2/3/12 Upside Down Mortgage Holders . . . the government is coming to help you!

Never having been a popular lot, bankers have learned over the years to have thick skin. Always portrayed as greedy and evil, from the clownish avarice of Mr. Drysdale at the fictional Commerce Bank of Beverly Hills, to the wicked men portrayed in many a B-grade western as the ones who team up with the railroads and mining companies to rob people of their homesteads down on the farm, the portrayals of bankers have been that of adversary, not friend. Adversary has sometimes been the case, but mostly not. Mostly, mostly not. Almost universally, banks don't want your land, they simply want you to repay the capital they furnished you that enabled you to buy it.

I am not defending the huge national banks . . . the Wells Fargo’s, the Bank of America’s, the Citibank’s, etc., whose excesses, real and fabricated, have been brought to our attention, but I am going to take just a moment to defend your local bank . . . you know . . . the one that lends people money from YOUR deposits; those banks in which you deposit YOUR money, who turn around and lend it to other people to help them get what they need to finance the day-to-day operations of their business, make capital improvements, or perhaps allow you to buy a car, or a home. The bank I deposit MY money in needs to be a prudent bank, making loans to the credit-worthy whom they have carefully vetted using due-diligence to inspect and determine their credit-worthiness.

Banks were once heavily regulated and required by the law to limit their activities to things that were solely the premise of banks. During the Clinton administration, banks were deregulated so that they could also be in the insurance business, the brokerage business, or just about any other business that the owners and the boards of directors thought were prudent. I thought at the time that this was a mistake. I still think so.

In this post-great-depression era, banks have had rules and regulations governing how they did business so that depositor's money would be protected. There were additional rules and regulations put in place so banks could get Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) coverage so small depositors would be protected in case of the bank's failure. Banks are allowed to lend out a certain fraction of their depositor's money and required to keep a certain amount in reserves. Regulators come in from time-to-time and review their books, particularly looking at their loan portfolio, making them set up additional reserves for non-performing loans. The more non-performing loans a bank has, the higher the reserves they are required to keep, and the less money they have to lend. If banks want to make money, they need to make good loans. This makes perfect sense, doesn't it?

But, having their evil reputation, which is sometimes well deserved (but mostly NOT), banks have become even more of a pariah than they were in former times, because they make money. They make lots of money. They make money for themselves; they make money for their investors and owners, and a good bank makes money in spite of having people who sometimes fail to pay them back. A bank that loses money will not be in business very long, nor will any other business. No one is in business to lose money.

In last week's State of the Union Address, the President announced his proposal for a new program to help homeowners who borrowed too much money to buy over-valued houses in too hot a market who are now upside down since the real-estate bubble burst in 2008. It is entirely possible that government programs and bank deregulation precipitated the bubble by making mortgages too easily obtainable, allowing banks to buy and sell mortgage paper like they were pork-bellies, and forcing banks to make certain percentages of their loans to finance properties in areas they thought might be risky, or to people whom they otherwise might consider to be unable to repay the loan.

Now, the government wants to fix this problem it helped create. Under the President's plan, here's how this new program would work:

• If you are UPSIDE DOWN on your mortgage (meaning that you owe more than the property is worth),

• If you are CURRENT on your mortgage (meaning that you are not declared in default and you are not behind on your payments),

• and if you have been late on a payment no more than once in the past six months,

then the government wants to help you refinance the entire amount of your mortgage, lock you in on a much lower, fixed interest rate, allowing you to get rid of the variable-rate mortgage or the higher interest rate mortgage you currently have. In return for forcing the bank to refinance your home if you qualify, the government then wants to obligate itself by guaranteeing your mortgage to your bank, which is really nothing, since, most likely, the government already guarantees your mortgage to your bank through the insolvent Fannie Mae, the insolvent Freddy Mac, the FHA, or the VA. The President proposes to pay for this new program through a special tax on the banks themselves.

Now, here's the rub.

• If you are in default on your mortgage, tough luck.
• If you are behind on your payments, tough luck.
• If you were a day late on a mortgage payment more than once in the last six months, whether through your own negligence, your thoughtful unwillingness to write a check for which you had no funds at the moment to cover, or the incompetency of the United States Postal Service, tough luck.
• If you lost your job during this recession and could not make your mortgage payments, tough luck.
• If you really, desperately need the help, tough luck.
• If you are in the midst of foreclosure and in danger of losing your home entirely, tough luck.

AND

If you and your spouse are fortunate enough to be working six jobs between you so you could manage to make timely payments on your upside down mortgage, tough luck. You can continue to work those six jobs and make those timely payments on a house that is worth less than it was when you bought it – the government has no relief for you because you don't need it. Conversely, if you really need it, the government has no relief for you. Doesn't this seem odd?

Upon further examination, a more sinister problem becomes apparent.

The government wants to force banks to refinance homes at lower interest rates for the people whose payment history has indicated that they are the ones most likely to pay their mortgages – in other words, the government wants to tax banks so they can force them to make less money on those customers who have demonstrated their ability to be a responsible borrower (A GOOD CUSTOMER!). This will leave your local bank with lower profit margins on performing loans and nothing to reinforce their non-performing loans, thus reducing their income, forcing them to increase their reserves, therefore making less capital available to the people who use their credit at the bank to finance the day to day operations of their business or make capital improvements. Less capital means fewer jobs.

Earlier, I had foresworn writing about politics, but this blog is not is nearly as much about politics as it is about BUSINESS 101. The first lesson one should glean from BUSINESS 101 is that the government is here and they are not going to help you. I can't help that this has turned political. The bait was just too tempting.

Good luck, local community bank, as the government taxes you to pay for your smaller profit margins on your good customers, and leaves your profit margins intact on those who are not paying anyway. Good luck, business community, as you try to find working capital only to discover that your local bank has increased its reserves, leaving less capital available for you to use to grow your business. Good luck, unemployed Americans, as more and more government regulation and intervention continues to inhibit job creation and growth. Good luck, employed Americans, as some of you watch your jobs vanish before your very eyes as another expensive, gigantic government program provides nothing of substance to those who need it the most, for the benefit of those who don't really seem to need it, at the expense of the rest of us, but seemingly paid for on the backs of BANKS! Consumers ultimately pay for everything. Only government creates wealth from nothing. The rest of us are required to add value by sweat, enterprise, or ingenuity. The government adds (or steals) value by simply operating a printing press.

This all makes perfect sense, if you are from the government and are here to help me.

By the way . . . I have some stocks which I am upside down on that I am holding in my IRA. They are worth less than they were when I bought them. Do you suppose the government will come out with a program that will restore me since I ignorantly and foolishly bought some stocks when they were high and regret it now that the price has declined?

Answers? I am looking for them, too. I just don't expect to get them from the government. I don't even expect to get the social security that me and my employers have paid on my behalf for the last 35 years. I regret that we have allowed the language to be perverted so that this is now called an entitlement, even though I am certainly entitled to it. Having paid into it and being entitled to it, I suppose it is an entitlement after all; but it is an entitlement by contract, not by birthright. I think this is an important distinction.

As Mark Twain said, “The only distinctive American criminal class is Congress!”

1/24/12 Still Here, Musing

I haven't written in a while. Forgive my tardiness. I have been involved in a host of activities . . . one of them a film and writing project to help document some things I think are important for posterity. You will learn more later.

We are fortunate to still have a weekly newspaper in Kemper County. The KEMPER MESSENGER has been around for a long time. Sometimes, there is not much in the way of news in this small, rural county in East Mississippi. Accordingly, one of the main features of the newspaper is reprints of excerpts of things that were published in the past. The summary below was published this past week. Debbie and I laughed at the PROMISE of things good that went entirely WRONG, until there were tears in our eyes. This would actually be funny, were it not so tragic.

75 Years Ago [1937]

FARMERS WILL PLANT KUDZU

Farmers in the Kemper County Soil Conservation District will plant 489 acres of Kudzu seedlings next spring for soil conservation on their farms, according to P.R. Daly, Work Unit Conservationist. “The Kudzu plant is a plant of many adaptations, being used as (1) a means to control erosion, (2) a means to improve soil, (3) a hay crop, (4) a plant for vegetable terrace outlets, and (5) a plant for road bank protection.”

I doubt that Mr. P.R. Daly is the one who came up with this idea. He was most likely operating under instructions from the United States Department of Agriculture, and under the benefit of the educated botanists, agronomists, and agriculture professors at Mississippi Agricultural and Mechanical College (now Mississippi State University.) He, surely, thought he was being helpful. He may have even said to the local farmers, “I'm from the government. I'm here to help you!”

So, the well meaning but apparently simpleton-esque government agricultural scientists and experts decided it was wise to introduce into the Southeastern USA an alien, invasive species of predatory plant. It was the wrong choice for all the right reasons. As a hay crop, one might say that cattle prefer Kudzu as a source of nutrition to bare, eroded dirt, but only slightly so. Undigested Kudzu seeds pass through a cow's system and propagate themselves everywhere. Their evil rhizomes reach out to ensnare anything they encounter, shooting out roots that are hardy with an evil intention. You see, Kudzu has a MIND and a WILL. A one acre parcel of ground with an established Kudzu patch requires six laborers armed a machete in each hand flailing away 9 hours a day just to keep it's TWO FEET of daily lateral growth in check. They have to do this to avoid being consumed by the Kudzu; It's either cut away with diligence or become a missing person.

Once, a school bus made a wrong turn one morning and found itself suddenly surrounded by the malevolent vine. The governor had to call out the National Guard to rescue the children. The school bus, itself, was never recovered, all at a great loss to the school district, who sent a bill for the bus to the USDA, but it was returned, the envelope unopened, stamped “Addressee Unknown.” Later, when a USDA official dared show his face in Kemper County, the bill for he school bus was presented to him, and he forthwith declined government's responsibility, saying, “Well, YOU are ones who planted the Kudzu, not the government.” He was tarred and feathered and escorted across the state line into Sumter County, Alabama, but he fared no better there, it has been told. He later retired from government service, disillusioned, and moved to Michigan, where they planted no Kudzu. He could not bear the sight of it, it seems.

As for Mr. P.R. Daly? Years later. he was located, retrieved, and forced into a helicopter, since no one dared take a wheeled vehicle near the evil weed, and flown into the thickest part of Kemper County Kudzu desolation. As the helicopter hovered and the Kudzu tendrils reached up towards its skids to ensnare it, Mr. Daly was thrown out into the middle of the original 489 acres, now grown to twice the size of Texas within the borders of Mississippi alone, which he had persuaded the farmers to establish. As the helicopter crew hacked the clinging Kudzu tendrils from the helicopter and it flew away, one crew member recalled seeing Mr. Daly wrestling with the Kudzu vines in as animated a manner as if he had stepped into a bed of fire-ants, or danced to avoid the bite of venomous vipers, which may well be the case, since fire-ants and pit-vipers are about the only things that find Kudzu useful.

As a people, we Southerners have cursed Kudzu with the strongest profanity, which it simply ignores. We have cut it with the largest of tractors and bush-hogs, which simply seems to anger it into growing faster, since the more one prunes it the faster it grows. It LIKES a rumble! It THRIVES on it!

We have sprayed it with the harshest of poisons (2-4-D – also known as AGENT ORANGE and 2-4-5-T), to which it responds with an immediate anger and indignation, attacking those who spray it, then seemingly, by some sort of alchemy, converts the poisons into Nitrogen, Potassium, and Phosphorus, which literally cause an explosion of growth, shooting it out far and wide, and sending it up the tallest trees, choking and killing them, leaving entire counties a wasteland of useless, green, uninhabitable, and unmarketable real estate.

Were it in California, and were Yosemite National Park for sale at a tremendous bargain price, it might be said, “Yosemite is for sale at auction at a starting price of $79,500,” and then whispered, as a darkly held secret passed by those in the know, “But, KUDZU has been found on the property.”

Then, fearful for the liability that might follow, with it threatening cities like Los Angeles and San Francisco, it may well remain unsold at auction, no bidders being willing to touch it, no insurer willing to insure its potential liabilities, and potential bidders, fearing it would wrest Half-Dome and El-Capitan from their lofty perches, pulling them into the valley below, choking, clogging, smothering everything that was beautiful.

“Based on the recommendations of the nation's foremost and best educated agricultural experts, we'll start this Kudzu program in Mississippi, then later expand it into Alabama, and Georgia,” said the depression era Secretary of Agriculture. “We'll put people to work by planting this wonderful crop that offers so many potential benefits for farmers all across the Southeast.”

As it turns out, all they needed to do to establish it in Alabama and Georgia was to plant those 489 acres in Mississippi, where it got a toe-hold and was grandfathered in before the state legislatures could pass laws against it. Now, legislation keeps it out of other states, though I have seen some evidence that Kudzu has ignored some of the legislation in West Tennessee. After it was summoned to appear in court and failed to show, a judge sent out dozens of deputies to round it up and hold it in incarceration until a court date could be set. That was in 1953, and sightings of those deputies going faithfully about their task occur at about the same frequency as sightings of Big-Foot.

Kudzu is also found in Louisiana, but apparently disliking French and spicy food, decided to sojourn only in the North part of the state. Had it been available to him at the time, General Grant, in his efforts to skirt the guns at Vicksburg by digging a canal on the Louisiana side of the river would no doubt have ventured to try a Kudzu bridge, instead. It would have only taken a few days for the Kudzu to cross the mile-wide Mississippi river in such a tangle that it could have been paved over well enough for his entire army to pass, with not so much as a foot or a hoof getting wet.

There are many ways for a person to get even with someone against whom they are holding a grudge. Might I suggest this simple one, UNLESS they are also your NEIGHBOR: Just stick ONE snippet of Kudzu in a secluded spot behind something in their backyard, then sit back and give it about a month! If they are your neighbor, then your foolish grudge will have gotten the best of YOU, too!

The illegal transportation of Kudzu is a federal crime. The real crime was that the federal government thought Kudzu would be a good thing. Now that I think of it, I laugh out loud as I recall crossing the border into California, and being inspected to see if I had any fruit or produce to declare; the State of California understandably not wanting me to contaminate their huge agricultural crop with as much as a single fruit fly.

The main thing they should be worried about is whether I have any Kudzu or not. They should make me sign an affidavit, under the penalty of perjury, under the penalty of law (like those tags on your mattress), that I swear that I have no Kudzu about my person or vehicle.

“What's that?” the CHiPs motorcycle patrolman asked the out-of-state traveler, pointing at a baggie filled with a green, leafy substance.

“Oh! Nothing,” said the nervous driver.

“Hand it over,” said the officer, who opening it, peered into the bag and gave it a sniff, then handed it back to the driver.

“It's just WEED!” said the officer. “I was afraid it might have been KUDZU!”

When government-sponsored scientists and experts presume to tell us that they have the answers we need to make the world a better place, it might do well to take their advice with a grain of salt . . . and remember KUDZU. But then, our scientists are so much smarter now in these modern times . . . never mind!

12/30/11 The Modern Myth of Happiness

My lifelong friend, Martin Murphy, is a theologian, author, and publisher (Theocentric Publishing Group). He posted this the other day and I've been thinking about it non-stop ever since.

The Book of James is an excellent resource to study for a better understanding of the trails and temptations that Christians meet with each day. The inspired Word of God makes a bold statement against the modern myth that good health, wealth, and happiness are the abiding companions for the Christian life.

If one wanted to find a book where one might say “the rubber meets the road,” it is surely the book of James. While I suspect that there are many things about which Martin and I would not quite agree, there is always that central core around which all Christians can stand together in unity. Martin and I share that. Apparently, we also share the idea that health, wealth, and happiness are inherent rights belonging to all TRUE believers in Christ is a relatively recent departure from biblical wisdom; it is simply not true.

One promise, one guarantee that all Christians have is that of victory over death and the grave. Another is that the Lord will be WITH us through all our tribulations; that we can yoke ourselves with Him and He will help us bear our burdens so that we can find rest.

Jesus said, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

This invitation and promise from the Lord indicates His willingness to allow us to come to Him in times of duress. Being called out and being receivers of the Lord's grace enables us to share in His ultimate victory. Insulation from the travails of life and every misfortune that can overtake a man between his birth and his death are not promised. As long as we inhabit this fleshly tabernacle, we are subject to the ills of the flesh that are common to all mankind. If we allow ourselves to stay yoked to Him, we are the beneficiaries of His REST, which is a joy, peace, and contentment that transcends the sufferings of our flesh, knowing that ultimately, through the HOPE that is in Him, the triumph over the flesh, the world, and the difficulties we have in it are ours. That I will wake up every morning singing like a bird, or be able live out my life in constant health, happiness, and prosperity are not part of this equation.

The real evil of the modern prosperity gospel is the idea that if I am lacking in the THINGS we all perceive as good in this life, that somehow MY faith has failed me, and I am not a TRUE believer, or that some secret, unconfessed sin is at the root of my troubles. If only my faith were complete . . . if only I would confess those things which, unconfessed, are obviously causing my trouble, then God would restore me to wholeness . . . The root of all my troubles is some inadequacy in my personal relationship with God . . . If I fail to receive the material blessings I am asking for, then the failure is with ME . . . If only MY faith were strong enough, God could heal me from this fatal disease and restore me to complete health . . . If I pray hard enough, I can forestall this mortgage foreclosure . . . Oh! Why? God! Why won't you grant me these things? . . . How is it that I have failed You?

Hmmmm! Sound familiar? Is this what some teach these days? If they are teaching this, I must ask . . . Have you ever read the Book of Job?

They might reply, “Of course, I've read the Book of Job! But Job was written in the days of the Law, and the days of the Law are past. Job didn't have Jesus. Job couldn't have a complete relationship with God like we can, because he lived before Jesus.”

True . . . Job lived before Jesus, but Job also lived before the Law. Bible scholars tell us that Job is the oldest book of the bible. It predates Moses and the law. How it came to be in the canon of scriptures is unknown to us, but the Hebrews considered it a holy book before they had the Torah, long before Moses was selected by God as His prophet to deliver the law. Job came from an earlier epoch . . . obviously a descendant of Noah, sharing in a relationship with God perhaps similar to that which God had with Enoch, or perhaps as mysterious as that which God had with the unfathomable man, Melchizedek, the high-priest of the Most High God and the king of Salem, whom Abraham encountered in his travels and to whom he paid a tithe. 

Somewhere between Abraham and Moses, there was Job. Though mysterious, Job certainly had a relationship with the God of Abraham. While apparently not as immediately personal as the relationship between Abraham and God (which was remarkable in its own right), it was certainly a powerful one, and remarkable itself, for this is what GOD had to say about Job . . .

. . . Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil?

No where else in the bible does God say this about any descendent of Adam (mankind)! Not about Moses, not about Abraham, not about Elijah, not King David, nor any of the apostles. He certainly never said it about me, either. Job was a man subject to all the same passions and frailties which encumber you and me, with the same veil stretched before his eyes that is before us. [please note that the term 'descendent of Adam' specifically excludes Jesus, the nature of whose relationship with God is an entirely different matter and not relevant here] What God may or may not have said about Enoch and Melchizedek was not recorded, and therefore remains a mystery, but what God said about Job was recorded for our benefit. God not only said it once, but it is recorded that He said it TWICE (Job 1:8; Job 2:3). The only evidence we have of a man being perfect and upright, by GOD'S own declaration, is that of Job. The results?? If the results of being a perfect and upright man yield the experiences of Job, then I'll remain content to be less than perfect and take my chances. Who would trade places with Job?

In the midst of his travails, Job's friends, Bildad, Eliphaz, and Zophar, kept suggesting hat if he would just confess his secret sins to God, he would be forgiven and God would deliver him from all of his troubles. But Bildad, Eliphaz and Zophar had it all wrong. Unlike us, they didn't have the benefit of knowing what God had already declared about Job. They said, in my own short-version paraphrase, “Job, old pal, all your troubles are caused by your own unrighteousness and your unwillingness to admit it.” Refer back to what God said, above.

Were they right? Was God WRONG? Perhaps Bildad, Eliphaz and Zophar understood some things that God could not quite get a grip on. That notion is ludicrous. Nevertheless, in the pain they felt at the suffering of their friend, and in their desire to serve him in any way they could, they kept insisting that Job had brought this on himself by his own behavior. His continued refusal to confess sins he claimed not to have was a sure sign to his friends that Job's pride was the cause of his troubles. Job's sin of pride? Again, refer back to what God said, above.

Is God's idea of the word “perfect” incomplete? Is “perfect” a concept God does not fully grasp? In our willingness to help God have a complete understanding, will our semantics be of any assistance to Him? The ludicrous-ness of this grows exponentially. Please tell me, if you can: What does God lack that I can help Him find?

Job lost his entire family, his household, his wealth, his possessions, and his health. In the end, he was restored, but did his restoration mean that he no longer felt the pain of the loss of loved ones and loyal servants, now far beyond his reach? While a new family certainly brought him joy, the pain of loss of all those precious and dear to him must have accompanied him throughout the rest of his life, just as it would us. In the end, in the midst of pain and loss, there was JOY for Job. It is summed up in the last line of the book, “And Job died old and full of days.” I am loath to say this is my favorite verse in the bible, but it is way up there: near the top, if not at it!

For reasons unfathomable to us, the lesson in Job is that true believers, and truly righteous people can experience suffering in this world that borders on the unimaginable. Job did. What makes me different? And if were in a similar situation, and my well-meaning friends . . . my well-read, well-schooled, well-doctrinalized friends . . . pointed out to me that my own shortcomings are what brought suffering on me and are what's preventing my restoration, would they see themselves in Bildad, Eliphaz,and Zophar?

The other lesson in Job, perhaps by far the most valuable, is that when we would serve our friends and loved ones in a time of want and pain, we do so best with our presence, our touch, our hands and feet to expedite their business, and our silence. It's the silence that's the hardest part. Just ask Bildad, Eliphaz, and Zophar. As long as they were silent, they served Job faithfully; it was when they began to speak that they added to his misery.

“How does this relate to the book of James?” I can hear you asking yourselves?

A significant part of the book of James deals with controlling our tongues. It also deals with how to obtain wisdom, how to conduct our everyday lives, and how a relationship with God is essentially about more than just WORDS. When we would serve Jesus, it is our words that ring hollow, and our actions that stand the test of fire.

If we fail to see ourselves in the book of James and the book of Job as we study them, and for some reason see only others, we have missed their point entirely and they can be of no benefit to us. When James indicts, I am the one indicted. When James convicts, I am the one convicted. When Job suffers, I am the one suffering. When Bildad, Eliphaz, and Zophar speak in an ignorant lack of understanding, it is me speaking. When God challenges the foolish ones, it is my foolishness that is revealed. When God rebukes them, he rebukes me. When God speaks in fury, it is me who stands cowering and naked before His majesty. And when God restores and heals, it is my restoration and healing.

I replied to Martin's post the other day. I said, “James is like a piece of flint that can dull or sharpen the edge of the hardest steel; the reader decides which.” James is hard. James is extremely hard. The great Protestant reformer Martin Luther said that he wished he could rip the book of James out of the bible and throw it into the river. I wish he could have, too. But that is not possible. James remains there, making uncompromising demands of us. As long as we recognize that James is making those demands of US, then James sharpens, not dulls. If we were to weigh ourselves by the measure of James and the scales tipped in our favor, it is a sure sign that either the Lord has placed His thumb on our side of the balance, or our scales are in desperate need of recalibration; the costs of misjudging this are incalculable.

Hard? Yep! The book of James is hard. Just about as hard as the book of Job. Somewhere in that hardness is victory, peace, and purpose for those who would find it.

12/29/11 AUDIO BLOG

Reality TV? Really? Listen HERE to the mp3 file.

12/29/11 Reality TV? Really?

Television has gone from bad to worse. From worse to the dregs. TV is filled with the wonder of the reality show. And I'm not even referring to the reality shows produced by the networks; those like Survivor, and American Idol, but those shows produced by independent producers for cable TV channels like Discovery, TLC, The History Channel and countless others. We have shows about cops on the job, pawn shops, moonshiners, medieval jousters, biker bar owners, gunsmiths, gold prospectors, shrimpers, crabbers, lobstermen, fisherman of other sorts, survivalists, swamp loggers, mountain loggers, helicopter loggers, hog callers, hog hunters, paranormal activities, Bigfoot hunters, housewives of various cities, lottery winners, gamblers, vehicle custom shops, more pawn shops, celebrities who are celebrities only because of their celebrity, former mega-star musicians, dangerous animal handlers, additional dangerous animal handlers, shark hunters, shark fishermen, shark petters, shark kissers, shark chefs, sous chefs, bad chefs, bad restaurants, nasty restaurants, more restaurants, exotic foods, women in prison, men in prison, imprisoned prisons, imperiled prisons, tattooists, the tattooed,  the grotesquely tattooed, the cover-as-many-square-inches-of-your-skin-as-you-can tattooed, bulimics and anorexics, exotic Amazonian tribes, exotic tribes of Oceania, tribes where men wear penis sheaths with supporting cantilevered scaffolding, fashion designers, myth decliners, drivers of Freightliners, coal miners, gold miners, disgruntled diners, home designers, mountain-climbing carabiners, emergency-room flat-liners, dirty jobs as head-liners, and several more I'm sure I'm omitting.

Not only do we have all these shows, we have endless reruns of them; all of them one hour shows produced with a mere eight to twelve minutes of actual video footage, not only rerun as a show in perpetuity, but each scene on the show internally rerun before and after every commercial break. The trailers for these shows are like movie trailers for a bad comedy . . . everything funny in the movie is shown in the thirty-second trailer . . . so you sit there suffering through the entire move for the expensive pleasure of seeing the thing on the big screen that you've already seen for free at home, knowing against hope that there is going to be something else in the movie that is funny besides what we have already seen. But trailers never show the insipid parts of the movie . . . they only show the highlights . . . and there is more than enough time in a thirty second trailer to see ALL the highlights of a bad comedy, leaving nothing else but the expense and frustration of the rest of the movie.

At least movie-makers employ actors, writers, cinematographers, set designers, costumers, make-up artists, gaffers, riggers, lighting technicians, sound technicians, and a host of others. Cheaply produced reality shows only need a cast of non-actors who simply want to be famous, a few camera men, a good editor, and . . . A NARRATOR! All these shows have narrators who are able to tease us with non-scripts filled with suspense over the mundane. They entice us with the insipid.  With their voices they lure us into the ridiculous. We have become a nation of those who identify ourselves by the reality shows we watch. We are vicariously transported into the midst of dangerous, manly jobs, and do them from the comfort of our recliners and thermostatically controlled air-conditioning. We eat our processed dinners along with those who are eating scorched fruit bats and wiggling worms, warning them out loud to be careful not to get their penis sheaths too close to the fire as they do so. As we live our lives vicariously through the electronic opium of reality-TV, we become as fearless as the dangerous animal handler who ventures into the stream where salt-water crocodiles are waiting impatiently for their afternoon meal.

The proliferation of these shows has come about by the increasingly decreasing price of high definition video cameras. Of course, these shows all have professional film crews, but professional film crews are a bit different than they used to be . . . if one gets enough guys who can hold a fully automatic HD camera steady, and shoots enough footage, eventually, they are BOUND to get some nice shots. What one needs for a show then, is a mediocre writer, an over-the-top narrator, and a good editor who is able to scotch-tape all this together into forty-five minutes of broadcast time, since the channels that carry these programs give us endless two-minute commercials for weight-loss devices that promise rock-hard abs, dietary supplements that promise a certain rock-hardness of their own, and useless gadgets shipped directly to our doors. If one can get some of these folks as sponsors, before you know it, you can have your own reality show on TV, ideally, one about pole-dancing strippers and the drama that surrounds their life, since, with a little cleavage thrown in and the promise of sex and exposed flesh, this is bound to be a hit. Wait . . . didn't we already have this?  Sorry, we did. Anna Nicole comes to mind. Well, not to worry, this format will be resurrected, soon enough, if it hasn't been, already. It may have been omitted from the lengthy list, above.

So many have abandoned themselves to the voyeurism of the reality show, and the dangers of voyeurism are such that we soon have no lives of our own since we have become dangerously entwined with our observations of the lives of others. Out thirst for living is satisfied by the developing and controlling peeping tom that is being nurtured by TV's reality, which is not real life, but TV's grotesque distortion of it. To trade the reality for this illusion is a bad trade.

Then, we have the ultimate reality show . . . the endless 24/7 news broadcast. The line between reality TV and TV news has become a bit blurred, much to our detriment. When one looks at a news channel and a reality show on TV and sees many similarities, this cannot be a good thing. Today's news is a patchwork of strings six-second video and sound bytes followed by endless analysis and repetition. So are today's reality shows. When one removes the cleverly crafted sound bytes, the similarity to the emperor removing his new clothes is remarkable. . . no one can see any difference.

If we go from social networking on our computers, to social networking and texting on our smart-phones, to sitting and devouring reality shows, and from there to a game console and controller, when on earth will we have time to mow the grass? To scratch our dog behind his ear? To look up and witness a sunset? To look up and witness and be thankful for a sunrise?

Oops! I forgot . . . there is a cable channel that shows soothing scenes from nature, coupled with bird chirps and a low-volume muzak. Rather than experience it for ourselves, we can experience it through the wonders of TV. Not too worry, though . . . through modern technology, a beautiful sunset is so accurately and majestically rendered through the pixels of a large screen high-definition TV as to leave no compelling reason to experience the real thing, where the threat of cold or heat, the bite of insects, or the uncomfortable trip to a remote location may distract us from the overall experience. In the comfort of our own living room, the sanitized, edited, condensed, and actual reality of the world is safely delivered with the push of a button on a remote control. How convenient!

It's every bit as satisfying as a digitally enhanced video of someone biting into a perfectly grilled cheeseburger is to someone with an empty stomach.

IN THE MEANTIME . . .

I had a checkup with Hemosapien on 12/27. More on this later.

I went back to Hemosapiens's office yesterday (12/28) to accompany my cousin to the chemo infusion center for his chemotherapy for pancreatic cancer. He went back to a lower dosage single agent chemotherapy, after being unable to tolerate the side-effects of a more aggressive three agent chemo cocktail. This whole business is fraught with peril for my cousin. Perhaps cancer is more dangerous than its treatment . . . perhaps not. Regardless, the three chemo agent cocktail offered him the best prospects of progressing towards a surgical tumor removal. The single-agent chemo is far less promising. My cousin has his chin up, though, and is fighting his cancer along with his own mortality, as we all are. I have always admired his talent and achievements, now I admire his determination in the face of adversity.

I also got to see Margaret in the chemo room. She is doing well on her chemo at the moment, but we all regret that additional chemo was necessary. I smile every time I think of Margaret. I think the Lord does, too!

Me, my cousin, and Margaret are all patients of Hemosaipen. God bless him! We all are praying for his great success! With so much spiritual reinforcement, how can he fail?

My health insurance, a self-funded plan by NECA-IBEW Local 480 our of Jackson, Mississippi, you may remember, one of those union plans that got themselves exempted from compliance with the PPACA's annual limitations requirements, one of the many, many unions to do so . . . well, they changed administrators of the plan. We went from PPOPlus to CIGNA Healthcare. This became effective for me on December1, 2011. There was no change in benefits, just a change in plan administration and PPO networks. I rushed to the website provided to me in the papers to see if all my doctors and health care facilities were part of the new network, since I didn't want to give up Hemosapien, Gooday, Mainmost, and Uroman.

In an effort to be helpful, they made their website as self-compelling as possible.  Each step of the process of logging on had to be followed meticulously, and a general search of a PDF document or the ability to download one was not possible. Of course, this is what I wanted, but I had to play by the extremely restrictive rules the web site insisted I use. Eventually, I found all of my health care providers listed in CIGNA's directory as “in-network” but offering the caveat, as they all do, that the directory may not be up to date.

When I went to see Hemosapien on Tuesday, he wanted to send a blood sample off for a particular genetic test. I was having deja vu all over again. I did not look up the laboratories I had formerly insisted that Hemosapien's office use because the ones they normally used were out of my network at the time. Now I had a new network.

He mentioned to me that they now used a lab called GENOPTIX. He made a call to the insurance office, asked them if Genoptix was a part of the CIGNA network, and his own insurance clerk promptly told him she did not know. He accepted that for an answer and hung up. I would have told her to find out and call me right back. I would not have accepted I don't know as an answer. He left me to my own devices to determine if Genoptix was on my preferred provider list, having written their name down on a sticky note for me. He was happy to send the blood to another lab he had previously used if we could find one suitable.

When I got home, I rushed to CIGNA's website. Om their website, searching for ancillary services is quite different than searching for a physician, clinic, or hospital. Their built in search engine was forcing me to specify a City and State into the mix. I did not know what city and state Genoptix was in, so I tried various and sundry manners of searching the database. No luck. I finally Googled Genoptix and found their home page, which listed them as being in Carlsbad, California. Back to the website . . . no luck. I could not find Genoptix listed, but the way the search engine was working made me suspicious. I searched again and again. No luck, still. I decided to go back to Genoptix's website and look there. While they had lots of information, most of it was for health care professionals and not for patients.

I then went back to the CIGNA web page, and read the instructions to call the member services number listed on my insurance card. I called the toll free number and got an automated attendant who recited an exhaustive menu. I waited patiently for the attendant to get to the appropriate menu choice for my questions, but, alas, there was no menu choice that was relevant, and OF COURSE, I was not given an option to speak to a person. I mashed “0,”  and was rebuked by the automated attendant, “That is not a valid menu choice, goodbye!”

I was dismissed.

I tried again, sure that I had overlooked something, but no, though I did listen closely more closely to the choices this time, and the only thing I found relevant was a redirect back to their website. So I went back. From there, I tried to log in with my group ID as the page that was suggested to me required.

“GROUP NOT FOUND. INVALID GROUP ID#!” was the response.

It seems reasonable that my group was too new to be in their website database, but it seems equally reasonable that the newer one is, the more likely they will have questions, since on has no experience. This faux pas must have escaped the attention of the website developers.

I eventually e-mailed Hemosapien back and told him the I had diligently searched and found no reference to Genoptix of Carlsbad, California, in my PPO, but I knew that a blood sample was only good for a while (and they had probably already sent it off anyway!) and to proceed.

It is an extremely difficult thing to make sure that ancillary services are covered under your preferred provider organization. Your doctor will not confirm this before subcontracting services out to them, and sometimes, you cannot ascertain it yourself. I could have told Hemosapien to find one that was in my network and send the blood to them, or I could have provided him with a list of those that were, and insisted he use one. A certified lab is a lab is a lab. If they are a good lab and staffed by qualified people, using qualified procedures and properly calibrated equipment, their results should all be the same, don't you think? For some reason, Hemosapien's clinic chose Genoptix. Was it faster turn around time? Cheaper price? Better quality work? Did they offer the clinic a potential for a higher profit margin? The big Swiss pharmaceutical company NOVARTIS has recently acquired Genoptix, so does this mean that exclusive use of Genoptix means a better price or availability of Novartis' chemotherapy drugs like Afinitor^®, Exjade^®, Femara^®, Gleevec^®, Proleukin^®, Sandostatin^®, Tasigna^®, and Zometa^®, and perhaps better pricing and availability of chemotherapy drugs produced by its generic manufacturing arm Sandoz^®?

Something made the clinic make this change to this one-stop giant lab that is part of Novartis. It could be something as simple as they all like the salesperson that calls on them. It could be a unique business arrangement, one benefiting the clinic, Novartis, and those the clinic serves, which is how ALL business decisions should be made. I am not privy to their decision, but will choose to believe that the latter is the reason.

The one thing I am pretty sure of at this moment is that Genoptix is not in my network, which means the flow cytometry Hemosapien has ordered on my blood will cost me more than it could have. Yet this could be less than what another lab might charge. I'll have to wait and see. I know that when the bill comes, I will not pay 50% of an undiscounted price. I will call them, ask for their most favored customer discount which they will allow to other PPO organizations, and while I may not get that, I will get a substantial discount just because of the temerity to call and ask for it.

12/27/11 Four Hundred Years of the KJV

The rapidly expiring year of 2011 saw the four hundredth anniversary of the completion and first printing of the bible's King James Version (KJV). This durable and beautiful translation still enjoys widespread and popular use today. Of all translations, it is the one I prefer for reading, though for study, I prefer the New American Standard.

An interesting thing about the KJV is that it is still protected under copyright. It seems that a CROWN copyright never expires, but is granted in perpetuity. In Britain, only the CROWN PRINTER has the right to print the KJV, though the Crown has extended this right to some others. In lands other than Britain, the Crown has long since chosen not to enforce its copyright.

I don't think the copyright was ever a question about securing royalties for Royalty as much as it was about preserving and protecting the work authorized by King James I. The KJV is the official text used by the Church of England, and the Crown is the head of the Church, with Queen Elizabeth II effectively serving at its foremost officer on the planet.

On another note, I have a visit with Hemosapien today. It's my quarterly checkup.

Other than that, I have absolutely nothing to say, no points to make, and nothing to write about.

Remarkably, I find this refreshing. Perhaps you do, too!

12/25/11 Christmas Day

I had lots of things I planned on writing today, but the ideas for them seem to have receded from my mind like a high latitude's outgoing tides. Perhaps this is a good thing. I will not force myself to say something about things that no longer seem relevant for discussion, though, I am not completely without words.

On this Christmas day I note in passing the ominous news from Iraq. After nearly ten years of policing and nation-building there, the vacuum left in the wake of our troop's withdrawal will be filled. What it gets filled with is a source of much concern for everyone in Iraq . . .  but mostly, for those just like you and me. They have families, children, perhaps elderly parents they are caring for. They want to live out their lives in peace, stability, and at least a modicum of liberty and prosperity. They want to put food on their own tables. They want to go down to the local market, purchase their daily bread, and return home without having their bodies shredded by explosive devices that send shrapnel and debris speeding away from the source of the explosion at velocities not diminished by the obstacles of human flesh in their ballistic paths. They want to have air at its normal pressure and density surrounding them, not air compressed to the density of steel which liquefies a persons internal organs as the shock wave passes through them. They do not want a fleeting glimpse of their own body parts scattered among the debris in the street as the light quickly fades. They do not want to pick up the body parts of loved ones who were simply going about their business when their business was abruptly and terminally interrupted by those who use religion in the name of politics, or worse, politics in the name of religion.

What they really want is to watch their children grow up without want and fear. They want them to go to a good school. To see them grow up and have families of their own. They want to have jobs. They want to earn a living for their families. When they cannot do so in peace, they get angry, sometimes responding in ways they would not have chosen had others not been pointing out that all their troubles come from the folks a neighborhood over, who, while having the same religious foundation, have a differing version. Some would rather have their version of religion triumph at any cost, even at the cost of the lives of others. There are those who use religion for political and personal gain and they are at work distributing their religion for their own benefit at the point of a sword. This is how religion can work in the hands of men. It has done so many times in the past, yet men are no wiser for having this history at their disposal. Men just want to have dominion over other men. If religion offers them a vehicle for this, and legitimacy in their own eyes and the eyes of those who share their religion, they will be glad to appropriate it for their own designs.

Our politicians knew the day would come when our absence from Iraq would leave a vacuum that wicked people would rush to inhabit. Physics tells us that nature abhors a vacuum. Political science tells us that that absence of power creates a vacuum so strong that power will violently rush to fill it. Woe unto those who find themselves between the vacuum's source and those sucked in. The difference in pressure created by the vacuum and the violent struggle for equalization is disastrous for anyone within the sphere; it takes no note of intentions or purpose, nor of guilt or innocence . . . it just destroys. Strings of hollow words spewed from the mouths of impotent diplomats have little effect on rapidly expanding gasses from molecular disruptions of chemical compounds at the moment of detonation, placed by those who long to create misery for others, or carried on their own suicidal backs.

Diplomatic words cannot stop those who so urgently want to destroy others they will take their own life in the process. Diplomatic words appeal to reason. Diplomatic words are frequently offered to get people to do things that they believe are against their own self-interests; and words can be twisted, distorted, and bent to serve purposes other than that for which they were intended. Words don't cut through steel, but so often, words are the only tools we have to use. Words are simultaneously the highest and lowest of tools which mankind wields in its dealings with men. They are both omnipotent and impotent; determining which when offering them is no easy task. Determining which as one is collecting the remains of loved ones after an explosion is not nearly as difficult.

On this Christmas day, I wish for peace for everyone. I would love to have a solution for world peace, but I don't, nor does anyone else. As individuals, we can only extend peace to those who come within the influence of our reach. If we made an effort to look to the comfort and safety of those within the influence of our reach, the world would be a better place. I can't govern how people half-a-world away will conduct themselves, nor the conduct of my next door neighbor; I can only govern my own conduct, which is where peace must begin.

As the new year approaches, we can still have the hope that 2012 will be a year in which humanity makes great strides in extending peace as far as the next person, which can be the very thing that brings about world peace. Humanity has been shown to be mostly a series of failures at this, with occasional outbreaks of peaceful sanity. Though rare, it is certainly welcome.

Men must be governed, therefore we must have governments. Governments must protect us from other governments, but its first responsibility is to protect us from each other. If we needed no protection from each other, imagine how much less government we would have to have. If we as individuals see the needs of those who come within the sphere of our reach and focused our efforts to see to that those needs were met, imagine how much less government we would have to have. If we could show a common decency, courtesy, and respect for the property and dignity of others, imagine how much less government we would have to have. The reasons why we need protection from each other are as old as humanity . . . and on the large scale the nature of humanity is not going to change. It is far beyond me, or the scope of government, to change humanity. I can only change myself.

Government starts with self-control. I wish it could end there, too.

Here is a photo of a tiny portion of space showing a remarkable number of galaxies, some similar to our own Milky Way. Somewhere out there, amid the Higgs-Bosons of dark matter, God is watching us. While many can look at this photo and see the random chaos of a godless infinite space, others see the handiwork of an infinite Creator. We yearn for a glimpse across infinity, but seldom think of the infinity that exists between our shoulder and the tips of our fingers, and the eternal significance of a caring, human touch.

Merry Christmas, everyone . . . To those half-a-world away, those next door, and those in my own household!

12/22/11 SNL's Fearless Spoofing

Saturday Night Live has given us nearly four decades of comedy, parody, satire, and music. I used to be a fan, but gave them up a long time ago. The original Not Ready For Prime Time Players were fresh, near-genius, and FUNNY. The late John Belushi did not have then, nor has he now, any peer, with the possible honorable mentions of his contemporaries on the show, the late Chris Farley, Eddie Murphy, and Adam Sandler. I also admired the work of Chris Kattan, who is terribly funny. As the years have gone by, and the show has tried to continue to appeal to the current, in-vogue, immortally youthful and chic generation, it has passed me by.  I no longer find it consistently funny, just profane and irrelevant. The entire Will Ferrell years completely escaped me, as does his movies.

Parody and satire have always been a significant part of Saturday Night Live. Nothing was considered taboo for their wicked satire, and several times I have found myself steaming rather than laughing, so I just stopped watching it. The skit this past week, spoofing Tim Tebow and Jesus were just over the top, though. I cannot let it pass without comment.

The parody of Tebow and Jesus did not damage Tim Tebow or Jesus in any way, not did it damage me, nor should it have damaged any Christian. Saturday Night Lives's writers, producers, and actors have no dominion wherein they can damage anything: they an only imitate it and belittle it for fun and their version of humor; however I want to congratulate them for their fearless portrayal of Tim Tebow and Jesus. They pulled out all the stops in a brave and hearty spoof, threw caution to the wind, and risked condemnation and perhaps their personal safety to do this skit which they must have felt was a very important satirical commentary. They are to be commended for their chutzpah.

Now, I am waiting for the skit that parodies the Taliban and its treatment of women, or perhaps the Wahabi sect of Islam as practiced in Saudi Arabia, where we learned this week the high school textbooks still have instructions on how to properly cut the hands and feet of thieves in a manner that is compliant with Sharia law. Maybe they'll have a spoof of Iran's late Ayatollah Khomeini, with an actor dressed up and portraying the Prophet Muhammad, relaxing in heaven with his heavenly houris, or perhaps they will have an actor portray Allah, Himself, speaking to Muhammad. If they have the stones to do the Jesus spoof, Why would they not have the stones to do the Islamic spoof . . . and go ahead, throw caution to the wind, and fearlessly portray some image of Muhammad?

Perhaps the producers, if approached about a skit like this, might say that they don't want to offend Islam or make sport of any group's religions views. But that argument wouldn't hold any water. They haven't been reluctant to offend Christians in the past or in the present; so not wanting to offend people because of their own sensitivity to the feelings of others cannot be used as a persuasive argument.

It could be that they don't want to be called Islamophobes. They may be trying to maintain an aura of diversity around the show and its cast that would prohibit the producers from allowing anything that may link them with any hint of intolerance. But since they have the right to free speech, and have no problem with spoofing other religions, why would any spoof of Islam be considered to be Islamophobic?  Nah, I think I'd reject that argument as too disingenuous.

Perhaps they are frightened to do so. Perhaps they fear that to do so would put their very lives in jeopardy, with Fatwas being issued by Ayatollahs, Mullahs, and other Islamic leaders from around the world, calling for the faithful to see to their immediate deaths and offering free trips to heaven to enjoy the pleasures of the virginal houris for all eternity. I suspect they'd deny that. They'd say that they are certainly not afraid, and might even rebuke me as being Islamophobic for suggesting such a thing as Islam, a religion of peace, would show them anything but a shrug-shouldered toleration. If they did, I suppose I'd have to reject that argument, too.

Here's the challenge, Saturday Night Live, your producers, your directors, your writers, and your actors . . . I suggest that you are fearful to do any skit that would poke fun at Islam; that you'd represent that the very thought of it is absolutely repugnant to you, and you'd hold yourselves out as noble for being Anti-Islamophobes, and sensitive to religious diversity, not wanting to give offense in the most magnanimous, self-serving way.

The truth is that you would simply be afraid to do so for your own safety.

No, you say? Then lets have one of your actors dress up as Muhammad. Have him in a skit where he eats a piece of bacon, drinks a little whiskey, or cavorts around with his Houris. Don't wanna do that, you say? I'll bet.

“Chicken?”

“Of course not. What could there possibly be to be afraid of? No, we're Just considerate of religious diversity.”

To which I reply, “Horse shit, you'd be scared as hell to do any such spoof. You'd tremble in your boots at the very thought of it, though offering excuse for yourself because of your sensitivity, when in truth, you'd be excusing yourself to go and change your soiled pants.”

“Not so!” you BOLDLY say.

I don't buy it. If not, then increase your boldness and throw a bit of Muhammad spoofing and humorous caricaturing in there. Continue your fearlessness. Continue to parody everything that offends those who cost you nothing, and at the next cast party or awards show, be sure to congratulate yourselves on your peerless satirical wit, which, in your own minds, makes you modern-day prophets of truth, as the rest of us, as others say, in frustration cling to our religion and our guns; we who are unable to comprehend your erudite expressions of truth through humor with which you are so wisely blessed.

Just be sure to change addresses frequently, vary your daily routines, and hire some ex-soldiers who fought in Afghanistan and Iraq to follow you around . . . just to be on the safe side . . . to protect you from Tim Tebow and all those right wing fundamentalist Christians clamoring for your beheading for having offended them. Ooops, sorry, I meant fundamentalist, radical, jihadist Muslims. What was I thinking?

Maybe when you work up the nuts to do an Islamic spoof, complete with actors portraying the Prophet, you can take the show on the road to Yemen. I'm sure they'd love to entertain you over there. You'd all be treated like Kings . . . King Louis XVI, that is, or perhaps King Charles I. No? Don't want a road show to Yemen? I thought not.

Brave, bold, revelators of the truth through humor, parody and satire; carry on to great and glorious heights of entertainment achievement and political savvy. We are not afraid to hear it if you are bold enough to speak it . . . I just don't think you're that bold. I think you're just the opposite.

12/21/11 Computer Trouble: Downloaded Major Operating System Upgrade

If you read my blog from just a couple of days ago, you were able to see that I was having tremendous trouble with my computer’s operating system. Deep in the bowels of the operating system software, legions of unseemly, unseen things were happening. Though they could not be directly seen, the manifestation of their occurrence could be easily discerned to those who know about such things. I knew it, but was incapable of doing anything about it, except become its victim.

My system start-up profile had lots of useless entries. Programs that had no business on my computer had found their way there from the nefarious designs of those who seem to like to simply thwart our computer’s limited resources. These programs manage to bypass our firewalls because we unintentionally allow them access. In their invisibility they seem innocuous, but they sit there, lodged deep in the system memory, running useless routines and chipping away at the memory and bus resources, crowding out the things I want to do, leaving them little time or space. Every time I installed a new program, all kinds of useless garbage got onto my computer competing with the things I need to use, and showing themselves to be extremely difficult to remove.

Temporary files, useful when we are doing particular tasks, sometimes fail to remove themselves when they are no longer needed, draining precious virtual memory, keeping the CPU searching through millions of unneeded files and billions and billions of bits of useless information, denying our hard drives the ability to create new temporary files that are needed to keep our computers running fast. Why they don’t go away as they should, and cling to their virtual lives with a real-time tenacity is a mystery to me.

My system tray was filled with memory consuming “quick start” files, supposedly for my convenience, but sapping limited resources for their own purposes. These were coupled with dozens and dozens of spyware files and cookies tracking my every move, forcing my computer to do things that were not for my benefit, but the benefit of others. Hundreds and hundreds of now useless registry entries, pointlessly pointing to ethereal nothingness, serving no more tangible purpose than to keep my computer continuously looking for things that were no longer needed, but being called for just the same; forcing endless loops, computations and algorithms, distracting my computer from the purposes which I needed, forcing it into arenas into which I would not have had it venture. I was impotently powerless to stop this from happening.

Spyware, malware, key-stroke loggers, trojan horses, viruses, etc.: all those things that computers get from contact with the outside world were just eating my CPU’s time and processing capability alive, delving deeper into confusion, and further away from the things from which I could derive benefits from my computer.

A particular program would require an update, which would cause some other program to suffer, or was completely incompatible with other programs, interfering with my operating system, requiring other updates to other programs, demanding BIOS upgrades, all of which had been accomplished in piecemeal form, each thing working, but not working with a combined energy and purpose, which just led to a non-ending stream of protocol errors, useless loops, error messages, aborted programs, screen blackouts, and a general malaise of slowness. I received continuous demand messages on my screen to update programs I didn’t even know I had, nor had I ever used. I cursed at my computer. The more things I tried to do, the worse it got, until my computer and I were completely lost in a world of random 1’s and 0’s which eat denied access to the resources needed for useful work; they precipitated unresolved algorithms that caused crashes, conflicts, phantom port addresses, multiple redundant port addresses, duplicate pot assignments, peripherals that may or may not work, data input devices that only partially collected data and then could not get it properly into the computer, and even worse: hard drive and memory maps that falsely cataloged addresses and failed to locate the important things. Ultimately, my computer’s overloaded and bewildered CPU tried to simultaneously and faithfully execute millions and millions of conflicting instructions, until it failed in a resounding crash.

The crash, though dangerous, was not fatal. It perhaps was a life saver. Once all the conflicting instructions caused the overloaded and overworked computer to crash, it ceased all activity, and basically, after a short period of something akin to CPU fibrillation, a new program properly triggered itself to send the computer into sleep mode, restoring the CPU to its designed frequency and allowing it to cool down. This opened up a whole new realm of possibilities.

After being in sleep mode for a couple of hours, the CPU responded to a few new programs that properly triggered themselves to execute. The anti-spyware program automatically accessed the server where it identified and downloaded all the latest malware detection profiles, inserted them into its routine, and executed itself to locate and destroy all programs it considered to be dangerous and compromising. It logged hundreds of damaging and potentially damaging programs, and thousands of useless ones.

When it finished running, the anti-virus software then executed, downloaded all the latest detections and virus definitions, inserted them into its virus scan routine, and promptly executed itself to scan the entire system. It found numerous viruses, including deeply hidden ones which resist removal by hiding within the code of a trusted program, and then re-seeding itself once it determines that it has been removed by scanning the registry to see if it found the proper reference to itself there. If not, it re-established itself and continued to cause problems even after it had been thought to he successfully removed. The latest virus definitions that were downloaded had a fix for these nefarious programs, and permanently killed the maliciousness that had been so hard to remove before.

When this had finished, the computer accessed the developer of the operating system, compared itself to the files the developer said SHOULD be on the computer to fix security issues and known conflicts that could be caused by other programs existing on the system. In fact, the upgrade the developer insisted be installed was so massive as to be essentially a new post-beta tested version of the operating software. It downloaded itself, and then installed itself, replacing the current operating system with one far superior. Upon doing so, the computer displayed the following flashing message, “Reboot required for system upgrade to take effect.” My computer sat there, patiently waiting for a reboot as I was lost in the uncounted fathoms of a dreamless, much needed sleep.

Then the Captain of the Lord of Hosts reached down from heaven and pressed the reboot button, and my computer rebooted, swiftly and surely displaying my desktop, now unencumbered by all the things I had foolishly allowed to tax and emasculate it and rend it infertile.

I awoke in a completely new frame of mind; one which yielded clarity, purpose, and peace. My former internal dialog which had been encumbered by thousands of undesirable things which I could not seem to control had been replaced by a stillness and patience I have not noticed in weeks. I was able to sit still. I was able to think logically and rationally. I was also able to shut off my internal dialog and simply rest.

When I arose, took my shower, and got the coffee prepared, I was able to sit on the front porch, in a peace and tranquility that even my dogs were able to notice, enjoying the quiet morning and watching the beginnings of daybreak.

I posted this on Facebook:

December 21. It's 4:50AM, dark, slight drizzling rain, and I'm sitting on my front porch with two dogs quietly resting at my bare feet, comfortably clad in a t-shirt while sipping my first cup of coffee in absolute silence except for the gentle raindrops, the occasional cricket's chirp, and the wisp of a salty Southerly breeze caressing the now bare trees. Welcome to Mississippi, y'all!

I felt that peace this morning, and it has been with me all day. I am thankful that while I rested, my own personal and very complex computer was able to clear itself of so many useless worries, fears, and vexations, and that the software developer was able to install the upgraded operating system. It refreshed my computer to the point that the peace that passes all understanding has accompanied me all day. It is with me now as I write this. The restful sleep I had while my internal, built-in computer was upgraded and relieved of the unnecessary junk I tried my best to hold on to for some self-destructively strange reason completely and fully restored me.

Sometimes we are aware of the need for an upgraded operating system, and can wisely and competently choose it. Other times, our systems are so disastrously contaminated we are unable to even recognize that we need one. At these times, I am thankful I serve a wise Captain who sees the danger, very graciously and patiently gets rid of the junk, changes my attitude, restores me while I rest, and then reboots me to a new frame of mind.

AS I sipped my coffee, I had the presence of mind to discern that I had been in the midst of something holy. Notice my reference above to my bare feet.

“Loose thy shoes from thy feet,” said Captain of the Lord of Hosts to Joshua as he stood on the far side of the the banks of the Jordan, “For the place whereon thou standest is Holy ground.”

May your reboot come just when you need it. Mine certainly did. Take your shoes off. Set a spell.

12/20/11 Nearly Christmas

And this will be my third one as a Leukemia patient. Though in remission, they tell me I still have this leukemia, so I am always particularly thankful for every additional event I get to see. Some people get cancer and they don't get to see their next holiday. In my post cancer diagnosis time I have been able to witness the birth of my second grandchild, three birthdays, three Thanksgivings, three Christmases, and three New Years. Well, my third Christmas and New Year may yet be thwarted since they are not here, yet, but if I fail to see them it will be extremely unlikely that this Leukemia of mine will be a contributor. I think the odds are in my favor at this point . . . but they are not impossible odds, though no better or worse than anyone else's, today, it seems . . . I think . . . I hope.

But in spite of the thankfulness, dark thoughts lurk about. The always lie just below the surface, ready to invade an otherwise beautiful day and suck the joy out of it like a leech sucks the blood out of whatever living thing it can attach itself to: slimy, squirmy leeches, growing fat and thick with the blood of their host as they inject their anti-coagulating saliva. Just think about them . . . in the not too distant past, Hemosapien may have been treating me with them, draining off the bad blood, the poisonous humors, in order to restore my body to health. In these modern times, the poison my own body produces are treated, not by being siphoned off by leeches, but by poisons administered in the name of medicine: expensive, toxic cocktails that hang from roll around carts, that flow into pumps that inject them into your veins in hopes that they kill the cancer before they kill the patient.

It's morbidly perplexing how morbid thoughts can overtake you when you're not expecting it, especially when you're tired. Among other issues I have with sleep, I have a really bad case of Restless Legs Syndrome (RLS). Chemo seems to have exacerbated this beyond all measure. Sometimes the main medicine I take for it works. At other times that medicine has to be augmented with other medicines. And yet, at other times, NOTHING works. The situation builds on itself, just like a cancer . . . the more tired I am, the worse the RLS is. This builds over the course of three or four days until I collapse in total exhaustion, and I will sleep for hours and hours. Then the cycle starts over again.

But this is merely inconvenient. The lack of sleep frequently interferes with my ability to travel, since I cannot safely drive long distances when I get that tired. You'll appreciate that, because I am not only unsafe for me, I might be unsafe for YOU, since in the midst of my tiredness, fits not unlike narcolepsy overtake me. It's not that I cannot go to sleep, I just can't seem to stay asleep. I can GO to sleep instantly, but in just a minute or two it's like a pair of jumper cables have been attached to each big toe, and someone flipped the circuit breaker on, and a wave of electric current jolts my body into an instantly awake mode. I find this rather tedious. Tedious, I said.

But that is all. I have so much to do when I cannot sleep. So many wonderful blessings. I write in my blog (you have the proof of that here!), I write songs, I practice on any one of several musical instruments, I read books and magazines, I have actual work I can do (though sometimes my calculations are rather inaccurate when I do this too sleepily and must be checked when I am in a better frame of mind.) I have pen pals that I write to, musical instruments that need repair that I work on, dozens and dozens of fiddles that always need some sort of tinkering, and I have music and video files that always need editing. I can do all of these things until the dark funk overtakes me.

The dark funk! It consists of those morbid, fearful thoughts that incessantly lurk  just below the surface, waiting to spring out at the provocation of an excessive sleeplessness: fearful thoughts that make me think of chemo infusion centers, bone marrow biopsies, and flow cytometry to determine my current state of bone marrow involvement. This leads me off to wondering about the future costs of treatment, and how ObamaCare means nothing to me, and how people with no assets or money get treated for their cancers, but I cannot get treated without the expensive but woefully inadequate health insurance I have. This leads me to thinking about Chapter 7's and Chapter 11's, and how my illness may damage my wife of thirty-two years and leave her with nothing. That gets me to thinking about how I may just decline any future treatment.

And then I REPENT curse the dark funk because it has sent me racing straight to the gates of delirium, banging on them, demanding admission . . . only to realize my foolish frailty, because I am wasting a remission with these kinds of thoughts. But they come easy in the depths of the night when you are on your second day with no sleep,. And your eyelids feel like they have been propped open with pointed, wooden toothpicks: stinging, burning, heavy with sleep, but sleep won't come . . . only the waking nightmares that continually lurk just below that surface . . . that fragile, easily disturbed surface. It is like a thin veneer of ice on the surface of the pond, covered with a thick layer of snow. There is no safe step in any direction.

“Stop it!” I shout at myself. “Don't you realize what you are doing?”

I sigh and shake my head. I know what I am doing, having seen this in myself before. I am consuming myself with negative energy. Then I think about it for a minute. It is just the dead of a sleepless night. The sun will be up in just a few hours, and the terrors my own mind inflicts on me will be gone with the first sign of daybreak. But it's not daybreak yet. Intellectually I tell myself many things that make good, reasonable sense. Spiritually, in the dead of this night, I am a mess. My normal stoicism has fled in the face of the dark funk like a field mouse flees the shadow of the now-rapidly descending raptor, its wings folded and talons outstretched, and its beak longing to tear into the flesh that will die to will sustain it.

“Stop it!” I shout at myself, again. “What's the matter with you? Why are you doing this to yourself?”

I hang my head in shame at my own self-indulgent angst. I cannot think of a reply that will satisfy the same self that is rebuking me.

Apparently he sees me wrestling with my demons that are not actually there, tilting at windmills as it were, and John Calvin decides to pay me a visit. He is never very welcome, always a thorn in my side with his mental gymnastics.

“What troubles you my young friend?” He asks. “Why are you so down in the mouth?” He can call me his young friend because he is 502 years old.

“Awww! I'm just down in the mouth and very tired. This causes me to run away with loose thoughts abut my own mortality.”

“Aye! And your thoughts are indeed loose. You should better control them lest they lead you astray. Your internal dialog is dangerous to your state of mind. I consider looseness with words no less of a defect than looseness of the bowels. Watch your step and mind your Ps and Qs, else you'll be overcome with your looseness of the words you have for yourself,” he admonishes.

“That was rather crude and droll,” I reply.

“I thought the crudeness of it might spring you from this sorry state of self-pity in which you have flung yourself.”

“It got my attention.”

“Good,” he says. “Now, consider this, and consider it at length:  Seeing that a Pilot steers the ship in which we sail, who will never allow us to perish even in the midst of shipwrecks, there is no reason why our minds should be overwhelmed with fear and overcome with weariness.”

“I'm not worried perishing amid the shipwrecks of others. It's the shipwreck of my own body that has me concerned,” I said.

“Whose shipwreck do you think I was referring to?” he asks, and dematerializes in a way that reminds me of water vapor sucked up by the sun burning down on a hayfield on a hot, Mississippi August afternoon; the lines in the heat shimmering in the distance like a mirage.

Now I am left to my own devices, again. As suddenly as he appeared, he is gone, always gone, leaving me to ponder what he said. And I begin to ponder, and ponder, and ponder some more. And in the midst of pondering, my thoughts racing in a different manner than before, I am led to these words, which return like a refreshing afternoon rain on the same, hot, August hay field, “Take no thought of tomorrow; Sufficient for today are the evils thereof.”

Perhaps for the first time, ever, I am thankful for Calvin's normally unwelcome midnight visits. What are typically trying mental exercises in theological futility, tonight, have brought a great peace and clarity with them: unexpected, but welcome. I wish he would come back so I could thank him.

“He never seems to come around when you want him,” I say to myself.

“I heard that!” Calvin says, just as I look out the window and see the faintest brightening in the Eastern sky. I laugh out loud at myself and think of all the things I have to be grateful for, and at this thought, and the steadily brightening in the East, all the dark funk flees to the West before the advancing light, and I fall fast, and peacefully asleep, dreaming of light rains on dry hay fields that bring a quenching coolness to that otherwise stiflingly hot, August afternoon here in Mississippi, until only the coolness rain-softened breeze is left lightly caressing me as I dream so vividly that the fragrance of the rain on the hot earth makes me smile in my sleep.

“It's not August,” Calvin says, “It's December.”

“That was a simile, a metaphor,” I managed to mutter, “Go away now, and let me sleep.”

12/19/11 Kim Jong Il is Dead

“Mr. President! Mr. President!,” the aide to the Chief-of-staff shouted as he rushed into the second floor living quarters at the White House.

“Yes?” replied President Sherman, interrupted from watching the Redskins unexpectedly beating the Giants, but not enjoying this intrusion even though the game was not going his way, since his favorite quarterback, Eli Manning., was having a dismal game.

“Mr. President, I was sent to inform you that Kim Jong Il is dead,” said the aide.

“Who?” asked President Sherman.

“Kim Jong Il,” the aide repeated.

President Sherman thought for a minute. He was unable to shake the game from his mind. “Kim WHO?”

“Kim Jong Il, sir, the President of North Korea."

“Oh! Him! Well, he has been Il all his life,” the President snickered to himself at his joke. The aide didn't think this pun was very funny, but managed a nervous laugh, nevertheless, since one always laughed at any of President Sherman's few attempts to display his extremely dry, acerbic form of humor.

“The Chief-of-staff has indicated an immediate meeting of the Joint-Chiefs-of-Staff, Homeland Security (DHS), and STATE. They will meet us in the war room in 30 minutes,” said the aide.

“What the hell for?” the President asked, adding, “I want to watch the game.”

“I can't answer that, sir. I was just sent to alert you that the meeting is in 30 minutes, and they are requesting your attendance.”

“Oh, bother!” said President Sherman. “I'll be down. Dismissed.”

As the aide turned to go, President Sherman kicked off his slippers, went in to the bathroom to wash his face and comb his hair. As he came out of the washroom, the presidential valet greeted him with a clean, starched shirt. He stood there looking at the shirt. He thought for a moment.

“I don't want this,” he said. “I want an Army T-shirt.” He was thinking about Army's recent loss to Navy during the classic Army-Navy game. Navy seemed to have had the upper hand on this duel for the last several years, but it didn’t diminish his loyalty to Army. The Presidential valet, a career civil service employee, had served many presidents, and shook his head as soon as he was out of sight of the President, not quite understanding the lack of formality of this particular President that he served. He opened a brand new Army T-shirt. There were hundreds of them. Every week, the army had dozens more delivered, ever since they had heard of the President's proclivity to wear them. The Navy had once protested, complaining that it was a disservice to sailors to always see their Commander-in-Chief wearing an Army T-shirt, though they dared not say this to his face. When word of this reached the President through back channels, his only visible response was a quick shrug of his shoulders. This was enough for everyone to know that that was the end of this conversation. President Sherman did not mince his words. What the President was thinking was, “Screw the Navy,” though he did not say so. The Navy knew this, too, and didn't like it, but they dared not say so.  When it came time to pony up on the budget, they knew President Sherman knew of the importance of the Navy. They decided that was enough, and, perhaps, asking the former West Pointer to wear a Navy T-shirt was just a bit too much. In the Presidential valet's eyes, too much of the Army's budget was being spent on T-Shirts.

As he rounded the corner, headed to the war room, the Presidential valet was holding the door of the elevator open for him. On each side of the elevator door, standing at attention, were his personally assigned secret service agents. They went with the President everywhere.

“At ease, men! I'll just take the stairs,” said the President. He was always a bit perturbed by how everyone wanted to do everything FOR him. He thought about this every time he went to the bathroom, and wondered what they might want to do for him next. A man had to draw the line somewhere. Today he'd take the stairs and decline the waiting elevator. He whisked through the door, opening it himself, before anyone could grab the knob and open it for him, and fairly flew down the stairs, racing ahead of the secret service agents as they struggled to keep up with him.

The President was in the war room exactly nine minutes after he had received the notice. He knew he would not have to wait very long. Every person had learned that President Sherman would not tolerate tardiness, and he expected that within about ten more minutes every person required to be in the meeting would be there in an attempt to be early. He laughed to himself about this. He would make it a point to make them feel like they were late even though they were early. This was always a great source of amusement to him. That they found this uncomfortable was an even greater source of amusement, as grown, educated senior government advisers and ministers seemed to clamor to be the one the teacher called on the erase the blackboard. “Everyone was like this but Kissinger,” he thought to himself.

“Kissinger would have said 'let them erase their own blackboard',” he said out loud.

“Pardon me sir?” said one of the secret service agents, “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” said President Sherman. “I was just talking to myself.”

The rich, thick, woolen brocade carpeting turned into a stark tile floor as they descended deeper into the bowels of the White House, through several layers of security, and into the war room. There were several military staffers there, monitoring all sorts of computer screens and communications equipment. They all jumped to attention as someone shouted “POTUS on deck!” as the President entered the room. 

“As you were,” said the President. They all sat back down, and pretended to be far busier than they really were, though they had been placed on alert status.

President Sherman sat down at the head of the table. He drummed his fingers on the marble surface inlaid with leather. He tried to appear as impatient as he possibly could, enjoying the tension in the air his contrived impatience seemed to cause.

“Where is everyone?” he demanded to the aide nearest him.

“Ahem! Uh, sir, we, uh, uh, we are perhaps a bit early. They aren't here, yet,” said the aide, squirming in his seat like someone had rubbed turpentine on his tender parts.

“I see!” said the President, acting like he was really put off by this inconvenience. He let out no hint of a smile, looked as stern as he possibly could, and sighed a sigh so loud that he knew no one could mistake for anything but anger.

“Excuse us sir,” said the senior aide, as the room emptied of all the aides as they rushed out into the halls, each one making calls to cell phones to the aides of all the meeting's required attendees, expressing the President's apparent displeasure, and getting fussed at by the aides of the generals, admirals, and cabinet level officers. In unison, each aide seemed to say to the person they had on the other end of their calls, “But the president is ready to start the meeting. It's not MY fault that he is EARLY!”

Now that no one was looking, except the two secret service agents, the president smiled to himself. He winked at them. They tried to suppress their laughter, since they both knew him very well and knew what he was up to, but they were unable to do so. All at once, the President and his two permanent secret service agents burst out in huge guffaws, laughing until tears flowed. At the sound of approaching footsteps, the President quickly placed his finger to his lips in the universal gesture for silence and the two secret service agents immediately suppressed their laughter, as did the President, and they occasionally let out a chuckle as the perplexed aides returned to the room, wondering what has just transpired that they had missed. Whatever it was, they resumed their nervous banter as they looked at the stern face of the President.

Exactly nineteen minutes after the President had received notice of the emergency meeting, every player was seated at the table in the war room. There was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs (CJC), the Secretary of Defense (SecDef), The Secretary of the Department of Homeland Secutiry (DHS), and the Secretary of State (STATE), along with several STATE attaché's specializing in North Korea.

“So who is in charge of this meeting?” the President asked.

“You are, Mr. President,” STATE replied.

“The hell I am,” said President Sherman, “I was enjoying the football game. I didn't call this meeting. Whoever did call it needs to get on with presenting  whatever it is that so urgently needs presenting.”

They all looked around at each other, nervously, each waiting for the other to start talking. No one wanted to start, so the STATE continued, red-faced with a bit of anger at the absent Chief-of-Staff who had precipitated this meeting.

“Your Chief-of-Staff called the meeting, sir, but he is away at the Bears game. He will not be here, so I will get on with the point of the meeting. Mr. President, you are aware that Kim Jong Il is dead,” said STATE.

“Yes, I am. And …?”

Not liking this role she had been forced into by others, STATE replied, “Well, sir, I'll let the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs (CJC) take over, now.”

The President looked directly at CJC. CJC looked around at his partners on the staff. They seemed a bit too passive for him, so he had no choice but to speak, but he spoke poorly.

“Mr. President, we are here to listen to what YOU have to say on the matter, and carry out your wishes to the letter.”

“What?? What do you mean you are here to listen to me. I am here to listen to you. I didn't call this meeting. I assumed that there was something you all wanted to tell me besides the news of the death of Kim Jong Il. So get on with it,” the President demanded.

They all looked around at each other, again. No one seemed willing to speak, and the President was content to sit there in stern silence and let them squirm. They all looked like someone had rubbed turpentine onto their tender parts. The silence, though only for a few brief seconds, seemed like an eternity as minds around the table raced to think of something intelligent and cogent to say, casting furtive glances at each other, each preferring to defer to the one who seemed willing to speak first. No one did so. The President just sat there like as silent as the Tar Baby.

Finally, DHS spoke up. “Mr. President, I was called to this urgent meeting, too. Since we are all gathered here, we perhaps need instructions from you on how to proceed with this news of Kim Jong Il's death, and what steps we should take to secure the country and our assets in South Korea, as well as the South Korean nation. Sir, what steps would you have us take?”

The President sat there silently, other than a constant drumming of his fingers on the table. They all leaned forward in their seats, breathlessly waiting on him to speak. He let the tension build to an unbearable level while he maintained his silence and kept up the drumming. Finally he spoke.

“OK! Here's what I want you to do, and this can all be handled by STATE. Send a sympathy card to his widow. Get it ready and I will sign it. Send a sympathy card to his son, what's his name?”

“Kim Jon Un, sir,” interjected one of the low-level aides standing beside the far more senior people seated at the table. All the senior level officers narrowed their eyes and looked devilishly at the aide who dared to speak at this meeting. The aide, knowing he had stepped out of bonds, slinked back, wondering what damage he may have done to his own career with his protocol faux pas. “Too late,” he thought to himself.

“Thanks,” the President said, turning to STATE. “Send him a card, too. And send a funeral wreath, not too fancy, but nice, to their White House equivalent, and put on a card that reads, “To the People of North Korea: Condolences on the loss of your Dear Leader, from the people of the United States of America. Spell it out: T-h-e U-n-i-t-e-d- S-t-a-t-e-s o-f A-m-e-r-i-c-a. Don't say 'The USA.' And ship them via FEDEX, not through diplomatic channels. We'll just be regular people sending condolences to real human beings who have had a loss in their family.”

With that, the President fell silent. They all looked around at each other at the table. Surely this was not All the President thought was necessary. STATE spoke up.

“Mr. President, we should DO something. There are several signs of beginning instability in the region. Kim Jong Un is an unknown variable. The Asian markets are showing extreme volatility. Perhaps it would be wise to send a message to them by placing our troops in South Korea on a high-alert status and began conducting some military exercises in the area. Maybe flex a little muscle.”

President Sherman looked around the table after STATE had finished. He looked directly at the joint chiefs, who were all nodding. He then spoke directly to CJC.

“Do we not maintain a high-alert status on all our troops in South Korea, particularly those along the 38^th parallel?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. They stay in a state of constant readiness,” assured CJC.

“Well, then, STATE, carry out my orders, and we'll dismiss this meeting and I can return to my football game.”

Everyone in the room thought of the time when then-general Sherman had been judged to be insane by a military tribunal. Evidence of his insanity became visible to each of them from time to time. This was one of those times.

“But, Mr. President,” erupted DHS, “Don't you think we had better take some extra precautions to protect our interests in the Korean peninsula and here at home?”

“And just what would we do. CJC just said that our troops are always on high-alert status there. Do we place them on double-extra-super-high-secret-alert, then run around showing off our military assets in such a way as to make them think this is the time we will quote make our move unquote and have them think our motives are to depose Kim Jong Un, who's probably about to wet his britches anyway with the sudden rush of his own ministers to paint darkly perilous scenarios for his consideration?

“You said, yourselves, that Kim Jong Un is an unknown variable. How would we test this unknown? What reaction might we get? What dangers might we expose ourselves to for no reason? We escalate, they escalate, we up the ante, they up the ante, we bluff, they bluff, until finally, someone decides to call the bluff? Then, what do we do?

“Nope, I'm not going down that path. I’ve SEEN war up close and I will not bluff. I may be forced to call someone else's bluff, but when I do, it wont be with another bluff; it’ll be with iron and scorched earth. Send the cards, send the flowers, change nothing about any status here or in Korea. Right now, more than likely, a son is mourning the loss of his father, while a nation is perhaps secretly celebrating the passing of a tyrannical despot. We'll let it go at that. Y'all let me know if the North Koreans DO something, and when I say ‘do’ something, I don't mean a useless chutzpah and bravado, I mean something of substance that poses an immediate threat . . . not a damn potential threat, we’ve already got that . . .  something that reeks of immediate peril.

“If that occurs, we will respond decisively with sudden, sure, and swift retribution.

Though jaws were slack all around the table, no one said a word.

“I thought so. No one has anything to say. Every day, I regret having agreed to do this job, and I regret the fact that I have to be surrounded by those who care more about protecting their jobs and looking good in the media than serving their country. If anyone wonders where I am, I'll be watching the football game. After the Giants get through being whipped by the Redskins, I plan on watching Denver upset the Patriots. Dismissed!”

And with that, the President got up and walked away, leaving them nonplussed as he usually did. Going up the steps with his two secret service agents, they paused in the stairway in sub-basement level one, and all began to laugh uncontrollably.

Between guffaws, the President managed to say, “Did you see the look on DHS's face? And STATE? And I though the CJC was going to soil his uniform!”

They laughed and laughed until there was nothing left but a joyful exhaustion. The secret service agents laughed in earnest, but they said nothing, since it was not heir job to SAY anything. Their job was protection with discretion. The President admired them and the job they took so seriously. He knew that they both would fulfill their duty to the best of their ability, until their very lives were forfeit in the pursuit of that duty. THEY knew, however, that the President cared enough about them that he would throw caution to the wind, and face perils himself if he thought that they were in peril. Though they had served many presidents, they had never served one like this one. Before them was a President that had stared danger and death in the face. He was not a bluffer. They saw him every day and were with him constantly. They thought he was the most sane President they had ever seen. They admired him because he was always the same, sane person. Steady, deliberate, though sometimes more stern than he might have been. This did not really matter, since he inflicted the same sternness on himself.

Later on that evening, as Kim Jon Un mourned his father, the President was mourning the loss of the Broncos at the hands of the Patriots.

“Sometimes,” he said to himself, “Things just don't work out like we plan.”

He hoped the cards would arrive in North Korea the next morning. If they were sent via Fedex, as he had instructed, he was certain they would be there by 10:30.

“No miracle in the fourth quarter this time, Tim?” he asked the TV. “Well, there is no shame in losing a game to Tom Brady. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. I wonder what the sports pundits will say about that?”

12/17/11 Mourning Christopher Hitchens (1949-2011)

The late Christopher Hitchens was a writer who had few peers in his lifetime. He always provided me the greatest opportunities and challenges to examine my own faith. He certainly made me think. And the thinking was frequently about things of which I did not want to think - - the sure sign of a great writer, who is able to cajole, inflame, debunk, and precipitate thought in ways we otherwise would not have experienced had we not read their work. We should always be thankful for this.

His esophageal cancer killed him this past week. I won't say that his “battle with cancer is over.” It just killed him. His battle was with his own mortality. We all lose this one in the long run, hopefully, or in the short run if we're not so lucky; though we still lose. It's the dash between the two dates above that represent our lives.

I have already taken some criticism from fellow Christians over my unabashed admiration for Hitchens' work, and I am unrepentant. Though he was an ardent atheist, a devout unbeliever, Hitchens was a fellow human being. He was as honest about what he thought and felt, and his motivations, as any writer I ever read. While there were opinions we did not share, why should that be a cause for dis-fellowship with him as a human being? I reject any such notions. How could he be wrong about what he thought? By definition, we cannot be wrong about what we think. The practical results of those thoughts may be erroneous, but not the thinking of them.

Of course, our thoughts, feelings, and musings cannot be trusted to always lead us in the right direction. Nor can they be relied on to always give us the outcomes we expected, since there are so many things about which one can be wrong. But the fear of wrongness is not a valid excuse for failing to consider. Christopher Hitchens never failed to consider, though the result of his considerations frequently led him in a different direction than my own. Why would this be a cause for enmity?

Many have felt their personal faith personally assaulted by Hitchens, and at this they took great offense; but I must argue . . . did his assault diminish their faith in any way? If so, how? Is their faith so weak that the opinions of one man are sufficient to alter it? If the answer to that is a yes, then one should pull out all the stops and examine his faith, and do it right away. Hitchens offered nothing new in the roadblocks thrown in the paths of believers . . . not one single thing. Every idea and thought he had about faith, religion, and God (and His existence or lack of it) was not original, even though his abrupt, bulldoggish tenacity made it seem fresh to our generation. This is the genius of Christopher Hitchens: He made those arguments seem boldly fresh. I enjoyed every challenge, since each  caused me to examine my own faith carefully, and the result was that it emerged unchanged, or perhaps even stronger. Thus, if Hitchens motive was to persuade, we are back to the point that our thoughts cannot always be relied on to produce the outcomes we expected. I seldom sensed that he was trying to persuade . . . he was merely telling us what he thought. What he thought was what he thought. He could only be wrong about what he was thinking if he was being dishonest with himself and his readers. The point is this: If he was honest (and no one ever accused him of being intellectually disingenuous), then he could not be wrong about what he thought, though he could be entirely wrong about the practical outcome of what he thought.

For example, suppose I have heard of electricity, and someone has told me that there are large amounts of electrons flowing down the power line that comes to my house. I cannot see it, though I have evidence that it exists, as well as the fact that others have warned me, but I think that the power line is harmless. I think this over and over, and having considered it at length, still do not see the threat. So, I obtain an aluminum extension ladder, place it carefully against the power pole, since I have learned from experience that even though I cannot see gravity it is extremely reliable, and proceed to climb up the ladder towards the top of the pole. Once there, I reach out and grab the power line only to be blown off the ladder in a violent eruption of fire that sends my smoking, singed and lifeless mass straight to the ground. It killed me so fast that I did not have time to ascertain the practical results of my thinking. Obviously, the practical results of my thinking were an outcome different than my thinking had led me to expect, but there was no error in my thinking it, since it was exactly what I thought. The error was in the application of my thinking to a real world test, since, having been tested it was found, shall we say, imprudent, at best.

This seems to many to be semantic hair-splitting, but semantic hair-splitting is exactly what one has to resort to when one tries to articulate matters of faith to someone whose thinking will not allow them to consider that which cannot be easily demonstrated. If there is an error in the thinking of anyone, it is that matters of faith can be argued rationally and logically, and lead others to share a similar faith based on a semantic, intellectual argument.

Hitchens said this about MENSA (you know . . . the high IQ bunch) members in a 1996 editorial that appeared in Vanity Fair: The standing joke about Mensa people is that if you didn’t know they were so all-get-out brilliant you would never guess.

He might as well have said something similar to Christians.

If I have to tell you that I am a Christian, what does that say about my faith? Where is the evidence of my faith other than my words about it? When we hear our faith derided by the expressions of the thoughts of another, why is it that we feel a compulsion to defend it when it needs no defense beyond our belief? Does God need me to defend Him? Surely not! I submit that God doesn't need anything, and He certainly doesn't me to furnish anything He may be lacking. It is we who are lacking. We feel it necessary to defend that which we believe, as if another's disbelief should be capable of invalidating our faith in some way. It is at this point we should welcome the challenges brought to us by thinkers like Christopher Hitchens. If our faith is altered by his thinking, then it must be re-examined. If we can shrug it off with nothing more than an acknowledgment that we now understand what someone else is thinking and that in making the acknowledgment we find no compromise, nor should we, of our faith, then we have a faith that transcends a pointless, semantic hair-splitting which seems to be so important to so many. That Christopher Hitchens and I would disagree on this causes me no distress, no discomfort, and is a point wherein we understand each other a bit better. I think this is cause for celebration.

As for the late Christopher Hitchens? In my case, his thinking had practical outcomes which I think he did not contemplate, though I am at great risk in thinking about what he might have been thinking. I never had the opportunity to meet him, so we may have found each other disgusting, but I don't think so. I think I might have enjoyed his company, at least for a while, since he no doubt would have provoked me to think on many levels I had not already considered. This would have been a benefit to me, and perhaps perplexing to him, though I doubt it. He simply thought what he thought, and wrote honestly about what he thought, not caring who he angered along the way.

He has gone off into eternity now, his time on this earth over. I mourn his passing as all men should. That there are Christians who have verbally expressed joy and pleasure over the news of his demise should be a time for all Christians to consider their own thinking. Why would the death of any writer and thinker who,  as far as I can determine, perpetrated no physical violence to any other human being, whose only violence was committed against what we thought by telling us, pointedly, what he thought, be a cause for celebration? I mourn this manner of thinking as much as I mourn the passing of a brilliant writer.

That some Christians think Christopher Hitchens' consistent atheism meant he was somehow less valuable to God than themselves is far more an indication of the nature of humanity than the nature of God. Christopher Hitchens has gone out into eternity to face whatever it is that he will face, or not. My faith says so. His lack of faith told him something different. And there's no way I could be persuaded to trade what I have for what he offered me with his thinking . . . but he helped me to hone a keen edge on my faith that he was never able to dull.

Perhaps, this is not the outcome he expected. I think not. I think he didn't care. I think he just thought what he thought and wrote about it with great clarity, deliberation, and presence of mind. He would be the first to admit that my opinion must be very flimsy if he was able to damage it with the mere reading of a few sentences of one of his essays, or the hearing of witty rejoinders on any of myriad sound bytes from television talk shows. He more than likely would have expected me to hold on to my opinions with the same fearless tenacity with which he embraced his own. He probably would have been disappointed with anything less.

“A witty saying proves nothing,” the great Voltaire wrote.

12/16/11 “Our Wall Street Guy”

 “We literally called Jon Corzine. We called Jon because we knew that he knew about the economy, about the world markets, about how we had to respond,” said Vice-President Joe Biden as he and President Obama were trying to figure out how to jump start the economy.

“He was an ally with the Obama Administration in helping us develop a national recovery plan,” said the President about Jon Corzine.

But he doesn't know where the money is.

There were lots of things Jon Corzine did know.

• He knew how to bundle campaign contributions for Obama.
• He knew how to get Wall Street tycoons to contribute campaign cash, and get them to a face to face meeting with Obama in the White House Blue Room where they were able to talk to the President about “hot” issues, such as regulation.
• He knew how to throw a lavish, $35,800 per ticket Obama fundraiser at his New Jersey home.
• He knew how to sell special MF Global securities that had notes indicating they would pay a 1% higher interest rate if the President appointed him to, and he got Senate approval for, a high-level government position before July of 2012. (Might that be Treasury Secretary?)
• He knew the banking and investment banking business inside and out.
• He knew the President thought he was, “Our Wall Street guy.”
• He knew how to get the Wall Street-ers to make significant campaign contributions, in spite of the Administrations outward hostility and anti-Wall Street rhetoric.
• He knew that Republican Wall Street types would be glad to contribute money to Democrats if they could get INFLUENCE with their contribution.

But he doesn't know where the money is.

• He knows how to make a lot of money, himself.
• He knows how to be a US Senator, though he quit his job to become Governor of New Jersey.
• He knows how to be the Governor of New Jersey, though he knows that Republican Chris Christie can and did beat him.
• He knew that the chairman of the Commodities Futures Trading Commission (CFTC) was a former employee of his at Goldman-Sachs.
• He knows that CFTC Chairman, Gary Gensler, has recused himself from the investigations into the fiscal mess that is left of MF Global, in favor of the “excellent career staff” that usually handles these sorts of things.
• He knows that the public affairs director of the CFTC, Nancy Watsman, also used to work for him at Goldman-Sachs.
• He knows that in October of 2010, the CFTC was planning on implementing regulations that would prohibit the use of private investor money in the purchase of foreign sovereign debt instruments.
• He knows that he personally and successfully lobbied to persuade the CFTC to delay implementation of these new regulations.

But he doesn't know where the money is, though he is very sorry about that, and it was not his intention that any rules be violated by any of his underlings at MF Global.

• He knows that he is the only former US Senator since 1908 to be forced to return to the Senate Chamber to testify.
• He knows it would look really bad if he took the 5^th Amendment, as is his right, so he knows that he can always know nothing.

So, he doesn't know where the money is.

• He knows that potential buyers for pieces of MF Global's business cannot look at financial statements and rely on the information they contain.
• He knows that the financial information that should be available immediately under any accounting standard has taken “Hours” to be put together.
• He knows that others have looked at the bookkeeping and accounting at MF Global and declared it to be a mess.
• He knows that there are those former employees of MF Global who had cash cut from their paychecks, and the amounts were invested in special MF Global Stock.
• He knows that there are former employees who claim they were persuaded to buy now-worthless MF Global Stock for their IRAs.
• He knows that many checks were mailed out to MF Global investors, who found out that those checks were drawn on accounts with insufficient funds.

But he doesn't know where the money is.

• He knows that there are those who thought he knew how to run a large investment bank.
• He knows that there are those who thought he knew how to run a large commodities trading company.
• He knows that there are those who thought he knew how the system works.
• He knows that there are those who thought he knew how to run the economy.
• He knows how to rub elbows with the rich and powerful, and be a man of influence.
• He knows that MF Global was not “too big to fail.”

But he doesn't know where the money is, and he is very, very sorry.

• He knows that the White House has indicated that all the money raised by Jon Corzine for the re-election of the President will be given back if he is implicated in any wrongdoing.
• He knows that the White-House amended that, saying the BUNDLED money would not be given back, only that which Jon Corzine had PERSONALLY contributed.
• He knows that he has become somewhat, shall we say, TOXIC.

This is what I know:

• I know that I don't know anything about international commodities trading
• I know that I don't know anything about foreign sovereign debt instruments
• I know that I don't know anything about foreign sovereign debt repurchase agreements.
• I know I can certainly run a large international investment bank and commodities trading firm every-bit as effectively as Jon Corzine.
• I know I could perhaps run one even better.

Perhaps Jon Corzine isn't so smart after all. Perhaps he didn't know as much as he thought. Perhaps he didn't know as much as others thought. Perhaps he was just lucky for a very long time. Perhaps his life was lived amid a strange grace that for some reason has failed him now. Perhaps his house of cards collapsed before he could get all the pieces in place to get OUR government to bail out all those Foreign Sovereigns that are in a debt deeper than our own. Maybe he planned to execute political chicanery from behind the scenes once he became Treasury Secretary, if becoming Treasury Secretary was indeed his plan. Perhaps his luck simply ran out. Perhaps, when he actually tried to DO something, this is the result. Our top levels at corporations and governments are filled with highly educated, good-looking, smart-talking people with no particular skills or talent (other than being good-looking and smart-talking), who DO nothing.

Perhaps he knows where the money is after all . . . or perhaps he is telling the truth . . . that the money is scattered all over the Earth in such a manner that he REALLY does not know where it IS.

He certainly knows where the money is NOT.

I suspect, before this is over, Jon Corzine, the amazing Democratic, Senatorial, Gubernatorial, Wonder-Boy of Wall Street could become Barack Obama's Haldeman and Erlichmann, his John Dean;  perhaps his Oliver North; maybe his Monica Lewinsky. If I were the President, I'd be studying the LBJ 2^nd term strategy. The President may yet discover that he is a bit too close to the fan on this one!!!

Cronyism knows no party boundaries. Neither does corruption.

12/8/11 Beating Cancer

You met Tom Roady here earlier. He had been diagnosed with stage IV metastatic cancer back in October, and posted a profound and uplifting story about how he wanted to live out his remaining days. Since, ultimately, humanity's end result never changes, life is not a question of simply how long it lasts, but what we make of the short time we all have here. Tom made the most of his time, which ran out on Sunday, November 27, 2011. He died in his sleep from heart failure on Ricky Skaggs' tour bus on the way to the opening performance of the Skaggs Family Christmas Tour. He was 62.

I had the pleasure of working with Tom once, in 2003, during a performance of The Nashville Jug Band at The Station Inn in Nashville. If you met Tom once, you met a friend you were able to keep for the rest of your life. Tom was like that. I am pleased to be able to say that I once worked with the great Tom Roady.

Many other people can say that, too, so I am in good company. Those many others include: Ricky Skaggs; Art Garfunkel; Dr. Hook; Pure Prairie League; Kate Taylor; Roy Orbison; Emmy Lou Harris; Sam Bush; Bela Fleck; The Newgrass Revival; Maura O'Connell; Mark O'Connor' Randy Travis; Mac McAnally; Joan Baez; Delbert McClinton; Etta James; Suzy Boggus; Tanya Tucker; Lorrie Morgan; Martina McBride; Mary Chapin Carpenter; Kenny Chesney; Rhonda Vincent; Percy Sledge; Crystal Gayle; Vince Gill; Hank Williams, Jr.; Steve Wariner; Confederate Railroad; T. Graham Brown; Chet Atkins; Tammy Wynette; The Nashville Mandolin Ensemble; Trisha Yearwood; Steve Forbert; Bob Seeger; Pam Tillis; Wynonna Judd; Brooks & Dunn; Iris Dement; Lynyrd Skynyrd; The Dixie Chicks; Tracy Byrd; John Denver; James Taylor; Wilson Pickett; James Brown; Mavis Staples; Tom Jones; Donovan; Tony Orlando; Phil Driscoll; and Alabama. 

The one time I worked with Tom was simply all about having a good time sharing the joy of music. Joy is what he brought to music. It showed on his face as much as it showed in his playing. If you dig out your CD's and vinyl LP's, look closely at the credits. More than likely, you have one that features Tom's percussion on it. I have several. Most of them I had long before I knew who Tom Roady was.

Tom was not a drummer, but a percussionist. His playing never overshadowed the entire sound of the song, but lent itself to supporting the MUSIC. Sometimes, when the music is just right, each instrument gets lost in the overall sound, so that the music swells to a crescendo of the synergy that is achieved when the GROUP is working as a single UNITY. Music is powerful when this phenomenon occurs. Music that is merely equal to the sum of its parts falls short of the mark; it is far less than it could be. Music that fails to equal the sum of its parts is not worth listening to. Music that achieves SYNERGY draws us in, and the layman doesn't wonder about the mechanics of why this music is drawing like it does . . . he is just drawn, and filled with wonder, unable to keep his feet still as the music moves him. We all look for this in music. It is why we listen.

Tom raised the bar higher for all of us. We are all better musicians for him having done so. We are also better people for having known him. I am thankful for that, and thankful for his personal testimony of Jesus.

Tom's cancer failed to claim him. He beat it the best way he could. His last days were filled with a quality of life that he was determined to enjoy for the short time  the doctors told him he had left. And being translated from a berth in a well-appointed tour bus on the way to one's next gig, filled with the promise and hope of making wonderful music, to a new mansion in heaven, where all drummers have been transformed into percussionists? I can think of worse things.

May God richly bless and comfort Tom's wife, Mel, and his many legions of friends. We have all been touched by his presence and the kind, gentle, and generous spirit that inhabited him. That spirit has returned to That which is its essence. We will all meet him again, soon enough.

12/4/11 The Pitfalls of Persistent Diversion

Beware the barrenness of a busy life.

Socrates
 

When Socrates threw this statement out to his students, I'm sure that it shocked many of them. They probably waited breathlessly for its solution, since it was a hypothesis that would need exploration and testing: for how could a busy life be barren? We are seldom alone with our own thoughts in this modern world. We are pressured further and more diligently to spend every moment in an endless pursuit of distractions, like we don't have a moment to waste on being still.

How could being quiet and still be a waste of time? And, with what things are we distracting ourselves? Are they profitable?

The distractions themselves are endless. I shudder to think of how many hours I have spent in my life flipping through 170 satellite TV channels, and finding nothing worth watching, settled on the thing that I disliked the least, thus wasting my time on NOTHING. While I was focusing on the thing I disliked the least, I had work that could have been done, music that could have been written, instruments that could have been played, books on my list (the rapidly increasingly longer list) that have yet to be read, and words to write that have yet to be written. In addition to those things, there was also the opportunity to sit alone and still, letting my mind wander where it would as it sought to balance itself, which our minds are wont to do if we give them a chance. But rather than any of those things, I watched things on TV that I disliked the least. I was too busy with the remote control to simply do nothing, yet it was worse than nothing which consumed my time.

I could have been busy taking a walk, visiting my grandchildren, wrestling with my dogs, or looking at the clouds. I could have been busy, busy, busy at productive things rather than busy noodling with my iPhone or the TV. I could also have chosen the business of purposefully being not-busy.

Beware the barrenness of a busy life.

Is that the rushing to and fro to DO things? Or, is it the rushing to and fro in such a melee of activity that we fail to bear the fruits a purpose and its accomplishment might have given us? The word barren has more than one meaning. Formerly, it was frequently used to describe a woman who was incapable of bearing children. Is this the barrenness Socrates is referring to? Our busy pursuit of distractions prevents us from giving birth to anything creative in our lives? That we fail to give birth to ourselves?? Maybe it refers to the soil in which we find ourselves planted . . . a poor soil, devoid of nutrients, wherein we are incapable of bearing any fruit that would bring a lasting pleasure to us and those around us.

The vision of my middle-aged (OK! . . . POST-middle-aged) self sitting in a fluffy recliner, remote control in hand, scrolling through endless droll TV channels is not a vision I had for myself as a youth. Why is it that I can so easily submit to a vision that is so foreign to the one I held, and remarkably, still hold? How will a TV remote help me achieve my vision? It certainly will keep me busy.

Of course, there are times when we must be busy, and there is the argument that no matter what we are doing, we are busy, even if we are asleep. There is work around our homes that must be done which cannot be neglected for very long, so we have to make time for those things. There is a living to be made so that we will have food and shelter, so we must be busy about the things which contribute to our living. We have families and friends with whom we must share our time if we expect to keep them, so this cannot be neglected. We all have personal needs which keep us busy in the times when we are not doing the things previously mentioned. And we must have time for rest. With all those things, there seems to be little time left.

SO HOW WILL WE SPEND IT?

Time spent alone and in silence is never wasted. We may not be able to tolerate it but for short intervals, but if we practice it gets easier, and soon enough we long for even the most brief respite from EVERYTHING while still being awake. This one thing can produce a bounty of fruits of personal development. Some people call it prayer. Some call it meditation. Some call it a quiet time. Others call it pensive reflection. Some don't call it anything . . . they simply STOP.

The constant seeking of diversions to our remaining free time, which can keep us so busy, is like a constant drain on a battery that just doesn't quite get the time to recharge fully. It gets weaker and weaker, until it is not able to provide the energy for the task at hand, even though it is not dead. If we never take the time to stop and discover who we are, or the seeds of who we are, and spend time on the nurturing of those seeds so that they will flourish, we can become as barren as a blistered rock in a seething caldera.

How will we spend our time? Maybe it would be better if we managed to be less busy, and learn, bit by bit, to be alone with ourselves. If we discover during those times things about ourselves that we don't like, we have time to prepare ways to mend them. And mending things in need of repair always yields a dividend. And a dividend is the fruit of our investment. And fruit comes from fertility. And fertility is the opposite of barren.

A busy life! It sounds good, doesn't it? But what are we busy ABOUT?

12/3/11 Pandering to Pathos

Sometimes poetry erupts from me for no apparent reason. This is a rare phenomenon, but one I have learned must be indulged. If it is in there, it must come out. I can't even be sure if this is poetry or prose. I think it's poetry. You may think it's prose, or you may think it's garbage. It has served its purpose, since whatever precipitated it in me has now subsided. Thank you for your indulgence.

The Wonder of Hands

He looked down at his own now-familiarly empty hands

observing every calloused line and their scars,

the badges of former endeavors, thinking how they once served himself and others

with their dexterity, but no longer.

They still had the sharply honed skills that native talent had lent them

and experience had taught them but they now were mostly turned from labor

to being thrown in the air, the universal gesture of futility, for it was futile he felt.

“Futile,” the future whispered from a place he could not see.

“Futile,” he said aloud more to the universe than to himself.

“Futile,” said the universe back, not  whispering.

He wondered to what he should apply these hands these days?

The only thing they seemed good for any longer

was a well-placed scratch behind a loyal dog's ear.

The dog thought this the best possible use for them,

but the dog, so enjoying the scratch, had ceased its wondering

about the emptiness in its belly as its brain automatically released endorphins

bringing it great pleasure at the touch of its master's now fiscally-superfluous  hands.

When the endorphin rush subsided, the dog returned to its canine musings about the

emptiness that hounded it as its wet nose automatically nuzzled at the worshiped hands.

“A noble use,” he said to himself, again scratching the dog's ear.

Hands, wonderful, opposable-thumb hands, deftly capable – able to carve, shape,

to wield the ax and hammer, the chisel, the lathe, the torch, the wrench;

to assemble strangely complex riggings of pulleys, cables, levers

and gears into wonderfully functional arrays to serve their intended purpose.

Hands capable of accomplishing work, which does not exist

in the attempt, but in the final execution. Hands undeterred by the

inevitable obstacles that may thwart the owners of hands less capable.

Man's hands; able to turn rocks and mud and clay

into a sublimity of architecture, art, and sculpture;

able to tune the instrument and have its members fly over manuals and fingerboards

to sweeten the lives of all of us; to pull out the stops, one by one,

until there are no more and allow us all to catch a glimpse of heaven or hell,

until failing to produce enough for their own sustenance they feebly return

to the furred ear, as the dog's leg keeps time to the cadence of its master's scratch.

He wonders at how these hands of his came to be thus solely employed;

wondering at how hands once in great demand had been turned from former purposes,

no longer able to serve that which was necessary to sustain them

over a long, dark, never-ending winter.

The hands flew into the air with such suddenness they startled the dog,

and yelping as if struck retreated to a safe distance to observe,

wondering now, about the emptiness that nagged it.

Man and dog both wondered; the dog as far

as hunger, sleep, or a strange scent would allow it;

but the man had no such boundaries to blissfully supplant

the wonder at his pain with the wonder of the scent of a nearby squirrel.

Everywhere there were men who wondered at this,

there were twice as many unemployed hands,

and dogs licking four times as many paws, as sniffs of empty food bowls

reminded them of their master's hands.

Will wonders never cease?

12/2/11 The Trip Through Unreality

We have one life. The facts speak of no other, though our faith speaks mountains to a different approach. Our trip through this mysterious adventure called life is filled with many things that puzzle us along the way. One of those puzzling things is how humans, who have all of the experiences of humanity in common, can have such vastly differing ideas and be diametrically opposed on so many issues. It seems that the more time passes, the more we are in opposition and the less we admit to having in common. I find this regrettable.

The world seems to have gone mad. But the madness, at least partially, is because of the exponential increases in the speed and quantity of information that is directed at us. News has traveled at the speed of light since before the civil war. President Lincoln used to go to one of Washington's telegraph offices to pass the time and obtain real-time news from the fronts of battle. Such a thing had never before been possible in the history of the world. Since then, without naming all of the various methods of communication, the quantity of information and the speed that it reaches us nearly overwhelms us, splitting us into factions of micro-divisions and advocacy that separate us from each other in every sort of way.

It's hard not to have an opinion on everything since we are so well INFORMED. It's hard not to have an opinion of anything when advocacy groups are shouting in our face, using the news to do so, why it is that our opinions should be like theirs and why we are wrong if they are not. It is so easy to dislike the thing advocated if the one advocating is in our face, shouting all the time.

I don't want to have an opinion on EVERYTHING. It is not necessary, nor required for a healthy, satisfying life. In fact, it might be argued, that spending too much time focusing on endless divisions and an infinite amount of information, while trying to wrap our brains around them to develop what we (sometimes mistakenly) think are informed opinions,  breeds an endless cynicism in our own hearts, and a distrust for everyone who does not think like us.

In this age, there are some things that are new, which no previous age has seen before. The digital age has made every musician a recording artist, with his own home studio and methods of distribution. Rather than helping, I think this has divided music up into smaller and smaller sections until a least common denominator has been reached, and what succeeds commercially in music is the product of that least common denominator; it is not art. It could be that commercially successful music is what Simon Cowell tells us it is. It also may mean that Simon Cowell is simply good enough with his method that he can determine what that least common denominator is and give it to us in large doses. The live-TV-production of talent development as entertainment certainly gives the flagging recording industry a way to test products and spend their energies and efforts on those the public has preselected. This makes good business sense, but is terrible for art.

Digital cameras and photo editing software have made everyone a professional photographer, without requiring anyone to have a knowledge of photography. Photography was brought to the masses with the invention of Kodak's Brownie camera in 1900. You took your photographs, mailed the camera back, and received your photos and your camera, reloaded with film, in just a couple of weeks. Then, the photographers never knew exactly what their photos were going to look like, since “point-and-shoot” technology had not come very far. Now, everyone has a camera in the pocket at all times, a digital darkroom to edit those photographs, AND a method to instantly distribute them to a world wide audience.

Everyone has also become a movie maker. From 8mm silents, to super 8, to super 8 with sound, to BETA and VHS cameras, to our phones that can record and instantly distribute video, video recording of events is as near as your cell phone.

When all of the above things are combined with social media, every human being has become a one-stop producer AND distributor; a stand-alone news gathering and reporting bureau. As more and more people become involved in the daily collection and distribution of news events, most without the benefit of an editor, our real news media, in its rush to compete with every individual, has reduced itself to a least common denominator of reporting in the ways that seem to be most popular, hopefully guaranteeing them the largest audience and helping maintain their ratings from which their income is derived. Alas, it seems that Simon Cowell is in charge of our news, since his method is how we select our news presentation nowadays.

With the glut of information comes the need for analysis and commentary. Today, we have reporters, news analysts, and commentators. In former times, there was an Eric Sevaride or another commentator, who was introduced to us during the news broadcast as just that, a commentator, who analyzed and made comments on a particular story or two for the day. This segment usually was 3 minutes or less of the news broadcast's time. Now, the 24/7 news cycle means that the time must be filled with SOMETHING, so news commentary and analysis passes for news . . . and this divides. It's hard to agree or disagree with a news report that is simply reporting on events that occurred; but by definition, we must agree, disagree, or be apathetic with the interpretations of the significance of those events. It is far easier to have an opinion that it is to be apathetic. I am coaxed and persuaded to have an opinion. It is never the intention of commentary to lead me towards apathy.

I suppose I should be relieved that there are so many providing me with so much information, and coaxing me to gather my thoughts on each and every event so that I can maintain an informed opinion which has been predeveloped on my behalf. This saves me a lot of time. Commentary is so rife, that the distinction between news and commentary are daily becoming more obscure. With TWITTER and FACEBOOK, everyone has become a news distributor and a commentator. The endless shares, links, and comments on them are available for all the world to see. Everyone has become Eric Sevaride, or William F. Buckley, Jr., without the capability to deliver something useful, only divisiveness.

So many things are reported on the national news now that are not newsworthy. A local crime, no matter how heinous, is still a local crime . . . but if there is video to show the crime in action, it is a national news event. We've always had local crimes. They are no more heinous or occur in any greater quantity than they ever have, but the news reports all of them. Things formerly confined to the 3^rd page of the local newspaper are now broadcast on national news, because the 24/7 news cycle demands that something must continuously broadcast to fill the time.

Big scandals were always news stories. Small scandals, petty sexual scandals, and things scandalous only to one's spouse were pretty much overlooked, particularly by the national media, who chose not to waste their time on such things. If Louisiana's Huey P. Long had been caught in a scandal with a woman, I doubt it would have gotten much attention in 1930. If he had been caught in a scandal with a minor of the same sex, this would have probably made the news, though many editors would have said that this type of reporting was beneath them, and left it to the tabloids.

But all news organizations have become the “National Enquirer” in a way. When they have gaps in the facts, they simply insert the opinions and speculations of “experts” and “insiders” as to what may have happened, or what may be on someone's mind. Expert testimonial is not news, nor are experts somehow above the conflicting human emotions that we are all subject to. Having a Ph.D. Is not a certain path to the truth. Frequently, under the banner of “fairness,” news organizations air the views of disagreeing experts, and the hearer is left even more uncertain of what the truth is. There are also the legions of “unnamed sources” and “anonymous spokespersons.” I suspect that many of these are invented, and that editors are willing to turn a blind eye in order to capture the ratings. We are continuously halved. We can be halved forever and never reach zero, but eventually, through this division, we become so minute as to be insignificant. We have chosen this insignificance. What a sorry choice.

In the process of all this news reporting, the world itself seems to have gone simply mad. If it were as mad as it seems to be, it would collapse on itself like a neutron star. There is still some rationality and stability out there, perhaps as much as it ever was, but rationality and stability are not newsworthy; only madness is; only anomalies; only aberrations.

Mark Twain, in his essay What is Man? wrote, “No man ever originates anything. All his thoughts, all his impulses, come from the outside.”

Our thoughts and opinions originate outside of ourselves. As men, we are not capable of thinking anything that is truly original, but assimilate those outside influences over the course of our lives to temper our consciousness. In this process, we think that we have developed new and creative ways of thinking, but the truth is that every thought we have has had its seed planted by others. We do not live in a vacuum. Our training, our experiences, our motivations are all learned through the input of others or our observations of others. The resulting actions are always those things which profit us FIRST, and others SECONDLY. There is no true self-sacrifice or self-denial; there is only US and what causes us pain or joy, or insulates us from pain. Every other motive is secondary to those.

Our multiple and unrelenting news outlets and commentary are all subject to the same outside influences and motivations that any human being is, but of necessity, it is our responsibility to gauge the motives behind news commentary, whose ultimate goal must be to persuade. If persuasion is not the goal, then what? Profit? Inflammation? Exacerbation? Amelioration? What other purposes could commentary have? Education? If education, then to what conclusions would the commentators lead us?

Due to the sheer volume or reporting and the commentary that follows, it is easy to surmise that the world has gone mad. It is no madder than it ever was . . . we just have more reason to hear about it. That is my commentary. I, too, have become a news bureau commentator. Rather than deliver news, I just comment on it, but here, my goal is not to divide, but unite men in our common humanity, because, just below the surface, we are not very much different; no man is. We are all composed of the same chemicals, have a great similarity in hopes and fears, and want to live out our lives in peace, prosperity, liberty and  safety. How we might obtain those things are points of divisiveness, but that we all long for them is not . . . that we all long for these things should unite us, at least in some form of a common bond. So often, though, people will not allow themselves to be united. We resist union far more than we resist division. Our UNIQUENESS perhaps prohibits our unity. We are unique, just like everyone else.

Here's a bit of reporting, local in scope, but of interest to many. My friend Ronnie Warren succumbed to complications of his Lymphoma on Tuesday, November 29, 2011. Ronnie had a brief but violent fight with Lymphoma after being diagnosed Stage IV back in August. The complications Ronnie faced were overwhelming. They finally claimed him. Ronnie was a line crew foreman for East Mississippi Electric Power Association in Meridian. He and I have worked side by side to restore people's power after more than one hurricane. He will be sorely missed by his family and co-workers, and his passing is particularly mourned by all of us with blood cancers, and by those co-workers of his who also shared cancer with him. The club of cancer patients and survivors is a close community, united in a remarkable way . . . but hopefully it is a club of a very restrictive membership. We do not solicit members and would turn everyone away if we could.

We'd post a sign at our clubhouse door that says: YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE!!! Hopefully that would keep folks out. If they were admitted, on the inside a sign would read: YOU ARE US! WE ARE YOU! WE ARE EACH OTHER!

It's not that the cancer club would make people feel unwelcome, it's that if we could keep people out, we would. But we don't get to decide who becomes members . . . it is out of our hands. It is our job to let everyone who has unfortunately found themselves qualified for admission that they are welcome, and not alone.

I spoke to Ronnie about a month ago, just as he was returning to the University of Alabama in Birmingham for more treatment. He never left the hospital after he entered it the second time. He told me that he had been having a hard time. We both got a bit emotional on the phone. We said things, frankly, that only one cancer patient would say to another. In his short time in dealing with his illness, he had learned the language of the cancer patient well. We shared a couple brief references to old times, and I told him I was going to continue to pray for him. He thanked me for that and asked me to continue.

During his treatment, his condition worsened, he went onto organ failure, developed pneumonia, and was put on a ventilator. After a couple of weeks of hovering near death, he rallied, was taken off the ventilator, then suddenly succumbed to the complications. At a certain point known only to the inner-architect of each person's body, our bodies just decide they have had enough . . . and they just shut down. I hope Ronnie's passing was peaceful.

As the world seems full of madness, and the cares of the world bear down heavily, and we all worry about our future and the future of our children, I am reminded of the words of Jesus who said, “Be of good cheer . . . for I have overcome the world!” What a comforting thought, and one that the input of others, all my training, all my experience, and the sum total of my FAITH allows me to cling to! I am so thankful for that.

On another note . . .

Please watch with interest the things that develop around the military appropriations bill that has passed the senate, which contains an amendment that allows the military to detain American Citizens indefinitely if they have been taken on a battlefield in another country, or in this one. This flies in the face of the 5^th amendment, and many conservatives, who typically finds themselves diametrically opposed with anything the American Civil Liberties Union stands for will find themselves uncomfortably allied with them. At least, my hope is that ACLU  will be on the correct side of this issue (AGAINST IT!). The last time the military was used to police American Citizens was during Reconstruction after the Civil War.

The Constitution's 5^th amendment applies to “persons”, not just citizens. When we restrict this, or redefine it in restrictive ways, we are progressively damaging our own liberty. In effect we trade liberty for safety, and wind up with neither.

This bears further watching!!

11/24/11 Happy Thanksgiving

And I mean it, too! To you, and you, and you, and you, and you . . .

This is my third thanksgiving as a cancer patient. If you don't think I am glad to be here, you are mistaken. And if you think that I don't care that some are unable to get the same level of healthcare I have received, you are again mistaken. If you think I am happy about where health care seems to be headed, then you've made your third mistake. The PPACA has left me behind, just like the "No Child Left Behind" program has missed its mark. The future does not bode well for it . . . nevertheless, I am THANKFUL for what I HAVE!

We would have things different if we could make them so, but if I could make things the way I wanted them, I wouldn't have this cancer. Neither would Ronnie, Rick, Neil, Jack, Lori, Margaret, Rachel, Donnie, Mike, Chris, Pat, Philip, Tom, Sheila, Franklin, Richard, Richard, Richard, Steve, Becky, David, James, Jim. John, Jim, John, Bob, June, Bill, Lewis, ____________, or Wilford. I left the blank so you could insert your own name or the name of someone you know and love.

May we be thankful for what we have, today, and mindful of the needs of others, not overlooking them, nor ever making light of them but racing to share the bounty which our tables cannot hold.

We are blessed as a nation. May we show our thankfulness by touching someone else's life in a meaningful, real way.

People are only as far away as our hand.

11/24/11 Michael Moore's Proposal

Below is a link to Michael Moore's website where he proposes the following agenda to the Occupy Wall Street movement. You can see all of what he had to say at the link:

ttp://www.michaelmoore.com/words/mike-friends-blog/where-does-occupy-wall-street-go-here

I looked around on his web site and never found a copyright notice. If there is one, his speech is political, and the things he is proposing are about how he would encourage the OWS protesters to demand the nation be governed. I think my reproducing the text of his proposal here makes for fair use.

First is what the OWS people he met with told him was their goal:

We Envision: [1] a truly free, democratic, and just society; [2] where we, the people, come together and solve our problems by consensus; [3] where people are encouraged to take personal and collective responsibility and participate in decision making; [4] where we learn to live in harmony and embrace principles of toleration and respect for diversity and the differing views of others; [5] where we secure the civil and human rights of all from violation by tyrannical forces and unjust governments; [6] where political and economic institutions work to benefit all, not just the privileged few; [7] where we provide full and free education to everyone, not merely to get jobs but to grow and flourish as human beings; [8] where we value human needs over monetary gain, to ensure decent standards of living without which effective democracy is impossible; [9] where we work together to protect the global environment to ensure that future generations will have safe and clean air, water and food supplies, and will be able to enjoy the beauty and bounty of nature that past generations have enjoyed.

Some of our past generations have had a significant number of their people starve to death, or die from communicable diseases, so beautiful and bountiful is the harsh, unforgiving natural world we inhabit.

I thought that in our system of government the people made their voices heard through their elected representatives they send from their states to Washington. I can get the attention of my Congressman and Senator, or I can work hard to send them home. It is in our own city, county, and state governments that our voices are heard the loudest, and where we can bring about change. Nothing in the nation can get done if everything is put to the consensus vote of the people. If that happened, cowboys safely get nerf-ball slingshots and camels; but maybe the time of cowboys is past. Someone should tall that to the cowboys.

The next step the OWS people might need to understand is that the 99% they claim to represent are not truly theirs to represent. 99% of the people are not Occupying anything. 99% of the people certainly are not down in Zuccotti Park. The 99% may have a truly different idea, even oppressive, were the laws of the land left to popular concensus. No where do the OWS protesters mention the constitution or amending it, just the rule of the people by consensus vote. They may not be happy with the results. Perhaps they meant to say they prefer the rule by the consensus of THEIR vote. I

By the way, I already HAVE personal responsibility for decision making . . . perhaps I missed something.

The text of Michael Moore's Proposal follows:

10 Things We Want
A Proposal for Occupy Wall Street
Submitted by Michael Moore

1. Eradicate the Bush tax cuts for the rich and institute new taxes on the wealthiest Americans and on corporations, including a tax on all trading on Wall Street (where they currently pay 0%).

2. Assess a penalty tax on any corporation that moves American jobs to other countries when that company is already making profits in America. Our jobs are the most important national treasure and they cannot be removed from the country simply because someone wants to make more money.

3. Require that all Americans pay the same Social Security tax on all of their earnings (normally, the middle class pays about 6% of their income to Social Security; someone making $1 million a year pays about 0.6% (or 90% less than the average person). This law would simply make the rich pay what everyone else pays.

4. Reinstate the Glass-Steagall Act, placing serious regulations on how business is conducted by Wall Street and the banks.

5. Investigate the Crash of 2008, and bring to justice those who committed any crimes.

6. Reorder our nation's spending priorities (including the ending of all foreign wars and their cost of over $2 billion a week). This will re-open libraries, reinstate band and art and civics classes in our schools, fix our roads and bridges and infrastructure, wire the entire country for 21st century internet, and support scientific research that improves our lives.

7. Join the rest of the free world and create a single-payer, free and universal health care system that covers all Americans all of the time.

8. Immediately reduce carbon emissions that are destroying the planet and discover ways to live without the oil that will be depleted and gone by the end of this century.

9. Require corporations with more than 10,000 employees to restructure their board of directors so that 50% of its members are elected by the company’s workers. We can never have a real democracy as long as most people have no say in what happens at the place they spend most of their time: their job. (For any U.S. businesspeople freaking out at this idea because you think workers can't run a successful company: Germany has a law like this and it has helped to make Germany the world’s leading manufacturing exporter.)

10. We, the people, must pass three constitutional amendments that will go a long way toward fixing the core problems we now have. These include:

a) A constitutional amendment that fixes our broken electoral system by 1) completely removing campaign contributions from the political process; 2) requiring all elections to be publicly financed; 3) moving election day to the weekend to increase voter turnout; 4) making all Americans registered voters at the moment of their birth; 5) banning computerized voting and requiring that all elections take place on paper ballots.

b) A constitutional amendment declaring that corporations are not people and do not have the constitutional rights of citizens. This amendment should also state that the interests of the general public and society must always come before the interests of corporations.

c) A constitutional amendment that will act as a "second bill of rights" as proposed by President Franklin D. Roosevelt: that every American has a human right to employment, to health care, to a free and full education, to breathe clean air, drink clean water and eat safe food, and to be cared for with dignity and respect in their old age.

I find it remarkable that I agree Michael Moore on anything, but we're not so far apart on the restoration of the Glass-Stegall Act (in fact I'd like to see the Federal Reserve System dismantled and a return to the gold standard, and for sure reverse the Bill Clinton era bank deregulation!), nor on campaign finance reform (other than the government paying for it! I prefer shopping centers, shaking hands, and town hall meetings, and the old-timey way of being too honorable to actually CAMPAIGN for office...rather the OFFERING of one's self for service!), nor that everyone should pay the same percentage of their income for social security taxes regardless of their income (Why one can "pay out" of Social Security annually after their gross income reaches $112,000 has always been a mystery to me!), nor the removal of "people" rights from corporations. While corporations have to be legally recognized entities so they can enter into enforceable contracts, the idea that their status is equivalent to "personhood" and that their "personhood" extends to political speech in the form of campaign contributions is taking things a bit too far.

Here's where Michael and I get so far apart as to be hardly reconcilable, since this one clause of his proposal, though it sounds noble and reasonable, has an impossible practicality of application and as much potential for abuse as the former Soviet system. Throwing in Roosevelt's name neither detracts from this, nor adds any relevancy:

10 c) A constitutional amendment that will act as a "second bill of rights" as proposed by President Franklin D. Roosevelt: that every American has a human right to employment, to health care, to a free and full education, to breathe clean air, drink clean water and eat safe food, and to be cared for with dignity and respect in their old age.

How could one not be for these things? How could any reasonable person disagree with this noble proposal?

I am a reasonable person, and this proposal is rife with danger for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness due to its noble effort to guarantee happiness, which cannot be guaranteed by any earthly entity, and certainly not government.

If this became an amendment to the US Constitution, I would be guaranteed:

1.    Employment

2.    Health Care

3.    A Free and Full Education

4.    Clean Air

5.    Clean Water

6.    Safe Food

7.    Dignified and respectful old age care

How delightful!

How would this be implemented? Would a Second Bill of Rights Guaranty Administration (SBORGA) be created to assure that all my rights under this amendment are properly being observed? What powers and authority would SBORGA have to enforce the law?

EMPLOYMENT

I have the human right for employment. Therefore, someone has to provide that employment for me. My right of employment trumps my own incompetence and laziness. Since I have the human right to a job, someone has to provide it, and if not private enterprise,  then it is the government's responsibility. That I might be a danger to my co-workers is irrelevant, since my right to employment supersedes their right to a safe work environment. Since I am guaranteed employment, my mobility in employment is limited: I am not at liberty to change jobs freely, but must apply to SBORGA for permission to change jobs, particularly if that job is a move upwards, since no one would change DOWNWARDS. Any job movements would be always assigned by the appropriate SBORGA jobs agency. In reality, is it a job I am guaranteed, or is it an income? The human right to employment assumes that all people WILL work with competence and efficiency at their jobs . . . but the guarantee employment will remove the incentive to PERFORM from many workers . . . since I am ultimately guaranteed an income from guaranteed employment.

Would this also mean that I am guaranteed employment even if I cannot get to my job because of a lack of transportation? Would the next step be that since I have a basic human right to employment, it is my employer's responsibility to see that I have a way to get to work? Does my transport then become the responsibility of another? 

Since I am guaranteed employment, is the amount of employee compensation I am to receive to be guaranteed as well? How will this be established? By collective bargaining? By Davis-Bacon Act type requirements? By my level of education? What if I have a Ph.D. but no marketable skills, cannot get along with my co-workers, am incompetent, and not capable of consistently putting the right piece of paper in the right file? Who will compensate me based on my level of education? Will I have a right to that as well?

What if my real goal of employment is simply to receive a check? Will SBORGA guarantee me the income from my job simply for BEING there, or am I expected to perform some useful work for my employer? If I can stay home and still receive the check, since I cannot be terminated, what is to stop me from just sleeping late every morning, since my happiness is assured, not the mere pursuit of it?

I like playing my banjo more than I like working at my regular job. Will I be assigned permanent, valuable, and substantial compensation as a banjo player? What if it turns out that this is all I am competent to do, and I make sure of that by being purposefully incompetent at everything else I am assigned? Do I still have a right to a reasonable, living wage for this, or will I be guaranteed as much money as I currently make? If so, sign me up immediately!

HEALTH CARE

Is that quality, immediate health care?

Along with the rest of the free world, I am glad to be guaranteed the basic human right of free health care, though this can only occur at someone else's expense. As Greece, Spain, Italy and Portugal seem to be in the process of learning, SOMEONE has to pay for the benefits I immediately receive from the government . . . either some 3^rd party, or a mortgage borne by our children and grandchildren. When Germany balks at the fiscal failure of the aforementioned countries, where will that leave them? How will they pay for what they have  guaranteed their citizens? How will their citizens react when they are denied what it is that they thought they had a basic human right to? We may be seeing some evidence of this right now.

How will I access the free health care? Who will pay the doctors? Who will make the decisions on what health care I need, and how much of it is proper? Who will decide that it is no longer prudent for me to receive treatment, based on a cost/benefit analysis? In other words, when the cost of my treatment exceeds the future benefits I may offer to society, who decides when it's time to call in the dogs and send me over to hospice care?

Who will train the doctors? Who decides who will go to medical school or not? Some people enter the field of medicine because they want to be health care providers. Many of them enter the field of medicine because of how much MONEY they can make. If that incentive is taken away, who will want to attend 12 years of extremely difficult and tedious training to become a doctor, if doctors can make no more money than mechanics? If I am trained as a doctor, does that mean I am guaranteed employment as a doctor regardless of my competence? Not all licensed medical practitioners are competent in their fields.

If I am guaranteed health care, am I also guaranteed a way to receive it? If I have no transportation, does it come to me, or am I provided a means to arrive at the place wherein I can receive it? Will doctors again be required to make house calls?

Who decides what doctor I will see, or what hospital I will be treated at? What if I have no confidence in my doctor (This is a BIG part of health care . . . ask any doctor!!) What if the health care facility to which I have been assigned has had numerous violations in practice and procedure and I am uncomfortable with that? Will I be able to switch to another, or will I be forced to go to the once chosen for me in much the same way that I cannot choose a public school for my children?

FREE AND FULL EDUCATION

Don't we get that now, all the way through the 12^th grade? Oh! COLLEGE, TOO! But what does this practically mean?

Will I be free to choose which public school my children attend, based on the track record of performance of those schools? I am not able to do that now, so I welcome the freedom to choose. I don't think he meant this type of freedom, since some of the teachers who have been guaranteed employment would not have any students at their failing schools.

If everyone is guaranteed the human right to a free and full education, then everyone is guaranteed the right to a diploma. They cannot be allowed to fail, since the right to a free and full education cannot be denied. “But, having been brought to the trough, the horse will not drink,” you might argue. That is not the point; the point is that a free and full education is a right of birth. But what if it takes me a lifetime of being in school to get my full education, do I get to be a student all my life, at someone else's expense? And who would pay my living expenses while I am in school for the rest of my life? Who make the decisions about who gets into what colleges, and what course of study they take, and what constitutes a FULL education? Will that mean that the FULLNESS of my education is achieved when someone else decides that I have gone as academically far as my intellect will allow me? What if I were assigned to a different school? Surely a small state run liberal arts college is not as difficult as a major research university. Perhaps my lack of achievement is the fault of SOMEONE ELSE, not my own.

I am guaranteed a right to a free and full education, so YOU deliver it! Pay for my apartment, pay for my transportation, pay for my food, pay for my books, pay for EVERYTHING while I continue my education, perhaps for the rest of my life. These will be the academics of tomorrow.

CLEAN AIR

How can you argue against clean air? But how can you guarantee it? Just shut everything down? No more cars, no more electricity, no more airplanes, no more jobs, no nothing. The people who are guaranteed jobs as farm workers will grow our food, and the teamsters can deliver it by wheelbarrow. Everyone will have a job, so transportation by footpath and basket will be all that's necessary. Maybe we will all eat at work.

Heat is a different matter. Maybe everyone will move down south . . . but wait, it gets cold here, too. Well, it won't matter, we'll just use battery powered electric blankets at night. But wait, what about the disposal of those batteries?

CLEAN WATER

Ah! There's the rub! I am all for clean water, but my own bodily wastes pollute the water (not to mention the air) in my sphere. We will just stop doing those unpleasant things. Where will the energy come from that will power the waste water treatment plants? We won't be able to dig for coal. We would not be allowed to drill for natural gas or petroleum, but that wouldn't really be necessary, since the use of fossil fuels is precluded above. The government will just deliver to us fresh bottled water every day. They will have to, because having it is our basic human right.

SAFE FOOD

Not only is it food, it is safe. Mankind will be free from the toil for his daily bread. SAFE FOOD is now a basic human right, and I would have it, delivered, first to my home, then to my job site or school, or retirement home. Everything will be organic, with no use of chemical fertilizers or hi-yielding seed strains. Since meat is not good for us, there will be no more meat, helping to ensure that CLEAN WATER is maintained by the lack of the offensive waste products of farm animals. We'll all just eat TOFU . . . but wait, isn't that made of soybeans? Don't the yields of soybeans dramatically drop off without the use of chemical fertilizers, genetically modified seeds, and herbicides? Not to worry, we'll use our own feces to fertilize our rooftop soy-gardens, with millions being guaranteed life-long incomes for maintaining those roof-top gardens, but bearing no penalty for their incompetence beyond their own starvation if they fail . . . but that is not possible, because the government has guaranteed us all SAFE FOOD.

A chili-dog is FOOD, but it's not SAFE, neither is a chocolate milkshake, says the newly revamped Guaranteed Safe Food and Drug Administration. But CANNABIS . . . though it's not food, it certainly is safe, they tell us. Maybe if we have enough of it, we won't need any food until the munchies set in.

There will be no preservatives, thus food will spoil quickly. There will be no refrigeration, since refrigerants pollute the air. There will be no transportation of foodstuffs across the country, since those methods of transport and the fuels they require fouling of the water AND the air. I suppose that each person will be given a multi-purpose packet of seeds every spring. Plant them at your discretion, or peril. Not to worry; if times get so hard that you are forced to eat your seed . . . it is the government's responsibility to deliver SAFE FOOD, and I will have it, and plenty of it, right now.

Plenty of it? It is not SAFE to eat too much, so the food police will regulate our ingestion of food which can only be done in the appointed times at authorized eating areas in government sanctioned food distribution areas. Since we cannot guarantee that the food we cook at home (with WHAT would we cook it anyway?) will be prepared properly, we will eat government rationed food in front of telescreens.

“You, there, 6371258Smith, eat ALL your broccoli, and also that last remaining organic beet!” shouted the endless voice from the telescreen in the Safe Food Haven.

6371258Smith stared down at his plate. He hated broccoli and beets, and waxed wistful over a sudden, profound memory of fried chicken.

The telescreen warned him, “Under Article 1, Section 3, Paragraph 5 of the Safe Food Provision Act, as authorized by the 2^nd Bill of Rights, you are required to exercise your basic human right to eat all the SAFE FOOD on your plate that has been provided for your consumption. Furthermore, you are not allowed to think of forbidden, unsafe foods, like fried chicken, when you do so. Feel free to wash your SAFE FOOD down with as much CLEAN WATER as you would like.”

“Those telescreens are getting a little too efficient,”  6371258Smith mused to himself.

“There'll be none of that,” the telescreen promptly warned.

Choking back a gag reflex, 6371258Smith put the last piece of organic beet in his mouth and began to chew. It had the texture of a shredded tire, and a taste not unlike it either.

DIGNIFIED AND RESPECTFUL OLD AGE CARE

Right now, sometimes, money can't buy it, nor can multiple of government agencies guarantee it. Suppliers of the dignified care sometime fail to deliver what we are paying them for, in spite of government oversight.

But, in the long run, this will not really be necessary, since no one will live very long due to all the CLEAN WATER, CLEAN AIR, and SAFE FOOD. If the government can't deliver CLEAN AIR, I will be prohibited from breathing. If the government can't deliver CLEAN WATER, I will be prohibited from drinking. If the government can't deliver SAFE FOOD, I will be prohibited from eating. Since all the risks have been removed from life, no one will get to enjoy (or endure!) what is left of it for more than the briefest of periods. Our life spans will revert back to what they were when people had CLEAN AIR and CLEAN WATER, and organically grown, locally produced SAFE FOOD. In the unlikely event that one lives long enough to get to the point where they need assistance and dignified treatment in their old-age, please refer to Kurt Vonnegut's ETHICAL SUICIDE PARLORS; They certainly were dignified, and their use was widely encouraged.

I promise you I am no more over the top than what Mr. Moore has proposed. If what is proposed ever becomes the LAW of the land, then, welcome to the Soviet Union, which, perhaps, Mr. Moore thinks is a better political idea, anyway.

Did you notice the part of the proposal that said everyone was to be registered to vote immediately upon their birth? Who, I wonder, gets to cast the vote on behalf of the infant?

I welcome divergent ideas; and in a twisted sort of way, I welcome Michael Moore and the far left vision he has for America, though I do not share it. Being liberal or coming politically from the left is not UN-AMERICAN. Joe McCarthy and the Senate Un-American Activities Committee was Un-American. Having differing views IS AMERICAN. Having a constitutional republic form of government that protects the rights of the minorities from the obstreperous, belligerent, and oppressive rule of the majority is a good thing. We can only make sure we keep it if everyone is allowed their voice, which should begin in their own home state. The only vote we get to cast nationally is for the President, who is just a PART of our government. We can only keep our republic as long as we take personal responsibility for our own actions. We can only keep our republic as long as virtue and ethics are easily identifiable in us by others.

Please liberal friends, be sure to ask me, with a disingenuous incredulity, “So you are against jobs, education, affordable health care, clean air, clean water, safe food, and dignified, respectful old-age care?”

I am against the government guaranteeing me these things. One can point to the European model all one wants to. This is a new development in the history of mankind. It remains to be seen how long the post WW2 European nanny state can be sustained . . . in some places, it seems to be failing right before our very eyes.

And please, don't point to Iceland. What may work in a NATION the size of SHREVEPORT, with its abundance of clean but not totally risk-free geothermal energy, just may not be practically applicable to a nation as large and diverse as ours.

The government can't guarantee a happy life; to try and do so is as swift a road to tyranny as a fanatical fascism, since “happy” will consist of the least common denominator of our existence for the benefit of others, as determined by the state. That doesn't sound very happy to me. When we've dulled the edge of life down so that there are no risks, there will be no rewards. I have examined “From each according to his ability; to each according to his needs.” I rejected it. I still do. That does not mean that there can be no COMPASSION. But COMPASSION does not consist of depriving me of what I have EARNED because of your NEED; it is my job to be compassionate. It is the job of the receivers of compassion to grasp the extended hand which helps pull them from the mire, lace up their boots and keep marching.

If I survive the aftermath of the revolution that must come to bring Mr. Moore's vision to reality, I think I'll just stay home and get my check from my guaranteed job, continue my free and full education, breathe the cold, clean air, drink the warm clean water, enjoy my safe, tasteless food. I can need as much as anyone, and, there would be no penalty for needing, only for being capable. And I won't need much in the way of health-care, since my guaranteed safe and blandly abundant life will be so boring as have me seeking out the Ethical Suicide Parlor, long before the government decides to escort me there. The government will even provide free transportation and a free, final last meal of my choosing.

I sure hope I get a chili-dog.

11/24/11 Energy Solutions from Novo-Energy, Fort Collins, CO. (Formerly, Barlow Projects, Inc.)

The story of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania's fiscal plight is an interesting read. It is the story of gross mismanagement and the price one sometimes pays for the opportunity to do business with the lowest bidder. There are lots of links to Harrisburg's bankruptcy filing and its Waste Incinerator project. Here's just one:

http://frontpagemag.com/2011/10/18/garbage-in-garbage-out/

Despite the fact that this was already a deep money pit, the City of Harrisburg and its Harrisburg Authority spent millions and millions of dollars to upgrade a trash incinerator that had been previously shut down by the EPA, hoping that the re-vamping of the plant would allow it to pay for itself, turn trash into electricity (only a measly 25 megawatts, enough to run a city of about half the size of Harrisburg, provided it doesn't have substantial industrial load) and become a money-maker for the city. Though the incinerator's track record had never shown it to be a money-maker, the city imprudently decided to go ahead with the reconstruction to bring it into compliance with newer EPA regulations. The project failed on all counts. Now, the City of Harrisburg has declared bankruptcy to avoid being taken over by the State of Pennsylvania, and a judge has ruled that the bankruptcy filing is illegal. Lawsuits, appeals, more lawsuits.

Perhaps the first lawsuit filed was against the contractor who low-balled the project by $40 million. That contractor would be Barlow Projects, Inc., of Fort Collins, Co. Barlow was unable to provide a performance bond for the job, as contractors are required under nearly every state law in the country for state and municipal projects, so the City went through some tremendous twists and turns to allow Barlow to proceed without a performance bond, since it claimed that it could not afford the forty-million dollar higher price of the #2 bidder. Forty million dollars is a lot for a contractor to leave on the table. Things went terribly awry during the project. It wound up costing the City far more than the forty million they thought they were going to save. So much for the wisdom of  always going with the lowest bidder, particularly when the scope of the project was beyond anything previously done by the contractor..

Barlow Projects, Inc., is now called Novo-Energy. Their website is shown below. Apparently, a very bad lack of understanding of marketing has led Novo-Energy to continue to list the Harrisburg Incinerator as one of their successful Trash-to-Energy projects. Here is a link to their web site:  http://novo-energy.com/

I'd think they'd rather keep a lower profile on this. I'd most likely think that no one from Novo-Energy wants prospective clients calling the Harrisburg Authority or the City of Harrisburg, or the governor of Pennsylvania, or the Pennsylvania's Contractor's Licensing Board to ask them how the Harrisburg project went, since, from what I am able to discern, the contractor's performance of the contract got them debarred from doing business in Pennsylvania at least until July of 2012. See the following link:

http://www.dgsweb.state.pa.us/Debarment_list/default.aspx

If I were looking for an energy solution, I might be inclined, knowing what I know now, to look for some other contractor. Novo-Energy may have many, many successful energy projects under its belt, but the Harrisburg Incinerator was not one of them. The fact that they still list this as an example of their projects on their website, for reasons inconceivable to me, indicates a misplaced business fundamental which might serve them well if they were able to find it.

I don't wish anyone any bad luck: especially not the people who let contracts and the contractors who perform them. Good luck on your future projects, Novo-Energy (formerly Barlow Projects, Inc.). May all your future projects be safe, profitable, and beneficial for yourselves, your employees, and those you would serve.

If, for just a moment, you might be willing to take under advisement a slight suggestion, I would offer that you might consider updating your web site to eliminate any references to Harrisburg, or Pennsylvania, since these do not seem to be in your own best interests. I would, if I were you. If you have another incinerator project, list that one instead. If Harrisburg was your only incinerator project, then perhaps it would be better not to mention Waste-to-Energy projects at all.

He also said,

“You cannot know too much, but you can say too much.”

11/23/11 The Department of Homeland Security's No-Fry List

Our ever watchful Department of Homeland Security wants to protect us from ourselves, and to keep in check the national security implications of the dangerous deep-frying of turkeys this Thanksgiving. While millions stand in line with their shoes off in airports, and elderly matrons are bypassed for “random” secondary screenings and pat-downs favoring buxom young celebrities, some claiming that a few of those pats might be LINGERING, the DHS is on the lookout for dangerous turkey fryers, whose carelessness could have national security consequences.

It was originally a crap-shoot as to which cabinet level department was going to get to issue this warning, but heated exchanges broke out between the Department of Education (ED) , The Department of Health and Human Services (DHHS), the Department of Agriculture (USDA), and the Department of Homeland Security (DHS). In a cabinet meeting this morning, which the President did not attend, high-levels in the White House gave the nod to DHS after a fist-fight broke out between DHHS Secretary Kathleen Sebelius and DHS Secretary Janet Napolitano. Secretary Napolitano won the argument with a sweeping right hook after delivering two quick, stinging left jabs. Sec. Sebelius never saw it coming and went down for the count.

USDA Secretary Thomas J. Vilsak and ED secretary Arne Duncan were over in a corner arm-wrestling to see who got to fight the winner of the Sebelius/Napolitano bout when Napolitano got the nod to deliver the message, apparently from White House Chief-of-Staff Bill Daley, after Napolitano was restrained from simultaneously attacking both men by Secret Service agents in attendance at the meeting.

Secretary Sebelius thought that the dangers of deep-frying turkeys and the proper cooking of poultry was a health issue, while Sec. Vilsak thought that this fell under the USDA since turkey production and cooking oil are primarily regulated by the USDA, and food preparation techniques by the USDA's Cooperative Extension Service's Home Economists. Sec. Duncan thought that the dangers of deep-frying turkeys are an education issue, and that with proper education could be done safely. Duncan and Vilsak had already had an argument and were arm-wrestling over it when the fight broke out and Napolitano cold-cocked Sebelius.

Both Sec. Vilsak and Sec. Duncan seemed somewhat relieved when Daley made the call, after having seen the punches that Napolitano delivered.

“She's hits as hard as a frozen rutabaga hurled from a home-built trebuchet,” said Vilsak.

“She has certainly received an excellent, first-class pugilistic education, which goes to show one the unmatched value of practical education,” said Duncan.

Sebelius was unavailable for comment.

Napolitano later held a press conference informing the nation of the dangers of deep-frying turkeys.

“If you are reported by your neighbors as preparing to do something foolish, we WILL investigate and place you on our no-fry list,” said Napolitano.

When asked about the altercation during the cabinet meeting, Napolitano denied any knowledge of any altercation and seemed not to be able to hear any similar questions.

“What did you say? I can't hear you,” repeated Secretary Napolitano over and over, then added, “This year, there will be NO deep-frying of turkeys on any commercial flights, or in any airport waiting areas, and there will be severe restrictions placed on the transportation of turkey meat that has BEEN deep fried. All airlines and airport concessions have been advised to make sure that the turkey they use is baked or smoked . . . not deep fried.”

The next issue to face the cabinet will be which department gets to handle the warnings about the dangers of a five-gallon gasoline container in the back of your pick-up truck. The Department of Energy, ED, The Department of Commerce, DHS, DHHS, and the Department of Transportation are all claiming oversight and jurisdiction of this issue.

“If you think a frozen turkey dropped into boiling oil is bad, wait'll you see a five gallon gasoline can go off,” said Napolitano. “We've got to regulate and stop the unauthorized transportation of dangerous, highly inflammable gasoline by individuals without background screening or proper training, since this represents a grave threat to America's security.” 

Regulation of the personal transport of gasoline is being resisted by the Outdoor Power Equipment Manufacturer's Association (OPEMA). When contacted, a representative of OPEMA said that one of the suggestions put forth by the government so far had been to ride your lawnmower down to the local gasoline outlet and fill it up. “That may work for some people, but It's hard on those who live 20 miles from a store, and remember, it's hard to ride a chainsaw anywhere,” the OPEMA spokesperson said.

The odds are 7:2 in favor that Napolitano will again get the nod. The odds were calculated by the Treasury's Tim Geithner, who, it has been spuriously reported, ran a book-making operation to cover his living expenses while he earning his undergraduate degree at Dartmouth, and learned to be an excellent odds-maker.

“No one wants to tangle with Janet, except maybe Leon,” Sec. Vilsak was overheard commenting to Sec. Duncan.

11/22/11 From Bully to Friend

“Wanna fight?” the playground bully asked me.

“Fight about what?” I asked.

“It don't matter . . . just fight!” he said.

“Nah!” I said, shaking my head. “I've seen you in action. I don't think I'd fare very well, but I knew that sooner or later, you'd get around to me. I suppose today's my day”

“You wanna make something of it?” he said, poking me in the chest, nose to nose.

I stepped back as the crowd of other kids drew up, all of them glad it was me and not them that Bully had chosen.

“You're either gonna take that back, or I'm gonna punch you in the nose,” said Bully.

“Take back what?” I asked.

“What you said. Take it back, and take it back now, or I'm gonna beat you up.” He stepped closer.

I stepped back, again. “I don't know what to take back. All I said was that it looks like today is my day, and I still think it looks like today is my day. It's the truth . . . why would I take it back?”

“OK, then,” said Bully, “You asked for it.”

WHOP!!! The instant he moved forward I summoned all my might and hit him with a straight right smack-dab on the center of his chin. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes thrown from the back of a pickup truck, all collapsed in a heap.

Cheers went up from the crowd of kids who had gathered round.

I walked away as Bully slowly recovered, not wanting to be within his immediate sight. As it turns out, he got up, sobbing, and ran to the teacher, whining to her that I had hit him in the face. His rapidly swelling lower lip and the ooze of blood were pretty good evidence that SOMEONE had hit him.

The teacher came over to me and asked me, “Did you hit Bully.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said.

“Did Bully hit you first,” she asked.

“No ma'am,” I said, “I hit him first.”

“Then you started the fight.”

“No, ma'am. I didn't start the fight,” I said.

“You just admitted you hit him first, therefore you started the fight,” the teacher said, angrily.

“No, ma'am. Bully started the fight. I stepped back twice, and when it seemed plain to me that he was fixin' to hit me, I hauled off and hit him first. I threw the first punch, but HE started the fight,” I explained.

My reasonable explanation failed to satisfy the teacher, and I was hauled off by the ear to the principal's office where I explained things again, to no avail. The principal called my mother who came to school to pick me up, as angry as all-get-out. I was suspended for two days.

“No TV for you, and straight out to the chicken coop to clean it out,” said mother, curtly. 

That wasn't much of a punishment. We only had one TV channel that faded in and out, and the chicken coop had to be cleaned out, anyway. That was my job. After finishing the chores, I ate the supper Mama had fixed for me, and went to bed without any discussion. She was pretty mad at me.

Two days later, when I returned to school, Bully came walking right up to me. I clenched both my fists, ready for anything he might be willing to try. He and his swollen, busted bottom lip stopped well short of striking distance. There seemed to be no malice in him. I was relieved.

“We all missed you while you was out,” he said. “It weren't no fun down on the playground. We're all glad you're back.” And everyone smiled, patted me on the back, patted Bully on the back, and we all couldn't wait until recess to get back out to the playground . . . maybe choose up sides and have a round of country jake.

I had become a sort of hero on the schoolyard. I was the one who had stood up to Bully. I had been as scared as anyone could be, but my only thought had been that I couldn't let him hit me first . . . that would have been a big mistake. Bully never was a bully anymore after that. That one lick had taught him a lesson, I suppose. It taught me one, too. Before that, I had been too scared to stand up to a bully. Now, I knew that when my escape route has been cut off, there is only one option left . . . that the best defense is a good offense, no matter what the ramifications afterward.

Bully? He turned out to be as good a friend as anyone ever had. Loyal, faithful, and would not bear anyone to say anything bad about one of his friends in his presence. He later went to the state college and played football there, went on to law school, became a state legislator and a US Congressman. We still kept in touch; the occasional hunting trip, or a fishing venture. I couldn't really afford to move in his circles, but he was always a good friend.

Me? I never amounted to much. I just worked, raised a family, paid my bills and got along like everyone else. Sometimes things were good. Other times, they were hard. I was so absorbed in the living of my life that I hardly noticed the passing of time, until one day, it just seemed that I was an old man...tired, haggard, white-bearded, frequently unshaven, and somewhat curmudgeonly.

One day I looked down the driveway, and it was old Bully pulling up in a brand new car. He jumped out with a smile as big as Texas. We sat on the front porch and caught up on old times, recent times, and what we were now doing with our time.

“I also wanted to thank you,” he said.

“For what?” I asked.

“For that smack on the chin so many years ago,” he said.

“You needed it,” I said.

“I sure did. It changed my life when I learned that there could be a penalty for how you treat other people. All these years, and I never said thank you.”

“You're welcome!”

With a raised eyebrow, I asked ,“You want me to do it again?” 

Our guffaws of laughter sent the dogs under the porch, sure that all this racket could not be anything that was good for them. Just about the time our guffaws had lapsed into giggles, my wife came out of the house with a steaming pot of coffee and some cups, and Bully and I sat there sipping our coffee as we watched the sun go down and talked of many things . . . he of important things done in Washington and in places around the world, and me of things done on my small farm, both of us now relegated to the only roles that we were fit to play anymore . . . simply old friends in a world that had passed up both by, since the world waits for no man.

One can make a friend of an enemy, but one sure can't do it without standing up for himself. It's respect we must have for each other, and some can only learn it one way . . . and that's not the easy way.

And THIS . . .

A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.

Proverbs 18:24

Different bible translations for this verse offer alternative meanings to the King James, but I like the King James just fine. The New American Standard says this:

A man of too many friends comes to ruin, But there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.

For accuracy, you cannot beat the New American Standard. For poetic beauty, it’s hard to beat the King James. Both translations are worthy of a lifetime of study.

If you are going to have a friend, you need to be a friend. The quickest way I know of to get people to like you is to let them know that you like them. It does not always work, because some people will not want you to like them, nor will they care that you like them, because they simply do not like you, nor are they going to. But it can't hurt to let them know you like them; so being friendly is a good starting point.

If we can be counted on to BE a friend, we will have friends. Hopefully, when all has been weighed in the balance, we will be found to have been a friend that stuck closer than a brother, which brings us to the real meaning of this verse. Out of our myriad friends, there are only a few of whom, when the shit hits the fan, we can look around and see them still there with us . . . they did not abandon us at a time when the offensive stuff was flying, when they bore the risk of getting tarnished, themselves, for our benefit. That is a true friend.

Most of our friends are friends not only because they like us, but because it does not cost them anything to be so. When our friendship gets expensive for them, or there is a risk to themselves, we might look around to see that their number has been greatly diminished . . . it is at this point that one finds out who their true friends are.

When you wallet is full and open, the number of your friends outnumbers the visible stars in the universe.

And THIS breaking news from the west . . .

There was a Sasquatch sighting recently in Olympic National Park on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State. Several campers apparently stumbled upon the Sasquatch at it was catching and eating its breakfast in a stream adjacent to a remote camping area near the Hayes River. The excited and frightened campers reported what they had seen to the park rangers, who mobilized to find the Sasquatch.

“We've had several reports of unauthorized fishing in a tributary of the Hayes River. Many of these tributaries are closed to fishing for several months of the year, and when open, are available for fishing only by special permit,” said a park ranger on condition of anonymity.

When reminded that it was a Sasquatch, not a person,  that people reportedly witnessed catching and consuming the fish, the park ranger replied, “I don't care about the minor details. It is my job to enforce the game regulations. There is no fishing without first obtaining a proper permit. Fishing without the proper permit is an illegal poaching of game in protected waters.”

Federal and local authorities have received an APB on an 8' tall hairy man-like creature with big feet that emits a peculiar odor. The authorities want to question him in connection with the alleged illegal fishing incident. Meanwhile a team of wildlife forensic scientists, dispatched from the Puget Sound Marine Research Laboratory, had gathered all remaining evidence of the unauthorized fishing incident, and took it back to their laboratory for analysis.

Fishing in closed streams on Federal property, or fishing without the proper permit carries a maximum penalty of $500 and up to 30 days in jail upon conviction of a first offense. Based on the sworn affidavits of several witnesses to the incident, the Justice department has indicated that the evidence will be brought before a federal grand jury in January. If the there is enough evidence to persuade the grand jury that a crime has been committed, the US Attorney's office will proceed with the prosecution of “Sasquatch” in absentia.

We tried reaching Sasquatch, but our calls as we trekked through the forest were not returned.

An spokesperson for the Olympic Area Sasquatch Society (OASS) said that the Sasquatch probably had no comment related to any charges of illegal fishing, citing that it would not be prudent for him to comment while an investigation was underway. Upon further investigation, it was unclear if Sasquatch would be entitled to an 5^th amendment rights or the right to an attorney paid for by the state, but the OASS spokesperson said that they would use every means at their disposal to mount a legal defense for Sasquatch if he were apprehended.

The idea that Sasquatch might be exempt from any permitting requirements was dismissed out-of-hand by the park ranger's office.

“Any fishing in any of these waters MUST in conformance with all Federal, State, and Local rules, regulations, and permitting,” said the anonymous park ranger. 

A permit to fish in that area in question is $3.00, and one must have additionally possess a valid Washington State Fishing License.

The Under-Under-Junior-Deputy-Assistant Secretary of the Interior said during a press conference in Washington (DC) that in these austere times, the DOI was cracking down on illegal, non-permitted fishing.

“We want our $3.00,” said the Under-Under-Junior-Deputy-Assistant Secretary of the Interior.

11/22/11 Where Have You Gone, Mr. Eisenhower?

Below is the full text of President Dwight D. Eisenhower's farewell address. His warnings about the future pitfalls and course of America are prophetic in scope. The world owes much to this man who served his nation with honor for over 50 years, and to his entire generation. Perhaps it is time we had another real soldier as president...one familiar with the costs and dangers of war...including those that are not quite so obvious.

There is no analysis or wisdom I can add to his address; I can only say that I see the results of our national, purposeful, and callous disavowal of every warning he put forth...thus, we are where we are today.

Great times produce great men. I hope the times never get so great as to produce another Eisenhower.

His farewell address is reproduced here in its entirety.

Good evening, my fellow Americans.

First, I should like to express my gratitude to the radio and television networks for the opportunities they have given me over the years to bring reports and messages to our nation. My special thanks go to them for the opportunity of addressing you this evening.

Three days from now, after half century in the service of our country, I shall lay down the responsibilities of office as, in traditional and solemn ceremony, the authority of the Presidency is vested in my successor. This evening, I come to you with a message of leave-taking and farewell, and to share a few final thoughts with you, my countrymen.

Like every other -- Like every other citizen, I wish the new President, and all who will labor with him, Godspeed. I pray that the coming years will be blessed with peace and prosperity for all.

Our people expect their President and the Congress to find essential agreement on issues of great moment, the wise resolution of which will better shape the future of the nation. My own relations with the Congress, which began on a remote and tenuous basis when, long ago, a member of the Senate appointed me to West Point, have since ranged to the intimate during the war and immediate post-war period, and finally to the mutually interdependent during these past eight years. In this final relationship, the Congress and the Administration have, on most vital issues, cooperated well, to serve the nation good, rather than mere partisanship, and so have assured that the business of the nation should go forward. So, my official relationship with the Congress ends in a feeling -- on my part -- of gratitude that we have been able to do so much together.

We now stand ten years past the midpoint of a century that has witnessed four major wars among great nations. Three of these involved our own country. Despite these holocausts, America is today the strongest, the most influential, and most productive nation in the world. Understandably proud of this pre-eminence, we yet realize that America's leadership and prestige depend, not merely upon our unmatched material progress, riches, and military strength, but on how we use our power in the interests of world peace and human betterment.

Throughout America's adventure in free government, our basic purposes have been to keep the peace, to foster progress in human achievement, and to enhance liberty, dignity, and integrity among peoples and among nations. To strive for less would be unworthy of a free and religious people. Any failure traceable to arrogance, or our lack of comprehension, or readiness to sacrifice would inflict upon us grievous hurt, both at home and abroad.

Progress toward these noble goals is persistently threatened by the conflict now engulfing the world. It commands our whole attention, absorbs our very beings. We face a hostile ideology global in scope, atheistic in character, ruthless in purpose, and insidious in method. Unhappily, the danger it poses promises to be of indefinite duration. To meet it successfully, there is called for, not so much the emotional and transitory sacrifices of crisis, but rather those which enable us to carry forward steadily, surely, and without complaint the burdens of a prolonged and complex struggle with liberty the stake. Only thus shall we remain, despite every provocation, on our charted course toward permanent peace and human betterment.

Crises there will continue to be. In meeting them, whether foreign or domestic, great or small, there is a recurring temptation to feel that some spectacular and costly action could become the miraculous solution to all current difficulties. A huge increase in newer elements of our defenses; development of unrealistic programs to cure every ill in agriculture; a dramatic expansion in basic and applied research -- these and many other possibilities, each possibly promising in itself, may be suggested as the only way to the road we wish to travel.

But each proposal must be weighed in the light of a broader consideration: the need to maintain balance in and among national programs, balance between the private and the public economy, balance between the cost and hoped for advantages, balance between the clearly necessary and the comfortably desirable, balance between our essential requirements as a nation and the duties imposed by the nation upon the individual, balance between actions of the moment and the national welfare of the future. Good judgment seeks balance and progress. Lack of it eventually finds imbalance and frustration. The record of many decades stands as proof that our people and their Government have, in the main, understood these truths and have responded to them well, in the face of threat and stress.

But threats, new in kind or degree, constantly arise. Of these, I mention two only.

A vital element in keeping the peace is our military establishment. Our arms must be mighty, ready for instant action, so that no potential aggressor may be tempted to risk his own destruction. Our military organization today bears little relation to that known of any of my predecessors in peacetime, or, indeed, by the fighting men of World War II or Korea.

Until the latest of our world conflicts, the United States had no armaments industry. American makers of plowshares could, with time and as required, make swords as well. But we can no longer risk emergency improvisation of national defense. We have been compelled to create a permanent armaments industry of vast proportions. Added to this, three and a half million men and women are directly engaged in the defense establishment. We annually spend on military security alone more than the net income of all United States corporations.

Now this conjunction of an immense military establishment and a large arms industry is new in the American experience. The total influence -- economic, political, even spiritual -- is felt in every city, every Statehouse, every office of the Federal government. We recognize the imperative need for this development. Yet, we must not fail to comprehend its grave implications. Our toil, resources, and livelihood are all involved. So is the very structure of our society.

In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist. We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic processes. We should take nothing for granted. Only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry can compel the proper meshing of the huge industrial and military machinery of defense with our peaceful methods and goals, so that security and liberty may prosper together.

Akin to, and largely responsible for the sweeping changes in our industrial-military posture, has been the technological revolution during recent decades. In this revolution, research has become central; it also becomes more formalized, complex, and costly. A steadily increasing share is conducted for, by, or at the direction of, the Federal government.

Today, the solitary inventor, tinkering in his shop, has been overshadowed by task forces of scientists in laboratories and testing fields. In the same fashion, the free university, historically the fountainhead of free ideas and scientific discovery, has experienced a revolution in the conduct of research. Partly because of the huge costs involved, a government contract becomes virtually a substitute for intellectual curiosity. For every old blackboard there are now hundreds of new electronic computers. The prospect of domination of the nation's scholars by Federal employment, project allocations, and the power of money is ever present -- and is gravely to be regarded.

Yet, in holding scientific research and discovery in respect, as we should, we must also be alert to the equal and opposite danger that public policy could itself become the captive of a scientific-technological elite.

It is the task of statesmanship to mold, to balance, and to integrate these and other forces, new and old, within the principles of our democratic system -- ever aiming toward the supreme goals of our free society.

Another factor in maintaining balance involves the element of time. As we peer into society's future, we -- you and I, and our government -- must avoid the impulse to live only for today, plundering for our own ease and convenience the precious resources of tomorrow. We cannot mortgage the material assets of our grandchildren without risking the loss also of their political and spiritual heritage. We want democracy to survive for all generations to come, not to become the insolvent phantom of tomorrow.

During the long lane of the history yet to be written, America knows that this world of ours, ever growing smaller, must avoid becoming a community of dreadful fear and hate, and be, instead, a proud confederation of mutual trust and respect. Such a confederation must be one of equals. The weakest must come to the conference table with the same confidence as do we, protected as we are by our moral, economic, and military strength. That table, though scarred by many fast frustrations -- past frustrations, cannot be abandoned for the certain agony of disarmament -- of the battlefield.

Disarmament, with mutual honor and confidence, is a continuing imperative. Together we must learn how to compose differences, not with arms, but with intellect and decent purpose. Because this need is so sharp and apparent, I confess that I lay down my official responsibilities in this field with a definite sense of disappointment. As one who has witnessed the horror and the lingering sadness of war, as one who knows that another war could utterly destroy this civilization which has been so slowly and painfully built over thousands of years, I wish I could say tonight that a lasting peace is in sight.

Happily, I can say that war has been avoided. Steady progress toward our ultimate goal has been made. But so much remains to be done. As a private citizen, I shall never cease to do what little I can to help the world advance along that road.

So, in this, my last good night to you as your President, I thank you for the many opportunities you have given me for public service in war and in peace. I trust in that -- in that -- in that service you find some things worthy. As for the rest of it, I know you will find ways to improve performance in the future.

You and I, my fellow citizens, need to be strong in our faith that all nations, under God, will reach the goal of peace with justice. May we be ever unswerving in devotion to principle, confident but humble with power, diligent in pursuit of the Nations' great goals.

To all the peoples of the world, I once more give expression to America's prayerful and continuing aspiration: We pray that peoples of all faiths, all races, all nations, may have their great human needs satisfied; that those now denied opportunity shall come to enjoy it to the full; that all who yearn for freedom may experience its few spiritual blessings. Those who have freedom will understand, also, its heavy responsibility; that all who are insensitive to the needs of others will learn charity; and that the sources -- scourges of poverty, disease, and ignorance will be made [to] disappear from the earth; and that in the goodness of time, all peoples will come to live together in a peace guaranteed by the binding force of mutual respect and love.

Now, on Friday noon, I am to become a private citizen. I am proud to do so. I look forward to it.

Thank you, and good night.

I reckon they just don't make Republicans like that any more! I reckon that you take every warning, admonition, and exhortation given here and ignore it, and you have what we see before us today.

I'm reckoning because that is what we country Mississippians do. We RECKON. Reckoning is thinking and analysis that has led us to a conclusion. We also SWANNEE. If our reckoning leads us to decide things are not so good, which is the usual result of reckoning, we soon start to swannee.

Excuse me. I'm about to swannee.

I swannee, we've had some bad presidential leadership. I swannee, that congressional debt-reduction super committee, appointed by the President, has decided to do nothing until after the election, though. I swannee that, by design, nothing the debt-reduction super committee was GOING to do was to be EFFECTIVE until after the election, anyway. I swannee, the stock purchasing and investment records of members of Congress seems to have been influenced by legislation that appeared before them for their votes. I swannee, Congress passed laws which requires members of the executive and judicial branches to put their assets into blind trusts to avoid a conflict of interest, but Congress has placed no such restrictions on itself. I swannee, when asked about this, every Congressman or Senator seems to be miffed that one might think they lack integrity when one sees them engaged in an obvious conflict of interest. I reckon they think we're all idiots. I swannee, to claim that actions were not ILLEGAL is no defense for integrity or ethics. I swannee, there seems to be a lack of integrity everywhere in government, and I double-swannee at the disingenuousness I witness in the words and actions of those who represent us in the nation's capital. I reckon an honest man is hard to find. I reckon integrity has flown in the wind as the exponential multiplication of laws, regulations, and programs has made us all into lawyers, looking for ways to exploit the loopholes that, while violating the spirit of the law, benefit us but are not ILLEGAL. I reckon we've become a nation of Pharisees.

I swannee we have. I reckon every one of us who voted for the re-election of our own congressional representatives because they  “brought home the bacon” is guilty of eating too much pork. I swannee, I sure do like pork, but it has proved to be bad for me at the expense of others. I swannee, what was once sweet has turned to gall and wormwood in my stomach.

I reckon I need to repent.

I swannee at myself, sometimes. I reckon I should swannee at me regularly.

Diogenes walked through the Capitol, his lamp hanging from his staff. He peered about at the teeming multitude of Congressmen and Senators, their aides and staffers, through the throng of lobbyists made of up former members of those august bodies, and he seemed to be failing to find whom he was searching for. Though he was out of place in his ancient Grecian attire, with his oil lamp, no one seemed to notice him. He was invisible to the busy people rushing about the business of the nation and their own, personal business.

A young staffer from a long-time senator's office saw him and puzzled over that which she was seeing. Was it a vision? Was she having a mental breakdown? She marveled at this vision from another epoch. Having majored in Western Civilization with a focus on classical Greece, she knew she having a hallucination of Diogenes. As she approached the vision, it did not go away, but became more real, firmer, less phantasmal.

Diogenes stopped peering around, sensing her approach. He fixed his gaze on the young aide. He stared her directly in the eyes. She was transfixed by his captivating look. He seemed to peer deep down inside her. She was drawn towards him in such a was that she could not have stopped herself from approaching him if she had wanted to, which she didn't; though she cast about a furtive glance to see is they were being watched.

No one was watching them. It was as if no one could see them any longer. The closer she got to him, the fewer people there seemed for be in the Capitol foyer, until, face to face, there was only she and Diogenes.

He smiled at her. She flushed with joy for some reason.

“You are the one I have been looking for here,” he said to her. “Do you know that you are the only honest person I have seen so far, and I've been here all morning. Why are you here with all these dishonest people?”

“I wanted to work in Washington and one day, perhaps, have my own political career. It's just an entry level job. They used to have pages, but they're gone now. I'm the equivalent of a page,” she said.

“You're in a place of much corruption. Do you expect to stay here amid all this and not be tarnished by it?” he asked.

“I hope to make a difference,” she said.

“Ahhhh! So you are the one to change things?” he asked.

“I can't change anything here. It'll more than likely change me. In fact, it'll have to if I am to become effective at my job and move up the ladder,” she said.

“So wise for one so young,” he remarked, still looking her directly in the eyes without so much as a blink, which she found very uncomfortable, but not threatening. “Do you suppose the change this place will make in you will be good for you? Will it make you a better person? Will you grow in wisdom and integrity?”

“Too many questions!” she cried loudly, so loudly that she looked around to see if she had attracted any attention, since she could not be seen talking to this person whom others might think is some sort of terrorist. There was not one else to be seen.

“Where did they all go,” she wondered out loud, more to herself than to Diogenes, but he answered.

"They can't see us. None but an honest person can see me. Now that I am engaging you, they can't see you either. Don't worry about being seen...you are safe talking with me.”

She sighed with relief, for she had worried what others might think since they had all avoided this man, so out of place in this place.

“I found you today, so my task is finished,” he said. “I don't do anything once I have found an honest man, other than give them an exhortation.”

“And what would that be?” she asked, exhilarated, breathlessly waiting for this wisdom would come to her across the millennia.

"What you get in exchange for your honesty is no bargain. What you have in your hand is real and precious. In spite of its appeal, and the huge, beautifully wrapped package, there is no prize behind door number 3, only empty space,” he said, adding, “I like to watch 'Let's Make a Deal' when I can,” then asking, “Would you trade what you have for what I have told you is behind the door?”

“Oh! No!” she cried.

“Others have, why not you?”

“Because, even though I suspected what you just told me was true, you have just confirmed it,” she answered.

“And you believe me?” He asked.

“Of course,” she answered, “You spent your entire life looking for an honest person . . . and you managed to find ME!”

“There are many here who once were honest, too. But they traded their honesty for the emptiness of a fancy package. Do not make the same mistake,” he said to her.

“Thank you, Mr. Diogenes,” She said, offering a slight curtsey, which was all the big stack of papers and briefings she held clutched to her bosom would allow.

“You can call me Dwight,” he said back with a smile.

She looked carefully at him as he dematerialized right in front of her. The dimmer he got, the more noise she heard, and the shimmering shadows of other people once again became the moving forms of countless scores of humans running to and fro about their business. At last, she was back in the middle of the crowd of people, and being motionless, was a traffic hazard. A long-time congressman, hurrying to a committee meeting, bumped square into her, knocking all the papers she held onto the floor, scattering them in every direction.

“Watch where you are going,” the Congressman snapped at her, neither he nor any of the entourage of aides in his wake offering to help her pick up of her papers as the vacuum they created as they passed sucked the papers after them.

She thought it odd that he told her to watch where she was going, since she was standing still. She also thought it odd, that underneath his big white beard, Diogenes seemed to look a lot like the late President Eisenhower.

11/19/11 Reasonable Faith

Apparently I am not through with yesterday's long exegesis on atheism, religion, and faith. I could be that I'll never be through with this topic. It could be that the world will never be through with this topic, since it is one that men have explored in all ages at all times. It could be that I was rather curt with yesterday's post, and am feeling more than a bit of remorse about some of it. Everyone has an opinion and they are entitled to it. I am required to treat everyone with courtesy, dignity, and respect...even those who would despitefully use me. This is easier said than done, like so many things.

That there have been excesses in religion is beyond question, for it is religion that fosters laws, regulations, and precepts which determine how it is that other people must live. It is faith that determines how I must live. Faith is those set of beliefs that we hold on to that we apply to ourselves. In essence, it is this type of faith that is true religion.

If we explore the excesses in religion, we can come up with many egregious examples of behavior that no one who is not part of that religion would say is correct. The Puritans in New England were quick to dispense a misguided justice during their Salem witch hunt. Islam as practiced in under Saudi Arabia's Wahabi sect metes out harsh physical punishments to those who violate its numerous laws and regulations, and views women as incapable of self-determination. Suttee, as practiced by some Hindu sects seems surreal to us. And, let's not leave out the infamous Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church, whose heinous protests at the funerals of fallen American soldiers are done in the name of a religious dogma that is beyond comprehension to me: perhaps this is what happens when your church is solely made up of dozens of family members who have ALL been to law school. Then, there are the Harold Camping's of the world, whose religious doctrines and motivations are, at best, very unclear to the rest of us. There are many, many others. You can list them out loud to yourself, or go and look them up. There is no need to name them here, though if you needed some guidance on where to look, send me an e-mail. A lifetime of study can be devoted to the terrible excesses of the applications of religious dogma by one set of people onto another.

In many religious sects, the founders and leaders have no scrutiny. They march to the beat of whichever drummer they hear with no one to guide and counsel them. This can and does lead men into great error, for when they fall into error, what is it that sets them back on the right path? Religious people hear from God all the time, and the voice that leads them is sometimes the same voice that leads them into error. So, WHOSE voice are the really hearing?

As I study my own bible, and I study it constantly and have for many years,  everything I read seems to focus on me and my behavior. While I see many references in it that are obviously speaking about others, those that stand out and speak to me the loudest are those things which force me to take a look at myself. I am the only one that I can change. I cannot change others, but I can certainly govern my own behavior. I cannot even effectively counsel others unless those others have, of their own volition, come to me for counsel; even then, the nature of men is that in counsel we seek license, not counsel, itself, which tends to deny us the license we seek.

Jesus approached each of his 12 disciples and said, “Follow me.” It is not recorded how many he had to approach before he found 12 that would follow him. We do have records of others who would have followed him and asked to do so, but were unable to give up things in their own lives they would have placed ahead of him, thus rendering their commitment to him as secondary to their other purposes. When they declined, he did not press the issue, but let them go on to whatever it was they thought was more important.

We must approach God willingly...for He does not force us in this age. We do know from the scriptures that God has a judgment mode, and being on the receiving end of it is a terrible thing. But this age has been set aside for God to be able to draw all people to him. I think we are seeing signs that this age is coming to a close. It does not matter what I see, since there have been people from every age who thought that their own personal epoch was the time for God to judge the earth.

What I think and what God thinks are frequently two different things, for I do not have, nor can I put on, the mind of God. The bible tells me that His ways are higher than my ways, and His thoughts are higher than my thoughts. This seems like a reasonable thing...therefore there is no shame in admitting that there are a lot of things I don't know about God, in particular, those things that are not clearly defined in the scriptures, and more so, those things that I would surmise about how God deals with and treats OTHER people. The only thing I can act on with certainty are those things that God is continually applying to me and my own behavior.

I am a reasonable person. I respect and admire reason and use it to guide me in every step of my life. Our ability to reason is a wonderful gift from God. He does not expect us to abandon our critical thinking skills, or to abandon reason. In fact, the scriptures say, “Come, let us reason together, saith the Lord...”  At these times, it could be that God would show us the errors in our reason. It is doubtful that our reasoning abilities are such that God would be otherwise persuaded. This concept is ludicrous. But frequently, my reason fails me and I look back and wonder, “Just what was it that made me think that I was doing the right thing?” I get lots of things wrong. My reasoning capacity is limited by my lack of information, and by the lack of understanding of the information I have, and by the lack of wisdom which leads me to my understanding. I am not alone n this. I have lots of company. It is common to all men. What makes me different?

There are things behind me now with which I no longer wrestle. Some of them are doctrinal things which I determined that I have correctly discerned and have moved beyond them. There are other things that I have learned are simply not worth continued contemplation, for they can lead nowhere. And there are others I contemplate but choose to limit my contemplation, because, not having the mind of God, I cannot fully understand them. I try to focus on the things I can DO something about...and the one thing I can do something about is my own heart and my own behavior. I am capable, qualified, and permitted to govern myself, my thoughts, my words, and my actions. Though capable of doing these things, it does not mean that my waywardness does not exceed this capability from time to time. I am full of mistakes.

But being full of mistakes, misunderstandings, and personal failures is not limited to me. The bible is full of examples of great men who failed themselves, their people, and God. Within that context, there are several types of these men. There are those who were wicked and continued to choose wickedness, for this is within the heart of men. There are those who were wicked, but became aware of their wickedness and repented, turning to the Lord for forgiveness. And there are those who were sincere followers of God, who struggled to serve Him at every turn, yet still failed, and at worst did wicked things, or at best merely disobeyed God to their own personal misfortune.

The lessons of all these various types of persons in the bible is that all of them were precious to God, and God never judged a single one until they had abandoned themselves to their wickedness. As long as they were able to recognize the error of their ways and turn towards God in repentance, God never abandoned them. In fact, God never abandoned anyone. It is we who abandon Him, and ourselves, into a pit of vileness from which our own hardened hearts prevent us from escaping.

When we allow envy, strife, revenge, and the lusts of our flesh to become our gods, we have chosen poorly. But humans do this all the time. Why does repentance come so hard to us? Why are we such a hardheaded and backward lot? Why do men abandon themselves to things their hearts tell them are not right? Why do we read our holy scriptures and seek to apply them to other people first, rather than use them as a gauge to determine what is in our own hearts that needs mending?

Here is something I am certain of.

The apostle Paul says in the book of Galatians, Chapter 5:

This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.

For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.

But if ye be led of the Spirit, ye are not under the law.

Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are these; adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like: of the which I tell you before, as I have also told you in time past, that they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.

And they that are Christ's have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts.

If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.

Let us not be desirous of vain glory, provoking one another, envying one another.

And in Chapter 6, Galatians says this:

Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted.

Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.

For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself.

But let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another.

For every man shall bear his own burden.

Let him that is taught in the word communicate unto him that teacheth in all good things.

Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.

For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.

And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.

As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith.

There, in just parts of two chapters in the overall bible, is enough for me to deal with in how to govern myself which will take me a lifetime of self-introspection, repentance, reflection and constant vigilance. I could spend the rest of my life just reading these two chapters and NEVER come away with the fullness of the things contained therein. Had I thought I scored a complete triumph, the minute I think so, there is more than one verse contained above that immediately indicts me. Were the indictment against ME read in God's court, God himself would say, “Guilty as charged!”

And what court would have a higher jurisdiction? What judge would have more authority than the One who just passed judgment? To which court does one appeal this conviction? What reasonable argument could I use to persuade the Judge that He had made some mistake in His courtroom proceedings? How would I argue the facts of the case before One who is discerning of all things? Is His judgment imperfect? I think, perhaps, I'd just anger the Judge in His own courtroom, much to my own detriment. The most ludicrous idea is that I would curtly give that Judge a piece of my mind, and just tell Him what I actually thought of Him and His court. No doubt, words would fail me, and tricky legal ploys would be to no avail before a Judge that can see into our HEARTS and now what is there. Before such a Judge, there can be no appeal. Who will tell Him He is wrong? If we dared, would He be persuaded? The very concept that God lacks understanding, has an incomplete knowledge of the facts of the case, and has made an error in His judgment flies before the face of reason.

Galations indicts me: Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.

Again, Galatians indicts me: For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself.

For a third time, Galatians indicts me: For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.

When I see the errors of others (of course, these are easily seen) and point them out, I am again indicted by Galatians: Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted.

In spite of these indictments, Galatians offers me FAITH and HOPE!

By God's continual guidance, if I allow it: This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.

As for the indictments, above: But if ye be led of the Spirit, ye are not under the law.

If I submit to Him as a child to a father, I can have dominion over my own lusts and afflictions: And they that are Christ's have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts.

But this challenge is laid before me: But let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another. For every man shall bear his own burden.

The thoughts are mine. The actions are mine. The works are mine. They are not someone else's. And though I have weaknesses and infirmities that would lead me to do those things which I would NOT do, I can have dominion over them and my own actions. I, alone, and responsible for my thoughts, words, and deeds. I cannot rely on Flip Wilson's Geraldine response, “The devil made me do it.” I must take responsibility for my own actions. The quicker and more adamantly I admit my own failings, the better it is for me, lest I allow myself to get to the point where sin has hardened my heart beyond my ability to see my own errors. When I fail, which I most certainly will, my only recourse is repentance, which God not only allows, but wholeheartedly encourages.

The evidence? And my reward? And that by which others can see the workings of God in my day to day life? The fruit of God's Spirit at work in my life? The effectiveness of the law that would indict me? All of those things are contained below.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.

My goodness, I am indicted and pardoned all within parts of two mere chapters. I have a lifetime of work and study in this and this alone.

No matter what one thinks about the bible, its author(s), its editing, or origins, or exact nature of the words it contains, there is a lifetime of instruction and wisdom therein. No wonder it still speaks to men across the ages and presents itself as a fresh, living document to each succeeding generation. It never gets old and stale. As long as it can help us to produce fruits in our lives that are desirable, and I'd say love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness and temperance are all desirable traits In a human, the bible will continue to be a life-changing guide to those who would simply pick it up and read it.

Is this not REASONABLE? 

Heavenly Father, help me to see the log stuck in my own eye rather than using my skewed vision to concentrate on the speck that is in the eye of my brother. Help me remove the blinders I have placed on myself that hide those things that need attention in my own life. Send your true servants in my direction that I may receive good instruction and counsel. Give me the wisdom to know good counsel when I hear it, and the strength and determination to receive it and obey it. Make me aware that it does not always come in the manner I might expect it, but help me to recognize it when it arrives. Help me to walk in Your Spirit so that I manifest the fruits of Your Spirit in my everyday life. With thankfulness for your patience, mercy, and guidance, AMEN.   

So, what's any of this got to do with CLL? Everything, of course, and nothing. Though I am in remission, I still have CLL. It is a chronic disease. But my remission, precipitated by the hard work of so many medical professionals who have devoted their careers and lives to the study and treatment of this disease, and a merciful God by whose providence I am enriched, has allowed me this respite to pause and consider other things; and theology and politics are top on the list of things to be considered.

At this Thanksgiving time, three years onto the odyssey of CLL and two years into a remission, I am extremely thankful for having had this time. I am thankful for NOW. I am thankful for TODAY. I am thankful for what I HAVE. I do not mourn what I LACK. It's rather difficult to mourn what I LACK when I cannot identify anything it might be, other than some of those fruits I mentioned earlier, which are a continually working process.

My beautiful and wonderful step-sister called me yesterday from her new home in St. Thomas. There was more than a little frustration in her voice from the trials and tribulations of her adventure to paradise.

“Here I am,” she said, with a tension that was easily discernible in one that has been my sister for nearly 40 years, “right here in paradise, and I don't know what to do with my time.”

“Give yourself a bit longer to adjust to island life. You are on island time now, and things can happen slowly on an island. No one gets in a hurry,” I said, as if I had some experience as an island dweller.

And she will adjust. She will learn to enjoy the relaxed pace and the unstructured, lackadaisical life of a tropical island dweller. I gave her the best advice that I could possible give her, since she is now far removed from the distractions of her former everyday life, and is left, temporarily, with the time that can pass so slowly when we are left to ourselves without distractions.

“Regina,” I said, “I carry paradise with me everywhere I go. It is where you are, never somewhere else. May tomorrow's sunrise greet you with a new day that is filled with wonder, right in the very place you inhabit, because it's all around you. You'll see it, and it will welcome you with open arms. Enjoy your time and your current respite from responsibility.”

Yep, it's another day in paradise. It can be filled with wonder or boredom. We will make of it what we choose. If we are fortunate, we choose correctly, but that is easier said than done.

“Easier said than done,” I repeat to myself. “Haven't I already used that, today?”

“You have,” I said back to me.

“I seem to use that a lot,” I say.

“You sure do,” I say back to me, adding, “It seems to be a constant theme in what you think and write about. I think You've got something stuck in your gullet that needs to be regurgitated.”

“Yep. No doubt,” I say to myself in answer to a continuous dialog we all seem to have with ourselves. “But so many things in life are that way. I wish everything in life were as easy as saying it, but it's not. The saying of it can be so easy and the living of it is another matter entirely.”

“Everyone goes through life with on-the-job training,” I said, asking myself, “What makes you think you would be any different?”

“I don't think I'm any different than anyone else,” I retort, getting a bit impatient with myself with the tack of this conversation.

“Oh! Yes, you do!” I shout back at me. “You think you're special!”

“You're a smart-ass,” I say to myself.

“And you're NOT? Ha! The pot has just called the kettle black!”

Sitting here with my mouth agape, for once, I had no reply, completely nonplussed and speechless. When one loses an argument with one's self, it is a good time to stop.

I'm off to enjoy paradise...the one that is right here in East Central Mississippi... the one that magically appears right where I am. I will rejoice in that and be thankful for it.

11/18/11 My Mind Is Enslaved

As Christmas approaches, the story of Washington Governor Chris Gregoire and her earlier decision to let atheists be represented by the placement of this sign next to a nativity scene in the State Capitol in Olympia, has once again  come into media focus. This is not new news, since it first happened in 2008. Why does old news continue to be controversial? Perhaps it is a slow news day.

The wording on this sign was first reported to have been used as a slogan by the Freedom From Religion Foundation (FFRF), which is  a Madison, Wisconsin, based group started by Anne and Annie Gaylor (like mother like daughter). The group’s main focus seems to have been to file lawsuits challenging things they believe violate the constitutional boundaries between church and state. Along the way they have had some victories for their cause in the courts, as well as some setbacks.

The controversial sign reads as follows, for those of you whose eyesight is about like mine:

At this season of THE WINTER SOLSTICE may reason prevail. There are no gods, no devils, no angels, no heaven or hell. There is only our natural world. Religion is but myth and superstition that hardens hearts and enslaves minds.

It is true: religion can be enslaving. 

There are perhaps as many people who find this sign offensive as those who are offended by the nativity scene. The sign is not without controversy, even in Washington. I don't have a problem with its display. I don't have a problem with both the sign and the nativity scene being displayed in the Washington State Capitol, nor the representation of any other groups. I also have no problem with a rule that would prohibit any display of any religious symbols or other faith based symbols in the Washington State Capitol. In particular, what is done in the Capitol of Washington is of no particular matter to me. Each state does what it does within the limits of their own constitutions and Federal law.

The only thing about the sign that irks me is that someone else has decided for me that my heart is hardened and my mind is enslaved because I have faith. That someone thinks this way is not a cause for public controversy, and certainly not a cause for a lawsuit, but it is an annoyance. That there are atheists who are sincere in their beliefs is beyond debate, but the sign above is itself pregnant with faith which atheists would shroud beneath a cloak of “scientific evidence.” Examine it for yourself:

• There are no gods, no devils, no angels, no heaven or hell.
• There is only our natural world.
• Religion is but myth and superstition that hardens hearts and enslaves minds.

These are as emboldened statements of FAITH as any believer can muster. There is no evidence that precludes any of these things. To deny them categorically can only be an extension of faith. I much prefer the agnostic who might reason that there is no scientific evidence to support religious faith, and therefore chooses to withhold judgment with an “I don't know” or “I don't care” attitude. It takes no faith to be an agnostic. It takes more than a little to be a declared atheist; but you won't find any atheists who will admit to this. They will emphatically deny it and debunk anyone who suggests it. The atheist doesn’t say, “I don’t think there is a god.” The atheist says, “There is no god.” There is a dramatic difference between those two statements; the former is based on belief, while the latter is presented as fact which cannot be supported by any EVIDENCE, which is therefore a belief.

The very fact that this sign has been given an equal opportunity to be displayed as a second viewpoint alongside a scene that is a symbolic of faith should make the atheists a bit more than uncomfortable, since it gives it equal billing as a statement of faith. I think the atheists might deny this, too.

I am a firm believer in Freedom OF Religion. I am also a believer in Freedom FROM Religion. This is the one country that promises all men that they can exercise their private freedom of religion in any way that does not violate the rights of others. Freedom FROM Religion is not a right spelled out in the Constitution, but I will grant that a state capitol is not the proper place for the displaying of any religious symbols. Perhaps Washington would be better served if a copy of the Washington State Constitution and the United States Constitution were on display. Neither God nor any reference to deity is mentioned anywhere in the US Constitution, except for in the closing when the date is mentioned as “in the year of our Lord,” which was the common way of listing dates on formal documents at that time, long before the designation CE was in use.

Ironically, the Declaration of Independence, which is not the law of the land but frequently quoted as such, mentions the Creator as endowing us with certain inalienable rights: that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Though the Declaration of Independence is not the basis for our law, the fact that it lists certain rights as being derived from God and not the Government is extremely important and is embedded into our national psyche. The government does not grant us those three rights that are among others, nor does it bless us with these  rights...they are granted to all men by the Creator, and this supersedes the right of government to deny men these rights without due process. Of course, atheists could sue to stop the display of the Declaration of Independence in any public place because it declares that men were created, thus the need for a Creator.

There were Atheists involved in our struggle for independence (Thomas Paine). There were Deists (Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, perhaps George Washington), and there were Christians (John Adams), and no doubt many agnostics. They all worked together for a common cause, and in their own mutual self-interests. They struggled to strike a balance, separating government and religion, detesting the idea of any state sponsored religion or any religious tests which might be imposed on those who would serve in government. How can this be a bad thing?

It might be reasonably argued that when the state gets into the business of religion, it sets itself up as the object to be worshiped. Rome fell into emperor worship as the emperors deified themselves. In former times, if not current, the Japanese worshiped their emperor as a god. Marx, Lenin, and Stalin set the state up as an all powerful object to be worshiped by the people since the state was the entire reason for their existence. Hundreds of millions of blue-suited Chinese, waving little red books, deified a ruthless Chairman Mao. English and French kings at one time governed under the “divine right of kings,” which technically made their words the equivalent of God's voice. Of course, any good Marxist will argue that Stalin and Mao were perversions of Marxism, not the real thing. Might they not allow that any excesses historically committed in the name of religion also be similar perversions and not authentic? Somehow, I think this test will fail to be applied equally.

The biggest objection I have to the credo of the FFRC is that, by their declaration, I have allowed my mind to be enslaved. Enslaved to what? Enslaved to a belief that there is a Creator out there that is independent of me. I have looked into the great void and I will declare with the utmost and sincere faith that God is out there, and HE IS NOT ME. Instead of being enslaved to this concept, I find it tremendously liberating. I am not enslaved to anything. Atheists are not smarter than me. They are not more articulate than me. They have no advantage over me that is a product of their atheism. I will maintain that it is nothing beyond themselves they perceive, and therefore, it is they who are enslaved to a vision that is less than it might be.

“There is no God!” the atheists say.

“Man is the measure of all things,” Protagoras said.

“When you see a sundial or a water-clock, you see that it tells the time by design and not by chance. How then can you imagine that the universe as a whole is devoid of purpose and intelligence, when it embraces everything, including these artifacts themselves and their artificers?" said Cicero.

“God, in different times and in different manners has spoken to men,” says my paraphrase of the writer of the Book of Hebrews.

“If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent Him,” said Voltaire.

The telelogical argument for the existence of God, while legitimate, proves nothing. That argument presents that one can look around and observe that there is an intelligent design to the universe. Reason has led many men to this conclusion, as it seems unreasonable to many thinkers that our universe, the things beyond it, our world, and our lives just happened by random chaos. In fact the second law of thermodynamics teaches us that things do not move towards order, but towards chaos...and if the DNA in the cells of my body are not orderly, then what are they? All throughout history, thinking, reasonable men, enslaved to nothing, have looked around and come up with similar answers...there is an intelligent design to the things they observe. The sign shown at the right might be considered by atheists to be a perversion of what it is that they believe, just as there are many perversion of authentic, genuine things inflicted on mankind for its general detriment and the benefit of those who would inflict; however, this makes as much sense as the “reasonable” statement offered by the credo of the FFRC.

I am through stating the positions of others. Here's mine:

• You can believe in the existence of God or not . . . I will honor and respect you as a human being either way.

• Your belief one way or the other has no impact on God or His existence

• God is out there and He is not me

• You can love God and seek Him, and it does not change Him

• You can not believe in Him, or revile and despise Him, and it does not change Him

• God has spoken to me, both through the scriptures and in other ways; I am not unique in this 

• I believe that in order to approach Him, we must believe that He exists and that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him

• I believe in the “good news” of the gospel of Jesus...that it is not a burden, but the means to a joyful, more abundant life.

• I believe that God came to this world in the form of a man to reconcile us to Him.

• I believe that “God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.

• I believe that

·        In the beginning was the Word

·        And the Word was with God

·        And The Word was God

·        And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us

• I believe in the testimony of “doubting” Thomas, one of Jesus' disciples as contained in the book of John chapter 20:24-28, who would not believe until he saw with his own eyes. Thomas and I share the same testimony, except the greater blessing is mine, since I did not see!

• I believe the words of Jesus, when he said, “In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.”

• I believe that faith has the power to move mountains. So did Abraham. So did Job. So did Moses. So did Joshua. So did Elijah. So did King David. So have millions of others who have come after them.

• It is my faith, and I will not be moved from it.

• “Here I stand,” said the Christian reformer Martin Luther; I share that with him.

• I offer you no proof of my faith; I am not required to prove it if I could...it is my faith. 

Here's the HARD part.

Jesus also said this: I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.

I'm not the one who said this. I didn't make it up. It is recorded that Jesus said it. This is a stumbling block for many, many people who would otherwise be Christians.

“What about all the good, sincere Muslims? The billions of Buddhists? The billions of Hindus? Are they all just going to hell because of the nature of what they were raised to believe by their parents and traditions of the places of their birth?” so many have asked themselves and others. This is a legitimate question, and my answer: God is approachable by those who believe that He exists and is a rewarder of those that seek Him...this is the essence of faith. Perversions of this simple faith, in the same way that perversions of things meant to be good and enjoyed properly never lead to good results, will never serve mankind.

I further believe this:

• God is perfect in wisdom
• He is perfect in justice
• He is perfect in mercy
• He cannot do the wrong thing

I offer everyone the good news of a personal relationship with God that is rewarding, joyful, and liberating...not enslaving. It is God's free gift to all of us who would receive it...but a gift, offered by the giver, must be received by the one it is intended for to be of any beneficial use; without the gift, or the benefits of it, one is left to one's own devices on how to obtain the benefits the gift would have provided, since something so precious as a gift from God cannot be purchased.

The scriptures teach that God created man in a state wherein we could have a direct communication with Him...but man failed. Because of man's failure, we could no longer continue in that direct communication with Him, or be in His presence because of the essence of His holy nature. The example of the veil in the temple separating everyone from the Holy presence of God is our example of man's separation from God in general...because of our nature, we are prohibited from entering into His immediate presence...not for His protection, but for ours. God himself fixed this for us; thus, the example of the veil in the temple being torn from top to bottom. The veil no longer exists. The stain of the sin of Eden (by whatever means it is told) no longer exists. If we want to walk through that torn veil and have a direct, light-pipe communication with God, Jesus is the direct way to it. If our Christian faith experience was like playing Monopoly, then we drew the “Get Out of Jail Free” card. Other than that, the scriptures say to work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, since the grave is the great equalizer and leveler of all mankind...the stark reality that all human beings face. 

There was once a great French mathematician, philosopher, and physicist named Blaise Pascal. He was a man of reason and science...and also a man of faith...just like Isaac Newton. Pascal lived in the early 17^th century. He came before Isaac Newton, and no doubt, Pascal was one of the giants on whose shoulders Newton stood.

Blaise Pascal said the following notable things:

• The heart has reasons that reason cannot know

• There is a God shaped vacuum in the heart of every man which cannot be filled by any created thing, but only by God, the Creator, made known through Jesus

• Truth is so obscure in these times, and falsehood so established, that, unless we love the truth, we cannot know it.

• In faith there is enough light for those who want to believe and enough shadows to blind those who don't.

• Men blaspheme what they do not know.

• Faith is different from proof; the latter is human, the former is a Gift from God.

• If you gain, you gain all. If you lose, you lose nothing. Wager then, without hesitation, that He exists.

And what of Sir Isaac Newton, the great English mathematician and scientist who worked in the 18^th century? He said the following things:

• We build too many walls and not enough bridges.

• And for rejecting such a Medium, we have the Authority of those the oldest and most celebrated Philosophers of Greece and Phoenicia, who made a Vacuum, and Atoms, and the Gravity of Atoms, the first Principles of their Philosophy; tacitly attributing Gravity to some other Cause than dense Matter. Later Philosophers banish the Consideration of such a Cause out of natural Philosophy, feigning Hypotheses for explaining all things mechanically, and referring other Causes to Metaphysicks: Whereas the main Business of natural Philosophy is to argue from Phaenomena without feigning Hypotheses, and to deduce Causes from Effects, till we come to the very first Cause, which certainly is not mechanical; and not only to unfold the Mechanism of the World, but chiefly to resolve these and such like Questions. What is there in places almost empty of Matter, and whence is it that the Sun and Planets gravitate towards one another, without dense Matter between them? Whence is it that Nature doth nothing in vain; and whence arises all that Order and Beauty which we see in the World? ... does it not appear from phaenomena that there is a Being incorporeal, living, intelligent, omnipresent, who in infinite space, as it were in his Sensory, sees the things themselves intimately, and thoroughly perceives them, and comprehends them wholly by their immediate presence to himself.

• And from true lordship it follows that the true God is living, intelligent, and powerful; from the other perfections, that he is supreme, or supremely perfect. He is eternal and infinite, omnipotent and omniscient; that is, he endures from eternity to eternity; and he is present from infinity to infinity; he rules all things, and he knows all things that happen or can happen.

“But,” someone is apt to decry, “These great men did not live in modern times. We know so much more now than those who lived in those times filled with superstition!”

That is true...these are modern times...but the times in which we live will be as archaically viewed by future humans as the hindsight through which we view their former times. There is no such thing as modern times. There are just times, and all the revelations to come of the things we do not know. Simultaneously, there are no modern times and all times are modern...there is simply time, in which we as humans are stuck. It is the paradox of human existence.

There has been nothing revealed in these later “modern times” that would cause the diminution of the faith of Pascal and Newton. Philosophy doesn't. Science doesn't. In fact, were Newton and Pascal here to look at Einstein's work, and the discovery of DNA, or the revelation of Quantum Mechanics and the race of physicists to discover a unified theory that reconciles Relativity and Quantum Mechanics, the result might just be that these two great minds, among the most able minds of all time, might be drawn to a deeper faith, as are many physicists who look out into the far reaches of time and space and indicate that, beyond a certain point, all they can say is, “That is where God exists.” They don't try to define Him, but they can see His handiwork, His design, and His imprint on everything, and from lofty perches at the very edge of what it is that humans know, or fail to know, or rather yet, know without understanding, is that He is out there; the Prime Mover...the One who created order from chaos.

In a sense, religion has enslaved many. Jesus, himself, was a harsh judge of the  religious people that were around him. He called the Pharisees, who did everything right in their own estimation, “a wicked generation of vipers.” Jesus claimed that His kingdom was not of this world...that He would establish it Himself one say...thus, it is not our province as Christians to see that our faith is legally projected onto other humans...it is our job to keep the water vessels full for those who thirst and would come for a drink...and freely offer them that with which the Lord has blessed us. This is faith, not religion.

If my faith has resulted in my mind being enslaved, then I would ask the atheists to define for me the nature of my enslavement so that I can understand it for myself. What am I a slave to? To that which I have submitted freely? And what are your observations of the evidence of my enslavement?

I'm keeping my faith. I will cling to it with the last breath of my life, and beyond. If my faith proves to be false, then I will expire and return to the dust, all my knowledge and memories just random 1's and 0's like a hard drive gone bad, drifting out into and being absorbed by the ether, which modern science has revealed not to be the vacuum of ether at all, since the mass of the dark in space exceeds the mass of the things that are visible. I will also keep science, for it is the duty of man to explore that which needs exploring...to study, to research, to quantify, to deduce, to label, to examine via empirical method all those things for which man would seek an answer. There is no opposition to this in faith.

A wise man of faith once said, “Faith is the evidence of things unseen; the substance of things hoped for.” This is not religion. This is not myth. This is faith.

That same wise man also said, “The things which are unseen are more real than the things that are seen, because the things that are unseen are eternal.” Faith is where the temporal meets the eternal. I will cling to that, and I will enjoy the liberty that goes with it, bypassing the enslavement thrust on me by others who cannot, or will not, see what I see. Should they continue to try, I will be forced to break out my “Get Out of Jail Free” card. If I do, it's OK. I've got an infinite supply.

How liberating!

Unfortunately, since the “Get Out of Jail Free” cards are themselves free, others fail to perceive their value, and instead, try to buy one or earn one...thus, the birth of all the snares, confinement, and enslavement of religion; which is as far removed from faith as the edge of the universe is from its center.

If what I have said is offensive to you, then I regret that you find my faith offensive. It is not exclusive, but welcomes everyone who thirsts and would be quenched. If you insist on being offended, then you must find some other blog to read that lines up with what your faith is, or isn't; or start you own blog and write your rebuttal there. You can't do that on this page: it is mine. My faith is precious to me and I will not yield an inch on it, but have planted my feet firmly and will not be moved. Here I stand. I don't expect any less of you and your faith.

Is my faith my religion? The answer to that will vary with the person asked. The difference between the two is subjective in that my faith is as personal to me as the observer’s opinions of it. Religion, though, sometimes makes demands of its own that requires others to have the same faith as us. It is religion that makes those demands, not faith.

I will keep my un-enslaved mind AND my faith. Washington's governor can keep her multi-purpose holiday displays. And the atheists can keep their faith, too, or their lack of it, by whichever one they would define themselves. I hope they'll keep their atheism from becoming their dogmatic religion, enabling them to avoid mind enslavement, the odds of which, perhaps, are less favorable than they might like to think.

I am reminded of this.

Former Louisiana Governor Edwin W. Edwards is a master of the craft of politics; that is an acknowledgment, not an endorsement. When the Louisiana Legislature used some crafty semantic chicanery in a bill during Edward's second term, which attempted to “put God back in our classrooms” in a way that might withstand court challenges, the governor vowed to veto the bill due to the enormous expense the state would have in trying to defend this law before all the court challenges he knew would come.

Louisiana had tried this once before in a case that went all the way to the Supreme Court as Edwards v. Aguillard (482 US 587, 1987) in which the governor was appealing a lower court ruling which stuck down Louisiana's “equal treatment” of creationism in the classroom. Having seen what a conservative supreme court had already decided, Governor Edwards knew the folly of this type of legislative, semantic end run. It was headed nowhere.

Governor Edwards was widely criticized for his promise of a veto (and later on many other things since he wound up serving some time in prison for a bit of his own chicanery concerning the licensing of one of Louisiana's casinos). His defense of his position though, is so plain and well-reasoned as to be worthy of repeating here: The idea that an earthly court can exclude God from anywhere, or that the Legislature can restore Him, is simply ridiculous. No one can exclude God from anything.

God doesn't need the law to protect Him. Nor does He need us. In fact, God doesn't need anything at all. I would argue that things are the other way around.

I have great faith in that.

11/14/11 Insulated Boldness

Someone posted a photograph on a public forum of a deer splattered across the front of an 18 wheeler. It showed just exactly what can happen to a living entity when it encounters an 18 wheeler when it is traveling at highway speeds. The deer didn't stand a chance. While the posting of this photograph may have been in poor taste, I was amazed as I scrolled down through the 7,650 comments it had generated. The extreme range of these comments and the boldness of some of the commenters is very reveling about our society. Most of the comments were of the “Ick” and “Bleechhh!” variety, but others were profoundly hostile towards the truck driver, and to other people who made comments.

In this age of blogging and comments from those who have “handles” or screen names, wherein they are insulated from their remarks as they hide behind a keyboard and computer screen, we have become a vile and profane people for the most part. Attack! Attack! Attack! Seems to be the mode of operation, and forget attacking the issue, attack the person . . . and attack the person immediately, and attack them with profanity and vulgarity, insulting them personally.

The insulation between the attacker and the one being attacked makes the attacker as bold as a cowardly dog in a frenzied pack after a harried hare. As long as the protection of the pack is there, the dog is bold. But, remove the pack, and the once brave dog retreats with his tail tucked between his legs, head down, and skulking and slinking away, hoping not to be noticed. I suspect such profane, personal attacks would be much subdued if the attacker were in immediate jeopardy of receiving a swift and painful lesson in politeness and civility.

Of course, were such a lesson be delivered, the outcry would be FOUL!!! Fingers would be pointed because one resorted to violence, but when one waves one finger in another's FACE, and calls him a stupid f---ing d---head, why, would one suppose, the person thus attacked would restrain himself from delivering a painful lesson in manners on the spot? I wonder what kind of lives many of these people lead who resort to such personal attacks over disagreements in slightest issue . . . and a deer getting run over on the highway is a slight issue. It is not a cause for contention or disagreement. It was an accident! Neither the deer or the truck driver wanted that encounter. Each, more than likely, was minding his own business when the encounter occurred.

One poster said that the &*##%&* truck driver didn't know how to drive. Obviously, this person doesn't know what he is talking about. He must live in an urban environment where there are no deer, or else, he doesn't drive, or else, he's just been lucky. Perhaps the deer he has driven by at night on the highway have been lucky when he passed.

Another person made the frightening comment that this is the result of what happens when there are too many *&$*#@&* people on the planet. How did the he determine that? How would he fix it? By what criteria would he decide who is superfluous and who is not? Who gets to stay, and who gets to be eliminated to bring the world back into balance?

What about the person who commented on those G*&D#&%*ed Mother*&%$#* truckers? I wonder what he was thinking, all insulated behind his keyboard as he was perhaps munching on a twinkie, or if not a twinkie, perhaps a soybean-gluten-free organic granola bar? Did he pause to consider how his snack got to him? Did it get to him because he simply DROVE to the store and bought it? And how did it get to the store? How did it get from the manufacturer to the grocery wholesaler? How did the raw materials get to the factory? How did the soybeans get to the dryer and storage bin? How did the combines get to the soybean fields?

I live in a place where I see deer along the road all the time. In all my years of driving I have hit only two. One, I centered and killed; my options were to hit the deer or leave the road. I chose to hit the deer. The other, I had come to a complete stop in the road as a deer ran ahead of me while a SECOND deer ran straight into the right front fender of my pickup truck as I was completely stopped . . . I suppose you might say the deer hit me. Did this happen because I was one of the planet's  superfluous people? Does this make me a stupid f---ing d---head? Would the person who thought so, had then been there as I was examining the damage to my truck, have had the balls to say that to my face? I don't think so. I think they only have the courage to say such things from behind their keyboards.

The ability to seem anonymous on the internet leads some to behave in a manner in which they would not were their names, addresses, and photographs linked to their comments. I suspect many of these people are in the 13 to 16 year old category, and have nothing but profanity to offer by way of comment, having spent their entire lives behind computer keyboards and video game controllers. This is a sorry way to spend one's life . . . in an anarchic commentary that has no basis in reality, since the commenter has no real basis by which to gauge things, only a skewed, virtual world within the safe, comfortable confinement behind the locked doors of their home. But that is not where the world is. The world is where the truck met the deer in an unfortunate accident.

I will be careful how I speak to you in disagreement. While I may completely fail to understand your motivation and thinking as to why you believe certain things are true, I will confine my disagreement to the issue at hand. I will not resort to calling you names and insulting you personally because we don't agree on some things. Why should we agree on everything?

I fear an entire generation is being lost to the art of civil disagreement. This is hampered by our news media, which focuses on the extremes of disagreement as they are looking for the ratings, and the ratings are not supported by stories that read, “Nothing of national importance happened today.” Each and every advocacy group must have its continuing crisis in order to stay relevant and to continue to receive the money by which it supports itself and those it employs. The crisis must never end. The publicists who are hired must make those crises ever-present and ever-available to the media so that on a slow news day those crises become the focus of the news.

And we, who seem to have lost our critical thinking skills, see the news, and are drawn to the extremes . . . either adamantly opposed or ardently for whatever issue that is being advocated for or against. We are tossed about by too much information provided to us by those who have a purpose. It is hard to determine what their purpose is, but rest assured they have one.

Behind a computer screen, an imbecile is spewing forth a vitriolic string of profanity at someone who simply disagreed with him. Unable to debate the issue, the imbecile has exhausted all the vocabulary he has at his command in that one string of profanity. He seems to understand the concepts of “you” and “I” the verb “to be.” Beyond that, his understanding seems to be limited to the use of profane words as adjectives, verbs and nouns. I wonder has he ever held a book in his hands, or a magazine that was made to read, not look at the pictures?

There are those reasonable people who declare that one must never resort to violence. There are other reasonable people who will not stand there and be insulted by a string of profanity directed at them. There are also those who, were they face to face with the one they are insulting, might choose to not do so, or they might choose their words with more tact and discretion.

Boldness can be subdued when it looks right into the eye of retribution; particularly when that boldness is the product of an ignorant cowardice. I have been amazed at how big talk quickly resorts to a tender “misunderstanding” when the insulter and the insultee are suddenly brought together face to face.

Hiding behind a keyboard is a lot different than reality. Attacking people for no reason and personally insulting them when there is no chance for a penalty is not courage.

It is, rather, its opposite.

11/11/11 What We Know Can Change at the Speed of Light; Veterans Day

Albert Einstein's Theory of Special Relativity deals primarily with the nature of light, its propagation, and its movement. The Special Theory indicates, among other things, that the constant speed of light is fixed at 186,000 miles per second. Nothing can travel faster than that; it is the maximum velocity that can be achieved, period.

Einstein's theory is perhaps in the midst of being shown to be wrong. It has already been shown to be at odds with Quantum mechanics, thus the work of scientists like Stephen Hawking to come up with a UNIFIED THEORY which will link Relativity and Quantum Mechanics, and bridge the gaps and explain their seemingly irreconcilable differences.

There are ideas in which ways that light can travel faster itself, such as aiming a laser pointer at a distant star and rapidly sweeping it across the sky - - covering light years of distance in a fraction of a second - - but this does not answer, since the light starts its journey across an infinite number of points in the sweep of the arc and continues to its destination at . . . guess what . . . the speed of light. No photons or waves of light ever travel faster than their same constant speed in a vacuum. This is the scientific truth as we know it. But we don't know everything. Not yet . . . most likely, not ever.

I am no physicist, but I am interested in the philosophy of physics, which leads me to my point. The October 10, 2011, issue of TIME had an article called Faster than Light: A New Study May Upend Einstein, written by Michael O. Lemonick. It was a fascinating article about current research and some significant, “if true” findings.

In 2007, scientists at the Fermilab Accelerator in Chicago seemed to notice that at times, neutrinos (a mass-less sub-sub atomic particle) seemed to travel at speeds slightly faster than the speed of light. Of course, this excited the scientists who thought they were on to something big. It turns out that they were unable to duplicate this in a measurable way, and were unable to secure the evidence they thought they had. Surmising that they had an anomaly in their measurements, they continued to rely on Einstein's Special Theory as immutable, and returned to their other research. They may have been too hasty in abandoning their fleeting observations.

Now, the CERN super-hadron super-collider in Geneva has turned up similar information, independently. No doubt this is causing the scientists at the Fermilab to work with reckless abandon to dig out their old work and get after it again. It seems that the observations from CERN indicate that neutrinos have been recorded at speeds of 0.0025% FASTER than the speed of light. This may seem like a very small number, but in the world of physics, it is perhaps the biggest number in over a hundred years. It is a HUGE number. Just how big remains to be seen, if true, as the author points out.

How this translates into something philosophical is just as huge and mind boggling. In these modern times, we have lots of answers for lots of things. We sit at the very apex of human thought and understanding. We are at the forefront and cumulative total of the sum of all human knowledge (except for perhaps what was in Nicola Tesla's brain – but that is another story). We modern humans are at the very cutting edge of knowledge, far beyond anything our ancestors could have envisioned.

Copernicus was castigated for saying that the Earth revolved around the sun. Galileo was similarly castigated for building on the Copernican model. Columbus had a difficult time finding investors for his “Round Earth” theory, though he did not invent this idea. Modern medicine has come a long way from Aristotle's four humors, all the way to an unwieldy, unaffordable behemoth of miracles amid confusion. All these advances in science have been beneficial to us. The discovery and exploitation of DNA and the human gene sequence alone is opening broad avenues for further research that offers results that benefit all of man-kind, at an increasingly accelerating rate.

Modern Anthropology has taken hominids back millions of years further than previously thought, with new discoveries pushing back the epoch of man-like-kind by millions of years; new discoveries erasing whole old schools of thought, not just pushing them back, but actually rendering the old theories as untenable.

Modern historians are rewriting history as fast as they can do research and publish it. What we thought we knew THEN was all wrong. What we know NOW is right. We are fortunate to live in these modern times.

In the space of 44 years we go from Orville and Wilbur Wright to Chuck Yeager. We go from Sputnik to Neil Armstrong in 12 years. We send various spacecrafts to the outer reaches of the solar system and beyond. Explore the rings and moons of Saturn. We land a satellite on a wayfaring comet from deep in space.

So many things have changed what we thought we knew into something completely different.

Mr. Lemonick, in his article said it so succinctly:

The history of science may be littered with claims that were ultimately proved false. But it takes only a single true one to overturn everything we think we know about the universe.

We are always a single instant away from having everything we think we know nullified by new research. When this has happened in the past, what did we say about the things we were wrong about? When this happens in the future, and it most definitely will, what will it tell us about ourselves and the things we thought we knew? How will man, the arrogant “measure of all things”, respond to the new heresies that prove to be right, thus discorporating his former measures?

It seems that we just shrug our shoulders and say, “Oops! We had it all wrong back then. Now, This . . . THIS is the truth, relatively speaking, or course . .. considering our limited capabilities to observe and record extreme minute events that occur across a span  a millionth of nanosecond of time! But new the evidence is irrefutable!”

“If true,” I think out loud to myself. Einstein has proven true sine 1905. Until then, Newton had all the answers, but as Einstein's work pointed out, Newton missed a few things along the way . . . things he could not have known about . . . and no one is faulting the great Isaac Newton, nor the great Albert Einstein. There are just many things that they were not capable of knowing, though they diligently searched for the pieces of the infinite puzzle upon which they gazed.

Some scientific research occurs at accelerating rates; we see this in the field of gene therapy in medicine. From the discovery of DNA, to the understanding of its mechanisms in genetics, to the sequencing of the human genome, to treatments for diseases based on the information have and are occurring at increasingly accelerating rates. It was 200 years between Newton and Einstein. It was a century between Einstein and the discovery, if true, that there are things that travel faster than the speed of light. Maybe it'll be 50 years before something is developed that is useable from this scientific revelation. Maybe, in 75 years, the world as we know it now will no longer exist. Maybe in the next 100 years, we will have become like God, knowing everything.

Maybe, just maybe . . . if true . . . and until the truth changes, in favor of a new and improved truth.

Veterans Day!!

I am not a veteran, but I have known many. I salute every man and woman who has served this country, particularly those who have placed themselves in harm's way.

Three particular veterans come to mind this morning.

The late Mr. Worth Hodge of Shreveport, Louisiana. In a different life, I called on Worth and his brothers at their business, R.W. Hodge and Sons. They were turf equipment dealers and had a phenomenal business . . . one in which the entire extended family worked. It was always a joy to call on them. Many other sales people did not like the Hodges, who had been in business long enough to know exactly how they were going to run their business, but I learned to love and respect them all, and they seemed to like me. I would have done anything in my power to serve the Hodges. There was Jimmie, Fred, and R.W. “Worth” Hodge, Jr, along with Mrs. Christine and her daughter Lydia. One must be careful to spend some time with each one of the Hodges if one wanted to get along there. After a few months of diligent effort (they made me pay my dues and earn my stripes before getting any confidence from them) I was glad to go see them, and they always seemed glad to see me.

Worth did the buying of the finished products and handled most of the equipment sales. On many trips to Worth's office, I noted the honorary certificates and proclamations on his wall and read them with great interest. During WWII, Worth had served as a bombardier on B-24 Liberators. He had flown on the famous mission to Ploesti, Romania, for the daylight bombing run on the oil refineries there, which greatly crippled Germany's capability to provide fuel to its war machine. The most interesting thing was the certificate recognizing him for having flown 50 missions, when 25 missions were all that were required.

Many thousands of the young men who served in the Army Air Corps bomber fleet and participated in the daylight bombing runs over Germany did not make it back home. They suffered terrific casualties from German fighters and anti-aircraft fire, since most of those long range missions went beyond the range of fighter escorts until the introduction of the P-51 Mustang. Previous fighters lacked the fuel capacity to be able to accompany the bombers all the way to the mission and have enough fuel to return home. Those slow, lumbering bombers, though heavily armed themselves, were like shooting goldfish in a bowl to the Me109 and the FW190 German fighter planes.

Being on a bomber crew was so dangerous, if one could survive 25 missions, one was entitled to go home. The combat war would be over for you. You would have used up all of your 9 lives, and the United States Army Air Corps granted you a pass to go back home to serve in some other way in the war effort, most likely as an instructor for other crew members who would follow in your wake, but your combat days were over.

I peered at the certificate closely. “Silver Star for Valor and Courage displayed in completing 50 daylight bombing missions over hostile territory,” it said. 50 missions! Worth saw me looking closely at the award certificate that honored him. He stood there silently. I was so intent on reading every word, amid visions of cold flight decks as one peered out of the plexiglass nose of the bomber, looking through of the Nordan bomb sight at the targets in Germany below, as the sound of 50 caliber machine guns roared throughout the plane, and the whizzing of German 20 millimeter cannon shells and bullets as they passed close by, or through the plane, all to the drone of four, fuel hungry engines, as flak shells from ground based anti-aircraft artillery burst all around. The vision was not one of calm serenity, but deadly bedlam.

I finished looking at the award. Worth just looked passively at me, waiting for the questions he was sure would follow.

“50 missions? 50 missions?,” I asked. “You were only required to serve 25, then you could go back home. Why, 50?”

“When our tour was over, our entire crew volunteered to re-up for another 25 missions, provided we could keep OUR plane,” said Worth with a shrug of his shoulders.

“With all the death and destruction you must have witnessed, and the many members of your squadron you must have lost, what on earth made y'all want to volunteer for another 25 missions?” I asked, my respect for this mad I already respected growing in leaps and bounds, the curve on the line on the respect graph was arcing increasingly upward above the X axis, perhaps even getting parallel to the Y axis, never intersecting it.

He shrugged his shoulders again. “We were young and foolish.”

“And brave,” I added.

He shrugged his shoulders again. “And lucky,” he added.

“I'll say!”

“I don't have an answer. We did it, that's all. On hindsight, I would not have done it, again. But once done, it was done, and we completed all 50 of our missions without incident.” Like so many who displayed such brilliant valor and courage, he added, “It was just not our time.”

I then stood at attention and saluted him. He snapped to attention and saluted me back. Though I had shaken his hand many, many times before, as I came to see him and as I departed, this time I asked him, “Do you mind if I shake your hand?”

He didn't say a word, just stuck out his hand.

This handshake was completely different than any prior handshakes. It contained things in it that could not be adequately said, but could be conveyed by the touch of a handshake.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You're welcome,” he said back with a smile.

Our relationship was never the same after that, since the unbounded respect I had for him must have been obvious. I can't say that the terrific improvement in that relationship, which was good to begin with, resulted in any increased business for me, as any salesman would have hoped, but Worth Hodge knew that I would have shined his shoes had he asked me to. This was all that mattered.

The late Mr. Walter Schneider of New Orleans.

I also called on Mr. Schneider and his wife, Harriet, on Esplanade Avenue in New Orleans, right at the very edge of the French Quarter. Mr. Schneider's Schneider Lawn Supply was a terrifically successful business for him in a town where no individuals owned a lawnmower, since lawns were the size of postage stamps, but his commercial business was remarkable.

Mr. and Mrs. Schneider was as cantankerous and curmudgeonly as anyone you were ever likely to meet. At first, I merely dreaded the traffic in New Orleans to get to Mr. Schneider's place of business, but mostly, I dreaded the inevitable ass-chewing I would get when I went to see Mr. Schneider. He was never happy about anything. He griped, he cussed, he fumed and fretted, and don't think, for a single instant, that you were going to get any relief from Mrs. Schneider, who was a perfect match for her husband!

I did learn one thing very soon, though. Mr. Schneider was an early riser. He got to work every morning at 5:30. I learned that I could get up early on the days I was to call on Mr. Schneider, drive from Baton Rouge and be there at 5:45, long before the New Orleans traffic built up, and be headed OUT of town as everyone else was heading in, since it usually didn't take too long to do business with the abrupt, curt Mr. Schneider.

But my early visits began to change things. Mr. Schneider was fresh and ready for the day in the early mornings, a lot like I am now. Over the months, my early morning visits morphed into trips to the local Tastee Doughuts on City Park Avenue, where we'd have coffee and doughnuts, with Mr. Schneider doing most of the talking, and me mostly nodding. Our conversations were always interesting, though. Once you got beyond his stern and gruff exterior, there was a remarkably interesting person in there. Mr. Schneider never let me pay for the coffee and doughnuts, saying, “I don't want to be beholden to any salesman.” He always paid. At first this was a courtesy to me, but after a while, he'd smile when I pulled up, expecting me, because I had learned that it was better to let Mr. Schneider know to expect you.

“Let's go!” he'd say, and we'd immediately get in his pickup and haul ass down to the Tastee Doughnuts, where for the next hour, Mr. Schneider would hold court,  be the prosecuting attorney, the judge, and the jury while expounding on all the things he thought was wrong with the country, Louisiana, and New Orleans, the company I worked for, the state of our industry in general, and those nasty competitors of his who tried to make their businesses successful by simply stealing his. If there was something Mr. Schneider did not have an opinion about, it was because he did not know it was an issue. I would have bet a dollar to a dime that on his first hearing of the issue, he would have been adamantly against it, since he seemed to be AGAINST so much and FOR so little. But, here's a few things I know he was FOR: America, his beloved Catholic Church, personal responsibility, hard work, honesty, and integrity in everything . . . these qualities in a person are hard not to like. Mr. Schneider met every test of personal responsibility, hard work, honesty and integrity that he would have imposed on everyone else. He consistently met every one of those things. He is on my all time short list of persons with impeccable integrity. Congratulations, Mr. Schneider, the list is short, and you are permanently enshrined there.

The tag on Mr. Schneider's pickup truck was one of those free tags given out by some states to recognize veterans. In Mr. Schneider's case, his tag said ,”POW.” I didn't know anyone else who had been a POW, or if I knew them, I didn't know THAT, so one morning, on the way to Tastee Doughnuts in the same pickup truck that bore the POW tag, I brought up the POW subject, hoping that would be the topic of our morning talk at the doughnut shop. It was. I am so fortunate to be able to have heard it so I can share it here. Though I am quoting Mr. Schneider, I am quoting him from my memory. I may get a few things wrong.

“Right before D-Day, I was sent with my paratroop company on a mission behind enemy lines. There were several hundred of us who were dropped in to secure certain points and small villages for reconnoitering with the troops after they had landed. We were to secure those areas and maintain covert status until the main body of the troops arrived.

“It was nighttime when we parachuted in. Unfortunately, everyone on my plane parachuted right into the middle of an entire regiment of German soldiers. Many of my buddies in my company were shot as they dangled from their parachutes descending to the ground. Those of us who weren't killed during the drop were immediately taken prisoner. My combat experience lasted all of 8 minutes when I became a POW and served out the remainder of the war in a German POW camp in what is now East Germany.”

“How did the Germans treat you?” I asked him.

“It was pretty bad at first. I saw a lot of things I hope I never have to see again. The Germans were suspecting an invasion, thought we were it, or the precursors of it, and interrogated us, shall we say, 'diligently,'" then he paused for a moment before continuing.

“Though the treatment got better as the war drew to a close, the conditions inside the camp grew a lot worse, since Germany was having a hard time furnishing it's own troops with enough to eat, we POW's were not high on their list of priorities. We were cold and hungry all the time. Several of my fellow POW's starved or froze to death, as the population of the POW camp swelled after D-Day. It was not a peasant experience. I think the Germans tried to do everything they could for us, but as they ran out of resources, they were more worried about tending to the basic necessities of those guarding us than they were with us. We had to endure it or die. There were no other options . . . endure or die.

“One morning, the guards were simply gone and the gates left open. We knew better than to just go wandering around the German countryside, so we stayed put, except for a few we sent out to try and find food and firewood. There was nothing.  A couple of days later, an entire American Battalion arrived and brought in food, clothes, blankets, stoves, fuel, and it was like Christmas dinner to a boy. We were in heaven. We had known that the war was over after the guards disappeared, but the sight of an American flag at the head of a mechanized battalion coming to fetch us was a profound moment. We all knelt down and thanked God for our deliverance. I still kneel down and thank God for this deliverance every day.”

It was a powerfully moving statement.

Later on, after I had long since moved on to other employment, and Mr. Schneider had retired, having lost his beloved Harriet to breast cancer, I felt moved to write him a letter as a Veterans Day approached.

Dear. Mr. Schneider:

I was sorry to hear of the passing of Mrs. Schneider. May the Lord's peace be upon you and your family.

As this Veteran's Day approaches, something made me think of you and want to sent you this letter.

You are the only man I know who was a Prisoner of War. I am aware of the many hardships you endured, and those you watched your friends and fellow soldiers endure. I know that some of them did not survive. I am thankful that you did because I have enjoyed the great honor and privilege of knowing you as a business associate and a trusted friend.

I am thankful for the sacrifice you and so many others made on my behalf, and on behalf of every American and European who is a free person today. Those sacrifices have not gone unnoticed. Thank you for your service to yur country, and by extension, me. Every hardship you endured was a hardship endured on behalf of me and my children, and my future children's children.

Thank you for the honor and integrity you have always displayed to me. I am thankful to have you as my friend.

Highest and Best Regards,

Chris

A couple of days later, my recently invented and newly acquired cell phone rang. It was Mr. Schneider. He did not have my number, but he had made several calls until he found someone who knew how to contact me in some way besides a return address on a letter. I was floored to hear Walter Schneider's voice on my phone, a voice I thought I would never hear again.

“Chris, this is Walter Schneider,” he said, without any need to have done so since I knew the voice immediately.

“Hello, Mr. Schneider. What a nice surprise to hear your voice.”

“I called about that letter you sent me,” he said, his voice wavering. He could barely speak. No matter, I could barely speak either.

“Yes sir?” I croaked out.

“No one has ever sent me a letter like this. I have sat here all day reading and re-reading it. I can't seem to put it down. Every time I try, I pick it right back up again,” he said. “Thank you for this letter. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“There is no need to thank me, Mr. Schneider, I was thanking YOU!”

“No, there are things I have carried with me all those years since my POW experience, things which I could not seem to let go of. Some of them are very haunting and painful to remember, but since receiving your letter, though I still have the memory, there is no more pain associated with them. I suppose I waited for 40 years to get some sort of recognition like this, just volunteered from a citizen who was not there, but who seemed to appreciate what we all went through. I don't know . . . I can't really say much more that would make any sense . . . perhaps I am not making sense right now . . . but your letter seemed to close the final chapter in a book that had no ending . . .” I could HEAR the tears in his eyes as he spoke to me on the phone, this stern, hard, recalcitrant Walter Schneider, now filled with an emotion I would have never expected, nor intended to precipitate in a simple one page letter.

There was silence for a moment. No one could speak, other than, “Give me just a moment . . . .” said Mr Schneider.

“I am asking you for permission to read your letter out loud at my local VFW on Veteran's Day. I think it will mean a lot to my friends and cronies there, perhaps as much to them as it does to me,” he said.

“Mr. Schneider, that's YOUR letter, you can do with it as you please,” I said.

“I would never think of doing such a thing without asking your permission,” he said, such was the honor and integrity of Walter Schneider.

“Permission granted. In fact, Mr. Schneider, knowing you as I do, I give you permission to speak or act on my behalf and in my name at any time or place and in any manner you think prudent,” I said, “Cause I know I'd have a worthy advocate and they'd have a worthy opponent.”

After a few more words in which the conversation became easier, until he told me the details around his beloved Harriet's illness and passing, it was like Mr. Schneider and I had were sitting at the Tastee Doughnuts, he holding court and me his willing court spectator.

Since the Cafe du Monde was about as far South of Mr. Schneider's shop as the Tastee Doughnuts was North, you might be wondering why Mr. Schneider and I never went there. I asked him the same thing once.

“Nah!” shaking his head, “Bad coffee and bad doughnuts. It's for TOURISTS!”

And that ended that! I have dozens of Walter Schneider stories. Perhaps I'll tell another one, one day.

There is a third veteran whose story I will tell, but I will not name.

This veteran was a long-time sales associate and co-worker. His story does not come directly from WWII, but from 1986, when I witnessed a powerful exchange between him and a Japanese sales representative who was NOT doing the right thing. It was a frightening yet powerful privilege to see what I saw and hear what I heard. It is a as vivid today as it was during its occurrence. I will never forget it.

I will call my co-worker Mr. Bubba. Though Mr. Bubba and I were close friends, I still called him Mr. Bubba, because that is the way it works in the south when one addresses one whom is of one's father's generation. I think this is a good thing.

Mr. Bubba and I interfaced on several things within the company, me responsible for sales to those customers we both served for the company, and he responsible for obtaining spare parts needed for those customers to repair their equipment, particularly those spares that had to be purchased from outside vendors. When the string trimmer (Weed-Eater) craze hit, we had no capability to manufacture them, and like so many others, turned to outside vendors to make private labeled products which we sold under the company's name . . . sort of like Sears, who makes NOTHING, but has the Kenmore brand manufactured FOR them.

We bought container loads of string trimmers, blowers, hedge clippers, and other items from a Japanese company called Maruyama through a Japanese brokerage called C. Itoh and company. C. Itoh and company displayed significantly more than a LITTLE bad faith in their furnishing of replacement parts for the equipment we purchased through them, in spite of their prior commitment to do so. Obtaining the parts as nearly impossible under the terms that Maruyama placed on us through C. Itoh. We had equipment all over the world, branded with our company's name, for which we could not furnish replacement parts. It was a bad deal . . . bad!

I will tell this story just like I witnessed it. I will run the risk of being boring, since Voltaire said, “The way to be boring is to be sure and leave nothing out!” I will also run the risk of being offensive. So be it.

Mr. Bubba had served in the United States Marines during WWII. He fought in the Pacific theatre, serving on Guadalcanal during the time when the Navy abandoned our Marines there, leaving them short on food, ammunition and supplies, and leaving them to their own devices for months. He later served in the invasion of Okinawa. He never talked about his WWII experiences other than where he served and what outfits he served with. If pressed, he would just shrug his shoulders and remain silent and offered no details in such a manner as to prevent further questions.

“I went where they told me to go and did what they told me to do, like any good Marine,” he always said, then changed the subject.

On that day in 1986, during negotiations with the recalcitrant C. Itoh company and the young Japanese representative they had sent, who was near my own age, I got a very real glimpse of what Mr. Bubba had experienced in a most vivid manner. It was clear from the beginning of the negotiations that Maruyama did not have the replacement parts, having discontinued the items we had purchased from them, but we were obligated to furnish replacement parts. Maruyama was WILLING to make some replacement parts, but the prices they were going to charge us were exorbitant. It was like we were being held at gunpoint. I have never been part of any dealings that were conducted with more bad faith.

This was not particularly the C. Itoh representative's fault, as he was operating under orders from his superiors, but he was sticking to them without wavering, leaving our company in a lurch just about as bad as if the ship approaching our ship, having formerly flown the Union Jack, suddenly struck colors and hoisted the Jolly Roger. We were the victims of PIRATES. It seemed so to me then; it still seems so to me now. It certainly seemed so to Mr. Bubba, whose face grew redder and redder during the faltering negotiations as he tried to maintain his composure, at which he would soon fail.

At one critical point in the negotiations, the young Japanese man vary matter-of-factly said, as a way of ending the negotiations, “I will have to check with Tokyo before I can agree to anything beyond what I have already told you!”

This was a faux pas as big as the Pacific ocean.

Mr. Bubba jumped up from his chair and walked directly up to the young Japanese salesman, with faces at point blank range, and started poking him in the chest with his finger. Poking him hard, pushing him ever more backwards towards the wall, until finally, the wide-eyed frightened salesman was pinned to the wall.

Continuing to poke him in the chest, Mr. Bubba said, while trying to keep from shouting, but containing his voice only barely below a shout, red-faced and furious, rather plainly said this:

Listen here, you slant-eyed m-----f-----, don't you EVER say to me you've got to 'check with Tokyo.' I ain't takin' no more s--- from you, and I sure-as-hell ain't taking no s--- off of Tokyo. You g---d----- sons-of-b------ come in here and d--- around with us like you are now, while thinking it's funny that you you've got us by the balls, well let me make something perfectly clear to you and 'Tokyo.'

Just a few short years ago I was killing slant-eyed m-----f------ like you. I killed hundreds of you. I wouldn't think twice about doing it again. I'd pull the hammer back on a 45 and shoot you right between your chicken-s--- eyes and never have a second thought. If I had a pistol in my hand, I'd do it right now. It wouldn't be any skin off my ass.

I don't give a s--- about you, about your f------ company, nor about any of your slant-eyed, s---t-eating Jap friends, and for g--d----- certain not about no f------ 'Tokyo'. So you pack up your s--- and get out of here before I kill you with my bare hands, and I mean NOW! When I turn around, the one thing I'd better not see is your chicken-s--- face! Dismissed . . . you and your whole f------ country. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you, pure and simple.

Mr. Bubba, the U.S. Marine Sergeant from Guadalcanal had arrived in full battle regalia and had taken over the meeting. He seemed to have been transported back to a foxhole on Guadalcanal as bullets whizzed all about his head.

All the while Mr. Bubba was poking the terrified Japanese salesman in the chest, harder and harder until it seemed to us that the next poke would penetrate his ribs like a Ka-Bar knife. That was it. The interview was over. As we all stood there, having all jumped up from our seats in amazement at this transformation and outburst, wondering if Mr. Bubba was going to kill him or if we would have to intervene to prevent him from doing so; which in his rage and no doubt flood of memories of fallen comrades at the hands of the Japanese, passionate, painful memories he had silently harbored for all the intervening years; restraining him could have proved extremely difficult.

Mr. Bubba, thankfully, after having said what he said abruptly turned his back on the Japanese man and walked over to the window on the opposite side of the room and stared out the window intently to give the man time enough to gather his papers and get out. You could see his pulse throbbing in his neck. All the while the Japanese salesman was bowing profusely, saying, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. So very sorry . . .” His face changed from red to white then back to red again almost as many times as Mr. Bubba had poked him in the chest. Red from embarrassment at having lost face, and white from terror as his own death stared him right in the eyes. None of had any doubts that Mr. Bubba would have killed him such was his fury, once unleashed.

I accompanied the Japanese salesman out to his car. Shaking with terror and nearly in tears from his embarrassment, he kept repeating, “I am so very sorry.”

“You'd best go now. We still have some business to attend to, but have someone else form you company call me. I'll meet them at a neutral place and we can figure out where to go from here.”

Bowing to me several times, every one of which I returned, he got in his car and sped away. Today was not his day . . . nor was it Mr. Bubba's. When I got back I went into his office and opened my mouth to ask him about what had just happened.

“Not a word,” he said, still defiant, but some embarrassment beginning to show on is face at his loss of composure.

So nary a word was passed, nor was his outburst ever mentioned again around him. He never brought it up, and we all knew better.

Over the years, I had many more dealings with C. Itoh and Company, and they were a nasty bunch to deal with, but I was able to obtain the necessary replacement parts, though not without paying exorbitant prices. Later, we were able, after diligent research and search, to find parts we could purchase from other vendors that filled the need for the aging fleet of Maruyama products we had sold under our own brand, until one ay, they just all went away: a memory, no longer a problem for us, perhaps unlike Mr. Bubba's memories.

Many of you are reading this and perhaps thinking about how racist Mr. Bubba was. You might be right . . . but I will submit that the late Mr. Bubba had every right to think whatever he wanted to about the Japanese. Though he never said so, one can read about the hardships the Marines faced on Guadalcanal, and Iwo Jima, and Okinawa. The Japanese were his enemy. The Japanese were fierce. The Japanese were ruthless. The things he saw, witnessed and suffered, though never communicated to us, must have continued to live right below the surface of the everyday exterior we all paint on for the world to see. The world mostly sees what we choose to reveal. Had I the nerve to have asked Mr. Bubba, and had he the inclination provide and answer, he might well have answered that he had revealed more of himself than he meant to on that day.

I do know this . . . somewhere in Japan, there is a salesman, or perhaps now a vice-president or president of C. Itoh or some other company, who has told more than one young salesman following in his wake who would be traveling to America, “There are American men of certain ages that may have fought in the Pacific theatre in WWII, who are not to be trifled with, but must be treated with great deference and respect when one is in their presence. They, perhaps, will not like you and with good reason in their minds. To try to persuade them otherwise is a waste of valuable time and resources. That generation is rapidly passing, as is that of our fathers who also fought in the great war, but there still may be some out there.”

My only glimpse of what Mr. Bubba faced in WWII came as a result of that encounter. He was my friend, and I appreciate the salesman from C. Itoh and Company who, at great expense to himself, afforded me the opportunity of a glimpse into this former Marine's life that I otherwise would not have seen. The things I knew about Mr. Bubba's service in the Marines are of my own surmising . . .. based on that incident, and they could be completely wrong.

Mr. Bubba, Mr. Hodge, and Mr. Schneider have all been consigned to the ages, God bless them all, and we are all thankful for their service to their country, to us, and our children.

Thank you, Veterans, all, for your service.

11/10/11 Proposition 26: The Personhood Amendment

A group from Colorado (Personhood USA) came into Mississippi with professional lobbyists and spent lots of money to get Proposition 26 on the ballot, after it failed in Colorado (twice), thinking that Mississippi represented the best place to focus their efforts. The proposed amendment did not say that life begins at conception . . . but at the moment of fertilization . . . arguably, a dramatic difference. The terribly ironic thing about ballot initiatives, as Californians are well aware, is that seemingly popular ones have a way of not passing, and if they do, yield the fruits of the law of unintended consequences. Many Pro-Life supporters not-unreasonably felt that, rather than being the law the precipitated the overturn Roe V. Wade, Proposition 26 could actually have strengthened it by an unfavorable Supreme Court ruling due to the ambiguity of the Spartanly precise language.

The summary of the initiative that appeared on Mississippi's ballot appears below.

Initiative #26 would amend the Mississippi Constitution to define the word 'person' or 'persons', as those terms are used in Article III of the state constitution, to include every human being from the moment of fertilization, cloning, or the functional equivalent thereof.

An intensely passionate proposition, 58% of the votes cast were against it, resulting in its failure. There were few with NO opinion about it, and the initiative really seemed to lose a lot of steam when physicians came out heavily against it. Many of those doctors were Pro-Life. I did not vote on it at all, leaving it blank. The voting machine warned me with red banners that I had not cast a vote on that issue. If there had been a "Shut Up" button on the voting machine, I would have pushed it.

The issue even divided many Christians. Some declared that there was no way one could consider oneself a Christian and vote NO. While I understand this sentiment, perhaps this was going a bit far. I was content to let people vote their conscience, as the passage of this amendment would have served no useful purpose. At the first sign of a lawsuit or petition to the court, I am certain a federal judge would have issued an injunction against its implementation.

I was angered by the writing of some national and regional columnists and bloggers whose implications were that the "ignorant, backwards" Mississippians finally got something right. I am a Mississippian. If I am ignorant and backwards, then welcome to the club, because you also bear all the qualifications of membership. State borders are not the means wherein one can accurately determine ignorant and backwards. Being Pro-Life does not mean one is ignorant and backwards, nor does being from the "Bible Belt", nor does having faith. I am perplexed at how our orgy of the celebration of "diversity" seems to automatically exclude so many. I am who I am; this should fit within the umbrella of diversity. If not, then the definition of diversity should be re-examined.

Several positive things occurred as a result of Proposition 26 . . .

Due to the nature of Mississippi's constitution, it is extremely difficult to get a popularly initiated amendment onto the ballot. This election we had three. For the first time in Mississippi's history, TWO of them passed. The two that passed were

Proposition 27:

Initiative #27 would amend the Mississippi Constitution to require voters to submit a government issued photo identification before being allowed to vote; provides that any voter lacking government issued photo identification may obtain photo identification without charge from the Mississippi Department of Public Safety; and exempts certain residents of state-licensed care facilities and religious objectors from being required to show photo identification in order to vote.

Ironically, those religious objectors would be Muslim. They will not have to show a photo ID to vote, but they do have to have a driver's license (which is a photo ID) to drive a car, to which they seem to have no religious objection: but driving a car is a privilege, not a right like voting. The “certain residents of state-licensed care facilities” would be residents of state hospitals. These are mostly for the mentally ill. Being mentally is is no restriction against voting.

And Proposition 31:

Initiative #31 would amend the Mississippi Constitution to prohibit state and local government from taking private property by eminent domain and then conveying it to other persons or private businesses for a period of ten years after acquisition. Exceptions from the prohibition include drainage and levee facilities, roads, bridges, ports, airports, common carriers, and utilities. The prohibition would not apply in certain situations, including public nuisance, structures unfit for human habitation, or abandoned property.

The fact that proposition 26 was on the ballot led to a large voter turnout. Large voter turnouts in Mississippi tend to favor REPUBLICANS and CONSERVATIVES. Many of those who voted NO on 26 were otherwise conservative, and voted Yes on the two other aforementioned initiatives.

It also resulted in Republicans sweeping EVERY state-wide office in Mississippi except for Attorney General (Jim Hood seems to be well liked!), and resulted, for the first time since reconstruction, in a Republican House of Representatives and a Republican Senate.

The importance for the left-wing pundits . . . do not take Mississippi's opposition to Proposition 26 as an indication of a general leftward movement. That passionate issue brought out voters who tended to vote conservative on every other issue. Now, many will decry Mississippi's backwardness in requiring an ID at the polls before one can vote as a restriction of access.

I have to show my ID at the bank, the doctor's office, when I write a check, when I use a credit card, when I am stopped for a moving or non-moving traffic violation, when I go on to any Military base, when applying for any government service, when registering my kids at school, when applying for a LIBRARY CARD, or before I board an airplane. Why would showing an ID at the polls pose any problem?

And passionate? I admit it! I was more passionate about Proposition 31 than 26. Though Governor Haley Barbour and the economic development interests in Mississippi lobbied hard against it, I thought then, and still do, that to take someone's property against their will by way of eminent domain, even though they are compensated for it, for the benefit of private development is a violation of the 4^th amendment. Eminent domain for the benefit of PUBLIC infrastructure is not affected by the passage of Proposition 31. When Nissan and Toyota came to Mississippi, there were people who had their property taken under eminent domain. While it may be argued that this was ultimately in the public's interests, it was for private development. The city of Tuscaloosa, Alabama, took property under eminent domain and allowed a private real-estate developer to build a shopping center. This was near 15^th Avenue, where the April 2011 tornado did so much damage, and came very near to destroying that new shopping center. People were forced to sell their homes under the law for the benefit of this developer, because the City decided that tax revenues generated by the shopping center far exceeded those generated by the private homes that were taken. Many were forced to sell that simply wanted to remain in their homes, regardless of the “fair market value” they were offered for them. In April, many of them would have lost their homes anyway, and adjacent properties, still under the threat of eminent domain for continued expansion, are now vacant. No one can PLAN on a tornado. One can plan for shelter from one, but that's about it.

When Mississippi economic development groups look at the Tuscaloosa model, there was nothing to stop them from doing a similar thing. A TOYOTA plant? That seems more reasonable, but perhaps falsely so, since Toyota has not provided the jobs they promised state officials, citing their woes with recalls and the recession.

But a shopping center? Hardly the same.

11/9/11 The Drug Shortage

This is from the blog of Dr. Terry Hamblin, a noted research hematologist and CLL patient from England. Dr. Hamblin is a professor at The University of Southamption.

 Shortage of cancer drugs

There is a shortage of oncology drugs - particularly those that have been around a long time like vincristine, carboplatin, taxotere, doxorubicin and leucovorin. Oncology drugs are usually purchased by the oncologist and sold to the patient or Medicare or an insurer. Since oncology is a knowledge-based specialty rather than a procedure-based specialty, the oncologist makes his income by the mark-up between wholesale and retail prices. Medicare looked at this mark-up and thought it excessive, imposing a limit on it. This has acted as a deterrent to the prescription of generic drugs which would make the practice of treating Medicare patients uneconomic. For example the price of branded carboplatin is $120 a vial whereas generic carboplatin is $3:50. Since Medicare allows only a 6% mark-up it would cost the oncologist money to prescribe the generic.

This is the law of unintended consequences acting. Manufacturers have stopped making generic drugs and even worse, some patients have received a wrong, sound-alike, drug as a consequence. A grey-market has grown up with Indian and Brazilian generics appearing on the market.

This is not much of a problem yet in the UK, but one can see it spreading over here. I have heard of adjunct drugs that are necessary for the administration of some types of chemotherapy being unavailable in hospital pharmacies.

This story is featured in today's NEJM.