intelligent, an adventurer, and an inventor.
The anti-white anti-West pushers will push this angle to make this curious, and charmed species appear to be on the wane, to be dying out.
If they repeat it enough times, he will begin to believe it. Some in fact do believe it.
Once the white man's psyche is weakened then all kinds of other things can be rammed in. And, then the final demise of the western world will have been achieved.
I say NO. Bourdain - chef-warrior - should receive a plaque at the very least. Make him into a cult figure, I say to all young men. Learn from him! He may be full of faults, but who isn't? He's one of the best examples you have in this white-loathing world. He's one of yours.
This young singer brought up in Miami since the age of five sings the most authentic Cuban salsa music.
Of course the pornographc lesbian Ellen Degenerate has her claws on her and invited her on her show. Nonetheless the Havana Girl shows herself to be thoroughly heterosexual despite the Ellen Charm™.
I know. I had a flair for salsa dancing. During my Mexico years, I befriended a group of people who liked to frequent a small salsa joint, Bar Leon, in the city's Centro Historico (actually not a very safe district).
A dorm mate at the University of Connecticut from Puerto Rico taught me some basic steps and I practiced them in my cramped room with latino music from a cassette I had borrowed playing on my compact player. Even she was impressed by my results.
At Bar Leon, I would drag whatever partner I could find in my group who was naive enough, or curious enough, to go to the dance floor with me and I would dance as the GUIDE, something unheard of in Latino culture - the woman never GUIDES for the love of God!
Some young man either from the audience or from the floor would ask my clumsy partner to step aside and he would gently nudge me in the directions he would like me to go. He was the guide.
People thought I was some gringo Cuban (or from Vera Cruz). Never the African I was. Although in the my later encounters with deeply religious Catholic rural Mexicans, they thought Ethiopia was not "African" but rather the land by the Red Sea with Mosesian associations. "Vengo del pais por el Mar Rojo" I would dramatize my origins. One time, when a farmer knew I was coming back in the area (word gets around in those hilly villages), he came along to see who this person was. I don't think he was disappointed. But I brought things back to earth by asking him if any senora in his village could make me one of the embroidered tops typical of the region. He told me to come back in a couple of weeks. By then, I had left the region and was renegotiating my future - to stay on with my program or to start new frontiers. Of course I chose the latter.
Lyrcs to: Havana, Oh na-na
Havana, ooh na-na
Half of my heart is in Havana, ooh-na-na
He took me back to East Atlanta, na-na-na
Oh, but my heart is in Havana (ay)
There's somethin' 'bout his manners
Havana, ooh na-na
He didn't walk up with that "how you doin'?"
(When he came in the room)
He said there's a lot of girls I can do with
(But I can't without you)
I knew him forever in a minute
(That summer night in June)
And papa says he got malo in him
He got me feelin' like
I knew it when I met him
I loved him when I left him
Got me feelin' like
Ooh-ooh-ooh, and then I had to tell him
I had to go, oh na-na-na-na-na
Havana, ooh na-na
Half of my heart is in Havana, ooh-na-na
He took me back to East Atlanta, na-na-na
Oh, but my heart is in Havana
My heart is in Havana
Havana, ooh na-na
Havana, ooh na-na
Half of my heart is in Havana, ooh-na-na
He took me back to East Atlanta, na-na-na
Oh, but my heart is in Havana
My heart is in Havana
Havana, ooh na-na
Morning on the Hudson
[Photo By KPA
New York, 2016]
I got a coffee from the nearby market, poured it into my thermos, got a bran muffin and walked down from my Upperwest Side apartment around 110th Street down to Riverside Drive. Eventually, I found a quiet spot (where the noise from heavy-morning traffic roaring down the Henry Hudson Parkway was abated by a brief half circle from 96th to 89th) and found a bench close enough to the water. I kept my gloves on and drank the welcome warm coffee and took bites from my muffin. It was freezing of course. But I was well-covered with layers everywhere, including two layers of gloves (woolen and those padded waterproof ones which look like I'm on an expedition in the Antarctic). The thin woolen gloves served to keep me temporary (very) warmed as I too pictures.
Some hardy souls were my companions along the snowy path, including dogs and their owners. We said hello to each other in solidarity.
There is a dominance of blue in the photographs (that's what happens with snow unless you correct for it). I don't have time to tweak them now, but I think it works, giving the impression of an icy blue wonderland outside.
The snow at times enveloped the countryside and we could barely make out the outlines of the trees and the farms. But it snowed throughout the trip - all 12 hours.
It was a beautiful trip. I left our safety to God, and to the skill and intelligence of the driver.
Here is the packed schedule I had in Philadelphia and New York. Visit these places, if you can...
I already posted on my visit to the Longwood Gardens (but further down in this post, I post a photograph which was on view from the Spring Blooms competition).
Let's All Be Americans Now Lyrics and words by Irwin Berlin
[Verse 1] Peace has always been our pray'r, Now there's trouble in the air, War is talked of ev'rywhere, Still in God we trust;
Now that war's declared, We'll show we're prepared, And if fight we must. It's up to you! What will you do?
[Chorus] England or France may have your sympathy, over the sea, But you'll agree That, now is the time, To fall in line, You swore that you would so be true to your vow, Let's all be Americans now. now.
[Verse 2] Lincoln, Grant and Washington, They were peaceful men, each one, Still they took the sword and gun, When real trouble came; And I feel somehow, they are wond'ring now, If we'll do the same.
Longwood Gardens Photographic Exhibition: Spring Blooms From the Delaware Photographic Society's annual Wilmington International Exhibition of Photography
Pennsylvania German Birth and Baptismal Certificate for Johannes Gass 1790-1800 Pen, ink and watercolor 12 3/4 x 15 1/2 Philadelphia Museum of Art
I got this postcard from the museum's shop. I couldn't find the exact piece on line, so what you see is my photograph (I don't have a scanner) of the postcard.
From what I can find out, the designer of this piece is known as Christian Beschler, the "Sussel Unicorn artist" according to this piece.
In 2007, Dr. Don Yoder identified the words gemacht von CB (made by CB) on two newly discovered "Sussel-Unicorn" taufscheine (birth and baptismal certificates).3 These initials belonged to the schoolmaster Christian Beschler, [...] His taufscheine are characterized by a bright orange or orange and yellow central rectangular area that contains the text adorned with compass stars and geometric designs. Whimsical unicorns and birds with manes eating berries, lions with faces, angels, hearts, half circles, compass stars, and pots of flowers fill the colorful documents. There seems to be an obsession to fill all available space. His religious text and drawing share these motifs.
I had another whirlwind of a trip to Philadelphia (and New York) last week. I finally arrived at my destination in Philadelphia after a couple of incidents. This seems to be a regular occurence on my trips. The last time involved a Greyhound bus which took me to the wrong destination (see here, where I ended up in Cleveland on my way to Steubenville Ohio). And this time it was a Canada goose.
We got stuck in Mount Cobb, Pennsylvania after a north-migrating (returning to Canada, actually) Canada goose smashed into the windshield on the driver's side. We were ceremoniously escorted to the nearest Burger King, and about three hours later, a replacement bus took us to our final destination of Port Authority.
But the trip was a wonderful respite, and I wasn't going to let a couple of incidents spoil it. I managed to pack in, with the help of my friends, quite a schedule.
We visited Larry's grave in the beautiful St. Peter and St. Paul Cemetery in Springfield Pennsylvania, to commemorate the second year of his death. The statue behind me is St. Paul's. And I am standing under the oak tree, which I write about here.
Below, I've posted the various photographs I took over these five days.
On the Road through Ontario, New York State and Pennsylvania (and New Jersey for a bit)
At Buffalo
That is a small lake in the background, I tried to find out its name, but it was too small to find on my google map.
I finally could see the New York skyline in New Jersey. It was dark, and I would reach the city's bus terminal about an hour later. I would travel to Philadelphia the next morning.
Longwood Conservatory, in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania
Glory-of-the-snow flowers blooming in a field at Longwood Gardens
Glory-of-the-snow are "one of the first harbingers of spring," according to this site. We were just about to leave the cold (and long, this year) winter and the snow as I got to Philadelphia, and this field of flowers showed us that spring is ahead.
Star Magnolia tree in bloom
Pierre Dupont Conservatory
DuPont built his home above the conservatory, and could see the plants from his bedroom window!
The reflection in the glass in the background is of Saint Patrick's Cathedral. It seems an apt metaphor for the seizure of the pagan, Roman god of by Christians.
I was so busy trying to get the Atlas image, that I didn't even notice the reflection.
As some kind of penance - inadverantly - I went to Saint Patrick's and lit a candle.
Lions at the Rockefeller Plaza" "Arms of England" Frieze by Lee Lawrie
The 50th entrance to the British Empire building features three walking lions looking out towards the viewer from the building. Below is a row of red Tudor roses. [From this site]
Saint Francis of Assisi with birds at the Rockefeller Plaza Frieze by Lee Lawrie
Saint Patrick's Cathedral Stained Glass, with Mary
I asked a docent in the cathedral if he could show me any stained glass with Mary, since I didn't have much time.
I lit a candle under the stained glass as I left. The stained glass is near the door (it is the second one in at the right entry), and there are candles right underneath it.
Here is another where in my rush I neglected to take one of the full glass, and instead, I took the bottom half, where the intricate lace-like design caught my attention.
Several sites write that Henry Ely made the stained glass, which they title "Three Baptisms." But they don't reference that information. It is strangely hard to find information on the stained glass online, but here is something in Google Books, under the title: New York City: Vol 1, New York City Guide (page 345):
Forty-five of the seventy stained glass windows are from the studios of Nicholas Lorin at Chartres, and Henry Ely at Nantes. Rich in tone, some dark some of pastel lightness - and combined with elaborate tracery, they glow in the sunshine, but unfortunately, much of the detail in them is too delicate to be legible at a distance. They become simply patterns of red, yellow, green, blue and purple against the framework of the stone walls which, in the dusky night, takes on a tone of deepest gray.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Posted By: Kidist P. Asrat
