Update 2 from Zayed 9

Things continue on an upward trend for me.  My creatinine level was normal this morning for the first time in AT LEAST EIGHT YEARS.  My catheter is out and I was finally able to perform some essential bodily functions without aid.  I also walked a mile around the unit (10 laps).  My sisters Jenny and Sarah were down from Wilmington/Philly to visit.

Looking to get out early next week, if lab numbers are agreeable.

Now It Can Be Told

Monday's preop evaluation for my July 21 kidney transplant went well.  I still have to give one final sample of blood for tissue typing on Monday.

Best guess at present is that I will be in the hospital (Johns Hopkins) for about a week and that I will be unable to return to work until late September or early October at the earliest.  I will be taking a lot of anti-rejection medication and will have to avoid crowds and other locations that might harbor infection.  That includes Bronycon in early August, I'm sorry to say.

You may have been wondering about the identity of the donor.  It's my brother Andy, who made the decision to do it a couple of months ago. 

More Blasts from My Past

OK, they're not "arctic blasts" summoned forth by the "polar vertex."  These are more of the "warming" kind.

The notation on the back of this photo reads "Chris and friend, November 1963."  In case you couldn't tell, I'm the one in the high chair.  Sorry, I have no idea who the "friend" is.

Another picture from my first Christmas, 1962.  Apparently I'm practicing the crawl stroke.

Something a little more contemporary, taken in 1969 when I was seven years old.  It was at about this same time that a charcoal sketch artist at the old John Wanamaker's department store in Wilmington drew pictures of me and my sister Jenny.  The portraits used to hang in the upstairs hallway at home on Bona Road but then were in storage for a long time.  Mom had them reframed and cleaned up and gave them to Jen and me as Christmas gifts several years back.

In the Days of My (Extreme) Youth

I hope you all had a chance to visit with your friends and family for Christmas.  The Barat family had a nice get-together in Wilmington.  While I was there, my mother, who just recently moved out of her condo and moved in with my youngest sister's family, gave me a bag full of things that she had "uncovered" (or, more accurately, recovered) as she was gathering together and selling off stuff that she had accumulated over the years.  Most of it belonged to my Dad, including one of his old slide rules -- not one of the wimpy little plastic ones that became common during the sunset years of the device, but a real hefty one -- and the spiked belt he used as a Jesuit novitiate.  Mom's major contribution to the stash, meanwhile, was an old "Baby Album."  If you're old enough, your parents may have kept one for you, detailing facts about your birth, early years, childhood milestones, and so forth.  I imagine that they have long since passed out of favor, replaced by higher-tech memory-makers.  In any event, I took some of the items in the album and digitized them.

They didn't fool around back in 1962 when it came to identifying babies' genders by color!

The first "official" picture ever taken of me, on the day of my baptism, November 1, 1962.  I seem to recall that I had that rabbit toy for quite a while as a kid.

Pictures from my first Christmas.  At the time, we were living just across the Hudson from Manhattan in North Bergen, NJ.  My parents had been married for 1 1/2 years and my Dad was working for Mobil Oil Company.

Christmas 1963, the last one for which I was an only child.  My sister Jenny was on the way and would arrive in three months.

I'll post some more mementos when I have time.

There's a Hole in My Head, But The Rain ISN'T Coming In... Yet.

A number of regular readers of my blog are aware that I was hospitalized from Tuesday afternoon the 10th through Sunday afternoon the 15th for an operation to repair a subdural hematoma.  Let me get the rest of you up to date.

This trouble stemmed from an accident I had on campus on Tuesday the 3rd.  I recently moved into a new office in a quirky old building that used to be a carriage house.  The corridors are narrow, there are several flights of stairs to be negotiated in order to get to the faculty offices and computer labs in the building, and, most significantly of all, there are low, vaulted ceilings in certain places.  I walked smack dab into one of these ceilings while returning to my office from the copier room.  I didn't lose consciousness but, as it turned out, the impact resulted in my brain literally being shifted several centimeters inside my cranium and blood and cerebrospinal fluid leaking into the space between the skull and the membranes protecting the brain.

I was still able to teach and drive the rest of the week, but Nicky and I began to notice some strange symptoms over the weekend.  I began to have persistent headaches and seemed to be having trouble keeping my balance.  When Nicky and I went out walking around our neighborhood, I tired more quickly and started dragging my left foot a bit behind my right.  It almost felt as if the top and bottom halves of my body were moving at different speeds.  I still wasn't overly alarmed.  I attributed the headaches and general air of lassitude to the stress of starting a new academic year and having to get up early every morning. Once I got into the swing of the new schedule, I thought, all would be well.

On Tuesday afternoon the 10th, I had just started my Basic Statistics class and was going over a quiz with the students, perched on the edge of the desk in a half-sitting, half-standing position.  I suddenly lost my balance and fell to the floor.  Several students had to help me up, while another student went to get help from security.  I had already been examined by a security guard on the 3rd, so the security personnel were aware of what had recently happened.  They insisted that EMTs come and take me to the ER of nearby Sinai Hospital for evaluation.  There, a CT scan confirmed the existence of the hematoma and a large quantity of fluid in my head.  I was operated on the next morning and a suction drain was inserted into a small hole in my head to pull out the fluid and help my brain ooze (is that the right term?) back to its normal position.  In the process, my hairline was shot to hell.

I felt OK after surgery, but I was still under the influence of pain medication.  Once that wore off, the ordeal began in earnest.  I was unable to keep food or drink down and began to experience a constant migraine-level headache.  My blood pressure also spiked, leading us to believe that my kidney function had somehow been affected.  In truth, my kidneys behaved well throughout.  All of the pain and difficulty was caused by the negative pressure exerted by the head drain, leading to what's called a low CSF pressure headache.  Even doses of morphine helped only a little.  I endured for 36 hours before the neurosurgeon's assistant came on Friday afternoon and removed the drain, fixing the cranial battlefield up with staples and stitches after the fact.

Once the sucker (sorry) was gone from my dome, everything headed north with a vengeance.  I could eat and drink again and my headache quickly subsided to the more typical "I haven't slept well or had caffeine in X days" version.  Nicky was with me virtually the whole time, and my mother and three siblings were also on hand at various times to lend support and advocacy to my cause.  Nicky did a wonderful job of keeping as many people as possible informed of my condition, both at Stevenson and elsewhere.

I'm now at home with instructions to stay out of work and avoid driving for two weeks while my head recovers from the surgery.  I'm hoping to get back to teaching by October 1 if all goes well in my follow-up appointment with the neurosurgeon on the 24th.  I should be able to resume "normal blogging activities" in another day or so.  Thanks to all who were able to send good wishes during my hospital stay.

DUCKTALES RETROSPECTIVE: Episode 45, "Luck O' The Ducks"

I can actually recall the specific circumstances under which I first watched "Luck O' The Ducks."  It was Thanksgiving Day of 1987, and I was sitting in the basement of the old (well, it certainly is now...) Barat family manse in Wilmington, having just ingested a huge (though modest compared to the feasts served up at Bud's Silver Run) holiday meal.  I must have overdid it, for I wrote the parenthetical comment "Burpin' turkey all through it!" while taking my handwritten episode notes.  I was less than impressed with the episode, and the state of my digestive tract didn't exactly ameliorate my state of mind.  Both GeoX and Greg were able to reach their decidedly negative conclusions about the quality of this "Emerald Isle" romp without any such physical stimuli, though GeoX did mention something about vomiting.  I don't think "Luck" is quite that bad, but there's more than enough lameness here to cause even the stoutest of stomachs to quiver a bit.

I regard this episode as one of DuckTales' great lost opportunities.  Carl Barks never sent the Ducks to Ireland for an adventure, and not many European creators seem to have tried to do so, either (here is one exception, which might have turned up in a Gemstone pocket book at some point had the titles lasted longer).  There is obvious potential in an Irish Duck story that incorporates Irish legends, myths, and, of course, treasure, in fun and believable ways.  Think of what Don Rosa was able to mine out of the Finnish Kalevala.  Given a completely open playing field to work with, writer Michael O'Mahony lets the ball (either rugby or "football," take your pick) bounce out of bounds, packing the episode with "Oirish" stereotypes galore.  In truth, the shifty leprechaun Fardoragh (Frank Welker) and pint-sized King Brian (Billy Barty) are the least problematic of these elements.  You might argue that "real" leprechauns are more like the sadistic, violent pixie seen in this movie and its sequels than they are the cuddly-cute Fardoragh, but at least O'Mahony was paying some attention here, in the sense that "Fardoragh" is a real Gaelic word meaning "black."  Likewise, King Brian might be considered a tribute to the legendary Irish king Brian Boru.  Welker and Barty both give very energetic performances and make these characters enjoyable in spite of their childish aspects.  The "headless horseman" and Banshee aren't all that bad, either, though, as Greg pointed out, one could hardly expect a chest of drawers to keep a ghost out of a room, even in the DuckTales world.

Alas, O'Mahony can't control himself when it comes to jackhammering home the "Hey, gang, WE'RE IN IRELAND!!!" message, subjecting Launchpad to one of his most humiliating roles in the series in the process.  The green plane and lepra-costume are silly enough...

... but the clumsily staged Irish jig sequence is acutely embarrassing...

... and I think I'll let this last image pass without comment, for LP's sake.

I suppose that this business would have been more palatable had LP previously displayed a habit of dressing up to fit the setting he was in (much as the original plans for Dale in Rescue Rangers cast him as a "master of disguise" who liked to wear crazy "themed" hats).  Instead, it simply comes OUT OF NOWHERE and adds to the distinct feeling that this is an episode that is purposely "written down" to juvenile mentalities.  The contrast to what a "Quest for Kalevala"-like approach to the subject matter might have given us is heartbreaking.

Launchpad is fortunate in one respect in this ep: he gets some things to do, even though they are pretty idiotic.  The Nephews don't even get that much.  Honestly, for all HD&L contribute to the episode, they might as well have been left behind while Scrooge, LP, Webby, and Fardoragh flew to the "Emerald Isle."  They whiz away their one moment of "responsibility" by falling asleep while on guard duty; otherwise, they're just hanging around... or lying around with a somewhat unexpected bedfellow:

I believe that this is the only time in the series when Scrooge and the boys are in the same bed.  Please alert me to any other cases.

The portrayal of Scrooge here, of course, is straight out of the "Occupy Duckburg" playbook.  Of course, greed is part of Scrooge's character and always has been.  Rarely, however, has it been presented with such a comprehensive lack of subtlety.  We get the infamous dollar-sign eye-flash not once, not twice, but THREE times, just to make sure we completely understand that Scrooge is, ya know, greedy.  I wonder whether there is some sort of correlation between the number of D.S.E.F.'s in a $CROOGE story and the story's rating on inDucks.  If there were one, then I imagine that the correlation would be negative. 

The portrayal of Scrooge has the additional negative effect of displacing what should have been the climax of the story, the moment at which Scrooge realizes the error of his grasping ways.  As Scrooge exults over reaching "his" Golden Caverns, Fardoragh laments the impending loss of the leprechauns' "heritage" -- a point of view that the "real" Scrooge certainly should be able to appreciate, given the importance that he attaches to the story of how he amassed his fortune.  Had Scrooge's greed grown "naturally" over the course of the story, as opposed to being telegraphed right at the start, then this scene could have made for a really powerful turning point.  Instead, O'Mahony is obliged to wind up the "Webby's friendship with Fardoragh" subplot, depicting Webby as unreasonably gullible in the process, and therefore makes Scrooge's reformation a lot more contrived than it needed to be.  The viewer winds up feeling rather like Scrooge after he has been "saved from having a terrible day."

I'd peg Webby's performance here at a notch or two below the one seen in "Back Out in the Outback" insofar as the "cuteness factor" goes.  It's a shame that she didn't carry some of her reticence about befriending Australian animals in the latter ep into her initial encounter with Fardoragh.  Instead, she's literally defending him before she even knows anything about him (apart from the fact that he's threatened to "do an Irish jig" on the Ducks' faces if they come any closer).  Once he starts calling her "Princess," the (non-Irish) jig is up, and she snaps into the "Fardoragh is my friend!" mindset that she'll maintain for the remainder of the episode.  At times, you almost have to agree with the kvetching Scrooge that Webby is a bit foolish to be accepting Fardoragh at face value in such an unquestioning way.

The relationship between Webby and Fardoragh does provide us with one moment that I can honestly describe as heartwarming, during the scene in the bedroom that I will forever remember as "the curlers sequence."  Webby's solicitous behavior towards Fardoragh, and Fardoragh's grateful responses, are very well played by Welker and Russi Taylor.  In an episode noteworthy for its ham-handedness, I appreciated the lighter touch on display here.  For sure, I got more emotional sustenance out of these moments than I did from the over-the-top scene in which Webby gives her "wonderful" friend a four-leaf clover and Fardoragh promptly breaks down and bawls. 

So what else did O'Mahony get right here?  Well, his dialogue, in all honesty, isn't half bad.  Sure, you have to dock him some points for Launchpad's "Crasharoonie!", but a good deal of the byplay is enjoyable, considering that it is being used in the service of a simplistic plot.  The pace of the ep, especially in the early stages, is sprightly; we jump from the Money Bin to the streets of Duckburg to the construction site, and the dialogue complements the slapstick-flavored doings reasonably well.  The scenes in the Golden Caverns are nicely atmospheric... and I, for one, thought that the use of the giant potato as a booby trap was a hoot.  The rest of the ep is so cut-and-dried that an absurd gag such as this was all the more welcome.

Despite its handful of good points, "Luck O' The Ducks" is among the less inspired of DuckTales episodes, exuding a palpable "assembly line" scent.  Rescue Rangers' "The Last Leprechaun" and Gummi Bears' "Gummis Just Want to Have Fun" weren't much better, so there's at least a possibility that a "leprechaun curse" may be involved.

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"DuckBlurbs"

(Greg) Scrooge and the nephews dive in and in a scene that contradicts the logic they were shooting for; the nephews dive in as if the gold was water like Scrooge's. I thought we proved in GoldenSuns episode #5 that the nephews cannot do that spot? 

Perhaps Scrooge finally gave in and initiated the youngsters into the arcane mystery that is money-diving.  Against this, of course, you have to weigh his refusal to teach Launchpad the same trick in "Duck in the Iron Mask."  Perhaps Scrooge reasoned, "I dinna know whether you can crash a bin full of money, but I'm not aboot to take the chance!"

(Greg) Ducktales was [Billy Barty]'s only DTVA credit and in fact the only other Disney credit was The Rescuers Down Under movie. 

Barty also appeared in the Gummi Bears episode "A Recipe for Trouble."  That one wasn't any great shakes, either.

(Greg)  We then get another sky shot of the snake [pit] and then we go to floor shot as we see the babyfaces sitting on the edge. Okay; WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SUPPOSED TO ACCOMPLISH HERE?! Now if the idea was to have the snakes use their tongue to tickle their feet; then this spot would work except that the snake are about 12-15 feet below the babyfaces. And LP shoes are still on. How in the world is this supposed to be torture for their crimes? Just sitting there and watching the snakes hiss? I'm supposed to take this seriously? 

Yeah, teasing torture without delivering, even in a humorous sense, is pretty questionable -- but not as bad as...

(Greg) Brian goes to the window as [Fardoragh] tries to escape; but Brian grabs his ankle and throws him down onto the floor and demands answers from the infamous liar. That makes Brian the most over character in the episode; bad plot thread be damned. [Fardoragh] bounces off Brian's belly and admits that he had to because they were going to tar and feather him with their own feathers...  Brian decides then not to feed them to the snakes (WHAT?! That is lame to the extreme!) and instead they will have a party thrown in their honor. Oh god; this episode just made less sense now. 

This switch really was clumsy, with no justification being given for Brian's change of heart at all.  I don't see how the story editors could have allowed O'Mahony to get away with this.

(Greg)  Okay; so we cut to the well as Scrooge is wearing various jewelry on himself as he and [Fardoragh] are climbing up the well...  And of course he's tired as hell and somehow he throws everything down into the hole below. D'OH! This guy needs Wii Fit STAT!

The funny thing here is that Scrooge claims that he's "not as strong before [he] became a multi-zulti-zillionaire" while he's climbing up a dark shaft with no equipment or other assistance whatsoever.  Heck, he's even able to save Fardoragh with relatively little trouble when the latter loses his grip and falls.  Methinks Scrooge is selling himself short here.  Perhaps his burgeoning greed has given him enhanced powers not normally granted to multi-zulti-zillionaires.

Next: Episode 46, "The Golden Fleecing."

We Are... Our Grandparents!

I shouldn't let September slip away without noting a remarkable (for the Barat family, that is) fact.  Our family has now possessed our home in north Wilmington, DE for 45 years.  As a four-year-old in September 1967, I literally saw the old manse built before my as-yet-uncorrected-for-myopia eyes.  My brother Andy and his family live there now.  What's remarkable about our family's longevity at this address is that now, we have lived there longer than my grandparents lived in their home in Worcester, MA.

     The Lee home, circa 2002

You know the old saying that time moves more slowly when you are a kid.  Well, when I was growing up and making regular visits to Worcester, I got the distinct vibe that my relatives had lived there FOREVER.  The house itself certainly seemed old enough to be a domicile that could house a certain group of people for an indeterminate length of time.  I can still smell the mildewed wood of the small "mud room" that one had to pass through in order to enter the house proper.  But, no, the Lee family was "only" there from 1945 until the end of the 1980s, when my grandfather, great-aunt, and aunt moved in with my uncle and aunt's family in New Hampshire.  The Barat estate in Wilmington has now been in the family longer. 

Lebanon Valley 31, Stevenson 28

This may have been the most impressive game that Nicky and I have seen Stevenson play in person.  Last year's inaugural home win against Christopher Newport was more exciting -- plus, of course, that game ended in a WIN -- but that happy result could at least partially be put down to the other team's lack of familiarity with SU's personnel.  Lebanon Valley, by contrast, is a power in the Mustangs' conference and massively outweighed SU along the offensive and defensive lines.  LVC ground, ground, and ground away all afternoon to the tune of nearly 300 rushing yards, but the Mustangs refused to go quietly.  A quarterback change at halftime proved to be a tonic for the SU offense.  However, the new QB's inexperience showed when he gave away an interception deep in Mustang territory that resulted in a fourth-quarter touchdown.  SU scored inside the final minute on a gadget play and almost recovered the ensuing onside kick, but no such luck.

The Mustangs' next home game will be Homecoming on October 20 against Wilkes, which just lost to Widener, 90-0.  We'll be sure to post some pictures and vids from that game.  The bad news is that SU has to travel to Widener in a couple of weeks.  I was hoping to travel to Chester, PA for that game, but I wanted to take some family members along, and not enough of them could make it.  I'll still be seeing Mom and the sibs very shortly for a very special ("oh, is that what you call it?") birthday celebration.  

Still In Between Home Machines...

... and, between the time for delivery of the new all-in-one and the time that will be required to set everything up, I probably won't be able to post anything truly substantial until this coming weekend at the earliest. I WILL, however, provide some newsy notes:

(1) The first Stevenson home football game on Saturday night was an amazing experience. It would have been first-rate theater regardless of the outcome, but SU actually WON the game, a double-overtime thriller that ranks right up there with the ND-Michigan Harry Oliver game of 1980 as the best game I've ever seen in person.  Nicky and I took some extended movies which I'll be converting into YouTube format and posting as soon as I can.

(2) My brother-in-law Terry was involved in two car crashes within the space of one week. Neither was his fault, and he wasn't seriously injured, but both of the family cars were totaled. How much the combined insurance will pay for is still an open question, and the family needs two cars...

(3) DUCKTALES #4 is indeed slated for release this week, according to ComicList. So is the delayed reprint of THE BARKS BEAR BOOK from IDW. Those of you who have the original paperback, however, would be well served to hang onto it. Apparently, this tome will not reprint the full contents of the original, no doubt for copyright-related reasons. Still, half a loaf, and all that...

Like Father, Like Son, Like Brother, Like Brother

Using a photo from my Dad's journal, Nicky created a neat juxtaposition of pictures of my Uncle Laci, my Dad, and me and my brother Andy. Who says history doesn't repeat itself!

"From Szeged to Innsbruck"

This weekend, Nicky and I visited my Mom in Wilmington and took home a hardback copy of a very special Barat family document -- my Dad's journal describing his escape from Hungary to Austria in 1949. We had had it translated from Hungarian some years ago, but we wanted to put it into some sort of permanent form. This hardback edition includes lots of pictures of my Dad and his family dating back to his childhood and his time in the Jesuit order, plus a foreword and afterword by Mom.

All of the grandkids are getting copies as well. They will never get to meet Dad, but now they'll know his remarkable story.

Woodberry Kitchen

Back in the 70s, any time my parents wanted to go out by themselves for a special-occasion dinner, their choice always seemed to be Constantinou's House of Beef, in Wilmington's Trolley Square. Constantinou's was a kid's image of what an adult restaurant should be like -- dress code, heavy rugs and tablecloths, doting service, big steaks, sizable check -- and it still exists, after a fashion, but it's only a shadow of its former self. Times -- and expectations as to one's "fine dining" experience -- change, and the restaurant that Nicky and I have now more or less officially adopted as our designated "special" place is situated in what used to be an old, brick-walled foundry and includes stacked cords of firewood and racks of rusting industrial implements as part of the decor. For both food and service, however, it maintains a Constantinou's level of excellence without the stuffier trappings.

The people who founded Woodberry Kitchen several years ago were greatly inspired by the sustainable-agriculture and "slow food" movements. They advertise their commitment to local growers, and, partially as a result, the restaurant's menu is relatively short, subject primarily to seasonal changes. It might sound as if you're in for a drearily didactic time when you eat there, but the waitstaff do everything they can to make you feel comfortable and welcome. They are particularly attentive to repeat customers, as Nicky and I found when we went to Woodberry this past Thursday for a Valentine's Day dinner. Since we are in the restaurant's database, they know what we've had in the past and are ready with suggestions. This time around, I stuck with my tried and true Springfield Chicken 'N Biscuit with kale -- it's the best chicken dish I've ever had, and I've had a lot of them -- but Nicky decided to experiment and ordered Alsatian Sauerkraut, which turned out to be 25% kraut and 75% all manner of meat products. She admitted, however, that when she smelled the chicken coming, she wished that she could take her order back! We also had some excellent carrot and turnip soup. The restaurant maintains a selection of flatbreads and cheaper entrees (such as a Kitchen Burger with fries) for those who wish to spend a bit less, but you definitely get your money's worth of food, regardless of your choice.

For dessert, Nicky and I shared a pot of decaffeinated French press coffee (which one of the waitstaff, a former student of mine, very generously said that she'd pay for) and also got two of the house's sweet specialties. Nicky got the Peanut Butter Cup, which might be described as a Reese's on steroids, while I had the C.M.P. (above). This is a melange of chocolate, marshmallow fluff, peanuts, and malt ice cream, with the marshmallow topping "scalded" to form a crust. All of our indulgences wound up setting us back a little over $100 (it's a good thing we aren't wine or cocktail drinkers), but it's not as if we go to Woodberry with the regularity with which we visit, say, NY Pizza Company near Stevenson's Owings Mills campus. But that's another dining story for another time.

Aside from being the place to which the two of us now repair on birthdays and other notable dates, Woodberry Kitchen has become the designated "impress-the-visitor" dining establishment when we have house guests. My Mom ate there with us and claimed it was the best restaurant meal she'd ever had. Yes, including Constantinou's. I'd like to think that Mom and Dad would have enjoyed it as a couple as well. They wouldn't even have needed to dress up.

RIP Mary Margaret Lee

My Aunt Mary Margaret died earlier today after a long struggle with pneumonia. She was 65, which was remarkable in itself, given that she was born with Down's syndrome. My grandparents refused to institutionalize her, instead giving her as full a life as they could, including allowing her to work at a facility for mentally handicapped people. After my grandparents died, Mary lived with my Uncle Tom and Aunt Eileen in New Hampshire, but finally had to be put in a home after Alzheimer's took hold.

A "Disney Princess by Proxy" Gets Aid & Comfort

This was a pretty rough weekend for a Notre Dame graduate and Philadelphia sports follower. I was able to put it in perspective, though. My niece Zoe broke her arm in a playground mishap, and said appendage is now in a cast. Her family is now living in the Orlando area, so she was able to seek aid and comfort from some friendly folks in the neighborhood...

Zoe's "boo-boo" casing was also signed by Minnie Mouse, Peter Pan, and others. No amount of "magic dust" can replace good, old-fashioned modern medical healing, however.

In other medical news, Nicky is about a week to 10 days away from finally being able to walk unaided. She will be joining me tomorrow at Susan Slattery's memorial service on the Stevenson campus. We've also been invited to a reception with the family at Gramercy Mansion, a bed and breakfast across the road from the college.

European Trip Diary, Part 3: Szentendre and a Meeting with Clan Baracskai (July 10)

Happy Birthday, Mom! After another hearty breakfast, we catch the M2 metro for Batthyany ter station, where we switch over to the HEV (suburban railway) line. I should note at this point that we purchased a special card at the start of our trip that allows us unlimited travel on the Metro, as well as discounts at various museums and restaurants (such as yesterday's Fine Arts Museum and Bagolyvar), for a period of 48 hours. The 15-mile trip to Szentendre, however, necessitates shelling out an extra couple of bucks apiece. Our well-aged but (save for the by-now-expected lack of good ventilation) comfortable train rattles past a series of Communist-era "prison block" flats and residential neighborhoods in the northern suburbs of Budapest. Graffiti is everywhere, but, in a stark contrast with Amtrak's Northeast Corridor, there's not much trash or debris next to the tracks. Literally every house we see has its perimeter marked out by a fence of some sort. Could this be a silent witness to the desire for private property, so long suppressed?

Szentendre is "picturesque" in the grand tradition, with cobblestone streets, quiet cafe-style restaurants, several eye-catching churches, a town pump gushing forth ice-cold water, and dozens and dozens of shops selling jewelry, clothing, crafts, artwork, foodstuffs (including the inevitable paprika), and so forth. Nicky and I try to handle our money with care, avoiding the joints that sell "I Love Hungary" magnets and the like. In truth, we see very little obviously "Made-in-the-Far-East" merchandise, unless you count the Hello Kitty boutique huddled, as if in embarrassment, on the edge of town. Most of the artistic enterprises seem quite authentic. From one shop, we purchase a couple of watercolors of Budapest and Szentendre scenes and a really nice original porcelain painting by a Hungarian artist now residing in Italy. Meanwhile, Mom picks up some small gifts for our nieces.

Nicky and I in front of the cross at the Szentendre central square

The remorseless sun is once again a major foe. Nicky and I are lucky enough to find a store that, almost as an afterthought, sells 1.5-liter bottles of cold water for 1 euro apiece. After a steady diet of teeny-tiny bottles of mineral water, this seems like a luxury (and you can't blame the store owner for trying to stand out from the crowd in any way she can). For lunch, we seek shade under a grape arbor at the Labyrinth Restaurant, which also houses the "National Wine Museum." We got a lead on this place thanks to the Internet, and it has excellent food (Nicky and I both "keep it cool" with chicken salad dishes). We can't pass up the chance to explore the "Wine Museum," but it turns out to be much more extensive (and damp, and puddle-strewn) that we thought, so we only spend a few minutes there. The restaurant has a few tables down there... with a heater. That's a real cellar, all right.

Back in Budapest, Nicky and I decide to prepare for the arrival of my relatives a few hours hence by going to the New York Palace pool to cool off. We're expecting your standard hotel pool (with the depth measured in meters, I suppose), but what we find is something that resembles the interior of a velvet Elvis: black and white fiberglass walls with wavy, cavern-like surfaces, purple-bluish lighting, whirlpool-style jets, "Barry White" mood music. The pool is so narrow that Nicky and I barely have room to swim side by side in comfort. Not only that, but the water temperature is as goopily "semi-warm" as most of the non-air-conditioned rooms we've been in. Evidently, the European ideal of a pool is very different from our own. I wonder whether this is the reason why Americans and Australians tend to win most of the swimming medals.

We cool off following our swim (and, yes, we have to) in our room's shower, get "dressed up" (to wit: fresh polo shirts!), and, at 5 p.m., meet the relatives in the hotel lobby!


This is the first time I've ever met my Aunt Matyi (third from left) and my 2nd cousin Dani (standing next to Mom). I'd only met my Cousin Agi (Matyi's daughter and Dani's mother, third from right) when she visited the U.S. over the Christmas holidays back in the late 70s. Agi's husband Csaba (next to Nicky) knows English, having studied it and lived in England for a time, so he does the translation work. Standing next to me on the far left is Dani's wife Marcsi, who is expecting a baby. My Cousin Lotsi (Agi's brother) and his sons unfortunately weren't able to make it.

We were expecting only a sit-down in the New York Kavehaz, but "the folks" have other plans: they pack us into two cars and zoom us off to Margaret Island, a popular recreational spot in the middle of the Duna. The island used to be a religious retreat (old churches and ruins can still be seen there) until it was turned into a public park. We make the circuit of the island, or something close to it, before settling down at an outdoor snack bar for some ice cream and drinks. Nicky has brought along her netbook computer and soon we are showing everyone pictures of our dogs, Mom's grandchildren, the works. Even more important, we exchange the all-important electronic contact information. After Dad passed on, communication via "snail mail" became much harder to sustain. Now, thanks to Google Translator, we will be able to translate English messages into Hungarian and vice-versa. This will mean a lot to all of us.

Csaba brings us back to the hotel via "the scenic route" including a ride over the Chain Bridge, a great view of the Parliament building, and a "drive-by" of Budapest's huge synagogue, one of the largest in Europe. We say a final goodbye in the lobby and, yes, there are some tears.

Nicky snapped this nice pic of Parliament from Csaba's car.

Up next: Tracing Dad's trail to Vienna; watching some second-echelon bicyclists; more classic art; and we get in a real Schnitz!

Back in the States Again!

This blog has been on "standby" for 10 days for a very good reason -- Nicky and I have been out of the country! We got back today from a trip to Budapest, Vienna, and Salzburg. My mother accompanied us.

Once I get my feet back under me here at home, I'll be posting a detailed day-by-day account of the journey, complete with pictures, etc. Here's a Cliffs Notes version of what to expect...

(1) We managed to make contact with and meet most of my dad's surviving relatives in Budapest. Despite the language problem, we had a great time and plan to keep in touch via e-mail and the magic of instant (written) translation.

(2) We literally did not have a single bad meal -- and we ate in pretty reasonable places, no five-star restaurants.

(3) The heat and lack of easy access to (free) drinking water were the only serious travel issues that we encountered.

(4) There will be a few Disney comics-related observations thrown in, I promise!

Saying Goodbye

Yesterday, Nicky and I made the trek up to Delaware for Chris Sturmfels' memorial service. The site was St. Andrew's School, the boarding school in Middletown where The Dead Poets Society was filmed. Chris' widow's parents worked at St. Andrew's and, with the students away on break, the school offered to host the event. 200 people were expected; 500 showed up. Nicky and I got there in time but couldn't get into the school auditorium, where the service was held. Luckily for the school, the fire marshal never showed up. We quickly retreated to the main building and the dining hall so as to be sure to meet the family members when the ceremony broke up. We couldn't stay to eat, but I'm glad we made the trip nonetheless. Thanks to everyone who's posted good wishes to my family.

RIP Chris Sturmfels

Sorry I haven't had the chance to post any additional reviews this weekend. On Friday, Nicky and I received the news that my sister-in-law's brother had been killed in a head-on collision in Delaware on Thursday. Chris was 42, was married and has an eight year old son. A passenger in the car with Chris was also killed. The culprit -- who apparently had a long rap sheet of driving and other infractions and had been involved in two hit-and-runs that very same day -- is in critical condition in the hospital.

Thoughts and prayers would be appreciated.

Retrospective: A Crash Course in Panelology at MoCCA

This past Jan. 15, thanks to a generous offer from longtime friend and HARVEYVILLE FUN TIMES! head honcho Mark Arnold, I made my debut as a comics panelist at a get-together feting the ongoing (through Mar. 15) Harvey Comics Art Show at NYC's Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art. While I was disappointed that the surviving "Harvey Legends" invited to the panel weren't able to make it, a few of the "young Turks" who worked for Harvey during the final years of its original 1940-1982 incarnation were among the 20-25 or so on hand, and an enjoyable and informative time was had by all. Hopefully, I contributed something of merit to the festivities.

(L-R) Paul Maringelli, CEB, Mark Arnold, Jim Salicrup, Rick Parker, Angelo DeCesare

Jan. 15 was a bitterly-cold, zero-bright day up and down the East Coast. After I fulfilled my teaching duties (8-10 a.m. Stats class), Nicky and I, suitably bundled up, caught a midday train from Baltimore's Penn Station and trekked up to NYC's version of same. We ate lunch with Nicky's older sister Lisa and her little nanny-charge at an Irish-style "oyster pub" across from Lincoln Center and whiled away some time at the giant Barnes & Noble bookstore nearby before heading downtown to MoCCA's unpretentious office-building location on Lower Broadway. There, I found Mark and the MoCCA employees setting up for the panel. While waiting for others to arrive, I had a chance to look around the exhibit, which had enjoyed its original exposure at the Cartoon Art Museum in San Francisco. Items on display included original art from Harvey vets Ernie Colon, Sid Couchey, Howie Post, and Warren Kremer, various sorts of character merchandise (including some of the very nice Harvey maquettes produced by Electric Tiki), Harvey calendars distributed to store owners who handled the comics back in the day, and a monitor showing Famous Studios cartoons. I was pleased to see a big stack of Mark's compendium of THFT! columns and features on prominent display at the front desk. But who would be coming to (possibly) make purchases of same? Nicky and I had debated on the way down as to the type of crowd the panel would get. I knew that Mark had e-mailed many folks with the news, but, between the vagaries of the work week, the frigid weather, and the fact that the panel was being held after normal MoCCA operating hours, I didn't figure that the attendance would be that high. To my dismay, I learned soon after arriving that Colon, Post, and former Harvey art director Ken Selig had all had to beg off for various reasons. I knew that Couchey was already a "scratch" because he was visiting his son in (I believe) North Carolina. As things turned out, most of the attendees appeared to be MoCCA "regulars" -- not that there was anything wrong with that, but the general public so badly in need of Harvey "enlightenment" was conspicuous by its absence. Perhaps a sandwich-board sign posted outside the building announcing the panel would have helped?


Mark, Joe Torcivia, and I ducked out for a quick bite before going back upstairs. As the "crowd" trickled in, I got a rare change to have my ego massaged when I signed a copy of Mark's book. Then MoCCA's Jim Salicrup called the panel to order. Two former Harvey staffers -- Paul Maringelli and Angelo DeCesare -- were invited to "come on up" and join me, Mark, Jim, and Rick Parker. This made for a tight squeeze, as Paul was forced to sidle in next to me on the far left of the panel table. (My friend Mark Lungo later commented to me that it was rare for me to be on the far left of anything.) Nicky, who was sitting in back and taking occasional pictures, later told me that the guys filming the panel had a difficult time getting Paul in the frame with the rest of the panelists; usually, all that showed up were his waving hands. Those hands ending up waving quite a bit, as Paul turned out to be the most talkative of the "Harvey hands" regarding the old days at the company. Mark provided the "global" Harvey perspective, while I weighed in with observations from a fan's point of view. That is, when I got chances to speak. I've never been keen about interrupting other people's conversations, so that kind of inhibited me when it came to "breaking in" with a comment. It was all good, though, as I figured the audience would be better served hearing from people who worked for Harvey, as opposed to a guy who'd "merely" been a RICHIE RICH fan since 1975 and a columnist for THFT! since the early 90s. I did manage to point out that the RICHIE stories, in particular, contained more daring material (especially during the "James Bond" era of the 60s) than one might think feasible for a "children's comic." Witness a story like "The Fantastic Weapon," in which a kindly scientist is shot to death and dies on panel. If only Ernie Colon had been there to address the issue.

Yours truly, Mark Arnold, and Joe Torcivia

The panel lasted about 90 minutes. Afterwards, there was a reception, but Nicky and I had to catch a late train so that I could get back for Friday's classes. Joe also had to hit the road and accompanied us on the trip back to Penn.

It was a fun experience. Let's do it again sometime! (Or, at least, put out a sequel to the THFT! compendium volume. Eh, Mark?)

A Brace of Holiday Book Reviews

Best wishes for a happy holiday season and a great New Year!

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How well I remember my Dad warning me against majoring in what he called "farts and litters" in college! Ironically, as a longtime member of the Jesuits, he himself had a classical education, including a healthy dose of readings from what used to be known as "the Western canon" but what is now sometimes disparaged as the roll call of "the dead white males." In A GREAT IDEA AT THE TIME: THE RISE, FALL, AND CURIOUS AFTERLIFE OF THE GREAT BOOKS (Public Affairs Books, 2008), Alex Beam provides a lively and entertaining survey of the mid-20th-century push to make the "canon" accessible to a mass audience, in the form of Encyclopedia Britannica's GREAT BOOKS OF THE WESTERN WORLD. The "Great Books" still serve as the focus of the traditional "core curricula" at such schools as Columbia University, St. John's College, Shimer College, and Thomas Aquinas College, but they have largely been abandoned elsewhere for reasons more or less convincing. The drive to make the likes of Faraday, Gibbon, and Aristophanes (... "ridiculous"!! Hi, Odd Couple fans!) after-dinner reading for middle-class families turned out to be a non-starter, though some aging acolytes have kept the flame burning with "Great Books Discussion Groups."

In retrospect, the original GREAT BOOKS collection had two fatal flaws: It provided absolutely no ancillary material to help inexperienced readers cope with obscure language and concepts (let's not even talk about the misguided inclusion of classic texts of science and mathematics; I've read excerpts from these and trust me, you MUST have a guide to get through them!) and the quality of its printing was atrocious (minuscule type, double-column format). That being said, I happen to think that a judicious use of readings from original sources is a necessary part of liberal education. You simply need to avoid the trap of providing "too much of a good thing."

Thanks to the work of Allan Bloom and such defenders of the traditional academy as the Intercollegiate Studies Institute, defenses of the "Great Books" have come to be associated with political conservatism. Beam seems to think that this is a strike against them, and this is the one major flaw in his argument. Why should he be so surprised? Colleges have trivialized and dumbed down their curricula to such an extent that SOME form of dissent is inevitable, and, given the prevailing political ethos on modern campuses, it is natural that conservatives should be placed in the position of defending what has been dismantled. Nor is the current "Great Books" movement a political monolith. Some "Great Books" schools have a conservative political bent, but St. John's and Shimer, among others, do not. Judging by the anecdotal evidence Beam provides, participants in "Great Books Discussion Groups" include a fair number of people on the left. The whole idea of using "Great Books" is to bring fundamental ideas into the spotlight for open and vigorous debate, and that's something on which both fair-minded liberals and fair-minded conservatives should be able to agree. Let's use readings from original sources more often in ALL colleges, I say. Just don't expect me -- or anyone else -- to read Apollonius' CONICS without a few judiciously positioned nets.

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Anyone interested in the future of conservatism ought to read Claire Berlinski's THERE IS NO ALTERNATIVE: WHY MARGARET THATCHER MATTERS (Basic Books, 2008). Thatcher is both loved and loathed, and both for good reason. Taking power in Britain at a time when the country was an absolute basket case, the grocer's daughter realized that extreme measures were needed in order to pull Britain off the downward path of socialism and liberate the considerable entrepreneurial energies of its people. She ultimately succeeded, but not without causing dislocations and fundamental changes that, by contrast, make Ronald Reagan's strides forward to "morning in America" look like a cakewalk. Her imperious personality only made her drastic policies seem all the more drastic. There is an important lesson to be learned here: any really profound change away from socialism and towards capitalism will make permanent enemies, so any politician who seeks to make such changes must either be able to ignore the critics or transcend them.

Berlinski interviews both allies and adversaries of Thatcher, including an interesting visit with some former miners whose lives were changed forever in the wake of the failed miners' strike of 1984. Berlinski's sympathies obviously lie with Thatcher, but she gives Thatcher's enemies a fair chance to be heard. I happen to agree with Berlinski's summation that while current geopolitical issues (radical Islamic terrorism, which Thatcher frankly failed to recognize as a big threat) may seem to have little to do with the Cold War milieu in which Thatcher operated, the eternal appeal of the secular religion of socialism (especially when it forms an "unholy alliance" of expediency with Islamic enemies of the West, as detailed by David Horowitz and others) will always make Thatcher's ideas and experiences relevant. This is a very well-written book with a very important message.