A Blessing Wrapped in a Curse

Natalie is a hero.

Of course every parent brags about his or her children. However, I am quite firm in my assertion that Natalie stands up to scrutiny as the most perfect child, second only, perhaps, to Jesus, who apparently didn't even cry.

On Saturday, we threw a party for my sister-in-law's 30th birthday, even though she doesn't look a day over 29 and a half. Natalie, aged six, spent most of the day fretting over which dress to wear. She wanted to look best for Autie Kimmy's big day.

On top of this, she reads independently. I taught her to read at a very young age. We read novels together. Thus far we've read countless children's stories (Dr. Seuss, etc.), but it's the fact that she and I have already read novels that makes me proud. To date, we've read Old Yeller; The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe; Holes; Because of Winn Dixie; Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone; Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets; Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban; and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Last month, she saw with her grandmother Bridge to Tarabithia (while I took Mark to see Ghost Rider).

Natalie loved the movie, and my wife told her that the book was really good. She's only six, and I'm not kidding you that she said, "If you buy the book, then I'll read it." Holy crap if she hasn't read through chapter five already--all on her own. She circles words that she doesn't know and cannot learn from context, and she brings them to me for definitions.

She's also starting on multiplication. She understands the scientific method, and she enjoys writing stories and drawing. I'm not kidding. She's everything that a parent dreams.

On Sunday, I was wrestling with Mark. He's really tough, and he likes to get down and dirty. When we were done, he said that he wanted to watch a movie in Natalie's room (there's an extra TV in there on weekends). He left, and about five minutes later Natalie came out to get him and her a glass of water. She returned to her room, but ran back quickly saying, "Mark doesn't look good. His face is pale, and he looks bad."

I rose and walked to Natalie's room. Sure as she'd said, Mark was in bad shape. He looked half asleep. When I touched him, I could feel sweat, but he wasn't hot. I talked to him, but he was unresponsive.

I quickly picked him up and brought him into the family room. There I told my wife that something was wrong with Mark. I gave him to her, and I could see that she too was concerned. Gone was the brilliant fire in his eyes. Erased was his personality. He was essentially dead, sweaty weight.

"We have to take him to the hospital," I said.

"Do we take him to the hospital, or do we take him to the clinic?" she replied.

"No," I said, "we need real doctors."

About then, Mark closed his eyes, and Jennie tried furiously to rouse him. He barely stirred.

"F-it," I said. I'm calling 911. She did not argue, and that's what I did.

My thinking was this. The hospital is at least ten minutes away. The paramedics are about two minutes away.

I grabbed the phone and made the call. The fire truck arrived in about two minutes, followed by an ambulance about a minute later.

Natalie was terrified. Jennie was surprisingly calm, trying to keep Mark awake as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

I wanted to scream. I prayed silently to God, begging Him not to put me in this position, that I wasn't strong enough to suffer so. At the same time, I made the inevitable bargain that if Mark recovered, that I'd be a better person.

The paramedics and firemen came in together and took no time to assess that something was wrong. Mark was, to say the least, lethargic. He hadn't even the energy to cry in fear as they prodded his abdomen and inserted an IV.

They told us that he needed to go to the hospital, so I told my wife to go with Mark while I would drive with Natalie to the hospital.

On the way to the hospital, I nearly lost control. I was on the verge of sobbing. Natalie's presence was the only thing that kept me strong. I told her that she was a hero, that if she hadn't alerted us to Mark's condition, that we wouldn't have called for help.

In one of those moments of sheer hope and gratitude, I offered her anything that she wanted as a reward.

At the hospital, I found my wife and Mark in the trauma room. He was hooked up to machines to monitor his heart, and an IV. I gulped.

The doctor came and told us that he'd ordered a CT to check for head trauma. I said that I'd go with him, as my wife--29 weeks pregnant--could not. Mark was terrified. He'd recovered some of his color, but he was clearly in a state of near terror. I kept talking to him about the things that he loves, and that kept the two of us sane.

The CT went through without a hitch, and we went to a treatment room to await the doctor once again.

The CT came back normal, and no adequate explanation for his condition came. I'd wondered about diabetic shock, but his glucose levels were perfect. Everything was, in fact, perfect. As time went by, Mark himself came back to normal. He complained about the IV and said that the doctors who put it in were "in very big trouble."

We left the hospital that night without a real answer. There was no head or abdominal trauma, nor was there a blood-sugar problem. The best that the ER doc could say was, "Watch him tonight, and make an appointment with his pediatrician."

As we left the ER to pick up Natalie at my brother-in-law's house (he lives about two minutes from the hospital), I asked Natalie what she wanted as her reward for being such a good big sister. She said, "Either ice cream or that bowling game for you Xbox."

I was amazed. I expected her to ask for a Nintendo DS, for she'd gotten one for Christmas, but it had been stolen (we suspect) by my crystal-meth addicted sister and her crystal-meth dealing boyfriend. However, instead of asking for the $130 reward, she'd asked for either a $2 or a $15 dollar one. All she cared about, I observed, was that Mark was going to be all right.

Needless to say, we bought her ice cream on the way home, and today I bought her a Nintendo DS. Sure, I could have spent that money on things for me, but I took more joy from giving her the DS and looking at her face whilst I did so than if I'd bought myself a 50" HDTV. I told her that she's a real hero, and she looked at me with big, wonderful eyes that made me second guess my beliefs about human nature.

Today, my wife found a bump on Mark's head. This is consistent with what the ER doc opined. The pediatrician looked at it. Given that the CT showed no real trauma, she hypothesized that Mark had incurred a great deal of pain, and that the sweat and fainting were typical symptoms of pain-related stress. So Mark is just fine right now.

In the end, Natalie didn't save his life, but I don't regret spending $130 to reward her for her insightful observation. At age six, most kids don't even know the meanings of the words "Pale" and "Ashen," but those were the words that she used. I would take credit for them, seeing as how I've read so much to and with her, but I really cannot. She's beyond me, even in her meager six years.

If God reads this blog (and he ought to, since at least Golf Guy does), then he should know this: I get it. Those hours I spend on the Xbox, those mornings and afternoons that I spend hunting, those days that I spend at work so that we can have the things that we want don't really mean shit. That's right. I said shit. What matters is love. I love my son. I love my daughter. I love my wife, and I love everything else that has undeservedly been given to me. Thank you, Lord, for not making me Job. Thank you for placing things in perspective. Now, if you could only deal with Tom Cruise and the so-called Church of Scientology...

To Mike

I just got in touch with a very old friend from high school. I've been wondering about him for years, and to find him has been such a joy. The power of nostalgia explains so much. Consider the revival of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Transformers, and Star Wars. Multiply that by ten to the tenth power, and you can quantify how happy I am to have heard from Mike.

Mike helped get me my first job under Russ and Don, and he never hesitated to tell me that I was being an asshole when I was being one. There's really nothing like an old friend to erase the hard times of the past and, in doing so, wipe a clean slate for the future. Mike's getting married, and I hope for him the best that marriage can bring.

Look at me being all sappy, and I'm not even mildly (or extremely) intoxicated. I'm just downright happy.

It reminds me of a lesson that I once taught to some young people. I'd asked them, "What song defines you personality and hopes." Many answered with nonsense, like the White Stripes's "We Are Gonna Be Friends" (a fine song, but not a good one for my question):

Fall is here, hear the yell
back to school, ring the bell
Brand new shoes, walking blues
climb the fence, book and pens
I can tell that we are gonna be friends

Walk with me, suzy lee
through the park, by the tree
We will rest upon the ground
and look at all the bugs we've found
then safely walk to school
without a sound

Well here we are, no one else
we walked to school all by ourselves
there's dirt on our uniforms
from chasing all the ants and worms
we clean up and now it's time to learn

Numbers, letters, learn to spell
nouns, and books, and show and tell
at playtime we will throw the ball
back to class, through the hall
teacher marks our height against the wall

And we don't notice any time pass
we don't notice anything
we sit side by side in every class
teacher thinks that i sound funny
but she likes the way you sing

Tonight I'll dream while i'm in bed
when sill thoughts go through my head
about the bugs and alphabet
and when I wake tomorrow I'll bet
that you and I will walk together again
cause I can tell that we
are going to be friends


Others were a bit more on target with things like John Lennon's "Imagine."

Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

So I told them that when they were older, a song by Simon and Garfunkel would be more apropos. The song, "Old Friends/Bookends" goes as follows. Those of you more than thirty years of age will know what I'm talking about.

Old friends,
Old friends
Sat on their park bench
Like bookends.
A newspaper blown though the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes
Of the old friends.

Old friends,
Winter companions,
The old men
Lost in their overcoats,
Waiting for the sunset.
The sounds of the city,
Sifting through trees,
Settle like dust
On the shoulders
Of the old friends.

Can you imagine us
Years from today,
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange
To be seventy.
Old friends,
Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fears

Time it was,
And what a time it was
It was
A time of innocence.
A time of confidences.
Long ago, it must be.
I have a photograph.
Preserve your memories;
They're all that's left you.

Thanks, Mike, for getting back in touch. If we can share a park bench when we are seventy, I will be more than delighted.

With youth comes vigor. With age comes wisdom. With politicians, registered Republicans, and registered Democrats comes neither. Remember that in November. There, I've said it. Vote Libertarian or vote not at all. Don't worry. Your freedom and the achievements of the ages are all that are at stake.

Global Warming is Junk Science

Pseudo-scientists and eco-nazis push the global warming argument because it is their best chance at getting attention and getting power. Sure, they are concerned about the environment. However, their particular kind of concern is not influenced by the truth. Whenever the truth stands in their way, they either ignore it or fabricate a story that the average Joe Blow idiot will buy because he paid attention to Jack Squat in even the most basic science classes.

The media plays right into these people's hands. First of all, the media is dominated by leftists who advocate state control of the means of production, distribution, and consumption of goods and services. Second, it's a damn good story. The unspoken motto of the mass media is "If it bleeds, it leads." People tune in for shock and awe. What is more shocking and awe inspiring than armageddon? Therefore, the media shows only the side of the story that shocks and awes.

Not all scientists agree that human beings have caused global warming. Those who do receive fat pay checks from governments who wish for further research to help avoid the apocalypse. The fact that politicians like Al Gore are really the loudest of the bunch should be a clue that it is not a legitimate scientific matter.

What all scientists do agree on, however, is that over ten thousand years ago, the Earth's climate began to warm (which is why we are no longer in the Ice Age). This warming took place with no help from factories, coal plants, or SUV's. The long term trend is actually one of warming, not of stability.

Let's consider how pathetic really is the "Global Warming/Sky is Falling" argument. It really centers on circumstantial evidence: that temperatures in the past century were, on average, a little warmer than in the century before. Seriously, we're not talking about climate change really, we're talking about a change in a few degrees. Note also that the past century was not even the warmest of the last thousand years. This doesn't get mentioned because the truth doesn't matter to these people. At the very best, we have a weak correlation between rising CO2's and climate. It's very weak because, quite obviously, when the Ice Age ended, the Earth was warming just fine on its own with negligible human activity.

The real cornerstone of their argument is not science. It is fear. If you don't stop CO2 emissions, then the world will die! This form of persuasion fits into the same category as the following.

1.) If we abolish slavery, then black men will run rampant and rape white women (this was a very serious worry in the North and the South. It is also the reason why cocaine and other such drugs were abolished: fear that African American men would get high and rape white women).

2.) The Jews are parasites who are sucking the culture out of Germany especially and Western Civilization in general. They are behind Capitalism, for it allows them--as the capitalists--to seize power. They are behind Marxism, for it allows them--as the party elite--to seize power. Etc. If we don't take care of the Jews, then they'll take care of us!

3.) If we don't fight in Vietnam, then the communists will take over all of Asia and then the rest of the world, including us!

4.) If we don't invade Iraq, then Saddam will either deploy his massive arsenal of WMD's against Israel, Europe, and the United States, or he'll provide those WMD's to Al Quaida for the same purpose!

5.) If we don't stop all of these Irish immigrants from coming to the United States, they'll acquire citizenship, elect the Pope to the presidency, and establish a Roman Catholic state in place of our protestant (but secular) Republic!

That's right. I'm saying it. The global warming folks are of the same kin as the worst kind of tyrants that this world has ever seen. The most dangerous thing facing this society today is not global warming. It's the men and women who push the global warming agenda. They are my sworn enemies, and I spit upon them for taking me as a fool who will be led like a lamb to the slaughter.

The Prodigal Child

We all love the story of the prodigal son. That a loved one can fall far but recover and return is the hope of everyone with a black sheep in the family.

Of course the father, recognizing the sincere repentance of his son, accepts him back into the fold and celebrates the return. However, I think that many people hold out too long for and offer too much to prodigal sons.

"What would Jesus do?" is a fine question to ask when faced with any situation. However, let's not misconstrue Jesus when answering the question ourselves.

In the parable, the father does not keep giving to the prodigal son, hoping against hope that the son will get his life together. The son has to hit rock bottom and suffer for a long time before he comes to his senses, repents, and begs forgiveness.

Recall that in the parable, the son says, "I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men." He has to repent truly for his transgressions and demonstrate a clear willingness to forsake the sins of the past and live as the insignificant man whom he has made himself.

Jesus forgives in the face of repentance. He forgave the thief who knew that he was a sinner and defended the innocent Jesus. Jesus told that thief that he (the thief) would soon be with him (Jesus) in Paradise. He said nothing of the other thief who did not repent.

Another 24 Theory.

I've been expecting Jack Bauer to die unexpectedly ever since the Golf Guy mentioned it to me at work about three (or was it four?) years ago. He said that it would be completely unexpected--not even saved for the season finale.

Well, since then, I've pretty much had a theory that Jack will die each season since (and been dead wrong each time). For a long time I thought that they were grooming Curtis to take his place, but it doesn't look like that will be happening. Also, Curtis was a different kind of agent than is Jack, so I should have known better.

However, I'm ready to take gamble and state my current prediction. Watchers of 24 might remember last week that medics wanted to watch Jack for signs of possible internal bleeding. He declined and is back in the thick of things. Perhaps he's going to die soon from those injuries that he received at the hands of the Russians. It's a great angle to take, for it should catch most people completely by surprise. A friend and co-worker of mine took exception to this theory, noting that Sutherland has another year on his contract, but that got me thinking: how much more of a surprise would it then be? It's perfect. It's perfect in being anti-climactic (and thus, in its own surprising way climactic), and it will be absolutely unexpected.

Only two things make me think that I am wrong. First, I doubt that they would pay Southerland for a season just to keep his death a secret. Second, I don't think that the writers, when they do decide to kill Jack, will do so in such a normal, unheroic way. Still, there's part of me that makes me believe that such a death would be so perfect. He's gotten out of so much unbelievable crap in so many unbelievable ways, to have him die so undramatically would be ironically poetic.

Surely Golf Guy, and maybe even the long absent Science Guy have something to comment on this.

A 24 Theory.

In real time!

Watch Morris. It doesn't add up, but it's the kind of twist that the writers will pull.

Best Pictures Part I

Thus far, the wife and I have seen two of the Academy Award's Best Picture nominees.

If you haven't yet seen it, don't bother to rent Babel. In spite of good acting, the plot is poorly constructed, at times forced, and overall boring. It reminded me a lot of the previous year's winner, Crash, which came across as artificially construed. To the ladies, Brad Pitt is not hot in this movie. I can attest to this for, if my wife could leave me for any man, it would be Brad Pitt. Although it is of no importance, I must brag that I have family--though not bloodline-and friendly ties to a branch of Pitt's family. They are close enough in relation that their name is "Pitt," and they refer to the famous one as "Cousin Brad." Still, don't waste your time on this movie. If you like Brad Pitt, then see something else (other than his other mistake, Kalifornia).

The other nominated film that we saw was Martin Scorsese's The Departed. My recommendation is that you watch it. It's quite good. What makes this recommendation even more sincere is the fact that have long-been a Leonardo DiCaprio hater. I've always thought that his talent was overrated. He was not great in Titanic, and Titanic was NOT a great movie (in spite of its box office draw and its excessive awards. However, in more recent years I've seen him mature as an actor. I thought that he was rather good in Catch Me If You Can and as Howard Hughes in The Aviator.

Don't think that I am admitting a wrongful assessment of DiCaprio's acting. He was rather poor in all movies preceding Catch Me If You Can. He might have been great in Titanic, had not the director been poor and the script (written by that very same poor director) been sub-literate. I am not admitting that I was wrong. To the contrary, I am acknowledging that DiCaprio has risen to my standards. If only Keanu Reeves could do the same. He's the one, you'll remember, who nearly ruined the otherwise brilliant The Matrix. Thank God that the movie was saved because the charactor "Neo" (Reeves) was supposed to be an idiot. Consequently, the sequels sucked because once "Neo" wasn't an idiot, Keanu Reeves could not adequately portray him.

Stay tuned, as I plan to watch the other "Best Picture" nominees, as well as The King of Scotland, which at least one trusted friend has argued should have been nominated.

On and On: The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

Today I spoke to some youths, most of whom were about 13 years old, and we discussed how open modern society is to change.

To wit, I held up my iPod and noted that 17 years ago (when I was 13), we never imagined fitting over 1,000 songs on a such a tiny devise. We were still using tapes and had only just begun to discover compact discs.

I also held up my cell phone. The idea that you could contact or be contacted by anyone virtually anywhere was something that seemed closer to Star Trek than the near future.

Just prior to this very moment, I went upstairs to watch a TV show with my wife. She said, "Give me ten minutes," and I thought nothing of it. We now have DVR and can watch the show whenever we feel like it.

These are just a few of the changes in the past decade. I wonder what lies in store for the next. Good things, I suspect, provided that people are not hoodwinked by Al Gore.

I told them that most changes come with a bit of pain (think of all the telegraphers who were put out of business by the telephone), but overall changes point toward a trend of progress.

Of course, by progress I mean real progress. Not the same old BS from so-called "progressives" (i.e. "liberal democrats" in the USA). I'm talking about the progress that makes lives better and easier. The redistribution of wealth and extension of the state's powers are contrary to progress. Still, many will support the closet Marxists because they'd rather let someone else work for them. It's a very short-term gain (and only again if you can look beyond the greed and subsequent theft behind it), but that's about as far as the socialists can look.

More Alas.

Humans beings are born free and born to be free, and yet so few can imagine and celebrate freedom. Now that's an irony so tragic that not even SNL can poke fun at it.

Five Poems By Stephen Crane

Most people do not know that Stephen Crane was more than the author of the first psychologically real war novel, The Red Badge of Courage. He was also a poet, though of a different ilk.

Below are a few selections of Crane's poetry. Many will say that they are hardly poetry, for they are free verse of the freest kind. Perhaps they are not very poetic, but they are very deep, if not also very dark.

A man feared that he might find an assassin;
Another that he might find a victiom.
One was more wise than the other.
--Stephen Crane

I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
"It is futile," I said,
"You can never--"
"You lie," he cried,
And ran on.
--Stephen Crane

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom--
A field where a thousand corpses lie.
Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.
Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
--Stephen Crane

"Have you ever made a just man?"
"Oh, I have made three," answered God,
"But two of them are dead,
And the third--
Listen! Listen!
And you will hear the thud of his defeat."
--Stephen Crane

And my personal favorite...

A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
--Stephen Crane

I Dig Deeper

There was a time when God looked upon it and called it "Good."

That was the word. If you are a believer, then consider. How different must it have been? What word would God use today? What word would he use for you/me?

Alas.

Jesus a Comedian?

Jesus Christ cries, he rages, he loves, he shows the basis for every response except for one. In no account does Jesus of Nazareth laugh.

This is possible for a few reasons. Maybe Jesus had no sense of humor.

Still, it may simply be that those who wrote about Jesus thought that the message of his crucifixtion and our subsequent salvation from the pits of Hell was more important, so they did not include the time that Simon Peter farted and a bit of poo came out.

On the other hand, it could be an indication of something a bit more deeper.

Laughter occurs only in conjunction with imperfection. We laugh when something turns out as it should not have turned out or in a way contrary to how we expected it to turn out. With Jesus being God, he was perfect. Hence, he would see no humor in imperfection. This is why there's usually someone offended at any given joke. It means that someone is made an ass.

Personally, I think it had more to do with the scarcity of papyrus. Jesus was God, but he was also man. That means that if Peter had sharted, Jesus would have probably clutched his side, fallen to his knees, and dribbled a bit in his jockey shorts (I doubt that he wore boxers--he was a pacifist after all).

A Philosophical Pondering

If death is not an end but merely a new beginning, then there's always a chance that Sonny and Cher might reunite.

Does this make the glass half full or half empty?

SNL, Down's Syndrome, and Irony

I'm disappointed but not surprised that many people have been upset by a sketch on last week's Saturday Night Live. The whole din shows not how insensitive some people are, but how oversensitive are some.

The sketch is set in a bar. It involves four friends who have gathered for a drink and a memory (to echo Billy Joel's sentiment in "Piano Man"). One of them, the actor who portrays Dwight on The Office, goes to the jukebox and programs a few songs. He returns to his friends' table to reminisce.

Soon the song becomes audible. It is Loggins and Messina's romantic classic "Danny's Song."

It doesn't take long for one of the friends to notice the song and recollect a "fond" memory. He tells his comrades that the song will always remind him of the time when, as a young boy, he went to the petting zoo and was bitten on the you know what.

At this moment, I chuckled, just because it was unexpected. However, the follow up floored me. It was something like, "And they couldn't even find the guy who did it." To make my laughter even more acute, there was a subsequent comment about how they finally did locate his uncle.

Just as my breathing returned to normal, the next reminiscence began. Another friend noted that the song had a sentimental meaning for him too, in that it reminded him of the time when he was throwing a football in the backyard with his dad. "It was the first time," he said, "that I realized that I had a dad and not just a dad with Down's Syndrome."

Holy crap, I almost wet myself at that one. Not because Down's Syndrome is funny but because it was totally unexpected. However, many have complained in the past week that the joke was in poor taste.

First of all, the joke did not suggest that Down's Syndrome is a funny matter. Instead, it utilized irony. Such a song as Messina's (see the lyrics below) is designed to express and evoke fond, youthful, and idealistic hopes and memories. So when the song begins and someone says, "This song reminds me of..." we expect something warm and cuddly. That the SNL writers gave use the opposite is what made it so funny.

What I find interesting is that I've read reviews that criticize the use of Down's Syndrome as a subject matter, but none have taken to issue the themes of the other memories. Remember that the first memory involved an uncle biting his nephew's woo-hoo. The third memory involved a teacher recalling how he set fire to his classroom (and that finger paint is really flammable), and the last memory was of something of a homosexual fetish. These are apparently fine for jokes.

The sketch ended on a Tarantino-esque note, with the four men drawing guns apparently to rob the place (as in the opening and closing scene of Pulp Fiction). Again, it's irony that makes things funny. It's not robbery that's being joked about, it's that a bunch of friends gathering for a beer and reminiscing to Loggins and Messina aren't the kind of guys who rob a joint.

But whatever you do, remember, campers. Pedophilia, arson, and homosexuality are funny. Down's Syndrome is not. Let's get some thicker skin, people. How else can we enjoy the wickedly clever humor of South Park?

Below are the lyrics to the song that was played in the background. Look up irony in the dictionary, read the following lyrics, and consider the sketch in its appropriately funny way.

Danny's Song, by Loggins and Messina.

People smile and tell me I'm the lucky one
And we've just begun, think I'm gonna have a son
He will be like she and me, as free as a dove
Conceived in love, sun is gonna shine above

And even though we ain't got money
I'm so in love with ya, honey
And everything will bring a chain of love
And in the mornin' when I rise
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me, everything is gonna be alright

Seems as though a month ago I was Beta-Chi
Never got high, oh, I was a sorry guy
And now I smile and face the girl that shares my name
Now I'm through with the game, this boy will never be the same

And even though we ain't got money
I'm so in love with ya, honey
And everything will bring a chain of love
And in the mornin' when I rise
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me, everything is gonna be alright

Pisces, Virgo rising is a very good sign
Strong and kind, and the little boy is mine
Now I see a family where there once was none
Now we've just begun, yeah we're gonna fly to the sun

And even though we ain't got money
I'm so in love with ya, honey
And everything will bring a chain of love
And in the mornin' when I rise
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me, everything is gonna be alright
Love the girl who holds the world in a paper cup
Drink it up, love her and she'll bring you luck
And if you find she helps your mind, better take her home
Don't you live alone, try to earn what lovers own

And even though we ain't got money
I'm so in love with ya, honey
And everything will bring a chain of love
And in the mornin' when I rise
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me, everything is gonna be alright

The Promised Land

It looks good. My techie is here right now fixing my computer. If all goes well, I can unplug this archaic POS and get back to normal. For all of you loyal readers (both of you), I apologize for being off line for so long.

I've heard it said that a computer cannot be stupid; rather it is limited only by a combination of its hardware/programming and its user's intelligence.

And I agree.

This seems to put me in a vulnerable position, for my computer is AWOL. It seems stupid, which means that there is either a problem with its hardware/programming, or the problem is my own intelligence.

Given these two possibilities, I must go with the first: that there is a problem with the hardware/programming. However, my diagnostic abilities are limited to phrases such as "It's not working," or "It's working now," or "This computer is a POS." This is why I have sat idle for a week now, waiting patiently for the kid who built it for me to return home from UM for the weekend to fix it.

The problem cannot be a lack in my intelligence, for I am the smartest person whom I know. Of course, there's always a "faster gun" out there, but such people are arrogant pricks, so I pay them no heed.

It occurs to me that there might even be a third problem. If a computer is limited by its user's intelligence, can it not be likewise enhanced by its user's intelligence? Like I said, I'm the smartest guy whom I know.

My new theory is that the computer somehow read the previous post in which I surmised that it was taking a "union break." I thus threatened to replace it with a Mac because it is easily replaceable (as are all union employees). However, the striking computer knew that I could not afford to hire a scab, unless I was willing to downgrade to eMachines (which it knew that I obviously was not willing to do).

In short, the damn thing called my bluff.

What sucks about someone calling your bluff is that you've got nothing. They call your bet and say, "Show 'em," and you get that sinking feeling in your stomach as you lay down a pair of fives. Don't believe those "Hi, I'm a Mac, and I'm a PC" commercials. PC's are not mumbling idiots who thrive only on spreadsheets. PC's are like Bill Gates: rutheless calculators of their own strengths and their enemies' weaknesses (not that this is a bad thing).

Basically, I've got a pair of fives, and PC knows it. There's no use in bluffing him anymore that I'm going to pick up a Mac. I'm screwed. I fold. Now where in the heck is that kid? I need PC back!

BS on 24

While 24 remains one of my favorite shows, it does not exist as such carte blanche.

How nice of 24 to pin the real threat to life on disaffected Russians. Forgive me if I do not recall the Eastern Orthodox Church (or even specifically the Russian Orthodox Church) ever advocating the death of non-parishoners. However, I can remember plenty of another such group stating such a goal.

Food for thought.

DiLorenzo v. The Socialist Liars

I just finished rereading Thomas DiLorenzo's How Capitalism Saved America.

It's like a breath of fresh air, even after a second read. If you haven't read it, do so. Afterwards, pick up Lorenzo's other great book: The Real Lincoln.

For decades, revisionist historians and quack economists have sought to strip us of the elements of fact that make us human, but DiLorenzo and others have struggled to show that the human spirit is one of triumph, not of defeat, one of glory, not of shame, and one of goodness, and not of evil.

Surely humans are capable of evil, but it is not evil for which we were made. We were made perfect and with the capacity for perfection. We stray from this capacity too often, but it is not inevitable that we must be reprobate. Hipocrites like Pat Robertson will cite scripture to defend their purposes, but I decline to do so. I only ask that you consider reason.

If human beings were made to be free (and who could imagine any other purpose?), then we are supposed to be free (it's really a matter of definition). If we were meant to be controlled, then by whom? An intellectual elite? Those appointed by the majority?

In truth, the intellectual elite (a class that has made a business out of producing nothing) and the appointed majority (i.e. politicians who promote nothing true but only what the winds suggest) have conspired to anoint themselves has the heroes--no, the saviors--of humanity. And yet, they are the damnation of it.

Consider the "Global Warming" camp. Did you know that twenty-five years ago it was the "Global Cooling" camp?

Seriously, check it out!

You see, climate is a fickle thing. It's long term, but those who wish to use it immorally for their own purposes must cling to its short-term implications. Thus, we are not now in danger of global cooling, but we are in danger of global warming. The only thing that has changed is the variables necessary for the unworthy to attain power over otherwise free and rational beings.

The politicians who cling to the "human consumption is causing global warming" rant are either terribly ignorant of what CLIMATE is or very insidious in their intentions.

If you don't know what insidious means, then grab a dictionary.

But at least scholars like DiLorenzo are willing to show the truth plainly. Before you doubt it, read the book.

Cluster F@#k

For some reason, by primary computer decided to take a vacation. All of a sudden it decides that it cannot find BIOS (which is crap, since I can run the BIOS setup utility). The guy who built the computer thinks that it might actually be a Windows problem (Steve Jobs must be so happy), but it'll be until Saturday that he can get here.

Personally, I think that my computer has joined a union.

It doesn't realize that it performs no special functions, that I can get a new computer or even use a really old one (like this vintage 1998 model upon which I'm now writing), so it's trying to throw its weight around. Instead, it's going to find itself out of work because dammit, it's not that freaking special. Here's news for you folks, if a union is necessary for your job security, then it's because your job isn't all that special. There's no neurosurgeons' union because not just any fool can be a neurosurgeon. There are unions for factory workers because anyone can work on the line. There are unions for carpenters because even a chimp can use a saw. There are unions for electricians because a kindergarten kid can tell you which wire is blue and which is red. Hell, teachers have degrees, but most secondary level teachers are pathetic novices in their subject areas.

I'm hereby issuing my computer an ultimatum. You have until Saturday to get this little strike over with. If you don't listen to reason, I will not only replace you; I will replace you with an iMac.

Berlioz

Symphonie Fantastique, by Hector Berlioz. Listen to it. Enjoy it. Feel it. Be human.

Islam=Peace?

If Islam is a religion of peace, then why don't so-called mainstream muslims decry the violence of its supposedly mistaken breathren?

If Islam is a religion of peace, why do all Islamic states act so abhorrently?

Why is there no decent Islamic state in the world?

Help me out, for I don't see this happening.

One of My Favorite Movies

In 1972, director Sydney Pollack teamed up with actor Robert Redford to make Jeremiah Johnson. It's a remarkable film in many respects. While the movie is very deep, with a rich plot zig-zagging with complications and character development, there is very little dialogue. Pollack's eye and Redford's talent combine to tell most of the story silently, if not always peacefully. Shot entirely in Utah, Jeremiah Johnson helps me understand why a Hollywood elitist like Redford would buy up thousands of acres and live on the outskirts of civilization. The natural beauty of the place is beyond description. Adjectives like "majestic," awesome," and even "spiritual" come to mind, but they only scratch at the surface and hint at the essence. It's also a heartbreaking and inspirational story. It starts off with a brief (and perfect) narrative intro. It's done as a voice over, following Johnson as he arrives at a town that is more of a camp:

His name was Jeremiah Johnson, and they say he wanted to be a mountain man. The story goes that he was a man of proper wit and adventurous spirit, suited to the mountains. Nobody knows whereabouts he come from and don't seem to matter much. He was a young man and ghostly stories about the tall hills didn't scare him none. He was looking for a Hawken gun, .50 caliber or better. He settled for a .30, but damn, it was a genuine Hawken, and you couldn't go no better. Bought him a good horse, and traps, and other truck that went with being a mountain man, and said good-bye to whatever life was down there below.

It then follows him as he heads into the Rocky Mountains as a disenchanted fool, the kind who needs to learn that the rest of the world, especially mother nature, could give a damn that he's pissed off or depressed.

He begrudges civilization and assumes that he'll find what he's looking for in the solitude of the mountains. He does so almost arrogantly, and quickly finds that nature is apathetic, and sometimes downright hostile. His struggle to survive early on in the film makes me recall Stephen Crane's short poem (which is really not much more than a musing):

A man said to the Universe,
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the Universe,
"The fact has not created in me
"A sense of obligation."

However, with a healthy dose of determination and some good luck, Johnson manages through his first winter.

I don't want to spoil the film for you, so I'll sum up the rest quickly.

Johnson, who came into the mountains "Bettin' on forgettin' all the trouble that he knew,"* to be alone, ends up finding much more than solitude, only to lose it, and then avenge it.

In many respects, the movie is as vicious as it is beautiful (though not visually), and that is part of it's allure. It's humanity in a nutshell. All that a man can do, good and bad. All that nature is, good and bad. Life and death, love and hate, joy and pain.

Ultimately, the film is triumphant, not just in its protagonist, but in its message and overall quality.

Rent it this Friday night.

*From the ballad that runs throughout the movie.

Pancreatitis, Climate Change, and a False Dilemma

My good friend is ailing with a case of pancreatitis (inflammation of the pancreas).

Pancreatitis can be caused by excessive alcohol consumption or pregnancy.

So my friend is either a drunk, pregnant, or a pregnant drunk (gasp!).

On the other hand, this is merely a demonstration of false logic. While excessive alcoholism is perhaps the major cause of pancreatitis, and pregnancy is a possible cause of it, they are not the only possible causes. There are at least 18 other possible causes. I left them out because my purpose was to raise an eyebrow (especially when he recovers and reads this). It would have been just plain boring for me to say that it was caused by gall stones.

But when people want attention, they'll often create false dilemmas.

The climate is changing. This change (might) be linked to CO2 emissions. Therefore, CO2 emissions is causing the climate to change. Of course in the standard argument, they leave out the parenthesized "might" entirely.

Of course, if your real agenda is to exert control over how free people live, then you need to get them on board. The best way is to make them scared for their lives, so it becomes "Climate change will lead to death; CO2 emissions (might) cause climate change; therefore, CO2 emissions will lead to death!" Leave out all other possibilities (including the possibility that climate change is not caused by humans and that, even if it is, it may not necessarily result in our deaths). Stick to the story and ridicule all critics as either unscientific, illogical, unintelligent, uncaring, foolish, "twisted." or "laughable." Throw in a few clips of polar bears and penguins, and now even children will be upset. In essence, do more spin than science.

The most likely cause of climate change is the same thing that caused it thousands of years ago (when Earth became colder--the Ice Age--and when the Earth became warmer--from the Ice Age to present). Humans couldn't have caused those climate changes, so why are so many ready to pin the current change (which isn't even a change--we've been warming since the Ice Age) on humans? The answer is simple: money and power are at stake. Scientists get money if they convince politicians to fund their armegeddon studies; politicians get power if they convince voters that they must seize control over methods of production and consumption.

Of all the possible causes of the current climate change, this is by far the most likely. It contains not only actual evidence (e.g. the climate has changed before without human help), and it gives a rather likely argument against those who argue the contrary. All these things are true. The climate has changed before, and human beings will sometimes lie, cheat, and steal to get what they want.

Remember again that the stars never lie, but astrologers do.

For the record, my friend, while he really is suffering from pancreatitis, is neither a drunk nor is he pregnant.

Le Chanson de Roland

Betrayed, Charlemagne's brave nephew Roland and the tiny rear guard of the army face off against a Saracen army.

He and his men fight savagely against overwhelming odds. They slaughter and are slaughtered alike. During the fight, Roland injures the Saracen king, Marsilion, who then flees with the remnants of his army. But as the enemy cedes the field, Roland cedes his life.


From The Song of Roland, CXCVII

Beneath a pine was his resting place,
To the land of Spain hath he turned his face,
On his memory rose full many a thought
Of the lands he won and the fields he fought,
Of his gentle France, of his kin and line;
Of his nursing father, King Karl benign;
He may not tear and sob control,
Nor yet forgets he his parting soul.
To God's compassion he makes his cry:
"O Father true, who canst not lie,
"Who didst Lazarus raise unto life again,
And Daniel shield in the lions' den;
Shield my soul from its peril, due
For the sins I sinned my lifetime through.
He did his right hand glove uplift
Saint Gabriel took from his hand the gift;
Then drooped his head upon his breast,
And with clasped hands he went to rest.
God from on high sent down to him
One of his angel Cherubim
Saint Michael of Peril of the sea,
Saint Gabriel in company
From heaven they came for that soul of price,
And they bore it with them to Paradise.

Pick One

Which of the above photos is a sonogram of my currently in-utero son (no, Michael J. Fox may not kill him to make a stem cell smoothie), and which is legendary filmmaker Alfred Hitchcock? It's too close to call.

A Polemic on Climate Change

For good God's sake, one of the first damn principles in science and philosophy that I learned was that correlation does not equal causation. Similarly, the Romans recognized the error of thinking post hoc, ergo propter hoc (after this, therefore because of this).

And yet, so many scientists claim that the cause of global warming (which is, I admit, apparently undeniable--at least in the short term) is the result of increased carbon gas emissions since the advent of the industrial revolution (c. late 1700's). However, logic tells us clearly that just because these two things correlate (somewhat--check the freaking records!), neither can be construed as the cause of the other, for it is equally probable that they are either both results of an altogether different cause (which, makes no sense at all--that a warming climate led to an increased burning of fossil fuels is quite absurd) or completely unrelated (very likely, but not very dramatic).

Ockham's Razor--a basic principle in so-called "modern science" (I use quotation marks because the idea is about 700 years old)--tells us to look to lex parsimoniae (the law of parsimony/succinctness). Simply put, nearly one thousand years ago, William of Ockham pointed out that entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem (entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity). In layman's terms, this means that the most likely answer/cause is the answer/cause. Such reasoning is quite reasonable whenever solid, irrefutable evidence pointing toward a single answer/cause does not exist.

Knowing this, I ask you which is more likely:

That the climate has been steadily increasing since the Ice Age (thousands of years before the industrial revolution), and is therefore a natural occurrence, completely independent of human action; or that the Earth warmed naturally from the Ice Age but then stopped at some kind of arbitrary point and that human beings have managed to pushed the climate beyond that "naturally" arbitrary point?

Basically, it is irrefutable that the climate warmed thousands of years ago without human assistance. Those cavemen, while they might have been able to use Geico.com, produced as a whole over several millennia, fewer "greenhouse gasses" then I do after a trip to White Castle. So it is established that the Earth can warm on its own.

Considering Ockham's contribution, then, it is far more likely that the Earth is simply continuing what it started ten thousand years ago with only brief respites.

Let's not forget the motivation behind the Chicken Little's who cry that the sky is falling.

Some are politicians (e.g. Al Gore) who can use such fear to catapult themselves to the pinnacles of power. Many are egotists who are so pathetically lonely that they must use such fear to make themselves seem important. Still others have their eyes set on the money that keeps pouring in from ignorantly desperate governments who lack the wisdom to just say "No." Perhaps more insidious is the fact that many socialists who advocate a command economy have seized upon the issue in order to gain control over the modes of production and consumption.

But let us not forget that demagogues lead their people to Hell. Egotists care for no one but themselves. The greedy will do anything for money. And the socialists will sacrifice the lives of millions to see their collectivist schemes enacted. You don't believe me? Study the histories of the Stalinist Russia and Maoist China.

They tell us that it is likely that humans are causing global warming. However, with a complete lack of knowledge about what causes the climate to increase naturally, anything is a likely candidate. Imagine a room full of one thousand people. The room is dark. No one can see. A murder is committed. The lights return. Every person there is equally likely a suspect.

While the industrial revolution was underway in Great Britain and the United States, Ludwig von Beethoven composed his 9th Symphony, famous for its "Ode to Joy." Ever since it was first performed, it has been performed constantly. It correlates to the supposed advent of global warming.

Another factor that most people don't consider is that human beings could not come close to recording accurate temperatures until the early 1700's. Since the Earth has been around far longer than that, these so-called scientists are claiming that a mere 300 years (out of millions and millions of total years) is enough to establish supposedly "normal" climate patterns. You should not have to think long to see this as nonsensical. 300 years is not even one half of 1,000 years, and recorded history far exceeds 2,000 years. In a nutshell, 300 years is a completely insufficient sample. Add to this the fact that the climate has gradually warmed on its own since the Ice Age, and you can see even more problems with the "Sky is Falling" camp.

Still another point to consider is that whenever a major volcanic eruption occurs, the Earth (quite naturally) deposits far more "greenhouse gasses" into the atmosphere than man has ever produced in all of history. Check the data on Mount Pinatubo's 1991 eruption for actual evidence to this point.

If nature itself can outdo man's entire repertoire in a single volcanic eruption, who's the more likely culprit in global warming?

Remember, I'm not saying that overall temperatures have not increased since they've been recorded. What I'm saying is that there is no proof that humans have caused this increase, and that such a claim is baseless. Conjecture is not evidence. Possibility is not evidence. If it were, then every person in Dallas on November 22, 1963 could be a "likely" suspect in President Kennedy's assassination (for the record, it was Lee Harvey Oswald. Read Case Closed by Gerald Posner if you wish to disagree).

Mark's Haunted Room

Last night, Mark (age 3) lumbered out of his bedroom into ours.

"What's wrong, buddy?" my wife asked.
"I'm scared," he mumbled.
"Scared of what?" I added.
"I'm scared of my room," he said.

This confused me a bit because the kid isn't scared of anything.

"Why's your room scary?" I inquired.
"My room talks to me," he replied.

At this point, I started to chuckle a bit, but I must admit to being a bit uneasy. All I could think of was that kid in The Shining. For a moment, I wondered if Mark had written "Redrum" on the wall.

"Your room talks to you?" my wife asked.
"Yes. It says bad things."

At this point, I'm figuring that he'd either come up with a great excuse to climb into bed with us, or he'd heard some voice saying, "Kill them all!" Perhaps it was both.

"What does your room say?" I questioned, wondering if they made straight jackets in his size.
"It says a the S-word."
"The S-word?"
"Yes."
"Shoot?"
"No, shit."

I couldn't help it. I started laughing. I don't let my kids swear, but he wasn't cursing. He was just repeating (sort of, I mean, I don't think that his room actually said the S-word).

"Your room says shit?"
"Yes. I'm scared of my room, and I want to sleep with you guys."

I looked at my wife and mouthed "What?" She shook her head in uncertainty.

That's when it dawned on me. I have my Xbox 360 hooked up in my basement, and the TV is right below his bedroom. Whenever I play, it's clearly audible through the vent in his floor. He must have either heard dialogue from Gears of War, or perhaps he heard an inadvertent exclamation from me during one of the harder levels. At any rate, I no longer worried that the kid was schizophrenic. In fact, I was greatful that the only word "his room said" was the S-word.

"Mark?" I said.
"What?"
"How about if I take you to your room and tell your room to be quiet?"
"No, I'm scared!"
"It's OK," I assured, "I'll come with you."

So I took his hand, and we entered his room.

"OK, room, you need to stop talking!" I ordered. "If you say the S-word, then I'm going to spank you on the wall."

That seemed to work. I helped Mark into bed and covered him.

"Will you sleep with me?" he asked.
"No, buddy. I'm going to my room. But I'll leave your door open, and you come tell me if your room keeps talking, OK?"

He didn't even answer. He rolled over onto his stomach and was asleep before I left the room.

Oh Boy!

It's a boy! He won't be poking his head out until June, but we've confirmed that he has all of his appendages, including the masculine one.

Tom Waits

In 1978, singer-songwriter Tom Waits wrote and recorded "Blue Valentine," a brilliant album with more insight into the culture of lowlife urbanity. His cover of West Side Story's "Somewhere" is as poignant as it is different, but his original work of poetry set to music, "Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis," takes the cake.

It's a sad tune, with a light jazz-piano feel. It gets to the core of a typical "lost soul." While I think that such a person must sleep in the bed that he or she has made, I cannot help but feel the sad desperation of the narrator. Kudos to Waits for creating such a pathetic, sympathetic character.

Charlie, I'm pregnant,
Living on 9th Street,
Above a dirty book store
Off Euclid Avenue.
I stopped taking dope.
I quit drinking whiskey.
My old man plays a trombone
And works out at the track.

He says that he loves me,
Even though it's not his baby;
Says that he'll raise him up
Like he would his own son.
He gave me a ring
That was worn by his mother,
And he takes me out dancing
Every Saturday night.

Charlie, I think about you
Everytime I pass the fillin' station,
On account of the grease
You used to wear in your hair.
I still have that record,
Little Anthony and the Imperials.
But someone stole my record player,
Now how do you like that?

Charlie, I almost went crazy
After Mario got busted.
I went back to Omaha
To live with my folks.
Everyone I used to know
Is either dead or in prison,
So I same back to Minneapolis
And this time I think I'm gonna stay.

Charlie, I think I'm happy
For the first time since my accident.
I wish that I had all the money
I used to spend on dope.
I'd buy me a used car lot,
And I wouldn't sell any of 'em.
I'd just drive a different car everyday,
Depending how I feel

Charlie, for Christ's sake,
If you wanna know the truth of it.
I don't have a husband;
He don't play the trombone.
I need to borrow money
To pay this lawyer, Charlie, hey
I'll be eligable for parol
Come Valentine's Day.

Graham Bauer Is a Dead Man

Listen. In a few weeks, when Jack Bauer kills his brother, Graham, you will here me writhe--no, quiver--in joy. Given my current state of obesity, it should register at about a 4.0 on the Richter scale.

All of you old fogies who wanted someone to shoot JR, only to wonder, "Who shot JR?" here's a show that's really worth watching, and a character worth shooting (after he's been beaten, choked, disemboweled, castrated, forced to watch all seasons of Mr. Belvedere, and stabbed just beneath the patella in an upward stroke).

The writers. actors, and director of 24 have made me actually want to see another human being suffer unbearable pain. This has not happened since... never mind, it happened yesterday.

What can I say? I'm high strung.

Still, anyone who watches 24 but says that Battlestar Galactica is a better show is--how do I put this nicely?--retarded, crazy, or just flat out "happy" (search classical synonyms for the best word to put in those quotes).

Aristos, out!

Stardust

Eighty Years ago, Hoagy Charmicheal abandoned his career as a lawyer. He was at an important crossroad in life, and he decided to go far a walk in the solitude of darkness. Instead, he found himself strolling beneath a blanket of stars, and soon he was remembering long, lost loves. Soon after, he wrote a wordless but reflective jazz tune.

Two years later, Michael Parrish developed lyrics, and Charmichael revised the tune, opting for a more melancholy, drawn-out feel instead of the syncopated jazz. Together, the two men composed one of the most hauntingly beautiful songs in all of history.

It's been recoreded by many, including some of the most legendary singers of all time: Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, etc. For my money, Cole's is the best, followed closely by Willie Nelson's. I'm not joking. Nelson sings almost perfectly in his special way. I would say perfectly, were it not for Cole's flawless earthiness.

Sadly, I cannot include the music, just the lyrics. However, if there's an ounce of a poet within you, you'll take one look at these lyrics and get ahold of a recording (I recommend Cole and Nelson).

"Stardust" By Hoagy Charmichael and Michael Parrish

And now the purple dust of twilight time
Steals across the meadows of my heart.
Now the little stars, the little stars pine,
Always reminding me that we're apart.
You wander down the lane and far away,
Leaving me a love that cannot die.
Love is now the stardust of yesterday.
The music of the years gone by.

Sometimes I wonder why I spend
The lonely nights
Dreaming of a song.
That melody haunts my reverie
And I am once again with you.
When our love was new
And each kiss an inspiration,
Ah, but that was long ago.
Now my consolation
Is in the stardust of a song.

Beside a garden wall,
Where stars are bright,
You are in my arms.
That nightingale tells its fairy tale
of paradise where roses grew.
Though I dream in vain,
In my heart it will remain
my stardust melody,
The memory of love's refrain.

Ah, but that was long ago
Now my consolation
Is in the stardust of a song

Beside a garden wall
Where stars are bright
You are in my arms
That nightingale tells its fairy tale
of paradise where roses grew
Though I dream in vain
In my heart it will remain
my stardust melody
The memory of love's refrain.

United 93

My wife and I just finished watching United 93. I stand by my post from long ago, that it is not too soon (as the patheticos would have us believe) for filmmakers to portray the events of September 11, 2001 (as history, mythology, or both--as it appears).

It was a pretty good movie, except for the part where they left out what really happened at the end--when an Air Force jet shot the plane down over rural Pennsylvania.

The ending presented was great mythology, just the kind of stuff to keep us feeling good about ourselves, hating the terrorists, and being proud to be American.

The U.S. Government does not want us to realize two things: First, that all those tax dollars that they've taken over the years "to provide for the common defense" have been a poor investment. The feds themselves have made the troubles that now harass us.

Second, that after three successful attacks, the feds finally got their act together but had to shoot down United 93 (killing innocent civilians) to save the Capitol. Don't get me wrong: they had to do it. It was the right thing to do, no matter how tragic of a decision it was. However, they'll never admit it, just as they'll never admit to the ineptitude (and arrogance) that allowed the passengers of all four planes and the people at the WTC and Pentagon to die.

It's not Bush. It's the federal government in general. All governments are inefficient. All governments are tyrannical. All governments are inept. The bigger the government, the bigger the inefficiency, the tyranny, and the ineptitude. And the society that clings to a government as its guardian angel is autophagic. Get a damn clue, people.

Bad Men

Hugo Chavez and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad are the most dangerous people on the planet. Evo Morales, like Tattaglia, is a pimp.

The Sky Is Falling?

To the junk scientists who feed off of fear, particularly those "Doomsday Clock" guys: You're so phony that the more level-headed thinkers have been on to you for ages.

The Romans said, Astra non mentiuntur, sed astrologi bene mentiuntur de astris ("The stars never lie, but astrologers lie about the stars").

And that's all that you guys are, astrologers. You look at real things (e.g. stars, weather patterns, etc.), and pretend to foresee portents of doom. It makes you feel wise and important when so many duck and cover at your beck and call.

But you're not important. Your ability to frighten the masses makes you powerful (especially in places of universal suffrage), but for all of your power you are shallow, pathetic beings.

There were once many (and still are a few) people who knew that science is rooted in the Latin word for knowledge: the kind of knowledge based upon observable facts and without traces of bias or speculation.

I am not afraid. In my best Englishman mocking a Frenchman accent, "I fart in your general direction!"

Jack is Back!

24 returns with a furious four hour, two day debut. I cannot yet say if it is better than ever, but I stand in awe at the best show on television.

The only problem thus far is a philosophical one. By having the intel about the other weapons come from some of the prisoners in that illegal detention facility, it serves to justify fascism in defense of liberty.

Watch for a rising star. I don't see how Jack will be able to return for another season. He might make it physically, but the mental toll that he's taken over the seasons should be enough to reduce even a man of his magnitude.

The problem is not that the United States government launched an invasion of Iraq with insufficient troop strength. The problem is that the United States government launched an invasion of Iraq with illegitimate rationale.

Increasing troop strength will not erase this primal and gravest error. Seriously, we keep giving the feds more power, even though they're the ones who fudged things up in the first place. Any company would have fired the hell out of such employees or gone out of business for such practices. Instead, we make them stronger then ever.

For all of you who voted either Democrat or Republican, you're part of the problem, if not the actual core of the problem.

Hell yes, that's an accusation.

Wascally Wabbits and More

About a month ago, "PA" (akin to the A-Team's "BA") and I went rabbit hunting at my wife's uncle's farm in Emmit Township. I was carrying my new gun, a two barrel over-under that I had received for my 3oth (gasp!) birthday. I brought my beagle, and PA brought his two beagles.

I had never before fired the gun, so it happened that as I kicked a very nice sized rabbit out of some brush, I pulled the trigger and nothing happened. I still had the safety engaged. However, I vowed, such an episode would never recur.

Fast forward to yesterday, January 7, 2007. PA and I (aka "Hannibal"--the guy with the plan and the stogie) arrived at that same farm for an afternoon hunt. I had forgotten to call my wife's uncle with sufficient advance notice, so he was unable to attend (and for that I deeply apologize--even moreso if he reads this).

The two track between the road and the field was wet and muddy. So much so that I had a hard time getting traction. Thank God for four-wheel drive (I thought).

Once out of the car and into the field, it was a quick trip across to the half wooded and half wild grassy area. It was in this grassy area that I had tried to shoot that rabbit a month earlier. However, as I kicked the same pile of brush, no rabbit emerged, so we moved on to a piney area to the east and beyond some trees.

It was there that I flushed out the first one. "Rabbit!" I yelled as I let loose a quick shot.

"Did you get him?" PA shouted from the other side of the grove.

"I don't think so," I answered, but that was when I saw a twitch on the ground about five yards from where I'd pointed and fired.

"Hell yes I did!" I shouted back. And so it was that I took my first rabbit.

The feeling was exhilerating. I'd been hunting rabbits several times and missed once and had to hold my fire three times out of fear that I'd kill a dog instead of a rabbit. Other times, it was PA who was faster on the draw. This time, however, I was the champion.

I posed for the picture (above) and PA and I agreed that there was still at least two hours of solid daylight for hunting.

We criss-crossed through the woods for about an hour. It was during this time that I located several good signs of deer. I made a mental note for next October's bow season.

Soon, Roofus (PA's large beagle) began barking. The sound was unmistakable: he was onto a rabbit scent.

I moved toward him a bit, and a few minutes later caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my right eye. I turned and saw a rabbit shooting across. It was moving so fast that I could not even shout "Rabbit!" I just pointed and fired.

The rabbit flipped over and flopped about--I had only wounded it with a shot to its rear leg.

Roofus was on it within a few seconds, and that's when I noticed the screaming.

Apparently, rabbits scream. It sounds a lot like the combination of a pissed off cat and an upset baby. I ran to it and pulled the dog off of it. The rabbit was wounded but nowhere near dead, and it kept screaming and flopping.

"It's leg is busted. Should I put it out?" I yelled to PA. I was admittedly disturbed by the rabbit's screaming, for I did not know that they did such a thing.

"Yeah," he replied, "but do it without shooting," he answered, so I took aim and kicked the rabbit in the back of the head. It flew about three yards, but kept screaming, so I kicked it again.

As it turned out, all I was doing was kicking the crap out of it.

"Stomp it with your heal," PA said, closer now by about twenty yards, so that's what I did.

It took two stomps, but the rabbit stopped screaming and laid still.

In this picture, you can see PA's smaller beagle, Chloe, still trying to get a piece of the rabbit. My dog, apparently, is third man on the totem pole and only watches from afar as "PA's" bullies go far what was rightfully mine.

Soon after, we decided to hunt our way back to the car. We arrived at the car about thirty minutes later, only to find that my four-wheel drive as not working. We were stuck in the mud. I tried to get out, but we were stuck. PA--a good 100 pounds lighter than myself moved into the driver's seat, and I got out to push. I pushed us out of the first hole, but we only moved for about fifteen yards before getting stuck again, with ninety yards left to go. We tried every method available to get us out (e.g. filling in the rut with dry grass and wooden planks), but nothing worked. In short, we were screwed.

We walked a short ways up a dirt road to a friendly farm house: The Woodlands, owned by Mr. and Mrs. Wood--very good people about whom nothing but praise can be said. It was, however, their sons who five or so years ago took a ten point buck that I had been tracking, but that was their good fortune and my bad luck.

We knocked on the door and were directed to the back. Mr. Wood answered, and we told him our story. We asked if he had a tractor to pull us out, but he did not have one. He scratched his head and gave us a few telephone numbers, none of which were answered.

Nonetheless, the guy drove us in his Trailblazer (his four wheel-drive was working) to my Trailblazer and tried with a tow-rope to pull us out. It did not work. While he left to find a local farmer to help, I called AAA.

About twenty minutes later, whilst I was giving AAA the coordinates to our location, Mr. Wood pulled up with the news that none of the nearby farmers were home. He invited us to his house if we got too cold waiting for the inevitable tow truck. We declined for the moment but told him that we might take him up on his offer if we needed to do so.

The truck arrived about forty minutes later. Now it was dark. We were wet and cold. I pointed from the side of the dirt road to my car, about ninety yards down the muddy two track, and he followed me to it. I explained that my four wheel-drive had stopped working, and he knew it was true when he saw that I was stuck in mud that I should otherwise have been able to escape.

After hitching me up, he pulled me out bit by bit. Finally, after about forty minutes, we were out and clear. So ended a good day gone bad.

People Are Stupid (what's new?)

I just finished reading a rather dry article (so dry that I decline to take the paltry few efforts involved in posting it) that lamented how difficult it is to sue health gyms because you have signed waivers absolving them of everything from malfunctioning machines to theft of goods.

I hate it when people sign waivers and then bitch because something went wrong. What in the heck were you thinking when you signed the waivers? Companies have you sign waivers because there is a chance that something might go wrong, and they don't want to be sued.

If you cannot agree that you will not sue, then don't sign the stinking waiver. It was right there in black ink against a white background, something akin to "Company X is not liable in the case of any malfunctions or accidents involving proprietary equipment." If you sign such a waiver, then you can't sue. That's it. If you don't like it, then don't sign it. Look elsewhere. If you can't find such a place, then buy a home gym like the bowflex.

Do your research first. If an organization has a legacy of negligence or "accidents," then be wary. Sign waivers if it's worth the risk (worth it to you, that is), or look elsewhere. Once you've signed a waiver, you have no right to sue. In fact, I think that anyone who sues despite a signed waiver should be charged with breach of contract.

Fire Millen

Matt Millen won't quite because doing so will be an admission that he is a loser. While he is a loser, he's also an SOB unwilling to accept the truth.

I do not support violence, but consider this. In a city where innocent bystanders are killed by gunfire, and neighborhood thugs are whacked for a dime bag, Matt Millen walks safely.

Merry Christmas!

Well, I'm off to Seattle in just a couple of hours. I'll be away until the new year, so postings between then and now are unlikely.

During the interim, let's get some feedback on books in general. What are your favorite novels and why?

For me, any such list would include

Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand
The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand
1984, by George Orwell
Animal Farm, by George Orwell
Brave New World, by Alduous Huxley
Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain
The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald

These books demonstrate the greatness and the depravity of humankind. They offer us hope while reminding us all of the most basic human frailties that so often prevent us from achieving our ideals. After reading each one, I felt enlightened. Atlas Shrugged, in particular, changed the way that I looked at the world.

So I bid you adieu. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

My Kingdom for an Ounce of Talent

I've finally mastered picking arpeggios in various forms on my guitar. My current choice songs to practice include Johnny Cash's version of Bruce Springsteen's "Highway Patrolman," and a version of Bob Dylan's "He Was a Friend of Mine" combined with Willie Nelson's cover from the film Brokeback Mountain. Say what you want about the film (it was well written, well acted, and well made--to the point that only a low-class bigot can object), but none can deny the perfectly melancholy sorrow of Nelson's vocals:

He was a friend of mine.
He was a friend of mine.
Everytime I think of him,
I just can't keep from cryin'.
'Cause he was a friend of mine.

He died on the road.
He died on the road.
A thousand miles from home,
He never reaped what he could sow,
And he was a friend of mine.
(Dylan's version differs in this verse. In lieu of the third and fourth lines, he says, "He never had too much money / To pay his room and board")

I stole away and cried.
I stole away and cried.
'Cause I never had too much money,
And I never was quite satisified,
But he was a friend of mine.

He never done no wrong.
He never done no wrong.
A thousand miles from home,
And he never done no harm.
And he was a friend of mine.

He was a friend of mine.
He was a friend of mine.
Whenever I hear his name, Lord,
I just can't keep from cryin

Were it not for my only mediocre talent at the guitar, my slightly bad--but not stlyistic Bob Dylan bad--vocals, and my lack of stage presence, I probably could have pursued a career in music.

"Zoinks, like Scoob!"

I have been discussing scary books and movies with some people. I mentioned the novel The Shining as a very creepy novel (though I noted that 1984, with its realistic relevance is perhaps even scarier), and I talked about several creepy movies. Over the past few days we have examined the art of creating suspense and fear in literature and film.

For a coveted spot in the What I Hate (Usually) hall of fame, right above the name Science Guy (winner of the "I used to comment but am now too lazy and/or unable to challenge Aristos" award), post a comment about your scariest read or view. Don't just name it, but tell how it got to you. I'm not concerned if it "grossed you out," but if it really disturbed you on a higher level (e.g. the orginal version of "The Omen.").

Yadda, Yadda, Yadda

A recent article pointed to the fact that this is the time of year in which the smuggling of children across the U.S.-Mexican Border reaches its apex. Much was mentioned about children who suffered at the hands of their smugglers.

Is the fact that desperate parents wish to see their beloveds the real problem, or is the tyrannical immigration policy that makes "illegal immigration" a necessity the culprit? Think about it. Immigration policy essentially requires children to be chaperoned by less than respectable citizens.

Indeed, it's not the smugglers or the parents who are to blame. It is the United States Congress. How ironic that a nation dominated by the decendents of immigrants takes such a position against immigration. Or is it just that these immigrants happen to be Mexicans (Dios mio!)?

Been Busy ("Sorta")

In case you're wondering--and I flatter myself to think that you do--I have not posted much lately because I am a gaming neophyte.

That's right. I have become an XBox convert, having purchased an XBox 360 and Call of Duty 2.

As an XBox man, I am a converted Playstationist: a reprobate to some, I suppose, but perfectly happy as I now am.

Sony's Playstation3 had two things working against it. First, it was cost prohibitive when compared to the Xbox360. Compared to Nintendo's Wii--which I also considered--the PS3 is even worse. Second, it took too long. I waited and waited for the PS3, but there comes a moment when enough is enough, and that moment came on Thanksgiving.

So, the next time I go nearly two weeks without posting, you might wonder which new XBox 360 game I've picked up.

A Christmas Album

I usually dislike when musicians try their hands at original Christmas songs. Even some of my favorite singer/songwriters just seem to get it wrong.

Yes, I love the classics. On iTunes, I have over 50 versions of "The Christmas Song" (Chestnutt's roasting on an open fire..."), 25 versions of "Let it Snow," 80 versions of "Silent Night," 38 versions of "Winter Wonderland," 50 versions of "White Christmas" (nothing like a Christmas song written by a Jew), 20 versions of "What Child is This?" and lots of the other standards ("Jingle Bells," "Silver Bells," "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," etc.

In all, I have over 2,500 Christmas songs, most of which are traditional songs like those above.

And yet, perhaps my favorite Christmas album is The Statler Brothers' Christmas Card. Yes, it has several old-fashioned Christmas songs, but the ones that I enjoy most are their original ones. Consider the lyrics on a few, and then go out and pick up a copy of this remarkable Christmas album.

To the following song there's a sincerity and a longing that is either grateful or melancholy, depending upon your mood.

"I'll Never Spend a Christmas"
The year you were snow queen
At the high school Christmas ball.
The night we got snowed in
And prayed it wouldn't thaw.

The year I bought your bracelet,
And you bought me one too.
I'll never spend a Christmas
That I don't think of you.

The year I helped your daddy trim
The outdoor tree with lights.
You worked part time at Penny's
And I took you home at night.

The year the senior class sold
Christmas trees and mistletoe
And we never thought that someday
This would seem so long ago.

The Christmas Eve you told me
You loved me, and I knew
I'd never spend a Christmas
I wouldn't think of you.

The night we planned the party
To decorate the tree.
It snowed so hard, no one could come.
No one, that is, but me.

The Christmas Eve I told you
I loved you, well I do.
And I'll never spend a Christmas
I won't be loving you.

The following song begins with a drawn out cello and 4/4 beat. It's mood is similar to the one above.

Christmas to Me
Christmas to me
Is wherever she might be.
Singing carols With the choir
Haning stockings by the fire.
Making Christmas bows.
Hanging mistletoe.
'Cause where she is, I want to be
That's what Christmas is to me.

Christmas to me
Is as far as I can see.
Pasture fields covered with snow,
White Christmas on the radio.
Children and sleds
And momma's gingerbread.
At home with just the family,
That's what Christmas is to me.

Christmas to me
Is a tall cedar tree.
Decorated and adorned.
With Christmas balls and strings of popcorn.
Tinsel wrapped with care
With webs of angel hair,
A final star atop the tree
That's what Christmas is to me.

Christmas to me
Is the new born baby.
Lying quietly in the hay
When the angels came to say,
"Peace on Earth to men."
And I pray for peace again.
Scenes of the nativity
That's what Christmas is to me.

Christmas to you,
May it never be blue.
And may all your dreams come true:
Merry Christmas to you.


While the next songs is a bit hokey in some ways, it sounds very good at this time of year.
Something You Can't Buy

The greatest Christmas present
Is something you can't buy.

When World War II was over,
We trimmed the tree alone
But we saved the star for daddy,
'Cause daddy was coming home.
We bought mamma a new dress.
We bought daddy a tie.
But he brought us each something
That money couldn't buy.

The greatest Christmas present
Is something you can't buy.

I talked to pa this evening
For an hour on the phone
He said, "Don't spend your money on presents
We just want you here at home."
But we'll buy momma a new dress
And daddy another tie.
And we'll spend lots of time together
And that's something you can't buy.

The greatest Christmas present
Is something you can't buy.

Someday, and I know it's coming
When all of us won't be together every Christmas,
You know daddy's seventy-three.
And to pay back all he gave me,
I can't, but I will try.
I'll pass along to my kids
That something you can't buy.


Who Do You Think?
There are people who are whispering,
And the rumors are running wild.
There's a woman who's not married,
But she's gonna have a child.

Her name is Mary. She's a virgin
From down in Nazereth, now listen close.
She's gonna marry a man named Joseph,
But the baby's father is the Holy Ghost.

And who do you think could believe such a thing?
Could believe that this story is true?
And who do you think could believe such a thing?
Well, here's hoping to heaven you do.

Now they're saying she had the baby
In a barn in Bethlehem.
And a star moved round the heavens
'Till it stopped right over there.
Then some shepherds said an angel
Came and told them about the birth.
They always knew men went to heaven
But now God had come to Earth.

And who do you think could believe such a thing?
Could believe that this story is true.
Who do you think could believe such a thing,
Well here's hoping to heaven you do.

To Dear Old Aunt Mardi

I have been called an imbicile because I wrote in my own name on the ballot this past November. Alas, I may be. However, I must submit that I am far less the idiot than those who were listed as official candidates.

Until this greater issue is resolved, I will continue to vote for the man most qualified--even if it is a "wasted," and/or "absurd," and/or "inappropriate" vote.