“I have no doubt, none at all, that we are
in the midst of a global warming, or,
as I prefer to call it, spring.”

- Dick Cheney

UK shaken by 'significant' earthquake
PA
Wednesday, 27 February 2008

A "significant" earthquake shook the UK in the early hours of this morning, causing damage to buildings and leaving at least one person injured.

The tremor hit at around 1am and was measured at 5.2 on the Richter scale.

Its epicentre was near Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, but the effects of the quake were felt throughout the country.

HT: b3ta.com (and Uncle Raven)

I wish...that every time I see someone with a Hispanic name in a crime report that I didn't automatically wonder if they were an illegal alien.

I wish...that every time I see a dominating performance by an athlete that I didn't wonder if he or she was on steroids.

I wish...that if I have to read a story about an athlete being arrested that it didn't always mention a strip club.

I wish...that when overpaid athletes complain about their contracts that they didn't claim they just want what's fair.

I wish...that every time Bill Clinton wags his finger that it didn't make me laugh.

I wish...that every time the Minnesota legislature is in session that I didn't think about moving to South Dakota.

Reverend Mother vs. the Mall Diva.

The Reverend Mother turns on the portable heater in the bathroom.

Meanwhile, the Mall Diva turns on her blow-dryer.

A dark day.

You Are a Super Diva

Some may complain about your diva ways, but you brush them off. You simply demand the best - and there's nothing wrong with that. Don't stomp on the little people too much though! You still need them to get to the top.

Note: Questions may or may not have been answered in order to fit characterization.

Awesome tribute to George Washington on his birthday from Sheila. She's excerpted several fine descriptions of Washington as a man and a leader from those close to him, and from his own words, that are both humbling and inspiring.

Could there ever be another like him?

Thomas Jefferson on George Washington:

The moderation and virtue of a single character probably prevented this Revolution from being closed, as most others have been, by a subversion of that liberty it was intended to establish.

Martha Washington wrote a letter to a relative on the eve of her husband's departure to the Convention in 1774:

I foresee consequences; dark days and darker nights; domestic happiness suspended; social enjoyments abandoned; property of every kind put in jeopardy by war, perhaps; neighbors and friends at variance, and eternal separations on earth possible. But what are all these evils when compared with the fate of which the Port Bill may be only a threat? My mind is made up; my heart is in the cause. George is right; he is always right. God has promised to protect the righteous, and I will trust him.

(Read on)

PATRICK HENRY, on his return home from the first Continental Congress in 1774 was asked whom he thought was the foremost man in the group:

"Colonel Washington is unquestionably the greatest man on that floor."

Abigail Adams first met Washington in 1774, and wrote to her husband:

You had prepared me to entertain a favorable opinion of him, but I thought the half was not told me. Dignity with ease and complacency, the gentleman and the soldier look agreeably blended in him. Modesty marks every line and feature of his face.

When George Washington was elected (unanimously) by the First Continental Congress to be Commander in Chief (this was in June, 1775) - here was the brief acceptance he made:

"Lest some unlucky event should happen unfavorable to my reputation, I beg it may be remembered by every gentleman in the room, that I this day declare, with the utmost sincerity, I do not think myself equal to the command."

GEORGE WASHINGTON, writing to Martha on June 18, 1775, following his nomination as commander in chief:

My Dearest: I now sit down to write to you on a subject which fills me with inexpressible concern, and this concern is greatly aggravated and increased when I reflect upon the uneasiness I know it will give you. It has been determined in Congress that the whole army raised for the defence of the American cause shall be put under my care, and that it is necessary for me to proceed immediately to Boston to take upon me the command of it.

You may believe me, my dear Patsy, when I assure you, in the most solemn manner, that, so far from seeking this appointment, I have used every endeavour in my power to avoid it, not only from my unwillingness to part with you and the family, but from a consciousness of its being a trust too great for my capacity, and that I should enjoy more real happiness in one month with you at home than I have the most distant prospect of finding abroad, if my stay were to be seven times seven years.

But as it has been a kind of destiny that has thrown me upon this service, I shall hope that my undertaking is designed to answer some good purpose.

George Washington describes here what a general expects in his aides:

The variegated and important duties of the aids of a commander in chief or the commander of a separate army require experienced officers, men of judgment and men of business, ready pens to execute them properly and with dispatch. A great deal more is required of them than attending him at a parade or delivering verbal orders here and there, or copying a written one. They ought, if I may be allowed to use the expression, to possess the Soul of the General, and from a single idea given to them, to convey his meaning in the clearest and fullest manner.

GEORGE WASHINGTON, letter to Joseph Reed, early December, 1775, after a disappointing recruiting drive:

I have oftentimes thought how much happier I should have been if, instead of accepting the command under such circumstances, I had taken my musket on my shoulder and entered the ranks; or, if I could have justified the measure to posterity and my own conscience, had retired to the back country and lived in a wigwam. If I shall be able to rise superior to these and many other difficulties which might be enumerated, I shall most religiously believe that the finger of Providence is in it to blind the eyes of our enemies, for surely if we get well through this month it must be for want of their knowing the disadvantages which we labor under.

George Washington wrote the following on the eve of his inauguration in 1789:

It is said that every man has his portion of ambition. I may have mine, I suppose, as well as the rest, but if I know my own heart, my ambition would not lead me into public life; my only ambition is to do my duty in this world as well as I am capable of performing it, and to merit the good opinion of all good men.

David McCullough describes, in his book on John Adams, the first inauguration day:

On the day of his inauguration, Thursday, April 30 1789, Washington rode to Federal Hall in a canary-yellow carriage pulled by six white horses and followed by a long column of New York militia in full dress. The air was sharp, the sun shone brightly, and with all work stopped in the city, the crowds along his route were the largest ever seen. It was as if all New York had turned out and more besides. "Many persons in the crowd," reported the Gazette of the United States "were heard to say they should now die contented - nothing being wanted to complete their happiness - but the sight of the savior of his country."

In the Senate Chamber were gathered the members of both houses of Congress, the Vice President, and sundry officials and diplomatic agents, all of whom rose when Washington made his entrance, looking solemn and stately. His hair powdered, he wore a dress sword, white silk stockings, shoes with silver buckles, and a suit of the same brown Hartford broadcloth that Adams, too, was wearing for the occasion. They might have been dressed as twins, except that Washington's metal buttons had eagles on them.

It was Adams who formally welcomed the General and escorted him to the dais. For an awkward moment Adams appeared to be in some difficulty, as though he had forgotten what he was supposed to say. then, addressing Washington, he declared that the Senate and House of Representatives were ready to attend him for the oath of office as required by the Constitution. Washington said he was ready. Adams bowed and led the way to the outer balcony, in full view of the throng in the streets. People were cheering and waving from below, and from windows and rooftops as far as the eye could see. Washington bowed once, then a second time.

Fourteen years earlier, it had been Adams who called on the Continental Congress to make the tall Virginian commander-in-chief of the army. Now he stood at Washington's side as Washington, his right hand on the Bible, repeated the oath of office as read by Chancellor Robert R. Livingston of New York, who had also been a member of the Continental Congress.

In a low voice Washington solemnly swore to execute the office of the President of the United States and, to the best of his ability, to "preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States." Then, as not specified in the Constitution, he added, "So help me God", and kissed the Bible, thereby establishing his own first presidential tradition.

"It is done," Livingston said, and, turning to the crowd, cried out, "Long live George Washington, President of the United States."

George Washington said:

Men may speculate as they will, they may talk of patriotism; they may draw a few examples from current story - but whoever builds upon it as a sufficient basis for conducting a long and bloody war will find themselves deceived in the end - For a long time it may of itself push men to action, to bear much, to encounter difficulties, but it will not endure unassisted by Interest.

On August 17, 1790, George Washington visited Newport Rhode Island - and visited the Jewish congregation of the Touro Synagogue (which still stands - gorgeous building. We went on a field trip there in grade school). The congregation presented an address to George Washington, welcoming him to Newport, and to their synagogue. A couple of days later George Washington wrote an eloquent response. Both the address as well as Washington's response were printed in all of the "national" newspapers at the time.

August 21st, 1790
To the Hebrew Congregation in Newport Rhode Island.
Gentleman.

While I receive, with much satisfaction, your Address replete with expressions of affection and esteem; I rejoice in the opportunity of assuring you, that I shall always retain a grateful remembrance of the cordial welcome I experienced in my visit to Newport, from all classes of Citizens.

The reflection on the days of difficulty and danger which are past is rendered the more sweet, from a consciousness that they are succeeded by days of uncommon prosperity and security. If we have wisdom to make the best use of the advantages with which we are now favored, we cannot fail, under the just administration of a good Government, to become a great and happy people.

The Citizens of the United States of America have a right to applaud themselves for having given to mankind examples of an enlarged and liberal policy: a policy worthy of imitation.

All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship. It is now no more that toleration is spoken of, as if it was by the indulgence of one class of people, that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights. For happily the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens, in giving it on all occasions their effectual support.

It would be inconsistent with the frankness of my character not to avow that I am pleased with your favorable opinion of my Administration, and fervent wishes for my felicity. May the children of the Stock of Abraham, who dwell in this land, continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other Inhabitants; while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and figtree, and there shall be none to make him afraid. May the father of all mercies scatter light and not darkness in our paths, and make us all in our several vocations useful here, and in his own due time and way everlastingly happy.

G. Washington

From Joseph Ellis' book The Founding Brothers:

First, it is crucial to recognize that Washington's extraordinary reputation rested less on his prudent exercise of power than on his dramatic flair at surrendering it. He was, in fact, a veritable virtuoso of exits. Almost everyone regarded his retirement of 1796 as a repeat performance of his resignation as commander of the Continental Army in 1783. Back then, faced with a restive and unpaid remnant of the victorious army quartered in Newburgh, New York, he had suddenly appeared at a meeting of officers who were contemplating insurrection; the murky plot involved marching on the Congress and then seizing a tract of land for themselves in the West, all presumably with Washington as their leader.

He summarily rejected their offer to become the American Caesar and denounced the entire scheme as treason to the cause for which they had fought. Then, in a melodramatic gesture that immediately became famous, he pulled a pair of glasses out of his pocket: "Gentlemen, you will permit me to put on my spectacles," he declared rhetorically, "for I have not only grown gray but almost blind in service to my country." Upon learning that Washington intended to reject the mantle of emperor, no less an authority than George III allegedly observed, "If he does that, he will be the greatest man in the world." True to his word, on December 22, 1783, Washington surrendered his commission to the Congress, then meeting in Annapolis: "Having now finished the work assigned me," he announced, "I now retire from the great theatre of action." In so doing, he became the supreme example of the leader who could be trusted with power because he was so ready to give it up.

George Washington's last words:

"I feel myself going. I thank you for your attentions; but I pray you to take no more trouble about me. Let me go off quietly. I cannot last long."

Mark Twain wrote in 1871:

I have a higher and greater standard of principle [than George Washington]. Washington could not lie. I can lie but I won't.

Gouverneur Morris said, upon the death of this great man:

It is a question, previous to the first meeting, what course shall be pursued. Men of decided temper, who, devoted to the public, overlooked prudential considerations, thought a form of government should be framed entirely new. But cautious men, with whom popularity was an object, deemed it fit to consult and comply with the wishes of the people. AMERICANS! — let the opinion then delivered by the greatest and best of men, be ever present to your remembrance. He was collected within himself. His countenance had more than usual solemnity — His eye was fixed, and seemed to look into futurity. 'It is (said he)too probable that no plan we propose will be adopted. Perhaps another dreadful conflict is to be sustained. If to please the people, we offer what we ourselves disapprove, how can we afterwards defend our work? Let us raise a standard to which the wise and the honest can repair. The event is in the hand of God.'--this was the patriot voice of WASHINGTON; and this the constant tenor of his conduct.

(hide)

Nancy at Fritinancy (formerly Away With Words) touches on the Divine:

But enough about Patty. Let's talk about the dog. Specifically, the dog's name. On paper she's "Shann's Legally Blonde." But she picks up her ears and smiles a doggy smile when you call her "Diva."

Then again, who doesn't? Once upon a time, the term (which means "goddess" in Italian) was applied highly selectively, and with all due respect, to opera megastars such as Maria Callas. These days, everyone with a pair of X chromosomes is a diva. We're so democratic! Divacratic, even.

Nancy, who makes a living by naming and helping to brand new products, goes on to list a series of Diva-centric product names (not all that I'd care to reprint here). A sampling:

Zappos, the online shoe store, features four pages of shoes code-named Diva, including the Gel-Dirt Diva 2 running shoe and the Diaper Dude Divas Diaper Bag. (Divas do diapers?)

"The Diva" is Old Navy's name for its lowest-rise jeans.

Diva Furniture sells furniture in Los Angeles and Seattle.

Viva Diva, a clothing boutique not far from where I live, gets points for rhyming.

Diva Espresso, which has four Seattle locations, gets points for referring to itself as "she" ("Diva paid her growing-pains dues...").

Surf Diva offers surfing lessons in San Diego.

Then there's the sisterhood of blogging divas: Cooking Diva, Techie Diva (pink! pink! pink!), Retail Design Diva (which had a nice post a few months ago on why store mannequins no longer smile).

What, no Mall Diva? Perhaps she's lost her Diva cred? Maybe she needs to take the Are You a Diva? quiz or the What Decade Diva Are You? test.

This evening was another late getaway away from the office in the dark, this time so late that all my favorite radio programs were already off the air for my "drive-time." Bummer. Plus it was cold. Damn cold. As I drove along an almost deserted street in the direction of St. Paul, I was surprised to see a train making it's way in the cold, dark night across the battered concrete bridge over Hennepin at 18th Avenue. Though it was a diesel engine, not steam, the frosty air nevertheless produced white clouds and in that moment I was suddenly transported — or "trains-ported" — into a black and white photo that could have been done by O. Winston Link himself. Not only that, I was transported back to another time in my life, and another time in our country's history. What I saw tonight looked very nearly like this, minus the swimmers:



My grandfather was kind of a nut about steam locomotives. He even worked for awhile as a fireman on a steam train during World War II, though that challenging experience apparently didn't sour him on the big engines. Some 25 years ago I happened to read an article about O. Winston Link, a photographer who had set out in the 1950s to capture in the disappearing trains of the Norfolk & Western line, the last steam-powered railroad in the U.S. Photographing trains presented more than a few technical problems, such as lighting. As Link said, "You can't move the sun, and you can't move the tracks, so you have to do something else to better light the engines." As a result he created a sequenced flash lighting system that he would painstakingly set out along the tracks hours in advance to get a shot with his 4 x 5 Graphic camera. Naturally, most of his shots were at night, creating some of the most evocative records of a bygone era. The article I read mentioned that a book of Link's N&W train photos, entitled "Ghost Trains", had been produced, and I knew instantly that I had to track down a copy for my grandfather.

This was way-back in the days before Amazon.com, or even much public awareness of the Internet. I followed some clues in the article, made some calls, wired some money and in a couple weeks' time I owned a handsome, half-tabloid sized paperback of Link's best photos. Plus — bonus! — a thin recording on vinyl of the sound of two steam trains plying their trade across the valley. Link was a gifted technician who had also been able to make several high-quality sound recordings of the locomotives that fascinated him so. My grandfather would insist on playing the floppy record for me, and I can see him sitting in his chair, his eyes closed, his head slightly cocked with that crooked grin of his as the trains chugged and hooted from his stereo. Something about the sound just suggested a cold, snowy night, and how good it felt to be warm and snug inside while our machines soldiered on.

Trains have always been about getting from one place to another. Sometimes it's a raw display of intimidating force, and other times a surprisingly delicate balance of momentum, mass and friction. As my grandfather learned over the course of many hard lessons, there was as much art as there was science to getting a steam locomotive to operate at its best and to come to your hand. And like grandfathers, you can easily take them for granted and then one day they're gone. Yes, trains are about taking you from one place to another, and sometimes you don't even need to get on board.

When my grandfather died, the only thing I asked for was the book.

Here are a couple of O. Winston Link's better known photos, but by all means visit the link above to view a slide show from this great American artist, or here to see even more images. Here's another interesting resource for where you can buy images and recordings.

I felt better this morning so I went to work. A mistake, I think. I was still getting alternate waves of chills and heat, and back-breaking coughing and sneezing despite my cold drugs. Some things still had to be done, however, so I isolated myself as much as I could from others and cranked on emails and conference calls till I could go home. I may have overdone it, though — I'm very, very tired and feeling kind of punk. Let's see what tomorrow brings.

My fingers feel like they're the size of bananas, my tongue feels like leather, my throat like I've been gargling razor blades and I think I've separated three of my ribs with my violent coughing. I had some plans for what to do with my President's Day holiday, but I've mostly moved from one couch to another with a blanket and a box of tissues while drifting in and out of some weird dreams.

Yuck.

Last Friday was the third "birthday" of this blog. Wow, talk about time flying by, and in that time there have been 1,028 posts, totaling more than 530,000 words. So, yes, I could easily have written a book during this time, though it should be noted that Tiger Lilly, the Mall Diva and the Reverend Mother have contributed some words as well. There's also been more than 133,000 visitors according to Site Meter. I have to say I'm surprised by all those numbers, especially since I generally don't have any idea what I'm going to post about from one day to the next (or even if I'm going to have a chance to post from one day to the next).

The discipline has been good for me, though the main reason I've kept it up is that it is so much fun and because of the wonderful people I've been able to meet (including a prospective son-in-law). It's been a great hobby, and one I'm planning on continuing. I'm even thinking about a new look which you may see shortly. I've also gained a lot of confidence in my writing over the past three years, to the point where I'm seriously thinking about making some money at this. No, not in terms of blogads, but in using some of the posts here as samples to pitch articles or essays to publications. In preparation for that I've been going back through all the posts and categorizing them in greater detail for easier access (you may have noticed a much longer category list on the right side of this page). I'm about a third of the way through this process and then I'll turn my attention to a new look.

By the way, for the past three months I've gotten two or three emails a day from Go Daddy reminding me that my domain was due to be renewed (quite a change from last year's fiasco with Registerfly). Naturally I was fully aware of this and intended to renew but I deliberately was stringing this out as my own personal protest against Go Daddy's Super Bowl ads. Then last week I got a call at work from a GD customer service rep wanting to know if it was my intention to let my domain lapse. I wasn't expecting such diligence, but it was a great opportunity for me to explain why I had been delaying. The rep was a bit taken aback, but apologized and said that he would pass my concerns up the line. So I've got that going for me.

Anyway, thanks for stopping by.

Saturday morning we had our Inside Outfitters men's meeting with men from a couple of other churches and a large contingent from Minnesota Teen Challenge. During the worship part of the meeting we sang with an abridged version of the song "Yes" by Shekinah Glory.

Will your heart and soul say "yes"?
Will your spirit say yes?
If I told you what I really mean,
would your heart and soul say "yes"?

It's a song that moves slowly and deeply, giving one a chance to either sing along or meditate on the words as they minister.

There is more that I require of of you,
Will your spirit still say, "yes"?

For such a long time in my life my answer was always "No."

Later I came around to where I said, "I don't know."

Eventually, in many areas of my life I said, "Yes" — to great effect.

Why then, in too many other areas, do I say, "Yes......but"?

Where is it written in the Bible that guys have to be romantic? I mean, really, give me a scripture. I checked, and my concordance must be the Strong’s Silent Type, because the word “romantic” doesn’t appear once. Yet our culture tells us that women want men to be “romantic”, which usually means tender, sensitive and – oh yeah – dead.

In so many romantic movie by the time the credits are rolling over the last rays of poignant lighting, the guy is dead. As they might say in the Romance languages: Finito. Morte. Cold as a mackerel (like the guy in Titanic).

Why does it have to be like that? Well, I put down my Strong’s and picked up my Funk & Wagnall. It lists the definition of romance as “the character or nature of that which appears strange and fascinating, heroic, chivalrous…” and “a form of idealistic prose fiction distinguished from the novel or tale because it does not bind itself to reality…”

Well, there you have it: Romance is a fiction. The guy has to die at the end or otherwise ride off into the sunset or else reality will set in and the whole thing ultimately falls apart. You think women will pay to see a movie 17 times if turns out the knight leaves his shining armor laying around on the floor, or likes to spend his afternoons watching the jousts and scratching himself? ‘Tis a far, far better thing that he die nobly than live on and spoil the fantasy. That’s why most of what is considered "romantic" in our culture is really just a bunch of manipulative fluff that’s meant to sell something (or some philosophy).

There is an essential truth in all that, however: you really do have to die.

Earlier I challenged you to give me a scripture that mentions romance. I don’t think you’ll find one, but you will find an example of someone laying down his life for his bride. Ephesians 5:25 commands us to "love our wives as Christ loves the church." He gave himself up, and we are to do the same.

Now I’d guess most of us, if it came right down to it, would be willing to take a bullet for our wives. The real question is, “But will you let her have the last doughnut?” It’s one thing to lay down your life in a blaze of glory like in the movies, but it’s a lot more difficult (and even more romantic) to do it day in, day out by putting someone else’s needs ahead of our own. Perhaps at some time or another you’ve heard the phrase, “C’mon, would it kill you to show a little consideration?” And the answer to that, honestly, is “yes.” It does kill us in so much as we lay aside our will, our pride, our way of doing things in order to reach out to her in a way that is meaningful to her.

We die a little when we put down the newspaper to ask her about her day; when we go out of our way to do something to make her day or her life easier; when we take her concerns and input into consideration in making a joint decision. Is it one-sided? Well, it can be, but it’s been my experience and observation that these activities are very much included in the laws of sowing and reaping, and the harvest usually comes pretty fast. Furthermore, if we are to take Christ as our model, we see that he laid down his life for us first without concern for what he would get back (in fact, even knowing that there would be many who would not accept his sacrifice).

He did it, the scripture says, to make us (the church) holy. One of the definitions of “holy” is “to be set apart.” We demonstrate that our wives are holy to us by treating them in a way that shows we value them more than any relationship in our lives other than God. Instead of taking them for granted because we’re around them so much, we put extra effort into their well-being precisely because we are around them so much. Yes, it will cost us everything – and it will pay back more than we can ever imagine.

LaShawn Barber excerpted the following review of the latest Lenny Kravitz album from Blogcritics today:

At 43, Lenny Kravitz is more self-reflective than usual.

He recently spoke to Maxim magazine about his newly declared sexual abstinence, "a promise I made until I get married." Sex-free for the past three years, Kravitz wants more than just a physical connection. "I'm looking at the big picture."

Relishing the satisfaction that can result from practicing self-discipline in a gratify-me-now culture, the four-time Grammy winner told Australia's Herald Sun that abstinence "frees you from a lot of things and it also takes a lot of power away from people who are trying to seduce you... Ultimately I'm trying to do the right thing, to honour myself and the other person and honour God."

I'm heading over to iTunes now to check it out.

Buffy Holt points out a sad state of affairs:

PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti (AP) — It was lunchtime in one of Haiti's worst slums, and Charlene Dumas was eating mud. With food prices rising, Haiti's poorest can't afford even a daily plate of rice, and some take desperate measures to fill their bellies. Charlene, 16 with a 1-month-old son, has come to rely on a traditional Haitian remedy for hunger pangs: cookies made of dried yellow dirt from the country's central plateau.
...
"When my mother does not cook anything, I have to eat them three times a day," Charlene said. Her baby, named Woodson, lay still across her lap, looking even thinner than the slim 6 pounds 3 ounces he weighed at birth.
...
Food prices around the world have spiked because of higher oil prices, needed for fertilizer, irrigation and transportation. Prices for basic ingredients such as corn and wheat are also up sharply, and the increasing global demand for biofuels is pressuring food markets as well.

The problem is particularly dire in the Caribbean, where island nations depend on imports and food prices are up 40 percent in places.

The global price hikes, together with floods and crop damage from the 2007 hurricane season, prompted the U.N. Food and Agriculture Agency to declare states of emergency in Haiti and several other Caribbean countries. Caribbean leaders held an emergency summit in December to discuss cutting food taxes and creating large regional farms to reduce dependence on imports.

At the market in the La Saline slum, two cups of rice now sell for 60 cents, up 10 cents from December and 50 percent from a year ago. Beans, condensed milk and fruit have gone up at a similar rate, and even the price of the edible clay has risen over the past year by almost $1.50. Dirt to make 100 cookies now costs $5, the cookie makers say.

Still, at about 5 cents apiece, the cookies are a bargain compared to food staples. About 80 percent of people in Haiti live on less than $2 a day and a tiny elite controls the economy.

Buffy says this makes her feel ashamed. Personally, it makes me angry. Historically, famines are caused by politics more than they are by nature and are generally localized. Politics is a driving force in this famine as well, and its effects could cross many borders.

It's one thing for us to be inconvenienced by the higher costs and irritated by the short-sighted (at best) or well-meaning evil of the environmentalists and ag-lobbyists — cheered on by a righteous and fawning media — as they lead legislators around by the gold ring they've inserted in their noses while everyone in the parade has their hand out and palms up like silk-clad beggars, all while chiding the non-believers for being the blind ones. So what, we pay a bit more for our gas, our groceries, all while our freedom is picked from our pockets. At least we're not reduced to eating dirt — yet.

It's all clean and neat here, while thousands of miles away, almost out of sight, real beggars are feeling the true effects of the game. Like cracking a whip, the ripple of these policies curls out almost unnoticed until you get to the end where the lash snaps and falls. Not everyone is blind to what's going on, however. As I wrote before, Oxfam International has already noted the consequences

“Decisions on biofuels made in Europe are directly affecting millions of people in Indonesia. In the relentless pursuit of biofuel gold, big powerful palm oil companies are callously clearing communities from land they have farmed for generations, workers and small holders are shamefully exploited and we are losing valuable agricultural land to grow the food we need to feed ourselves and make a living. The proposed EU policy will only make this worse – pushing more people into poverty and concentrating land in the hands of a few.”

Additionally, as Wired notes:

Studies Say Biofuels Worse Than Gasoline
When all relevant factors are accounted for, biofuels produce more greenhouse gas emissions than fossil fuels.

So conclude two studies published yesterday in Science*, adding to a growing body of research suggesting that crop-based fuels, once hailed as a clean answer to oil, are not a magic green bullet.

Biofuels seemed so promising at first — what could be cleaner than running our cars and factories on plants? But early prognostications were a bit thin on details. They didn't always account for the energy that would be needed to grow, harvest and refine the fuels. Most importantly, they didn't consider that greenhouse gas-gobbling vegetation would need to be cleared for fuel crops — or, if these were planted on existing pastures, that new fields would be cleared to make space for displaced food crops.

[*Note: here (funded by the National Science Foundation an the University of Minnesota) and here. NW]

Closer to home, Tom Meersman of the Star Tribune has written a couple of articles recently that pick up on the same information. An excerpt Ethanol: More harm than good (Feb. 7) reports:

But a growing number of scientists are questioning the ecological benefits of biofuels. A policy report last month by the British Royal Society indicated that biofuels have been described as "carbon neutral," meaning that the carbon they emit to the atmosphere when burned is offset by the carbon that plants absorb from the atmosphere while growing.

The problem is that those benefits assume the world can turn large amounts of crops into biofuels, the report said, without needing to use more land to make up for lost food production. Clearing tropical forests and growing crops on natural peat lands in Malaysia, Indonesia and elsewhere "risk releasing enough greenhouse gases to negate any of the intended future climate benefits," the report said.

The reason for scientists' concern, said Tilman, is that soil and plants hold three times more carbon than air. Clearing trees to grow more corn or bulldozing tropical forests to grow more sugarcane emits large amounts of carbon dioxide, either quickly through the burning of the wood, or more gradually through the decomposition of carbon stored in plants and soil.

Tilman calculated that converting natural ecosystems to raise corn or sugarcane for ethanol, or soybeans or palms for biodiesel, will release 17 to 420 times more carbon than the annual savings from replacing fossil fuels. The Minnesota study estimated that in the United States, it will take 93 years for the carbon losses from plowing one acre of healthy grassland to equal the carbon savings from corn-based ethanol produced on that land.

Ethanol industry officials downplay the effects, saying that the process will become more efficient over time and that other organic resources will also be used to take pressure off of fuel crops. I wonder, however, what will replace all the groundwater sucked out of the earth to produce ethanol, as Meersman reported in Is ethanol tapping too much water? (Jan. 28):

With a flood of ethanol plants headed toward Minnesota, there's growing concern about whether there will be enough groundwater to satisfy the booming industry's thirst.

The issue was brought into focus last year in Granite Falls, where an ethanol plant in its first year of operations depleted the groundwater so much that it had to begin pumping water from the Minnesota River.

It takes between four and five gallons of water to produce a gallon of ethanol at a biofuel plant, and with 17 ethanol plants now operating in the state, six under construction and 10 more proposed or in the planning stages, the threat of more drains on underground water are rising...

The industry is consuming about 2 billion gallons of groundwater per year, according to state estimates.

That amount could quadruple by 2011 if the state's ethanol production more than doubles, as expected.

I wonder how many mud pies that much water could make? Finally, another article in Wired, Can't See the Forest for the Biofuels, makes many of the same points and also notes:

Brazil has designated nearly half a billion acres of forests, grassland and marshes as "degraded" areas suitable for conversion to farming. While the entire Alaska-sized area won't be cleared, much of it could be planted with soybeans, the staple of that country's biofuel efforts.

Half a billion acres? That's 500 million acres in just one country, being sacrificed to "save" the earth. It must be the same scientific reasoning that once said bleeding a patient was a good way to cure him. Meanwhile, 500 million acres is 250,000 times the size of the 2,000 acres (out of 19.5 million) in ANWR considered too precious to allow oil drilling (though those 2,000 acres will yield an assessed 10 billion barrels of oil. Just a little food for thought, especially if you don't like dirt cookies.

Tiger Lilly turns 14 today. She could have had her birthday a couple of weeks sooner, but she tarried past her due date and our doctor finally had to induce. I think he offered chocolate. Despite her initial hesitancy to meet the world she has not been shy about getting out into it, whether it's meeting the neighbors or traveling to China and Romania on missions trips.

Fourteen is an interesting time for her as each day brings new opportunities — and wardrobe. Camo BDUs one day, lacy camisoles the next, and she thinks it wouldn't hurt to have a formal or two on hand for whatever might come up. It's a time for looking back, considering one's options and greeting the future with a smile.







Happy Birthday, Patience.

Here are a couple of Super Bowl commercials that I missed last week but came across on YouTube. I'm not a big fan of Bud Light, but we do have birds, and these really make me laugh.

So every other day, Benny comes over and hangs out with us. Except for the other day when Faith went to, as the Reverend Mother put it, "Hang out with the monks" at the seminary/monastery.

Which made me veeerry suspicious. They could be doing anything!!! You know those wily monks. They're right up there with ninja cows. You just can't trust 'em. So, naturally, I donned all black clothes, packed a couple of knives (I just got a new one, a nice Marine Corps knife), and was off to the monastery. As I spied, I made sure that nothing... er ... 'interesting' was going on*. *Sigh* Nothing ever does. Every time we take Benny home, they talk about boring theological stuff that makes me fall asleep. But I resist!!! I must, because it could be a devious plan to talk about the most boring things in the world and make me fall asleep so that they can start doing 'interesting' stuff. It won't work! I won't let it!!!! I REGRET NOTHING!!!!!

...

Where did that come from?

Whatever.

Usually I sit in the back seat of the car and read with my good eye while keeping my evil eye on them. BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Sometimes I enjoy this too much. Not often, but sometimes. A lot of times it'll be late by the time we have to take Ben home. I wanted to charge Faith 25 cents for every minute past 9:30 pm that we were out taking Ben home. It would've worked, but when I asked Mom about it, she said no. If I have to do this anyway, why not make some money while I'm at it? I don't have any other form of income except for my allowance until I get a job.

Man, this sucks.

*This never actually happened. This is purely in my head and for my own amusement.

Ciao for now!!

Let's see, you could have an acerbic, irascible, quick-with-quip wounded war veteran who is much older than his opponent as the Republican nominee for president, who could be going against a fresh, young face who has come out of nowhere in recent years to infuse and enthuse an electorate that seems eager for change.

How did that turn out for Bob Dole?

Well that was an exciting Super Bowl yesterday though some might say it didn't measure up to other years. Similarly, I thought the Super Bowl commercials were pretty good overall, though some might say this was a down year. As for me, my standards may have been irreversibly lowered after last year; from now on any year that doesn't feature two guys kissing while eating a Snickers bar is at least in for an honorable mention. In fact, I thought this year had a number of solid entries that made it difficult to pick a single best commercial, so I broke them down by category: Those With Animals; Those With Celebrities; Those With Breasts; The Surreal; The Worst and an "Open" category for commercials that didn't easily fall into one of the other categories but made me smile.

Those With Animals
Cute animals are always a good start and are deserving of their own category even though these could easily fall into the "Surreal" niche. For example, the Fedex commercial with the big pigeons for the "heavy stuff". Ok, pigeons bigger than a bus get attention and the creators went just far enough with the gag with the scenes of chaos in the streets. Of course, Fedex isn't in competition with gargantuan carrier pigeons so the strong product benefit message gets kind of lost. I also liked the Sobe "Thrillicious" commercial with the lizards mimicking Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video. Great animation, loaded with little extra bits of business like a mini-fart cloud, but the commercial seemed to suggest that drinking Sobe turns you into a zombie, albeit one with rhythm. Better was the Budweiser Rocky commercial where an aspiring Clydesdale misses the cut to be on the Bud team but is taken under the paw of a Dalmatian coach (personal trainer?) who puts him through grueling exercises and training, turning him into a ripped "Italian Stallion" (they did use the Rocky theme). Somehow, though, I couldn't help wondering if the horse was really on steroids, and if the Dalmatian gave him "the cream" or "the clear" since the Clydesdale's head was nearly as big as Barry Bonds'. That was enough to tip the balance in favor of my favorite animal commercial, the Bridgestone tires "scream" commercial where a squirrel chasing an acorn into the road appears about to meet his maker (or KingDavid), but for the superior handling of the tires. Instead of squealing rubber we heard and saw the animatronic screams of the squirrel, owls, deer, the woman passenger...I don't know, it just moved me.

Those With Celebrities
The only two celebrities I could remember off hand were Justin Timberlake for Pepsi and Will Ferrell for Bud Light. I don't remember too much about either commercial since my mind always tries to block these two guys out when I see them, but I do remember they both seemed to be about "sucking one."

Those With Breasts
I know, I know — it seems as if just about every commercial featured breasts in some way. The ones I selected, however, simply, um, stuck out. The first I'll mention in this category was the CareerBuilder one where the poor working woman drone is so demoralized by her evil boss that her heart leaps out of her chest and through her shirt like a scene from Alien. Ok, it's not really about breasts, but it struck me as a kind of "anti-breast" commentary on all the other commercials that fixate on womens' chests. Or maybe the copywriter just needs a new job. The Victoria's Secret commercial featured legs, breasts and music that I could actually hear because it also induced nearly absolute quiet in my living room filled with 20 people. A very awkward quiet. The best, or most over-the-top, breast commercial was the one with the chubby mechanic on a road call to jump start a woman's car. He puts one end of the cables on her battery, then opens his coverall and attaches the other ends of the cables to his nipples, cues the ginormous sound machine in his truck and with a swig of AMP accomplishes the mission. The best part, however, was the "Do Not Attempt" message that stayed at the bottom of the screen throughout. Ya think?

The Surreal
This is the largest category as it appears advertisers are going farther and farther out there to make their ads to stand out. Sometimes this can be rather dark and even vaguely disturbing, such as the CareerBuilder ad with the Jiminy Cricket-type character being eaten by a spider, the Cars.com ads for extreme "Plan B" car negotiating that suggest having a head-shrinking witch doctor or a hulking wrestler in a circle of fire are acceptable ways of doing business, or the Doritos ad that suggests you shouldn't tease or tempt a six-foot mouse. Bridgestone also appeared in this category when the driver of the car, on a dark, winding road, must suddenly steer around hazards such as a deer, Alice Cooper and Richard Simmons. You could feel the drama as the driver's hands tightened on the wheel as he fought with himself over the urge to run Simmons down. Similarly the E-trade ads with the talking baby/day-trader had a way of arresting your attention in a kind of creepy way. The first ad featured the baby spitting up at the end, which isn't a good idea when your audience is probably stuffing their faces. I was just about ready to write off the second one, where the baby talked about renting a clown with all the extra money he'd made with E-trade, when the kid looked at the clown then back to the audience and nearly took the words out of my mouth when he said, "I really underestimated the creepiness factor."

Then there's the silly-absurd ads like the ones from Bud Light that suggest their beer can give you powers like being able to breathe fire or fly. The one that nearly won this category in my household, however, was the Planter's cashews ad where the ugly woman with the unibrow nevertheless had all the men around her completely smitten — all because she used cashews as perfume. The winner, however, was the commercial for Tide with the poor guy at a job interview (perhaps he got it through CareerBuilder) who is undone and shouted down by a large talking stain on his shirt. This one seemed to get the most and loudest laughs from our group.

"The Worst"
Where to begin? When you think of the amount of money that someone has to spend for a Super Bowl time slot, and then see the misbegotten effort the company puts forth, it strikes me as a bigger abuse of stockholder's/investors money than Enron. It's kind of like sending Travaris Jackson out as your Super Bowl quarterback. Among the worst this year was the Coke commercial featuring James McCarville and Bill Frist. McCarville's face outdoes any clown's in terms of creepiness factor, especially in High Def. Supposedly Coke won a bidding war for his services, topping the folks at Sobe who wanted to use him as one of their dancing lizards. Another flopper that went over with our crowd about as poorly as the announcement that we were out of chicken legs was the Parental Advisory ad with the drug dealer outside the quickie-mart complaining that he couldn't make a living any more because kids were getting all the high they needed from their parents' prescription drugs. Whatever. I kept expecting to see Jay and Silent Bob show up (once Bob got through over on the AMP commercial) to run the guy off their turf. Actually, what it made me want to do was run upstairs and hide the Lipitor — until I realized we don't have any Lipitor. Speaking of drugs, the ad using a magical hand to wave a Zantac over a bloated woman to make her look better was just plain weird and wrong. Besides, I thought making women look better was beer's job.

Another stunningly bad groaner was the Sisyphus ad for the Yukon Hybrid. Please, as if trying to sell people on the utility of a battery-powered half-ton SUV isn't akin to pushing a boulder up a mountain anyway. Another car commercial made it into this category was for Audi, which was too bad because I kind of had high hopes for it at the beginning as they set up the scene like the infamous horse-head in the bed scene from The Godfather. Ultimately, what a waste of a premise as the "execution" left the commercial completely flat, almost as if the creative team's heads had been cut off before the commercial was finished. Then there was the numbingly bad, even paralyzing, Gatorade commercial where a large dog drank loudly and messily from a water dish. That had a very high flinch factor as you kept wondering what it was about, and if you really even wanted to know. I remember feeling the same way watching Eraserhead 30 years ago, waiting for some pay-off or explanation. Then, and now, there wasn't any.

But to get to the worst, however, you've got to have Go Daddy and Sales Genie slugging it out for a nice, dark wet spot at the bottom of the barrel. It truly galls me that I'm stuck with Go Daddy for my domain name following last year's RegisterFly melt-down. There's no effort to promote the benefits of their product (whatever it is), no offer to meet a need (except perhaps the most puerile), no product comparison. The ads aren't even really saying "Look at me!" as they seem to be much more about looking at something else. At least the commercials inspire some emotion, even if it's negative. The Sales Genie ads, however, are truly a waste of time and brain cells as I believe the animation, colors and dialog actually kill brains cells. With genius like this behind the company you really have to wonder how it ever became successful enough to make enough money to buy a Super Bowl ad, let alone two. Any future year without a Go Daddy or Sales Genie ad will automatically qualify as a "good" year for Super Bowl advertising.

Finally, there were some ads I liked that didn't fit in any category other than they made me smile. The first ad, for Diet Pepsi Max almost fell into the "worst" category, however. First off, I can't stand Joe Buck, so seeing him almost ruined it right off the bat except that he happened to be nodding off, which is what I do when I see/hear him so that was kind of funny. There were some other great clips in the ad of people nodding off before being revived with the product and going into a take-off of the old Saturday Night Live Night At the Roxbury skit. The commercial flirted with danger again as this skit is one of the most annoying skits in SNL history. Just as it was really starting to get on my nerves, however, the commercial ended with a guy snapping "Stop it!" to a couple of bobbing bimbos.

I also really liked the Bud Light ad with the guys being roped into a wine and cheese party with their girlfriends. What I like about these types of ads, while they focus on the guys' obsession with beer, is that they at least portray the lads as being clever in the way they go about smuggling the beer into the party disguised as a block of cheese or a long baguette, or the way a TV is hidden in a box of Chablis. The clincher, though, was the pay-off line at the end where one the guys leaves the party "On a cheese run," ranking right up there in my mind with "And a chain saw!" from last year's Bud Light Super Bowl ad.

The warmest ad of the evening, however, was from Coke as it featured large cartoon character parade balloons of Underdog and Stewie from Family Guy breaking loose and competing with each other in slow balloon motion over an inflated bottle of Coke. It was funny, but especially satisfying when at the last moment a Charlie Brown balloon rose up out of nowhere to snag the prize. Yay! Charlie Brown finally wins!

By the way, if you missed any of these commercials, or want to see them again (even the bad ones) you can find a collection of all the ads from yesterday's game in one place here.

I'm going to Scottsdale, AZ the first week in March for a business conference that I've been organizing for my Division. I've lined up some big name speakers, including an economist who also happens to be the National Policy Director for the McCain campaign. At the time we booked him last fall that was merely an interesting curiosity on his résumé; now it appears the interest factor has appreciated. Of course, what's a business conference without golf, and what's also ratcheting up for me is the anticipation and anxiety of playing at Grayhawk and the two TPC courses out there as part of the event. Even when I'm playing regularly my game is better suited for some of the gentler courses (slope under 130) around here. Contending with the sand and saguaros of the Sonoran desert, not to mention scads of senior executives, stretches my stress capacity. Especially because I haven't played since the MOB Millard Fillmore Classic (a tradition unlike any other) last August 24.

It's not that I haven't tried to play, it's just that after that time things seemed to keep coming up, like an overdue (but non-golfing) family vacation, more work in making up for the days off from said vacation, and distractions, like, oh, my father dying. In fact, the last time I came close to playing was in September when I was down in Missouri to visit him. On one of those days things seemed to be pretty stable and the home nurse was on her way for a regular visit so my brother, my nephew and I decided to head up to nearby town of Sullivan to play 18. We were just finishing our brats in the clubhouse before starting out when my brother's cellphone rang and my mom said she had called for an ambulance and they were on their way to Sullivan as well, but to the hospital. Back in the car went the clubs, and us, and we met the ambulance at the emergency room entrance and spent the rest of the afternoon there. That really upset the old man because there was hardly anything he hated to see more than a lost opportunity to golf.

With March and humiliation approaching, I set out this morning for Lake Elmo and the Country Aire golf park which features an outdoor driving range with covered, heated tee-boxes. I took my clubs, picked up a large basket of balls and secured a toasty stall directly under a heater right in front of the line of large orange yardage signs. Big flakes of snow were falling slowly as I stood on the green mat and stretched, swinging a couple of clubs together to loosen up. As I did I thought back to the Sullivan clubhouse and golf course. For the last ten years or so it had been the home of the annual fund-raiser my father ran for the Shriner's hospital, and I had been down there several times to partner with my brother and hobnob with my dad's friends; some who, like me, had come from distant states for the fellowship and as a show of support. Golf had long been a big part of my father's life, and one of the things he passed on to me. He wasn't a very big hitter, but knew how to aim his steady slice (excuse me, "fade") effectively, especially on his home course. He was a master on and around the greens though, and a preferred partner in a two-man or scramble.

I scooped a dozen or so balls along side the mat and started hitting 8-irons to see if my swing was still buried somewhere inside me. Somewhat to my amazement it was, though it looked to me as if I was barely carrying the 125-yard marker. I chalked it up to stiffness, being out of practice, the cold air and the light snow that was falling. My father hadn't been able to teach me much about the golf-swing itself because our styles were too different. Our golf lessons, in fact, were a lot like those other driving lessons back when I was 15: testy and frustrating for both of us. In the end he sent me to other people, both to learn how to drive a stick, and how to swing one. Nevertheless, I always looked forward to playing with him. I don't know that I've ever played, or will ever play, without thinking of him.

This morning after a couple of dozen shots I put the 8-iron away and started working up through the longer clubs, first a 5-iron and then my hybrid club. The first couple of shots with each club would be pretty ugly but then I'd start to get the feel back and was launching some good ones. Over the years my game has ebbed and flowed. No matter how good my game might be at any particular time, however, it was guaranteed to desert me if I played in a foursome with my dad. Maybe I just wanted too much to do well and to please or impress him. I had had some good shots while with him, but more often I was out of rhythm and veering between over-thinking paralysis and total brain-dead execution. I think the last time he may have actually seen me tee-off was at one of his tournaments a few years back. He didn't play in these himself, but would cruise the course on a cart, teasing his friends and stirring things up. I saw his cart approaching as I prepared to hit my tee-shot and, true to form, I topped the ball and dribbled it into the creek a short way in front of me.

Two years ago, I think — after his valve replacement — he tried to turn the golf tournament over to a couple of other guys in the Shrine Club. The club responded by naming the tournament after him, even adding the word "Memorial" to the name. "I'm not dead yet," he said, and proved it by continuing to help out with the event. Even last summer as he fought his way through the chemo treatments the guys would come by the house, wanting to know where to order the hats, or who to contact to have sponsor signs made, or for his help in straightening out the hash they had made of all the details he used to know by heart. And now this fall it will well and truly be "The Memorial."

I was down to a few more minutes in my stall rental this morning when I finally took out the driver my brother had made for me last year. I had hardly had a chance to break it in. I took some practice swings, getting used to the longer shaft and the huge head that looks as if it should weigh a pound or more, though the club itself feels like a feather. "Well, here goes," I thought as I teed up a ball on the tallest rubber tee on the mat. I took dead aim up the line of orange signs and brought the club back straight and high, swinging through and then watching as the ball rose straight over the signs and through the falling snow, still in the air as it passed the 250 marker. "Did you see that, Dad?" I whispered, wiping the snowflakes off of my cheek.