Out of Print - the secret discoveries of Henry Cavendish

Hebrides

cavendish — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 13:18:25 GMT

Hello everyone :-)

See pictures of our gorgeous holidays on the outer Hebrides here :-)

http://bimo.livejournal.com/53406.html

Aus gegebem Anlass

cavendish — Fri, 01 Oct 2010 18:48:11 GMT

Mein Lj scheint sich in ein gelegentliches Brecht - Gedichtpost zu verwandeln, aber nachdem ich heute so unsere Kanzlerin habe reden hören, drängte sich mir der folgende Gedankengang wieder auf:

Die Lösung
Nach dem Aufstand des 17. Juni

Ließ der Sekretär des Schriftstellerverbands

In der Stalinallee Flugblätter verteilen

Auf denen zu lesen war, daß das Volk

Das Vertrauen der Regierung verscherzt habe

Und es nur durch verdoppelte Arbeit

zurückerobern könne. Wäre es da

Nicht doch einfacher, die Regierung

Löste das Volk auf und

Wählte ein anderes?

Und nur zur Klarstellung: Ich will die im Gedicht beschriebenen Ereignisse nicht in ihrer moralischen Dimension mit denen des 17. Juni und den Verbrechen des SED Staates gleichsetzen; aber das Demokratieverständis unserer "Herren" erschreckt mich schon.

Happy Easter

cavendish — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 18:08:50 GMT

Tomorrow is a long time ...

But that it has been almost three years now? Gee...

The only thing I wanted, really, was to post one of my favorite poems concerning Easter:

Frühling 1938
Heute, Ostersonntag früh
Ging ein plötzlicher Schneesturm über die Insel.
Zwischen den grünenden Hecken lag Schnee. Mein junger Sohn
Holte mich zu einem Aprikosenbäumchen an der Hausmauer
Von einem Vers weg, in dem ich auf diejenigen mit dem Finger deutete
Die einen Krieg vorbereiteten, der
Den Kontinent, diese Insel, mein Volk, meine Familie und mich
Vertilgen mag. Schweigend
Legten wir einen Sack
Über den frierenden Baum.

which translates (loosely) as such

Spring, 1938
Early this Easter Sunday Morning
A sudden snowstorm washed over the Island
The lawn between the greening hedges was covered with snow. My young son
took me to a peach tree standing small and crouched against the wall of our house
took me away from a poem in which I pointed my finger at those
who are preparing to wage a war, in which
the continent, this island, my people, my family and myself
may be utterly destroyed. Silently
with a piece of piece of rough linen we covered
the shivering tree.

Not only because of the dreadful weather outside, this is - still - one of my favorite poems :-)

Frank

home

cavendish — Fri, 08 Jun 2007 18:21:06 GMT

*just a try --- I have not done this for, I don't know, years now.*

Home

Morning dew

Berries that have become
red
and sweet over night,
set against
the fresh
wet green

silence

that is
in reality birds,
bumble bees
the occasionally ship engine:
the unseen river nearby saying
I am always here.

This is not

I think, what we should long for!
This is (I think) what we should live.
[once
in a while]
[one way
or the other]

Kurt is up in heaven now

cavendish — Thu, 12 Apr 2007 15:25:42 GMT

Kurt is up in heaven now

Kurt Vonnegut dies at 84.

If you are registered at the NY times, get the facts here.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/12/books/12vonnegut.html?ex=1334116800&en=3ec8fcf272b11f7a&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

The following text is only to express my own personal bewilderment: How could he (“god forbid”) ever die? ;-)

In some way it is strange when you hear about famous people dying: Although you do not know them really, you still feel a loss. This is particularly true, I think, in the case of writers whose works have accompanied you for many years.

The first book of Vonnegut I encountered was, strangely enough, not Slaughterhouse Five, but Timequake, his 1997 novel. During the ten years that followed, I’ve come back to Vonnegut many times, traveling, as it were, through time together with his novels, to his early 1950’s stories and back to his latest collection of essays Man without a Country about which I had my pupils write an English exam earlier this year. And during these travels I made many a stop in-between, all of which I felt worth the while.

Vonnegut got me hooked at once with his dark sense of humor, his humanism, his concern for the planet, his dreams and, ultimately, his resignation that can be felt throughout Man Without a Country, a small volume which gives an idea of what it must have been like be a liberal in the US during the last decade.

But Vonnegut is more than this: With Vonnegut, there is a universe of thought to discover. I don’t really know if it is high art, I (as well as Vonnegut himself) guess not; but he is one of my personal favorites. Sorry, can’t be helped. And imho it is quite a loss to not have him around any longer. Not having him there to remind us of the fact that we are “really crazy animals“. We do need it more than ever.

Anticipating his death (which may be a natural thing to do at 84 ;-) ), he left us the following epitaph himself.

Enjoy.

Do you know what a Humanist is? I am honorary president of the American Humanist Association, having succeeded the late, great science fiction writer Isaac Asimov in that functionless capacity. We Humanists try to behave well without any expectation of rewards or punishments in an afterlife. We serve as best we can the only abstraction with which we have any real familiarity, which is our community.
We had a memorial services for Isaac a few years back, and at one point I said, ''Isaac is up in Heaven now.'' It was the funniest thing I could have said to a group of Humanists. I rolled them in the aisles. It was several minutes before order could be restored. And if I should ever die, God forbid, I hope you will say, ''Kurt is up in Heaven now.'' That’s my favorite joke.

Valentines day with Frank McCourt

cavendish — Wed, 14 Feb 2007 14:48:18 GMT

Happy you-all-know-what :-)

At the moment I am reading Frank McCourt's "Teacher Man" and I stumbled across the following quote today, which imho really fits the occasion.

Her are Mr. McCourt's young man's thoughts on how to date a fellow student:

"I thought some day I'd run into her and find my tongue and we'd go to a movie together. I'd choose something foreign with subtitles to show how sophisticated I was and she'd admire me and let me kiss her in the dark, missing a dozen [sic] subtitles and the thread of the story. That would not matter because we'd have plenty to talk about in a cozy Italian restaurant where candles flickered and her red hair twinkled back and who knows what that would lead to because that was as far as my dreams would go."

Have a really nice (and, if you feel like it, romantic) evening everybody, with or without subtitles,

Frank

PS.: The music below is really a recommendation :-)

cavendish — Sun, 04 Feb 2007 08:59:32 GMT

When you read number eight, you'll find that you are actually required to post this as well - - beware -- ;-))

But honestly, how could I resist this?

Comment and I will:

1) Tell you why I friended you.
2) Associate you with a song/film.
3) Tell a random fact about you.
4) Tell a first memory about you.
5) Associate you with a character/pairing.
6) Ask something I've always wanted to know about you.
7) Show you my favourite user pic of yours.
8) In retort, you must spread this disease in your LJ.

a virtual christmas stocking ;-): post virtual presents here :-)

cavendish — Tue, 12 Dec 2006 07:31:16 GMT

as seen at bimos' :-)

Xmas Stocking

leave a gift for cavendish

get your stocking

Haloween Present

cavendish — Tue, 31 Oct 2006 19:37:59 GMT

Ah, Halloween night.

And what would be Halloween without a scary story or poem?

So here is my second favourite ghost poem for you ;-):

Strange meetings at a wedding, an albatross, a crossbow, ghost ships, what more can you want? The

Rime of the Ancient Mariner
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
Mayst hear the merry din.'

He holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a ship," quoth he.
'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'
Eftsoons his hand dropped he.

He holds him with his glittering eye-
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

"The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon-"
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

"And now the storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And foward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner's hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white moonshine."

'God save thee, ancient Mariner,
From the fiends that plague thee thus!-
Why look'st thou so?'-"With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross."

Part II

"The sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo!

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.

Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.

And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung."

Part III

"There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye-
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were drinking all.

See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!

The western wave was all a-flame,
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the sun.

And straight the sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the sun,
Like restless gossameres?

Are those her ribs through which the sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a Death? and are there two?
Is Death that Woman's mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
'The game is done! I've won! I've won!'
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper o'er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.

We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the dew did drip-
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The horned moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly,-
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my crossbow!"

Part IV

'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed sea-sand.

I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so brown.'-
"Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body dropped not down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie;
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.

I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came and made
My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat;
Forthe sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they looked on me
Had never passed away.

An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.

The moving moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside-

Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
The charmed water burnt alway
A still and awful red.

Beyond the shadow of the ship
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.

The selfsame moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea."

Part V

"Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from heaven,
That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light-almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up blew;
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools-
We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother's son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me."

'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!'
"Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawned-they dropped their arms,
And clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the skylark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

And now 'twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel's song,
That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe;
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their tune,
And the ship stood still also.

The sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean:
But in a minute she 'gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion-
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.

'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.

The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.'

The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.'

Part VI

First Voice

But tell me, tell me! speak again,
Thy soft response renewing-
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the ocean doing?

Second Voice

Still as a slave before his lord,
The ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the moon is cast-

If he may know which way to go;
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously
She looketh down on him.

First Voice

But why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?

Second Voice

The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will go,
When the Mariner's trance is abated.

"I woke, and we were sailing on
As in a gentle weather:
'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;
The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck,
For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
All fixed on me their stony eyes,
That in the moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died,
Had never passed away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.

And now this spell was snapped: once more
I viewed the ocean green,
And looked far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen-

Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring-
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-
On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The lighthouse top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own country?

We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray-
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the moon.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned my eyes upon the deck-
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;

This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart-
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot's cheer;
My head was turned perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.

The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third-I heard his voice:
It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns
That he makes in the wood.
He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away
The Albatross's blood."

Part VII

"This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineers
That come from a far country.

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve-
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.

The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
'Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now?'

'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said-
'And they answered not our cheer!
The planks looked warped! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eats the she-wolf's young.'

'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look-
(The Pilot made reply)
I am afeared'-'Push on, push on!'
Said the Hermit cheerily.

The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirred;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.

Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reached the ship, it split the bay;
The ship went down like lead.

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drowned
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl where sank the ship
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.

I moved my lips-the Pilot shrieked
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laughed loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.
'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see,
The Devil knows how to row.'

And now, all in my own country,
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!
The Hermit crossed his brow.
'Say quick,' quoth he 'I bid thee say-
What manner of man art thou?'

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woeful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns;
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The wedding-guests are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are;
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company!-

To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay!

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all."

The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone; and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.

But a mere poem is not much of a present, is it?

So use this link to download the 1950's James Mason reading of the poem.

It has the charm, but also the shortcomings of a 1950's reading; but all in all it is very enjoyable. (And I do like James Mason reading ;-) Great voice!)

Since the recording is that old, I think it is in the public domain; and if not, I do not think that more than 7 of my friends will download it anyhow, so I guess I am on the safe side here ;-)

http://www.cheery.de/fundus/rime.mp3

oh, and if you care for a version of the poem containing the original 1858 ilustrations, you can go here:

here

So take a nice glass of red wine, get your mp3 player ready and

enjoy a scary half an hour ;-)

Frank

Things really nice

cavendish — Sun, 10 Sep 2006 17:23:36 GMT

Goodness me, the last lj entry I have written was in May? You all must think me dead ...

Well, I am not, really ;-)

Coming to think of it, I feel pretty much alive :-).

But the last two days were so nice, that I thought I might share the fun :-)

As it happens; it was 11 year ago to the very day, that I met bimo for the first time; strangely enough not here in Germany, but in a during a University Trip to Portsmouth and London, while walking to an obsure museum (I could really not telly you what it showed but it was in Portsmouth alright … ) .

This picture shows some of us eleven years back; including bimo on the left and our university teacher, Ms von Schoff, second on the right, visiting the naval dockyards in P.

Nostalgic, aint it? ;-)

But considering that 11 years is quite an amount of time, it is a really warm and pleasant thought to know that the two of us still actually quite like each other. (This is, at least, what I severely hope ;-)) )

We usually do something or the other in remembrance of this day, but this weekend we planned something really out of the ordinary: Yesterday evening we went to Essen in order to see Mr. B.B. King on his final farewell tour. And it was a concert to remember. A really hypnotizing mix of Blues, Jazz and Rock' Roll; and an incredibly energetic B.B. who sadly does his very lat tour through Germany at the moment (last chance to see: Tomorrow in Munich). With him, and his fantastic band, a style of music will disappear from the stage which, with out any exaggeration, can be called the most exiting urban blues ever played.

Today continued less exiting, but still perfectly beautiful, because we took a stroll through a market down by the Duisburg harbour; and all this in perfectly sunny weather and enjoyable 26 degrees of warmth. (the kind of weather that we expected, but did not get through the whole of August: I do feel cheated ;-) )

The weather made it possible that I, while bimo has gone off for home, could do the preparations for the lessons tomorrow out in the park under a tree in the sunshine :-) (as well as read some pages of Bill Bryson's "Life and Times of the Thunderbolt kid", which is quire enjoyable.

One question remains: Does all this justify to break four months of silence? Well, you have to begin somewhere, don't you ;-)). I promise to be around at least once a month from now on.

Oh, and one P.S.: The two of us will be at Stratford around Oct 1, and maybe we will also be in London for a day (if anybody fancies meeting the two of us, crazy as we are ;-) )

Frank

after the storm

cavendish — Mon, 22 May 2006 19:27:21 GMT

Hi there :-)

This is basically to say that I am alive ...

and at times even doing something apart from school :-)

Teacher arrested ;-)

cavendish — Fri, 17 Mar 2006 20:12:07 GMT

got the following via the TSE mailing list:

Teacher Arrested!

New York's Kennedy airport today, an individual later discovered to be a public school teacher was arrested trying to board a flight while in possession of a ruler, a protractor, a set square, a slide rule, and a calculator.

At a morning press conference, the attorney general said he believes the man is a member of the notorious Al-gebra movement. He is being charged by the FBI with carrying weapons of math instruction. Al-gebra is a fearsome cult," a Justice Department spokesman said. "They desire average solutions by means and extremes, and sometimes go off on tangents in a search of absolute value. They use secret code names like 'x' and 'y' and refer to themselves as 'unknowns', but we have determined they belong to a common denominator of the axis of medieval with coordinates in every country. As the Greek philanderer Isosceles used to say, 'There are 3 sides to every triangle'."

When asked to comment on the arrest, President Bush said, "If God had wanted us to have better weapons of math instruction, He would have given us more fingers and toes."

Again: Happy new Year :-)

cavendish — Sat, 31 Dec 2005 14:06:18 GMT

I know I am repeating myself, but I got the following from bimo and I thoght it was too cute not to share

Happy New Year 2006

Frank

Happy 2006

cavendish — Thu, 29 Dec 2005 22:24:20 GMT

I am the louisest lj-er ever. No post in November, and december almost gone by, and the only thing I have to offer is a happy newe year to you all.

Reason? Basically what you folks call real life. Maybe a bit to real for me.

But I do feel bad about it. To put things honestly, I feel left aout and bad about it at the same time.
I do not belong to any lj community, I skip 99% of all mems, I reply rarely, and my friends list ammounts to 9 (not that I could manage more). In all my lj life I have created but one lj icon (Cathy created the nice one I own now :-) ). I have but one lj which does belong to one real existing person. I sign my entries with my actual name although I have been criticised about it.

I do like you folks out there, really, and neglecting my lj feels very much like neglecting friends, which is one thing I really hate doing. But then again I can not join you in so many things.

I had planed for ages, for example, to take you into the world of the real Henry Cavendish for a little while. Or to give you a some more of my thoughts for a change.

There are many things I could tell you, and would like to.

For example having watched the old King Kong in the cinema, in the multiplex, and having a very informative chat with the projectionist in the projection room about why it was simply not possible (technichally speaking) to show the film corretly.
Or about Henry Cavendish (the man who is definetly not me) and how he planted a hunge thermomenter on his house for all the neighbourhood to see?

Do I make any sense? I guess not.

So why do I keep this at all? And should I?

Well if you do not mind sombody lurking aound who does not belong here, I guess yes.

A very happy nwe year to all of ye ;-)

Frank

London 2005 - some ;-) impressions

cavendish — Sun, 23 Oct 2005 16:33:48 GMT

Oh dear, has it been really over two weeks since we have been in London?

Have we really seen a well known Scottish Star Wars actor live on stage?

Has Richmond been really this pretty?

Is this city really bustling so much with acitvity that you are simply drawn into its rhythm?

Well, see for your selves :-)

cavendish — Tue, 20 Sep 2005 15:49:45 GMT

Could not resist, really: Guess what, I am

You are a
Social Liberal
(75% permissive)

and an...
Economic Liberal
(8% permissive)

You are best described as a:

Socialist

Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid

cavendish — Sun, 28 Aug 2005 16:30:31 GMT

Bimo’s internship place sucks.

Well at least this was what I am supposed to tell the lj-community. But it is really true.

On Friday, I went to visit her at work. She is working in a museum of motion pictures; to be more precise, in the archive of the museum. And honestly: Who would want to be working there? Tons of uninteresting stuff like old movie posters, pictures, newspaper clippings people collected; and on top of it books on movies: From encyclopaedias to children’s collecting card books.

What is worse, the museum is located in old town Duesseldorf near the river Rhine. This means to say that, during the lunch break, you can choose either to go out eating in, say, an Korean restaurant, a Lebanese place, or close to anything else you can imagine; or if you fancy doing something else you can choose to stroll over an every-day-open market or go into the various small book ant music stores close by.

Or if nothing of this might interest you, you could still just sit near the bank of the Rhine and sip a cup of cappuccino in one of the many street cafes, good weather provided.

In short: the place sucks. How I am looking forward to fried “Schnitzel” and French fries in our cafeteria tomorrow. ;-)

CU all

Frank

On having finished the new HP

cavendish — Thu, 18 Aug 2005 13:51:36 GMT

On having finished the new HP

First of all I want to thank everybody for posting so nice comments on the Scotland pictures. Makes the hobby photographer happy :-). If I manage, more pictures are to come ;-)

But now off to HP

(I am quite sure to be the last person to post on this; and since I wanted to stay spoiler free; I missed the discussion that has been going on so far completely, but still, her is my opinion, if you care ;-) )

To say first things first, I really enjoyed the book. In comparison to its immediate predecessor the book was, imho, much more focused on the story, containing no superfluous side stories and unnecessary detours, also the concentration on fewer characters made the book much more enjoyable than part 5.

The end left me, however, somewhat uneasy (which is not a bad thing to say, do not get me wrong ;-) ). Not that I think It was badly written. Not that I was surprised it was Dumbledoor that was to go (I suspected this from the very beginning of the book; maimed and aging as he was described). No, there are two other things that made quite an impression on me, though not an entirely positive one.

First thing that I did not like that much is that Rowling has finally decided to make Snape entirely evil. I do wonder why. Given the plotline with the potion's book, she would have had a brilliant opportunity to let Harry develop some understanding for Snape; as she had begun, imho, with book 5. I did like the ambivalence of the character. Is there any possibility that this ambivalence has any chance of survival in the next book? If she remains true to the ending of book 6; there is none.
Snape: I'll miss thee. ;-))

But it is another thing that strikes me most: I do not think that most of you will agree here, but I think the story is finished.

For the very fist time in the series of novels, I have no real desire to read on. And this is not, as I have said, because I think the book badly written. But I think the ending did not leave anything interesting to tell in the next novel.

For one thing, the ending clearly marks Harry's point of final initiation. He mentor / father figure is dead, and what is more, the "Greatest Wizard Alive" myth has been thoroughly deconstructed. Dumbledoor obviously failed on two important occasions: in judging Snape, and in retrieving the Horcrux. That brings him down to earth; makes him human; and in this lets Harry, in realizing it, finally become an adult. This goes for mostly all the other characters as well.

But what does this initiation lead to? He leaves his new found love; wants to leave school, decides to become and a lonely fighter for the good, the self sacrificing hero: Not a really interesting prospect for a plotline, methinks. And, to add this (but this is my personal taste, and not by any means, the fault of the book), not really a character development to my liking.

With most of the characters having developed relationships, having learned all there is to learn, with the fate of Snape and Dumbledoor obviously decided, with Harry turning his back to Haogwards; basically everything I wanted to know at the end of book seven, I do know now.

What is there left to tell? Finding the remaining Horcurxes? Finishing off Voldemort and Snape? Or having Snape finishing up Voldemort and dying in the process? Not the stuff that novels are made off, I think.

So, yes, I enjoyed the book, and, for the greater part, the end. But with the next book clearly centred around an more or less adult HP, it can be either the beginning of a new series (and who, honestly, would like to read HP: Almost an Auror; Volumes 1-27 ;-) ), or it will be only an attempt to tie up some loose ends:

All the important things for this storyline have, imho, been said.

Well, at least, these are the feelings I have about the end of the book; I may be totally wrong, though ;-)

Frank

PS.:

bimo: really looking forward to discussing this with you in person :-))

Pictures of the Trochsass

cavendish — Tue, 09 Aug 2005 14:42:04 GMT

Hi everybody :-)

As you may have read in bimo's lj, I also did not fall from a Scottish mountain or drown in on of the over 10.000 lochs, and I was only almost tortured to death by local tribes of wild insects.

The following images serve basically only on purpose: to show ~~what a brilliant photographer I am~~ the beauty of the land and to give you an idea of how much fun we had :-)

We did not visit a lot of Scotland, though. This was a quite deliberate choice, because after some bad experiences with round trips on my part we decided to stay in only two places, Callander and Edinburgh (for four nights each). We chose to see what was going on there rather than trying to "do" the whole of Scotland in one week.

The pictures that follow cover basically the first two days of our trip.

We travelled from Cologne to Edinburgh by plane (Germanwings, which was OK if you do not count the fact that they had technical troubles and needed to reset all computers before takeoff on our flight there).

From there, we went by bus and train to the small town of Callander

erverywhere having the old walls that are so typical up there and which I, for some odd reason, like so much. (also, of course, the lovely hillside in the background ;-)

Callander is situated in the Trochsass, a really romantic piece of Scotland on the boarder of the High- and the Lowlands. It has been a touristy place since Sir Walter Scott made the region famous with his novels and poems. So we did what tourists there have been doing for over a hundred years now and took a steamer cruise of "Loch Katrin", where Walter Scott's "Lady of the lake" is situated, and where the infamous Rob Roy had one of his hiding places.

The steamer, "Sir Walter Scott", is over 105 jears old, and since then it has serves but one purpose:

carrying tourists.

But despite of the people, one can imagine why the landscape was ideal as an inspiration for romantic writers: just take a look for yourself

and once off the boat, there are not many tourists left:

the aerea is ideal for cycling, and so did we

and, after having covered some distance, on needs a rest:

see the best travelling companion I could have wished for :-). (also note my trusty camera, which I almost lost later on and almost destroyed even later ... . Note also my sunburn :-) )

But enough for now

This pictures may serve as a first impression, other pictures (of our hiking adventure and of Edinburgh) will follow. But one last remark: The thing that we both will remember most of the holidays is, how friendly the people were. When leaving Callander, e.g., our landlord drove us all the way to Stirling, the next town with a train station, so that we would not have to take the bus with all our luggage

of which I had, say, more than enough :-)

Frank

My very first selfmade icon :-)

cavendish — Fri, 15 Jul 2005 06:47:37 GMT

The moment I saw it in the episode I knew I was lost :-)

Hope you like it :-)

My concert summer

cavendish — Wed, 13 Jul 2005 15:25:07 GMT

oh dear, it has been almost two months since my last entry ...

*waves* hi, lj-world, I am alive still. Or, maybe, again, since the holidays have begun.

And what brought me out of hiding is maybe a rather stupid reason.

Call this my concert summer: I have seen BB King on his 80th birthday tour (almost the best blues concert I have ever been to), I have seen Elton John together with Bimo, which was really enjoyable (apart from the audience which seemed almost asleep most of the time), I am going to see Joe Cocker late in August, and today, believe it or not, I was on a Chris de Burgh concert.

Ok, granted, I know at least three reasons for not going to such a concert: sentimental lyrics; questionable lyrics, and people in the audience saying it was almost as good as Howard Carpendale. (a German kitsch singer)

I went to see de Burgh mainly for sentimental reasons: As a teenager I adored the early records (no, I am not ashamed, almost every male teenager of my age loved the man ... lying on the couch with dimmed light and eyes closed and listening to "Head and Heart" is the ultimate teenage experience I guess *sniff*), and I went together with a friend who is a greate fan still.

But I did not expect much of the one-man-one-guitar- style concert today.
I was badly mistaken: This man really rocks.

When after about one and three quarters of an hour he sang the inevitable “Lady in Red” (he even made jokes on that one, calling her lady in blue), we thought the concert would be coming to an end: Well; how badly mistaken we were again. The only thing that came to an end was the part when people were sitting on their chairs. With the following "Revolution", people ran up to the stage or jumped on their seats and really partied. This continued with “Don't pay the Ferryman”, “High on Emotion” and so on.

After another hour of a singing and dancing along (now well into the encores, he said it would be enough of his own songs for today. Instead he began singing Beatles tunes, Buddy Holly, and alike. And the audience: Went crazy. A whole concert hall singing Hey Jude" and “Hard Days night” on top of their voices, and a rather baffled looking Chris de Burgh on stage: Wow.

When he left the stage after almost three hours of performance, the audience left exhausted but happy:

No, I will really not take my old CDB albums out of their shelves again: I am no teenager anymore (heaven be thanked), and most of the lyrics are way too sentimental, many questionable in nature.

But I have to admit: The man rocks.

Or, as one woman had it: Howie (short for Howard Carpendale) is dead from now on ;-)

Frank

Oh what a beautiful ...

cavendish — Sat, 28 May 2005 14:28:40 GMT

City?

Today was a really lovelly day in the Ruhr erea: Not to hot, dry, sunny: So I took my bike and out I went. No, many of you not living around here may imagine the Rhur erea like this:

but since I have taken my (small, cheap, digital ;-) ) camera with me today, my I proudly present:

City?

Today was a really lovely day in the Ruhr area: Not to hot, dry, sunny: So I took my bike and out I went. No, many of you not living around here may imagine the Ruhr area like this:

but since I have taken my (small, cheap, digital ;-) ) camera with me today, my I proudly present:

this is also my city:

Even yours truly is on one of the pictures ;-)

Hope you like them nonetheless

Frank

cavendish — Sat, 28 May 2005 02:03:50 GMT

Only five Books?

Only five books that mean a lot to me? That is going to be hard ;-)

But start at the beginning: As you have probably guesses already, I've been tagged for the book meme, and since bimo, who tagged me, did this meme quite nicely, I will try to live up to that and not only name books but also tell you s.th. about them

So without further ado:

Book Meme

1) Total number of books owned:

Oh, dear, do I really have to count? No Idea. Way too many; let us see: one of my bookshelf hold approximately ~ 110 books; the shorter shelves hold 60; that would be *takes out pocket calculator* 6 large shelves; 13 short , + Books in Boxes … :1440. But this would be books for school, private books and university stuff combined. Only the 6 long shelves hold fiction.

(to give you a vague idea ;-)

some books

2) Last book I read:

Currently reading: David Bodanis; An Electrical Universe. A really well written science history I bought it because of a good review I heard on the radio, and because it has got a chapter on Heinrich Hertz, who not only discovered electromagnetic waves, but also kindly gave his name to be used as a name for our school. (ok, what could he do, being dead ;-)

3) Last book I bought:
A Translation of some 40 of Shakespeare's Sonnets , transferred into German by the famous left wing singer / songwriter and poet Wolf Biermann. I bought it at a concert where Bierman sang and recited the poems.

Also harshly criticised in the Media as changing Shakespeare too much, being more in love with himself than with the poems, and diminishing the original and so on; I think the translations worth reading, as the use a powerful German Language, and, imho, Biermann creates German Poems of there own right. Compare:

Sonnet LXVI (William Shakespeare)
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry:
As to behold desert a beggar born
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity
And captive good attending captain ill.
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

Das 66. Sonett (Wolf Biermann)
Müd müd von all dem schrei ich nach dem Schlaf im Tod
Weil ich ja seh: Verdienst geht betteln hier im Staat
Seh Nichtigkeit getrimmt auf Frohsinn in der Not
Und reinster Glaube landet elend im Verrat.
Und Ehre ist ein goldnes Wort, das nichts mehr gilt
Und einer Jungfrau Tugend wird verkauft wie'n Schwein
Und weil Vollkommenheit man einen Krüppel schilt
Und weil die Kraft dahinkriecht auf dem Humpelbein
Gelehrte Narrn bestimmen, was als Weisheit gilt
Und Kunst seh ich geknebelt von der Obrigkeit
Und simple Wahrheit, die man simpel Einfalt schilt
Und Güte, die in Ketten unterm Stiefel schreit
Von all dem müde, wär ich lieber tot, ließ ich
In dieser Welt dabei mein Liebchen nicht im Stich.

4) Five books that mean a lot to me

Here comes the hard bit: Only five.

Ok, come, follow me, I'll show you: follow me some 28 years back and see

my Mother at my bedside reading to me (yours truly being about 8 years old) . What she is reading from is a chapter of Kiplings Jungle Books, not Disney style, but a good German translation of the original, bound in dark blue linen (somewhat faded in the 30 years hence) having a silver panther on the cover.
Stay with me in this time for a moment longer, but change location: Come to my Grandparents place (a small one strey house with a flat roof, located in the middle of a small forest; by now long torn down) at sit with me in the kitchen for a while. Hear my Grandfather (a voice which keeps fading as I try to remember it; but the words remain) reading to me from a Book of German Balads; his favourite being Schhiller's "Dei Bürgschaft" and Fontanes "Die Brück am Tay". I knew these poems by hard before I could even read properly ;-)

But we have lingered in this time period long enough, and we need to travel in time a bit. Lets go to the petrol station my father owed (the old building, now also only present in pictures I took, and in memory) and see the 15 yo. version of myself entering the small shop attached to it and find the second wife of my father at the counter. With me I brought a book called Watership Down by Richard Evans, and I still remember hearing her say: "Oh, you do read such long books". By then it must have dawned on me that I belong to a special group of people, to those who read "such long books". I think I still do.

A habit which led me - by no means in a straight line, though, - to University: So I think it is only fair to include the first novel I read at university here: Jack Kerouac's On the Road, which left me with a lingering interest in the time period, the music of miles Davis, Beat Poets and alike.

Where to go now, when there is only one book left to got to? Well, sicne it is a hot day today, I invite you to come with me to the University library, it is air conditioned. Stroll with me to the shelf where I have strolled, for the first time (it must be over to years hence by now); not in search for some University stuff, but actually for something to read privately. See me waking listlessly through the shelved of American Literature and stopping at H.D. Thoreau; remembering having heard a clipping of this passage in Dead Poets Society. See me taking out one volume of his collected works; printed in 194something. How amazed I was to find that some of the pages still were connected to each other at the front; obviously never having been read ever since. See me discover the essay "A Winter Walk" in this fashion; carefully opening the pages, one by one, reading, for the fist time; the incredibly beautiful, strong, and ironic words of what has become my most favourite Philosopher; one who has really shape my view on mankind and the society we are living in.

Oh, I see that the restriction to five books I wisely chosen. All these I have mentioned make starting points to other directions, into the past and into the future. And to some of these books I have come back to, over and over again. So yes, they mean something to me. Unlike so many people, they have stayed in my life, and even talk to me still: Not, because they like me so much, but because the have no choice, obviously.

Frank

PS.: as for tagging: Is there someone ony my frieds list, apart maybe from alexwichert, who has not either a) done it already, or b) has been tagged by bimo already? So if this rrar intance alpllies for you, please, feel tagged ;-))

cavendish — Sat, 21 May 2005 09:47:10 GMT

See what I've got: A brand new user icon :-)

Since I really admire the icons that kathyh does I asked her to make one for me; referring to my lj identity of the 18th century chemist Heny Cavendish. Here it is. Isn't it nice? :-) The other one she mad is still hidden in my userprofile, please check there :-)

Thanks :-)

Frank

fed con 05

cavendish — Sun, 08 May 2005 07:02:04 GMT

Much has been written elsewhere; e.g. in selenak's journal about the fedcon 2005; so this is just to post a small thank you to bimo for taking me to my first convention ever: it was really great fun. (mindless shopping for merchandize squee: new Star Trek socks, cap, pin, poster, pictures, key chain: help ;-) ), and I also really liked to see the actors life on stage; especially Leonard Nimoy; me having been a Star Trek fan for ages.)

Also it was really great meeting people; as well as having been invited for a small party after the con by people who did not even really know me: thanks folks, you rock :-).

(Ok, granted, not all that glitters is gold, but the negative things were solely on the organisators side: that they took 50 bucks for the Leonard Nimoy autograph session (in addition to the 35 Euro entrance fee) made me somewhat angry; also that the Kirk / Spock T-shirt I wanted to buy was one size too large (whom shall I blame for that? ;-) ), and the fact that guest with day tickets were only allowed to sit on the balcony of the great hall where the panels took place did not please me that much either ...)

well, who cares: I had a great time; I have been wanting to do that for ages; and, knowing myself, I probably would not have gone alone: So again thanks for persuading me to not have a weekend out in the country, but going to Bonn instead :-)

Anyhow, bimo posted the pictures I took during the con (again thanks for editing and posting them; I really would not have had the time); so if you are interested; be welcome to take a look at

http://www.livejournal.com/users/bimo/16130.html#cutid1

Frank