O Niccolo

The cunning fellow above is one Niccolo Machiavelli born this day 1469 in Florence, Italy. We all know of him, we all know the term taken from his name to signify cunning and deceit in politics. Most of us either had to or wanted to read his masterclass "The Prince" at some point in our lives. Some of us even gave that book as a gift/hint to our boss. Most of us also know that "The Prince" was not published until Machiavelli had been dead for five years, although he did circulate it privately amongst his friends (that took some guts, here you are my pal, now read this book where I show you why that might be a bad idea). He had his up and downs as a civil servant in the service of the Florentine Republic, scaling the heights of power to where he was responsible for the militia of Florence, and went on several diplomatic missions to foreign powers, and plumbing the depths of the lows, being deposed from office in 1513, and tortured "with the rope" and exiled to his estate outside of Florence. There he wrote the book that made him famous, and is still widely read, and studied today. I do not subscribe to the theory that he was evil or all bad, I think his dark side is a bit overblown. He was, in my opinion, at heart a realist. A man who understood what it takes to rule, and that sometimes a boot in the arse is necessary to get things in order. A kind, gentle, ruler is all well and good, until people start to take him or her for granted, and then they start taking liberties, soon you have chaos, and generally chaos in government is a bad thing. A little fear can go a long way, and if you are the guy in charge, I believe it is still probably better to be feared than loved. It is a cynic's approach to the world, but then I am a confirmed, card carrying cynic (how is that for alliteration). So, for showing us that to rule, a little bit of ass kicking is necessary, and necessary is some times the only reason you need for doing something, Niccolo Machiavelli (May 3rd, 1469-June 21st, 1527, at the age of fifty-eight), you are my (248th) hero of the day.

He Makes a Mean Pizza Too

The dashing, decorated, fellow above is on Manfred von Richthofen a.k.a "The Red Baron" born this day 1892, in Breaslau, Germany. He began his military training at the age of 11, and soon joined a cavalry unit. The outbreak of World War I saw him still a cavalryman, but the trench warfare of the Western Front did not call for a lot of cavalry, and his unit began to be used as infantry. That did not suit the young Manfred, and he applied for, and was accepted into the German "Air Force" in May, 1915. He entered pilot training in October, 1915, and after a few training runs flying in two seater aircraft, gained his first confirmed kill on September 17th, 1916. After this first victory, he ordered a silver cup engraved with the date, and the type of machine killed from a Berlin jeweler (hey fly boys are arrogant pricks), he continued this until he had 60 cups, he could get no more silver from the jeweler due to the blockade of German ports, but I am sure he would have kept the little tradition alive till the end. He was not the flashy type of pilot that his brother, Lothar, was he preferred to dive upon his victims coming out of the sun, using it to blind them as he riddled them with bullets. He most famously connected with the Fokker Dr. I. triplane, it is the red one that we see in all the movies, but only 20 of his 80 victories were recorded in that type of plane. It was the Albatros D. III that he first painted red, and that was the plane in which he built his reputation. It was April of 1917 that was to be his highwater mark, he is credited with 22 kills in that month alone. He became effectively a wing commander (even though still a captain), and his group was nicknamed the Flying Circus. All well and good, but he also became a symbol, and that is part of the problem with him as a hero. He really was not the nicest fellow, and I guess if I had been alive during his lifetime, I would have been rooting for the other team, but he was one hell of a fucking fighter pilot, and I don't care for symbols that much. Who knows? If Germany had won World War I, things might have not turned out so bad in the next twenty years, and the Baron did his best to make that happen, and that is what a soldier is supposed to do. Whether he is flying in a gaudy coloured airplane in the clouds above, or shoveling mud in the trenches below. But he was not immortal or bullet proof, he sustained a serious head wound on July 6th, 1917, and was grounded until that October. The wound was to have lasting effects, causing him headaches and post flight nausea, and has even been thought to be a reason for his lack of judgement during his final flight in the great blue yonder. That flight happened on April 21st, 1918, when just after 11 a.m. he was hit by a single bullet (probably fired from the ground), and died a fairly speedy death. Before he died he managed to make a controlled landing, and the Allied soldiers that reached him recorded his last word to be "kaputt." And kaputt he was, I doubt he will be considered a popular hero, he was a stone cold killer, but you have to remember the people he shot down were trying to (and eventually did) kill him. It was war, and he did his duty, and that is all that matters. I am sure Snoopy would agree that he was a worthy, brave, flier that the likes of the world will not see again. So, for doing his duty, against the odds and usually better equipped opponents, Manfred von Richthofen (May 2nd, 1892-April 22nd, 1918, at the age of 25) you are my (247th) hero of the day.

Dear Theo

The fellow above is one Theodorus Van Gogh born this day 1857 in Groot-Zundert, Netherlands. Our boy Theo is probably only famous because of an accident of birth. That accident of birth made Vincent Van Gogh his older brother. However, with Theo, Vincent might have just been another lunatic that like to paint a few pretty pictures. Though Vincent had the talent, Theo had the job that made it possible for Vincent to paint those pretty pictures. He was not wealthy, but Theo gave Vincent a monthly allowance, and painting supplies that allowed Vincent, lunatic that he was, the time, and the wherewithal to become the famous painter that is he today. Their letters to each other make for some interesting reading, and perhaps that is what a hero is the drudge that allows the more talented one the freedom to pursue his art. In the end it did make them both famous (after they died alas), but fame is a fickle bitch, and few of us remember the worker bee Theo, we prefer to remember the queen bee, Vincent. Well, I am one of those few that, on International Workers Day, remember the worker bee, Theo. Once a prole, always a prole. So, for providing his talented, but lunatic brother, the support he needed to make great art, Theo Van Gogh (May 1st, 1857-January 25th, 1891, at the age of 33 of syphilis) you are my (246th) hero of the day.

The Good Soldier

The pipe smoking fellow above is (at least I think it is a picture of him) Jaroslav Hasek born this day 1883 in Prague, Austria-Hungary. He was the son of a high school math teacher, and the family's poverty forced them to move several times during his early childhood, these were not the type of moves you want to do, but the types of move you do by moonlight when the landlord is sleeping. When he was 13, his father drank himself to death, and by the age of 15 young Jaroslav was forced to drop out of school, and get a real job as a druggist. He did manage to graduate from a business school, and had several other jobs (such as dog salesman) before deciding to try to live the high life as a writer. This high life included becoming an anarchist, and getting his ass arrested on a regular basis, one arrest was for assaulting a police officer for which he spent a month in jail. He fell in love with a girl in 1907, but her parents were understandably not too thrilled with their daughter's choice in men, and opposed the match. This led him to trying to straighten up and fly right, or at least right enough to get the girl, and they were married in 1910. It did not prove to be a happy marriage, and ended (badly) in 1913, after Hasek was caught trying to fake his own death. However these years, were productive he wrote and wrote short stories, and even managed his to finish most of his masterpiece "The Good Soldier Svejk." It is that work (which I confess I have yet to read, but it is on the "list") that gets him onto the hero podium. It is, by all accounts, a brilliant look at World War I, from a jokers perspective, and is one of the most read books in the Czech language to this day. There is a lot of Hasek in his character, they were both well known practical jokers, and there are statutes dedicated to Hasek outside of the pubs in which he wrote a lot of his stories. Imagine that, writing a fucking novel in the beery, smoky, atmosphere of a tavern. That takes dedication at least, and probably quite a bit of concentration. So, for writing that wonderful book, and managing to keep it free from beer stains, Jaroslav Hasek (April 20th 1883-January 3rd, 1923, at the age of 39 from TB), you are my (245th) hero of the day.

You First!

The fellow above is one Fred Zinnemann, born this day 1907, in Vienna, Austria. While he was growing up he wanted to become a musician, but eventually studied law at the University of Vienna. Finding that particular career boring (and who can blame him?), he became drawn to films eventually becoming a cameraman. After moving to the United States to study film, and doing a couple of moderately successful B movies, he got his first big break directing "The Seventh Cross" starring Spencer Tracy. Not bad for a musically inclined, lawyer type who started off as a cameraman. His career spanned six decades, and is noted for such films as "From Here to Eternity" "A Man for all Seasons," "The Search," and "High Noon." He is also noted for giving Marlon Brando his first ever role in film, and he also gave Montgomery Clift his first starring role. Those are a couple of pretty damn good discoveries. Nineteen different actors received Academy Award nominations which should tell you something about his talent as well. He won the Academy Award for directing "A Man for all Seasons," and for "From Here to Eternity." Not bad at all for somebody born in Vienna just before the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The best story I have uncovered about him goes as follows; in the late1980s, during a meeting with a young Hollywood executive, Zinnemann was surprised to find the executive didn't know who he was, despite winning two Academy Awards, and directing many of Hollywood's biggest movies. When the young executive callowly asked Zinnemann to list what he had done in his career, Zinnemann delivered an elegant comeback by reportedly answering, "Sure. You first." Lovely response, and an object lesson to any of us young, smart ass, whippersnappers out there who think old equals dumb. It does not always, and maybe we would all be better served remembering that. So, for directing all of those stars in all of those lovely films, Fred Zinnemann (April 29th, 1907-March 14th, 1997, of a heart attack at the age of 89), you are my (244th) hero of the day.

An ILL Wind

I am sick, a sick man, so my doctor tells me. Actually that is not true. I do not like my (hippie) doctor, and I am not going to ask her opinion unless it is something life threatening. Therefore, my sickness, which has kept me off of work for two whole days, is not something that I feel will sort me out for good. However, it has made me feel like warmed over shit, and unable to talk (I am sure that would cheer up a lot of people) without sounding like I swallowed a frog. Not talking is mostly fine for me, I have been trying to work on being laconic, but for my job a certain amount of speech is required. Lack of speech is not the only downside to my present illness, I have been unable to string more than two thoughts together for the majority of two days, not that I am usually some brilliant thinker, but all I can really do is sit my lard butt on the couch, and stare at the boob tube without a thought in my head. Hopefully, tomorrow will be better. I have certainly taken enough medicines to either kill or cure a bull moose, and I can only hope that one of them will do the job. I have spent a lot of time staring at the list of possible heroes, and there were a couple, that on a healthy day, I might have turned into a hero of the day. However, they were a bit of a stretch, and would have required some effort, and thought, and that is something that I am clearly not capable of today. So, it is with regret, that I must inform you that for today, April 28th, there is no hero of the day.

Women's Rights

The lovely lady above is one Mary Wollstonecraft born this day 1759, in London, England. She was cursed with a right bastard of a father, who spent all of the family's money, and then made her turn over her inheritance, and blew through that too. He was a violent man, who beat his wife, and children on a regular basis. Not someone you would fret too much over getting a Father's day card. From those hostile beginning she lived a pretty interesting life, and I am too poor of a writer (unlike her) to put it into some pithy blog post. Her major reason for ascending to the hero(ine) of the day podium is her authorship of "A Vindication of the Rights of Woman." In it she argued that women are not naturally inferior to men, but appear so due to a lack of proper, equal education. Her idea was that men and women should be treated as rational beings (a rational woman? if only), and envisions a social order based upon reason. All well and good, and if only it were entirely possible, but in my view, men and women both are just a bit too emotional for a society based upon reason alone. Though I do have to agree with her that education is the key that generally unlocks the mind, and is critical for anyone, man or woman, to become a productive member of society. Perhaps that is why I got some much of it, education that is, the attempt to gather, and gain knowledge, either for its own sake, or for a loftier goal, is something to be encouraged. She also, to be fair, wrote "A Vindication of the Rights of Man," but I figure that has been done to death. She died performing another one of her heroic deeds, giving birth to a lovely daughter that would grow up to be Mary Shelley, and a great author in her own right. So, for living a life that is worth writing, and reading volumes about, and showing us pig men that women can be just as smart as we like to think we are, Mary Wollstonecraft (April 27th, 1759-September 10th, 1797, at the age of thirty-eight), you are my (243rd) hero(ine) of the day.

Follow the half naked chick

The stern looking fellow above is one Eugene Delacroix born this day 1798 near Paris, France. There is a nasty rumour that his father was sterile at the time of his birth, and that his real father was another hero of mine, a lovely fellow by the name of Talleyrand. This idea is supported by Talleyrand's protection of Eugene throughout his painting career. He also, according to people in the know, looked an awful lot like Talleyrand. He went on to paint a lot of pretty pictures, but perhaps the most famous one is "Liberty leading the People." A stirring portrait of Liberty (with one breast exposed) leading the people during the 1830 revolution in France. He was, at the beginning of his career, a firmly Romantic painter, by the end of it he was heading towards being a leading precursor of the Impressionists. Another hero of mine, Charles Baudelaire, called him "a poet in painting," and was a big fan. If it is good enough for Baudelaire, it is good enough for me. So, for painting such expressive pictures that inspired a generation of artists, and are still being sold for a pretty penny today, Eugene Delacroix (April 26th, 1798-August 13th, 1863, at the age of 65), you are my (242nd) hero of the day.

Lamplighter

The scrawny fellow above is one Edward Grey, 1st Viscount Grey Fallodon, born this day 1862 in London, England. Our boy above shares his birthday with another shallow chested Englishman of our present time who is the limey bastard that got me into blogging, and while he probably not longer read this blog, I thought I would give him a honourable mention in this post. After a typical English schoolboy education, he went to Oxford to read Greats. He was apparently a very idle student, and used his idle time to become a champion in tennis. At the age of 20, his grandfather died, and he became Sir Edward Grey inheriting a 2,000 acre estate, and a private income. Just what an idler needs a private income. After eventually graduating from Oxford, he became even more of an idler, and eventually asked a friend of his to find him serious and unpaid employment. Must be nice what a private income and a 2,000 acre estate can do for you. I prefer the non-serious, paying employment myself, but then again I am a prole. This unpaid employment eventually led to an interest in politics, and at 23 (in 1885) he became a Member of Parliament (the youngest on in Parliament at the time). It was the beginning of a long, and very successful political career that would led him to the being the Foreign Secretary in 1906. It was this post he was to hold for eleven years, and during his tenure he was to see the coming of the great war. His remark on the eve of that war is now very famous, and it is a reason he is on our hero podium of the day. He remarked that "the lamps are going out all over Europe. We shall not see them lit again in our time." It was a dark statement, and England was headed for a dark time. He would eventually become the leader of the Liberal party in Parliament until his retirement. So, for steering England through some dark time, Sir Edward Grey (April 25th, 1862-September 7th, 1933, at the age of 71), you are my (241st) hero of the day.

Costanza

The short, stocky, slow-witted, bald man above is one George Louis Costanza (as portrayed by Jason Alexander), and he was born "sometime in April" according to what he told the spiritual healer Tor, and since I figure that if scholars can make up Shakespeare's birthday, I can place Georgie boy birthday on today. A day that was sorely lacking in real life heroes. He has been described with the phrase above by both himself, and other characters in the series, he also proclaimed himself "Lord of the Idiots" in one episode. He has also been called "the greatest character in a sitcom of all time." I have to agree with all of those things. He is all of that and more. I have been, upon more than one occasion, compared to George. I have to say that I cannot deny there might be some similarities in our personality. I think that the "Independent George/Relationship George" bit on the show was, not only spot on, but one of the funniest things I have ever seen on TV, and I am a comedy snob. I do not watch a lot of comedy, mainly because I think that most of it is not funny (I am looking with contempt at you Will Farrell, and Steven Carrell). He is shown above wearing what is, for most of the entire series, his standard type of attire. George is not a flashy dresser, nor does his rapidly disappearing hair require a lot of styling. He has claimed that his choice of colours is based upon his mood, so maybe he is more hip than we think. The major thing I share with George (other than slow wit, and stockiness) is his anger. Somewhere (probably in his fucked up childhood) George got angry at the world for some reason, and he is very quick to let the world know that he is angry at its unfairness. Although to George, (and I hope unlike me) his anger is the anger of being mad at the world not being fair to him, not just unfair. He and I also share a love for nice toilets. I am a big fan of his idea of having the door of a public toilet go all the way to the ground for the sake of privacy (I saw this in a airport in the Netherlands, and was blown away), a flush like a jet engine is the standard by which I judge toilets. George is not the nicest fellow in the world, nor is he the swiftest horse in the stable, but it is the relationship between George and Jerry that is the most important one in the show. I think that the predicaments that George finds himself in throughout the show are the funniest of the group. Art Vandelay is one of the most well known "fake names" in the world due to George's constant use of it. He is horrid at relationships (another trait we have in common), and he goes through jobs like cheap toilet paper. I once tried his speech to his boss when quitting his real estate job, but calling my boss "a laughingstock" was not the best idea that I ever ripped off of him. He is full of neuroses, and everyone of them is funny. When he tells his mother that he is a porn star, and his name is "Buck Naked" I still cry with laughter. He might not be a fellow you would trust with your life, love, or money, but he is one solid character. Sure to liven up any party, but maybe not always in a good way. So, for all of those funny moments that will go down in American TV history, and for making a comedy snob like myself howl with peals of laughter, George Louis Costanza (sometime in April, sometime in the middle 1960's (I think)-present), you are my (240th), hero of the day.

The Bard

The fellow above is one William Shakespeare, born (they think) this day 1564, in Stratford upon Avon, England. Quite simply, he (whomever he may have been) was the best writer that the English language has seen, or will ever see. He produced most of his work between 1589, and 1613, and the list is too long to mention of the great plays, and poems he wrote. Of course, he wrote reams and reams of utter dross, but the quality he produced is without par. Today is generally regarded as his birthday, but no one is exactly certain of his date of birth. The major reason for this random date decision is because it day he died. I guess the scholars of the world wanted some sort of sense of ironic closure. There is still doubt about the authorship of his plays. Christopher Marlowe, Francis Bacon, and others have been put forward as the actual author. I knew a pretty smart person that was (since she was an English major, and had read a LOT of Shakespeare) convinced that Shakespeare was a woman. The theory was that no man could write such brilliant roles and speeches for women, and who knows maybe Shakespeare was a woman, or maybe he was just a really sensitive man. Perhaps he was a little bit of both, two or three brilliant authors that wrote under the same name. I kind of am of the opinion that he was just one man, and was just one fucking GENIUS. I have read lines that he has wrote that made me want to cry. Lines he wrote have inspired me to greater things, lines he wrote that made me wish, with all my heart, that I had thought of them first. You can read all day and all night the details of Shakespeare's life, works, and death. This blog is not going to be the place to detail all of those. I do not have the time, skill, space, or talent to do him justice. He had all of those in spades, and I still love reading him today, and I am sure it is a love that will last my lifetime. So whoever, or whatever you were William Shakespeare (April 23rd 1564- April 23rd, 1616, at the age of 52), you are my (239nd) hero of the day.

The Left

The balding fellow above is one Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, a.k.a. Vladimir Lenin, born this day 1870 in Simbirsk, Russia. Since I have labeled both a Republican, and a conservative in the last week by people I know, I figured it was time to trot out a good, old-fashioned revolutionary as a hero of the day. When he was 17, his eldest brother was hanged after participating in a terrorist plot to assassinate the Czar. It was this event, more than any other in his early life, that put Lenin on the path to revolution. He entered Kazan University in order to study law, but as the brother of a known terrorist, and after taking part in a student riot, he was expelled and refused admission to any other Russian university. He studied independently, and was awarded a law degree, and three years later he was allowed to study at Saint Petersburg University. In 1892, he obtained a first class degree in law (like I know what the hell that is), he practiced law in the town of Samara for a while before moving back to Saint Petersburg. It was here, and now that Lenin started down the path that lead him to the front of the revolution that would make him the leader of Russia. He was famous for being a tireless worker, he would usually work 14-16 hours a day. He would work all the time, on major issues, minor details, and mundane matters. Of course he is know as one of the major thinkers/writers of the Bolshevik movement, and it is a well earned reputation. One of my favourite quotes from him is as follows

If Socialism can only be realized when the intellectual development of all the people permits it, then we shall not see Socialism for at least five hundred years. Lenin-1917.

Good stuff coming from the guy would is the man that was attempting to make Russia a state founded upon socialist ideas. He survived a couple of attempts to end his life, and worked hard until a series of strokes made it impossible for him to work. These strokes were to have dire results for Russia. While he was laid low by the strokes the power struggle to succeed him was won, eventually, by a fucking maniac by the name of Stalin. It would not have been his choice, but his voice had been silenced by his illness, and Stalin was fairly good at positioning himself to take control. Take control he did, and with disastrous results. However, the blame for that disaster can not be lain entirely at Lenin's feet. So, for be a damn, fine rabble rouster, and a pretty smart cookie as well, Vladimir Lenin (April 22nd, 1870-January 21st, 1924, at the age of 53), you are my (238th) hero of the day.

Follow the Law

The educated looking fellow above is one John Law born this day 1671 in Edinburgh, Scotland. He was born into a family of goldsmiths and bankers, and amazingly enough was not Jewish, though there is an old joke that goes, "what is the difference between a Jew and a Scotsman?" Answer "Nothing." Terrible joke I know, but most jokes are. When he was about 25 years old, M. Law killed another fellow in a duel over a woman (what else?), and had to eventually show Scotland a clean pair of heels. He spent the next ten years shuffling between France and the Netherlands, dealing in finances, and gambling a lot, before he got his big break. The French economy was in the crapper, and Law was called upon to use his "system" to try and repair it. He did a lot of good, and helped increase industry in France by 60%, he also helped France increase the number of ships engaged in export from sixteen to three hundred. His idea was to replace gold with paper money, and it was a great idea, but it was about 300 years of its time, and France was just not quite ready from prime time. All of it ended in tears (as these things tend to do) and "The Mississippi Bubble" was the disaster that he helped to create, and what led him to have to flee France with the hounds baying for his blood. He was apparently a heavy gamble, and was so good at mental calculation that he was known to win games because of his ability to calculate the odds. However, after his flight from France he spent the rest of his life kicking about Europe gambling, but was unable to regain his former prosperity, (guess that is justice). I know he is not the most clear hero of the day, but just because his ideas were too advanced for the time he was living in, and a lot of people got burned by them, does not mean he isn't somewhat heroic. So, for those advanced ideas that a lot of us use everyday without really knowing the full details, John Law (April 21st 1671-March 21st 1729, at the age of 57, of pneumonia), you are my (237th) hero of the day.

Springtime For Hitler

Today is two things, other than nearly over, first, it is 4/20, and pot smokers over the world are, I am sure, quite baked already. I am pretty sure that they have been baked all day, I would imagine that there has been a run on your local quickie mart, and the place is probably sold out of Cheetos by now. Considering my current employment, I do not get baked myself, but I probably know a few people who do. I will probably even see a couple of those baked fellows tomorrow, but it will be in far different surroundings that they would wish for. So, pot smokers of the world unite! Cast off your job, and sit on the couch in your Underdog undies, and play video games until the wee hours of the morning. Just make sure you don't get too high, and try to drive out to the club. No one wants to see your blurry eyed, goofy ass. Secondly, today is Hitler's birthday. No something that you would (anyone would) care to celebrate, and the world would be a better place if he had not been born. I know my history, and I realize what a horrid person he was, and that the Neo-Nazi skinheads of the world are just fucking retarded. Perhaps my project for next year will be a villain of the day, a person without whom the world would have been, in my opinion, a better place. I hesitate to commit myself to such a project, but it would be a logical counterbalance to the hero posts. Of course, the only thing that I have been thinking about today in the context of heroes is the damn song "Springtime for Hitler" from "The Producers." That is what not enough sleep, and an over developed sense of the absurd will do for you, it will have you swanning around your workplace belting out show tunes about Hitler because it is his birthday, and you think it is funny. Your co-workers odd stares be damned. Either way, if any of you care to, feel free to post your thoughts on my villain of the day idea, because it is, with regret, that I must inform you that, for today April 20th, there is no hero of the day.

Rocky Horror

The smiling fellow above is one Timothy James Curry born this day 1946 in Warrington, England. Born the son of a navy chaplain and a secretary, he moved to South London after his father's death where he developed into a talented boy soprano. He then went on to concentrate on acting, graduating from Birmingham University with a degree in English and drama. His second role on the stage was as the mad scientist in "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" in which he also played on the big screen in 1975. It is the role that made him a cult hero, and is one weird fucking film. It is still being screened in some theatre in Germany, and has been since June 24th, 1977 (a Guinness world record). He then went on to a extremely varied career on stage on in film. Playing such roles as Cardinal Richelieu in "The Three Musketeers," Long John Silver in "The Muppets Treasure Island," Dr. Petrov in "The Hunt for Red October," and Pennywise in "It." All excellent roles in excellent films. Perhaps his most famous stage role is as King Arthur in Monty Python's "Spamalot." The man has range, and is one talented dude, so for being able to portray a "sweet transvestite from Transylvania" to the most powerful man in France, Tim Curry (April 19th, 1946-present), you are my (236th) hero of the day.

Rien

There were a lot of people born on this day, and quite a few of them were fairly famous. Even a couple would be in the running for our hero prize. I mean Clarence Darrow, David Ricardo, Aldophe Thiers, and several others might just on your average day make it onto the hero podium. I suppose today is not my average day, although it has not had any disaster strike, or good fortune arrived that would mark it as anything other than an average day. Perhaps today is an average day, and average days lack heroes. By definition they are average, neither too high, nor too low to stand out in a lifetime crowded full of similar, average days. Therein lies the rub, today will eventually disappear into the mists of memory (or would it be non-memory?). Nothing of any importance, in my opinion, happened today. And though, the day has a few hours left to run, I doubt anything reportable will happen in the time remaining to this day. This is a non-heroic day, a day indistinguishable from thousands of other days, in which I live, eat, breathe, sleep, and accomplish nothing of note. It arrived outside my window right on time, just like it companions, yesterday, and tomorrow, have, and (I assume) will. Nothing heralded its arrival, nor with anything mourn its loss. I could have, just as easily, slept through this entire day, and there is some theory that I might have. Maybe I am a sleepwalker, or an automaton that, upon being wound up by my owner, performs certain mundane tasks everyday with disturbing regularity. Austrian field marshals and Ottoman sultans have called this day their birthday, but for me it is nothing. It is 24 hours that have to be "got through" on my way to starting the work week tomorrow. Nothing more, nothing less. Of course, it is useless to lament this day, and I should really be trying to get something useful out of these particular 24 hours of relative freedom that I have been given. I did try, I was calmly sitting on the deck in my back yard, and reading until I casually looked up at the "scenery" of my backyard. While other people would point out the beauty of the blooming red ruffle bushes with their colourful flowers, and the fullness of the shade tree over head, and admire the freshly cut lawn, all I saw was the stump that I have to dig up, the leaves on that shade tree that until fall arrives, and I will need to rake them, produce some odd sap that is currently ruining my deck. I see that freshly cut grass in a week, after a couple of rain showers, being knee high, and in need of being freshly mowed again. It was enough to drive me inside where I can glance at the walls of my living room that are in desperate need of painting, and I wonder again how drunk I must have been to have purchased a house. Maybe this is what my day has become, sitting around la grand maison, and pondering all of the niggling, little things I need to paint, cut, repair, build, or have removed. This is a tragedy worthy of some obscure Greek. I certainly hope that my fate is different, that fate is not conspiring with the HG channel to turn me into some sort of slave to my freehold. Maybe in the six hours or so I have left before I decide to sleep this day off, something of importance, or interest will happen that will retrieve this day from the dustbin of history, but I am not cautiously optimistic. All I can do is, with apologies to my reader(s), inform you/them that for today, April 18th, there is no hero of the day.

Take me out to the old Ballgame

The fellow above is one Alexander Joy Cartwright born this day 1820 in New York City, New York. Born the son of a merchant, young Alexander began earning his living as a clerk, and was also a volunteer fireman (hence the fancy duds in the photo above). Many of his co-workers were playing a game similar to stick ball, and Alexander joined in with relish. He even formed a ball club, naming it after the fire department he worked for, it was called the Knickerbocker base ball Club. The team drew up a constitution and by laws, and in September 1845 adopted the 20 rules from which our modern game of baseball is derived. They played their first games against another New York team on June 19th, 1846, getting waxed by a score of 21-1. That is in some quarters to be considered the first baseball game. He later caught the Gold Rush bug, and skipped out to California, but eventually wound up in Hawaii, where he got into all sorts crazy dealings in the Kingdom of Hawaii. Those deeds do not concern us here, and if you want to read about them if you want. He died there of blood poisoning on July 12th, 1892, but his reason for being our hero is for that invention of what would become America's Pastime. I confess that I am not the baseball fan I used to be, but for great periods of my childhood I was a big fan of the game. I was also a fan of the glory days of the game, the true heroes of the game, Mickey Mantle, Joe DiaMaggio, Stan Musial, etc, etc. Before the multi-million dollars juicers of the game of today, baseball was fun to watch, and maybe one day it will be again. However, Cartwright, who was officially credited with inventing the game by the United States Congress, on June 3rd, 1953, is not to blame for that. So, for inventing a lovely game in a time of not steroid taking apes, Alexander Cartwright (April 17th, 1820-July 12th, 1892, at the age of 72), you are my (235th) hero of the day.

Fast Freddie

The fellow above is one Karl Fredrik "Freddie" Ljungberg, born this day 1977 in Vittsjo, Sweden. In the picture above he is wearing the national team's jersey, and that is one reason he is a hero of mine. He scored 15 goals for the Swedish national team in his 75 appearances. He also managed to complete a personal double for me by starring for my club team, Arsenal, as well. In 216 games for the Gunners he scored 46 goals. Including a cracking goal in the 2002 FA Cup final against Chelsea that sealed the win, and made him the first player to score in two consecutive FA Cup finals in 40 years. Not bad for a fellow from a small town in Sweden. He moved to the Arsenal in 1998 for the sum of 3 million pounds, which was a record for a Swedish player at the time. He was also signed after being scouted for a year by the Arsenal scouts, and was signed without our gaffer (Arsene Wegner) ever seeing him play live (he had watched him in a game against England on TV, and decided to sign him). He left Arsenal in 2007 for their London rivals West Ham United, but his spell there was not a success. He then moved to the Seattle Sounders of the MLS, and there he remains despite some rumours of his return to European football. He retired from the national team after their disastrous Euro 2008 campaign, and has been only playing in America since then. He is also famous for posing in his boxers for a Calvin Klein advert, that drew a great deal of attention. It seems that Freddie packs more than just a powerful shot, in fact, he seems to be packing. But, for scoring all those wonderful goals for club, and country Freddie Ljungberg (April 16th, 1977-present), you are my (234th) hero of the day.

Experience

The self-drawn fellow above is one Leonardo da Vinci born this day 1452 in Florence, Italy. He is the best example of a Renaissance man in the world. He had some much skill in so many fields that to attempt to write a blog post about him would be futile. So let just give you a couple of tidbits. I once claimed, like Leonardo, to be a Renaissance man. The person I made that claim to hung up on me, and did not speak to me for over three months. So be careful when trying to be like Leonardo, it could have some dangerous consequences. He was left handed, and did not go to any "formal" schooling. This is the basis for his famous mirror script handwriting. If you know any left handed people ask them to write a sentence from right to left, and see if they can do it. Almost all of the ones I tested could do it with a little thought. That is how left handed people would naturally write, backwards for us right handed people, but natural to them. It is only when they are enrolled in schools, and forced to conform to how the majority of pupils write, do they then learn to write from left to right. Those are the two best tidbits I have about Leonardo da Vinci, but there are tons of other. Get thee a biography of the man, and prepare to be amazed. However, I am going to use the rest of this post for my own purposes. I will start it with a quote from a fellow by the name of Elias Canetti.

". . . a strolling prehistoric creature, that was what I wanted to be, an animal that doesn't run from anything, into anything, that doesn't make way, doesn't stumble, doesn't bump into anything, doesn't push, doesn't have to be anywhere, a creature who has time, who's after nothing, who makes doubly sure not to carry a watch." The Torch in My Ear- Elias Canetti

Ponder that quote for a second, I have been since I read it about two hours ago. It dovetails nicely with an interesting chat I was having with a boon companion of mine last night. He was a bit deep into his cups, but that didn't stop him from making some sense (for a change). He expressed a similar feeling to the one quoted above. He was bemoaning that his debts tie him to his job, and that his job is not a source of joy to him. He stated that his sense of duty to repay his debts (student loans mostly) are what kept him from becoming the creature Canetti describes above. A shame isn't it? The everydayness of our jobs have made us creatures who do the complete opposite of what Canetti is talking about. We make doubly sure TO carry a watch, and a cellphone, and all sort of other devices to make sure that we are creatures always after something, creatures who are pressed from time, and have places to be, and people to see. If only we could be so lucky to have the above ability to be that prehistoric creature that Canetti is describing (he had that luxury somewhat, family money must be nice). However, most of us have to be somewhere all the time, or we take a "day off" to just get away, and end up wasting it by doing laundry, or washing dishes, and then realizing that we have to be somewhere tomorrow, and the cycle starts all over again. For da Vinci, experience was the queen of all, and perhaps he was right, perhaps we all need more experiences, more time to have experiences. Different experiences, not the same experience where only the date on the calendar has changed. Which is why I am contemplating running off, and joining the circus, but I am not sure if I would make a good bearded lady or not. Either way, for being the ideal Renaissance man, in a world of slugs like me, Leonardo da Vinci (April 15th, 1452-May 2nd, 1519, at the age of 67), you are my (234th) hero of the day.

Waves

The bewigged fellow above is one Christiaan Huygen born this day 1629 in The Hauge, Netherlands. His dear old dad was a friend of Descartes, and I am sure that Rene would show some pride in Huygen's achievements. After graduating from Leiden University, he had a brief stint as a diplomat, but it was in the world of science in which he was to achieve the fame that makes him our hero of the day. He will always always hold a special place in any gambler's heart because he wrote the first book on probability, publishing "On Reasoning in Games of Chance" in 1657. He is especially remembered for his wave theory of light, being one of the first proponents of light moving in waves rather than as particles. Another one of his major contributions to the world was the invention (though he left the building of it to someone else) of the pendulum clock. He also discovered Titan, a moon of Saturn, and wrote quite a bit about Saturn's rings. He even believed that there was life on other planets, and that it was just a question of having the water on the planet to sustain life. I guess we can't be right all the time (although I happen to believe there is life somewhere else in the universe as well, so he might yet be proven correct). So, for all those things he was right about that helped advance some many things in the world of science, math, and optics Christiaan Huygen (April 14th, 1629-July 8th 1695, at the age of 66), you are my (233rd) hero of the day.