Some Arguments that Annoy Me

I love to debate. It's good fun, especially with a knowledgeable and clever opponent. Rarely, however, do I encounter a knowledgeable and clever adversary. Much of the time, my knowledgeable foes are not clever, or my clever antagonists are not knowledgeable. Too often, my challenger is neither (as is usually the case with democrats--and if you take that to be a shot in favor of republicans, then you haven't been reading much of this blog).

The following list is of the usual responses when my less than able sparring partners realize that they have been backed into a corner.

1.) "Who's to say?" What I find objectionable about this less than witty retort is that it's really a red herring. The issue is not who's saying what; it's what's being said that matters. Whenever someone comes back from one of your major points with this one, you should know that you've got him or her on the ropes.

2.) "You think what you want, and I'll think what I want." At this point, your opponent has basically surrendered and is asking for generous terms. Now is the time to be General Grant. Offer no terms except for unconditional surrender, and remind him or her that you propose to move upon his or her works immediately (read some narrative history on the engagement at Fort Donelson in 1862 if you don't get this one). Once pressed further, your opponent is likely to suggest that it isn't worth arguing anymore because you are too stubborn to see his or her point. Again, this is a point to you, for you've now forced your adversary into relying upon ad hominem rebuttals. What they really mean to say (but won't, for pride stands in the way) is, "I cannot logically reject your argument, so I am backing off in an orderly fashion before this argument turns into a rout.

3. "You see things in black and white, but the world is painted in shades of gray." This argument starts off first with an absurd metaphor. Of course the world isn't painted in black and white, but it isn't painted in gray either. In fact, the world isn't painted at all. What your opponent is really saying here is something akin to "There are no absolutes" or "There is no such thing as right or wrong," or "Everything is relative." There are some major logical problems with this position.
First of all, you can't say that there are no absolutes. It's an autophagic argument (i.e. it destroys itself), for to assert that there are no absolutes is to make an absolute statement.
Second, you can't say that there is no such thing as right or wrong and be right about it, for if you're right, then the statement is false (since nothing is right).
Third, you can't say that everything is relative. If everything is relative, then the assertion that everything is relative is merely relative. This means, in fact, that there are absolutes. Therefore, everything is not relative. Questions of good and evil, elements of logic and moral principles cannot be relative. Of course, some things are relative: I like pizzas with lots of cheese, pepperoni, sausage, onions, green peppers, black olives, and mushrooms. My wife, on the other hand, prefers cheese and pepperoni. That's a relative issue because it's really about little more than taste preferences. It's a relative issue to argue if green peppers taste good. Whether or not green peppers have vitamins is not a relative issue. Even if you think that green peppers taste like elephant feces (by the way, how do you know what pachyderm poop tastes like?), you cannot say that green peppers don't have vitamins. Something like whether or not abortion should be legal is not relative. You might wish that abortion was OK, but that doesn't make it so.

Also, your opponent, if he or she relies upon tricks instead of reason, may resort to other techniques. For one, they may appeal to popularity (ad populum): well Michigan voters have spoken, and gay couples should not be allowed to marry or enjoy the legal benefits of marriage. Does this mean that an anti-Semitic majority that wishes to harm Jews is right? As far as I can observe, a majority proves only the ignorance or maliciousness of the masses. Seriously, if marriage is a religious act, then the law (as brought down by the state) ought to have none of it.

Then again, your enemy may wish to make you tremble in your boots. These are the kind who constantly tell you how crucial the issue of global warming is. If you for one second think, "Hey, hasn't the globe been warming naturally for tens of thousands of years since the last Ice Age?" then these people will thwart you by warnings that you and your children and your grand children and your great-grandchildren etc. will die. Since your really not dumb enough to fall into this trap, they'll make you feel sorry for penguins and polar bears (seriously, there's a conspiracy to make you feel bad for arctic and antarctic wildlife because deep inside you know that their predictions of what will happen to people is a load of BS). The fact that they resort to making you (and especially your children) simply sympathize with arctic/antarctic wildlife should be enough to make you see through their weak arguments.

There are more, but it's late, and I'm tired.

Random Post

Fantasy Football Season Is Coming!

Here's the roster for one of my new Fantasy Football leagues. In this league, we kept one player from last season (he is indicated by an *). I thought I drafted well, considering that there are twelve teams in the league, and that means that a lot of the talent gets snatched up pretty quickly.

QB: John Kitna (starter), Alex Smith, Brett Favre
RB: Frank Gore* (starter), Rudi Johnson (starter), Jamal Lewis,
WR: Larry Fitzgerald (starter), Javon Walker (starter), Braylon Edwards, Muhsin Muhammad
TE: Chris Cooley (starter), Daniel Owens
K: David Akers (starter), John Kasey
D/ST: Cowboys (starter), Raiders

In my other league (ten teams in this league), I was able to keep six players. I kept

QB: Peyton Manning
RB: Larry Johnson, Rudi Johnson
WR: Steve Smith
TE: Tony Gonzales
D/ST: Bears

I traded Plaxico Buress (WR) for a first round pick, so I have the fourth and the eighth picks of the first round.

Stupid Computer

My computer is acting up again, and worse than ever before. In so many ways, this computer (not the one that I'm actually using, but the one that's on the fritz) has been the best that I've ever had. In other ways, however, it's been a huge mess.

It's pretty much conclusive. I'm done with PCs. If it's not a Windows problem, then its a hardware problem. The only thing left is an act of God (who knows what might happen--I've said, "God damn this computer" so many times that He might just do it).

Once I've scraped together enough money, I'm going Mac, and I'm not turning back. Sure, Macs aren't impervious to problems, but a.) they don't use Windows, and b.) their hardware is much more reliable. c.) They appeal better to the eye, and d.) becoming a Mac owner will help me enjoy those "Hello, I'm a PC; Hi, I'm a Mac" commercials a lot more.

Holy Fart, Batman!

Pardon me. You may not wish to know this, but after yesterday's Hamburger Helper and today's very cheesy pizza, if farting were a crime, then I'd be sentenced to death.

However, the worst fart on record is still held by my good friend Jeff P.

Pointless Comment

For no good reason at all--heck, I haven't even heard it in months--the song "Scotch and Soda" by The Kingston Trio has been stuck in my head all day.

I just picked it out on my ukulele. In a word, it's delightful.

Keep Scrolling for Some Pics!

Forgive the indulgence on my part, but here are a few pics of my little ones.

The pictures are posted with permission from Pamela Heckel Photography. Not only is she a close, personal friend and a Hillsdale College graduate, she is a genius behind the camera. She operates out of Allen, Michigan, and is an outstanding professional. If you are ever in southern Michigan, especially the Allen, Quincy, Hillsdale, Jonesville, Litchfield areas, schedule an appointment with her!

Bobo, Age 2 Months

Bobo, Age 2 Months

Natalie, Age 7, and Bobo, Age 2 Months

Mark, Age 4

Ironic Songs

In 1958, Bobby Darin recorded what Frank Sinatra called "the definitive version" of "Mack the Knife." It's an upbeat tune that really swings. The irony is that it's a song about a cold-blooded killer.

In a similar irony, The Beatles's "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" sounds like a delightful children's tune.

Orson Scott Card and Islam

Earlier, I posted my fondness for Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game. Well, since then I have devoured the sequels and companion novels, enjoying all of them and wishing for more.

In Shadow of the Giant, Card makes a fine point about radical Islam. He says that Islam cannot be a legitimate religion until it recognizes peoples' rights to disbelieve and until it allows lapsed Muslims (i.e. people who leave Islam) to go freely and without harm. Until then, it is a tyranny. In a nutshell, he suggests that Islam ought to embrace the idea of separation of Church and State--that a religious offense is not punishable by violence (i.e. intimidation, fines, incarceration, torture, execution).

I can already hear the critics say that Islam already does this, that it is a religion of peace; but come on, who's kidding whom?

Show me the Islamic state with a good record on human rights in general, and the rights of religious minorities specifically.

Read some history. Islam spread via the sword, and it stays because of the sword.

Of course there are many Muslims who disagree and say that their brethren who so speak and behave are in a minority, but what they really mean is that such people are in a minority in the West. Where they are not in the minority, they rule with an iron fist. Look at the fatwah against Salman Rushdie.

By the way, just in case any half-wit reads this and figures that I'm saying something ridiculous like, "All Muslims are terrorists," re-read what I said, for I said no such thing. What I said is that presently, Islam--as it pours from the Middle East as it has for over a millenium--is aggressive, expansionistic, and imperialistic. Many nations have been this way in the past and changed. As Card points out, Islam is perfectly capable of changing too. Doing so will not dilute its theology, but will instead make it a rational religion that seeks members because they believe, not because they are frightened.

Now a truly astute critic will say that Christianity has just as much blood on its hands as Islam, and such a critic is probably (though I really mean absolutely) right.

However, Christianity long ago rejected the notion that men and women could (and should) be forced into the religion. Historically, Christianity must answer for much (e.g. the inquisition and the witch hunts in Europe and the American colonies).

Such an astute critic ought to see that the problem for both religions centers on the issue of Church and State. In the inquisition and the witch hunts, the coercive powers of the State were put to use for "religious" purposes. Only once predominantly Christian nations began to draw the line between crimes against God and crimes against society (i.e. harming the life, liberty, or property of others), did Christianity once again became a peaceful religion.

Yes, Christianity has blood on its hands, but it has long since coagulated. The blood on Islam's hands is still fresh.

Miniver Cheevy

Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons.
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.

Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would send him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.

Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.

Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.

Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.

Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.

--Edwin Arlington Robinson

I Coulda Been a Contender

There's a lot of sentimental crap that comes out in movies. Watch Titanic if you don't believe me. Most of these stories involve rather flat characters and what I will call "forced" dialogue (again, see Titanic).

However, there are some times when a dialogue flows naturally from a well developed character, and it is in these times that we can discover insight into the human condition.

Take for instance the scene in On the Waterfront, when Martin Brando's character, Terry, says to his brother, (who had forced him to take a dive in his big fight--his one chance at the title):

"You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let's face it."

This line has been replicated in many forms and parodied in its exact form. Even without the backdrop to the story, it means something to all of us. The idea that we "coulda" done something great, but we (for whatever reason) decided against it and took the easy (i.e. fast money--as Charlie reminds Terry) way out.

Perhaps I am out of line, or only speaking for myself, to suggest that we in the middle lament that if we had stood tall, ignored those pressuring us, dug in, and fought for ourselves alone, then we could have been more than we are.

There are times when I sit and sigh, for I do believe that "I coulda been a contender." There's still time, I suppose, but time is relative in more ways than Einstein imagined. While it creeps so unbearably slowly in your first twenty years, the remaining years seem to slip through your fingers like a heap of sand.

Then again, it's a load of crap. Terry chose to take the dive.

In the end, we all pocket our silver and reap the whirlwind. We sit in our cubicles and input data. We say, "Yes sir!" When we really should say, "What the hell are you thinking, sir?"

We sell ourselves short because it's so easy to be a "coulda been." It's harder actually to be, so we decide instead to hate such people and figure (dishonestly) that they simply had more opportunities.

The bottom line is that the contenders are there because they took the jabs and the hooks and kept their feet. Those who either couldn't keep their feet or took the dive for the short-term game belong in the middle or the bottom.

Either I need to sit my fat ass down and write the damn novel that's in my head, or I need to accept that I'll forever be just someone who "coulda been a contender" but decided not to be one.

At least I never paid a two-bit airline for a coke. Even if I did, I wouldn't decline my wife's bedside in lieu of a rant. You disappoint me, Murdock. Unlike you, I have never denied your wife...

Barry Bonds

Barry Bonds is the most hollow man to break a hallowed record. Some defend him--for now--saying that until actual proof exists that he used steroids and other enhancements to help catapult him past Hank Aaron, we cannot render judgment against him.

But this is not the case.

The issue of "Who is the best slugger in baseball history" is not one bound by the law of innocent until proven guilty. It is thoroughly a matter of public, nay individual, opinion.

Hank Aaron acquired and held his record for so long because he was purely talented, not because he was juiced. That makes him better than Bonds.

What we can't do is throw Barry Bonds in jail. What we can't do (yet) is strip him of his current title.

However, as thinking beings we can deny him our adoration and label him as the scumbag that he is.

Just because Michael Jackson hasn't been convicted of the crimes for which he is suspected doesn't mean that I wouldn't be a madman to let my children stay with him and share his bed.

Just because O.J. Simpson walks freely does not mean that I should trust and consort with the likes of him.

Just because Al Capone was only found guilty of tax-evasion does not make him any less of a cold-blooded killer.

There comes a point when circumstantial evidence is so overwhelming that only a fool looks the other way. Barry Bonds deserves jeers, not cheers. He should go down in hisses, not history.

Spoof on Murdock's Blog

Happy Birthday to Me

Hey, I just turned 31.

There are some who say that they stop counting after 29.

Those people are pathetic. Even if you refuse to count (which you don't really do anyway), the number doesn't change.

Readings (and re-readings this summer), an assigned letter grade, and a very brief comment.

I recommend all of these except for A People's History of the Civil War. If you like to read in the bathroom, then pick that one up because it can at least be useful for spare paper (but beware of paper cuts).

Speaker of the Dead, by Orson Scott Card (A-)--Rarely has a sequel been so different than the original, but still great reading.
Xenocide, by Orson Scott Card (B)--Good, but a bit slow in many parts.
Children of the Mind, by Orson Scott Card (B)--The ending could have been a bit more satisfying.
Ender's Shadow, by Orson Scott Card (A)--If you liked Ender's Game, then you MUST read this.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, by J.K. Rowling (A)--My favorite of them all.
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling (B+)--As good as the first, second, and fourth installments.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by J.K. Rowling (A-)--Tied with Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkeban as my second favorite of the series.

The Civil War: A Narrative volume 3, by Shelby Foote (A)--Almost perfect.

A People's History of The Civil War, by David Williams (D)--Great reading, if you're a socialist who doesn't really care about the truth. When are Marxists going to realize that dialectical materialism is a load of crap, and that poverty is not the result of economic injustice in a capitalist system?

Superstrings: A Theory of Everything?, by P. C. W. Davies and Julian Brown (B)--This is very handy to people who don't like when scientists publish only for other scientists. It's geared toward the curious amateur.

Going to Africa

Mark wants to go to Africa. Specifically, he wants to go on a hunting safari. More specifically, he wants to shoot a lion.

"I'll tell you what, buddy," I said. "You get a full ride scholarship to college, and I'll take you hunting in Africa."

"Okay," He replied.

Unfortunately, he has no idea what college is, let alone a scholarship--remember, he just turned four--, so he had no idea that he had just made a deal with me that will take a full 14 years before it takes effect.

The poor kid thinks that we're going to Africa soon--really soon.

To wit, I was headed to the grocery store, and I figured that I'd bring Mark along.

"Mark," I called. "Get your shoes on and get in the car."

He came running with his shoes and a big smile on his face. "Are we going to Africa now?" He asked.

"Sorry, dude. We're just going to the store," I confessed. "We won't be able to go to Africa for a long time."

"Oh," he replied in a sinking tone to match his fading smile.

I decided on a compromise--I took him to the WalMart on 12 Mile road, but it wasn't enough to mend his broken heart.

No recent Posts

Just in case you're wondering why I haven't posted recently, there are two reasons.

One is that, since I'm married with three children, I haven't as much time to myself as I used to have.

The other is that the news sucks.

Lindsay Lohan is in and out of rehab and trouble?

She's about as much news as the fact that Budweiser makes me fart.

A government funded project (in this case a bridge in Minnesota that collapsed) failed?

There are times when I'm not sure if I shouldn't just go to the bathroom after a Budweiser (just to be on the safe side).

Hugo Chavez loves Sean Penn?

Idi Amin thought that Hitler was a great man.

That's our news, folks. And you wonder why I haven't posted much!

By the way, I just burped, and I tasted some of the White Castles that I ate over two hours ago.

Now that's news.

A Loosely Organized Rant

I complain about a lot, but I firmly believe that anyone should be able to do anything that does not harm the rights to life, liberty, or property of anyone else.

However, that doesn't mean that I cannot say that certain things that certain people do aren't just plain stupid.

There's a difference, you see, between that and what the neo-national socialist republicrats do and say. I say, "That's stupid." They say, "There should be a law against that."

It's not really such a fine line. There's a big difference between disapproving something and utilizing the coercive power of government against it.

To wit, if I don't like smoking in restaurants, then I will either not patronize restaurants that allow smoking, or I will begrudgingly go to one because I value the food above the tobacco haze.

Others, however, who dislike smoking in restaurants would seek to harness the violent power of the state to prohibit said practice.

Let's get this straight. Restaurants, bars, or any other businesses are not public. They are private. They are owned by a person or people, which makes them, by definition, not public. Public places would be defined as street corners, parks, or any buildings owned by government on any level.

As the owner of any establishment, any man or woman ought to be able on his or her own to decide whether or not to allow patrons to smoke. If you don't like it, then don't patronize the place. As for workers, no one has to work at any given business. If you don't like smoking, then don't apply for a job at a bar, nightclub, bowling alley, etc.

As for banning smoking in actual public places, that is ridiculous. The argument that second hand smoke is harmful is merely an hypothesis. No actual data exists to prove it. Even if it were, in open areas like parks or sidewalks, the amount of second hand smoke actually inhaled by non-smokers is so negligible that to make it an issue is as silly as to argue--as the old theologians did--if angels could be small enough to dance on the head of a pin.

All this said, I'd like to mention something that I found stupid.

I took my family to Burger King (some national socialist republicrats would like to prevent such a meal, of course, but I digress). Both kids ordered kids' meals, and they were delighted to find that the meals came in a Simpsons bag with Simpsons toys (Mark got Barney, and Natalie got Apu).

What I thought was stupid was that on the bag, in smaller print, below The Simpsons, was printed something like, "This film is rated PG13--Some content may be inappropriate for anyone under the age of 13."

As if anyone under 13 is ordering kids' meals! The reason that Burger King had to place that warning is that they wanted to promote The Simpsons to kids, but they also wanted to be able to say, "Hey, we said that it's not for kids."

What's next, a Paris Hilton Sex Video kids meal--some content may not be appropriate for anyone under age 17 or with an ounce of taste or conscience?

I, as a free thinking, rational, good parent will allow my children to eat their kids meals and even play with their Barney and Apu toys, but I will not allow them to watch The Simpsons movie.

The opposition, however, will try to say that Burger King should not be allowed to market the movie to children. It should be against the law, they say. Which is tantamount to saying that violent force should be used (or at least threatened) to prevent them from doing so.

If that is your opinion, then keep your kids from the theater and leave me alone. Sure, you can tell me that I shouldn't allow my children to watch such material, but you should not be able to forcibly prevent me from doing so (pardon the split infinitive). Take care of yourself and your own. That's your job. Leave me and mine alone. If you're better, then the results will become obvious. However, every time in history that the puritans have taken over, we've gotten more problems then we started with (e.g. witch trials, prohibition-era violence, the drug war, etc.).

If you truly believe in freedom, then you cannot advocate anything that prevents anyone from doing anything as long as it doesn't harm anyone else. Pay attention to the main verb of that last clause. "Harm" is not synonymous with "annoy" or "bother" or "irritate." If something pisses you off, then create a blog and post your whinings (as is my preferred method).

Ron Paul for president.

Bobo!

Bobo--a.k.a. Robbie--is doing well. Here's an updated photograph of him.

Just look at the size of that ear!

I Like Women

So my recent praise of Jack Johnson and the picture of him surfing has led my friend, Murdock, to the conclusion that I might be just a little on the fruity side.



I'm not the least bit fruity.



Not only did he tease me in person, he set aside time to conceive of and execute a spoof so grand that I'm actually honored.

Some Jack Johnson Lyrics

I wrote earlier about how much I enjoy Jack Johnson's music. It's art done in such a way as to reflect the soul of the artist--as Don Maclean saw the tortured soul in Van Gogh's paintings. However, in this case the soul is at peace. Johnson is not pretentious, nor is his music. He doesn't dress like a dandy or act like a thug. He just plays his music.

What appeals most, to me, is the relaxing nature of his songs and the pleasant story-likeness of his lyrics.

To wit:

Do You Remember

Do you remember when we first met? I sure do.
It was some time in early September.
You were lazy about it; you made me wait around.
I was so crazy about you; I didn't mind.

So I was late for class; I locked my bike to yours.
It wasn't hard to find; you'd painted flowers on.
Guess that I was afraid that if you rolled away
You might not roll back my direction real soon.

Well, I was crazy about you then and now,
But the craziest thing of all: over ten years have gone by,
And you're still mine; we're locked in time.
Let's rewind

Do you remember when we first moved in together?
The piano took up the living room
You played me boogie-woogie; I played you love songs.
You'd say we're playing house; now you still say we are

We built our getaway up in a tree we found.
We felt so far away, though we were still in town.
Now I remember watching that old tree burn down.
I took a picture that I don't like to look at.

Well all these times they com.e and go,
And alone don't seem so long.
Over ten years have gone by.
We can't rewind; we're locked in time,
But you're still mine

Do you remember?






Constellations

The light was leaving
in the west it was blue
The children's laughter sang
and skipping just like the stones they threw
the voices echoed across the way
its getting late

It was just another night
with the sun set
and the moon rise not so far behind
to give us just enough light
to lay down underneath the stars
listen to papas translations
of the stories across the sky
we drew our own constellations

The west winds often last too long
the wind may calm down
nothing ever feels the same
Sheltered under the Kamani tree
waiting for the passing rain
clouds keep moving to uncover the scene
stars above are chasing the day away
to find the stories that we sometimes need
Listen close enough
all else fades
fades away

It was just another night
with the sun set
and the moon rise not so far behind
to give us just enough light
to lay down underneath the stars
listen to all the translations
of the stories across the sky
we drew our own constellations

Better Together

There's no combination of words
I could put on the back of a postcard
No song I could sing
But I can try for your heart
Our dreams, and they are made out of real things
like a, shoebox of photographs
with sepiatone loving
Love is the answer,
at least for most of the questions in my heart
Like why are we here? and where do we go?
And how come we're so hard?
It's not always easy and
sometimes life can be deceiving
I'll tell you one thing its always better when we're together

It's always better when we're together
look at the stars when we're together
its always better when we're together
Yeah, its always better when we're together

And all of these moments
just might find there way into my dreams tonight
But I know that they'll be gone
when the morning light sings
and brings new things
but tomorrow night you see
that they'll be gone too
too many things I have to do
But if all of these dreams might find there way
into my day to day scene
Ill be under the impression
i was somewhere in between
With only two
Just me and you
Not so many things we got to do
or places we got to be
We'll Sit beneath the mango tree

It's always better when we're together
Somewhere in between together
its always better when we're together
Yeah, its always better when we're together

I believe in memories
they look so, so pretty when I sleep
Hey now, and when I wake up,
you look so pretty sleeping next to me
But there is no time,
and there is no song I could sing
and there is no, combination of words I could say
but I will still tell you one thing
We're Better together

Harry Potter is Coming! (At Last, for the Last Time, Alas)

The seventh and supposedly final Harry Potter installment is due in a week and a few minutes.

I started reading the Potter books two years ago with my daughter. I read the first three and a half to her. Halfway through the fourth book, she took over to read on her own, and I decided to blaze on ahead.

While the books are neither exquisite literature nor poorly written, they are extremely entertaining. The major problem that I have with them is a bit of characterization. Perhaps someone else has (probably has) written or spoken of this, but I've neither read nor heard them.

Here's the problem.

The good characters tend to be dynamic. Harry and his friends are not perfect. They have moral highs and lows; but while they can be immature, tend to break rules when convenient, and occasionally cut corners, they do not turn to evil. They are realistic characters: good, but not perfectly good.

However!

The evil characters are terribly static. There are no moral highs for the evil characters (Voldemort, Draco & Lucius Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, etc.). They are unrealistically evil in that they are perfectly evil.

The evil characters even have evil sounding names. The good guys get either regular names or irregular but charming names: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Neville Longbottom, Colin Creavy, etc. But the evil guys apparently must have evil sounding names.: Lord Voldemort, Draco (Dracula?--also I think that it's Latin for dragon) Malfoy (Malum /Malus is Latin for evil or bad, and we use it as a prefix to indicate evil or unfitting: malevolent, maladapted, malfeasance, etc. ), Lucius (Lucifer?) Malfoy, Goyle (Gargoyle), Delores Umbrage (i.e. offense, annoyance, displeasure), Severus Snape, etc.

The only good character with an evil sounding name is Sirius Black--and it had to be an evil sounding name because the first three quarters of The Prisoner of Azkeban required the reader to think that Black was a mass-murderer who sought to add Harry to his list of unfortunate victims.

On an artistic level, this is author J.K. Rowling's worst offense. It's to literature what bubble-gum pop is to music, or what "I'm Being Eaten By a Boa Constrictor" is to poetry. Still, I've always been able to get past it and enjoy the stories. You should too.

Jack Johnson - Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Enojoy

Banana Pancakes Jack Johnson Band Live

The audio's a bit skippy in the beginning, but it straightens out soon enough.

Jack Johnson Fan

Lately, I can't get enough of Jack Johnson's music. My favorites are, in no particular order: Sitting, Waiting, Listening; Constelations, Do You Remember, Banana Pancakes, Belle, and Better Together.

The two above posts are of Jack playing live.

Even those titles omitted from my overly brief list are worth a listening.

An Apology and a Reiteration

I stand rebuked and humbled by a mentor and a friend. My most recent post on Global Warming was riddled with foul language and a non sequitor reference to George Carlin's Seven Words that You Can't Say on TV (which is, by the way, a really funny bit regardless of utterly necessary foul language).

My argument is strong enough without the vulgar language, but my problem comes with trying to speak to vulgar people, for these are the only people who can believe the eco-fascist agenda.

Sure, there are plenty of smart eco-facists, and they are certainly not vulgar, but I don't think that most of them actually believe their arguments. Instead, they use the issue as a springboard to power. Look at Al Gore. If the man truly believed what he professes, then would he lead such a carbon-rich lifestyle?

I resort to foul language out of frustration. It's easy for the climate change people to demonstrate that global temperatures have risen. The problem is that the connection to human activity is hypothetical. In fact, the connection is ridiculous, since the global temperature has risen for eons, completely independent of man-made carbon emmissions.

Suppose a man was riding a bus (see how I cater to the green-folks?). Let's say that the bus is crowded with people who had been to an "All You Can Eat" special at the local Mexican restaurant.

Our hero did not eat at the Mexican restaurant, but all of his riding companions had.

Needless to say, these people have gas, and they let it out.

Just after a 350 pound Samoan dude rips a big one, our hero clutches his chest and falls to the ground.

The bus stops, and paramedics arrive, but they pronounce the man dead.

The global warming crew would say that this guy died because everyone else in the bus farted--especially that Samoan dude (who must be a metaphor for the U.S.).

However, let's look at the dead guy's history. Since he was a young boy, he had eaten four twinkies a day. He never exercised. He smoked three packs of cigarrettes a day for forty years, and he was born with a congenital heart defect.

Knowing the dead guy's past history, how do you think that he really died?

That's right. It wasn't the fart. So why do you believe Al Gore?

Lincoln Humor

I was reading the paper today, and I came across a quote so good that I cannot help but post.

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?

It reminds me of another joke that I modified to be more historical:

What was the last think to go through Abraham Lincoln's mind?
A .50 caliber bullet.

Global Warming: Rated "P-13" for Moderately Foul Language

Live Earth: musicians pool their talents to convince people to think, preach, and act counterintuitively to the truth.

It reminds me of the failed "Vote for Change" tour of musicians (e.g. Bruce Springsteen, John Mellancamp, etc.) who tried to convince us that John Kerry was a statesman.

Neither is true. It doesn't matter that Springsteen and Mellancamp are responsible for great lyrics like

Down in the shadow of the penitentiary
Out by the gas lines of the refinery
I'm ten years burning down the road
Nowhere to run, ain't go nowhere to go (Springsteen)

or

Life goes on
Long after the thrill
Of livin' is gone. (Mellancamp)

They are musicians. They act like philosophers and they try desperately to speak like poets, but in the end they hold a guitar in one hand, a joint in the other, and talk as if recording a hit album was the equivalent of walking out of Plato's cave.

How many times do I have to say it? The earth has been warming naturally since the end of the Ice Age. Let's talk scientific facts. There was an Ice Age. Everything was really freaking cold. Tens of thousands of years ago--before factories, cars, etc.--the Earth started to warm. We have been warming ever since. These are freaking facts, and still these freaking (choose one) a. fascist b. communist c. retarded a-holes are running around like chicken little because data shows that the climate is warming.

No crap, Corky. If the climate wasn't warming, then my ass would be frozen on a glacier. Thanks for the info, dude.

I'm sorry for the use of such crass language, but I'm at the end of my wits here. Are people so freaking stupid that they follow this crap? The global warming 'tards say that we need to listen to them because it concerns the future for your children and grandchildren, etc.

I say this, if we do listen to you, then there's not much hope for our children and grandchildren, etc.

By the way, if anyone ever says "and et cetera," do me a favor and call them ignorant. the et in et cetera already means "and."
!

Hiatus

I ran into a problem with my computer. It looks like a Windows problem, so my computer's back under repair. Please forgive the hiatus. I'll be blogging up a storm once it's back.

A Thought

The reaction to Salman Rushdie's recent honor (British knighthood) shows how sick his opponents are. They believe neither in freedom nor in a good God. They are--ironically--idolatrists, in their worship of Mohammad. Listening to them, one can hardly fathom that Allah is actually their god.

I am quite annoyed by supposed religious types who use God as an excuse to speak and act in ghastly manners. Those who would execute the fatwah on Rushdie are no better than klansmen.

Rushdie

It's one thing to think that Salmon Rusdie is a heretic, even an infadel. It's another thing to proclaim upon him a death sentence because he dared to write a novel. It's still another thing to threaten the British people with violence because they recently knighted him.

The reaction to Rushdie's knighthood shows how sick his opponents are. They believe neither in freedom nor in a good God. They are--ironically--idolitrists, in their worship of Mohammad.

Harry Potter and Meat

If you haven't yet read them, then do read the Harry Potter novels. They are quite good. The first two novels are typical(but quality) teenage literature. However, the subsequent ones are much deeper, darker, and satisfying--but only if you start from the beginning.

In light of this, I must confess that I would not be a well behaved wizard.

I read up to The Goblet of Fire with Natalie, and then turned it over to her, but she's so painfully slow in her progress--probably because she just turned seven--that I could not wait and read ahead. I'm now nearly finished with The Order of the Phoenix--the best one yet.

I simply couldn't wait for her, not since the final installment is nearly due--and I want to read it myself before I hear about it.

Like I said, I would not have been a well behaved wizard. Ever since I started The Goblet of Fire, I keep wishing for Harry to use Avada Kedavra on several characters (e.g. Umbridge, Snape, Fudge, both Malfoys, the Crabbes, the Goyles, and (of course) Wormtail and Voldemort).

While I am pretty much against the use of violence, there are times when, I dare say, people need killing (or at least hurting)--see my previous comments on Hugo Chavez and Keanu Reeves.

So much for me being a pacifist.

I'm like a vegetarian who craves beef.

MMM--beef. It's what's for dinner.

Hell yes, it is!

And Pork's not just the other white meat. It is the white meat. Chicken is for peasants, though it's quite good when cooked on a grill.

Ron Paul

I am so close to ending my non-support to the system that it sickens me.

Ron Paul for President!

Paris Hilton and Undigested Corn

Am I the only one who doesn't give a rip about Paris Hilton? Seriously, I don't think that she is news. If she'd gone to jail for, say, shooting someone (preferably another no-talent pseudo-celebrity), then that might be considered news.

Presently, the "news" about Paris Hilton fits into the same category as the "news" that I ate a lot of corn the other day, and it came out undigested. Hell, at least this latter story is one to which you can probably relate.

Happy Me

Don't expect any rants for at least a few days. Right now, I'm just content with my life. The rest of the world can go to Hell, and all I'll note is how wonderful my three children are.

How uncharacteristic is this post of me? Here's a fix: Hugo Chavez is a liar, an a-hole, a power-hungry demagogue, and the most dangerous man in the hemisphere. I hope that he dies soon and painfully.

Now that's more like it!

The Crossen Team

Here's the intro to a pilot that no network will pick up.

My Kid v. Lebron James's Kid

LeBron James's new son was only 21 inches long at birth. Ha!

My new boy was 21.5 inches!

I can't wait until Robbie Crossen dunks over Bryce James.

My Three Kids

Here's a picture taken today of the three wee-ones. Mark turned four last Sunday, and Natalie turns seven this Sunday. Robbie, of course, turned 0 last Friday.

Baby

Baby Robert (a.k.a Robby, Robbie, Captain Diaper Rash), weighing in at seven pounds, nine ounces, and measuring a full 21.5 inches long arrived on Friday at 1302 hours. Stay tuned for more pics and such.

Jake Shimabukuro

Murdock is right. Watching Jake really is proof that I suck at the ukulele.

What the hell, I'm still better than all of you (both of you, that is) who read this blog!

Ender's Game

I recently read Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card. This was the first book in quite some time that I completely devoured.

I've asked several peers if they've read it, and those who have agree that it is one of the best Sci-Fi novels ever written. I am pretty sure that when the end of the year comes, it will be Ender's Game that receives my nod for my best reading of the year.

Rumor has it that Wolfgang Peterson has signed on to create the film version. While I'm excited to see the film (supposedly to be released in 2008), I cannot help but lament in advance that even the most skilled director won't get it right.

Old Crow Medicine Show - Down Home Girl

This is a fine example of genius amongst the simple.

The irony is in solid, true-blue mountain music played with the city as a backdrop. Listen and look.

You'll see what I mean.

Silent Cal

Calvin Coolidge was the best president of the 20th Century.

What did he do? You might ask.

Not much, I answer.

Which is why he was pretty good. Relatively speaking, he was the best in a century.

Government makes our lives better in proportion to how much it leaves us to make our lives ourselves. "Activist" governments, therefore, are among the worst. We have seen too many. May we see much fewer, and, God willing, no more.

Ad Murdock

Quando podeces te regi eorum fecerunt?

P.S. I neither forgive nor forget: nemo me impune lacssit.

Old Crow Medicine Show

Follow me on this:

My wife's cousin's husband turned me on to a modern bluegrass/mountain music band called The Old Crow Medicine Show. He did this after showing me a thing or two on the banjo.

It took a couple of listenings, but I am now a devoted follower of O.C.M.S. Thanks, Beave.

A Mormon v. a Demon

Too many people are fixating on the fact that Mitt Romney is a Mormon.

Most of the people who abhor this seem, at least to me, to do so on the lines that Mormonism is rather unorthodox Christianity (it's pure absurdity, if you ask me).

Too few, however, fixate upon the fact that Hillary "Rodham" Clinton is Satan.

The Alamo

On February 23, 1836, 180 or so Texans, some Anglo-Americans, but including several Tejanos (Mexicans born in Texas) took refuge in an old Spanish mission called the Alamo. They were part of a movement in Texas, a joint Anglo-Tejano rebellion, to defend the loosely-constructed Mexican constitution of 1824 from the centralizing tyranny of Mexico's Napoleon, Generalissimo Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna.

They held out until March 6, a full 13 days, against a much larger force, nearly 6,000 men strong, supported by heavy artillery and commanded by Santa Anna himself.

On that day, Santa Anna launched a full-scale assault, in which he sustained losses exceeding 600 men (about 1/3 of those involved in the attack), but the Mexican army succeeded in taking the Alamo and killing every defending combatant.

Ever since that day, the Alamo has acquired a mythological status. It has been honored in letters and in film, in poetry and in song.

Each has tried to answer the simple question: why did the men stay in the Alamo when they knew that they would all be put to the sword (Santa Anna had his bugles play "Deguello," meaning "throat slitting" or "beheading)?

To answer this question, modern mythology has reached back to ancient history. In 480 B.C., a small army of a few thousand Greeks, led by the Spartan king, Leonidas faced an army of several hundred thousand Persians under the command of their king Xerxes.

While there were, indeed, only about 300 Spartans, they were not the only Greeks present. However, before the final Persian advance, Leonidas sent the bulk of the Greek forces away in retreat and stayed with his 300 Spartans--and about a thousand other Greeks--hence the myth.

Before his advance, Xerxes offered Leonidas the chance to surrender his men's weapons, to which he replied, "Come and get them."

Leonidas was lucky to be defending in a mountain pass. The narrow ground prevented the Persians from simply overwhelming him, and it is said that he inflicted between 20,000 and 30,000 Persian casualties before being overwhelmed. The Spartans, including Leonidas, were slaughtered, but they had held the Persians at bay for a precious three days--long enough, apparently, for the rest of the Greek forces to escape, link up with others, and eventually defeat the Persians and send Xerxes back to Asia.

And this brings us to our Alamo myth.

To explain why the defenders at the Alamo stayed to die, the story of Leonidas was invoked:

The Texans at the Alamo died in order to give Sam Houston more time to assemble effective resistance.

In a striking parallel to Leonidas, one of the first episodes of the Texan revolution involved a rebel cannon which the Mexicans tried to seize but the Texans replied, "Come and take it"--note the similarity to what Leonidas replied to Xerxes. This cannon was present at the Alamo and captured on March 6.

Since the destruction of the Alamo was soon followed by Houston's absolute victory at San Jacinto, after which Santa Anna was captured--thus securing Texan independence--, the idea that the Texans fought at the Alamo to buy time for Houston seems plausible.

However, General Sam Houston, commander of the Texan forces, had ordered the Alamo razed and San Antonio evacuated. The defense of the Alamo went against his expressed orders. We honestly don't know why Col. Travis, James Bowie, David Crockett, and all of the others defied these orders and stayed. No one wants to think that 180 brave men died for nothing, but that's pretty much what happened.

It seems more honorable to adopt the Thermopylae angle, but it is simply not the case. Yes, it makes for "cooler" history, but if history is really something valuable, something by which we might learn true lessons, then there is no place for such fanciness.

Since Travis sent dozens of messengers with essentially the same message--Send us some help!--it is most likely that he and the others assumed that help would arrive. By the time they figured out that no help was coming, it was too late--so they stayed and fought like brave soldiers until the end. Houston was right to shout, "Remember the Alamo!" at the moment of his assault at San Jacinto, and well we should remember the Alamo. However, in our quest to find meaning in tragedy, we mustn't fudge the facts, cutting and pasting as we see fit until the story gives us the appropriate number of goosebumps.

The men at the Alamo died because they misjudged their friends' ability to support them. In this light, they were foolish to stay, but they could not have known that, so they are blameless. They were heroes, certainly, for they died for a good cause, but there story and their honor is diminished by simply making them up to be the Spartans at Thermopylae. Let the Spartans have Thermopylae, and let the Texans have the Alamo.

Quiet Desperation

Henry David Thoreau observed that the average man lives his life in a state of "quiet desperation."

There are times when I feel it, to be honest. Every time that I sit down to think about my novel, and I just know that it can be wonderful but at the same time the right words, the right sequence of events, the right characterizations just never emerge. So I pick up a book written by someone else.

Or when I sit down to my piano or with my guitar or ukulele, and I feel the power to compose a brilliant melody, but all I do is play a few chords and pick a few arpeggios. So I listen to a song written and performed by someone else.

It's when I sit to write or pick a tune that I feel that "quiet desperation" of which Thoreau spoke. There is something inside me, and it's not just gas. Alas, I haven't figured it out, yet. I guess that for now I'll have to be content with being CEO of Vandelay Industries.

New Site Alert!

I wanted to keep posting funny videos, but I decided to make a special place for such amusements.

Check out my alternate blog at http://funnyvideosforme.blogspot.com for such material.

SNL -- Apocalypto Recut

Now this is funny.

Cat Stevens - Father and Son

It was the summer during which I turned 13. I was on an extended camping trip with my Uncle Steve, and as we drove from campsite to campsite throughout Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming, he "made" me listen to a bunch of his mixed tapes. That's when I first met Cat Stevens.

"Father and Son" is by far his best song. It is lyrically poignant, and also cleverly performed.

It begins with the father, lower in tone and slower, more deliberate.

It then turns to the son, and you can tell because the octave changes (higher) and because the voice sounds more restless, desperate even.

It alternates and in the studio version, there is a soft back and forth dialog that sweetly pervades the background of the last two verses.

I've heard that the song is supposed to tell the story of a father trying in vain to keep his son from joining a revolution. Whether it is the American Revolution or any other is not important. It's a conversation that has gone on for eons.

My favorite line is, "For you will still be here tomorrow, / But your dreams may not."

Still Losing (and I'm not talking about the Lions)

Down 14 pounds as of Thursday. No pics yet, Golf Guy.

Slavery and Haggis--Ick!

Saying that the United States invaded and conquered the Confederate States because slavery is awful is tantamount to suggesting that the English invaded and conquered Scotland because Haggis is disgusting.

Both are repulsive (one morally, the other physically), but neither provoked the loss of life that resulted from either invasion. Both invasions, by the way, were acts of naked aggression made by empire builders.

Kids (and mine are smarter than yours)

There are different forms of intelligence, that is for sure. However, I decline to accept the popular "multiple intelligence" theory that strives only to identify everyone as intelligent. Compared to other animals, yes, humans are "intelligent." However, amongst humans, the average person is hardly "intelligent."

For a long time, we thought that our daughter was gifted but that our son was, shall we say, average. However, I've watched the boy over the years (almost four at this point), and I've observed in him a deep intelligence, probably close to the English word for "cunning."

Natalie is obviously gifted. She and I work on multiplication and division (though she doesn't know it; I just ask, so if we're buying three Slurpees at 1.25 a piece, then how much am I spending?; or If I have 12 cookies, then how much do I give to myself, mom, you, and Mark?). She's also, as I bragged about earlier, reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on her own. By the way, in case you don't know, she'll turn just seven in a month.

Mark is another case entirely. While Natalie could count into the hundreds by pre-school, Mark won't count for us at all. If I hold up seven fingers and ask, "How many fingers am I holding up?" he'll either just stare at me, state something ridiculously random, or ask me if I know how many fingers I am holding up. Nonetheless, I can give him green beans for dinner, and he'll say, "Why did you give me eleven green beans?" Then I'll look and see 11 damn green beans.

Mark figures things out independently, and far better than Natalie. I showed him some on-line Sesame Street games, and he not only plays them (which means that he knows the alphabet, numbers, and can understand sequences--for many of the games demand such knowledge), but he navigates between them on his own.

Mark is an interesting boy. He's prone to stubbornness--which I am told is a trait that runs well in my family, especially amongst the XY chromosomes--, and has violent tantrums--again, an especially masculine attribute in my bloodline. And yet, he's the one who, at two years old, locked my wife out of the house (she had stepped out to grab the dog--then a puppy--who had darted out after some kind of imaginary game) and went to the kitchen table to eat cookies without interference. My wife did not have a key handy, so she just watched him through the window. I returned home from work about ten minutes later, and I didn't know whether to be angry, proud, or flabbergasted.

And Another Thing

Picture me glowing with pride. Chubby, yes, but still better looking, smarter, and slightly more charming than you.

My six year old daughter (though she'll be seven in less than a month) is reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. We read the first three hundred pages together, but having put down a few novels of her own thus far, I wagered that she had the confidence to take on the latter few hundred of The Goblet of Fire. So I told her that if she finished the book on her own, I would reward her handsomely.

My wife thought for a moment that I was asking to much of Natalie, but Natalie took the challenge. She's actually reading the book on her own. When she finds a word that she doesn't know and cannot decipher via context clues, she asks one of us. Thus far, she's doing fantastically.

I am glowing, and jiggling--though slightly less, as I am down ten pounds now.

I was a smart kid, but I think that she's smarter. In the very least, she has parents who know the value of a challenging education.

Alas (again)

Whatever reduces the economic power of the people in general is harmful to the economy in general.

Raising taxes (for whatever reason) reduces the economic power of the people in general.

Therefore, raising taxes (for whatever reason) is harmful to the economy in general.

And yet, for this so many in Michigan are crying. Even though it is well documented that the less a government interferes in people's ability to produce, distribute, and consume goods and services, the wealthier the country is.

Alas, the average man is a dolt.

Alas, the average man rules in a democracy.

Alas.

A Challenge to Murdock

I will make posts--thoughtful and intelligent posts--at a ratio of at least 3:1 to Murdock's silly "Mindless Ramblings."

Here's this moment's thought.

The present federal government is able to do bad things not because it is under a bad administration but because the powers granted to said government are perverse in their vastness.

The more power that a man has, the worse he is. The more power that a government has, the worse it is. No government should be able to do more than what any random man ought to be able to do.

The Civil War Had Little (if anything) to Do With Slavery

If slavery caused the Civil War, then it must mean that the Union's objective was to abolish slavery, and that the Confederacy's objective was to preserve it.

And yet, when Lincoln supposedly freed the slaves (the Emancipation Proclamation), he freed them only in rebel states which would not recognize his authority. In any areas controlled by Lincoln's thugs (Kentucky, Missouri, Maryland, Delaware, and parts of Virginia, Tennessee, and Louisiana), Lincoln kept African-Americans there in chains.

The average Confederate soldier did not own slaves. Is it to be assumed that he fought, killed, and died (by the hundreds of thousands) for someone else's property?

The average Union soldier was not an abolitionist. In fact, the average Union soldier was a racist--not in the "I hate blacks" form, but in the "Blacks are inferior" form. Is it to be assumed that he fought, killed, and died (by the hundreds of thousands) for people whom he despised?

If slavery was the issue, then why did Robert E. Lee, the commander of the Army of Northern Virginia fight so well and so long against impossible odds for the rightful secession of his state and the establishment of his country?

That some men wished to use the war as a vehicle to abolish slavery is not an adequate rebuttal. Lincoln himself claimed over and over again that he did not seek to abolish slavery in the Confederate states, and when he finally did it was a meaningless gesture meant to appease radicals and prevent the British from overtly aiding the Confederacy.

Slavery was abolished in the United States a full eight months after Lincoln's death and the effective end of the war, and it was designed not to liberate men but to bring the South's aristocracy to its knees.

African Americans were free, but they were free to starve and to suffer. The "benevolent" federal government did next to nothing to secure their civil rights. President Grant pursued the Ku Klux Klan only after the Klan had accomplished its mission to throw Republicans out of state offices and secure African-Americans as secondary citizens--since they could no longer be slaves. Look at the freedmen's lot--sharecropping and tenant farming--and tell me that the boys in Washington, D.C. cared about them.

To know for certain that the Union did not give a crap about African-Americans but cared only about subduing the South, look at reconstruction policy.

24--Impossible?

A very good friend of mine, and one of the few colleagues whom I respect as a near intellectual peer has written 24 off as too unrealistic. According to him, it is no longer possible to suspend disbelief regarding Jack Bauer and how he ekes his way out of disaster after disaster.

Yet my friend's favorite show is Battlestar Gallactica, and he eagerly awaits the season finale of Heroes.

Contradiction? Of course.

Bauer does nothing impossible. What he does is highly unlikely, but not implausible. The irony is that this guy supports Darwin's theory of evolution--the highly unlikely theory that consciousness was born via random genetic mutations. To use a C.S. Lewis analogy (for a different purpose), believing in evolution is like suggesting that if you spill a carton of milk, the splatter will form a map of England.

Bauer is awesome. He is unlikely, sure, but he's my modern-day fictional hero.

A discovery

On the left, you see my great-great-great grandfather. He enlisted in the Union army (alas!) in the early summer of 1862. He saw action at Antietam and the Wilderness--I'm not sure about in between, and must have been present with the rest of his regiment--the 11th Pennsylvania Infantry--at Lee's surrender at Appomattox, for the old man was mustered out in May of 1865.

Until today, all that I knew was that he had been in the war. My grandfather had thought that David (his great grandfather) had served as a drummer boy. Well, as it turns out he enlisted as a private, so he was not a drummer boy. Also, until today I had been led to believe that he had been from Missouri. Now I know Pennsylvania, and perhaps with that detail I can find out about his ancestors, about whom I know absolutely nothing.

JFK

Lee Harvey Oswald, acting alone--so very alone, in fact--assassinated President John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963.

If you are among the multitudes who believe in a conspiracy, I wonder which conspiracy, and why is this conspiracy should be considered valid and the others faulty? Your conclusions have probably been influenced by Oliver Stone's JFK. Of course, if you take that for gospel, then you must also believe that there is an actual Peter Parker who lives in New York City who moonlights as the great SpiderMan.

If you're looking for the results of real research into the event, read Gerald Posner's, Case Closed.

For a more elementary approach, go to http://mcadams.posc.mu.edu/home.htm

Seriously, if you haven't read Posner's book, don't approach me on this. There are dozens of conspiracy theories. If you count the branches of the theories, then they number in the hundreds or even the thousands. Which is right? None of them. They are conspiracy theories posited by people who simply wish for a conspiracy. What this means, Occam's Razor in hand, is that Oswald was the lone gunman.

A Veracious Accusation

When a politician says to a problem, "There is nothing that I can do," what he or she means is that there is nothing that he or she is willing to do. Ironically, what they often should do is nothing, but instead they do something because--as I said--they are not willing to do what should be done.

When Clinton should have done something (e.g. kill bin Laden), he did nothing, and thousands of Americans and unquantified thousands of others are dead now with more to come.

When Lincoln should have done nothing (secession was valid), he did something and 3/4 of a million people died.

Correction: Clinton did do something, but I like to smoke good cigars and don't like talking about what he did with them.

Hard Times

School districts throughout Michigan are poised to slash budgets via layoffs et al. All because the governor is unwilling to accept the reality that the programs espoused by liberal democrats (such as herself) are detrimental to the economic well-being of the populace at large.

Oh well, if we cannot be free, at least we can be equal--as in equally impoverished. Screw industry and the middle class as long as you can get votes from Detroit and Flint.

Biggest Loser Update.

Since last Friday (seven days ago), down four pounds to 296.

Weight loss sucks. Why is it so damn easy to pack on the pounds and so damn hard to drop them?

Fair Warning

I have a phobia. It is a silly one to most, but to me it represents gut-wrenching terror. Certain friends who have recently uncovered this phobia have come to mock me for it. That is fine. As I said, it seems silly. I will accept the ridicule.

However, these same friends allude to a plot against me: a prank if you will. Allow me please to issue the following warning.

While I will withstand the teasing, I will not tolerate anything more. Do not provoke my wrath, for it will come down with hellfire not seen since the Lord smote your ancestors at Sodom. I don't know how your gene-pool survived that biblical holocaust, but you remain Sodomites from head to toe (especially that area in between). Press me on this--and this is not a dare, it is a warning--and there will be consequences that not even Job could tolerate.

So please, go ahead and poke fun at me, but don't go any farther. Please, for the sake of friendship and the sake of my thus far perfect criminal record: just leave it at that.

My Little Reader

It's time for me to brag.

My daughter, aged six years, is now reading novels so independently that I am blown away. At the age when most of us were reading about Dick, Jane, and Spot, she has already finished Bridge to Tarabithia, Stone Fox, and is now reading some silly ghost story--though it's about 120 pages.

Every parent thinks that their child is a genius, but I have proof.

A Fat Man Speaks

I am presently as heavy as I have ever been. I weighed in on Friday at a full three hundred pounds (gasp).

I find this unacceptable. I will not blame it on glands or anything other than my poor eating and exercise habits. No medical treatment is necessary at all. I can fix this, and I will. If I don't, then it is all my fault. Those who try to escape blame for their bodyweight are cowards, and I am not a coward. If this attempt at remedy fails, than my will alone is to blame.

Mark my words: 240 lbs by Labor Day; 220 lbs by Thanksgiving.

Of course, it is likely that I will become satisfied with my weight loss and resume the same bad habits that put me in large pants. Again, this will neither the fault of my body nor the fault of the diet. It will be a fault in my desire.

I hope very much to be able to claim victory over my urges. I will post occasional updates on this topic (hopefully to brag, of course).

Murdcock's Backpack

Emasculation is a harsh word. Just the sound of it makes any man cringe.

And yet Howlin' Mad Murdoch strode about today with a Dora the Explorer backpack...

However harsh the word may be, sometimes emasculation is the most accurate.

Must Reads

Years ago, I read Into Thin Air, by John Krakauer. At the time, I recommended it to nearly everyone I knew, including people who I suspected as intellectual rivals (there are few, indeed).

At this point in my life, given the advancement of my experience and education, I still recommend it. Krakauer's narrative is both personal and objective, for he was witness to the tragedy which he describes on Everest. The book is a true page turner, and I state again that you should read it.

Because of Into Thin Air, I am bound to watch any documentary on Mt. Everest. I can watch and rewatch any recollections and depictions of the expedition of which Krakauer writes. Read it.

I have read another book by Krakauer, Into the Wild. I enjoyed it as well, though I could not help but think that the protagonist deserved what came to him in the end. This protagonist condemns civilization and commits himself to a life--and a short one at that--in the wilderness. Mankind is foolish to think of nature as a kind mother. Only one thing kills more ruthlessly than man, and that is nature (which includes bears, Dan).

Rumor has it that Sean Penn is presently working on a film adaptation of this book. I can only hope that Penn, a self-evinced idiot--though he won't dare admit it, yet he opens his mouth almost daily to prove it--will get the story right.

However, I suspect that he will somehow blame Christopher McCandless's death on George W. Bush.

Herr Beethoven

Ludwig van Beethoven was born seemingly equipped for both personal tragedy and greatness. His father, Johann van Beethoven was a court musician and tenor vocalist who made a living but never lived up to his musical ambitions.

Lacking the natural ability, self-discipline, or simply opportunities necessary for recognition, Johann pinned his hopes (and his pain) on Ludwig. Relentlessly and mercilessly, Johann drilled young Ludwig, trying desperately to form a child-genius akin to Mozart. Whenever Ludwig faltered in his energy or made a mistake, he risked anything from a whack on the hand to a savage alcohol-induced beating.

While modern psychologists would predict that such treatment would cause young Ludwig to detest playing music, let alone composing it, the boy developed the talent that must have been within him all along. He began performing in public by age seven, and before he was a teenager he was a published composer with his Nine Variations for Piano in C Minor achieving modest acclaim. He earned his first court appointment as a musician at the tender age of 14 (at 14 I was pretty good at the NES), and world-class musicians began to take note of him.

When Beethoven was 17 years old, he met and played for none other than Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who quipped something like "Watch this lad, one day he will force the world to talk about him."

While Beethoven was trained in the mathematically precise style of classical music, as in Mozart or Hayden, his turbulent personality began to form a new age in music. Nearly everyone noted his disheveled hair and haphazard dress, and no one could ignore the look in his eyes, as if he was ready to explode. To say that he was moody would be an understatement. His natural talent, coupled with the countless beatings at the hands of his father had forged a new kind of music; a music not just of the mind, not just of the soul, but a music of the inner pathos: passion--passionate love and passionate rage. His compositions were a blend of mathematical proportion (a la classical style) and a new blood stirring, emotional quality. When famed classical composer Joseph Hayden first heard Beethoven performed, he was disturbed by the turbulent nature of Beethoven's music. He would later train under Hayden's supervision, but nothing that Hayden could teach seemed to control Beethoven's style. Other's, however, recognized Beethoven's new spirit and admired him for it. Observing him in later years, John Russell described Beethoven at the piano:

"He seems to feel the bold, the commanding, and the impetuous, more than what is soothing or gentle. The muscles of the face swell, and its veins start out, the wild eye rolls double wild, the mouth quivers, and Beethoven looks like a wizard, overpowered by the demons whom he himself has called up."

Beethoven not only composed music outside of the norm, he distributed it abnormally by working essentially as a free agent, selling his works and organizing concerts for profit. Ironically, this stage of his life brought the moments when he started to recognize the first signs of his impending deafness. At first it was seemed, perhaps, like nothing but paranoia: just a slight causeless noise in the background. However, by 1801 the sound that he described as a buzzing or whistling noise became constant. Soon, he could not make out low tones, especially in speech, and any background noise overwhelmed him.

Could there be a worse fate for a virtuoso and master composer, to know slowly, painfully slowly, that he was losing his most treasured of the five senses? In a letter of July 1801, Beethoven confessed to his friend, Karl:

"How often I wish you were here, for your Beethoven is having a miserable life, at odds with nature and its Creator, abusing the latter for leaving his creatures vulnerable to the slightest accident. . . . My greatest faculty, my hearing, is greatly deteriorated."

As the symptoms progressed, Beethoven withdrew from friendships and society, to wallow in his secret shame: "How can I, a musician, say to people, "I am deaf!" I shall, if I can, defy this fate, even though there will be times when I shall be the unhappiest of God's creatures. . . . I live only in music." At other times, he was as obstinate as his reputation: "I will seize Fate by the throat. It will not wholly conquer me! Oh, how beautiful it is to live, and live a thousand times over!"

One thing became clear: Beethoven could no longer perform in concert. He could retire completely and sink into an alcoholic abyss (as his father had), or he could turn to the music of his heart. The music that he could hear inside, even if he could hear nothing outside. He began to compose.

As he came to grips somewhat (he never really did) with his handicap, Beethoven began to appreciate more the things that he saw. Nature became his muse, and his Second Symphony was written as a tribute to it. But still, he writhed back and forth between inspiration and despair, to the point that many believed he had gone mad.

He would at one moment be hopeful and at the next morose. But soon he felt inspired by the dashing Corsican in command of an army meant to spread a new ideal. The ideals were liberty, equality, and fraternity; and the Corsican was Napoleon Bonaparte. Beethoven himself was a revolutionary of sorts, in music, and his music was the dawn of a new age. In Napoleon, he saw a different branch of that new age, and he latched on to it as a surrogate hope.

Beethoven composed his Third Symphony Eroica for Napoleon. And as Napoleon tore down the vestiges of old Europe, Eroica tore down the axioms of classical music. It was, perhaps, more revolutionary, for Napoleon betrayed his revolution when he pronounced himself Emperor--to which Beethoven raged to a friend, "Now he will crush the rights of man. He will become a tyrant." But while Napoleon played Judas, the Eroica never turned on itself. It left many listeners baffled. Others were horrified. But most were simply awed. What came across in so many ways as random, uncontrolled tonal emotion had behind it an order. It was not mathematical precision, as in Mozart or Hayden. It was mathematical passion.

And the passion deepened.

His Fifth Symphony, perhaps his most famous (though not his best--that would be the Ninth Symphony) Beethoven faced his arch-nemesis, Fate (those notes at the beginning? That's Fate knocking at the door), and he took it by the throat.

His Sixth Symphony was another dedication to nature. The man oscillated such.

He would compose three more symphonies, all of them brilliant. Nothing, however, touches the Ninth, known for its "Ode to Joy" chorus, based upon the poem by Friedrich von Schiller. I will not attempt to describe the music beyond saying that it is the most beautiful thing ever composed, and it makes the heart leap and the soul sing. Hearing it, one can scarcely believe that the man who composed it was completely deaf.

Schiller's words are translated from Beethoven's original score as follows. Reputedly, the vocal part of the 4th Movement (the "Ode to Joy Chorus" is one of the most challenging tasks for even the most skilled singers).

Joy, beautiful spark of the gods,
Daughter of Elysium,
We enter fire imbibed,
Heavenly, thy sanctuary.

Thy magic reunites those
Whom stern custom has parted;
All men will become brothers
Under thy gentle wing.

May he who has had the fortune
To gain a true friend
And he who has won a noble wife
Join in our jubilation!

Yes, even if he calls but one soul
His own in all the world,
But he who has failed in this
Must steal away alone and in tears.

All the world's creatures
Draw joy from nature's breast;
Both the good and the evil
Follow her rose-strewn path.

She gave us kisses and wine
And a friend loyal unto death;
She gave lust for life to the lowliest,
And the Cherub stands before God.

Joyously, as his suns speed
Through Heaven's glorious order,
Hasten, Brothers, on your way,
Exulting as a knight in victory.

Joy, beautiful spark of the gods,
Daughter of Elysium,
We enter fire imbibed,
Heavenly, thy sanctuary.

Be embraced, Millions!
This kiss for all the world!
Brothers!, above the starry canopy
A loving father must dwell.

Can you sense the Creator, world?
Seek him above the starry canopy.
Above the stars He must dwell.

Be embraced, Millions!
This kiss for all the world!
Brothers!, above the starry canopy
A loving father must dwell.

Can you sense the Creator, world?
Seek him above the starry canopy.
Above the stars He must dwell.

Joy, daughter of Elysium
Thy magic reunites those
Whom stern custom has parted;
All men will become brothers
Under thy gentle wing.

Be embraced, Millions!
This kiss for all the world!
Brothers!, above the starry canopy
A loving father must dwell.

Joy, beautiful spark of Gods!,
Daughter of Elysium,
Joy, beautiful spark of Gods!

Over many protests, Beethoven decided to conduct the orchestra for the symphony's first audience. Since he could hear nothing, colleagues placed an alternate conductor behind him and ordered the musicians to follow the alternate's timing. Unaware of the conductor behind him, unaware that the musicians paid him no heed, unaware that he was even before an audience of hundreds, Ludwig van Beethoven conducted his final symphony. At the moment of its final note, Beethoven's arms fell to his sides, and he stood there motionless. He could not hear the music stop, but he knew it. What he did not sense, what he had to be taken gently by the shoulders and turned to see was the audience. The audience of dignitaries, wealthy men and women, sophisticated types, were on their feet cheering and applauding in a grand ovation.

He died three years later, still composing, still defying fate. In his final moments, from his deathbed, Beethoven lifted his head and opened wide his eyes. He raised his fist with "a serious, threatening expression on his face," then relaxed and died.

With his final match with Fate over, friends recovered several documents including his will, sealed with instructions that it be opened only after his death. Beethoven wrote it twenty-four years before his passing, but it sums the last half of his life, and echoes the sentiment of and breaths logic into his later works. These words, though only a fragment of the original, express in language what Beethoven expressed in music:

"O you men who accuse me of being malevolent, stubborn, and misanthropical, how you wrong me! You do not know the secret cause. Ever since my childhood, my heart and mind were disposed toward feelings of gentleness and goodwill, and I was eager to accomplish great deeds; but consider this: for six years I have been hopelessly ill, aggravated and cheated by quacks in the hope of improvement but finally compelled to face a lasting malady. . . . I was forced to isolate myself. I was misunderstood and rudely repulsed because I was as yet unable to say to people, "Speak louder, shout, for I am deaf." . . . With joy, I hasten to meet death. Despite my hard fate . . . I shall wish that it had come later; but I am content, for he shall free me of constant suffering. Come then, Death, and I shall face thee with courage."

Thanks to Bill at lucare.com for many of the factual particulars in this post, including several of the quoted passages. Thanks to you, also, if you read this far.