On How to Break Crystal . . .

As many of you may know, I absolutely love Opera. Soory, really really like, opera. But, and this caveat is honest, not all opera is created equal. There is a definite difference between romance language opera and guttural language opera. Like the difference between Puccini and Mozart. And not all singers are created equal. I personally can not stand screeching sopranos, and there are quite a few, or Tenors who try too hard. Now, this is not a dissertation on the differences between operatic composition or a study on who is the best, but rather an introduction for those of you who may not know what beauty lies at the pinnacle of classical music.


My favorite soprano: That's a tough one. The one that I like the most that anyone can hear is, Anna Netrebko. She's young (thirties), Russian, has this lower octave soprano that is incredible, and even though she is definitely not fat, after she sings, it's over. More on her to follow. Claudine Collart is awesome. But she did hardly anything. She was essentially a backup singer. How unfortunate. Mado Robin holds the claim to fame for being the highest, clearest soprano. EVER. I have some tracks, that when I figure out how to play them through the blog, I'll upload, for all to be blown away. Overall favorite: Mady Mesple. Her Lakme is unparalleled.

My favorite Tenor: is there any other than Pavarotti?

To illustrate, here is Anna Netrebko, whom I have linked to on the left (you figure it out):


And here is the definitive Pavarotti:


I am a pretty big Puccini fan. Turandot was his last opera and at the first performance, after "Liù, poesia!" the orchestra rested and the conductor turned to the audience and said: "Qui finisce l'opera, perché a questo punto il maestro è morto" ("Here the opera ends, because at this point the maestro died"). And the curtain lowered.

These are the standards that I hold opera to.

It's got to be good all the way around, as a whole, if it's going to be good at all.

Down Here

So I found this group, DownHere. Maybe you have heard of them? Canadian (Caw-Naw-Dee-En) Christian Rockers. Yeah, that's what I said. Some of their stuff would be "banned" in certain un-named places but I thought you all should check this vid. out. At first I said, "Are they mocking?" But then I realized that they were actually laying down a challenge:


And this one makes Belle cry



Tell me what you think

The Looking Glass Wars

So, Belle and I were at Borders one night. It was a rare, almost freak like date that we had. (She just asked me where the "freak" came from and I said it was because it was our second date in two years, yes, that's including our anniversary) When we first got together [courting, dating, interested in each other (you get the picture)] that was our Hot Date. We'd get a cheap dinner and then go to Target or someplace and then end up at the book store for an overpriced cookie and some Stuart's Orange and Cream.

I love books. I have always been envious of those libraries that you see in shows with thousands of leather bound volumes stacked to towering heights.

It was on that night when we were at Borders that this caught my attention

I guess you can see why.

Now of course, I was naturally suspicious. The whole "Fantasy Just Declared War on Reality" line will do that to you. So, I picked it up and read the back cover (it was the paper back edition) and my curiosity was further piqued, so I read the prologue, and then thumbed to about the middle and read a few pages and then thumbed toward the back and read a few more pages, and having done that, I decided that I wanted to read it. I checked the price: eight somethin'. No biggie. BUT, I have made a commitment that I will never buy another book without first knowing that it is not a waste of money. The last book I bought on a lark burned me. Did the whole skim through previewing and missed some junk. I don't even remember what it was much less what it was about. That's where those kind of books belong: forgotten.

So I did some digging and found it at one of the local libraries (we have three libraries within 12 miles) and of course I made a special trip and picked it up.

I was surprised. Not only did I like it, but it is actually really good.

It is written for about the 13 and up range. It's simple, without being juvenile, and engaging enough for me. Maybe I'm telling on myself too much. Hmm. It is in fact better written than many adult target books that I have recently read.

I know, I know, you're all demanding; "BUT, WHAT IS IT ABOUT?!"

It is about Alyss Heart. What really happened and how her true story came to be twisted and turned into a nonsensical thing called, Alice in Wonderland, by none other than Carrol Lewis (Yes, it's supposed to be like that).

I was expecting it to have witchcraft and magic, what with the word "Fantasy" printed on the front cover, but it didn't. Oh, what a relief. Imagination is the tool of preferred use and that only works in Wonderland, mostly. Oh, did I forget to mention that it takes place in both Wonderland and "our" world. It does. And I found it to be in keeping with Mr. Doug Phillips essay on fantastic writing. Black is black. White is white. And the author, Frank Beddor, makes some very good observations and statements. And from what I can remember of Alice in Wonderland (it's probably been fourteen years since I read it) it's better than the original. Just like the old saying: "The imitation of the original is better than the original, but the original is better than the imitation of the imitation." Of course, it is probably not that hard to write something better than an opiate trip induced hallucination.

Needless to say, I'm looking forward to the sequel (it's a trilogy), Seeing Redd. And it ended like a stand alone. I hate books that end right in the middle of major action and say: "Buy the next one to find out what happens, and we're going to make you buy another to really find out what happens."

So if it sounds interesting, read it, and we can Book Club it.

On Thugs Striking

For those who enjoy my deranged sense of humor, I am so glad that you have finally joined me over here, on the funner side of life. (Yes Jak, that was said, shall we say, "tongue in cheek")

Well, I know that at least Kristi had the courage to waste about ten minutes of time and enjoy The Feast from start to finish. Yes, some are not so funny, but it helps to get a break every now and then, keeps it from getting stale and as far as who thinks these things up . . .Geniuses. With far too much time on their hands! Belle loves "The Feast is Ruined" and "Thief"-'Yoiks, and away.'

Has anyone else heard about the writers strike in Loonywood? I got my bubble pipe out when I heard that they had actually gone through with it and started dreaming about writing to the producers of my favorite shows and letting them know that I would do the same job for LESS money. There are some really good (of course we are talking about Crazywood so "good" is comparative and relative) shows out there. It would be a shame to see them get postponed. Of course if they did get postponed then I might actually do something productive, like further my walk with God, spend more time with my girls, WRITE. You never know. And these crazy strikers. Bunch of thugs. Oh I totally understand where they are coming from. The writing of a script is the most important part of a show (big or little screen). I don't care how good the Directors or actors are, if the script is lousy, specifically the dialogue and the realistic continuity, then the show stinks at the worst and suffers greatly at the least. Case in point, the latest StarWars movies. I don't doubt Lucas' creative ability (never mind its origins), but he can't write, or direct actors for nothin'. Doubt me? Watch the StarWars movies and tell me that they get better with time. Oh, the special effects are progressively more awesome but watch them and then tell me that The Empire Strikes Back is not the best one out of all six. Why is it the best? Because he didn't write the script or direct it. "Man's got to know his limitations." Now, of course I totally understand why he did direct the last three: they were his creation and he wasn't going to let anyone else get any credit for the work. That's okay. "A smart man surrounds himself with men who are smarter than he is."

But I got distracted. The writers, I heard, are striking because they want a cut of the DVD sales and rentals. As I said earlier I totally understand where they are coming from. I mean, they get what, 400k for a script? When the the lead actor comes in and gets 7 figures? To do what? Just repeat some lines that he doesn't even have to memorize (by memorize I mean commit to semi-permanent memory like a stage actor has to) Now, I'm not disparaging actors because we all know that there are actors (Matt Damon) and then there are hacks (Casper Van Dein) for example. Tell me though, who did all the REAL work? Without a script, the Director has no vision to shape and form; without a script the the camera man have no baseline instruction to follow; and without a script those marvelously high paid stars have no lines to repeat. BUT, and it's a big one, (Perhaps it should be more like BUT) what these strikers have done, is latch onto the the Aristocracy of Pull. They have become thugs, demanding goods over the top of a gun barrel. All strikers are thugs. The greatest part about America, besides being God's gift to the world, is that if you don't like the hand you have been dealt, you can go seek out another hand. YOU are your only hindrance. The glory of the open marketplace, is that the consumer and not the manufacture determines what goods survive. All competition is good for business. It drives the producers to strive for a more excellent, more appealing product. When you suborn realistic requests with unrealistic demands, you place creativity in jeopardy, and elevate banality.

Hopefully there will be a massive restructuring in the writing community and those who want to write in the free market will have their fresh originality produced and the hacks, with their tired cliches, will find themselves no longer receiving Top Dollar for substandard tripe.

And maybe the type of things that we really want to see will be produced, not the garbage that the elitist proclaim as enlightened, like the Emperors new clothes.

Aren't you tired of the critics saying "Oh this is the most magnificent piece of work ever made, and if you don't agree, then you are a stupid, red necked, hayseed, christian hick, and you should go kill yourself to save the whales"

But of course, I guess there is a need for a reality check: I am talking about an industry that exist for one purpose: entertainment. Entertainment that profits very little. But man its fun to escape for a little while every now and then!

So okay, I'm going stop "soap boxing" now and leave you with a little levity. Enjoy

The Dancing Feast

So how does one follow last months post? The response was, humbling (though not surprising, to be perfectly honest. Ha! I know, Jak is saying, "You're very funny") In all honesty, your comments were most warmly received, and completely undeserved. Thank you one and all.

So what is up with me? The same-o-same-o. Only I think that I am getting a grasp on things. I am still running one job, laying it out, proposing work, supervising the various aspects of it (for the last two weeks it has been laying out and planning the concrete sidewalks and yesterday I spent several hours moving cabinets and tile into the house from the garage so it could be painted) and working on an exterior renovation, conveniently in the same small town, concurrently. The one job that I took over is new construction. I finished the siding about two weeks ago, had the landscaper come and set all the beds for the walk ways, three inches lower than I had specified (argh), and set the rough grade. The concrete finishers started last week and of course it wasn't just a simple bang-bang-bang, "Forms are done. Where's the mud?" The inside is drywalled and primed, and actually the project is really close. Just need tile, hardwood, trim, electrical trim out, plumbing trim out, and a good thorough cleaning, and about a thousand other little things that I can't think of and we'll be in business. Sounds like a full time job, doesn't it. It is. But, that's not enough for me, nooooooo.

This little exterior renovation was going quite smoothly; all but two of the new replacement windows were installed, and looking very good (the customer was pleased, that's always a plus) and the current steel siding was pealing off of the house like a ripe banana, and the original MDF siding, in all it's cracked, pepto-bismol pink painted glory, was coming off in typical ease, and then what do you think that I discovered? The bozo's that built the house, didn't insulate any of the exterior walls, and as if that wasn't enough the electrical service that supplies the house was jimmy-rigged by a horse. And NOT Mr. Ed. So, needless to say, I'm not getting a lot done, as of yet, with this project. What with having to call and find out what it is going to take to insulate the house, hold off on any work until I've spoke with the customer, call and meet with an electrician, determine what it's going to take to fix the Service Nightmare on Water Street, meet with the Electrical Superintendent, meet with a City Lineman, run here, run there, and just when I finally get to working, and get into the rhythm, and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel for one aspect of the project, I get a call from the Finisher for the OTHER project: "Where you at, man?" ARGH!

BUT, despite all of that, everything is all good. This is what I said I wanted. Big Business Man. Ha!

I have learned that Life is not a Competition, but it is Conflict. And it is how we meet this conflict and conduct ourselves in the midst of it that determines who and what we will become. And what I have realized, just now, is that Life Escalates. It becomes more complicated, the world seeks to overwhelm us. And every day we are faced with three decisions: allow the onslaught to bury us, drown us in a torrential flood; or fight with tooth and nail against Heaven and Hell to maintain our current position; or, get out of God's way and let Life flourish in the face of all adversity, like a master Riverman going upstream against all logic and common sense, prevailing against the turbulent deluge.

So what does all this have to with a Dancing Feast? Not much, except that we have to find humor where we can, and with me, it's the simple, silly things that make me laugh. I am discovering that I really like Smart-Silly. So, I thought I would share with you some of my current favorite Smart-Silly things:

First, The Original:

And now the Remix which is even better and sillier!


And now for the Feasting Part:

I absolutely love these videos. You have to go to here and watch all of the Feast videos.
My other current favorite is this one

Although, this one is great too.

You get the point. They keep me laughing all day long!

Pattern, Anyone?

So it is sad to say that this Blog has turned into a once a month occurrence. Now, that's not necessarily intentional. Just the way things have gone. The "new car shine" has kinda worn off.

When I first signed up, it was a like an addiction, not that I would know what that is really like. I'm sure that many of you can identify. But the "zeal" has aswaged. And of course it doesn't help that I have been pulling my hair out for the last two months. I have spent more time online in the last week, and that's not much, than I have in the last three months.

I finally got a two week project done at work. It only took me five. So, understandably, I was a little stressed. I underestimated how long it would take me, seems to be a general trend, and then well, I did something else on top of it. There is nothing like feeling like you are holding up the show. And then, in addition to all of that, the man that I was working for, decided that he didn't want to run the job anymore, and he walked away. Which has been a good thing. Sorry, I know that sounds bad. "Sounds" and "is" are definitely two different things.

But I finally got the slow leak plugged. And now I'm onto a more relaxed project. Oh, it's still on the same sight, but the overwhelming urgency no longer exists. There was another matter that was pulling my spirits down, like a caracal snatching a bird out of the air (they're the ones that can leap like 8 or 10 feet), but I have to come to terms with that sitch and life has stabilized. So, maybe I'll make the time to blog more frequently. Here and on SC. But that's another story. Maybe I'll get over there today. A'ight.

Buy.

Osama

So I've been reading like a nutcase lately. Trying to find some new authors worth reading and I'm not having much success. I found one new writer, young English guy, that is really good, only his subject matter is, hm, shall we say, questionable. No profanity in his narrative, which is a definite must/bonus, and his first book had virtually none in the dialogue. I think that there were literally two words in the first book. Then I got his second offering: hmmmm, disappointment reigns supreme. Normally I put them down, which I have done with two authors in the last two weeks, but I did finish it. There was a lot of Jane Austin mentioned in the book, particularly Persuasion, in fact he dedicated the book to her, called her a German Poet. But I digress. This post isn't about my attempt to find good authors, but rather about Osama. And, No, not Bin Laden. This is Osama.

All that other blather was to say that I was looking through the foreign film shelf at the library, I always check it first, and I saw this film. After reading the back I figured that it at least deserved a cursory viewing, and if it was awful, and slow (some times those adjectives can been joined) I could always turn it off, like I did with a Japanese film that I brought home a couple of weeks ago. It wasn't. It captivated me. There were some parts, were it seemed to drag a little, but in the end, it shook me. I know, that sounds so, Yuppie. Mod. Hollywood Blather Speak, but I don't know how else to describe it.

A friend and I were talking on Monday night on our way into town and he said "you know art is good if it disturbs you." Now, I don't agree with that at all, (in order for art to be art, it MUST be pleasing to the senses) but I thought it was ironic that two nights after we had been discussing shows and movies and stuff, I would see something that would leave me thinking about it all of the following day. Even up till now.

Osama is the first movie made in Afghanistan after the fall of the Taliban and it is about a girl whose father is dead, whose mother is a doctor, or nurse, it isn't made clear, and whose dotting grandmother lovingly tells her the same "beautiful story" every night. Oh, yeah, it takes place while the Taliban is still in power. Because of the restrictions placed upon women by that perverse society, "Osama's" family is starving to death and the only solution that they have is to cut the girls hair off and send her out into that hellish world as a boy. And if she's caught, it means death.

Now, you need to understand: this is not entertainment. Don't pop popcorn. Don't crack open sodas. To that extent the film-maker starts the film out like a documentary, but only briefly. It's a slice of life, a la Taliban style. There is a little language, in subtitles (it's in Arabic) references to the legitimacy of some boys' heritage, and there is one scene in a bath house where young boys are being "instructed" by a mullah. Definitely adult conversation. Conversation only.

The film is a very pointed commentary on the oppressive conduct of the devoutly muslim.

Having seen some documentaries previously and having spent some time on www.thereligionofpeace.com, I don't doubt the accuracy of the films' claims.

If it doesn't rattle your cage, then perhaps you should seriously consider moving to Iran.

Thank God we went to Afghanistan. Thank God we went to Iraq.

And no, the job's not done in either of those countries. It's just starting.

If it piques your interest, I know that the Blockbuster here has it, so I would imagine that the others carry it also.

Higher Education

I recently read a book, a big book. Actually it wasn't very big, it was a pocket book but it had 1069 pages at about point six font. (Even the big hard back is that long). It took me about a month to read, mainly as I drove to and from work. "Gasp!" The woman who wrote it is absolutely brilliant, if not flawed personally, in just a couple of points.

It was published in '57 and I was stunned at how appropriate it was for Today. In light of recent conversations that have been going around on the Bloggosphere, I thought that I would post an excerpt for public perusal.

Let me set it up and I shall try to be brief as there is 500 pages in front of the dialogue that is to follow.

The book is about the conflict between social Communism and capitalism and man's responsibility in the fight. Laws have been passed to essentially take what Big Business has earned through hard work and industry and "give" it to the "public need." A law has been passed that bans any business owner from owning a venture in more than one field of industry. If he owns more than one type of business he is forced to sell them off at a "fair rate"(give it away) until he only has one. Instead of accepting this, many "shakers and movers" have chosen to quit and simply disappear. The orchestrators behind the government have met and have devised a plan to "save" the country and stop any more people from leaving, a brilliant plan that further strips the citizens of their rights and ensures the non-producers financial safety. These men are arguing over the points of the legislation and the final straw was whether or not the people would actually allow it to happen, and this is what stood out:

"Still, I'm worried. The intellectuals are our friends. We don't want to lose them. They can make an awful lot of trouble."

"They won't" said Fred Kinnan. "Your kind of intellectuals are the first to scream when it's safe--and the first to shut their traps at the first sign of danger. They spend years spitting at the man who feeds them--and they lick the hand of the man who slaps their drooling faces. Didn't they deliver every country of Europe, one after another, to committees of goons, just like this one here? Didn't they scream their heads off to shut out ever burglar alarm and to break every padlock open for the goons? Have you heard a peep out of them since? Didn't they scream that they were friends of labor? Do you hear them raising their voices about the chain gangs, the slave camps, the fourteen-hour workday and the mortality from scurvy in the People's State of Europe? No, but you do hear them telling the whip-beaten wretches that starvation is prosperity, that slavery is freedom, that torture chambers are brother-love and that if the wretches don't understand it, then it's their own fault that they suffer, and it's the mangled corpses in the jail cellars who're to blame for all their troubles, not the benevolent leaders! Intellectuals? You might have to worry about another breed of men, but not about the modern intellectuals: they'll swallow anything. I don't feel so safe about the lousiest wharf rat in the longshoremen's union: he's liable to remember suddenly that he is a man--and then I won't be able to keep him in line. But the intellectuals? That's the one thing they've forgotten long ago. I guess it's the one thing that all their education was aimed to make them forget. Do anything you please to the intellectuals. They'll take it."

Abandoned

I absolutely love derelicts. I think that I love them so much because of how irritated and frustrated it makes me feel when I look at one.

I see them and I shake my head in disgust. But not because of what the structure has become, but because of what it was allowed to become

As a builder I have an understanding of how much effort went into the thing: the money, the investment of every man's time, from the owner to the lowest laborer, the emotional investment that was made when blood was poured out in sweat and toil. The sleepless nights of anxiety and excitement. And then to see that which was so ardently fought for, left, rotting, because it holds no value for the new owner.

I am not a socialist. I don't believe that one mans goods should be turned over to another just for the sake of "need." But when men are so short sighted as to refuse to find an equitable return on the investment that was inherited or unintendedly purchased, I shake my head in disbelief. Wouldn't it be better if someone else had bought it?

But then as I write, I realise that perhaps I am not being completely just to those who posses derelicts. Perhaps they do value such structures, but their system of worth is not monetary, but rather emotional. Perhaps they love that structure so much that they can not bear to part with it.

I love to drive. I hate taking the same route to a familiar destination. It makes me feel like a rat, caught in a drab white maze. When I was coming home from my visit to the windmills one day I drove past a derelict out in a growing corn field, and I remembered that I had seen it before and I decided that I was going to have come back and shoot it with my recent some-what-past-time. Needless to say my imagination took some trips until I was able to return and actually go up to the structure.

Doesn't it look like some medieval Middle Eastern tower?

What looked like mosaic tile turned out to be honeycomb block instead

And in the side, a small door stood

And upon entering I discovered what remained of a once very cool storage bin

And knowing me, upon finding hand holds, I didn't hesitate in climbing up. It was awesome to see the elevator collapsed, as if some giant whose very existence was his work had finally succumbed to the ravages of time and all that was left were his bones

The desolate courtyard

And then there was this: see the branch growing THROUGH the other branch?

Breathe Easier

Okay, all of you that have been frustratedly shaking you head. It's over. The long, dissapointing wait is over. I have updated Spent Casings. I need feedback people!

Perspective

So it's been a month. What? I've been busy. Really. I have proof. Wanna see? Maybe some other time.

So I was leaving one of my jobs the other night and as I turned North on the back road towards the highway that leads me home, I saw a thousand blinking red lights off in the distance. Okay, maybe there weren't a thousand. But quite a few. And they didn't belong there. There were too many of them and they were too close together to be radio towers, and in the daylight, you couldn't see anything.

It was a mystery, one that I was more than willing to investigate.

A day or so later I finished work early. Well, not early, just late enough to not start anything new. So I picked up and packed out, stopped at the gas station on my way out of town for my End of Day Reward and a couple of Stuart's O&C and then instead of getting on the freeway, I continued North.

About two miles North of town, the mystery was solved. How disappointing, I didn't even have to get out my truck. I could see exactly what the source of all that crazy red blinking was. They stood off in the hazy distance, a literal gargantuan forest. Windmills.

Now most people would would have gone: "Ooooh. That explains it." And turned off at the first road and headed for home. But I have this natural curiosity: I have to know "How" and "Why." It's not intellectual belligerence. It's something that I was given at birth, and when I was a child, it was encouraged. So I kept on. I had to see them up close. But the farther that I went, it was like I was standing still, because it didn't seem like I was gaining any ground. They weren't getting any closer.

Eventually I began to mark a difference: they were getting bigger. No, that wasn't a small grain container. It was a hundred footer. And no, those weren't kids toys, that was a real homestead.

They were massive.

As I entered the "forest" I slowed my van from the 65 that I had been doing and began leaning over the steering wheel, rubber necking like a tourist. I pulled up under neath one and got out and was simply awed by their stature. The had to be at least three hundred feet tall. The blades at least one hundred. And they "shooooom, shooooom, shoooomed" over head. They had this little house on the back of them and I thought how completely awesome it would be to climb up to it, and see the world from there.

I looked around and saw a service truck over at another windmill and that the service door was open. So, I climbed back into my van drove over there, thinking that I might be able to talk with the technician. When I arrived, I saw a rope dangling from the "light house" and tethered to the transformer box, but no one any where. I walked tentatively up the aluminum steps and poked my head into the hatch. It was about twelve feet across and there was an aluminum ladder that ran up, in stages, to platforms, all the way up, or at least as high as I could see.

I could hear noises transferring down the metal rigging, so I new that, whoever, was up at the top working. It took everything in my NOT to just start up (I love to climb). But I knew that if i did, that that would end badly. "Uh, yeah, Jonny Law? I gots a crazy whats needs be incarcerated."

I wonder if God is like that. He is so Big and so Great that even as we are on the right path and we are heading towards Him, it doesn't seem as if we are getting any closer, until BAM! we're overwhelmed by His all encompassing vastness.

So, If a man ever gets to where he is thinking he is something, and that he is big stuff, he needs to come out here,
And realise that he is nothing. That is my full sized, 3/4 ton work van at the base of the monster, not a minivan.

Here, I'm half the distance I was in the first shot. See what I mean. Closer. But not.

Yeah-Huh, Still Nuts

I am rubbing my hands together in glee, like old man Burns. "Eeeeexcellent"

Firstly let me state that I think that making the length of hair a religious tenet is, well, wrong. Borders on religious bondage. Kinda like burkhas. Length of hair is definitely not an indicator of righteousness. There are a lot of dope smoking hippies who are travelling the road to hell with long flowing tresses. But then also, if it gets the hair grown, well, who am I to condemn it. Ha.

Now JakJak would prove true to her calling, as my Arch Nemeses, and rain on my parade! How? By telling everyone that I didn't mean guys also. Oh, all right, I didn't even think about saying that, because, with me, well, that's a given and I forgot about the constraints of the medium. Now, certainly there is no "commandment" against men having long hair, but there are numerous admonitions against it. Paul says in the same passage that I quoted previously that nature itself has shone us that it is a shame for men to have long hair. I don't claim to understand this. But I agree with it. Why would a dude want to look like a chick? Rebellion. Everyone has to grow up sometime. Well, sort of. Okay, "Grow Out" of those childishly rebellious things. I saw this bumper sticker "Growing old is Inevitable. Growing Up Is Optional"

Now I get to play the complete hypocrite: I also like short hair. But not what you're thinking. I like really short hair, and yes I am talking about women. The kind that is just long enough to pin over with a barrette or a bobby pin or part down the side. I know, I know. "Yuuuuck!" Sorry, I just like it. But, not every girl can pull it off. Let me illustrate:
This is Elisabeth Gracen, she's an actress from a now defunct series. I always thought she pulled it off quite nicely, especially when she used to have hair all the way down her back (I tried to find that picture of her but failed miserably.) Maybe it was just the sword that she swung around every episode. Mentioning the sword, maybe that was why the series failed: the prop master did a lousy job. Note how the handle on her sword leans into her face, as apposed to staying true with the blade. Sorry. Tangent.

There was a woman locally, who was a little on the heavy side and she had long hair and she just looked awful. Now, I know, you're all in an uproar, but let me finish. She cut all her hair off, not as short as the picture above, and it made all the difference in the world. Nothing else changed, but it "cleaned" her up. Long hair was sacrificed for "cleanliness."

So, Ladies, you can sleep peacefully tonight. No matter how long your hair is, I don't think anymore or less of you: unless you do something so completely drastic with it that defies all logic, ergo, cutting off length for no reason, etc. etc.. I suppose the difference of my tastes can be summed up this way: Long hair is AWESOME, and short hair done tastefully, is cool. Oh, and I must add one final thought that I have been trying to communicate to Belle: braids on older women (any age over 18) are STILL cute. They DO NOT make you look like a child. They may make you feel like a child, but is that really such a bad thing?

Yup, Completely Nuts.

So herein lies the truth: I am a hair nut. Don't believe me? Just ask Belle. She'll knod her head vigorously and say "Uh-huh." What is the deffinition of a "hair nut"? A person who loves long hair. If you say, "I have long hair", and it might come to your shoulders: HA! Think again. "Oh, it comes to my shoulder blades" Ha! Not yet you don't. "Oh, it's to the small of my back." Ah, now we are getting closer. Hair is officially "long" when it can be tucked into your belt, like the dwarves' beards in The Hobbit.

Yes yes yes, all you ladies are rolling your eyes, and Jak is at this very moment saying "Oh, good grief" . (Yes, I am reading over your shoulder) No, hair is not long untill it is completely in your way. But we like it that way. Why? Because there is nothing entirely as awesome as long hair. However there is one caveat: it must be neat and clean. Nothing worse than dirty, ratty hair. The transformation from Glam Queen to Indigent Queen can be a very sudden and unexpected occurance. Also, I am willing to sacrifice length, for tidyness. Even though the locks might be clean, there is just something about scraggly ends that just seem to ruin everything. A nice clip-clip with a scissors every once in a while is a deffinite must.

"But it's such a hassel." I hear this often. If it were easy, everyone would be doing it. Good things take effort, and besides But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering. That's 1st Corinthians 11:15 if you were wondering. And besides that, trying doing this with short hair:
Totally awesome, huh. And that's just the tip of the Iceberg! HuHah!
So, you have to check out this sight LongLocks it will tell you how to grow long hair and how to keep it long and then you have to go to The Braided Image . It's awesome! Bookmark them both. Oh, and please forgive the classical paintings. I didn't design the sight.

Tarred (as in "excessively tired")

Again, we see that the "process" is working. Arr. Ha.

J-Boy, thanks for the recommendation. I know this film, though I have never seen it. What I do remember, is when the director won the Oscar for it, he jumped on the seats and walked to the stage on the seat backs. It was very funny.

MackySu, so glad you posted again. I was going to say "Find out what it is and I'll see about checking it out myself. Does this mean that you have seen it? Was it Good?

So, anyway. I'm tired. I spent the day tearing rolled roofing off a garage and patching in 1x planking. The original builder was a farmer and it's really too bad that he did not have a wood allergy. Because it would have been awesome if his hand would have swollen up every time he picked up a hammer. At least for me. Pro'bly not so good for him. Yes, I whine when I get tired or sick. I KNOW. It's not very becoming.

Anyway, I would rather finish my unwinding lying down, and since I don't have a laptop, yet. I'm going to go do something else.

An Introduction to Foreign Films

I absolutely love, sorry, strongly like foreign films. Now, I tend to stay away from the French and the Italian and Spainish (to differ from Mexican) because I can do without their kind of, um, shall we say "progressiveness." Kinda like Brokeback Mountain. I'm proud to say that that type of movie is entirely too "progressive" for me.

Ever since I was a little kid, I have loved language (it's people related). If I could afford it, I would speak twenty different languages (it costs money to learn. CDs, books, computer programs. Travel to foreign countries to learn by immersion. Blah blah blah. Time. Self diligence. Those little things). And ever since I was a kid, I have lov- strongly liked, foreign films. Back then it was the chop-socky movies of the seventies with flying ninjas and comedic violence and dubbed English. And unlike now, where they find an English word to fit the foreign language mouth movements, they would just have the English voice translate directly what the actor was saying in his native tongue. Hence, the notorious excessive lip movement. "Ho, you killed my father," as his mouth keeps moving for five more seconds.

I re-discovered foreign films with Zhang Yimou's Hero (actually it was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon but Hero is a better movie). Now there was some controversy about CT, HD, or as I like to call it Crouching Tigger, Hidden Pooh, when it came out. There were claims that the "flying" was real. That it was spiritualism captured on film. This is not true. It was all wire work, which the Chinese are the undisputed masters of. The director, in the commentary, said and I "sum up", "Of course people can't fly. But this is a different world where they can do all of these incredible things." So, it's no different than Superman. Only more entertaining. Now, the middle of CT, HD needs to be skipped over. For about a half hour there is this "romantic" background between Jiao Long and Lo, or "Darkcloud." A complete waste of time, not to mention, shall we say, tasteless. I love DVDs. You just hit "advance" and you're in the next scene. Both of these films are PG-13, but I would recommend 17 or 18 for some of the subject matter.

Most of the foreign movies that are released in the states are dubbed, but I prefer to watch them with subtitles. I love the sound of the native language, and when they subtitle them, you get the closest to the original. And besides that, you get the original actor's voice, not some voice-over performer that doesn't even match the personality or tone or timber of the original. And you learn to deal with the subtitles. At first they detract from the picture, but once you get accustomed to them, you don't even notice. In fact, I watch a lot of English movies with the subtitles. Sometimes they just don't record certain parts of the dialog at high enough levels.

Now if you are one of those people who "don't have the patience" for a foreign film, then may I suggest that perhaps you weren't watching the right film. If the only foreign language film you have seen is The Passion of the Christ, then you are off to a great start. Storytelling is universal. If the person telling the story does a good job, then you don't need to know what is being said, you're instinctively drawn in by the presentation. Subtitles take care of the need for linguistic understanding. Or, hey, turn on the English track.

The place to start, after The Passion of the Christ, is The Road Home, by Zhang Yimou. It's really cute and warm, like a puppy. I lent this to my sister-in-law, who is very particular about what she and her sons watch, and she liked it. She said it was the first movie that they had ever watched where her boys, 9 and 7, where absolutely quiet and riveted. They had to be, in order to read the subtitles! Ha! It's G rated.

Now follow that with Shall We Dance, NOT THE AMERICAN VERSION. The original Japanese version only. It's hilarious. It has a story line that might make you apprehensive, but it all straightens outs. It's PG, for a couple profanities and some "thematic" elements.

Alright. That's it for now..

Funny Funny

You have got to go here and under the "Illustrating Absurdity" column on the right, click on "Barak the Magic Negro (That's What the L.A. Times Called Him)" It's absolutely hilarious!

Hu-Yah!

Rock On Susu!

CowgirlE, I was a little nervous when I heard that you were laughing at my blog, but then I read your post and discovered that it was "all good." Rash guards are awesome. It's what the surfers, dudes and dudettes, wear, hence the name. I never could afford them, so, I got rash. Nothing like board wax. You know, they use wax in beauty salons for a reason. High heels are awesome. And they're finally bringing back some class and style into shoes. Some of the throw backs to the 40's and early 50s are really cool. Peep toes anyone?

Jak and I were talking the other night about that survey, and we came to the conclusion that what most of those guys where saying in their comments about bathing suit strings and high heels and hem lines and neck lines and on and on and on and on and on was "that no matter what you girls wear, you are the one responsible for how we think about you." Which of course is just a great big lie. No matter what a woman wears, or does not, we are responsible for how we think about you. All you girls need to worry about is you. Not worry about us worrying about you. Now obviously, we're not asking for you to just forget that their are men, who are not your brothers, in the world, but I really think that there is no fear of that. So. This has been fun. Let's do it again some time. I'm sure something will come up.

Wow

I guess I didn't know what I was getting into. "Whewwww." Don't take it the wrong way, I just didn't realize how many people would respond, and how well. Thanks. Keep it up.

It's amazing how things sometimes go: K-ree hit my thought right out of the gate, quickly followed by CowgirlE. Modesty must start at the heart. The true essence of outward modesty is inward modesty. It's a bi-product of the nature of Christ. Whether you're a christian or not. If an individual does not have modesty inside, how can you ever expect them to behave/dress modestly outwardly. Do they know how to behave better? Have they ever been taught? Do we compromise our standards to allow for their lack of knowledge? Absolutely not.

I love the quote "Your clothing should be snug enough to show you are a woman, but loose enough to prove you're a lady." That pretty much sums up my opinion about it all.

I did see that survey that K-ree mentioned, in fact that's what got all this started, and I had to shake my head. I told Belle that "if that is how badly, and all, those guys are thinking about, then they needed to find something else to do." Especially "christian" men. But I understand that the culture is "Guys thinking about Dolls" and visa-versa, and that the christian community suffers from the same ailment.

I think that there is a tendency to over compensate in the name of "modesty." The Arab nations have adopted this practice. Burkha's anyone? Head scarves? They take these incredibly beautiful women and instead of allowing and encouraging them to dress "modestly", they enslave them, out of fear and insecurity, in shapeless bags. To what end? Selfish aggrandizement.

I believe that there are two types of clothes: daily wear and occasional wear. Daily Wear is, well, exactly what it sounds like: clothes you would wear daily. Occasional Wear is exactly that too. See, we're brilliant. haha. Let me give you an example. I don't wear shorts. Now, I don't have a problem with shorts, at all. I just don't wear them. I'm not a boy anymore. Except, and you guessed it, on Occasion. I wear shorts when I play soccer, when I play basketball (haven't in years), when I run (again, not in years), and I wear swim trunks when I swim, and with no shirt. Have you ever tried any of those in pants or sweats? (They call them sweats for a reason.) Have you ever swam in a T-shirt? I never enjoyed feeling like I was drowning in seaweed. When I'm on a job sight, and it's unnaturally hot, I take my shirt off, (nothing like drowning on dry land) that is unless there is a woman "on sight." I understand, the job isn't the pool. When it's just a bunch of guys and my Pops says, "Nobody wants to see your naked body." I always say "Thank Goodness!"

From this man's perspective:

For the Ladies who do or consider swimming in T's, sometimes they're worse than not. Wet cotton has this inherent ability to mold to it's substructure and from what I understand, most swimsuits are padded and designed to shed water, not retain it, therefor most of the fine details are left un-highlighted. Now swimming shorts? I completely understand.

The one quote about clothing detracting from the face was pretty interesting. My motto has always been: "If you're not in business, don't advertise." But having said that, let me give you ladies some insight into the human male mind: if a man wants to think about you, in an unrighteous manner, it doesn't matter what you wear. So please, don't fashion your wardrobe after some man's standard, throwing out all your pretty outfits and buying stock in denim. (I almost hate denim.) But rather fill your closets with the precepts of righteousness and the guiding of the Holy Ghost, which doesn't always shout. If you don't have the Holy Ghost, then never-the-less, strive to be a Lady. And Ladies never advertise. Ultimately, they just don't have to. And we are experiencing a desperate shortage of Ladies.

I think that it's important to note that modesty is not just for the Ladies. Guys must be modest as well. Correct me if I'm wrong, I think with us, it's a lot less physical. I mean, we can put on a pair of pants and a T shirt and we're done. I think with us guys, it's more about conduct. How do we interact with other guys? How do we relate to the world at large? With bragging mouths and an arrogant demeanor? Or with a simpleminded, Healthy Sense of Self Awareness? How do we treat you Ladies? Presumptuously? Or Respectfully, despite who you may be?

In closing: What is Modesty? Websters 1828 defines it as "That lowly temper which accompanies a moderate estimate of one's own worth and importance. This temper when natural, springs in some measure from timidity, and in young and inexperienced persons, is allied to bashfulness and diffidence. In persons who have seen the world, and lost their natural timidity, modesty springs no less from principle than from feeling, and is manifested by retiring, unobtrusive manners, assuming less to itself than others are willing to yield, and conceding to others all due honor and respect, or even more than they expect or require." And the last two sentences of his forth deffinition "In this sense, modesty results from purity of mind, or from the fear of disgrace and ignominy fortified by education and principle. Unaffected modesty is the sweetest charm of female excellence, the richest gem in the diadem of their honor."

I love that deffinition "fortified by education and principle." Modesty isn't something that we blindly latch onto because it's a tenant of our religion, one that we secretly despise, or because we are told to be modest. But rather, true modesty is born out of a modest soul that understands its undeserved value in the eyes of God. The same soul that could care less what the world thinks of it. Becuase really, we've been there, and we don't want to go back.

CowgirlE, yes, A.K.U.S. is Alison Krause and Union Station. Yes, I love them! They're people so I can say that. She has this great voice that is unmatched, awesome violin talent, and the band is incredible. Not that it means anything, but did you know that she has won more Grammies than any other artist in the history of Grammies? Pretty cool, huh. And as far as posting goes, post all you want. That's what it's there for.

Modesty

Belle and I were talking today about this website that she found and it got me thinking the rest of the after noon:

What is Modesty?

If you only had two minutes to explain modesty to an absolute stranger, whom you would never see again, how would you?

Oh, For Updates Sake!

I am glad for the response that I have gotten from my last post. The review process is fully operational.

Kristi: please speak your mind at all times. Kuz: ramble all you want. The journey is a joy of its own. Goils, thanks for the links.

When I had written the last post, it was originally twice the size that it ended up being. I had included a paragraph on Tolkien and one on Lewis and had started on a third: the summation of my thoughts. But I realized that all of that didn't have anything to do with my initial thought: Doug Phillips' Harry Potter and the Lavender Brigade. And I accidentally erased the last half. No worries.

See, I like to write, and I have this story in my head, actually two, that I want to write but I have been wrestling with them because they are "fantastic." I did not know how I could write these stories and have them glorify God, or at the least not be in opposition to righteousness. Mr. Phillips' article settled my immediate dilemma: as long as God is God in what ever little "universe" I create, and sin is sin and evil is evil and good is good, then there is no confusion, everything will be alright. Does that mean that there are not other issues that I have to work out? No. There are and will be, but they can be resolved. Does that mean that everyone will love my stories? Prob'ly not. I'm not naively foolish, at least about that.

Regarding Tolkien, and the recent movies: I intend to post "What Incomplete Thinks about J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings" This may take some time because my schedule is CRAZY . . . and I may have a lot to say. Who knows.

Thanks Guys.

Oh, by the way, I've updated SC

Addressing the Fantastic

My Arch Nemesis was yelling at me the other day about how long it had been since I had posted. The truth is, I think I have pro'bly spent an hour online since then. Of course SC did take up my time last week so I guess the truth is being stretched a little. There's only so much a fella can do! But here. Finally!

Has anyone out there been faced with the difficult topic of todays current crop of Fantasy movies based upon and/or inspired by litterary works? Some of those books are properly called "classics." I was diving down the link on one of Jak's recent posts, the target took me to Vision Forum. Maybe some of you have followed it also. When I got there, I saw that the target was in fact what I thought it was and Jak had already sent me that link in an E some weeks back. Instead of watching the short again, I scrolled down and found this, Harry Potter and the Lavender Brigade. It piqued my interest, mainly because I had never heard of it. So like all good little lemmings I clicked on it and I am glad that I did.

There is a conflict in the Christian world over the "realm of fantasy." Some Christians absolutely abhor C.S. Lewis and his best friend J.R.R.R.R. . .R. Tolkien. Citing them as works of carnality and abhorrent evil; complete with talking animals, witches and wizards, magics, fantastic creatures, and so on. Other Christians blindly embrace J.K. Rowling and her like, claiming them to be "understandably fake." And I don't know if too many people, or Christians for that matter, know of George MacDonald, who wrote a veritable mountain of books. Most of them having to do with male-female relationships in the light of God's love. I am loath to call them romances, even though that is what they are; they're better than that. He also wrote many fantasies: The Princess and the Goblin; The Princess and Curdie; At the Back of the North Wind; Lilith; Phantastes . . . and many many more. What is most interesting about this man, who was a contemporary of Charles Dickens, is that C.S. Lewis called him "my master," considering him to be one of, if not the greatest fantastic writer ever. But I digress.

Why is there a conflict in the body over these works? Is it because we are naturally prejudiced against anything "fantastic"? "If it's fantastic it can't be of the Lord!" A one time very good friend of mine told me that he absolutely refused to see the Passion of the Christ because it had Monica Bellucci in it. He called her a whore (and the truth is, she has done some rather bad tasting stuff). Because of the moral state of the actors he was saying that God could not possibly be in the picture. I told him that he was putting God in a box. And that God can use anyone, or thing, that he wants to. Ballam anyone? If I remember right, God used an ass, an unclean animal, to communicate to that man.

I was in a house one time, with another friend, and the homeowners where watching The Return of the King (That's the last chapter in the LOTR books). As we left the house, he stated "What darkness in that place." Now, of course, like a brave little soldier, I kept my mouth shut. See, I love LOTR. I stand corrected, like I am always telling my girls "Love is for people." I really like LOTR. (But more on this later.) I wondered, to myslef of course, did he really sense a "darkness" in the residence? Or was it a predisposed prejudice towards Tolkien that shaped his opinion?

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that you should run out and start seeing every movie that you want to see, or read every book that someone tells you "You have GOT to read this!" But if someone you have confidence in, makes a suggestion about something "fantastic" don't be hasty to dismiss it. And read Harry Potter and the Lavender Brigade. It answered some questions that I have been asking. No one in particular. Just asking.

"Bring on the rain"

There's a song that goes "Bring on the rain. I'm not gonna let it get me down, I'm not gonna cry, I might be barely breathin' but I'm still alive. Tomorrow's another day and I am thirsty any way, so bring on the rain."

Well, that's what Thursday was like. We got a call just after 8 a.m. from Belle's mother and we learned that her mother, Belle's grandmother, had passed away just that morning. Well, on top of that, Belle had to take her sister to the doctor to finally find out was was physically wrong with her. She's been sick for a couple of weeks with no accurate diagnosis. They came back with one and it was just strep. As lousy as that is, it's the prefer ed of the other names of noxious diseases that they were bandying about. So, she has to take it easy for a while. Pray for God's Devine provision for her. But after Belle got home from the hospital, her cat finally came home. He was an indoor outdoor kinda beasty (I called him Bates) that liked to disappear for days on end. Well, he was at the back door, yowling something horrible and he wouldn't even move when I opened the storm door, it just kinda scraped over the top of him and when I picked him up he just went limp. So, I set him on his chair (which is really mine) and he didn't move for the next hour. That is until he died. We think he must have gotten into some anti-freeze or ate a de-conned mouse or something. So, it really rained on Thursday. Belle's grandma dies, and then her sister is crazy sick, and on top of all that, her cat dies. But the good news is, Belle's doing great. We have come through this storm better than when we first entered it.

And on a morbidly curious note, watching the cat die was kinda cool. Not cool that he died, but from a scientific and writers stand point. I have never seen anything die, other than dove or pheasant and those don't really amount to anything. But more on that at another time.

About Time!

"Can I get an Amen from the congregation!" Today, after just about a year of slavery and dogged determination (if I do say so myslef), I finally got that stupid green van fixed. It was wonderful (said with seething, dripping, sarcasm). The van itself was given to me about a year and a half ago, maybe two years now, and my wife and I drove it with great satisfaction, thankful for a vehicle that was slightly larger than a match box, you know, those old type where you slide the center of the box out and strike the match on the side. (That's about what our car is like. You have to thread the kids in, feet first, if you're in a hurry) And then, KA-BOOM! Well, alright, it didn't blow up. (Talking about the green van now) It would just die in the middle of intersections as the arrow was turning from green to red, usually in record speed, and you were already committed to the turn. Oh how frustrating that was. Then last March, when I was returning from town: billowing clouds of sweet fragrant smoke poured out of the exhaust and that old temperature gauge spiked, after one complete revolution, in the red. Buried extensively in the red. Now for all of you that do not know what that means, let me explain: Blown Head Gasket. Now, I was recently on my own, numerous Thunder clouds hanging over my head, and I was. noT. PLEASED. "Oooooooooh, I hates rabbits!"
But Thank God! And I mean it! Finally! It is done and it works like it should! Now I can sell it. "But, wait" you say. "I thought that you wanted a car bigger than your cracker box?" Oh, we do, but since it's just the four of us right now, and we kinda need the investment in the van (if you know what I mean) and I got sooo much stinking money and time into the "match book," and it's running just fine, we'll make do for a little longer. Not much longer, I hope. (I've been drooling over this new model for the last couple of years. Oh, that'd be nice.) God knows. Anybody want to buy a van?

Coooooool

So I was doing a little diving this afternoon, in pursuit of one of my deepest interests: bladed implements. Upon visiting this one sight that I bookmarked, but never really looked over,( http://www.shadowofleaves.com/Shinken.htm ) I found this link to a film of a traditional katana (that's a samurai sword) being made. You talk about cool. It's a little long and you probably need high speed to view it, but it's definitely worth the viewing. Check it out. http://video.mpegnation.com/a001786578322021606131719250.html

In other notes, did anyone catch the Oscars? I intentionally didn't watch it but I read about the aftermath. You talk about a bunch of disjointed, disassociated, sycophantic narcissists. And they wonder why their industry is failing? When a film like The Departed wins four awards, including best picture and best director, when others like The Prestige get two paltry nods and no chance of winning anything and it actually conveys a point. Now, I didn't see The Departed. It didn't interest me, mainly because I can't stand Leonardo DiCapitaded (that man's head always looked like it was bout to fall off of his body when he was young), but also because it was R rated and almost always that means lots, no, let me correct that, TONS of language, and sex. And frankly, none of that helps a movie at all. "Evil communication corrupts good manners." "Oh, but it's reality. It's how the world really is. We need that kinda realism in our motion pictures." If we wanted realism in movies, we would not go and see movies like Narnia, or Lord of the Rings. We would get out the lawn chairs and the soda and the potato chips and watch the neighbors fight. We don't want their kind of reality. We want stories about heroes, and redemption, and happy endings, okay we don't always have to have a happy ending, take Zhang Yimou's films which are absolutely beautiful and most end tragically, but I think that that might be a Chinese thing. You know, no hope in their culture, no awareness of a Christ who longs to redeem them. (But that's changing.) More in him later. Now, like I said, I didn't see The Departed, but I read the extensive review at "Hours Later . . ." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Departed and I also read the review for the Chinese movie that it was adapted from and frankly, I would rather watch the Chinese version. It had seemed like it had more hope than Scorsese's!

I mentioned the The Prestige also and how it didn't get anything. This is the single most influential movie that I have seen. See, for a long time I have maintained the opinion that no mater how good a movie is, it can only be entertainment. That it doesn't have the ability to really impact, or even change ones life. This may come as a surprise to some of you, but I think that this also includes the Christian films. All of them. No matter how good they are, all they will ever be is good, on some rare occasions, very good entertainment. It has nothing to do with how well they are made or how well they are written or how well they are acted. It's the format. For so many years, movies and television have been for entertainment only. A diversion. A chance for you to forget, for two hours, that you have a life out there, beyond the double doors, where you are embroiled in trouble. If you want to be educated: you watch a documentary. If you want to be encouraged: you watch a video recorded message from a trusted minister of God's Word. But. The Prestige has got me thinking about changing that position. When I left that film, I was definitely impacted by the message that the Nolan brothers were trying to get across: Obsession will destroy you and everything that you touch. And it was a good. There wasn't any language (that I can remember. Ah, the subjective memory) and no sex, though there is some romance. And it's smart. A movie has to be smart, or it's a waste of time. There was a time when I loved B movies, not so much anymore. But more on that at another time.

So. Okay. I feel better.

Just a little . . .

So, we got a little snow this last couple of weeks. Well, not this last week, stupid stuff has been melting. Now we just slog around in mud almost up to the top of our dress shoes. I went out to the start the cars so we could go to meeting this morning and without fail, I splattered mud on the cuffs of my almost white pants with the first step. "Maaaaan. Co-me O-n!" I've been here since '95 and this is the most snow that we have ever gotten. 16 inches over like three days, As you can see, this incredible model of male masculinity (yes I know it's redundant) is standing in a trench some feet thick. This snap was taken with Belle's Motorolla Razr (it's hot pink). It is just the right degree of ambiguous fuzzy. Of course this was before the troops arrived and we tunneled our way to freedom from the German concentration camps. Yes all of those attrocities did happen, despite what peopel are trying to say today. That was a good time. The tunnelling that is, not the attrocities. I was tired. I dug my neighbors out and then played with the troops for three - four hours. I was tired. Did I mention that I was tired? Now it's just nasty out. Sleating rain, muck everywere. Why can't this place be more like Colorado. God smiled when He made Colorado.

New Experiance High . . .

It's been two whole hours and not one single post! Come on! Doesn't anyone out there know that THE BLOG is finally on the web?!?
No, I do have a slightly stronger relationship with reality than that. Not much though. I was talking to my little sis, whom we shall call, The Shooter, that's an occupational reference, hmmm, and I thought I would bulk up the posts a little. This is her with the Black Hole of Attetion (it's a term of endearment) in the Jamaican airport.











Also, back in 2001 the Bears' Brian Urlacher was in Papa's Store. Here's some annecdotal info about that. Obviously it's been sanitized.













It was a normal day at the [store] [somewhere]. We were busy. The Chicago Bears were in town for their training camp at the UWP. Consequently, many fans were in town as well, and hungry. I guess the players were hungry, too, for Brain Urlacher was sitting in the lobby with his wife and daughter, enjoying their lunch. We always loved it when one of the players came into the store. We not only got to meet the players ourselves, but we also thoroughly enjoyed watching other customers reaction when they walked in and saw who was there. Today was no exception. Brain Urlacher was sitting in plain view in the middle of the lobby when two young men entered. They didn’t notice him right away, and I started taking their order. The one man, with a #54 jersey on, ordered and turned to get ketchup. He stopped mid-stride, stared, then retreated to the register. He held a quick consultation with his friend as to whether his eyes were deceiving him. I was smiling to myself and confirmed their suspicions. They got their food and sat, not wanting to disturb his lunch. When Mr. Urlacher and family got up to leave, the fans approached and asked him if he would sign the jersey and a picture. Urlacher willingly complied by having the fan turn around so he could sign the back of his jersey. They thanked him and he left. They were quite pumped about the whole experience and came up to the front counter again to ask my dad, the owner/operator, if they could have the tray that Brain Urlacher had eaten off of. Dad happily agreed and complimented him on his jersey. The fan then removed the jersey so that the signature would not be smudged on the ride home. At Dad’s suggestion they put the tray inside the jersey, carefully laying the signed portion on the top of the tray and folding the jersey around it. Thanking us and still excited from their experience, they exited the store, gently laying it in the back seat of their car as if it was the 'holy grail', leaving me with yet another fun memory.
-The Shooter" -article used with express permision from the author.

Okay, so I was just a little excited. There have been some postings. Thanks guys. Er, girls.

Yeah, Whatever

So, my good buddy/little sis/arch nemises finally pestered me into creating a blog. Shows how strong I am. Well, all right, she didn't really make me do it and the truth of the matter is, that despite the fact that I swim outside the mainstream (have been accused of swiming in an entirely different world altogether) I guess that I just wanted to jump on the trendy band wagon while I could. So I could be cool while it was still cool to be cool and not hot when I should really be cool. Huh? Yeah, me too. Actually, I just did this so that I could comment on my friends blogs and not have it be "Anonymous." Jak-Jak was like "if you don't comment on my Blog then I'll never know if anyones even reading it." Well, Jak-Jak, I am reading it, and now, I'm posting on it too!
So what is The After Action Report (AAR - prounced "Arrr!" like a pirate) going to be? I guess maybe some place for me to creatively vent. Kinda like plasma into space, only without the melodrama. "Dum-Dum-Dum" And no, I'm not a StarTrek fan. I'ld like to see StarTrek go up against SG-1 (RDA era). We all know who would be left standing after the dust settled and yes, StarTrek could keep all of their fancy space age gadgets and SG-1 would still come out on top. There are two things that I do like about Startrek and I have, obviously, started using them in my conversation; "Venting plasma" for when things start to get kinda "hairy" and I need to just take a deep breath; and "Scrape Shields" to describe the interpersonal conflicts that sometimes tend to just mysteriously appear without any warning and for absolutely no reason. Of course I'm being sarcastic. As my Daddy always says, "It takes two to tango."
So, we'll just let this thing evolve into what ever it does. (No, I don't believe in Evolution. To be a member of that church is to be a fool) I have a degree in computer programming that I have never used (I have the student loan payments to prove it) and all I know how to use is my Lotus Word Pro and how to play Splinter Cell so this whole blogging thing is going to be a lesson in the learning. So, sorry about the plainness and all those other cheap excuses that nobody wants to hear anyway. "All I have is a pocketfull of excuses, but you don't want to hear them."