"Go Take a Flying F#ck at a Rolling Doughnut!" -- Kurt Vonnegut

  

In a touching scene in the movie “Ford v Ferrari” Carroll Shelby, a Texan, tells a boy who lost his father in a racing accident, “Your Daddy thought you was finer than fur on a frog.” I was watching the movie in France in English with French subtitles. The translator said something like “Your father thought you were a very good boy.”

Metaphor, like poetry, does not translate easily or well.

The moment brought me back to trying to figure out military metaphor when I first enlisted.  The American military is more than 60% southern and western, so for a Boston Yankee like me, I had trouble understanding what some of the sergeants were saying. 

One of the first metaphors that confused me was hearing a sergeant say of a soldier struggling hopelessly with the wrong wrench for the job, “He looks like a monkey trying to fuck a football.”  I have a literal mind, so I could picture what he was saying, but could not understand why he was saying it.

But those ten words hold lots of meaning. A monkey, at least in popular culture, is extremely sexually active and so might try to have an erotic relationship with almost anything.  The monkey is presumed to have great energy which it will use even in pursuit of an impossible goal. So, a soldier trying with great energy to do something impossible is like that monkey. 

In that era, the American military was trying to reduce the amount of swearing by sergeants. When one soldier was disagreeing with and rejecting another soldier, he could say, “Go take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut.”  This, like suggesting intercourse with one’s self, is an impossible task, and one that would be peculiarly painful in the likely event it failed or even if it succeeded. This insult had been in circulation at least since World War II. Many years later, I was reading “Slaughterhouse Five” by Kurt Vonnegut, and smiled when I read the rolling doughnut metaphor.

But before I heard the traditional version, I heard my crew chief use the non-swearing variant using bureaucratic language to say the same thing. He said: “Please attempt aerial intercourse with a motivated, perforated pastry.”

After a while, the Army use of metaphor came easily to me. You could say I caught on, “quicker than chicken on a June bug.”

The French Unaware Americans Think French Only Surrender in War

Freedom Fries in the Congressional Cafeteria. 

Talking with French friends, I mentioned visiting the War Memorial at the center of the town of Foix in the Pyrenees.  The small town had memorial for war dead from both World Wars, Indochina (Vietnam) and Algeria.  As I walked around the memorial, I remembered the Republicans who started the “Freedom Fries” campaign and poured out bottles of French wine.  The draft-dodgers and never-servatives at the center of the campaign said the French were afraid to fight in Iraq.

The truth was, the French understood the Bush/Cheney/Rumsfeld lies behind the war and its ill-conceived plan and refused to be part of it.  The French view was the correct view.  Worse still French troops were on the ground in Afghanistan from the beginning of that war, because fighting the war that made sense. They fought and died in Afghanistan from the beginning of what has become America’s longest war.

I mentioned that the Republican cowards were using the stereotype common in America that French only surrender in war; my friends were surprised. They knew about the Freedom Fries foolishness but did not know that it was a stereotype with a 70-year heritage. 

When their protests began: “Lafayette; Napoleon; a million dead, five million wounded of 66 million population of France in World War I…”  I said this stereotype was as ubiquitous as the stereotypes of Russians, Germans and Brits that were part of their culture. 

The anger I feel when I remembered Freedom Fries is both because I have trained with and respect French soldiers and because the Republicans in question were and are such manifest cowards: now led by their Draft-Dodger-in-Chief.  When I hear that stereotype, I see cowards like Trump, Limbaugh, Cheney, and hundreds of other Pansy Patriots who send Americans to war and death and never served themselves, the worst letting another man take their place. 

Although a few more French intellectuals now know the low esteem in which the French military and French manhood is held by Americans, most residents of our allied nation are blissfully ignorant.  Which is certainly for the best.

Evangelical Escapees Around the World

When I travel, one of the categories of people I meet are Evangelical Escapees. Sam fits in that category.  He grew up in central Ohio in a family that was in Church twice on Sunday, Wednesday, and his teens youth group on Friday put him in Church at least four days per week. Three times a year, the big Church had a weeklong salvation event. In the summer, the whole family traveled around the south. His father was teaching and preaching at Camp Meetings. 

Sam, of course, had no choice about attending any or all of these services. For him, childhood was managing boredom attending events he had no interest in.  He was interested in science. His dad was a high school principal for a day job, but Sam was walled off from advanced studies because he had so many commitments outside school. “I never had time to really do homework. I did okay in school, but I wasn’t like the kids who took advanced classes.”

Sam left home after high school and eventually became a professional mountain bike racer. He married a researcher with a PhD in bioinformatics who got a job at French pharmaceutical company. Sam opened a bike shop in Paris.  He has a clientele of amateur athletes and some professionals on the French national team. He is a perfectionist who does bike fitting for people who want top performance. 

Sam is in his early fifties, tall, thin and fit. He is a strong rider who is very much part of the cycling community in Paris.  He speaks French with an American accent. He has a strong voice and speaks slowly. When I have heard him speak to clients, I can understand him a lot better than the native French speakers he is interacting with.

Sam says his parents really lived the faith they proclaimed. His problem was with nearly everyone else in his Church life. He learned racial epithets at Church before he heard them in “the world.”  And in the kind of Church he grew up in, Creation Science, the arrogant lunacy of asserting the earth is 6,000 years old was the only science. 

Better than Brainwashing--a convoy leaving Camp Adder, Iraq.

Sam is very far from his childhood: physically, spiritually, culturally, but not as far as a soldier I served with in Iraq. David heard me arguing with some Creationists in the mess hall before we deployed. He came up to me later and asked, “Can you really be a believer and not believe all that [Creationist] shit?” He had been told the opposite all through his childhood. He enlisted because he wanted to get away from home and Church, but he could not to a secular college. So, he turned 18 and headed for Iraq.  War was better than brainwashing. And after deployment he went to college with the GI Bill. 

David went back to his childhood hometown after serving in the Army, but got the secular education he wanted. Sam keeps in touch with his family, but is happily staying quite far from home.

   

SIXT is My Favorite Car Rental Company in Europe

When I rent cars in Europe, I try to rent from SIXT if I can. It’s not always possible.  Sometimes they cost more than the competition, sometimes they have no availability, and most recently they had a mileage limit when no other competitor did. 

But my best car rental experiences have been with the bright orange German brand.  I first rented from SIXT in the Frankfurt Airport on a business trip to Germany in 1999.  I had rented a plain vanilla Opel. I greeted the guy at the counter in my barely remembered German from 20 years before. He smiled, spoke English noting my horrible accent and offered me an upgrade. 

He said, “For an additional $10 per day, you can have a BMW 750i.” I blinked. “Really?” I said. “Yes. No problem. Silver. Would you like to upgrade?” I would and did. I went to the lot and there was a silver BMW with a 5.4-liter, 322hp V12 engine. It had a five-speed automatic. I usually get stick shifts in Europe, but I was too happy to care about the transmission. 

On the A5 Autobahn at 2am I verified that rental cars have a governor or speed limiter set to 250kph (155mph). The two-ton sedan was glass smooth at that speed.  Twenty years before I drove that same autobahn in a $400 ten-year-old 1969 VW Beetle with a 40 hp 1200cc flat four. With a tailwind I could get that car just over 100kph.  Everything passed me in the Beetle. In the BMW, I passed everything. It was awesome. 

The next time I went to Germany, I again reserved a plain vanilla Opel with SIXT. I asked for an upgrade and for roughly $10 per day, I got an Audi A6 Turbo.  And that night I checked the speed limiter. 

In November at the end of my last trip, I rented a from SIXT. No upgrade, but very friendly service.  It was a day trip from Paris to Le Mans. After seeing Ford v Ferrari in Paris, I was jazzed to see the site and museum of the most legendary 24-hour race. 

I have rented with Europcar more than SIXT because they tend to have the cheapest cars, and some of the places I go, like Latvia and Georgia and Israel, no SIXT cars were available. 

But the orange logo of SIXT will always be my favorite.

Visit to the Museum at the Site of the Nuremberg Rallies

Hitler at Nuremberg

On the same day my friend Cliff and I visited the Dachau Concentration Camp, we also visited the museum of the history of the Nazis in Nuremberg. 

This Bavarian city was the site of several Nazi rallies before Hitler took power in Germany and became the spiritual center of the Nazi cult (Fuhrer cult) after the Nazis took absolute power in Germany. 

Fuhrer Cult 

Our visit began at a museum build inside a semicircular, multi-story building that was to be the site of meetings for thousands of Nazi leaders.  Nearby are the fields that were once the site of the infamous Nuremberg rallies.  The tens of thousands of Hitler worshippers who crowded this huge field were not enough of an audience for the Nazi cult, so they enlisted Leni Riefenstahl to make the award-winning film “Triumph of the Will.” 

The film focuses solely on Hitler, the one man who embodies the Reich.  Watching the film reminded me of a guest speaker in media class I took 40 years ago.  The videographer who addressed the class talked about his work and his career path and mentioned some of his clients. One client in particular caused a few of the students to catch their breath—a particularly loathsome politician. 

One of the students asked, “What about values? How do you pick your clients?” His answer, “Whoever the client is, I maintain the highest production values.” The class was over at that point.  Riefenstahl did the same on a much grander scale.  Whether she was a true believer or an opportunist, she made an award-winning film. She maintained production values promoting one of the most evil men that ever lived. 

After we saw the film about “Triumph of the Will” and the images and film of the Nuremberg rallies, Cliff said, “The Trump rallies really are sad events compared to these.” I agreed. Ten thousand racists yelling “Lock her up!” are hardly the grandeur of Nuremberg. But the spirit is there.  The American President call the press the “Enemy of the People” (Hitler’s lugenpresse or lying press is much the same) and calling Americans who oppose him human scum, another echo of Hitler’s calls for extermination of the Jews, really are in the Nuremberg spirit.

There are differences besides scale. Unlike Hitler, Trump whines like a baby. “Witch hunt!” he says declaring himself the biggest victim in world history. Whining will not lead to a hundred thousand Seig Heils.

America First Nazi Rally in Madison Square Garden 

on February 20, 1939

The echo of Trump in the 1930s American Nazi phrase “America First” looks very ominous when touring the spiritual home of the Nazi empire. But Trump is a coward and a bully who slinked away from service as a young man when Hitler volunteered for the most dangerous duty in the terrible trench warfare of World War I. No one will make the movie “Triumph of the Whine.”

In the area surrounding the museum are places that would have been developed into imperial sites for larger and more elaborate rallies as the Nazis conquered the world.  The conquest failed and when the war began, money for lavish parade sites dried up. 

Now one of the main rally sites has some massive blocks surrounding what is now a soccer pitch.  The sites are incomplete, grown over and inhabited by people walking, hiking and playing games. 

Because Nuremberg was the spiritual center of the Reich, the Allies chose it as the site to put the Nazi leaders on trial for war crimes. It is strange to think that even at the end of their wretched lives they were given the justice they denied to millions. 

Memoir from an Antproof Case

Tonight I finished a book I thought I had read more than 20 years ago, but I had not. I had read a couple of chapters and lost interest. But I have read all of Helprin's other novels and short stories, so I decided to give it another try.

I like it better now, but having finished it, I will not keep it. I won't read it again.  It is the memoir of a grumpy 80 year old. Worse, it is a grumpy 80 year old who loathes coffee. He attacks espresso machines on occasion and has ended friendships and marriages because of his anti-coffee obsession.

For a coffee lover like me, his rants are painful.  Worse I am in the midst of reading the 15th book in the Master and Commander series in which the central characters are two great friends who share a love of music and coffee.  And I just spent a week with a good friend from the Army in the 1970s who has been a Franciscan monk in Germany since shortly after leaving the military during the Cold War.  Bruder Timotheus and I have very different lives, but we share a love of good coffee.

I realized as I read the book, it is also something of a blueprint for my favorite novel by Helprin: Paris in the Present Tense. In both novels the central character is at the end of his life telling a story that begins with losing both of his parents in a brutal, senseless murder.  Both lead lives of love, loss, promise, courage and failed expectations.

But Paris left me wanting to re-read the book and mark passages, which I did. Antproof  left me smiling thinking that this was the trial run before the book I love most.

Since it is Helprin, there are brilliant passages:
The human soul is ordinary, existing by the billion, and on a crowded street you pass souls a thousand times a minute. And yet within the soul is a graceful, shining song more wonderful than the stunning cathedrals that stand over the countryside unique and alone. The simple songs are best. They last into time as inviolably as light.

And Helprin's books always have humor.  This book begins: Call me Oscar Progresso, or for that matter call me anything you want.... following that first line I was ready for a grumpy old narrator.

And the book is dedicated--To Juan Valdez.

Riding with Racers is the Same the World Over

One of the many peletons at Longchamps in Paris

When I ride in Paris in big pack, known around the world as a peloton, the behavior is as universal as the French word that describes the group.  In Paris on two consecutive days, I rode with big groups—twenty to forty riders—who I never met nor shared a common language with, but I could ride inches away from them to the side and front to back for miles with no problems. I speak and read some French, but not at 90% heart rate.

The behavior of the riders was completely predictable. They signaled when leaving the group. When I was in a fast group, riders from slower groups would speed up beside our group, then move into a gap if one appeared, or join our group from the back. Riders moved slightly out of the group to spit or for snot rockets, unless they were in the fastest groups, then they did their best to go straight down and kept on pedaling at a furious pace. 

In the fast groups, the toughest riders are out front, the rest of us draft as best we can and hang on. These groups formed straight pace lines with riders occasionally dropping off the front to rest at the back.  In the slower groups, a younger guy would occasionally pull out of the pack and attack the group, speeding away or becoming the front of a now faster group.  Sometimes they stayed at the front and raised the speed of the group for most of a lap.  Other times, they dropped to the back again as soon as they were caught. 

One beautiful thing to watch is how groups behave when they are overtaken in the narrow stretches at either end of the loop.  Most of the two miles is a 30-foot wide road with room for fast groups to sail past slow groups. But at each end of the loop is a short stretch that is just eight feet wide.  On the west end this 20-meter stretch is a downhill curve. On the east end is a 100-meter lane before the road turns south in front of the entrance to the horse racing track inside the Longchamps oval.

A group spread out five wide approaching the narrow sections will squeeze down to a pace line. The faster group does the same and two long lines either speed through a right bend or share a lane side by side in smooth parallel lines of heavy breathing and 100 rpm pedaling. 

Most of the riders wore black cool-weather tights and jackets. The temperature was in the low fifties both days. A few, the real racers in the groups, wore jerseys and tights from local race teams.  The sponsors, as well as I could make out, were a plumbing store or an electrical shop in the city of Paris or a suburb.  Some of the slower riders, and some of the guys speeding out to attack the group, wore the colors of Tour de France teams from a few years ago.  The fan-boy attire is universally the sign of a rider who is not a member of a local team. 

Unlike America, where closed roads and bike paths draw roller bladers, scooters, dog walkers, strollers and any number of rolling hazards to fast moving bikes, the training race loop is by tradition for cyclists.  Runners use the path on the inside of the loop. If they run on the pavement, they jump off when a large pack approaches. 

Also, bike culture becomes more and more uniform among the faster riders.  People going 9 mph commuting to work in flat cities like Amsterdam, Beijing or Bangkok ride any number of bikes sometimes older than the rider.  The fastest riders have carbon frame bikes of recent vintage with components very like everyone around them. They dress alike, except as noted above, and spend a lot of time training to be faster and better on the bike. 

I love the riding. I love bike culture. And I love being able to fit in with bicyclists in other countries around the world in the common culture we share.  The wheel thing, one could say.