“Marxism is the opium of the intellectuals.”

- Edmund Wilson

I just read an article about a study that shows religion is good for kids:

"John Bartkowski, a Mississippi State University sociologist, and his colleagues asked parents and teachers of more than 16,000 kids, most of them first-graders, to rate how much self-control they believed the kids had, how often they exhibited poor or unhappy behavior and how well they respected and worked with their peers."

I stopped reading after a couple of paragraphs just to throw in my un-biased 2 cents worth of pre-conceived notions. First of all, I think that the word "religion" is sort of a cop-out for people who don't feel that they need The Relationship. Religion is just the kind of nicey-nice safe sounding generalization that one can throw into a conversation to make themselves feel like a good person while sneakily getting away with not really beieving in anything. It's also kind of similar to how people use the word "spiritual" or "spirituality". Sure, one can claim an experience as "religious" or "spiritual" and then write it off, thinking that they've done their duty or filled their goodness quota; but if it never reached their heart or renewed their mind or made them strive after reconciliation with the One who gave them life- what is it good for? That's right- absolutely nothing. Onward...

"The researchers compared these scores to how frequently the children's parents said they attended worship services, talked about religion with their child and argued about religion in the home. The kids whose parents regualarly attended religious services — especially when both parents did so frequently — and talked with their kids about religion were rated by both parents and teachers as having better self-control, social skills and approaches to learning than kids with non-religious parents."

I think it comes down to faith. The "religious" parents believe in something, and put that faith into action by going to church with their families (and hopefully not just attending, but actually getting involved somehow) and also discussing what it is that they're learning, and how it applies to their lives.

These parents realize that there is something bigger than themselves in this world, that they are not the be all and end all, that they are being held responsible for their actions, and that they had better live accordingly. If this is indeed what they believe, than a big part of the actions they are responsible for are their children. In the case of my own parents with me and my sister, they are responsible to "raise us up in the way we should go...", ultimately teaching us that there is Someone bigger than us, that we are not our own, that we are on this earth for a purpose (not our own purposes), and that we, too, are being held responsible for our actions. We are ultimately here to glorify the Lord, not ourselves. It might not sound appealing, but I have seen examples of both, and I know Who I would rather glorify.

Are the non-religious parents giving their kids anything to live for — besides themselves? I'm not saying they don't want what's best for their kids, but what do they really have that they can give them? Money can't buy love or salvation. Maybe they let their kids do anything they want. Sure, it sounds like more fun — and it probably is; but only for a little while. There is nothing fulfilling or satisfying about living for yourself. I know that lots of people trick themselves into thinking there is, while turning a blind eye to the wretched emptiness of their own soul.

At this point you might be wondering what this has to do with the study at all. Actually, it's everything. What I believe in has an effect on every single thing in my life, from my attitude and my friends to my grades and habits. I am definitely not perfect in any way, shape or form; but why try for something impossible? I would rather strive for excellence — which I know is attainable — in my job, in school, and in my life.

"Luke, I am your father." But what if you are Luke Warm and not Luke Skywalker? For clues, go to Solid Rocks Ministry.

This morning I trimmed my beard, and apparently some of the hairs escaped both the newspaper I placed over the sink and notice by my presbyopic eyes. A short while later the Reverend Mother gently chided me for leaving a hairy sink. "Face it," she said good-naturedly, "you're a slob."

"Be precise," I said. "I'm a hairy slob."

"Ok," she said, "to be precise, you're a big, hairy slob."

"Still not quite there," I said. "I'm your big, hairy slob."

"Yes, you're my big, hairy slob."

And what can be better than that?

Princess Flickerfeather tagged me for this meme, so here goes.

Thursday night I was giving Uncle Ben a ride home to the monastery after a fairly successful trivia challenge evening at Keegan's (one first-place victory and a finish just one point out of the money in another). We drove past a night club that had a huge line of young people waiting to get inside. Suddenly, we were assaulted.

Standing in one group was a blonde Valkyrie with her back toward us. Ben estimated her at 240 pounds. She was "clad" in a plaid mini-skirt that might have been modest on Renee Zellweger, but was more of a sash on Brunhilde as it did an inadequate job of covering her thong - or anything else. Ben was thinking cottage cheese, but I think a more apt description would be a topographical map of the, er, moon.

Now I know the proper response to such an exposure is to look away, and believe me, we did. We looked away so firmly that I think my car almost jumped the curb and hit a streetlight. I also know there are many forms of beauty and appreciation for such (when in the proper context), and I try hard to refrain from making judgments about people based on their physical appearance (comely or otherwise), but such a deliberate "in-your-face" display suggests a certain aggressive, anti-social attitude. I don't know what she was thinking, but I don't imagine it was nice.

I'm telling you, the streets aren't safe.

I've made passing mention here a couple of times that I used to be a scoreboard operator at the Metrodome, working games for the Twins, Vikings and Gophers as well as working the odd (some odder than others) concert, tractor-pull or pro-wrasslin' match. I only mentioned it before to add context to whatever else I was writing about at the time, figuring some time I'd get around to dedicating a post to the experience and offering a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes at major sporting events. I don't know that there's ever a perfect time to write something like that, but an e-mailer did ask for more Dome details the other day, so here goes.

Back in early 1982 I was an over-extended single guy looking for a part-time job to supplement my income, but I didn't want to work at McDonald's or someplace where someone I knew might see me. Perusing the want ads one day I saw an ad that went something like this: "Part-time opportunity, evenings and week-ends. Must be knowledgeable about football and baseball, able to type 50+ wpm and not afraid to perform in front of large crowds. For more info contact..." There was no mention of what the job was, and I almost dismissed it. The more I thought about it, though, I realized that there wasn't anything in the ad that didn't apply to me...even the large crowds thing. I applied, was interviewed, given a typing test and, obviously, hired.

There were 8 scoreboard operators plus Dick Davis from the Metropolitan Sports Commission who was in charge of the scoreboard and us. We were divided into two four-person teams and I was the only person who wasn't a school teacher; six of the others, in fact, where coaches or had experience coaching as well. The system was all computer operated (though our first computers were very large and almost primitive) and there was a minor stink in the Strib before the season started because the new computerized system meant replacing the old groundskeepers from the Met who had been hanging the signs for the old board. Whatever.

The two crews alternated games, and within the crews we rotated through the four scoreboard positions on a game-by-game basis. Originally the job required someone to register balls, strikes, runs and the line score; someone to type in and display advertising and other messages during the course of the game; someone to keep track of and update out of town games; and someone to operate the sole video camera, perched on the second-deck fascia above third base. Unless the game was televised (and a lot of Twins games then weren't) this was the stadium's replay camera, beaming images to the black and white (black and yellow, actually) board, to be displayed through thousands of lightbulbs ("fuzz-dots" we called 'em). Resolution wasn't very good, but you could see things well enough to recognize yourself if a crowd shot was put on the board.

The first balls & strikes console was a twitchy piece of dreck that didn't have all the bugs worked out. Often you'd push the button for a ball or strike and it would delay the display long enough that you'd think it hadn't registered the input, so you'd push again - only to see double strikes or balls suddenly go up. Push the button too hard to ensure it was registered and the same thing could happen. This was very frustrating to the operators and to the people in the press box, who were always looking for something to criticize.

Sid Hartman, the grand old man of Minnesota sportswriting, was especially incensed by this type of malfunction. The press box was immediately outside the door of our room and any time a "double-clutch" occurred he'd jump up and storm in to announce that the count was wrong, as if we didn't know it. I was working the out-of-town board one evening when Sid made about six trips into our "office". When another glitch occurred he was on his way in again. I happened to be standing by the door, however, so I innocently turned my back to it as if to look over the shoulder of the guy working the message board, while casually flipping the door lock into place. There was much door rattling and cursing; muffled as it was by our air-conditioned booth, but I think I did hear mentions of my parentage and my own capability to ever father children, but he finally went away and didn't come back the rest of the game.

That was actually kind of a fun memory. One of my worst moments, however, came before a game against the Blue Jays. Tony Kubek had recently been demoted from the "Game of the Week" and was working the back-up GOTW. He was also the main broadcaster for the Jays, which I didn't know at the time. Anyway, I'm walking through the press box and here comes Tony Kubek! I say, with some amazement, "Hey, Tony Kubek!" He smiles. I then blurt, "Are we the back-up game today?" I wasn't trying to bust his chops; I was just surprised that the Twins of that era might be considered for a national broadcast (even if as a back-up). Mr. Kubek was not pleased. Dick Davis, however, witnessed the scene and thought it was one of the funniest things he'd ever seen and would never let me forget it, especially any time Kubek returned to the Dome.

There were other hero-sightings as well. In the early days we actually had to go down to the locker rooms to get the lineups, which were posted on a corkboard in the home and visitor clubhouses. I remember that Reggie Jackson, in boxers, tank-top and beat-up flip-flops, looked really old and that his calves seemed impossibly skinny. Ted Simmons wearing nothing but a jock is not a sight I'd wish on anyone. Another time I was writing down the visiting lineup, my piece of paper pressed against the wall under the corkboard. I finished and turned around to leave - and almost hit Sparky Anderson in the nose with my elbow. He'd walked up behind me and was eating a bowl of vegetable soup and watching me write down the lineup, or was perhaps just pondering making a change, and I'd never heard him approach. At least he laughed about it.

Another time I got the hairy eyeball from Don Drysdale when the White Sox were in town. He was standing in the back of the press box eating a hot dog when I came out of the scoreboard room about 20 feet from him. All of a sudden a fan in the row in front of the press box reached over the divider and grabbed my shoulder, shoved a baseball at me and said, "Hey, buddy - get Drysdale's autograph for me." It happened so quickly that I just obeyed, somewhat stupefied. I approached DD with the ball (he was close enough to hear what was going on) and he glared at me but took the ball and signed it (later I'd hear from others what a tough autograph he was). I barely got a "thanks" from the guy who gave me the ball. I should have kept it.

In addition to working World Series and ALCS games and an All Star game I also had the privilege of working Scott Erickson's no-hitter and I got paid to see Dave Winfield's and Eddie Murray's 3,000th hits. I was also there the night Dave Kingman hit a monstrous foul ball straight up that never came down. The ball went into one of the holes stitched into the underlining of the Dome roof and disappeared. The funniest thing was all the Twins infielders (including shortstop Houston Jiminez - all 5' 3" inches of him) gathered in the middle of the infield, looking up at the roof in the hopes of fielding the pop-up. As the seconds went by, though, they started to get really nervous. All of a sudden they all simultaneously ducked and scattered in different directions expecting to be struck by the phantom ball that was never there. The next day someone in the Twins front office got the bright idea that before the first pitch of the game they'd have someone drop a ball from the ceiling and Mickey Hatcher would catch it and the umpire would call "Out". Someone got up on the catwalk, Mickey and the ump positioned themselves near home plate, and the ball was dropped - by the guy above and by the guy with the glove.

One of my all-time favorite memories, however, came when I was working the camera back in the fuzz-dot days and doing crowd shots between innings. As I panned over a boy that was about 10 years old he saw he was on the board and then thought it would be funny to flip me off. Dick was in my headset saying, "Get off him! Get off him!" but I said, "No, just stick with me here" and I zoomed in on the kid, who immediately got very shy and embarrassed. He walked over a few seats and sat down low, trying to get out of sight. He looked up at the board and saw he was still up there. He slunk down even further and moved over several more seats, and I again followed him. By this time the crowd was laughing so the kid got up and ran up the stairs to the concourse. About that time the inning was beginning and Dick said, "OK, back to the game" but I suggested he take the camera shot off the board but to stay with me. He agreed and sure enough, a few minutes later the kid stuck his head back in from the concourse and looked to see if the coast was clear. Seeing the line score on the board he stepped back into the aisle. "Now!" I said and Dick immediately put the camera shot back on the board — the crowd roared, the players on the field (I was told) started turning around trying to figure out what was going on, and the kid high-tailed it back out to the concourse and has probably never gone to a ballgame since.

The camera also helped me get published in Sports Illustrated! Back in the day when Bob Uecker was doing his "I must be in the front rooow" commercials for Miller Lite, the Brewers came to the Dome for a series. Ueck's commercials, if you recall, ended with him way out by himself in center field, hollering to the nearest guy, "Great seats, eh, buddy?" As the game went on I saw some guy sitting in the upper deck, center field, all by himself. I zoomed in on him (showing plenty of empty seats) and asked Dick through the headset, "Is that Bob Uecker?" He thought that was pretty funny so he told the guy working the message board to create a 1/3 board message with the words "Is that Bob Uecker?" to go alongside my camera shot. A couple of weeks later SI came out with a story about Ueck and the article started off by referring to my caption and camera shot from the Dome.

Well, those are some of the baseball memories. There's more I could write about some of the amazing things I did and saw at football games, tractor-pulls and the Pink Floyd and Rolling Stones concerts, but I'll save those for another time.

You all should be ashamed of yourselves. The Mall Diva comes out of blogging semi-seclusion to respond to a meme and then sits back in expectation of getting her customary 20+ comments...and gets just two. Now she's refusing to come out of the bathroom. Thanks a lot!

At least two of the people she tagged in the meme have responded: her sister, Tiger Lilly, and her best friend, Princess FlickerFeather. Their responses to the "All About Me, A to Z" meme are below under their names; click to open the results for each.

Leo at Pscymeistr's Ice Palace bestowed upon me a Thinking Blogger award last week, and since I've been so busy thinking and working (and only lightly blogging) I haven't had a chance to acknowledge his kind honor or carry on the meme by naming five other bloggers who's work makes me think. I think, therefore, it's high time to say "thanks" and "aw, shucks" to Leo. Your blog also makes me think — and usually my thoughts are "Amen!" You are both passionate and prolific and those are admirable qualities in a blogger.

Naming five other bloggers that make me think is kind of hard, not because there aren't worthy ones out there, but because so many of my favorite thinking blogs such as Port McClellan, Portia Rediscovered and Surly's Soap Box have all shut down recently. Like shark's teeth, however, when some wear out there are others ready to move up — and they're just as sharp. I have a comparatively short blogroll but everyone on it is well worth reading and have moved me on a regular basis with their wit, analysis or writing skill. In particular, though, I will point out five that are especially thoughtful or thought-provoking.

1. Jay Reding. I first stumbled onto Jay's blog shortly after I began blogging. If I had read him before then I may have been totally discouraged in my own abilities and never started. Jay provides articulate but concise analysis of the political and legal (funny how much those two intertwine) news of the day. I kind of miss the often intriguing Point/Counterpoint of his Comments section (and participated a few times) now that he's all but eliminated it, but like bugs to a zapper on a summer night, he was attracting too many insects driven by mindless instinct rather than intellect. Good move, Jay. That kind of thing can be amusing and even satisfying for a little while, but there are far too many other interesting things to do on a summer night than fry insects' brains.


2. Over at the Wide Awake Cafe, it's usually time to wake up and smell the coffee as proprietor Laura Lee Donoho serves up a stimulating blog. Her background in a military family and as an officer's wife brings a certain clarity and perspective, while her artistic skills and sensibility add cream and sugar. It's a great place to sit a spell and enjoy the genteel southern charm — but sometimes the crockery does fly!


3. Fireworks are usually on the agenda over at Amy Ridenour's National Center Blog. Crisp and to the point, Amy and her contributors hold forth on politics, global warming, the free market, individual liberty and personal responsibility. This site is a great source for blogging ideas and useful facts when you're feeling a little stale. Currently I'm appreciating the excerpts Amy is putting up from the National Center for Public Policy Research's book, Shattered Dreams: One Hundred Stories of Government Abuse.


4. Uncorrelated is a blog I discovered a few months ago and keeps me coming back to read Mick, Mark and Dave's take on national and international news and events — often from stories you're not seeing in the MSM. Their blog was about the only reliable source for details of the Trolley Square shooting in Salt Lake City last February (where an armed citizen an off-duty policeman, stopped a maniac who had already killed six people and was gunning for more). The guys have an ambitious and wide-ranging Categories list in the left sidebar that also makes for interesting browsing.


5. Half a World Away. As much as I like staying informed and reading good, witty analysis, my greatest joy in the blogosphere is coming across great writers, regardless of what they're writing about. Peter Kelley toiled for a number of years in high-powered business but has recently experienced a huge shift in his life, moving his young family to Amsterdam where he gets to share their discoveries and his own eye for detail and description with readers. This blog really makes me think ... about how much I wish I could have the experiences Peter is having!

One thing I've just realized about each of the blogs I've listed is that they're not really the kind of blogs given to memes such as this. If they want to participate, however, the rules are simple:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think; 2. Link to The Thinking Blog so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme; 3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' graphic!

One day last week a co-worker on maternity leave brought her new little daughter to the office for show and tell. There's a distinctive commotion when someone brings a baby into the workplace, marked by multiple, high-pitched cooings and cluckings. It's completely different from the sound of someone bringing doughnuts, for example.

Nevertheless, I looked out over the cubicle walls anyway and saw about a dozen female heads clustered together focusing on something in the midst of them, and I figured they weren't watching a football game. I walked over in time to see the mother hand the infant off to one of her friends who, within moments, began the distinctive side-to-side rocking motion adults do when holding a child. Not only that, but within minutes the entire cluster was swaying sympathetically as well, including myself. I'm sure it's a phenomenon we're all familiar with.

I remembered this little scene again on Sunday morning at church. After we began with praise and worship there was truly a sense of the presence of God in our midst and as I stood in the moment I found myself gently swaying side to side in the exact same way I had earlier in the week, and the recognition of that kind of startled me. I looked around the room and easily two-thirds of the congregation were also quietly swaying in the same way.

Something in us or passed on to us naturally makes us adults rock to comfort a baby that's hungry, scared or has made a mess. Just as naturally, something in us or passed on to us draws us, even as adults, when we are hungry, scared or have made a mess of things. Then God takes us in his arms, and the breath of His spirit goes "Shhh-shh-shhh, it's going to be all right." And it is.

Even though we were born on the same day in the same year, I don't have much interest in Alec Baldwin or his views. Hence I enjoyed a mild schadenfreude last Friday when I saw headlines about him leaving an angry voicemail for his 11-year-old daughter. It was kind of funny for him to find himself the target of all the Tsk-Tsking for a change.

I didn't have time to read the articles, though, so it wasn't until I was driving home and listening to Jason Lewis that I heard the recording of the conversation as well as the background that explained that Baldwin was upset because his daughter, who doesn't live with him, had developed the habit of not answering her phone for the pre-appointed phone calls that are part of his visitation rights and his efforts to parent from across the country. Given that understanding, I was more sympathetic to him as I listened to the tape and heard him venting the frustration, hurt and humiliation he was experiencing because of his daughter's behavior and thought that it didn't reflect well on her that she'd act that way and then even turn over the recording to the media.

"That's a child," I thought, "with issues." Not the least of which is being called a "selfish pig" by your father. I couldn't help but think about tape and the relationship after I got out of the car and it suddenly occurred to me that Baldwin's outburst, while initiated by his daughter, was all about how she had made him feel, what he had to put up, what efforts he had made and what he wasn't going to put with. In short, it was all about HIM, and I thought that selfishness perhaps runs in the family.

Not that my children haven't been the catalysts for some of my own tirades and that my own rants are known for their flawless reason and selfless eloquence, but it occurred to me that the things that have most upset me (and let me emphasize that there have been very few of these occasions) are times when they were inconsiderate of others or short-sighted in their actions. My concerns then were not in the offense that they may have done to me or to others (even if inadvertent) but in terms of the quality of their character and the potentially negative consequences they could experience as they grew up if their offense wasn't recognized and dealt with. Part and parcel of that has been to inculcate in them a second-nature awareness of how their words and actions affect others and how empathy is better than sympathy.

Last week the Fundamentals in Film class that I teach to teenage boys watched To Kill a Mockingbird, and our discussion during and after the movie was about courage, commitment to do what is right and the part that prejudice and preconceptions plays even today in events such as the Duke lacrosse case or even the shootings at Virginia Tech. Perhaps the greatest lesson, however, is Atticus' belief that you can't really know a person until you've walked around in his skin for a little bit; i.e., put yourself in that person's shoes and go for a little walk. Sociopaths like the Virginia Tech shooter (I won't even use his name, given his desire for notoriety) are completely wrapped up in themselves and their feelings and have not a whit's worth of concern or empathy for their victims and their families. Mass murder takes it to the extreme, but our own lack of awareness can also be devastating to others and (to be selfish) a source of great regret for ourselves later.

Empathy doesn't automatically excuse or justify another's actions, especially if they are heinous, but it can help us to understand them and to ponder our own shortcomings in a beneficial, not abusive, way. I empathize with Alec Baldwin, but I hope this experience and lesson (painful as it may be) ultimately has a positive effect on him and his daughter.

Miss America 1944, Venus Ramey, used her .38 pistol to shoot out the tires of a would-be thief trying to steal equipment from her Kentucky farm last week — even though she had to steady herself in her walker while doing so.

"I didn't even think twice. I just went and did it," she said. "If they'd even dared come close to me, they'd be 6 feet under by now."

Ramey was the first red-head to win the Miss America title and sold war bonds during World War II, and even had her image painted on the side of a B-17.

I think it might be interesting if Sen. Harry Reid were to explain himself to Ms. Ramey.

...Thank you very much for the meme, Mr. Carlson.

A- Available or Single?
Single, but if you ask my dad, I'm not available.

B- Best Friend.
Princess FlickerFeather

C- Cake or Pie.
Both.

D- Drink of Choice.
A medium light roast with a shot of vanilla.

E- Essential Item.
Umm.. All my beauty stuff. And my shoes.

F- Favorite Color.
I don't have one. I mean *just* one.

G- Gummi Bears or Worms.
Gummi candy? Give me chocolate!

H- Hometown.
S. St. Paul

I- Indulgence.
Bet you can't guess.

J- January or February.
February. Birthday parties and Valentine's Day! Oh wait, never mind.

K- Kids.
Hmmm...About kids. I generally like them, and I want my own, but I can't stand other people's ill-behaved little monsters.

L- Life is incomplete without…
God. And music. And chocolate. And shoes.

M- Marriage Date.
Who's marriage date? Next question.

N- Number of Siblings?
One crazy sister.

O- Oranges or Apples?
Pineapple.

P- Phobias/Fears.
Clowns. Graven images. And heights freak me out a little bit.

Q- Favorite Quote.
"True beauty lies within- But a little lipstick doesn't hurt, and you may as well put on some powder, stand up straight, and dazzle 'em while you're at it." ~Lillian Berg

R- Reasons to smile.
When I just cooked the best food ever and everybody liked it!!! Go, me!

S- Season.
Spring and Fall.

T- Tag Three.
Tiger Lilly, Princess FlickerFeather, and Strommie.

U- Unknown Fact About Me.
I've got a boyfriend....don't tell my dad (or Kevin!).

V– Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animals.
Oppressor. And I'm not sorry.

W- Worst Habit.
Bad habit? Me?

X– X-rays or Ultrasounds.
What kind of question is that?

Y- Your Favorite Foods.
I love Indian, Italian, Mexican, Chinese...etc..etc...

Z- Zodiac.
You're asking me my sign? Does that line really work?

O.k, this is weird.

My parakeet is normally very feisty (feisty here meaning: Put fingers into her cage, don't have fingers anymore.) But these past few weeks she's been even nastier. Yesterday, I found the reason.

I was sitting on the front steps with my bird, and she was screaming at me, as usual. All of a sudden, she goes down to the bottom of her cage and starts tapping around under the shredded newspaper toy that we put into her cage. She lifted her head back up and dragged away some of the newspaper, as if to say, "Look what I did!" Lo and behold, an egg, sitting there so innocently!

I couldn't catch my breath for a minute. It was tiny (although it looked too big to have come from her) and round and pinkish-white. I ran inside and grabbed the phone to call my best friend who owns 3 birds that she and her mom raised from eggs.

"Angelina!" I cried. "My bird laid an egg!" I proceeded to tell her what I had seen. (Note: My bird had not mated with any male birds.)

"Yeah, that sometimes happens. If a bird wants an egg badly enough, they can lay one, but it will be empty. She knows it's empty, that's why she isn't sitting on it."

I was freaking out. It's so sad, though. It's like someone called you up and said there had been a miscarriage. MD and I feel sorry for the poor bird, because her bottom is all red and swollen. So the reason that my bird is being even more nasty than usual is because she was guarding her egg (No, Kevin, I don't want your bird extermination services).

Ciao for now!

A few days ago I put up a post referencing how safe our lives have become and suggesting that we had to go looking to find things to kill us, and usually found them embedded in the things we've used to make our lives easier.

Our desire for easy and convenient kills us with useless calories, toxic drink dispensers and mutated nutrients while we celebrate progress and our exceeding cleverness. Why, to do without these fruits would be regressive, even primitive.

Morally we also like things easier, and we don't like to put the hard work in to examine ourselves and cut the slack out of our lives, thinking that as long as everything "looks good" then we must not be too bad. We certainly don't want to be bothered with the work of taking a stand in the hopes of changing others (unless we're one of those who can't wait to change everyone but themselves), so we watch that video, play that game, revel in those lyrics. Why, to do without our rationalizations, to be willing to say something is actually evil, would be regressive, even primitive.

It's far easier to act as if the "science" of our morality has all been settled, that evil has been driven from our land along with the wild, man-eating animals, leaving us this convenient, easy life where we assume everyone's just naturally got it all figured out and evil is merely a quaint concept to be manipulated for power and ratings, or to describe how someone else votes. Or else a venial sin is blown up into a huge paper dragon so that certain warriors can similarly puff themselves up to do battle with it. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

And then someone shoots up a school, pours acid on a playground slide or opportunistically twists another person's name and reputation for personal gain on a national stage and we gape in horror and wonder how anyone could do such a thing even though it happens in one form or another every day. Meanwhile, the TV networks that won't show a fan running out onto an athletic field because it gives the yahoo the exposure he's looking for and only encourages others, trip all over each other to broadcast the addled rantings of a self-absorbed maniac.

A friend who is a carpenter recently opined, after touring several million-dollar homes, how disappointing the workmanship was in these beautiful and expensive abodes. Things certainly looked nice, but to a practiced eye the mistakes and cover-ups for the mistakes were jarring. Something might look right, but if it's not properly squared up it's eventually going to sag and crumble, no matter how expensive and modern it is.

I can't imagine the architect is too pleased.

Now even a half-dressed Paris Hilton, carrying a bottle of Grey Goose and a chihuahua while eating a ham sandwich will be able to get a cab at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport.

In a rare display of Minnesota resolve the Metropolitan Airports Commission (MAC) voted unanimously to take a hard line in imposing stricter sanctions on cab drivers who refuse to accept fares from passengers carrying alcohol. While the policy calls for penalties for any driver refusing a fare unless the would-be passenger is drunk or disorderly, it was enacted in response to some Muslim cabbies refusing, on the basis of their religious beliefs, to transport passengers carrying alcohol. A first offense calls for a 30-day license suspension and a second requires a two-year suspension (the previous penalty was that the driver had to go back to the end of the cab-line, which might be as much as a two-hour wait for another fare).

While this policy was written primarily in response to refusals to transport passengers carrying booze —more than 4800 "refusals of service" in the last five years — there have also been incidences of Muslim cabdrivers refusing passengers with service dogs (service pigs would be right out). I think it's likely the MAC was also concerned that if it permitted refusals-of-service based on alcohol and dogs that it might next be dealing with religious refusals to transport unescorted women, Jewish passengers and arbitragers dealing in pork-belly futures. Therefore the line was drawn, and it's a hard one.

It's not clear to me whether the MAC has the authority to keep a cabbie from plying his trade anywhere other than at the airport. There is also the usual talk about this decision being challenged to the Minnesota Supreme Court on the basis of the MAC, being a government organization, is required to make "reasonable accomodation" for religious beliefs. I'm not a lawyer, but I think they have to take it to court first before a case can go to the Supreme Court. Also, the MAC is a customer, not an employer, of the cabbies; don't know if that makes a difference.

If it goes to court it might make for an interesting ruling that could affect policies such as other governmental organizations (e.g., cities) being able to set terms for prospective vendors on the paying a "livable" wage or having a certain percentage of minority employees and/or owners in order to receive contracts.

As I've written before, I have a certain admiration for people sticking to their religious principles on the job, especially if they are prepared to pay the "market price" for their choices. Ultimately if a cabdriver perceives permitting alcohol inside his cab to be on par with, say, selling booze then it might be time to prayerfully consider another career.

From the Reno Gazette-Journal. HT: The Llama Butchers.

When I walk outside to get the newspaper in the morning I never think to check first for skulking lions or packs of wolves. I drive to work with my seatbelt fastened and six airbags surrounding me and don't bother to keep an eye out for bandits. I go to work in a building that's never had a cave-in or been attacked by a whale and doesn't even keep a tally board of how many accident-free days in a row have gone by. I come home to a delicious dinner that I didn't have to risk life and limb in acquiring (and we haven't bought any hydrogenated foods in years). If one of my children develops a cough I don't worry that it's the plague. My government hasn't threatened to drag me away in the middle of the night for years.

Yep, our lives are pretty easy and danger free these days — or so I thought. I mentioned to my wife the other day that I had a case of bottled water in the trunk of my car if she needed any. She said I should be careful not to let the bottles get too warm because she heard they'll release a toxic gas into the water. A few weeks ago I was eating with a group of folks and the discussion was about how cooking food in a microwave alters the molecules and destroys its nutritional value. This is supposedly especially true for vegetables, which I generally avoid anyway, but it makes me wonder what would happen if I microwaved a Twinkie. It seems to me as if the only way to go is up in that case, nutrition-wise.

Now when I was growing up I often heard that if you sat too close to that new-fangled color television set it would make you sterile (today they say that about laptops). I sat close to the TV anyway and it doesn't seem to have had any effect. Of course, as a kid, I also drank out of the garden hose all the time — something else they now say you're not supposed to do. The TV didn't stop me from having children, and the laptop came along too late to impact our family planning (bringing one home all the time, however, does seem to have an affect on my sex life).

It's hard to tell just what to take seriously anymore. I suppose anything that makes our life easier has just naturally got to have some insidious, toxic trade off (if only Eve had paid attention to the warning label on that apple!). I did some on-line research on the always reliable internet and there might be something to the microwaving thing (here, here and here, — oh, and don't use one of these to dry your pet after a bath) and to the toxic water bottles, though there appears to be more concern about reusing bottles than the amount of PET that might leach into your premium H20. Still, it's got to be safer than drinking tap water, right? Maybe not, unless of course you're trying to avoid the harmful effects of fluoridation.
It's enough to make you want to get your water direct from a clear mountain stream, as long as you don't think to much about what all those fish and ducks have been doing in it.

I don't know, I suppose the next thing they're going to tell us is that watching television makes you fat.

There was so much in the news this week to comment on and so little time to do it. Let me see if I can sum up:

People were shocked when a Shock Jock called Anna Nicole Smith "an empty-headed 'ho'," but not as shocked as they were when Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson couldn't find a microphone or a camera in order to apologize for maligning the Duke lacrosse players, who were conclusively proven to not have been the fathers of little Danielynn.

So, did anything important happen in the world that I might have missed?

Details over at Solid Rocks Ministry.

I haven't done one of these words of the week for awhile, but the popularity of the movie 300 reminded me that I never included one of my favorite entries from the book 1000 Most Challenging Words:

Laconism
(LAK uh niz um) noun

Or laconicism (luh KON uh siz um) We are more familiar with the adjective laconic (luh KON ik) than the noun laconism, a concise style of language, brevity; also applied to a short, pithy statement. Laconia was long ago a country in the southern Greece, with Sparta as its capital. The Spartans were concise, brusque, and pithy in their speech, hence laconic, under which entry in this author's 1000 Most Important Words we read: "Philip of Macedonia wrote to the Spartan officials: 'If I enter Laconia, I will level Sparta to the ground.' Their answer: 'If.' Caesar's famous 'Veni, vidi, vici' ('I came, I saw, I conquered') is a famous example of laconic speech — not a word wasted." When General Sir Charles Napier (1782-1855) finally completed the conquest of Sind, a province of India, the story goes, he cabled the War Office one word: "Peccavi" (Latin for "I have sinned"). Quite a laconism, and quite a paronomasia in the bargain, even though the cable is generally believed to be apocryphal. And finally, the message radioed by an American pilot in World War II: "Sighted sub, sank same," an alliterative laconism.

My example: Don Imus might wish he had spent more time working on his laconisms.


From the book, “1000 Most Challenging Words” by Norman W. Schur, ©1987 by the Ballantine Reference Library, Random House. I post a “Challenging Words” definition to call more attention to this delightful book and to promote interesting word usage in the blogosphere. I challenge other bloggers to work the current word into a post sometime in the coming week. If you manage to do so, please leave a comment or a link to where I can find it. Previous words in this series can be found under the appropriate Category heading in the right-hand sidebar.

Global warming, my frosted hind foot!

It's not so unusual to have cold weather or even snow in April for a day or two, but we usually don't end up monitoring the windchill. The roaring winds on Friday and Saturday would slap you down and drive an icicle through your heart, not to mention the Reverend Mother's peonies and aliums.

Ok, despite the headline and how this post starts, I'm not going to go on about what the weather was like here the past few days. If you live here you know, and if you don't, you don't care. But I did notice some oh, inconvenient, truths while huddling in the basement near the warm TV.

Saturday night Rev. Mom and I settled in to watch one of my favorite movies, Local Hero, which I had received as a birthday present. The movie was filmed in the 80s, and at one point a couple of scientist characters are talking about how they proved they can prevent the coming ice age by rerouting the North Atlantic Drift . Yes, 25 years ago if anyone was talking climate change it was in terms of global cooling.

After my wife retired I switched from the DVD player to highlights from the Masters. The announcers were huddled together in the Georgia night wearing stocking caps and parkas, their breath puffing in great white clouds as they talked about how the unnatural cold and high winds were making the tournament a disaster for the players and causing high scores.

Sunday I watched the Masters live as it played out in balmy temperatures that climbed as high as 50 degrees. In the short commercial breaks I flipped over to the Twins game. This was only the second game in what had been meant to be a three-game series because Friday's game had been called, not on account of rain or even snow, but simply, "cold". I saw Joe Mauer standing at the plate in the bright spring sunshine, great clouds of his breath obscuring his famous sideburns.

You know, if this keeps up we might want to go back and look at those theories on how to reroute the North Atlantic Drift.

One of the songs we sang in church on Easter Sunday had these words:

I'll never know how much it cost
To see my sin upon that cross.

We've sung that song a few times before and each time I usually think to myself that I do know how much it cost to redeem my sin — it "cost" Jesus having to come to earth in human form, being beaten, crucified, dying and rising again. Yesterday, however, it really sunk in for me that there is a difference between "knowing" and "experiencing". Or, to put it in the words that occurred to me, it's the difference between receiving a check for $1 million and writing a check for $1 million.

That's not to say that most of us haven't tried to write out our own check for our salvation, either out of our man-made doctrines or new age spirituality, or based on our "good works". Inherent in all of those thoughts is that deep down we assume we're not "that bad" (even "good"), so how big a check are we really talking about? The thing is, there is no check that we can write ourselves that would pay that debt, even on an installment plan. That's because we all fell for the marketing incentives and opened our accounts at the First Bank of Hell (hey, I got a free toaster!), and those checks are always going to bounce. They'll come back stamped NSF — Insufficient Faith. And man, those penalty charges eat you up.

Nor do I get any closer by taking that revelation and thinking that I'm a worm, a worthless sinner (especially if done with an all-too-human sense of pride at my humility). True, on my own that is what I'd be, but Jesus looked at the value and decided I was worth it. I don't know which revelation makes me weep more.

It is a gift that I can't explain, rationalize or justify; all I can do is either accept it or waste it. There were many over the weekend who tipped their hats to the "message of Jesus" without realizing the sacrifice he made. There were the ones, even in Christian leadership, willing to call him "Teacher" but not "Lord". I know; I've been there, done that myself. As C.S. Lewis wrote in Mere Christianity (and KingDavid reminded me):

A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic--on the level with a man who says he is a poached egg--or he would be the devil of hell. You must take your choice. Either this was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that [alternative] open to us

Filings is an ongoing section of this blog where the posts focus specifically on issues of Christian life. The name comes about because “filings” are the natural by-product of Proverbs 27:17: “as iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.”

The New Zealand director behind the movie "Whale Rider" is at work on a new movie:

Hollywood to re-tell Lockerbie bombing
The story of the Lockerbie bombing is to be made into a Hollywood film.
Kiwi director Niki Caro – whose previous films include the critically-acclaimed Whale Rider – is behind the project.

All 259 people on board Pan Am flight 103 died when it exploded over a Scottish town in 1988.

Libyan Abdelbaset Ali Mohmed Al Megrahi was convicted of their murders and that of 11 Lockerbie residents in 2001.

Caro has started work on the script, an adaptation of the memoir The Boy Who Fell Out of the Sky, according to the Hollywood Reporter.

The book, published last year, tells the story of author Ken Dornstein's brother David, who died in the tragedy.

The film will be set in the present with the use of flashbacks.

The director told the Hollywood Reporter: "It looks at the emotional consequences of terrorism, but not in a political way."

I've noted before that blogging can be the modern equivalent of the classical diarist or "journal-ist". That's not to say that everyone is a Montaigne or Gracian, but it is a rich tradition. I note today that it is the birthday of William Wordsworth. The blurb I was reading about him indicated that he had been an enthusiastic writer in favor of the French Revolution, even though that was an unpopular position in his time. Becoming disillusioned with politics, he turned his writing toward other, more prosaic, topics. As the Writer's Almanac notes, between 1797 and 1807:

At the time, most poets were writing poetry about broad topics of history and religion and philosophy. Wordsworth wrote about ordinary things and private thoughts, the view from a bridge, daffodils. Critics thought he was wasting his time on uninteresting subjects. But by the time he had reached middle age, he became a cult sensation and his collections of poetry became best-sellers.

I read a lot of blogs for awhile before I started my own and saw that there was a good representation of those writing on philosophy and religion and "modern history", i.e., politics. There was also a good smattering of those who wrote about ordinary things and private thoughts.

I liked all kinds, and have dabbled in each form here. I think I'd be bored if I tried to confine myself to one niche or another. The thing is, when I'm writing out my philosophical commentaries on politics or the news I frequently think I should be doing more observational posts. But when I'm writing the more personal stuff I feel as if I should be writing about the news of the day. Why is that?

Anyway, I'm just throwing that out as a random observation. I suppose the main thing for me, no matter what I write about, is just that I write.

I've been cranking along doing two jobs at work for a few weeks now. It's meant limited time for lunch and longer hours (well, technically, it's meant more hours; it's just that I wish the hours could be longer somehow in order to squeeze everything in). Most nights I'm either bringing work home or I'm too tired to put a lot of time and research into a new post so I've just written some things off the top of my head to keep Tiger Lilly from taking over. I also haven't had as much time to cruise through the MOB and my blogroll, which is what I really miss.

The pace at work has been kind of invigorating (yeah, I think that's the word to describe the constant squirts of adrenaline and caffeine), and the end may be coming into sight. The light isn't on at the end of the tunnel yet, but we're getting real close to flipping the switch, I think.

There have been a number of things I would have liked to have written about lately but couldn't get to them. Fortunately it hasn't been hard to find others who are doing a better job on these topics anyway. Earlier this week Nick Coleman had a column saying that the rich aren't paying their fare share in taxes in Minnesota. Coleman's rant was about as predictable as worms on a sidewalk after a soaking rain, and it was just as easy pickings for my eagle-eyed friend Jeff Kouba at Truth vs. The Machine who (and Nick, you might want to consider this) actually looked up numbers and knew what they meant. As John Adams said, "Facts are stubborn things." They can also be fun!

Also, it's baseball season again. My joy at the return of the Twins is nearly equaled by the pleasure of being able to read the post-game analyses and musings by Bat Girl and her all-star roster of designated hitters as they follow the adventures (real and imagined) of our favorite team. This is good stuff, folks: funny, fresh and often surreal. If you're only reading about the Twins in the newspaper you're missing at least half of the fun.

AAARRGGH! There's goes the shock collar again. Back to work!

Milwaukee museum visitor attacks $300,000 painting

The painting was Vannini's "Triumph of David", depicting the young shepherd holding up the severed head of Goliath. The attacker's nationality wasn't disclosed, but I'm guessing there are still some prickly Philistines around who'll take umbrage at such physical representations.

Then again, it is Milwaukee. He might have just been drunk.

You just have to have lived here for awhile.

Last week:

Uh-oh, Tom Waits. What had been perfect musical accompaniment on a cold, rainy night last week seemed jarringly out of place on a soft spring evening. Of course, Tom Waits can be jarring anytime. There was an amusing incongruity, however, in hearing him croak about something being as cold as a gut-shot wolf-bitch with nine sucking pups pulling a number 8 trap up a mountain in a snowstorm in the dead of winter with a mouthful of porcupine quills. Now that's cold. And that's probably the forecast for next week.

Yesterday:
Cold wind, rain and 11 inches of snow in Brainerd.

Today:
High of 30.

Who needs Paul Douglas?

I haven't used my bedside clock-radio as an alarm for a couple of years now, but most days I still wake up with a song in my head. I don't know why I have words and a tune in my head when I open my eyes. Often it's a song that we sang in church that week, but sometimes it's a surprise from the vaults - an unexpected appearance of a song I haven't heard in 20 years. I did download a bunch of Jethro Tull songs over the weekend, though, so this morning I wasn't shocked when the first thing through my head was "He was too old to rock and roll, but he was too young to die."

The very next thing through my head was, "Hey - it's my birthday!"

I tipped my mental hat to the sense of humor of my internal DJ, then tried to reassemble myself for the shuffle/limp/crick-crack into the bathroom. Time was when "it's my birthday!" would be the first thing I thought of, and I'd be out of the bed like a skyrocket. Now I'm more like a NASA rocket straining to break free of the earth's gravity, while dropping parts behind me. I still get there, though.

For all the anticipation I had for my birthdays when I was a kid, there's not too many that stick out in my memory today. That will happen, I suppose, when there's been so many of them. There was the party I had when I was in first grade when one of my strapping classmates bodily lifted my mother off of the ground. As I further recall, I think he was shaving by sixth grade and doing time by eighth. That was also the party where one of the girls in attendance threw up on the table during the cake and ice cream.

Another time I had the honor of sharing my birthday with the Tornado Super Outbreak in 1974 that ravaged the midwest. I think that party might have been held in our basement. Later, April 3, 1996 was also the day when Unabomber Ted Kaczynski was arrested in Montana, which explains why he didn't make it to my party and never called. Perhaps most ingloriously, though, is that I share the same birthdate (day and year) with Hollywood nutjob Alec Baldwin. And I thought my inner DJ had a sense of humor.

Anyway, this morning I made it through my morning toilette without any especially profound thoughts or insights on mortality and went downstairs where my daughters soon joined me for their tributes (see Tiger Lilly's previous post). The Mall Diva is still especially giddy about giving (and receiving) gifts, but it was nice to note that she has gained more self-control since the time when she was four-years-old and burst into my room with a gaily-wrapped box and a hearty "Happy Birthday, Daddy - it's a camera!"

Of course, the girls are the two best presents I've ever received and are the gifts that keep on giving (and not just with presents). Watching them grow up has been a tremendous return on the years I've paid into the process. If I can no longer lift them over my head by their ankles it is only because I'm saving myself for more prodigious feats of strength such as walking them down the aisle or launching them into the world. And I wonder what the musical accompaniment to that will be.

Years ago, on April 3rd, God gave a gift to my Grandma and Grandpa. That gift was my Dad.

Today's my Daddy's birthday (I won't tell you how old he is, I'm not sure he would like that). I woke up to multiple tappings on my bedroom door. That was the Mall Diva telling me to get up so we could run downstairs and present the presents to Dad.

Mall Diva's gifts:
Two video games (Justice League Heroes, Sonic Heroes)

My gifts:
A box of Mike and Ike's
A box of Jolly Rancher Gummies (he's into the fruity candy)

When he shook the wrapped box of Mike and Ike's he shook it and said, "Hmmm... Good and Plenty's?"

"No," I said. "I hate Good and Plenty's, so I would never buy you those for your birthday." (I mean, what if he wanted to share?)

The Reverend Mother's gift has not arrived yet. She ordered it yesterday (our family has a knack for ordering things for people and the item not arriving in time for the birthday/Christmas).

Here's a poem for my Daddy:
Happy happy happy happy happy happy
happy happy happy happy happy happy
happy happy happy happy happy happy
happy happy happy happy happy Biiiiiiiirrrrrrthday!

Haiku:
Have a fun Birthday
I hope it brings you lots of
joy, Happy Birthday.
(Calling the Department of Redundancy Department!)

"Some love the sound of the loon or the teal,
but I love the voice of Herb Carneal."

That's a snippet from a song I heard Garrison Keillor sing a long time ago. I don't remember what the song or the context was, but that couplet always stuck with me because it also expressed the pleasure and comfort I took from listening to Herb call a Twins game. There was just something so natural about the way he described the action; you could tell he enjoyed what he was doing, even in the most wretched of seasons - and there were enough of those over the years to have made a lesser man long for laryngitis.

It's kind of funny, but when I think of his voice now I don't think of baseball as much as I do night driving on a warm summer's evening; of settling back in my seat, the windows half open, letting the dark air and the golden tones eddy about me. Baseball is about the only sport I enjoy listening to on the radio. I can barely stand to watch the NBA, let alone listen to it and the college game isn't much more compelling. Hockey and football have so much going on that, while I'll listen to a game on radio, it's only until I can get to a TV, whereupon I'll dash inside to watch the rest. Many times, however, while on my way home and listening to Herb call a Twins game, I'd sit out in the driveway or garage and wait until the end of the inning before going inside and turning on the set. With Herb there was never any rush.

Herb and former Cardinals announcer Jack Buck were as much of the sound of baseball to me as the crack of the bat, and their style and grace was always a pleasure, and now they are both gone. There are other announcers who are alright, and some who are annoying (it took me awhile to appreciate John Gordon, and I can't stand Buck's son, Joe). In recent years I could hear Herb's voice getting weaker, but it was still a baseball voice and the few innings he'd work each game were like getting the last piece of cake: you knew it was going to be good, but soon gone. Last week when the newspaper had the story that he didn't feel strong enough to work the Opening Day game, Twins fans knew it wasn't a good sign. Herb said he hoped his voice would be strong enough to return soon, and even though I read his words in the paper — rather than hearing them — they struck me as having the same note of plucky optimism he'd use when saying "Wait until next year" after another 90-loss season. Like the Twins mantra, he always seemed to know that you can't take any one loss too hard.

This one, though, is going to be a toughie.

The StarTribune has a collection of some of Herb's classic calls here.