Dec 14, 2006

The Quote Shelf

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book shelf A frequent feature on this site; feel free to comment on the quote or to supply a competing quote.

This existence of ours is as transient as autumn clouds. To watch the birth and death of beings is like looking at the movements of a dance. A lifetime is like a flash of lightning in the sky, rushing by, like a torrent down a steep mountain.
--Guatama Buddha

Dec 13, 2006

On Fried Bologna and Nostalgic Moments

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(Toledo, OH) While rummaging through my refrigerator today in search of something to eat for lunch, the idea came upon me to fry some slices of bologna.

I learned the art of baloney-frying from my sister, who perfected her technique in the summer of 1974 (I think). Our mom, in her infinite wisdom, taught us to feed oursleves for breakfast and lunch, and I walked in the house one afternoon to smell the delicious aroma of singed lunchmeat wafting through the air.

I was instantly hooked. I had never imagined that bologna could be eaten in a manner other than cold, slapped between two slices of Wonder bread with a heavy slathering of mustard.

The way I'd always made it.

My sister fried the meat, then put it on toatsed bread with a light basting of mayonnaise. I had never tasted anything so good.

She also knew that you have to be ready wih a fork to pop the "baloney bubble" that rose; the high fat and water content of balogna causes the circumference to shrink as it is heated, driving the center upward.

In the photo you can see that I forgot this advice, and had to create PacMan-like shapes by slicing through the unattended bubble.

It has been years since I last made myself a fried bologna sandwich, but I ate one today and thought about the summer of 1974, when my pesky little sister - for a few minutes, at least - suddenly became a genius.

Ah, heck - she is still a genius, and she can run mental circles around me. It just took me a few more years to realize her brilliance.

My dogs are hovering nearby, hoping for a share in the culinary delight that is fried bologna, but I am savoring every bite. Sorry, canine friends.

Dec 12, 2006

On An Empty Classroom and Fear of Nukes

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Empty classroom in UT's McMaster HallEmpty classroom in UT's McMaster Hall

(Toledo, OH) I picked up a stray piece of paper as the last of my students filed out the door after taking the final exam. Over the course of the semester I became a bit annoyed at my low-tech classroom, as I had to cart 40 pounds of equipment across campus three times a week.

And yet, as I packed up my bags for the last time this semester, I waxed sentimental over the shared experience of the pursuit of knowledge with this group of students, even in a room that only boasts a VHS player and an overhead projector.

True, a handful of students disappeared from the radar screen in the first weeks, and there were likely a few whose only real concern was passing the class. As every teacher knows, though, there are moments when you can all but see the metaphorical lightbulbs turning on as awareness sets in.

Learning is, of course, a two-way street, and I never cease to be amazed at the things I learn from students. I was surprised that none of my students, for example, considered nuclear proliferation to be a frightening development in human history.

Fallout shelter signI used to see these signs every day in Detroit Public Schools

As a child of the Cold War era, I grew up quite fearful of nuclear weapons, especially living in what was then an industrial mecca and likely nuclear target: Detroit. We were herded regularly into the Fallout Shelter for nuclear drills, an area that was clearly marked with radiation signs.

Today, of course, these are the "tornado" or "emergency" areas in schools. Maybe I am just a paranoid relic of a time in which government propaganda about the Soviets created a generation of nuke-fearing citizens, but I still think that having more nations with nuclear weapons increases the likelihood that they will be used.

Then again, I would hate to be right about the dangers of nukes; there would be no joy in telling the last thousand surviving humans that I saw the nuclear holocaust coming: "Told you so, you mutant freaks!"

Anyways, modern European history students: thank you for a memorable semester, and I wish each of you well in your endeavors. Remember to enjoy life, to embrace the desire to learn, and to be skeptical of the words of authority figures.

Especially bemused history instructors with antiquated notions.

Department of Shameless Self-Promotion

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C'mon - a mug like this ain't gonna win any beauty contests

(Toledo, OH) Lisa Renee of Glass City Jungle is running a blog contest in conjunction with her weekly Toledo Free Press column "Blog It."

Thus, I am respectfully asking for your consideration to vote for this blog. If you believe this site to be your favorite Toledo-area blog, send Lisa an email at glasscityjungle@gmail.com and cast your vote for historymike.

But - whatever you do - do NOT cast a vote for the villainous, ill-tempered, and perenially-drunken Subcomandante Bob at Toledo Tales. He has had two satire pieces take on high traffic lives as real news in the last week ( this one and this one), so now his already massive ego has reached an all-time high.

It is funny, though, to see far-right "news" services like Orbusmax link the butt cleavage story as a real news item. Morons.

Dec 11, 2006

Book Review: A History of Ukraine

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A History of Ukraine Magocsi PaulMagocsi, Paul R.

Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 784 pages



Magocsi earned his doctorate from Princeton University in 1972, and was a member of the Society of Fellows at Harvard University. He has been a professor of history and political science at the University of Toronto since 1980 and was appointed a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada in 1996. A History of Ukraine is a synthesis that provides a chronological narrative of the Ukrainian people from prehistory through the rebirth of the nation of Ukraine after the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991. Ukraine, in Magocsi’s words, is a land that lacked geographical barriers, and that “has historically been open to all peoples, friendly or unfriendly, who might wish to come there.”

Designed as a classroom text - or perhaps as an introductory text for the non-specialist - the book contains a wealth of maps, tables, and charts that assist readers in grasping material that is not text-friendly. Magocsi included a 40-page annotated bibliography for further reading, which is broken up into relevant sections by period and thematic interests. The cross-referenced index is quite thorough, and the author saw fit to include alternate spellings for many place names and historical figures. The text has few footnotes, and those that are included provide only citation information. Magocsi separated sidebar topics and relevant primary source materials by creating shaded text boxes, and readers unfamiliar with the particular tangential material gain from the inclusion of these subsections.

Throughout the text Magocsi includes sections that examine historiographical debates on issues pertaining to Ukrainian history. Polish, Russian, and Ukrainian historians, for example, have offered competing views over the historical origins of the Ukrainian nation, all of which contain an element of political bias. Traditional Russian historians have emphasized the “Little Russia” or “Little Brother” views, in which Ukraine was merely a component of the greater eastern Slav empire under Russian rule.

Polish historians have often highlighted the fact that the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth annexed portions of northern and western Ukraine in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and that events such as the Khmelnytsky Uprising were “little more than barbarian outbreaks caused by destructive elements among the uncivilized Ukrainian masses” that removed lands from the Poles. Ukrainian historians, not surprisingly, stress the historical continuity of language and customs among the people of the Ukrainian plains and plateaus as evidence of the validity of Ukrainian history.

Map of Kievan Rus realm, 11th centuryExtent of realm of Kievan Rus' in 11th century

Another historical debate that Magocsi addressed was that of the origin of the Kievan Rus’ dynasty. In early accounts, such as the Novgorod First Chronicle and the Rus’ Primary Chronicle, there are references that a group of Nordics called the Varangians received an “invitation” to rule over the East Slavs; anti-Normanists dispute the Normanist argument that the imported Kievan Rus’ dynasty – if indeed this group did migrate from Scandinavia – was the primary impetus behind the rise of Kiev as the center of regional power in the tenth century. As with the debate over the legitimacy of Ukrainian history, this question has political ramifications in the modern world. Traditional Russian historians have used the personage of Rurik and the Kievan Rus’ lineage to justify the aristocratic Muscovite claims to power, while Ukrainian historians view this belief in an imported monarchy as a device for non-Ukrainian writers to undermine Ukrainian history.

The author presented an account of Ukrainian hetman Bodhan Khmelnytsky and the Khmelnytsky uprising that avoided the demonization and mythology found in many texts; Magocsi’s Khmelnytsky was shrewd, charismatic, but ultimately a man whose movement spiraled out of his control. Khmelnytsky, argued Magocsi, was an “aspiring country gentleman” who had been “wronged by local rivals,” but was far from the politically aware, proto-Marxist revolutionary as depicted by Soviet historians. Nor was the Cossack leader a virulent anti-Semite who led a brutal campaign of genocide against Ukrainian Jews. Instead, the author painted Khmelnytsky as an opportunistic leader with a sense of nationalism who sought the protection of a larger state, making overtures for alliances with the Swedes, the Ottomans, the Prussians, and finally the Muscovites.

Bodies of victims of Holodomor1933 photo of Holodomor victims

Magocsi presented the horrors of the Soviet-induced Great Famine of 1933 - also known as the Holodomor - in dispassionate terms, avoiding anti-Stalinist rhetoric in favor of a careful examination of the death toll among Ukrainian peasants:
The most conservative estimate of the number of famine victims, either from starvation or disease related to malnutrition, is 4.8 million people. This figure represents 15 percent of Ukraine’s population at the time. Even according to conservative figures, this meant that during the spring and summer of that fateful year of 1933, 25,000 people died every day, or 1,000 people every hour, or 17 people every minute.
The author, however, included primary source material that documented the observations of Wasyl Hryshko, a Communist Party activist who was sent to assist in the collectivization effort. Hryshko described life in the spring of 1933 among the starving peasants in an eastern Ukraine village, and her stark imagery recreates the ghastly scenes of human despair in a way that statistics cannot:
It was when the snow began to melt that the village was up to its neck in starvation. The children kept crying and crying. They did not sleep… People’s faces looked like clay. Their eyes were dull and shrunken. They went about as though asleep… No dogs and cats were left. They had been slaughtered. And it was hard to catch them, too. The animals had become afraid of people, and their eyes were wild. People boiled them. All there was were tough veins and muscles. From their heads they made a meat jelly… And the peasant children!… their heads like heavy balls on thin little necks, like storks, and one could see each bone of their arms and legs protruding from the skin, how bones joined, and the entire skeleton was stretched over with skin that was like yellow gauze. And the children’s faces were aged, tormented, just as if they were seventy years old…
Magocsi left to the reader to determine the extent to which Stalin and the Soviets were responsible for the cause of the famine, but noted that there are historical debates on the subject. Some historians, he noted, argue that the starvation was caused by “bureaucratic bungling” during the efforts to collectivize, while others believe the famine to have been a deliberate effort by Stalin to “eliminate national opposition” or – in the eyes of some pundits – an “act of genocide directed specifically against Ukrainians.”

Map of Chernobyl radiation hotspotsMap of Chernobyl radiation hotspots

The text, now in its third printing, would benefit from an update, especially given the magnitude of events such as the poisoning of Viktor Yushchenko and the 2004 Orange Revolution. The addition of visual images would improve the aesthetic appeal of this text, and would provide readers with additional materials to aid comprehension. Though a minor point, the inclusion of a transliteration guide would help readers unfamiliar with Slavic pronunciation. Finally, this reviewer was surprised that the Chernobyl disaster merited a mere paragraph in the text; surely the world’s deadliest nuclear accident – which has left nearly 200,000 acres of formerly fertile acres a radioactive wasteland – should receive greater attention than Magocsi has provided for readers. Known as the Zone of Alienation, the area will continue to be unfit for human habitation for another 24,000 years.

A History of Ukraine is an impressive text, and should be found on the shelves of every European scholar. Magocsi succeeded in his attempt to gather a wide variety of historical research – much of which has not been previously available in English – in the production of what must be considered the definitive general history of Ukraine. The author’s writing is clear, and the text is accessible to general readers in addition to those with scholarly interests in Ukrainian history.

Pinochet: The Death of a Fascist Thug

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Left: Image of Pinochet courtesy of Britannica Online

It was with little joy that I read of the death of Augusto José Ramón Pinochet Ugarte, former dictator of Chile. While there is one less tyrant in the world, the wily Pinochet managed to slither and dance long enough to avoid a conviction on the numerous charges of torture, murder, illegal detention, and tax evasion he faced around the globe.

The number of people who were tortured, killed, or "disappeared" under the Pinochet regime may never be fully known. At least 3,000 documented killings of political opponents occurred at the hands of Pinochet's aptly-named Caravan of Death, and conservative estimates put the number of torture victims at 30,000.

Pinochet remained resolute in his defiance to the end.

"Today, near the end of my days, I want to say that I harbour no rancour against anybody, that I love my fatherland above all," he said in a statement read by his wife Lucia Hiriart. "I take political responsibility for everything that was done."

Political responsibility. Let the lawyers argue over what this means, but ambiguous rhetoric cannot change the fact that Pinochet went to his grave with bloody hands. If there is a Hell, may Augusto Pinochet be assigned an especially bitter, tortuous, and eternal corner of it.

Rapid Rhetoric: WAPENTAKE

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Latin script This is an irregular feature - both in frequency and oddness - dedicated to a word I came across that I have never previously used.

wapentake \WAH-pehn-tayk\ n. a geographic division used in England, South Australia, Scandinavia and some parts of the United States that is used to divide a larger region - such as a county - into smaller administrative units.

Wapentake is term derived from the Old Norse vápnatak ("weapon-taking," as in raising weapons to show agreement), and is equivalent to the Anglo-Saxon hundred. The term has referred to a hundred men under arms, or that amount of land sufficient to sustain one hundred families.

Dec 10, 2006

On Christmas Trees and the Importance of Traditions

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My family hunting the perfect treeMy family, hunting for the perfect tree

(Toledo, OH) Were it up to me, my family would each year dust off the artificial tree we have buried somewhere in the basement. Luckily, in our house my wife better understands the importance of tradition and family activities than I, and so we have developed a ritual over the last decade of traipsing out to the woods to select the annual Christmas tree.

Our favorite destination to procure said arboreal icon is a family-owned business called The Farm, which is located in Whiteford, MI on Samaria Road between Secor and Summerfield Roads. They are friendly folks who will help you hoist the tree onto your vehicle, and provide saws and string. They also sell day lilies during the warmer weather.

The chosen victim awaits its sacrificial fate

Part of the tradition involves the process by which our children select the tree. This year we got a late start, as two of our progeny are away at college (BGSU and Columbus State), and they insisted we wait until they could participate. Some years the debate became rather heated, as factions would form over the merits of the "perfect" tree.

This year, though, my oldest son found the ultimate tree after only a few minutes of walking through the candidates, and there was little opposition to his selection of the 6'8" pine tree that we claimed.

Setting sun in a pine forestThe setting sun, for me, was a melancholy metaphor highlighting the fact that we likely have but a few years left to this tradition, at least with all of our children present. Soon they will be starting families of their own, and we will lose the ability to gather them all together for a few hours on a Saturday afternoon.

At times lately I am a bit forlorn over the family activities I have missed over the years, as I sometimes allowed business obligations to take precedence over family time. I vowed a few years ago that I would never again let work edge out my time with my family, but there is always a pang in my heart for memories I missed during my years of owning retail businesses.

A piece of advice to any new parents reading this: if your job interferes with your family life, find a new one. There are millions more just like it, but you only get one chance at a family. Well, unless you are Tom Cruise or some other celebrity idiot, but I would wager that what passes for "family" in Tinseltown is a shallow imitation of true family life.

Decorating the Christmas treeDecorating the Christmas tree

After the perfunctory half-hour of wrestling with the tree to trim branches and get it to fit the stand, our Christmas tree was ready to decorate. Every kid has a few favorite ornaments, and there were plenty of memories in the boxes of assorted decorations. Several children paused to remember my wife's mother, who passed away several years ago, since they had ornaments she gave them.

If you look closely in the last photo, the urn that holds her ashes is in the upper righthand corner, on top of the piano; I hope that it is not maudlin to suggest that she was there in spirit as well.

As the Christmas songs played, we gathered together for an hour to continue a family tradition. Our older kids were all gone by 8:00 pm (hey - it was a Saturday night!), but the ties that bind us together grew a little stronger last evening.

As they drove away to their various social activities, I was sad that the evening ended so soon, but gladdened that my wife makes sure that we do not forget our traditions.

Dec 9, 2006

Long-Lost Neil Young Video- "Wonderin'"

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Years ago I taped the video for the Neil Young song "Wonderin'" from MTV, but - despite my best efforts at being a packrat - I lost the tape upon which it was stored. I was quite pleased to find that a fellow enthusiast uploaded the video to YouTube.

The clip features Neil looking his looniest as he tries to woo back his true love, who left him for unspecified reasons. He is unshaven, looks like he hasn't slept in a week, and keeps flashing this demented grin as he pleads to his lover to return.

The song is from the 1983 album Everybody's Rockin', which features Neil in a rockabilly mode with backup band the Shocking Pinks. This is an oft-overlooked disc that highlights yet another of the genres Young masters.

A low-budget production, it remains one of my all-time favorite videos. There is also a better-quality version of the video on the MTV website.

Dec 8, 2006

The Quote Shelf

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book shelf A frequent feature on this site; feel free to comment on the quote or to supply a competing quote.

No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite. --Nelson Mandela

Dec 7, 2006

Earth Currently in a Strong Radiation Storm

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Graph of solar radiation stormGraph courtesy of NWS Space Environment Center

(Boulder, CO) The National Weather Service's Space Environment Center announced today that the planet is under bombardment by high levels of solar radiation, and has ranked the event as a category S3 radiation storm. The massive influx of solar protons was likely caused by a solar flare.

Such radiation storms pose a danger to astronauts, and increase the risk of radiation exposure to persons in high-altitude aircraft. Electronic systems on the ground are at increased risk of disruption, and satellites are much more likely to be damaged during an S3 storm.

We are entering what many scientists are predicitng to be a particularly active period in solar activity, and today's storm may be a harbinger of a disruptive solar cycle that will peak between 2010 and 2012.

I noticed a great deal of static on WGTE-FM 91.3 this afternoon, a station that normally comes in clear at my home. I am a bit under the weather today, but there is little research yet linking human health and solar storms.

On Clueless Parents, Late Night Calls, and Sleep Deprivation

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AT&T cordless phone(Toledo, OH) I have to vent, so I apologize in advance for what is likely to be seen as a post that contributes little to the collective advancement of human knowledge.

My 18-year-old son moved out earlier this year after graduating high school. He's a good kid, but his girlfriend was moving to Columbus for college, and he "discovered" a culinary arts program that just happened to be very near his girlfriend.

Of course, my wife and I tried to dissuade him of the notion, noting that Owens Community College has an excellent food service degree program in the Toledo area, and also that young relationships rarely last, and that - if his love was really meant to be - the relationship would stand the test of time and distance.

Unfortunately, the mother of his girlfriend not only convinced him of the brilliance of this plan, but actually co-signed on an apartment lease for him. The woman almost singlehandedly created for them a cozy Columbus love nest.

As he is an adult, there was little we could do beyond voice our disapproval and hope that things would work out for him. Stubbornness and young love are a strong combination, to which most of us who survived our teenage years can attest, but we did our best to pound some common sense into his head.

Alas, the young lovers have broken up, and my son has learned some expensive lessons about life in the real world. He is moving back home in a few weeks, as he is tired of living nickel-to-nickel as a grownup. Here, however, is where the tale becomes Springer-esque.

I am an occasional insomniac, and I truly value the nights when sleep arrives on time. I had just nodded off when the phone rang about 11:15, waking my wife and I. She answered it - dutiful, worried mother that she is - and proceeded to be on the receiving end of a seven-minute rant from the aforementioned daffy mother of my son's now-ex-girlfriend.

It seems that the clueless mom not only helped my son get an apartment, but she also gave him a full-size bed that was once owned by her mother. My son informed her that she will have to arrange for the bed to be picked up, as he cannot afford a U-Haul truck on the return trip to Toledo, and he is essentially driving back with one carload of belongings.

So there I was, listening to my saintly wife trying to be understanding, and all I can think of is grabbing the phone and telling off this psychotic fool: I just wanted my sleep back.

The goofy woman ended up hanging up on my wife, which made me doubly mad, as not only did she badger my spouse, but she also roused me from my sleep. Rather than call or write this fruitcake, I have decided to follow the example of Hooda Thunkit and use the blog as a form of therapeutic release.

Dear Nutjob:

Do not call my house in the middle of the night with petty bullshit, as I am likely to enter ballistic mode. Actually, just don't call my house at all. Period.

Furthermore, since you are the idiot adult who facilitated the young-lovers-on-an-adventure scenario, it is only fitting that you should be on the hook for any unpaid rent or lost family heirlooms you loaned an 18-year-old. Cosigning for teenagers is a pretty stupid idea, but it was all yours.

Finally, my son is an adult, and makes his own decisions. Perhaps you could actually learn something about maturity yourself, and recognize that you are a parent, not a buddy, to your children.

Oh - and that bed? Before you wax too sentimental about it, think for a moment about how it has been used well nigh these few months. Maybe a can of gas and a pack of matches might be a better solution.

Toodles!