“Peace, prosperity, liberty and morals
have an intimate connection.”

- Thomas Jefferson

I left work early on this first weekday after going off of daylight savings time and hustled home to finish my preparations for Halloween. I made it just in time to get the cider heated and the fire built in the driveway as darkness fell and the first waves of trick-or-treaters began to circulate. It was a nice night and almost every kid said "thank you" which made it even more enjoyable to be outdoors.

While it was cozy next to the fire, I had time between visitors to think about the ever-shorter days yet to come. I also remembered reading about the effect on human sleep patterns after Thomas Edison invented the electric light. Before 1910 people averaged nine hours of sleep a night. Now that number is around seven and a half hours a night, but laboratory studies have shown that if people are deprived of electric light they revert to a nine hour sleep schedule. I don't know if they've measured the effects of blogging on sleep patterns, but I'm averaging six hours a night since I started this blog.

I'm going to bed.

I remember the first time I was going to go trick-or-treating for Halloween. I was four years old and my mom had bought me a black skeleton costume with silver sequined bones on the front that was probably next to invisible in the dark. It had a plastic mask that covered my face and had eye-holes that more or less lined up with where my eyes were. The material was some kind of filmy fabric that probably would have ignited in a warm breeze. (Kids in my generation had to be a lot tougher - or luckier - to survive). And I couldn't wait to get out there and start hauling in my share of the loot.

When the moment finally arrived to hit the street I impatiently nodded my masked head at my parent's reminders to be careful and bolted out of our front door like a greyhound out of the starting gate. The slamming sound of the storm door preceded by one and a half seconds the slamming sound of me colliding headfirst with the telephone pole in our front yard. I spent the rest of that hallowed eve tearfully laying flat on my back on the living room sofa with a large goose-egg and an ice-pack on my forehead while countless other kids came to our door for candy. I think the next year I went out as a cowboy.

I did, however, learn early on how important it is to think through a costume idea and I enjoyed the creative aspect of devising each year's design as I got older until parents at the door started refusing to give candy to the big lug trick-or-treating with the little kids, no matter how clever the costume. The next year I decided to stay home and pass out candy in costume. My first customer of the night, a three-year-old girl in a white fairy princess costume ran screaming for the street and her father when I stuck my monsterized face around the edge of the door at her height. I felt really bad the rest of the night.

In later years when I was old enough to go to grown-up Halloween parties, complete with adult beverages, I reignited my creative muse and quickly added three important ground rules to future costume design: 1) I must be able to sit down while wearing the costume. 2) I must be able to drink while wearing the costume. 3) I must be able to use the bathroom while wearing the costume. Then, once I became a parent, I pretty much got out of the whole costume and Halloween thing. The world was getting weirder and I had more reservations about the underlying spirit behind the evening. We'd normally darken the house and take our kids in their costumes to "Hallelujah Night" at church.

Then, the Halloween after 9/11 I got to thinking that it was better to be out and involved in the neighborhood, and I started a tradition of setting up a firepit in my front yard and serving hot apple cider to the parents who, because of the way our house is positioned, could stand by the fire and watch their kids hit nearly every house around. Every kid that came by got a handful of candy and a "God bless you." It's become a popular stop each year since, especially in the years when it's been very cold and windy.

Last year the folks at my office decided to have a dress-up day and costume contest for the first time. I struggled to regain my muse up until the night before when an idea finally dawned on me. A part of our Division had just been sold off to a company from Scotland. I thought that if I wanted to come up with something really scary, then I should dress up in full kilt regalia. A friend of mine just happened to have the authentic ensemble and let me borrow it. It was a big hit (see photo under "About" in the right sidebar) and I even won a prize. During the potluck lunch, however, I walked by a conference room were a number of our nurse consultants and our HR generalist were eating. The HR lady waved me in and said that she had been working lately on a new dress code, including approved underwear, and she and the group were wondering what... er, umm ...a Scotsman might have under his kilt.

I may have blinked twice before responding, in brogue, "Ye mean tae tell me ye've no heard of the Loch Ness Monster?"

Great laughter and shrieking ensued, drawing a crowd as I slipped quietly away to the other side of the building ... where I could still hear the additional uproar as the incident was recounted to new waves of the curious who had gathered in the conference room.

So, anyway, Monday night I'll be out front of my house, tending the fire and passing out candy and cider. You can send your kids around, it will be safe. Just tell them not to ask any silly questions.

At 4:16 this afternoon someone in St. Paul, Minnesota with a Comcast account was the 10,000th visitor to this blog (as measured by Site Meter)!

I thought I was still several weeks away from this milestone so I was startled to make this discovery a few minutes ago. As such, I don't have a prepared commemorative message other than to offer my warm personal regards and thanks to all of you - especially those of you who have visited regularly. Especially special thanks with whip cream on top to those of you who have left comments!

This blog started 8 months and 12 days ago when I had no clue as to how many people would ever see it and merely the sketchiest of ideas of what I was going to write about on day 2. It was exciting to see my average daily visitors number creep over 20, and to get my first comment (thanks again, Sandy!). It's been fun to watch this blog climb up the TTLB Eco-system; lately it seems I keep evolving and de-volving between being a Marauding Marsupial and an Adorable Little Rodent (and don't think that that isn't hard on the old pelt!) Perhaps most amazing, 10,000+ visitors and no flames or trolls yet! (I'll try harder).

Some details: the two most popular posts (396 each) by referrals are 21st Century British Healthcare and Love and the Difference Between Being a Friend and Being Friendly. I'm especially awed that the latter post has been downloaded in China, Japan, the Philippines and in several countries in the Middle East and Africa. Those two are among my favorites, but I'm also pretty proud of the time I compared doing this to being in a garage band.

Thanks, everyone - you've made my day!

Update:

So, with 10,000 visitors and some 60-odd (some odder than others) links, what is this blog worth? Here's one measure:

The following was forwarded to me, but I haven't been able to verify or attribute the source. It refers to this event, which occurred October 4-6.

For those of you who are not aware, North Dakota and southwestern Montana got hit with their first blizzard of the season a couple of weeks ago. This message is in from a county emergency manager out in the western part of North Dakota state after the storm:

WEATHER BULLETIN
Up here in the Northern Plains we just recovered from a Historic event — may I even say a "weather event" of "Biblical Proportions" — with a historic blizzard of up to 24 inches of snow and winds to 50 mph that broke trees in half, stranded hundreds of motorists in lethal snow banks, closed all roads, isolated scores of communities and cut power to tens of thousands.

George Bush did not come...
FEMA staged nothing...
No one howled for the government...
No one even uttered an expletive on TV...
Nobody demanded $2,000 debit cards...
No one asked for a FEMA trailer house...
No news anchors moved in.

We just melted snow for water, sent out caravans to pluck people out of snow engulfed cars, fired up wood stoves, broke out coal oil lanterns or Aladdin lamps and put on extra layers of clothes.

Even though a Category "5" blizzard of this scale has never fallen this early — we know it can happen and how to deal with it ourselves.

Everybody is fine.

No obvious jokes about global warming, please.

After working in corporate America for a couple of decades I'm used to seeing Dilbert cartoons that eerily depict something that actually happened in my company the day before. Today's "Pearls Before Swine" cartoon by Steven Pastis, however, strikes especially close to home for Twin Cities readers, where we "enjoy" an evening radio talk show called "Krok Talk".


(click to enlarge)

I'd say Pastis nailed it perfectly.

Former Minnesota governor and professional wrestler Jesse Ventura was once quoted as saying that religion was a sham and something for the weak minded. I think the best response to this statement came from Jay Leno who commented that it’s a good thing nobody ever said that about professional wrestling.

Da Guv later amended his words somewhat saying that the people he really thinks are weak-minded are the “wackos and fundamentalists,” not the "typical" religious folks. Of course, Jesse – like the Devil and the StarTribune – are most useful when you just take it for granted that the opposite of what he says is closer to the truth.

The truly weak-minded are the ones whose convictions are easily swayed or intimidated, or those who really don’t know what they believe in the first place. After all, which is harder – to go with the flow (or the latest poll on what’s right or wrong), or to hold fast to what you’ve seen and experienced to be true when to do so is said to be unpopular or controversial?

Sometimes I wonder how an ostensibly “Christian nation” can tolerate – or even embrace – thinking and actions that are clearly ungodly. A large part of this perception is probably due to the fact that – except in unusual or extreme cases – events that show there is an active and interested God don’t make it into the news, and even when they do they are twisted or incomplete.

I think the real problem, however — and the reason why ungodliness is unwittingly celebrated — is ignorance. In our society a high school education is considered to be the bare minimum necessary to succeed. Spiritually, much of our “Christian” nation seems to be Sunday School dropouts. They have poor study skills and even less comprehension. The knowledge many have about what is really in the Bible may even be dwarfed by the number of things they think are in the Bible but really aren’t. No surprise then when policy is based on poll rather than principle. And no wonder that the best that so many can do when they struggle to come up with a spiritual answer for something they don’t understand is to say “the Lord moves in mysterious ways.” It’s only mysterious when we don’t know what the Word says!

And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ… (Ephesians 1:9)

It’s when I take my eyes off of the big picture, however, and focus on my life and the lives of those around me that I see just how tangible an impact Jesus Christ really is having. I know what’s happened in my life, and I know the testimonies of others who have sought and discovered what God’s will is for them in many areas. Therein is the hope for our world, for no lasting large-scale change can happen without the hearts of individuals being changed first.

The breakthroughs I see come in the lives of those who have permitted themselves to be discipled and who have committed to disciple others. While there’s no downplaying the importance of evangelism (how will they know, unless you go?), I think discipleship is just as important (how will they grow, unless you show?). Christians have a joint obligation to both learn from others and to help others learn. It is important to “study to show yourself approved of God” [2 Tim 2:15], but the breakthroughs in my life in healing, finances, and relationships have occurred not just when I’ve read the Word, but when I’ve also had it explained and seen it lived out. Furthermore, I’ve seen my breakthroughs get turbo-charged when I’ve helped someone apply in his life what I’ve learned in my life.

No matter where we are spiritually, there’s always someone who knows more than us, and always someone who knows less – and we need both in our lives. Furthermore, our world needs it. I know there’s lot of prayer going up for our nation, our government and for God’s will to be manifested, and I believe these prayers are and will be effective. I also believe that some of the fruit of these prayers, however, occurs when we move ourselves away from our pride and/or our self-interest and admit, first of all, that we need help and then – perhaps even harder – admit we have what it takes to help someone else.

In reading around the blogosphere today I saw an interesting juxtaposition between two different stories. The effect is so surreal I can picture Johnny Depp, as Willie Wonka, saying the following:

"Welcome to today's protest, children. Will you be wanting consequences with that action, or not?"

First, an excerpt from Shot in the Dark (Mitch Berg's comments in italics):

This is from an email sent to local pro-Dictatorship groups:

Urgent solidarity needed! [I love that - "Urgent Solidarity". What's the next level down - "Laconic Solidarity?" - Ed.]

Students are being threatened with failing classes for walking out on November 2nd

*** Help mobilize our defense! ***

As of October 19th, nearly 1,000 high school students across the Twin Cities had signed the "November 2nd Walkout Pledge," and we expect that number of grow substantially in the remaining 12 days before November 2nd. This tremendous response to Youth Against War and Racism's call to action has taken place in the face of threats to fail students who miss tests that day.

Wow - a thousand high school kids signed a pledge to...get out of school for a day?

Wow! This must be serious!

By an unfortunate coincidence, many Twin Cities schools scheduled a finals day on November 2nd, the anniversary of Bush's "reelection" [A "re-election that, ironically, happened on the same day as his re-election! - Ed] and the day chosen for nationally coordinated student walkouts against the war and military recruitment in schools. But other students who miss class that day for reasons school administrators deem legitimate will not fail their classes. They will get to take a make-up final.

Right. Because skipping school to go to a bogus political rally is not a legitimate reason.

Is it too much to ask that anti-war students who choose to participate in this justified act of protest, who are taking action to secure a decent future for our generation, also be given make-up tests?

No, the students who are demonstrating to return Iraqi and Afghan children their age to the Sixth Century would be asking a bit much for this sort of special treatment.

Let's hope this goes on their permanent record so they can look back on it someday and slap themselves, really hard, on the forehead. Meanwhile, in the real world, Varifrank notes:

More than 20 members of Cuba's world-famous national chorus are singing songs of freedom today after defecting in Toronto.

Members of the National Chorus of Cuba dodged security officers and jumped into waiting cars, some on Sunday and others yesterday, said Cuban exiles who planned the defections.

"These people are scared for their lives," said Ismail Sambra, president of the Cuban Canadian Foundation. "They are worried about their families back home". (Why should they be worried? Uncle Fidel and revolutionary party are merciful, are they not?)

Hmmm, I wonder if they chose to defect in Canada instead of the U.S. because of the school systems?

The Missing Link isn't just bedeviling evolutionary theory, but could be a problem for those trying to connect increased hurricane activity with global warming. As this National Center article by David Ridenour describes, the global warming/hurricane link may just be hot air:

An August article in the San Francisco Chronicle warned, "As the United States experiences more... out-of-season hurricanes like this summer's, more Americans will recognize what the rest of the world has long accepted: Global warming is here, it will get worse..."1

This analysis has a critical flaw: The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) says the hurricane season runs from June 1 to November 30.2

That would make summer hurricanes in-season, wouldn't it?

And there's another little problem with the Chronicle warning: Much of the global warming that occurred during the last century occurred from 1900-1940, followed by a cooling period that lasted from about 1940 to 1975.

A comparison of hurricane severity against the warming/cooling trends finds that we had an above average number of hurricanes in the 50s and 60s - when the Earth was cooling.

Hurricane severity is governed by a natural Atlantic Ocean temperature cycle that lasts decades. Following the identified pattern, Atlantic hurricanes were especially prevalent in the 1950s and 1960s, were less so from about 1970 to 1994, and, since 1995, have been prevalent again.3

Talk of a link between global warming and increased incidence of hurricanes is just hot air, nothing more.

As Christopher W. Landsea, a scientist with NOAA's Hurricane Research Division, has noted, "It is highly unlikely that global warming has (or will) contribute to a drastic change in the number and intensity of hurricanes."

Landsea found that the number of intense hurricanes (those reaching Saffir-Simpson scale ratings of 3, 4, or 5) actually decreased in the Atlantic during the 1970s and 1980s.4 And from 1991 to 1994, the Atlantic had fewer hurricanes than any four-year period on record, with an average of less than four hurricanes per year.5

The article shows that while there has been more activity the last couple of years, the most severe storms have been in the past. The most intense hurricanes according to barometric pressure were the Labor Day hurricane of 1935 and Hurricane Camille in 1969 (Katrina is third). If you go by wind speed at landfall, Camille, Andrew (1992) and the 1935 hurricane were the worst. In terms of lives lost, the Galveston Hurricane (1900) and Okeechobee Hurricane (1928) were more more devastating than Katrina (it could be argued on this count that there was less warning in the 1900 and 1928 hurricanes which may have contributed to higher death tolls; as Katrina showed, however, having plenty of warning may be of limited value).

There is also evidence that warmer weather may actually reduce hurricane activity.

Even if the planet does eventually warm, it's not clear that either the incidence or intensity of hurricanes would increase.

Patrick Michaels, a research professor in environmental sciences at the University of Virginia, has noted, "Atlantic hurricanes are much more delicate than their destruction suggests. One thing they cannot tolerate is a west wind blowing into them because it wrecks their symmetry. As a result, their maximum winds decline."9

These are precisely the conditions that exist during El Ninos - weather phenomena that some scientists believe increase with rising global temperatures.

If they are right, this would mean that global warming might be expected to result in less severe hurricanes.

Other studies suggest that higher global temperatures would also result in fewer hurricanes.

A 1990 study of temperature data by Drs. Robert Balling, Sherwood Idso and Randall Cerveny spanning 41 years found that the warmest years had fewer hurricane days, on average, than the coldest years.

These findings are consistent with the earlier historical record. The most severe storms in the North Sea, for example, occurred during the 15th and 16th centuries, after the onset of the Little Ice Age.10

Nature, not man-made global warming, causes hurricanes.

My father has been known to describe certain people as being "Windier than a sackful of..." well, I won't use that kind of language on this blog. The description may be more than apt in describing the warming-mongers who may be more interested in "cause and elect" than "cause and effect."

Follow the link and read the entire article (HT: Amy Ridenour). An interesting and humorous historical analysis can also be found here.

British say dead parrot had bird flu strain that has migrated from Asia to Europe

There doesn't appear to be any doubt that this particular parrot contracted the H5N1 virus, but consensus hasn't always been easy to reach with the British. You may recall the classic Monty Python "Dead Parrot" sketch where Mr. Praline tried to return a recently purchased, but deceased, "Norwegian Blue" parrot to the pet shop owner who insisted it was merely "resting":

Mr. Praline: Um...now look...now look, mate, I’ve definitely ‘ad enough of this. That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not ‘alf an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it bein’ tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.

Owner: Well, he’s...he’s, ah...probably pining for the fjords.

Mr. Praline: PININ’ for the FJORDS?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got ‘im home?

Owner: The Norwegian Blue prefers keepin’ on it’s back! Remarkable bird, id’nit, squire? Lovely plumage!

Mr. Praline: Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting on its perch in the first place was that it had been NAILED there.

Owner:(pause)Well, o’course it was nailed there! If I hadn’t nailed that bird down, it would have nuzzled up to those bars, bent ‘em apart with its beak, and VOOM! Feeweeweewee!

Mr. Praline: “VOOM”?!? Mate, this bird wouldn’t “voom” if you put four million volts through it! ‘E’s bleedin’ demised!

Owner: No no! ‘E’s pining!

Mr. Praline: ‘E’s not pinin’! ‘E’s passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! ‘E’s expired and gone to meet ‘is maker! ‘E’s a stiff! Bereft of life, ‘e rests in peace! If you hadn’t nailed ‘im to the perch ‘e’d be pushing up the daisies! ‘Is metabolic processes are now ‘istory! ‘E’s off the twig! ‘E’s kicked the bucket, ‘e’s shuffled off ‘is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!

Read the entire sketch here.

Some Saturday reflections:

It has been a terrific fall season this year with fair weather extending well into October. This afternoon brings more bright sun and temperatures in the 50s, along with that distinctively crisp smell of autumn that quickens one's awareness of needing to get ready for winter. I am circuiting my front yard on the riding tractor, the mulching deck doing it's thing on the leaves. It's a large front yard with four good-sized maples that drop soft, leathery leaves nearly the size of my face. There are also a couple of birches on the property that drop yellow, trowel-shaped leaves that are small and a real pain to rake. If I'm careful to act before the leaf fall gets too deep I can stay ahead of the leaves with the mulcher, even though I'll need to repeat the route at least once more in the next few days to get what's still hanging from the branches.

I spent the earlier part of the afternoon taking care of another important preparation for winter, that of buying my youngest a new winter coat. The selection of colors in the store wasn't as vibrant as what I'm seeing now, but it was unmistakably autumn all the same and there was a certain warm satisfaction in being able to manage this assignment. When I got home the yard was calling and the late afternoon sun was perfect jeans and sweatshirt weather.

Now the sun is lower in the sky and the trees and the neighbors houses cast shadows. As I move back and forth through the patches of light and shade I alternately feel a little too warm and a little too cool. As the afternoon slips away the shadowed section gets larger but it still feels good being outdoors. The extended mild weather has given us extra time to prepare for winter: taking down awnings, putting up storm windows, caulking those suspect seams around the cupola over the music room window and on one of the roof vents, cleaning out the flower beds. No reason we couldn't have gotten to these little projects sooner, but we just didn't - there's always so much else to do when the days are longer. When the first nip enters the air, however, you know time is short and you've got to pay attention.

I've got the tractor in a low gear with the blade speed set as high as it will go to mulch the leaves as thoroughly as I can. It's slow going, but I figure it's still better than raking and bagging. My methodical progress doesn't take a lot of concentration so I think about how much I love this time of year, and then on to where I might be in that "May to December" continuum that Frank Sinatra sang about in "September Song." I don't think I'm that old, but I've had my "June" — and "July" and "August" seem kind of blurry to me. My mind naturally goes back a couple of weeks to my long-awaited examination at the heart clinic. The visit stemmed from a mysterious episode back in August when I had felt a strange pressure on one side of my chest, but with no other telltale symptoms. A visit to the ER turned up nothing but a hefty bill and the advice to get further testing done. Kind of like my fall chores, I had put off getting that testing done for one reason or another even though, like my fall chores, I knew I was eventually going to have to do it.

When I had finally gone in I was injected with a thallium tracer and put inside a machine that rotated an x-ray camera around my torso both before and after a treadmill stress test. When that was finished I'd then had an ultrasound where the technician let me watch my own heart and its valves beat and listen as the amplified sound of my blood swishing filled the room. It hadn't happened that quickly, of course, as I spent nearly three hours at the clinic and moved from room to room. During that time I couldn't help but notice that almost all my fellow patients were much older than I and moved with much greater deliberation.

Sitting on my lawn tractor it feels as if it's moving at about the same pace as those older folks and I think about how much I've taken my own mobility and energy for granted. That's not to say there aren't mornings when I wake up feeling as if I'm 60 (or what I imagine 60 to feel like, since I've never been that old), and I use reading glasses (which I'm always forgetting to bring to restaurants where it seems I need them the most), and thanks to the knee surgeries I've reached an accommodation with my body on certain activities (I'm riding a mower instead of pushing one, after all), but I still pretty much do the things I want to do. Yet I remember the sensation this past summer when the realization sunk in that I'm probably never going to play in a softball league again. One hour of running aggravates my knee for a week, so I haven't played for years. Somehow, however, I always had the thought in the back of my head that maybe next year it'll be better. This summer I sat in the bleachers and watched that ship sail off across the outfield.

The results of my heart tests came back the other day and everything was normal. I'm relieved, of course, and a bit miffed at having taken the trouble and expense, but also happy that at least I know where I stand — or, in today's activity — where I sit. In a way, the tests were for me like one of those fall chores; a chance to snug things up before winter gets here. Like the summer, I've taken my health for granted but the nip in the air, like the chill of the stethoscope, reminds me that there are things I need to do before it really gets cold.

The yard is almost finished and there's only a few strips worth of leaves to pass over, and only a small corner still in the sun. My bare fingers are feeling a little cold on the wheel. If it were February and they felt this cold I'd probably complain, but for now the weather is good and the promise of hot coffee when I finish makes the sensation even pleasureable. I make the last pass and head for the shed. Winter is coming.

I must be creeping up on "old coot" status given my topic yesterday and what's on my mind today, but I'm going to go with it anyway.

There has been a bit of a flap the last couple of days about the NBA's new dress code for players when they are on "league business" which includes road trips, traveling to and from the arena, being interviewed and sitting on the bench in street clothes. Some players and commentators have complained that this is a racist policy since some of the apparel that is expressly banned are the hats, medallions and jerseys associated with the "hip-hop" culture and more frequently sported by black and minority players.

On the face of it they would appear to have a point; if the league were to, say, ban plaid pants, Izod shirts and deck shoes there might be a group of players who felt they were being singled out. Furthermore, I'm a big fan of personal liberty and I seek out the kinds of clothes that make me comfortable when working in the office or my back yard or hanging out.

The players are making a mistake in this case, however, and it's a mistake that is all too prevalent throughout our culture and not just the NBA, which is why I'm bothering to write about it. The mistake the players are making is thinking that it's all about them when it's really all about business. In the scenarios covered by the dress code the players are "on the job" and representing the league and their respective teams.

While it may be ironic to require dressy clothes in a business where the official uniform involves baggy shorts and tank tops, the league has a - shall we say, "vested" - interest in having its players look more professional in the corporate sense since most of the money that pours into the league has corporate connections. While corporations are themselves dressing more casually these days, the salespeople at my company wouldn't dream of calling on a customer without dressing appropriately as a sign of respect for the people who we want to give us their money. What it boils down to when entering the boardroom or leaving the locker-room is wearing clothes that say "I care what other people think." Fundamentally it is a question of respect; something that many of the players should identify with because they insist upon (as they should) when other people are dealing with them.

This is the same issue that I see with many people in our culture today. Case in point: last weekend I went to a wedding of some young friends of mine. While a wedding is a happy occasion there is also a certain solemnity to the event. That afternoon I finished working in my yard, went inside and cleaned up and put on slacks, dress shirt, sport coat and a tie. Almost all of the young people at the wedding and reception (with the notable exception of my own children) looked as if they had simply put down their rakes and come directly to the ceremony. I'm not talking humble but clean clothes here; I'm talking blue jeans, wrinkled tee-shirts, sometimes covered by rumpled, unbuttoned work shirts. Oh, there were three young ladies wearing flamboyant prom dresses, meaning they knew it was a special occasion, but were unaware that it's bad form to be flashier than the bride.

I wasn't that offended given that it could have been worse, but I did feel sad that a significant portion of the generations coming up are either not hearing, or not receiving, guidance on how to act respectfully when it is required. Dress isn't the be all and end all of course as there are some people where you can dress 'em up but you still can't take them anywhere, but the same attitude demonstrated by these young people in their attire also carried over in other behavior. Almost invariably, for example, these youths continued to talk and cavort with each other during the prayers and various toasts to the new couple.

Granted, I came from the flower-power generation that codified the blue-jeaned, bathing-optional look and style. I also had not a few disagreements with my parents on what I wore. Rather than marking me as idealistic and down-to-earth, however, my philosophy then merely indicated my callowness. I don't write this to glorify insincerity or saying we should judge books by their cover. My point is that the essence of getting along is to get over our "me first" attitude and think about how our actions and attire convey our attitude toward others.

Yeah, yeah, I know: I'm just proving that I'm getting old. But really, I'm not that old. It's just that I've learned .... excuse me for a second -

HEY, YOU KIDS! GET OUT OF MY YARD OR I'M CALLING THE COPS!

Heck is for people who don't believe in Gosh.

So says a magnet on a shelf in my office at work. I use the magnet to cover the pointy tip of a screw that sticks out into the room at elbow height due to faulty installation. It has been known to snag or scratch the careless as they enter my 10' x 10' turf. I don't want visitors to get "screwed" so I cover the offending tip, which also cuts down on swearing.

I was thinking about this magnet and my office scenario yesterday as I read a syndicated article about kids today replacing the heavy-duty curse words with alternate but similar-sounding versions that the article described as "Cussing Lite". Words like "freakin'" or "friggin'" are in the lexicon, and it's apparently - according to the article - now socially acceptable to use words like "crap" and "sucks" in church or in advertising and not just when trying to twist a rusted nut of off a bolt or when a dam breaks (snicker, snicker - I said "nut" and "dam"!)

"Cussing Lite" isn't a new concept, of course. Heck, darn, shoot and gol'dangit have been with us for generations and, as a certain children's book assures us, "Everyone Poops". Back in W.C. Fields' day he used expressions such as "Godfrey Daniels!" and "Mother of Pearl!" to get past the Hayes Commission. Go even further back and the medieval exclamation "zounds", which sounds so quaint today, was a contraction of "God's wounds", which was pretty heavy duty for the time, I'm sure.

It seems we always need a group of words to express above normal dismay or frustration in order to show we truly are shocked or agitated without stepping over into the scorched earth territory of full-bodied swearing. Of course, if the phrases are all too common it's hard to achieve the effect you might have been trying for. My own children have adopted phrases such as "barnacles!", "tarter sauce!" and "sweet onion chutney!" to get past the home censors. When my oldest started going to beauty school she was in a group of foul-mouthed girls who's language, sadly, wasn't too uncommon (in fact, it was exceedingly "common" to use another quaint phrase). When my daughter would let fly with a "pickleweiner!", however, her friends could be sure she was taking it to another level.

In a time when comedians have to work bluer than blue to achieve anything approaching shock value I suppose I should be glad there is still a sensibility that says there should be lighter weight epithets. (I remember how hard I laughed the first time Gilda Radner, as Emily Litella, first said "b***h" to Jane Curtin; now that it's every third word out of a rapper's mouth the effect is wearying.) Generally, however - while I have my own struggles with my tongue at times - I think we can do better.

This is especially so when we are writing and have time to think and craft our thoughts. Sometimes a bad word, judiciously placed, can be very effective for the situation; even for this to work, however, the button can only be pushed rarely. Last week my eldest wrote an emotional post for this blog which I reviewed before uploading. In one place she selected a certain word, mild by today's standards, for a one-word sentence to emphasize her feelings. It was effective in the context, but I didn't want to let her off easy. "Think of another word," I said.

"But Dad, that's the word I feel," she said.

"Feel a little deeper," I said. "Don't tell me that out of all your vocabulary that is the one and only word that sums up your distress." She pondered. She furrowed her brow. She smirked and came up with another word. I laughed and let it go in. A point I've tried to make with myself as I try to control my own tongue, and that I've tried to pass on to my kids, is that the Bible says that "out of the fullness of the heart, the mouth speaks."

When it's time to open our mouths, what do we tell the world we are full of?

The issue of abortion and Roe v. Wade has been the elephant in the hearing room in every judicial hearing since President Bush came into office and is front and center in the Harriet Miers nomination. In my view, in fact, Roe v. Wade was the catalytic event that lit the slow-burning fuse that ultimately launched terms such as "strict constitutional originalist" into our awareness. The Miers brouhaha has led to several thought-provoking (well, provoking anyway) posts on abortion that I've read recently such as here, here and here. It has also led me to ponder the way my own thinking has changed over the years.

Some background: I was a lusty 14-year-old boy when Roe v. Wade overturned the law of the land and made abortion legal. Looking back now I can see it as an event that separated me from my innocence as I started to make my way into the adult world. Innocence was lost because this was the first time that I recall letting my head overrule my heart in determining how I was going to run my life.

Some more background: I was raised in a mainstream Christian denomination that taught salvation through grace rather than through decision. When I was seven, however, my parents let me go to a vacation bible school course with my best friend. There the teacher said that if anyone wanted to earn extra credit we should watch the Billy Graham crusade on television that night and then make a report to the class the next day. Extra credit was always encouraged at my house, so I raised my hand. That night when Reverend Graham invited anyone who wanted eternal life with Jesus to stand up and come down front, I scarcely hesitated. Sure I was in my own basement, with my mother ironing on the other side of the room, but I stood up, walked to the TV and repeated the prayer. I figured if God was God, he’d get the message, and I followed my heart.

When I was thirteen, my parents let me stay overnight with another friend and go to a Bill Glass crusade with my friend’s Webelo pack. I thought I was going because Bill Glass was a former football player, and I loved football. I’m not sure if I remembered my TV experience then or not, but I again answered the altar call and made my way backstage from the second tier of the arena. There I was surprised to see that Mr. Martindale from my church was one of the counselors. We prayed and he gave me a workbook and then came over to my house once a week for six weeks to go over the six chapters in the book. About all I remember of the book is that I usually waited until the last 15 min-utes before Mr. Martindale arrived to whip through that week’s lesson.

So there I was at 14, hearing that abortion was legal and thinking, “All right! There’s one less reason for a girl not to have sex with me!” (Ugly, callow and shallow, to be sure, but there you have it: portrait of the writer as a young man.) At the same time I was thinking that, my heart was going “Ewww! How could anyone do such a thing?” It took a lot of mental gymnastics to overcome my unsophisticated heart, but I managed. By God’s grace, I was thankfully never put in a position where I had to put my new belief into practice.

Flash forward to December, 1987. Newly restored to God, and newly married, I watched the monitor intently as the ultra-sound traced my wife's stomach, finally revealing a three-week old head, arms and hands, right where they were supposed to be (it was supposedly medically impossible for her to become pregnant). At once my heart soared while my mind plunged to its depths and pleaded, “My God, forgive me!”

Jump forward another decade or so and I was reading a StarTribune columnist (no longer with the paper) who also happened to be a pastor from the same denomination in which I grew up, relating how she was advising a member of her flock to have an abortion. I remember the writer described herself as someone “in the trenches” where there were no “hard and fast” rules when a woman’s life is concerned. Rather than anger, I felt a piercing sadness for her and for those under her care. It occured to me then that there’s a difference between a trench and a pit, and how important it is to know which one you’re standing in.

The unpleasant truth is that there are hard and fast rules for every situation, whether we choose to follow them or not. The struggle comes in trying to figure out a reason in our heads why the rules we know in our hearts don’t apply to us. Doing so, however, leads not to peace but to other, more desperate, situations that also have hard and fast rules — and even harder choices.

More painfully, I saw my former self in that columnist and realized that I didn’t have to ask how someone could be so deceived because I already knew. And then I had to ask the logical, but oh-so-difficult question: “God, what is the lie that I’m still believing? Where is it that I still let my head decide the way things really are as opposed to what’s in my heart and in your word?” I know the answers are there waiting, if I really dare to look.

In the final sifting of heart (what we believe) and mind (what we think), it’s not what we think that is going to matter.

Update:

Psycmeistr has succinct take on the Miers situation and the sentiment that conservatives must be loyal to the Party and the decisions of the leader:

Since the beginning of the Miers nomination debacle, we have been hearing from the "the elite Republican Priesthood" that our CIC, the head of our party, has made a decision, and that we need to be good little foot soldiers and fall in line. To that, I politely say BUNK!

...Folks, we live in the United States of America, under a government "by the People, of the People, and for the People", not "by the Party, of the Party, and for the Party." Ours is a bottom-up government, not top-down, and the rule is by the consent of the governed.

Further, while I would like Roe v. Wade overturned - and Ms. Miers may share my personal belief - the decision in this arena must be overturned because it is bad law and outside the intent of the Constitution, not because it is perceived to be immoral. That is why a constitutional originalist interpretation is more important than an evangelical one on the Supreme Court. If it comes down to the personal beliefs of whoever is on the court at any given time, then the judges become no more than bizarrely dressed politicians themselves.

Here's the "Threesies" meme I've seen at a few places lately, most recently at Mitch's place.

Three Things I Do Not Understand:

1. Women's shoes
   
2. The appeal of cats
   
3. Putting politics ahead of principle
   

Three Things On My Desk (Work edition):

1. Several piles of paper
   
2. Several piles of magazines
   
3. A notice from the Fire Marshall
   

Three Things I'm Doing Right Now:

1. Uh...writing
   
2. Thinking about what I'll write about tomorrow
   
3. Laundry
   

Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:

1. Win my fantasy football league
   
2. Meet Mark Kennedy (see here)
   
3. Make amends to somebody I once hurt badly
   

Three Things I Can Do:

1. Write faster than anyone who can write better
   
2. Write better than anyone who can write faster
   
3. Rip-0ff A.J. Liebling
   

Three Ways To Describe My Personality:

1. Droll
   
2. Mellowing
   
3. An acquired taste
   

Three Things I Can't Do:

1. Algebra
   
2. Sing
   
3. Ignore memes
   

Three Things I Don't Think You Should Listen To, Ever:

1. A once in a lifetime opportunity
   
2. Me, when I'm not fully awake
   
3. Any stories people from my college days want to tell about me
   

Three Things I Say:

1. What?
   
2. Rat farts
   
3. Neee!
   

Three Things I'd Like To Learn:

1. Woodworking
   
2. To play guitar
   
3. A second language
   

Three Beverages I Drink Regularly:

1. Coffee
   
2. RC cola
   
3. Aquafina (and absolutely no Dasani - it tastes to me as if it has been collected from an oily puddle on an asphalt driveway)
   

Three Shows I Watched As A Kid:

1. Batman
   
2. The Green Hornet
   
3. Laugh-In
   

Three Things I Wish People Would Learn To Do:

1. Drive at normal speed in a light rain
   
2. Dress appropriately for the occasion
   
3. Realize that it's not all about them
   

Note: The following blog is a teensy bit late, due to the author being unavoidably detained by her various endeavors. If you are reading this, please pretend that it is Friday. Thank You!

I just learned something new about myself Wednesday. I like hockey. A lot.

Wednesday night I went to my very first Wild game. It was so exciting! You can just feel all the adrenaline pulsing in that ginormous place. It is sooo much more interesting than golf. You get to scream for your team when they score a goal, and you get to scream at the other team no matter what they do! And if that wasn’t enough to scream about, Bertuzzi was playing on the opposing team which got everyone even more riled up!

It was an awesome game. 6-zip? Oh, yeah, we beat their butts into the ice. And Bouchard’s penalty shot? Cloutier didn’t even see it coming. Sieve! Sieve! Sieve! What a way to kill their confidence! I wish that it could’ve lasted.

Let’s see… Wednesday’s game, I was there, and they won. Tonight, I wasn’t there, and they lost.

Am I the only one who sees a pattern here?

Anyway, I can’t wait to be able to go again. Screaming is way fun!

Last spring I described the plans the United Food and Commercial Workers Local 789 were hoping to implement in their effort to unionize the new Target store then being built in West St. Paul. The strategy called for a "groundswell of opposition," as reported in the StarTribune at the time.

The goal is to create a groundswell of opposition to Target before the West St. Paul store reopens this fall as a SuperTarget, said Bernie Hesse, a union organizer with Local 789 of St. Paul, which represents 7,500 workers in the Twin Cities area.

"We want to have people in those stores, organizing, on the day it opens and we want the [West St. Paul] community to support us," he said.

The new SuperTarget opened last week and it appears there has been a groundswell, though perhaps not what the UFCW was hoping for. I've been to the new store three times so far. It may be more precise to say I've been on the premises three times because once the parking lot was so full that I couldn't find a place to park for my quick errand so I whipped over to the neighboring WalMart store. On the two occasions I actually made it indoors the store was teeming with folks, none of whom appeared to be carrying picket signs. Meanwhile the staff, though a little harried, did not appear to be straining against the cruel oppression of management.

Perhaps the Mall Diva, a former employee in the store's previous incarnation on this site, will go undercover for us and talk to some of her friends who have returned to work at the new store and report what, if anything, is happening.

Meanwhile, there are just 71 shopping days until Christmas.

I mentioned the other day that my wife and I just celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary. Yay! Now, I might be biased but I think this has been a spectacularly successful collaboration and I hope that my wife would agree. I do know that one time she told me that she thought we were doing so well because "we say those three little words to one another."

"Oh, you mean, 'I love you,'" I replied, while my mental computer started frantically searching for the last time I had told her that (I knew her mental computer could spit out time, date, ambient temperature and what she was wearing).

"No," she said, "not those three words. I mean the three words, 'I was wrong.' It's because we've been, if not exactly willing, at least able to come to each other and say that when necessary."

Now, it could be my wife gives me more credit — or grace — in this area than I deserve (I thought I was wrong once, but I was mistaken), but I have learned how important our words are to our marriage; especially the right words. I'm reminded of something that comedian Rob Becker said in his "Defending the Caveman" monologue: "It's been reported that the typical woman speaks 5,000 words a day, but the average man speaks only about 2,000. So when a husband comes home and doesn't have anything to say to his wife it doesn't mean he doesn't love her; it just means he's out of words."

I don't know that I've ever quite run out of words, but they may come to me easier than for other men. As a public service to the guys, then, here are some more three-word sentences you can use to say important things our wives need to hear without going into verb debt. Starting with the basics:

1. I love you.
   
2. I was wrong.
   
3. Please forgive me.
   
4. You look great!
   
5. Let me help.
   
6. I'll clean up.
   
7. That was delicious!
   
8. That was incredible!
   
9. You deserve it.
   
10. Don't get up.
    
11. Let's eat out.
    

I've found it is also useful if I start as many sentences as possible with the three words, "I really appreciate..."

One thing about words, however, is that they can knock down just as easily as they can build up (sometimes even easier). Therefore, here's a list of three word sentences you shouldn't say:

1. You did what?
   
2. Not my job.
   
3. I told you.
   
4. What, meatloaf again?
   
5. I give up.
   
6. What's wrong now?
   
7. You ready yet?
   
8. You blew it.
   
9. Don't wait up.
   
10. Where's my dinner?
    
11. Where's the remote?
    

I'd also advise that you try to eliminate any sentences from your life that begin with the three words: "If only you'd..." or "My mother always..."

It's been my experience that working on the first list, while avoiding the second, is bound to have a positive effect on your marriage without blowing your word count. In fact, the more we can work the first list into our regular conversation, the more likely it is for us to hear our wives say three-word sentences such as, "What a guy!" and "Come her, Bubba!" and the less likely we are to hear, "Hit the road!"

Update:

On a related note, Joatmoaf at I Love Jet Noise promotes a series of helpful classes for men and a glossary of words that have different meanings depending on whether you are a man or a woman.

I go to school in Hastings, where there has recently been much talk about the murders of a couple: Peter and Patricia Niedere. Initially, I was a little curious; I mean, c’mon. It’s Hastings for crying out loud!

So, I knew that a couple was murdered by their son and one of his friends.

This morning when I came downstairs for breakfast, my dad slides the Strib over to me and asks me if I know that they arrested another kid involved with the murder; which in itself was strange because he didn’t know that I knew anything about it.

So I looked. The headline said “3rd teen is held in Hastings slayings”; and there were the pictures of three teenage boys.

The third face was familiar.

Oh, yeah, I recognized it. It was a face of a boy I had gone to kindergarten and 1st grade with. I checked the name to be sure. Jamie Patton? Yup. I practically had a fit on my dad, who was still a little skeptical. *sigh*. Okay. Turn the page. Skim through it a little ways. Here we go, the proof I was looking for: “…attended Calvin Christian School…” The school I went to in said grades. Oh. My. God.

How would it feel to wake up one morning to find that a little boy that you had ridden to school with, played games with, went to Dairy Queen with, that you haven’t heard from ever since you switched schools — is involved in a murder conspiracy? It would feel like a little piece of your world had just crumbled and hit the ground. Sheol! The year our school had Noah and the Ark as the school play, he and I were the two zebras together!! We were pretty close, especially considering that boys have cooties!

I know I’m not very closely connected at all, but at one time, he was a part of my life. I kinda wish I could’ve talked to him before this whole situation ever took place, if only just to find out what he’d been doing with his life before he basically chucked it out the window. I guess I’m a little confused but no one’s going to give me an explanation. Not that I really need one, money was involved, after all. Would he even remember me?

Today I dug out my sheet of kindergarten pictures, and there’s his picture, right next to mine.

Murderer? You wouldn’t think so.

I'd heard a couple of comments at work today about an incident last week where some Vikings players had acted in an unsavory manner on some charter boats on Lake Minnetonka. In this community we're all too used to reports of drunken driving, assaults and unruly behavior in public with this club so the context of the comments today were along the lines of what "our" chuckleheads had gotten themselves into now.

Driving home from work, however, I heard for the first time details of what allegedly had happened as KFAN host Dan Barreiro interviewed an attorney representing the charter boat service. This was much more detailed and explicit than what had been reported so far. The gist of it was that Viking players (not necessarily the team itself) had chartered two boats and arrived at the dock in a parade of limos. A number of women accompanied the players and once out on the lake there was some disrobing and lap dancing. This evolved into several of the players engaging in sex acts with the women in the public areas of the boat and in view of other players and the crew of the boats. Money was seen changing hands. The crew included young waitresses who were themselves accosted, offered money to participate and teased by these players and their "dates". The situation was reportedly very frightening to the crew, staff and captains who consulted with ownership on the radio and decided to return to shore. They were concerned with having to deal with many large, unhappy men so they didn't tell the group they were returning. Because several of the players were also in the control rooms of the boats the captains (young men between 25 and 30 years old) were afraid to give too many details to ownership about what was going on. The limos had remained at the dock so the charter boat owners organized these for a quick pick up and there weren't any reported incidents when the boats returned. Some of the players apologized for their teammates actions.

There's certainly a lot to be outraged about in the world today (especially considering the Mall Diva's post above this one), but for some reason this situation especially turned my crank. That maybe doesn't say a lot about my priorities when there are so many things of national and international importance to comment on, but I've just got to let it fly on this incident.

It may be because I can picture myself being the father of one of those waitresses (hmmm, but not of the other "ladies") and I can imagine how scary it could be to be trapped in that charged atmosphere. I can also easily imagine the concerns of the captains knowing they were navigating at night on deep water with a group of very large, very strong and unruly men who might not be in a mood to be reasonable. The possibility that they were overreacting - and that the attorney was overplaying the scenario - exists, but it doesn't sound that far-fetched to me. And I think this behavior has reached a tipping point - for the franchise and possibly for sports in general as this becomes (I predict) a national story in the coming days.

New Vikings owner Zygi Wilf has to take immediate and dramatic action — not to save this season, but to save this franchise and his investment. The players — whether on an officially sanctioned team event or not — have shown no accountability or concern for the public. A public, by the way, that they are expecting to come up with tons of money to build them a new stadium. (Perhaps we ought to consider building another prison instead.) Given this team's history, ranging from Tommy Kramer and other drunks terrorizing the 494 strip in the 80s up through the infamous Artic Blast event and including the domestic incidents and street-fighting of even more recent vintage, Mr. Wilf needs to put a strong and undeniable stamp on his professed committment to making this a class organization.

There were reportedly as many as 17 of the players involved in this incredibly inappropriate public display. There are 12 weeks left in this season. Mr. Wilf needs to announce that beginning this week two or three players from this group will begin serving two-game suspensions without pay for conduct detrimental to the team and the entire organization, and that these rolling suspensions will continue until every player involved has been suspended. Forget whether or not any of these actions can be proved to be criminal; this isn't a time for technicalities. These actions in and of themselves have a negative impact on a multi-million dollar operation and its standing and goodwill in the community, and this is the perfect opportunity to demand accountability and establish that things are going to be different. If the team loses, so be it. Mr. Wilf has indicated that his is a long-term view and he wants to operate it in a way that makes his family proud.

Do it, Mr. Wilf, and make us proud at the same time.

18 years ago today I woke up alone. Even my dog, faithful companion of 11 years, was already encamped at someone else's house and I had the misty, overcast morning entirely to myself. I took a few moments to listen to the familiar sounds of my house that I knew could never again sound quite the same. I knew there was activity already set in motion in homes and hotel rooms around the city as those near and dear to me took on their assigned tasks or chosen activities. I had a list of my own, but took the time to reflect on what was also being set in motion in the spirit. In a few more short hours I would be married.

The past 18 months had been a time of constant changes for me in almost every area; emotionally, occupationally, spiritually. Some of these steps I had (I thought) initiated myself in deciding how I wanted to live. My noble selfishness wouldn't have taken me very far, however, and then this other person came into my life. I had a job where I could buy graphic design services. Unknown to me, a lovely woman was just getting started in her own graphic design business. Her pastor asked another member of their congregation, a man who sold high-end commercial printing, to give this young lady a list of names of prospective clients. Though I had never met this man, or even purchased printing from his company, my name was at the top of the list of ten people that he gave to the woman. Of those, I was the only person she called who agreed to meet with her. And my motive was more to pick the brain of someone starting a business since I was considering doing that myself. The rest, as they say, is history - and her story, too (which would make for some damn funny reading) - and the details of a very unlikely courtship which would take several postings to explain, but I'm not going to do that now.

That gray morning, however, I found it easy to imagine myself on a distant mountain top, standing under the interested eye of a watchful God, for the last time being scrutinized as an individual entity, my past packed lumpy and heavy into an ungainly backpack that constantly threatened my balance. By God's grace I had made it that far, in that moment realizing that my position was only a vantage point and not the end of a climb.

I breathed deep of the rarefied air, heady with the scent of the unknown. Did something, perhaps, stir in that backpack as I slowly lowered it from my shoulders? Did a plaintive voice mew a last appeal? I cannot say, for my spirit leapt away like a balloon no longer tethered as the pack crunched into the dirt behind me.

My spirit free, and of my free will, I left that place to go to where the people who loved me, and whom I loved, waited. The long drive down from the north to the church put miles between me and what once was.

In the last 18 years I have lived in the bounty of a loving God, manifested in a loving wife and every miracle of life supplied in abundance. Never has an hour passed that I have wished for it to be any other way.

Happy anniversary, my love.

When I heard the news of President Bush's latest nominee for the Supreme Court the other day my initial reaction was much like Fozzie Bear's famous "AAH-ah" of discovery: surprised, interested and a bit uncertain. I've sat back and tried to process my thoughts and predictions as just about every other blog I've read has jumped on one side or the other as to whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. Even after a few days of this I'm still, like Fozzie, a bit wide-eyed.

Here's the thing for me: I'm politically and socially conservative, and most of my close friends and family vote the Constitution Party. Having been quite involved in Minnesota Republican politics some years ago, I have long since overcome any illusion that there was any real difference between Republicans and Democrats when it came to fiscal sanity. For all the supposed rhetorical differences, each party in practice is pretty much the same when you look at the results. Socially there was a big difference between Bush and Kerry, but I probably would have gone ahead and cast a protest vote for the Constitution Party candidate, Michael Peroutka, but for one, over-riding reason: the Supreme Court.

Given Bush's track record of judicial nominees in his first term, I really wanted him - and our country - to have a chance to put conservative constructionists on the Supreme Court for the next 30 years. When the first opening arrived and he nominated John Roberts I was almost giddy - something I haven't felt when it comes to politics in a long time. I was blown away at Bush's political masterstroke in distracting his opposition while coming up with, almost out of the blue, a bulletproof heavyweight. The Dems knew they couldn't touch him, but it was fun to watch clowns like Joe Biden blunt their pointy little heads on Roberts' Kevlar fashioned from experience, scholarship and gravitas.

I thought the only question with the second nomination would be whether Bush choose to go into battle with one of the leading candidates already out there drawing fire, or whether his team had another overwhelming powerhouse like Roberts waiting in the wings to wheel onto the field.

Consider me underwhelmed.

There are definitely things about Harriet Miers that I like and make me feel hopeful, and I can't - as you may have noticed over the past few days - work up the righteous indignation of so many other bloggers and pundits regarding her nomination. At the same time I can't help but feel more than a bit wistful at an opportunity lost.

It was kind of like waiting for the NFL draft when your favorite team has a top pick. You spend months reading scouting reports, listening to Mel Kiper and the wannabees, imaging this blue-chip player or that coming in to plug a hole on your team. Then, on draft day, Paul Tagliabue steps up when it's your team's turn and says, "From Slippery Rock State ..."

Hey, maybe the kid has 4.2 speed in the 40, great hands and eats linebackers for lunch, but you still don't know if he can play in NFL. Someone high up must have seen something in him, but you can't help yourself from thinking, "Is that the best we could do with that pick right now? Maybe he would have been available next round after you've already drafted the stud from the national championship team."

Blogfather Hugh couldn't ease my concerns completely, and the President's "Trust me" statement wasn't what I was hoping to hear, either. While he hasn't inspired my confidence in areas such as immigration and spending (where I had low expectations going in anyway), I will say that his judicial appointments throughout his time in office have been more than solid.

So, back to my Muppet analogy, perhaps my hopes have been abused and my support manipulated by unseen hands. My options are limited, however. It's not going to do any good for me to go all Animal right now or to act like the karate-chopping Miss Piggy - or even to heckle from the balcony like Waldorf and Astoria. I'll just be Fozzie; a bit dim, I guess, but always optimistic that things are going to turn out alright. I just hope that this isn't a re-run.

Here's an old joke:

A Protestant pastor is attending a conference in Ireland when he decides to use some free time to drive through the countryside. It's a lovely day and he's enjoying the beautiful scenery and accidentally drifts over the center line and strikes an oncoming car.

The pastor is shaken but okay, and is surprised to see that the driver getting out of the other car is a Catholic priest. The priest says, "Faith and begorrah, are you all right, Reverend?" (What's a joke without a little stereotyping?)

"Why, thank the Lord, yes I am," said the pastor. "Are you all right, Father?"

"Yes, quite," said the priest, "but looking into your eyes it seems you are still a bit shaken."

"I suppose I am," admitted the pastor.

"I have just the thing," said the priest, returning to his car and bringing a flask out of his glove compartment. He gives it to the pastor who sips it appreciatively.

"I'm so sorry," says the pastor. "I was enjoying your lovely countryside and I must not have been paying attention. I'm so glad you're not hurt."

"It's quite all right," said the priest. "It is a lovely view, and I often find my own mind wandering when I drive past here. The cars can both be repaired, the important thing is we're both unhurt."

"Well said, Father," said the pastor, taking another sip from the flask. "Isn't it amazing, here we are two members of different religions, sitting here on the side of the road after an accident, peacefully considering each other's health instead of fighting. In fact," he said, "here's to your health!" taking another sip and passing the flask back to the priest. "Won't you join me?"

"Oh, no thank you, Reverend," the priest said. "I think I'll wait until after the police arrive."

George Bush says to trust him regarding Harriet Miers. Ehhh, maybe. But trust Harry Reid?

I've posted several times with updates on the risk of an avian flu pandemic. My goal has been to promote awareness, not panic, and I hope regular readers have found these to be informative. I know my efforts have had nothing to do with it, but the MSM is starting to pay more attention to a possible avian flu outbreak. Today's StarTribune picked up an article from the New York Times reporting that scientists have reconstructed the 1918 Spanish Flu virus and determined that it was a bird flu strain. Experts have long thought this to be the case, but this finding confirms that and will help in the process of developing an effective vaccine.

No, I'm not about to start stamping about on Doug's turf, but I noticed this story in today's New York Times (free registration required). Apparently there is such a glut of French wine in the market that some quality wines are selling in supermarkets in that country for less than the cost of bottled water. To survive, French vintners are converting 150 million liters of the country's Appellation d'Origine Controlée into ethanol to be used in gasoline.

The article cites a few reasons for this overabundance, including a crackdown on drunken driving in France, but finally gets around to this:

Mr. Gibelin's exports to the United States are a tenth of what they were a few years ago, thanks to a strong euro and, to some extent, he says, to the American boycott of French products that followed France's refusal to support the invasion of Iraq (his biggest market was in Texas).

France may yet have the last laugh, however:

Because France exports gasoline and one of its biggest markets is the United States, by sometime next year, some Americans may be pumping their cars full of gas that includes a bit of Chardonnay or Pinot Noir.

I guess that soon I won't have to check just the octane rating but the vintage as well when I fill my car. With a particularly bad year it might be fun spill the gas on the ground and complain to the attendant, "You call this gasoline? Why, I wouldn't serve this to my lawn mower!"

I don't want to trespass on King's turf either, so I'll leave it to him to evaluate the effectiveness of the EU's response:

Whatever its cause, the glut has led to ruinous price declines. A bottle of modest Côtes-du-Rhône that used to sell wholesale for about 1.20 euros, or about $1.40, sells today for 60 centimes, about 70 cents. Even bottles of fancier Saint-Émilion are going for under 3 euros apiece.

To prevent the problem from growing, the European Union has kept the acreage devoted to vineyards in Europe fixed for the last five years. There are even subsidies available for people who agree to tear up their vineyards rather than keep producing bad wine, known in Europe as plonk. France's state wine regulator, the National Inter-Professional Wine Bureau, has also been buying up vineyard rights - in effect, licenses to make wine - and taking them off the market.

June 14, 2005:

McCombs, speaking on a conference call from his San Antonio office, reminded reporters that all the offseason moves made by Minnesota were completed under his watch. After adding at least five new starters on defense, the Vikings could be a legitimate Super Bowl contender.

"To me, this year — this will be my team, regardless of the fact that we're totally out of ownership," he said. "It's obvious that we were involved in putting this team together."

Red,

Most of us Vikings fans snorted back in June at your all-too-typical attempt to wring another windfall out of your stint as Vikings owner. We knew the only reason the new free agent acquisitions were made was because you already had Reggie Fowler's $20 million non-refundable deposit safely tucked into an empty Folger's can and buried in a secret location on your ranch. As if that weren't enough, you tried to arrange it so that all the signing bonuses for the new guys wouldn't be paid until after the team was sold so as not to depreciate your $400 million profit.

You are, after all, the guy who wouldn't even pay to have the central air-conditioning at the club's headquarters repaired. And I wouldn't be surprised to find out you smuggled your own peanuts into your owner's suite at the Dome so you wouldn't have to pay those high catering prices.

Nor were we shocked that when it it was time to replace Denny Green you embarked on an exhaustive, 16-hour search of possible candidates before settling on Mike Tice, the team's offensive line coach. Tice did have one important credential, however: he was so gosh-darn excited by the opportunity to be a head coach — despite never having even been a coordinator — that he was willing to work for about one-third the going rate for NFL head-coaches. It was a match made, not in heaven, but at Sam's Club.

For the past three seasons as the team has struggled under your ownership it was hard to tell how much of the problem was coaching and how much of it was a lack of skilled players across the roster. Of course, it didn't help that you savored the bouquet of all those dollars you saved by staying well under the salary cap each year the way some rich folks covet a fine cognac.

But, oh, the promise of this year! Fans were overlooking, however, that your actions let Tice limp into this season as the lamest of ducks. Therefore, once Scott Linehan found out he could make nearly as much money being the coordinator for the Dolphins as Tice would make as head coach, it was impossible to attract a promising offensive-coordinator for what might be a one-year (low-paying) job. Undiscouraged, you left no stone unturned in the Winter Park parking lot in another exhaustive search and found yet another offensive line coach already under contract. Not only was he willing to take the new responsibility, but he'd keep his old job, too. I bet you loved that two-fer.

It's not that Coach Tice doesn't have some positive attributes. He's much more charming and forthright than Denny Green, and while his efforts to motivate his players were mostly ham-handed, he seemed to know a bit about the game and it was hard not to root for the big lug. And, yeah the team has had injuries and played some tough teams so far. But I've got to draw the line on a guy who said repeatedly, "This is my team. This is the team I built," and who now says "We're still trying to find our identity." Finding this team's identity ought to be as easy for him as finding his own backside with one hand; instead it's looking like a game of two-handed blind man's bluff.

Red, with your used car selling background you know better than anyone else that you get what you pay for. The irony in this situation is that this is the team that you got paid for, but you were absolutely right back in June. It's your team, Red. You've earned it.

From the Washington Times:

President Bush said yesterday that he was concerned about the potential for an avian flu outbreak and suggested empowering the Pentagon to quarantine parts of the nation should they become infected.

"If we had an outbreak somewhere in the United States, do we not then quarantine that part of the country, and how do you then enforce a quarantine?" he said during a Rose Garden press conference.

"It's one thing to shut down airplanes; it's another thing to prevent people from coming in to get exposed to the avian flu," he added. "And who best to be able to effect a quarantine? One option is the use of a military that's able to plan and move."

... That would entail removing governors from the decision-making process and vesting more power in Mr. Bush. Yesterday, he acknowledged that the plan is not universally popular.

"Some governors didn't like it; I understand that," the former Texas governor said. "I didn't want the president telling me how to be the commander in chief of the Texas Guard.

"But Congress needs to take a look at circumstances that may need to vest the capacity of the president to move beyond that debate," he added. "And one such catastrophe, or one such challenge, could be an avian flu outbreak."

... Mr. Bush said he has been spending a lot of time investigating preparedness for a devastating pandemic. During his remarks yesterday, he sought to raise awareness without causing undue alarm.

"I'm not predicting an outbreak; I'm just suggesting to you that we better be thinking about it, and we are," he said. "We're more than thinking about it; we're trying to put plans in place."

So, how are you feeling?

Jeff at Peace Like a River had an account the other day of a Pentagon briefing where Donald Rumsfeld openly speculated on the types of questions Al Qaida leadership might face from a similar press corps (if the Arab world actually allowed such a thing). Using Rumsfeld's questions (in italics, below) I imagined the following scene:

(Setting: a subterranean cavern. The hum of generators powering the lights for TV cameras neutralizes the echoes of the voices of the press corps as they await the briefing. At one end of the cavern a man emerges from behind a tapestry, and approaches a lectern already set up. He is flanked by three guards. He is the senior minister of military activity for Al Qaida.)

Minister: Thank you all for coming today. Our illustrious leader, Osama bin Ladin, sends you greetings from his undisclosed location. He has asked me to speak to you today to brief you on the most exceptional progress of our war against the Great Satans of the West and our impending, glorious victory.

We are making progress. We are winning. Our enemies cower in hiding, afraid to venture outside their compounds. Their media daily broadcast the news of their defeats and the numbers of their killed and wounded. Weekly the people in America take to the streets by the millions calling for their soldiers to surrender. Our own people are so inspired by our cause that now even women and children are being pressed...I mean, are volunteering to be martyrs. As for our own leaders, the jihad is going so well that they have been permitted to take vacations in order to rest up for our final victory, so don't be concerned if you don't see some of them around. I am now permitted, ensha'allah, to take a few questions.

Reporter: Minister, it appears your insurgency has failed to stop millions of Afghans and Iraqis from voting in free and relatively orderly elections. Could you explain how this advances your cause?

Minister: (turns to one guard and whispers; the guard takes out a notebook and writes briefly) Those were not elections. In fact, we encouraged our brothers to take to the streets en masse to show that they are not afraid of the terroristic actions of the imperialists swine. And, of course, they did so with smiles on their faces.

Reporter: Yes, but we have reports that even the Iraqi Sunnis, who are supposedly the natural allies of the insurgents, have chosen, albeit belatedly, to energetically embrace the political process, registering in large numbers.

Minister: Look, who are you going to believe - me, or your lying eyes, for as ever long as they remain in your head? Next question. Yes, you from Islamic Week.

Reporter: Minister, can you tell us why the insurgency has failed to prevent nearly 200,000 and some 75,000 Afghans — 200,000 Iraqis and some 75,000 Afghanis — I think it's technically 194,000 Iraqis — from joining the Afghan and Iraqi security forces, despite their very best efforts at intimidation to prevent them from joining those forces? Or why the vast majority of Afghans and Iraqis have rejected twisted ideology and, instead, are supporting efforts to build new societies? Or how you expect to succeed militarily when you cannot rely on sanctuaries in places like Fallujah or Najaf or Tall Afar to plan operations and to train recruits?

Minister: (menacingly) "Look, don't get stuck on stupid." (Guard writes again in notebook.)

Reporter: Um, uh, so do you have an exit strategy?

Minister: An excellent question. (Turning to a guard) Hassan, will you help our friend here exit the room? Take him down to our new media center where I can, um, explain things more personally.

Now then, I'd like to take some questions from bloggers. Any bloggers here? (A few hands go up. Guards immediately descend and remove those who raised their hands). I'm sorry, I meant to say, "I have a few questions for bloggers." Pardon my slip. Are there any other questions?

No? Well then, thank you all again for coming. We have arranged special transportation for each of you to get you safely home. A number of cars are waiting for you outside this complex; please take them back to your cities.

Oh, one piece of advice: no smoking.

Kind of a weird experience today. This morning I read about the Aussies who won the Nobel Prize for their work in determining that ulcers are caused by bacteria and not by stress or lifestlye. Later in the day, while looking for something else, I came across the Eye of Science web site, that had picture of the very virus in question, magnified 9,000 times.

Bakteria: Helicobacter pylori
Colored scanning electron micrograph (SEM). This pathogen of chronically active gastritis and intestinal ulcers was discovered in 1983. The bacteria are wound in a spiral shape and possess up to 7 flagella. H. pylori populates the mucosa of the human stomach exclusively. It is diagnosed by a stomach biopsy or a Urea Breath Test. Treatment of the infection involves the administration of anti-microbial substances combined with bismuth salt over the course of 14 days. Transmission of the infection seems to take place by mouth to mouth contact. Magnification 9.000 X

Beauty, eh? This is a super-cool site, subtitled "life in a microcosmic world", that features images of tiny to microscopic bacteria, flora and fauna. Browse their galleries or visit their online store for posters and books of these images which include butterfly wings, a tick, a fruit fly, E coli bacteria and several others - 10,000 times larger than life and in brilliant color. As I said, cool!

(HT: Z + Partners Blog,.)

No alchohol. No strippers. And no mercy. What a party!

Imminent newlywed Cedric over at Cedric's Blog-0-Rama just had a day-long bachelor party that covered multiple locations and events and involved several costume changes and much public humiliation. (With friends like these, who needs nightmares?)

From his account, however, Cedric appears to have enjoyed every minute and I'd have to say his friends probably did him a great service in preparing him for marriage. After all he's already endured, marriage will be easy.

Intrusive in-laws? No problem! 2 a.m. baby feedings? Piece of cake! Cold feet on your backside? Refreshing! Trip to the store for feminine hygiene products? Smiling all the way!

You know, these guys might be on to something.

You can keep up with the more typical daily adventures of this mild-mannered illustrator here.

For those of us who think we have a biblical worldview, it can be both shocking and stimulating to learn there are areas in our lives where our thinking and what we assume to be true is really based on humanism. A "Worldview Weekend", sponsored by a group by the same name, can be challenging and entertaining way to examine our own thinking and learn how to be more effective in understanding, living and communicating Christian values.

These weekends are held all around the country throughout the year, and one is coming to North Heights Lutheran Church in Arden Hills, Minnesota, in just a couple of weeks: Friday night, October 14 and Saturday, October 15.

A flyer for the event has the following description:

This is a power-packed weekend featuring some of themost gifted biblical teachers and communicators of our time. Starting on Friday night and ending Saturday afternoon, this weekend is fast paced, energetic and non-stop training on how to see the world through the lens of the Bible. There are nine sessions in a Worldview Weekend of which six are general sessions for both adults and students and three are breakout sessions for students and three are sessions in the main auditorium for adults....

...This weekend is for any student or adult that has the desire to think and live like a Christian in an increasingly anti-Christian culture. This weekend is for any skeptic or critic that wants to investigate the truth claims of Jesus Christ and the validity of Christianity.

(Emphasis mine.)

The event is headlined by Ray Comfort and actor Kirk Cameron. I've read a few of Comfort's books, listened to one of his tape series and seen him in person, and he is very dynamic and will have you laughing and thinking in no time. It appears as if the various sessions will focus not just on the spiritual life but on politics, the media and academia as well. I've not been to one of these weekends before, but I've read materials from them and they are excellent. You can get more information about the Twin Cities event here (scroll down to the Minneapolis/St. Paul info). There is a cost of $45 for adults and $35 for students, but there is a family plan where if you buy three tickets you get a fourth one free.