"The first family of Minnesota Blogging" - Mitch Berg, Shot in the Dark

Illuminating fun, faith,
family and foolishness.

“Marxism is the opium of the intellectuals.”

- Edmund Wilson

Friday, November 30, 2007

The Night Hens are at it again.
The Reverend Mother (RM), Mall Diva (MD) and Tiger Lilly (TL) are live-blogging another out-for-coffee expedition.

In the car:
MD: You're cute, Patience.
TL: Thanks, you're cute, too.
RM gazes at her daughter in the rear view mirror (menacingly, according to TL)
TL: Oh, okay, mom, you're cute, too.
RM: Thanks.

At Panera in Eagan:
MD: Is it yummy?
RM nods.
RM: What's in that bag?
MD: That pineapple thing.
MD: I love lemon poppyseed bundt cake. I hope I don't have a drug test this afternoon.
RM: The bump, I mean bundt, cake isn't as good as the pumpkin muffie.
RM: That guy behind you is on his laptop while his wife knits.
MD: Yep, that'll be me and my husband someday.
RM: He'll be knitting?
MD: Totally! I can't knit.
TL: Argh! I'm having thumb cramps again! I almost killed a man with this thumb!
RM: You have crumbs all over you. You're crummy!
TL: Thanks, mom.
RM: I woke up in a bad mood this morning...
TL: You woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
RM: No, I woke up on the right side of the bed.
MD: Nuh-uh! You woke up on the left side of the bed!
TL: So what happened when you got up on the wrong side of the bed?
RM: That's what I need you guys to help me remember. What do you think I had you for?
TL: I don't know! I was under the impression that you didn't want us! ...So, are you out of your bad mood yet?
RM: He** no, leave me alone!
MD & TL: *Gaaaasp!!!!*
MD: I need another cup of coffee.
RM: I need another pair of blue jeans.
TL: I need a video camera.
RM: I don't think a video camera is a need.
TL: Yeah it is!
RM: It's a luxury.
MD: My need is the most easily fulfilled.
RM: Coffee?
MD nods
TL: Not after I break your cup.
MD: That would be stupid.
TL: I think a scar in the eyebrow is the most dashing kind of scar.
RM: Where did that word "dashing" come from? It must be 'cuz they dash about town.

The conversation deteriorates to ladies' men and hunter-gatherers and how they differ...

MD goes to get more coffee. When she comes back RM and TL are giggling uncontrollably.

MD: What are you laughing at? I don't trust you.
RM reading what had been written.
RM: This is so dumb!
RM: You know, I don't feel like Christmas shopping this year, you guys.
MD: So? It doesn't matter how you feel!
TL: Coal for you, Faith!
RM: Yeah...that coal is starting to look better and better!
MD: Noooo!
TL: Well, you get enough of it and you can make diamonds! Take a 10,000 lb weight and crush the coal with it!
RM: No, I don't think that's how diamonds are made. I think they just made that up because of a lack of information. I believe that God made all the diamonds and put them where they are.
TL: In rings?
RM: No!! In the ground!
RM is looking at a hair that was stuck to TL.
RM: Where did this come from? Its not one of yours! It's black!
TL: Don't you remember when MD dyed my hair black?
RM: Well, when was that? It has to have been 2 years, it's all grown out.
MD: Yup, it was when I was in beauty school. '05. Two years.
TL: Wow. Faith is gettin' old.
RM: Yeah! She's going to be 20!
TL looks horrified.
TL: She's going to have wrinkles!
TL: So how's that bad mood coming along?
RM: What?
TL: That bad mood.
RM gazes into the middle distance.
MD: I wanted to tell you something. This won't be interesting to people.
[.....
.....
.....]

RM laughs

[Crashing sound in the kitchen.]

TL: That wasn't very much of a crash. That was more of a clang.
MD: A crash is more like something broke.
TL: Like if I dropped your cup. I have this vendetta aginst your coffee cup, I don't know why.
MD: Maybe my cup has a vendetta against you. You better watch your butt, man.
TL: Dude! There is no way a guy can watch his own butt.
(What movie is that from?)

RM: So, what do you want for Christmas?
MD: Shoes! And purses! And diamonds are a girl's best friend!!!
RM: Tell me things that are less than 30 dollars.
Silence ensues.

END

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Happy birthday, Jack
Today's the birthday of the great writer, teacher and Christian apologist C. S. Lewis, born in Belfast, Ireland in 1898. Coincidentally, it is also the day nineteen years later that he arrived at a trench in the front lines of World War I.

I noticed both of these details at the bottom of the page this morning as I did my daily read from A Year With C.S. Lewis: Daily Readings From His Classic Works. I gave the book to myself about this time last year and started the schedule on January 1. It's almost a sad feeling to realize that I'm nearly finished.

The book consists of daily, one page (often only a paragraph or two) excerpts from Lewis's impressive body of work, mainly from Mere Christianity, The Great Divorce, The Problem of Pain, A Grief Observed, The Weight of Glory and The Screwtape Letters and others. Often several days in a row would center around a common theme. It's been a fascinating and thought-provoking experience as I've come to see new things in works that I already thought I "knew." Some of the excerpts from A Grief Observed and The Problem of Pain have been especially timely and comforting over the past several months as my father's health worsened (funny how I "just happened" to get this book when I did). Little biographical details related to each day are also featured, and it's been kind of a Tarantino-like experience to track the events in Lewis's life in this manner when the days are in sequence but the years are not.

This book would be a great gift for the reader and thinker in your family who is often pressed for time. I will echo one of Lewis's warnings, however:

"A young man who wishes to remain a sound atheist cannot be too careful of his reading."

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

The Very Best Christmas Pageant EVER!
I know I've been quite absent from the 'sphere as of late, but I have a good reason!! Here it is:

So Princess FlickerFeather had this idea at the end of the summer for a Christmas program, and asked me if I would help make it happen. Of course I agreed, her being my dear friend and all. How hard could it be?

We had our first meeting toward the end of September. We had a hard time even knowing where to start, so I finaly said "OK! What is the one thing that we know for sure?" That one thing happened to be the date we were told the performance was to be. Alright! A lot to do, and enough time to do it if we are diligent.

The creative juices started flowing. We went through the ideas that she had, and have since been working endlessly to get everything together, and practicing two, even three times a week! If one of my parents asks "What are you doing tonight?" or "Hey! Where are you going?", the answer is always "Practice! What do you think?"

We've worked hard, the cast has worked hard, and everyone else involved has worked hard to bring this thing to fruition. Now its pay-off time!!! And we want you to come and enjoy the results of our toil. There will be singing, dancing, lots of laughs, and even cookies!!! Here's the D.L. :

What: Eclectica: A Christmas Program
(Directed and emceed by the Princess and yours truly)

Where: The Miracle Centre Church
125 21st Ave. S., S. St. Paul, MN 55075

When: December 16th at 6 p.m.
Cookies and other yummy desserty things to follow!!

This is your official invitation. Be there or be a shape with four corners!! Any questions, leave them in the comments section or shoot me an email. Look! We even have a logo that kicks butt! Thanks Mr. Tommy!


Eclectica: A Christmas Program


Season's Bleatings

I saw in the paper today that a new Christmas special is debuting tonight featuring everyone's favorite ogre (next to me, that is): Shrek the Halls. This will be followed by the classic How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Between Shrek and the Grinch we must be dreaming of a Green Christmas. Talk about your tidings of joy!

Of course, not many of the "Christmas" specials really want to get into just what those tidings might truly be. Which means it's time for my own personal Christmas re-run of a post I wrote a few years ago and ritually reproduced here along about this time every year. At least my re-run comes to you without commercial interruption. That is not to say, however, that it doesn't have a Sponsor.


The True Meaning of Christmas Specials

Perhaps I was like Scrooge seeing Marley’s face on his door knocker, but I’m almost certain that when I watched the Charlie Brown Christmas special I heard Linus stand on stage and say:

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree to render unto Caesar, and that all the world should shop and pay sales tax, and all went to be taxed, everyone into his own mall. And Joseph also went up from Shakopee, into Bloomington, unto the Mall of America, (which is called MOA) because he was an American, to shop with his wife Mary, they being great with debt. And so it was, that, while they were there, the items were purchased that needed to be delivered, and they brought forth their credit card, wrapped in promises to pay and laid it on the counter because there was no money in their checking account.

And there was in the same country stewards, abiding in their homes, keeping watch over their televisions by night. And lo, the commercials from Mammon came upon them and the glory of the goods shown round about them and they were sore afraid they would miss a good deal. And the commercial said unto them, “Fear not, for behold I bring you great tidings of a good economy, which shall be to all who do their part. For unto you is laid out this day, in a store near you, all manner of precious items, and this shall be a sign unto you: 40% off.” And suddenly there was within the commercial a multitude of friends and family praising their gifts and saying “Glory to the Giver with the highest credit card balance, and on earth peace, good will toward all, just $29.95.”


And it came to pass that I kept all these things and pondered them in my heart.

Fear not, for this is not going to be a complaint on how commercial Christmas has become. Frankly, those complaints have become as traditional and meaningless to most people as holly and ivy (if you don’t know what these represent, look it up). Complaining about how the true meaning of Christmas is being ignored, without actually dwelling on this meaning, is merely spiritual lip service; kind of like singing “Gloria In Excelsis Deo,” without knowing what it means. For me the issue is not that commercialism obscures the meaning of Christmas, but the cultural camouflage that diverts attention. As a case in point, let’s look at the Christmas specials we watch with our families.

Despite my parody of the Linus speech earlier, the Charlie Brown Christmas special is a classic and a true Christmas special because it is one of the few that deals specifically with the birth of Christ. “The Little Drummer Boy” is another old one and favorite of mine that also does this, while the Veggie Tales “The Toy That Saved Christmas” is the highlight of the new generation. Many so-called Christmas specials, however, purport to be about finding the true meaning of Christmas, but where is the Christ in “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer,” “How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” “It’s a Wonderful Life” or “A Christmas Story”? Watch these and most other shows and you’ll get the message that you can be what you want to be and you should do kind things for others, and that Bumbles bounce. Nice shows and nice sentiments all, but while Jesus would exhort us to be “nice” it isn’t why he came. Don’t forget that “for unto you is born this day in the city of Bethlehem a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”

Enjoy the shows with your family, but look for ways to highlight fundamental Christian concepts within the programs, even if these messages appear unintentional. Since everything will ultimately prove the word of God true, teachable moments are everywhere if we are alert to them. The classic movie “Miracle on 34th Street,” for example, really focuses on the importance of faith, at one point virtually reciting Hebrews 11:1 and 11:5-6. Don’t miss the opportunity to call this to your children’s’ attention. I once sat open-mouthed (but not slack-jawed) watching the SpongeBob Squarepants Christmas program for the first time. The story is that SpongeBob has never heard of Santa Claus until his friend Sandy fills him in. SpongeBob get so excited that he stands on a street corner proclaiming the good news to everyone (no one else has heard of Santa either) about how kind Santa is and about all the gifts he will bring. Soon, everyone is shouting, “We love Santa!” I turned to my daughter and said, “SpongeBob is an evangelist!”

Of course, SpongeBob is focusing on all the benefits that Santa brings, which is also a failing of modern evangelism. People are exhorted to “try” Jesus for all the blessings that will be added to their lives but if these don’t show up right away (or don’t show up in the way people expect) they get disillusioned, even bitter. This, too, happens in the SpongeBob Christmas show. We lose sight of the fact that the first benefit of the salvation we receive from believing in Christ is not in getting what we deserve, but in avoiding what we deserve.

A good story for illustrating this concept can be Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” You may think you know the story of Ebenezer (there’s a Biblical name) Scrooge, but look at it as a parable. Scrooge is greedy and cruel and oblivious to his iniquity. He doesn’t heed warnings to change, but because of another’s desire for him to avoid his fate, he is visited by spirits that convince and convict him of his sins and show him what is in store for him. In horror he repents and asks for forgiveness, vowing to change. He’s not concerned about the benefits of a new way of life; he just wants to escape the fruit of the old way. Waking the next morning and realizing his opportunity he says “Thank you (Holy Spirit) Spirits!” and is ever after known as “a man who kept Christmas (Jesus) in his heart.” (By the way, I happen to think the George C. Scott “Christmas Carol” is the best, but I’ll always have a soft spot for Mr. Magoo as well).

I’m sure there are many more examples in Christmas programs that I’ve left out but that have occurred to you. I’d love to hear what message or blessing you and your family get out of different Christmas shows, so feel free to leave a comment. Just don’t shoot your eye out!

Merry Christmas, my friends, and to your families!

Monday, November 26, 2007

It's the cows

Be on the lookout for signs of a rebellion.

No, it's not the terrorists (not the ones you'd expect, anyway) ...

No, it's not teenagers...

It's the COWS!!!!

Yes, you read that right. I've made two long car trips in the last few weeks, through the heart of America's farmlands, and I tell you there's something suspicious about all the cows. They are plotting to take over the world. Sure, they LOOK all innocent when you're driving through the country. But before they hear your car coming, they're talking in conspiratorial whispers, scheming up ways for world domination!

First, they lull us into a false sense of security. Then, they prey on our other sources of food (did you read about that cow who kept eating chickens?)

Third, they send out their NINJA COWS!!! These cows have training specially for stealth. And they're always the black ones. Never put a black cow at your back. You think everything's just fine, and then BAM! You're on the ground.

Ever notice how cows are usually grouped together, with a few loners? Well, the groups are the conspirators, and the loners are the look-outs. As soon as they hear a car driving by, or someone walking up, they give their secret code and tell everyone to 'look beefy.' That's why all you ever see cows do is eat grass.

Beware the groups of twos and threes. They plot while looking natural. While we were driving home from Missouri, we saw a cow line-up. Seriously. The cows were all in a line on a distant hill. Probably doing a drill or something.

Ways to keep your house cow proof:

  • Set up a large fence with sentry posts. With any luck, if the cows come a-callin', you'll get a meal out of the invasion. Mmm... steak.


  • Set up rows of chickens armed with eggs. I'm sure they'll want to get back at the cows for eating them.


  • Don't allow groupings of more than two cows in your yard at a time. That should slow them down.


  • Pay spy cows to go into the field and listen in on the cow plans. You might also want to get a moo interpreter.


My dad thinks the government sent deer in to spy on the cows (you can't trust the cows to do it), but the cows caught on. That's why we saw so many dead deer on the road last week. Almost all of them were near a field of cows. Black cows. Makes you think.

But here I've warned you. You may think I'm crazy, to which I say:

Well, DUH!

But don't come cryin' to me when your home is invaded by these four legged tasty conspirators. That's your problem.

The sheep and hawks are in on it, too.

Ciao (no, literally, chow) for now!
"Their Way" on the highway
We all piled into the car last week for the long drive to grandmother's house for the holiday. Along the way we listened to a lot of the Mall Diva's CD collection and a couple of my "oldies". On one of the old CDs was a family favorite we'd almost forgotten, a parody of Sinatra's "My Way" song, set in academia and entitled, "Their Way" (the Diva really likes Sinatra, by the way).

The song was done by a group called Bright Morning Star and is very funny, perhaps because it's so close to reality (which makes it scary, too). Here are the lyrics; again, to the tune of "My Way":

I came, I bought the books, lived in the dorms, followed directions.
I worked, I studied hard, made lots of friends who had connections.
I crammed, they gave me grades — and may I say not in a fair way.
But more, much more than this, I did it Their Way.

I learned so many things even though I'll never use them.
The courses that I took were all required — I didn't choose them.
You'll find that to survive it's best to play the doctrinaire way
And so I knuckled down and did it Their Way.

Yes, there were times I wondered why I had to cringe when I could fly.
I had my doubts, but after all I clipped my wings and learned to crawl.
I learned to bend, and in the end I did it Their Way.

And now, my fine young friends, now that I am a full professor,
Where once I was oppressed, now I become the cruel oppressor.
With me you'll learn to cope, you'll learn to climb life's golden stairway.
But like me, you'll see the light and do it Their Way.

For what is a man? What can I do? Open your books — read chapter two!
And if it seems a bit routine, don't talk to me — go see the Dean.
They get their way, I get my pay... We do it Their Way!

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Abraham Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation

Washington, D.C.
October 3, 1863
By the President of the United States of America.

A Proclamation.

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consiousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom.

No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People.

I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.

In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the Seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the City of Washington, this Third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the Independence of the Unites States the Eighty-eighth.

By the President: Abraham Lincoln

Monday, November 19, 2007

George Washington's Thanksgiving proclamation


WHEREAS, It is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to implore His protection and favor;

WHEREAS, Both the houses of Congress have, by their joint committee, requested me "to recommend to the people of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer, to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many and signal favors of Almighty God, especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness."

Now, therefore, I do recommend and assign Thursday, the 26th day of November next, to be devoted by the people of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being who is the beneficent author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be; that we may then all unite in rendering unto Him our sincere and humble thanks for His kind care and protection of the people of this country previous to their becoming a nation; for the signal and manifold mercies and the favorable interpositions of His providence in the course and conclusion of the late war; for the great degree of tranquility, union, and plenty which we have since enjoyed; for the peaceable and rational manner in which we have been enabled to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national one now lately instituted; for the civil and religious liberty with which we are blessed, and the means we have of acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and, in general, for all the great and various favors which He has been pleased to confer upon us.

And also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech Him to pardon our national and other transgressions; to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually; to render our National Government a blessing to all the people by constantly being a Government of wise, just, and constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed; to protect and guide all sovereigns and nations (especially such as have show kindness to us), and to bless them with good governments, peace, and concord; to promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the increase of science among them and us; and, generally to grant unto all mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as He alone knows to be best.

— George Washington - October 3, 1789

Friday, November 16, 2007

Bumpersuckers

Thanks to Gary at The Llama Butchers for pointing me toward Atomic Trousers' fisking of the top 10 worst liberal bumper stickers.

If you're wondering how you can fisk something one to five words long it simply means you haven't been paying attention. Here's one of the 10:


“Remember Katrina. Fight Global Warming” - Fight it with what? Nunchucks? Me attacking global warming like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, you driving a Prius or the U.S. signing the Kyoto Protocol all have the same effect on changing the earth’s temperature: zippo. I started mocking all the angles on this bumper sticker and it started getting too long.
Perspective
This morning I had to get up and out of the house early in order to have a root canal done. I was delighted!

You see, the last couple of weeks have been almost surreal. While we were out of town for my father's funeral a friend of ours (a man just a year older than myself) also passed away from cancer. We got back in in time to go to his funeral; meanwhile Paul Keuttel of Wog's Blog died, as did my grandmother's brother. Then last weekend the brother of one of my wife's best friends died in a hunting accident. My wife went to his funeral yesterday.

So, anyway, do you know how it is sometimes when you know you have to get up early for something; how you have trouble getting to sleep, or staying asleep, and you get those weird dreams? Well, around 4:00 a.m. this morning I half-awoke, thinking I'd overslept. When I saw the clock I went back to sleep, but kept waking up every 20 minutes or so to look at the clock. The worst part of it was even though I'd wake up, I'd keep going back into the same dream where another close member of my family had died — and that the 7:30 a.m. appointment I had to get up for wasn't to see the dentist but to give the eulogy, which I had yet to write. To say my sleep was fitful is an understatement.

When I finally woke up (at the time I'd originally planned to) I regained enough clarity to suddenly realize, "Wait a minute, I don't have to give a eulogy at a funeral — I'm only supposed to get a root canal!"

Wow, talk about a day-brightener!

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Jesse Ventura finishes fourth book

...And boy, are his lips tired!

Whoops, it appears he's written his fourth book.

From the Pioneer Press:

Former Minnesota Gov. Jesse Ventura largely disappeared from public view when he left office five years ago, but he isn't keeping his opinions to himself.

He co-wrote a book, filled with his feelings on politics, international affairs and the media, due out next April.

"It really reflects Gov. Ventura," said Bill Wolfsthal, associate publisher at the New York-based Skyhorse Publishing. "It's energetic and opinionated and absolutely fascinating."

The book, "Don't Start the Revolution Without Me," was co-written with author Dick Russell.

"It really is great reading," Wolfsthal said.

I heard the original title was "Don't Start the Promotion Without Me."
What happened to my fur coat?
Man, talk about your punctuated equilibrium (if you go for that sort of thing). This blog had been cruising along for awhile as a Slithering Reptile in the TTLB blog-ranking ecoystem for I don't know how long when all of a sudden last week I noticed I had morphed or "evolved" into a Marauding Marsupial, completely bypassing the intermediate phylum of Flappy Bird and Adorable Rodent. I couldn't figure out how this happened because TTLB essentially measures links and I hadn't had a sudden burst of linkage — at least none that showed up in my TTLB report. I just assumed that global warming had killed off a bunch of blogs ahead of me and I'd been promoted simply for outlasting them.

Now, just as spasmodically, I'm back to reptile status. I don't think I would have noticed except that I felt a draft.

Honestly, even after two-plus years of doing this blog, I don't understand how a lot of the protocols and accessories work on this great big inner-web thingy. For example, sometime last spring I started getting 300-400 visitors a day, day after day. I didn't see any reason for the sudden surge of fans, but I noticed that my Site Meter report was showing most of these to be from Google images; in other words people searching for photos. Some of the images I'd posted were getting a lot of attention (in particular a close-up photo of the Mall Diva's bruised and naked knee that was getting all kinds of traffic from Asia). After this kept up for awhile it just wasn't that interesting for me check the Site Meter at the end of the day because the numbers didn't have that much to do with anything I'd written - and given my irregular posting schedule the past several (intense) months - that was probably just as well.

Now the image links have gone away, too, just about as quickly as they appeared. While my "daily visits" average has crashed big time, I actually like this better; I didn't feel as if I'd "earned" the traffic. It was actually kind of de-motivating. While traffic isn't the reason I blog, it does offer a measure of feedback to indicate if what I'm writing is resonating with anyone. I don't know if I'd keep blogging if I got 5 or 10 or 20 visitors a day, but I do know that 400 visitors a day didn't make me feel more like blogging.

Oh well, that's enough navel-gazing (actually, I don't think reptiles have navels). I think the real reason I blog is so I can go to Keegan's — and I'm heading there tonight!

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Happy birthday, P.J.
Today's the birthday of one of my favorite writers, P.J. O'Rourke (1947). I've been reading him ever since I graduated from Mad Magazine to The National Lampoon, and followed his work in books with hard covers such as Republican Party Reptile, All the Trouble in the World: The Lighter Side of Famine, Pestilence, Destruction and Death, and Eat the Rich. He's the kind of writer I'd like to be when I grow up, even though there's little evidence that he's done so.

Whenever I've found a particularly funny or trenchant sentence or two I've thrown it into a file for future reference. In honor of P.J.'s birthday, here are a few of them:


  • When a thing defies physical law, there’s usually politics involved.


  • Everybody wants to save the earth; nobody wants to help Mom do the dishes.


  • The forces of safety are afoot in the land. I, for one, believe it is a conspiracy - a conspiracy of Safety Nazis shouting “Sieg Health” and seeking to trammel freedom, liberty, and large noisy parties. The Safety Nazis advocate gun control, vigorous exercise, and health foods. The result can only be a disarmed, exhausted, and half-starved population ready to acquiesce to dictatorship of some kind.


  • Sloths move at the speed of congressional debate but with greater deliberation and less noise.


  • If you think healthcare is expensive now, just wait until it’s free.


  • Bureaucrats want bigger bureaus. Special interests are interested in whatever’s special to them. These two groups bring great pressure to bear upon politicians who have another agenda yet: to cater to the temporary whims and fads of the public and the press.


  • Neither conservatives nor humorists believe man is good. But left-wingers do.


  • A little Government and a little luck are necessary in life; but only a fool trusts either of them.


  • Something is happening to America, not something dangerous but something all too safe. I see it in my lifelong friends. I am a child of the "baby boom", a generation not known for its sane or cautious approach to things. Yet suddenly my peers are giving up drinking, giving up smoking, cutting down on coffee, sugar, and salt. They will not eat red meat and go now to restaurants whose menus have caused me to stand on a chair yelling, "Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, dinner is served!" This from the generation of LSD, Weather Underground, and Altamont Rock Festival! And all in the name of safety! Our nation has withstood many divisions - North and South, black and white, labor and management - but I do not know if the country can survive division into smoking and non-smoking sections.


  • Earnestness is just stupidity sent to college.


  • To grasp the true meaning of socialism, imagine a world where everything is designed by the post office, even the sleaze.


  • The Republicans are the party that says government doesn't work and then gets elected and proves it.


  • Politics is the business of getting power and privilege without possessing merit. A politician is anyone who asks individuals to surrender part of their liberty - their power and privilege - to State, Masses, Mankind, Planet Earth, or whatever. This state, those masses, that mankind, and the planet will then be run by ... politicians.


  • People with a mission to save the earth want the earth to seem worse than it is so their mission will look more important.


  • When a private entity does not produce the desired results, it is (certain body parts excepted) done away with. But a public entity gets bigger.




Tell us how you really feel, Leo
My friend Leo at Psycmeistr's Ice Palace is often as pointed as an icicle in defending his religious and political convictions on his blog, especially when those convictions come together on a particular issue. He doesn't mince his words but will make mince of stories or arguments in favor of limiting our freedoms.

Leo recently used an advisory from American Family Associations — about a HUD-owned senior citizens building in Florida banning an 85-year-old tenant from displaying religious Christmas decorations on her door (a policy that has now been rescinded) — as the starting point for a post raking evermore ambitious nanny state restrictions on our freedoms and our society's general willingness to put up with this.

Ladies and gentlemen, the State, when held up as god, is a jealous god, and it shall have no other gods before it.

Not even the Real One.

I find it all the more oxymoronic that people on the left who call themselves Christians are so willing to sell their religious freedom to embrace the false promises and sour milk that flow from the golden calf that is the government teat.

In the absence of the acceptance of God, man himself attempts to fill the void to become that which he rejects.

With predictably disastrous consequences, I might add.

And unfortunately, those who choose to ignore history are bound and determined to drag the rest of us along on their path toward its insidious repetition.

Read the whole thing, including the links. But be careful you don't poke your eye out!

Monday, November 12, 2007

In My Father's House, Conclusion
The house looked all too familiar. My sister and my uncles had removed all the appliances and equipment brought in over the past few months that had never seemed to fit. His chair, his bed, are now as they’ve always been. I know better than his dog, who wanders the house looking up quizzically and runs to the patio door when he thinks he hears someone, but standing in the family room I still half-expected to see him when I turned around, or when I heard a footstep in the kitchen.

What I wasn't expecting at all was to go into the grocery store or the gas station in the small town and see a black-bordered card by the cash register, announcing his passing. I’d forgotten how things were done in a small town where just about everybody knows everyone else. I’d seen, maybe, hundreds of these cards when I lived here but never pictured his name on them, let alone my own in the body copy. Later, driving some things over to the funeral home I was still taken aback to read his name and the times for the visitation and the funeral on the marquis facing the street.

My father passed away Monday night, October 29, due to ... what, exactly? It's kind of complicated, so I suppose you could say he died of "complications." Was it the lymphoma he'd been battling? The chemotherapy itself? The realization that living with the pain only meant yet another day of living with the pain?

I saw him wasting away, of course. In June. In September. Was it only last December that we had all been together and so happy? Thursday morning, October 25th, my mom called me at work (I'd taken to keeping my cell phone on and with me even in the office) from the hospital where he’d been for a week, fighting a kidney infection; where he'd had another torso scan to check on the progress of the cancer. There was to be a consultation with his oncologist the next day, could I be there? How could I not. Plain, but unspoken, was the thought that they would say the cancer was still spreading and there was nothing more they could do. I took an early morning flight Friday, and arrived at the hospital just moments after they’d moved him from his room into the ICU. When I caught up with him he had an oxygen mask covering the lower half of his face, the straps making his ears stick out even further, his head bald as a newborn’s. Despite the oxygen his whole body fought for each breath, filling and releasing in a series of rapid convulsions. I took his hand and could feel his pulse through his palm.

My mother, my brother, my mother's brother and I met with the oncologist. Good news: the cancer was stable, it had not spread further. Bad news: he had developed blood clots in his lungs from the chemo. This was dire. He might not live through the weekend. By the afternoon, however, he was better, breathing easier, able to talk, still able to understand. He thirsted, and I put the tiny sponge to his lips so he could drink. I, his first child, shared some news of his first grandchild, and the monitor showed his heart-rate spiking. “That … was … your … heart … then,” he said. Yes. Yes it was.

Saturday morning I held my phone to his ear so he could talk to my youngest daughter, Tiger Lilly; as always, he teased her a little. Saturday afternoon my brother and I picked up our sister at the airport, just 15 minutes from the hospital. Saturday evening my father and I said our good-byes. They were brief because there wasn't much left unsaid between us. Sunday morning I had an early flight back to St. Paul because there were things I had to do, first. Then calling my mother when I got home, hearing he had asked to be disconnected from everything except what was dripping into him for the pain. Monday evening my mother was at his bedside, talking on the phone to my sister back at the house, saying that he had been breathing much easier for the past five minutes and was resting peacefully, and then, as she said it, he stopped. “Say good-bye to your father,” she cried, thrusting the cellphone toward his ear as the nurse rushed in. Then the phone was ringing at my house, and once again I was on the road, toward a familiar place that was never going to be the same again.

********


In a time like this you really appreciate the “commune” of community: prayers and condolences come in from friends, co-workers and the blogging community just as the food showed up at my mom's house: hams, chili, soups, cakes, pies, more ham, doughnuts, fruit – the bread of life as friends and even acquaintances near and far stretch out their hands to hold you up. Some because they share your memories of the departed, all of them because they share the knowledge or the experience that this is a time common to all of us; this week it was you, last week or next week, them. I could feel the thoughts and prayers of those far away, nearly as tangibly as the line of those who brought the embrace of communal comfort: hug, pat, pat. Sometimes, three pats.

When I was younger I couldn't quite understand why people went to visitations or funerals. You only had a few moments with the family before moving on, and wasn't it hard for them to stand there having to greet all those people when they'd rather be off grieving somewhere in private? I've had a different understanding and appreciation, though, for the last ten years or so. "Paying your respects," always sounded like such a cliche until I experienced how important and comforting it was to see and hear from people what my father had meant to or done for them; there were a lot of friends and family of course, and many, many people I did not recognize.

The funeral was a "celebration of life," and several of my father's friends from the Masonic Lodge and/or the golf course shared moving and often hilarious stories. Men of a generation not known for crying wept openly nonetheless. With tight lips and throat I somehow kept it (mostly) together through the eulogy I offered, perhaps because in a way I had been preparing for it all my life. After we rode out to the cemetery my wife, an ordained minister and police chaplain, spoke the scripture and the prayer and then my oldest daughter stood in the bright sunlight beside the casket and on that hillside in the great, open air absolutely filled every ear (and I hope every heart) as she sang a cappella, an old hymn:

There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Emmanuel’s veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.
Lose all their guilty stains, lose all their guilty stains;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.

E’er since, by faith, I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
And shall be till I die, and shall be till I die;
Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.



Related posts:
In My Father's House, Part 1
In My Father's House, Part 2
In My Father's House, Part 3
Turning Toward the Mourning
Shifting the Sun

Friday, November 9, 2007

Oi! A Friday quiz...
It's been awhile since I've done a Friday quiz! This one is "Who's Your Inner European?"




Your Inner European is Irish!



Sprited and boisterous!

You drink everyone under the table.

Who's Your Inner European?


Hmmm. Irish. Must be the Gaelic roots. I don't know about the "drinking people under the table" part, though, especially when it can be so much more interesting above the table.

Take the quiz and find out if deep down you're really a cheese-eating surrender monkey.

HT: Away With Words.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Biofuel me once, shame on you...
Don't like the opportunistic, economically-flawed, even counter-productive rush to biofuels? You're not alone, though you might be surprised who shares your concerns.

Oxfam International, a social justice, anti-poverty organization has released a report condemning the EU's biofuel mandates as not only being unproductive, but downright nasty:

EU proposals will make it mandatory by 2020 for ten per cent of all member states’ transport fuels to come from biofuels. In order to meet the substantial increase in demand, the EU will have to import biofuels made from crops like sugar cane and palm oil from developing countries. But the rush by big companies and governments in countries such as Indonesia, Colombia, Brazil, Tanzania and Malaysia to win a slice of the ‘EU biofuel pie’ threatens to force poor people from their land, destroy their livelihoods, lead to the exploitation of workers and hurt the availability and affordability of food.

“In the scramble to supply the EU and the rest of the world with biofuels, poor people are getting trampled. The EU proposals as they stand will exacerbate the problem. It is unacceptable that poor people in developing countries should bear the cost of questionable attempts to cut emissions in Europe,” said Robert Bailey from Oxfam.

Biofuels may offer the potential to reduce poverty by increasing jobs and markets for small farmers, and by providing cheap renewable energy for local use, but the huge plantations emerging to supply the EU pose more threats than opportunities for poor people. The problem will only get worse as the scramble to supply intensifies unless the EU introduces safeguards to protect land rights, livelihoods, workers rights and food security.

EU member states agreed that the ten per cent target must be reached sustainably, but Oxfam warns that the current proposals contain no standards on the social or human impact.

“The EU set its biofuel target without checking the impact on people and the environment. The EU must include safeguards to ensure that the rights and livelihoods of people in producing countries are protected. Without these, the ten per cent target should be scrapped and the EU should go back to the drawing board,” said Bailey.

“Let’s be clear, biofuels are not a panacea – even if the EU is able to reach the ten per cent target sustainably, and Oxfam doubts that it can, it will only shave a few per cent of emissions off a continually growing total.”

Published reports show that as much as 5.6 million square kilometres of land – an area more than ten times the size of France – could be in production of biofuels within 20 years in India, Brazil, Southern Africa and Indonesia alone. The UN estimates that 60 million people worldwide face clearance from their land to make way for biofuel plantations. Many end up in slums in search of work, others on the very plantations that have displaced them with poor pay, squalid conditions and no worker rights. Women workers are routinely discriminated against and often paid less then men.

You can read the entire report on Oxfam's site. While there's a certain amount of "World to end; women and minorities hardest hit" perspective, it's an interesting take on an issue that many people, despite differing political views, still sense is profoundly wrong-headed.

HT: Amy Ridenour's National Center Blog.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

I don't know art, but I know what I like
Business took me over to the Walker Art Center today. Afterwards, since we'd parked the car over by the Parade Stadium parking lot, we decided to take a walk through the Sculpture Garden on the way back to our ride.

It wasn't the nicest day outside; gray skies, temperature around 40 and a light but cold wind. Nevertheless, there was something very appealing about walking down the paved lane toward the famous Spoon and Cherry bridge.

On a summer day, the view from the lane toward the sculpture is like unto a rich oil painting:



On a day like today the effect is very much pen and ink. In summer the leaves on the trees soften the lines and obscure the trunks of the trees. Today the trees looked like stark, straight columns converging on the sculpture, echoed in miniature by the parallel hand rails, as the red orb of the cherry became the focal point against the gray sky and the dull grass. The leaves were now dry, gold flakes pushed by the wind into a long ribbon that meandered the lane more or less in a diagonal.

I know the view is no accident. Someone with vision and precision laid these lines with precisely this effect in mind and I sense the subtle harmony of balance and perspective. Behind me, inside the Walker, are some beautiful works — and many that are tortured executions of an artist's self-absorption, intended to resonate only in some critical echo chamber, to be praised for bringing us face to face with some existential ugliness or dissonant reality or other such twaddle. In this moment outside, however, and in this light, there is a beauty and grace and a palpable, pervasive resonance, despite the bitterness of the day.

Or I suppose you could just say it was pretty.
FAGS fighting back
Don't look at me like that. In this case FAGS stands for Fight Against Government Suppression (it's also Brit slang for cigarettes), and is the name of an English political party established by pub-owner Hamish Howitt, the first pub-owner in England to be prosecuted for violating the country's new smoking ban for pubs and restaurants. Howitt, a non-smoker himself, pleaded guilty but vows to continue to allow smoking in his pub and to not pay the fines.

From Scotsman.com:

I'll still ignore smoking ban, vows publican fined £500
KIM PILLING

A SCOTTISH pub landlord vowed yesterday to continue to allow his customers to flout the smoking ban in England after being fined for offences at his bar in Blackpool.

Hamish Howitt, 55, who was born in Glasgow, was fined £500 and ordered to pay £2,000 prosecution costs after he admitted flouting the ban, which was introduced in England in July.

The owner of the Happy Scots Bar is the first publican south of the Border to be convicted of breaching the law. Howitt, a non-smoker, has been a staunch critic of the ban and set up a political party called Fight Against Government Suppression, or FAGS.

However, District Judge Peter Ward, sentencing Howitt at Blackpool Magistrates' Court, said his campaign had been "silly, misguided and pointless".

Granted, it's not exactly William Wallace mooning the Brits, but Howitt has definitely set out to pick a fight as the signage on the outside walls of his pub demonstrate in these Flickr photos here and here. (Normally I would download the images and post them here rather than poaching bandwidth by linking to the site but the images are copyrighted and I don't want to stretch the "fair-use" doctrine, especially when I don't know who to credit for the originals).

Howitt doesn't risk losing his head (merely his pub license) for his violations, though judging by the comments from readers at the end of the article, there are some who wouldn't mind seeing him drawn and quartered.

As a dedicated non-smoker myself (never smoked, in fact) and someone who has deliberately avoided public places that are too smokey, I nevertheless side with the rights of private property owners to manage their legal businesses (and customers using legal products) as they see fit, free from government encroachment, especially when dubious science is involved. (I'm sure it won't be long before some study links the number of smokers being forced outside to man-made global warming.)

Saturday, November 3, 2007

Of condolences and "coincidences"
Many, many thanks for the comments, links and emails from so many of you expressing condolences, prayers and sympathy for the death of my father. It's hard to express how comforting such seemingly innocuous gestures can be, but I will try in a later post. Suffice it for now that my family and I are very touched.

Here's something kind of interesting: the Diana Der Hovanessian poem, "Shifting the Sun," that I posted last Tuesday (Lord, has it been that long already?) is a poem that I heard for the very first time in January of 1997. I was listening to MPR and Garrison Keillor's "The Writer's Almanac" as my family and I packed our bags, having just received word that my grandfather had died. I was stunned by the appropriateness of that poem on that day, and made a mental note to track down a copy of it when we returned home. Obviously I was successful, and we eventually placed a copy of the poem in the memory book that went out to family members after my grandfather's funeral.

My father passed away Monday night, October 29, barely four months after being diagnosed with lymphoma. On Tuesday morning, October 30, The Writer's Almanac featured this poem:


As Death Approaches

I can't believe I'm laughing!
I'd have sworn I'd be
shaking or sniveling.
And I sure didn't expect
a limousine.
I've never been in a limousine.
No biggy.
I've had better than fame.
Who needs the pressure?
As for fortune, I'm filthy.
That's why I'm laughing.
I've had so much love:
the giving, the getting.
It's shameful.
It's embarrassing.
And it's too late.
No one can take it away!
And I've had the pain
to help me appreciate it.
Thank God for the pain!
Easy for me to say
now that I'm going!
But no, seriously,
the kicks in the teeth,
the gut, the rugs
pulled out, slammed doors,
setbacks, snubs.
Without them, I'd
never have recognized
Love, bedraggled,
plain eyes shining,
happy to see me.
Do I want more?
Of course I want more!
I always want more
of everything: money, hugs,
lovemaking, art, butter,
woods, flowers, the sea,
M&Ms, chips, tops, bottoms,
trips — I did give up drinking —
time, sure, and yes,
I'd like to see
my grandchildren,
if there are any.
I'd like to see my books
but more has never
been good for me anyway.
Enough — that's what I've
always needed to learn,
and is there a better way?
So this laughter
I had to work up to
through so many tears,
it just keeps coming
like a fountain, a spray.
Let it light on you
refreshment, benediction,
as I'm driven away.

By Susan Deborah King, from One-Breasted Woman. © Holy Cow! Press, 2007.

There's so much in there that sums up what my dad would have said or felt, and for it to appear the morning after he died...and the perfect poem after my grandfather's death...coincidence? Oh, but of course.

I can't say I agree much with Keillor's politics, but I like his stories and I enjoy the daily Almanac's. Somehow, however, I see the hand of a higher author and finisher.