Hello! Since I already started this blog ages ago, I figured I'd just start using it again, maybe get a few pings out of the whole deal. Check out the pics and information after my little blog entry.
Reflection is nine-tenths of glory. To write, that is the thing which is. We're talking let it all out because as I always say, 'it's just practice!'
All indulgence aside, I am striving for nothing, losing nothing, gaining nothing and who knows maybe doing nothing. You gotta start somewhere.
I've just reached a place where birds talk and whales walk back out of the ocean. Thinking it might be a better idea to make a blog with mystery shorts. Readers vote on next day's outcome and find out if they voted in the majority by reading the next story.
Enough of this interior monologue. Until next time....Jay
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Dungannon
Dungannon
(from the Irish: Dún Geanainn meaning "Geanann's fort") is a town in County Tyrone in Northern Ireland. It is the third-largest town in the county (after Omagh and Strabane) and a population of 11,139 people was recorded in the 2001 Census. In August 2006, Dungannon won Ulster In Bloom's Best Kept Town Award for the fifth time. It contains the headquarters of the Dungannon and South Tyrone Borough Council.
(from the Irish: Dún Geanainn meaning "Geanann's fort") is a town in County Tyrone in Northern Ireland. It is the third-largest town in the county (after Omagh and Strabane) and a population of 11,139 people was recorded in the 2001 Census. In August 2006, Dungannon won Ulster In Bloom's Best Kept Town Award for the fifth time. It contains the headquarters of the Dungannon and South Tyrone Borough Council.
Dungannon
History
Dungannon's fortunes have been closely tied to that of the O'Neill dynasty which ruled most of Ulster until the seventeenth century and was the most powerful Gaelic family. Dungannon was the clan's main stronghold which made it by default the most important settlement in Gaelic Ireland. The traditional site of inauguration for 'The O'Neill', was Tullyhogue Fort, an iron age mound some four miles northeast of Dungannon. The clan O'Hagan were the stewards of this site for the O'Neills.The last castle was located at what is today known as Castle Hill; the location was ideal for a fort as it was one of the highest points in Tyrone, and dominated the surrounding countryside with the ability to see seven counties depending on the weather. Its location ultimately led to the Army taking over the site for a security installation during The Troubles, only being returned to the local council in August 2007.
This castle was burned in 1602 by Hugh O'Neill, 2nd Earl of Tyrone as the English forces closed in on the Gaelic lords towards the end of the Nine Years War. In 1607, ninety-nine Irish chieftains and their followers, including Hugh O’Neill, set sail from Rathmullan, Co. Donegal, bound for the continent. What followed became known as the Plantation of Ulster and the town and its castle were granted to Sir Arthur Chichester, the architect of the Plantation.
The castle was partially excavated in October 2007, by the Channel 4 show 'Time Team', uncovering part of the moate and walls of the castle.[1]
[edit] After the O'Neills
Dungannon remained the county seat of County Tyrone after the Plantation, but High Court judges who travelled to Dungannon to the courthouse were attacked in the village of Cappagh and the county town was then moved to Omagh[citation needed]. In 1973, the town became the seat of the new district of Dungannon.
In 1782, the town was the location where the independence of the Irish Parliament was declared by members of the Protestant Ascendancy who controlled the parliament at the time.[2]
[edit] The Troubles
On 24 August 1968, the Campaign for Social Justice (CSJ), the Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association (NICRA), and other groups, held the first 'civil rights march' in Northern Ireland from Coalisland to Dungannon. The rally was officially banned, but took place and passed off without incident. The publicity surrounding the march encouraged other protesting groups to form branches of NICRA.[3]
Dungannon was one corner of the infamous murder triangle during the Troubles. For more information see The Troubles in Dungannon, which includes a list of incidents in Dungannon during the Troubles resulting in two or more fatalities.
Dungannon's fortunes have been closely tied to that of the O'Neill dynasty which ruled most of Ulster until the seventeenth century and was the most powerful Gaelic family. Dungannon was the clan's main stronghold which made it by default the most important settlement in Gaelic Ireland. The traditional site of inauguration for 'The O'Neill', was Tullyhogue Fort, an iron age mound some four miles northeast of Dungannon. The clan O'Hagan were the stewards of this site for the O'Neills.The last castle was located at what is today known as Castle Hill; the location was ideal for a fort as it was one of the highest points in Tyrone, and dominated the surrounding countryside with the ability to see seven counties depending on the weather. Its location ultimately led to the Army taking over the site for a security installation during The Troubles, only being returned to the local council in August 2007.
This castle was burned in 1602 by Hugh O'Neill, 2nd Earl of Tyrone as the English forces closed in on the Gaelic lords towards the end of the Nine Years War. In 1607, ninety-nine Irish chieftains and their followers, including Hugh O’Neill, set sail from Rathmullan, Co. Donegal, bound for the continent. What followed became known as the Plantation of Ulster and the town and its castle were granted to Sir Arthur Chichester, the architect of the Plantation.
The castle was partially excavated in October 2007, by the Channel 4 show 'Time Team', uncovering part of the moate and walls of the castle.[1]
[edit] After the O'Neills
Dungannon remained the county seat of County Tyrone after the Plantation, but High Court judges who travelled to Dungannon to the courthouse were attacked in the village of Cappagh and the county town was then moved to Omagh[citation needed]. In 1973, the town became the seat of the new district of Dungannon.
In 1782, the town was the location where the independence of the Irish Parliament was declared by members of the Protestant Ascendancy who controlled the parliament at the time.[2]
[edit] The Troubles
On 24 August 1968, the Campaign for Social Justice (CSJ), the Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association (NICRA), and other groups, held the first 'civil rights march' in Northern Ireland from Coalisland to Dungannon. The rally was officially banned, but took place and passed off without incident. The publicity surrounding the march encouraged other protesting groups to form branches of NICRA.[3]
Dungannon was one corner of the infamous murder triangle during the Troubles. For more information see The Troubles in Dungannon, which includes a list of incidents in Dungannon during the Troubles resulting in two or more fatalities.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Mcelhone Name Meaning and History
Irish (mainly County Tyrone): Anglicized form of Gaelic Mac Giolla Chomhghain ‘son of the servant of (Saint) Comhghan’, a personal name composed of the elements comh ‘together’ + gan-, gen- ‘born’, hence a byname for a twin. This name was borne by an 8th-century Irish prince who lived as a monk in Scotland.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The Salvador E. Luria Papers
http://profiles.nlm.nih.gov/QL/B/B/C/X/
Letter from Linus Pauling to Salvador E. Luria
Description:
In this response to Luria's letter of 25 March 1965, Pauling agreed to resign his membership in the National Academy of Sciences in protest over the war in Vietnam if Luria could get others to agree. Pauling included with this brief response a list of NAS members who he believed might also consider resignation.
Item is handwritten.
Number of Image Pages:
2 (170,628 Bytes)
Date:
1965-03-29 (March 29, 1965)
Creator:
Pauling, Linus
Recipient:
Luria, Salvador E.
Source:
Original Repository: American Philosophical Society. Library. Salvador Luria Papers
Rights:
Reproduced with permission of Oregon State University Library, Ava Helen and Linus Pauling Papers.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Letter from Linus Pauling to Salvador E. Luria
Description:
In this response to Luria's letter of 25 March 1965, Pauling agreed to resign his membership in the National Academy of Sciences in protest over the war in Vietnam if Luria could get others to agree. Pauling included with this brief response a list of NAS members who he believed might also consider resignation.
Item is handwritten.
Number of Image Pages:
2 (170,628 Bytes)
Date:
1965-03-29 (March 29, 1965)
Creator:
Pauling, Linus
Recipient:
Luria, Salvador E.
Source:
Original Repository: American Philosophical Society. Library. Salvador Luria Papers
Rights:
Reproduced with permission of Oregon State University Library, Ava Helen and Linus Pauling Papers.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Highway 61
Highway 61 Revisited: America at the Crossroads, Still
by Steven Laffoley
"Put on some more hippie music," writes a reader, "to reaffirm your idiotic beliefs." His is one of a half dozen email letters I receive, thrown like digital Molotov cocktails through the ethereal e-space onto my computer screen after I wrote an essay about America and Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone.
"WAKE UP!" screams the next message in bold caps, "and who knows, you may someday see the real world and find your place in it." I consider what constitutes the "real world" in modern day America, with little success - until the next letter arrives: "I love watching you liberals consumed by your hatred of [President Bush] a man who is moral and just and right."
And then it hits me: "Real world" America is about blind rage and deep divides.
So I think about the words "moral," "just," and "right" and try to apply them to the President. And I try to understand the letter writer's point of view. But, frankly, I can't. He's right, I guess: I don't live in the "real world" anymore. So I walk away from the computer, pour a glass of wine, and heed the first letter's advice, returning to my "hippie music," travelling again down Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited.
Strangely, as the title song begins to play, I think again of the "real world" and of the real Highway 61, that tar-topped, road-river winding its way through America's heartland, from the Gulf of Mexico to the Canadian Border, dividing America east from west. And it occurs to me that Highway 61 speaks to America's other divides, historic and present - white from black, rich from poor, conservative from liberal. Highway 61 tells the long story of America at the crossroads, sometimes making deals with the devil, sometimes not.
Consider: at one end of Highway 61, near the Canadian boarder, sits Duluth Minnesota, birthplace of Bob Dylan. I imagine the young folk singer, sitting at the mouth of that highway, deep in the woods, soaking up the American history and music that rolls upcountry like deep river water, from Louisiana and Mississippi and Tennessee, finally pooling in the pine woods of Minnesota, a perfect place for the young poet to drink from.
There, Dylan just knew: to travel Highway 61 is to understand America.
Rolling south from Duluth, through red-state farmlands into Tennessee, Highway 61 runs through Memphis, the great crossroads of American music: country and gospel, rhythm and blues - the bubbling witches' brew of Rock and Roll. So too, Memphis is the home of the King, of Elvis - the human crucible of America's divides.
There is Elvis the conservative and Elvis the liberal - at one moment the polite, deferential, southern good ol' boy; the "no, ma'am," "yes, sir" obedient soldier, and at the next moment the rebellious, pelvic thrusting archetype of unbridled sexuality haunting the heart of American conservatism.
Then there is Elvis the racial divining rod. Hear him sing An American Trilogy, his kitsch singsong of Confederate American pride. "I wish I were in the land of cotton." The fat Elvis. The Vegas sellout Elvis. The prescription drug addict Elvis. Elvis as pure white America. And Elvis as pure rich America.
And yet, Elvis is pure black America, and pure poor America, the modern channelling spirit for America's three hundred years of the oppressed and negated poor, singing laments for hope, for peace, for justice, for freedom. His voice intertwines with the other Memphis King, Martin Luther King, Jr., "Free at last, Free at last, Thank God Almighty, We are free at last." "Glory, Glory," sing the Kings, "Hallelujah!" America united on Highway 61.
Of course, the two Kings die, not so far from each other, near Highway 61, casualties of America's worst excesses, casualties of America's deepest divides. Highway 61 calls again, with its rolling, rhythmic story to be told, winding south, through Mississippi, where comes the echoes of countless plantation slaves, working in the heat of the sun to the picking rhythms of "field hollering," the mystic seeds from which grows the Blues, from which grows all America's music and all America's story.
Still moving on, outside Clarksdale, Mississippi, at the junction of Routes 49 and 61, a young, skinny guitar player, Robert Johnson, sells his soul to the devil for talent and fame, for the dark American dream. "I went down to the crossroads and fell down on my knees," sings Johnson perhaps regretting his deal, "asked the Lord up above for mercy, save poor Bob if you please."
A prayer for America at the crossroads, on Highway 61.
Further along that highway, a car driving blues singer Bessie Smith and her lover strikes another, slow moving, car. Bessie's car flips and rolls, crushing Bessie's left arm and ribs. She dies on the way to the hospital. Later, John Hammond, that writer and musical alchemist of America's Highway 61, the man who discovers Bessie Smith and Bob Dylan, writes that Bessie dies when turned away from a White's Only hospital. His facts are wrong. But his words speak truth about America at a crossroads.
All America's blues on Highway 61.
Then finally, after 1400 miles, Highway 61 lands in the Big Easy, New Orleans, birth mother of modern America. If Bob Dylan sits at one end of Highway 61, then Louis Armstrong sits at the other, each a siren of America's story. Hear Armstrong sing Black and Blue and What A Wonderful World, at once speaking of America's dark, irreconcilable divides, and next singing of America's hope, a nation united.
Then again, Highway 61 ends at the New Orleans Superdome, America's forgotten island of the damned and dispossessed, reminding all America that the highway still tells the unrelenting story of rich and poor, white and black, conservative and liberal.
I finish my glass of wine while Dylan sings Desolation Row, the last track on Highway 61 Revisited. And I think again of the angry letters I received. But this time I smile and take comfort in knowing that America has long wrestled with its darkest impulses at the crossroads, at knowing that America sometimes makes a deal with the devil - but also, that sometimes, just sometimes, it doesn't.
Steven Laffoley is an American writer living in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
by Steven Laffoley
"Put on some more hippie music," writes a reader, "to reaffirm your idiotic beliefs." His is one of a half dozen email letters I receive, thrown like digital Molotov cocktails through the ethereal e-space onto my computer screen after I wrote an essay about America and Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone.
"WAKE UP!" screams the next message in bold caps, "and who knows, you may someday see the real world and find your place in it." I consider what constitutes the "real world" in modern day America, with little success - until the next letter arrives: "I love watching you liberals consumed by your hatred of [President Bush] a man who is moral and just and right."
And then it hits me: "Real world" America is about blind rage and deep divides.
So I think about the words "moral," "just," and "right" and try to apply them to the President. And I try to understand the letter writer's point of view. But, frankly, I can't. He's right, I guess: I don't live in the "real world" anymore. So I walk away from the computer, pour a glass of wine, and heed the first letter's advice, returning to my "hippie music," travelling again down Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited.
Strangely, as the title song begins to play, I think again of the "real world" and of the real Highway 61, that tar-topped, road-river winding its way through America's heartland, from the Gulf of Mexico to the Canadian Border, dividing America east from west. And it occurs to me that Highway 61 speaks to America's other divides, historic and present - white from black, rich from poor, conservative from liberal. Highway 61 tells the long story of America at the crossroads, sometimes making deals with the devil, sometimes not.
Consider: at one end of Highway 61, near the Canadian boarder, sits Duluth Minnesota, birthplace of Bob Dylan. I imagine the young folk singer, sitting at the mouth of that highway, deep in the woods, soaking up the American history and music that rolls upcountry like deep river water, from Louisiana and Mississippi and Tennessee, finally pooling in the pine woods of Minnesota, a perfect place for the young poet to drink from.
There, Dylan just knew: to travel Highway 61 is to understand America.
Rolling south from Duluth, through red-state farmlands into Tennessee, Highway 61 runs through Memphis, the great crossroads of American music: country and gospel, rhythm and blues - the bubbling witches' brew of Rock and Roll. So too, Memphis is the home of the King, of Elvis - the human crucible of America's divides.
There is Elvis the conservative and Elvis the liberal - at one moment the polite, deferential, southern good ol' boy; the "no, ma'am," "yes, sir" obedient soldier, and at the next moment the rebellious, pelvic thrusting archetype of unbridled sexuality haunting the heart of American conservatism.
Then there is Elvis the racial divining rod. Hear him sing An American Trilogy, his kitsch singsong of Confederate American pride. "I wish I were in the land of cotton." The fat Elvis. The Vegas sellout Elvis. The prescription drug addict Elvis. Elvis as pure white America. And Elvis as pure rich America.
And yet, Elvis is pure black America, and pure poor America, the modern channelling spirit for America's three hundred years of the oppressed and negated poor, singing laments for hope, for peace, for justice, for freedom. His voice intertwines with the other Memphis King, Martin Luther King, Jr., "Free at last, Free at last, Thank God Almighty, We are free at last." "Glory, Glory," sing the Kings, "Hallelujah!" America united on Highway 61.
Of course, the two Kings die, not so far from each other, near Highway 61, casualties of America's worst excesses, casualties of America's deepest divides. Highway 61 calls again, with its rolling, rhythmic story to be told, winding south, through Mississippi, where comes the echoes of countless plantation slaves, working in the heat of the sun to the picking rhythms of "field hollering," the mystic seeds from which grows the Blues, from which grows all America's music and all America's story.
Still moving on, outside Clarksdale, Mississippi, at the junction of Routes 49 and 61, a young, skinny guitar player, Robert Johnson, sells his soul to the devil for talent and fame, for the dark American dream. "I went down to the crossroads and fell down on my knees," sings Johnson perhaps regretting his deal, "asked the Lord up above for mercy, save poor Bob if you please."
A prayer for America at the crossroads, on Highway 61.
Further along that highway, a car driving blues singer Bessie Smith and her lover strikes another, slow moving, car. Bessie's car flips and rolls, crushing Bessie's left arm and ribs. She dies on the way to the hospital. Later, John Hammond, that writer and musical alchemist of America's Highway 61, the man who discovers Bessie Smith and Bob Dylan, writes that Bessie dies when turned away from a White's Only hospital. His facts are wrong. But his words speak truth about America at a crossroads.
All America's blues on Highway 61.
Then finally, after 1400 miles, Highway 61 lands in the Big Easy, New Orleans, birth mother of modern America. If Bob Dylan sits at one end of Highway 61, then Louis Armstrong sits at the other, each a siren of America's story. Hear Armstrong sing Black and Blue and What A Wonderful World, at once speaking of America's dark, irreconcilable divides, and next singing of America's hope, a nation united.
Then again, Highway 61 ends at the New Orleans Superdome, America's forgotten island of the damned and dispossessed, reminding all America that the highway still tells the unrelenting story of rich and poor, white and black, conservative and liberal.
I finish my glass of wine while Dylan sings Desolation Row, the last track on Highway 61 Revisited. And I think again of the angry letters I received. But this time I smile and take comfort in knowing that America has long wrestled with its darkest impulses at the crossroads, at knowing that America sometimes makes a deal with the devil - but also, that sometimes, just sometimes, it doesn't.
Steven Laffoley is an American writer living in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Jaybird Coleman
Burl C. "Jaybird" Coleman (May 20, 1896 – January 28, 1950) was an American country blues harmonica player, guitarist and singer.
Born in Gainesville, Alabama, Coleman began performing the blues as an entertainer for American soldiers while serving in the U.S. Army. It was during this period that he was given the nickname "Jaybird" due to his independent manner. [1][2] In the early 1920s, he teamed with fellow bluesman Big Joe Williams as a performer in the Birmingham Jug Band which toured through the American South.[1]
Coleman made his first recordings as a solo artist in 1927. His career as a recording artist lasted only until 1930, after which he performed mostly on street corners throughout Alabama.[2]
He died of cancer at the age of 53 in Tuskegee, Alabama in 1950
Born in Gainesville, Alabama, Coleman began performing the blues as an entertainer for American soldiers while serving in the U.S. Army. It was during this period that he was given the nickname "Jaybird" due to his independent manner. [1][2] In the early 1920s, he teamed with fellow bluesman Big Joe Williams as a performer in the Birmingham Jug Band which toured through the American South.[1]
Coleman made his first recordings as a solo artist in 1927. His career as a recording artist lasted only until 1930, after which he performed mostly on street corners throughout Alabama.[2]
He died of cancer at the age of 53 in Tuskegee, Alabama in 1950
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