Or is it the other way around?
I have a problem. It was presented to me as an opportunity.
See, I teach part-time at a Christian Truck Driving school. Christian big rig drivers are 71% safer than non-Christian big rig drivers and we at Hosanna 2-D Highest Driving School are proud to help support this statistic.
A young man who graduated about eight months ago has become a bit of a success story for our school. He married a fine Christian woman whom he met in class. But it was obvious that he has been the driving force in their Christian truck driving success.
They've been team driving for the last three months for C.R. England. They bought a Freightliner cab-over with an expanded back bunk. And it turned out that he has been writing a book when she's behind the wheel. I first learned about it when he called to ask me to write the forward to his book. I said fine and he mailed me a galley. Those of you who've kept up with my blog here will know that I'm not the least bit fazed by requests to put fingers to keyboard. In theory, I can write about anything.
But the title threw me for a loop: Flatulence in the Christian Home. And he was serious! He wrote 22 chapters about why God allows flatulence, it's place in the pre-existence, why He made it part of our mortal existence, why it's necessary and how it tests love and makes us better people.
On and on and on about farts! Christian farts! Christian farting!! Christians smelling farts!!!
So there's my opportunity, and my problem. What can I say as a forward to Christian farting?
And no, my friend's book does not make one single comment, observation or prediction about passing gas in Heaven. The obvious joke, about ascending to Heaven during the Rapture on 'clouds of glory' wouldn't be appreciated... Nor do I intend to mention passing gas in Heaven in the forward. So I know what not to say, but what can I offer to prepare the reader for this smelly oeuvre?
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Closure ...
After leaving the Starbucks mentioned below, I climbed into my Freightliner cab and used my disposable 35mm camera to snap this shot. I put some tape over the flash, because I knew with how dark it was that it would go off, and that would have embarrassed the young lady; I certainly didn't want that!
Anyway, I didn't know if this photo would turn out. When it kind of turned out, I took the Wal*Mart print and scanned it. I had to crop the heck out of it, which is why it's kind of grainy. But I think you can make out her features. I was seated just to the young man's left, with the young lady and me looking at each other over the top of my laptop screen.
I wonder where she is now? I wonder if she reads this blog? If you do, Miss, don't you believe a word Artie Lange says!
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Real Life, So Close I can almost touch it....
It's 8:36 p.m., PST. I'm in a Starbucks, just off the I-15, on 4th St., in Rancho Cucamonga. The N/B I-15, my direction, was backed up at 7:15, when I finished gassing up at the Costco across the street, so I ducked in here to do some computer work, and to give the freeway a chance to lighten up.
I'm sitting at a table against the north wall, facing west. Across from me there's a little table, with two cushioned chairs at right angles to each other. One chair is against the west fall, facing east. The other chair is against the north wall, facing south.
About 10 minutes after I seated myself, a pretty Hispanic woman came in. She had ugly glasses on, and was carrying a plastic bag. Nicely dressed, nice make up, her hair clean and neat and hanging freely, about shoulder blade length, parted in the middle, no bangs. Naturally I worried that I'd have to hurt her feelings if she came on to me. But she pretended to ignore me, and sat there, in the chair facing me. So I let her play her little game. She pulled out what looked like a slick brochure from the plastic bag and began to flip through it.
Then 15 minutes later a handsome Hispanic gentleman, about her age, late 20s?, came in and took the chair to her left, my right. So I'm about 8 feet from his left ear.
She leaned over and kissed him. They chatted briefly, but she was doing all the talking. She was speaking Spanish, and it sounded "fluent," like she is a native speaker. But then later she got a cell call, and her English sounded excellent.
And then he said something and the tenor of the tableau changed... It became obvious that she was being dumped. She took off her glasses and laid them on the little table, so that she could cover her eyes and more freely emote. Taking off the glasses really changed her looks. Obviously she was always pretty, but the glasses had hidden it.
For the past 90 minutes he has sat quietly, enduring the looks she gives him. She's trying to save their relationship and he just sits there, listening to her, but not giving her any feedback. I can't see his face, but her face is only about 11 feet from me and all her feelings are writ large, writ bold, there. A painter would allow toe nails to be ripped from his toes if he or she could have the chance to paint this face.
She's been fighting tears and sometimes she comes so close that she has to cover her eyes. She looks up at the ceiling at times, probably trying to clear her head, or find some new inspiration. And through it all he sits there, hardly speaking. I figure he thinks he's doing the right thing in letting her get this out of her system; he probably thinks that a lesser man would have dropped the bomb and then cut out... But he's sterner stuff, a cut above. He's going to let her say everything she's got welling up in her; he's doing her this favor and he'll feel good about himself when he finally does take his leave, off to whatever he thinks is a better situation.
Right now she must be tiring. She's been at the edge of her chair all this time, but now she has sat back and there's a certain slackness to her posture, and even to her face; no one could keep up that kind of intensity for this long a time. Why doesn't she scream at him? She's probably tempted, but she may still be thinking that 'there's still a chance.'
She just got up! She did start to leave once, but he put out his right hand and touched her left arm and got her to sit back down. But now she walked past me, into the heart of the storm. Probably to the bathroom. Now she's back, her hands in her pockets, taking her seat with little enthusiasm. She's got to know how this is going to play out. But who wants to face unpleasant truths? Certainly not me. Give me my illusions!
We've all been there, at times on one side, at times on the other. But I have never had a chance to be so close as an observer. I'm going home now, and I'm going to give my wife some extra kisses for always being there for me. Give some props to your significant other, too. There but for the grace of that significant other go you. Again...
As Neville Chamberlain said, Piece in our time...
I'm sitting at a table against the north wall, facing west. Across from me there's a little table, with two cushioned chairs at right angles to each other. One chair is against the west fall, facing east. The other chair is against the north wall, facing south.
About 10 minutes after I seated myself, a pretty Hispanic woman came in. She had ugly glasses on, and was carrying a plastic bag. Nicely dressed, nice make up, her hair clean and neat and hanging freely, about shoulder blade length, parted in the middle, no bangs. Naturally I worried that I'd have to hurt her feelings if she came on to me. But she pretended to ignore me, and sat there, in the chair facing me. So I let her play her little game. She pulled out what looked like a slick brochure from the plastic bag and began to flip through it.
Then 15 minutes later a handsome Hispanic gentleman, about her age, late 20s?, came in and took the chair to her left, my right. So I'm about 8 feet from his left ear.
She leaned over and kissed him. They chatted briefly, but she was doing all the talking. She was speaking Spanish, and it sounded "fluent," like she is a native speaker. But then later she got a cell call, and her English sounded excellent.
And then he said something and the tenor of the tableau changed... It became obvious that she was being dumped. She took off her glasses and laid them on the little table, so that she could cover her eyes and more freely emote. Taking off the glasses really changed her looks. Obviously she was always pretty, but the glasses had hidden it.
For the past 90 minutes he has sat quietly, enduring the looks she gives him. She's trying to save their relationship and he just sits there, listening to her, but not giving her any feedback. I can't see his face, but her face is only about 11 feet from me and all her feelings are writ large, writ bold, there. A painter would allow toe nails to be ripped from his toes if he or she could have the chance to paint this face.
She's been fighting tears and sometimes she comes so close that she has to cover her eyes. She looks up at the ceiling at times, probably trying to clear her head, or find some new inspiration. And through it all he sits there, hardly speaking. I figure he thinks he's doing the right thing in letting her get this out of her system; he probably thinks that a lesser man would have dropped the bomb and then cut out... But he's sterner stuff, a cut above. He's going to let her say everything she's got welling up in her; he's doing her this favor and he'll feel good about himself when he finally does take his leave, off to whatever he thinks is a better situation.
Right now she must be tiring. She's been at the edge of her chair all this time, but now she has sat back and there's a certain slackness to her posture, and even to her face; no one could keep up that kind of intensity for this long a time. Why doesn't she scream at him? She's probably tempted, but she may still be thinking that 'there's still a chance.'
She just got up! She did start to leave once, but he put out his right hand and touched her left arm and got her to sit back down. But now she walked past me, into the heart of the storm. Probably to the bathroom. Now she's back, her hands in her pockets, taking her seat with little enthusiasm. She's got to know how this is going to play out. But who wants to face unpleasant truths? Certainly not me. Give me my illusions!
We've all been there, at times on one side, at times on the other. But I have never had a chance to be so close as an observer. I'm going home now, and I'm going to give my wife some extra kisses for always being there for me. Give some props to your significant other, too. There but for the grace of that significant other go you. Again...
As Neville Chamberlain said, Piece in our time...
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Bert Bananas, Sell-out...
It's true, I'm a sell-out. It was dark, they were big. But their message was crystal clear: "Drop out of the race or we'll break your putter."
My initial reaction was that they were bluffing. But then the biggest one, farthest back in the dark, said, "You've had your beryllium-copper Ping Pal 6, what, about 23 years, right?"
My blood ran cold. They knew about my Ping Pal 6, and my attachment to it. They knew that losing my putter would cripple me emotionally. I could win the plaudits of an entire country, but without my putter, it might as well all be ashes.
So, Social Security, and all the other entitlements all those Americans with their hands out have come to think of as set in stone are safe. It is the result of guile and intimidation, but the effect is the same, I am out of the 2008 presidential race.
To those who supported my candidacy, thank you. But watch your backs..., the goons are out there and they're hard at work.
My initial reaction was that they were bluffing. But then the biggest one, farthest back in the dark, said, "You've had your beryllium-copper Ping Pal 6, what, about 23 years, right?"
My blood ran cold. They knew about my Ping Pal 6, and my attachment to it. They knew that losing my putter would cripple me emotionally. I could win the plaudits of an entire country, but without my putter, it might as well all be ashes.
So, Social Security, and all the other entitlements all those Americans with their hands out have come to think of as set in stone are safe. It is the result of guile and intimidation, but the effect is the same, I am out of the 2008 presidential race.
To those who supported my candidacy, thank you. But watch your backs..., the goons are out there and they're hard at work.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Air Resistance -- A lesson in Governance
We start with a simple analogy: when you buy a tennis racket, you usually get a head cover. Swinging a tennis racket with the head cover on more difficult than swinging it without the head cover, not because of the weight, but because of the air resistance. There practically isn’t any air resistance without the head cover. And that’s all there is, with it on.
Now imagine your automobile. It’s got the head cover on. It takes a lot of power to push through the air resistance, our atmosphere. Reducing the effect of air resistance would reduce the amount of power needed to move forward. Given the constraints under which cars are designed, i.e., a rectangular box-like container, big enough to seat a specific number of adult humans, with a wheel at each corner, there can be only one optimal design for maximum penetration of the atmosphere.
So why don’t all cars look exactly the same? You work on the answer while I forge on ahead…
Politics suffers from something similar. While not claiming to know what they are, I would like to believe that there is a set of political rules, above the level of tribalism, that can make a country ‘run smoothly,’ and its inhabitants do the best possible job of ‘getting along.’
Think about what cars looked like back in the 60s and 70s. Simplicity, efficiency, realism were not in the equations that designers used to create them. Things are changing now, which is why more and more, cars are starting to look alike.
But not so in politics. Things, designs, are still business as usual. (Business is not used in the prior sentence ’on accident,’ as they say down on the farm.) Political leaders who gain ’clout’ do so because they become aligned with forces that control money and/or votes. This has resulted in ‘political designs’ that can’t help but end up being complex, often illogical, and seldom beneficial to more than a nominal percentage of “the People.”
If elected, I pledge that it will not be business as usual.
Now imagine your automobile. It’s got the head cover on. It takes a lot of power to push through the air resistance, our atmosphere. Reducing the effect of air resistance would reduce the amount of power needed to move forward. Given the constraints under which cars are designed, i.e., a rectangular box-like container, big enough to seat a specific number of adult humans, with a wheel at each corner, there can be only one optimal design for maximum penetration of the atmosphere.
So why don’t all cars look exactly the same? You work on the answer while I forge on ahead…
Politics suffers from something similar. While not claiming to know what they are, I would like to believe that there is a set of political rules, above the level of tribalism, that can make a country ‘run smoothly,’ and its inhabitants do the best possible job of ‘getting along.’
Think about what cars looked like back in the 60s and 70s. Simplicity, efficiency, realism were not in the equations that designers used to create them. Things are changing now, which is why more and more, cars are starting to look alike.
But not so in politics. Things, designs, are still business as usual. (Business is not used in the prior sentence ’on accident,’ as they say down on the farm.) Political leaders who gain ’clout’ do so because they become aligned with forces that control money and/or votes. This has resulted in ‘political designs’ that can’t help but end up being complex, often illogical, and seldom beneficial to more than a nominal percentage of “the People.”
If elected, I pledge that it will not be business as usual.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
My First Political Interview!
This interview took place in Witchita, Kansas, perceived by the two parties to be 'neutral territory.'
The interviewer, Artie Lange, is best described as "...slow-witted, slow-footed, ...(who) enjoy(s) using (his) slow cooker. (His) mind races as fast as a narrow Alaskan stream in springtime, but (he) always forget(s) (his) fishing pole and net. Thus, (he) end(s) each day with nary a nibble of intellectual thought and no creative catch for the frying pan." But nonetheless, the thrust and parry of our conversation was breathtaking. Here now is that interview:
Artie Lange: So you would put a national tax on top of the state sales tax? This idea seems kind of regressive to me. A poor person will proportionally pay far more of their income to tax than a rich person. I'm not a "sock it to the rich" type of guy, but there needs to be some sense of fairness.”
Bert Bananas: Having no control over the taxation policies of the Several States, your conclusion is not truly accurate. My policy isn’t “put(ting) a national tax on top of the state sales tax.” The national sales tax, on foodstuffs only (that’s what comestibles are), replaces the 16th Amendment. The rich often eat more (in content and quality) than the poor, so the ‘regressive’ effect of the Federal sales tax will be closer to proportional than anything else I can think of… Or as the British would say, of which I can think.
Artie Lange: ...(W)ho are your core supporters? Unions? Bankers? Golfers? Figure you will need at least $50 million in early money just to get started. Better get some of those interest groups in line. Also, who is doing your field campaign? Even your populist message won't gain traction without local organizations.
Bert Bananas: These questions are reasonable. But they are the questions a “Politician” would expect. I am not a “Politician.” Therefore I have no real inkling on how to respond to them. All I can tell you is that no one would be more amazed than me to find my name on the ballot in November, 2008. But this thought shall neither daunt me, nor hinder me from pressing forward. How would any of the first 16 Presidents have responded to your questions? And your observation regarding my “populist message’ is premature. I am certain that many parts of my total message will NOT be popular. My biggest task is going to be to educate the populace that they cannot have EVERYTHING they want. One important part of this will be to get voting majority to agree that the Federal Government should not be expected to do more thann "establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity." And while I didn't write this, I bet I could have... And I would substituted "promote" with "encourage the general Welfare."
Artie Lange: With Regard to the Business tax, is this gross domestic income or total gross.
Bert Bananas: Total gross domestic income.
Artie Lange: Also, how do you define a business in America? If GE has a subsidiary in China that sells widgets exclusively to the Chinese does that count? Also, if Toyota makes cars in Alabama will they have to pay on domestic output or on all income?
Bert Bananas: If the GE subsidiary, in effect, a separate entity, does no business in the US, there will be no US taxes to pay. If GE, an American company, books a profit from the subsidiary on GE’s books, the federal government gets 1% of that figure. I can see what you’re concerned about. If an American company wants to fuss, bother & scheme to keep money earned on foreign territory from being booked in American territory, I’ll take a look at that evolving situation a couple of years into my administration.
Artie Lange: What is your feeling on a BTU tax? Could that work?
Bert Bananas: My initial reaction to the BTU tax has remained unchanged since I reviewed it during it's roll-out during the Clinton administration. It is truly regressive. The poor pay a much higher percentage of their income than the rich for ‘power.’ I’m also fundamentally against the rationing of power, especially through a tax designed to encourage us to use less power. Which brings me to a very fundamental plank (maybe even a joist!): The use of fossil fuels to produce electricity needs to be abandoned. I’m fine with gasoline, but not with burning coal or natural gas to produce power. I will pour a lot of money into fusion research and will do what I can to facilitate research into and production of mechanisms for turning solar, hydro and wind power into electricity. My ultimate goal is to bring the cost of ‘clean’ power down to a negligible percentage of even poverty-level incomes. The cheaper electricity becomes, the more money people will have to spend on goods and services; the more money that goes around, the more money will come around.
Artie Lange: I'm with you, Bert, but we have to get to work!”
Bert Bananas: Work?
In a side note, the future First Lady, Liz Bananas, went to the hospital on Friday and early Saturday morning she was delivered of a beautiful, unhealthy 0.8 ounce appendix. She and the appendix are resting comfortably at the hospital and I will bring one of them home tomorrow.
The interviewer, Artie Lange, is best described as "...slow-witted, slow-footed, ...(who) enjoy(s) using (his) slow cooker. (His) mind races as fast as a narrow Alaskan stream in springtime, but (he) always forget(s) (his) fishing pole and net. Thus, (he) end(s) each day with nary a nibble of intellectual thought and no creative catch for the frying pan." But nonetheless, the thrust and parry of our conversation was breathtaking. Here now is that interview:
Artie Lange: So you would put a national tax on top of the state sales tax? This idea seems kind of regressive to me. A poor person will proportionally pay far more of their income to tax than a rich person. I'm not a "sock it to the rich" type of guy, but there needs to be some sense of fairness.”
Bert Bananas: Having no control over the taxation policies of the Several States, your conclusion is not truly accurate. My policy isn’t “put(ting) a national tax on top of the state sales tax.” The national sales tax, on foodstuffs only (that’s what comestibles are), replaces the 16th Amendment. The rich often eat more (in content and quality) than the poor, so the ‘regressive’ effect of the Federal sales tax will be closer to proportional than anything else I can think of… Or as the British would say, of which I can think.
Artie Lange: ...(W)ho are your core supporters? Unions? Bankers? Golfers? Figure you will need at least $50 million in early money just to get started. Better get some of those interest groups in line. Also, who is doing your field campaign? Even your populist message won't gain traction without local organizations.
Bert Bananas: These questions are reasonable. But they are the questions a “Politician” would expect. I am not a “Politician.” Therefore I have no real inkling on how to respond to them. All I can tell you is that no one would be more amazed than me to find my name on the ballot in November, 2008. But this thought shall neither daunt me, nor hinder me from pressing forward. How would any of the first 16 Presidents have responded to your questions? And your observation regarding my “populist message’ is premature. I am certain that many parts of my total message will NOT be popular. My biggest task is going to be to educate the populace that they cannot have EVERYTHING they want. One important part of this will be to get voting majority to agree that the Federal Government should not be expected to do more thann "establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity." And while I didn't write this, I bet I could have... And I would substituted "promote" with "encourage the general Welfare."
Artie Lange: With Regard to the Business tax, is this gross domestic income or total gross.
Bert Bananas: Total gross domestic income.
Artie Lange: Also, how do you define a business in America? If GE has a subsidiary in China that sells widgets exclusively to the Chinese does that count? Also, if Toyota makes cars in Alabama will they have to pay on domestic output or on all income?
Bert Bananas: If the GE subsidiary, in effect, a separate entity, does no business in the US, there will be no US taxes to pay. If GE, an American company, books a profit from the subsidiary on GE’s books, the federal government gets 1% of that figure. I can see what you’re concerned about. If an American company wants to fuss, bother & scheme to keep money earned on foreign territory from being booked in American territory, I’ll take a look at that evolving situation a couple of years into my administration.
Artie Lange: What is your feeling on a BTU tax? Could that work?
Bert Bananas: My initial reaction to the BTU tax has remained unchanged since I reviewed it during it's roll-out during the Clinton administration. It is truly regressive. The poor pay a much higher percentage of their income than the rich for ‘power.’ I’m also fundamentally against the rationing of power, especially through a tax designed to encourage us to use less power. Which brings me to a very fundamental plank (maybe even a joist!): The use of fossil fuels to produce electricity needs to be abandoned. I’m fine with gasoline, but not with burning coal or natural gas to produce power. I will pour a lot of money into fusion research and will do what I can to facilitate research into and production of mechanisms for turning solar, hydro and wind power into electricity. My ultimate goal is to bring the cost of ‘clean’ power down to a negligible percentage of even poverty-level incomes. The cheaper electricity becomes, the more money people will have to spend on goods and services; the more money that goes around, the more money will come around.
Artie Lange: I'm with you, Bert, but we have to get to work!”
Bert Bananas: Work?
In a side note, the future First Lady, Liz Bananas, went to the hospital on Friday and early Saturday morning she was delivered of a beautiful, unhealthy 0.8 ounce appendix. She and the appendix are resting comfortably at the hospital and I will bring one of them home tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Bert Bananas for President of the United States of America
I was born in the United States of America, I am over the age of 42 and I am not a felon. The first two are required by the Constitution. I don't think the third qualification matters anymore.
Tomorrow I will be forming a committee to explore the possibility of entering the contest for President of the United States. I have long considered how suitable I am for this office and today was finally goaded into 'exploring' this option by Even-Handed Hope. So you know who to blame...
I have not yet begun to select planks for my platform. I welcome any suggestions that do not smack of hedonism, socialism or baptism. But I do have very soft spots in my circulatory pump for despotism and nihilism. But I can't see running on a despotic nihilism ticket. Or would it be nihilistic despotism ticket? Never mind, they're both out, at least until my second term...
Oh! I do have a plank! So here's my first plank: The passing of a Constitutional amendment to replace the provisions of the 16th Amendment (the Federal Income Tax) with new provisions for financing the operation of government. This would be via a national sales tax on comestibles, paid at the consumer level, and a 1% tax on the gross income of each and every business (no matter how big or small) in America.
Feel free to suggest any planks that you feel would help me create the kind of Presidential legacy that Martin Sheen and Gina Davis would kill for.
Tomorrow I will be forming a committee to explore the possibility of entering the contest for President of the United States. I have long considered how suitable I am for this office and today was finally goaded into 'exploring' this option by Even-Handed Hope. So you know who to blame...
I have not yet begun to select planks for my platform. I welcome any suggestions that do not smack of hedonism, socialism or baptism. But I do have very soft spots in my circulatory pump for despotism and nihilism. But I can't see running on a despotic nihilism ticket. Or would it be nihilistic despotism ticket? Never mind, they're both out, at least until my second term...
Oh! I do have a plank! So here's my first plank: The passing of a Constitutional amendment to replace the provisions of the 16th Amendment (the Federal Income Tax) with new provisions for financing the operation of government. This would be via a national sales tax on comestibles, paid at the consumer level, and a 1% tax on the gross income of each and every business (no matter how big or small) in America.
Feel free to suggest any planks that you feel would help me create the kind of Presidential legacy that Martin Sheen and Gina Davis would kill for.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Reigning Cat & Dog...
Laztheists don't mind that lesser species rely on us for food and comfort. These are the two lesser species that allow me to feed and pet them.
This glimpse into my life is brought to you by The Church of Scientologisms.
The Being of Not Being
This is what's called a logical closed loop. It has no start and no end. (Well, all except the part about the bridge being out...) The logical closed loop might as well not exist; if it vanished, none of us would miss it.
Humanity may be a logical closed loop. For sure you know people who only exist to prove they exist, who wouldn't be missed if they were gone.
Al Gore might be persuaded to take the view that the Earth wouldn't miss us if we, (humanity, not you and me) were gone. Eventually, when we get our space legs, we can say the same thing about the Earth.
Only the 'self-aware' can be aware of logical closed loops. It requires 'self-awareness' to appreciate that the logical closed loop stands by itself, doesn't need you, doesn't want you and doesn't even know you're there! And it certainly doesn't care that we can give it a name... A dog, not being 'self-aware,' could piss on the sign and have no other thought than that it was convenient. But the rest of us, we note it and we disapprove.
Know any good logical closed loops? And no fair naming a Deity currently out of favor.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Waking East, Dying North
I learned this from reading Tony Hillerman's Navajo Tribal Police mysteries. They're fun.
Based on what I've read, the Navajo people believe in Gods, but the gods are just sort of super-humans, with their own problems. Humans are merely human, full of problematic inconsistencies, in other words, just what you see in the mirror, nothing more, nothing less.
In an interesting twist, traditional Navajo belief is that when you die, the 'good' in you moves on, in a four day journey, to the next life. Left behind are your 'bad' aspects. And this 'bad' karma stays behind as a palpable presence. So if at all possible, traditional Navajo don't die 'inside.' Especially not in the hogan where the family lives. Navajo death beds are always outdoors. If a person does die inside a hogan, that hogan becomes a 'death hogan' and no traditional Navajo will live in it.
The Navajo hogan is built in a place that enjoys a 'pretty' view. ('Pretty,' of course, is in the eye of the beholder.) The entrance to the hogan always faces east, so that in the morning the inhabitants can more easily say good morning to the Sun.
If someone dies in a hogan, an exit is punched through the north wall of the hogan and the body is taken out that way. So if you're hiking in the four-corners area of the USA, and you come across a hogan with a rough doorway punched though the north wall, that's a death hogan, and there's a sort of a ghost inside. Best stay out.
The Navajo, like many 'simple' people, are essentially socialists. If you accumulate more than you need, you have to search among your relatives and your neighbors for those who are in need, and you give away what you have extra. Weird, huh?
Based on what I've read, the Navajo people believe in Gods, but the gods are just sort of super-humans, with their own problems. Humans are merely human, full of problematic inconsistencies, in other words, just what you see in the mirror, nothing more, nothing less.
In an interesting twist, traditional Navajo belief is that when you die, the 'good' in you moves on, in a four day journey, to the next life. Left behind are your 'bad' aspects. And this 'bad' karma stays behind as a palpable presence. So if at all possible, traditional Navajo don't die 'inside.' Especially not in the hogan where the family lives. Navajo death beds are always outdoors. If a person does die inside a hogan, that hogan becomes a 'death hogan' and no traditional Navajo will live in it.
The Navajo hogan is built in a place that enjoys a 'pretty' view. ('Pretty,' of course, is in the eye of the beholder.) The entrance to the hogan always faces east, so that in the morning the inhabitants can more easily say good morning to the Sun.
If someone dies in a hogan, an exit is punched through the north wall of the hogan and the body is taken out that way. So if you're hiking in the four-corners area of the USA, and you come across a hogan with a rough doorway punched though the north wall, that's a death hogan, and there's a sort of a ghost inside. Best stay out.
The Navajo, like many 'simple' people, are essentially socialists. If you accumulate more than you need, you have to search among your relatives and your neighbors for those who are in need, and you give away what you have extra. Weird, huh?
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Killing me softly . . .
I like to read are old style English Mysteries. Dorothy Sayers and P.D. James are my two favorites in this genre. I've read all of Sayers' books multiple times. I think there's a couple of Baroness James' books I haven't read yet. Dorothy's stories are more intoxicating. Lord Peter and Harriet Vane are much more real to me than Adam Dalgliesh and Kate Miskin. But Baroness James does a superior job of creating her myriad of characters.
Anyway, I started to wonder if there are any situations in my life where if a murder occurred I might be a suspect? Of course, having a loved one, or someone you lived with (there are often distinctions between the two...) killed under mysterious circumstances could throw a suspicious light on the survivor. And statistically, in a population of non-gang members, a person is more likely to be murdered by someone he/she knows, than by a stranger.
Very few of us are in the kind of multi-layered situation where some figure central to all the layers is murdered and then some of those who stand to profit (or exult) end up with either no alibi or a very weak alibi. That's when the coppers have to sniff around after different suspects. That's when you have a genuine mystery, a la English drawing room...
But the depressing, boring truth is that, no, I will never be a suspect in a murder mystery. It's depressing because I'm very good with the spoken word and I would have a real blast dueling verbally with the coppers. Unless I was guilty. If I was guilty I would probably try to pretend I was innocent and screw it all up. At this point there is no one I know, up close and personal, that I want to kill. I think I'm lucky that way.
Anyway, I started to wonder if there are any situations in my life where if a murder occurred I might be a suspect? Of course, having a loved one, or someone you lived with (there are often distinctions between the two...) killed under mysterious circumstances could throw a suspicious light on the survivor. And statistically, in a population of non-gang members, a person is more likely to be murdered by someone he/she knows, than by a stranger.
Very few of us are in the kind of multi-layered situation where some figure central to all the layers is murdered and then some of those who stand to profit (or exult) end up with either no alibi or a very weak alibi. That's when the coppers have to sniff around after different suspects. That's when you have a genuine mystery, a la English drawing room...
But the depressing, boring truth is that, no, I will never be a suspect in a murder mystery. It's depressing because I'm very good with the spoken word and I would have a real blast dueling verbally with the coppers. Unless I was guilty. If I was guilty I would probably try to pretend I was innocent and screw it all up. At this point there is no one I know, up close and personal, that I want to kill. I think I'm lucky that way.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Terrorist Under Investigation. Could "Screwtiny" be far behind?
So here's the deal. The healthy Anglo-American at the right is "under investigation."
At least that's what it said in the caption under her photo, on Drudge or something Drudge-like. See, she's a sergeant in one of the Armed Services. I forget which one. And what she did was pose for Playboy. And ... some 'Superior Officer'... found out! Some human being, with metallic figures on his collar, ordered her investigated. Good call! Except that what he meant was to have the situation investigated. The Situation... Investigated. Big investigation.
Only the little caption didn't say exactly what was being investigated. It said she posed for Playboy, and will appear in the February issue. She is being suspended from her 'duties' pending the outcome of the investigation. And she is being 'investigated.' Her? The Photos? Her silicone content? Her intelligence? Her Patriotism? Her fitness for duty?
From my point of view, it's a puzzler. If there's something in the Military Code of Justice that says that when you're on your own time you shall not bare your bosom, and there's a penalty listed, then undoubtedly the penalty should be exacted. But absent that, what could be the purpose of the investigation? Someone help me here!
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Workship?
I was reading. Just minding my own business, letting my eye (sometimes the right, other times the left) crawl across the page, left to right, the way God wants people to read. (What could possibly be more indicative of their evil ways than the knowledge that some people read right to left, or top to bottom!!)
Anyway, some person, an author, as it were, littered the page with this phrase, “It is the Church’s responsibility to prepare its members for Death.”
That’s a show-stopper of a sentence. In its simplest ‘translation’ it refers to the belief that there is a Heaven and that entrance to this Heaven has prerequisites. And ‘Church’ either does the fulfilling of the prerequisites or instructs one on how to complete them oneself.
Most people would stop there, either thinking the sentence simple truth or absurd hogwash. How can there be a middle ground? But I choose to ratchet it up a notch, and ask the question, what prepares us for Birth, and by inference, Life?
But that’s a waste of time, because naturally, I don’t have any answers. No sane Laztheist would!
But if Life is just a four-dimensional examination to see where we ‘fit’ in the Hereafter, how does ‘passing’ this test prepare us for anything other than ‘worshipping’ God? It kind of sounds like those who pass the test will be on some kind of Eternal Welfare. They’ll just stand, sit, lie, float around, etc., worshipping God.
Most of us have to ‘struggle’ to get by. I’ve met people on welfare and for the most part, they are very boring people, especially those who really and truly live on welfare. The ones who are on welfare, but also seek out ways to increase their income, are a lot more interesting. It’s the Work they do to outwit/supplement welfare that makes them interesting. I think it’s the Work that we do that makes most of us interesting.
But the only trade that’s taught here on earth that seems to apply for the Hereafter is worship. Will there be any need for me to paint addresses on curbs in Heaven? Can people can write books in Heaven, or throw pottery, or push paper? None of the religious papers I’ve read give any indication that this may be so, and logic would certainly take a dim view regarding these possibilities.
So maybe there’s a way to work at worship that’ll make the Hereafter, and us, interesting.
Anyway, some person, an author, as it were, littered the page with this phrase, “It is the Church’s responsibility to prepare its members for Death.”
That’s a show-stopper of a sentence. In its simplest ‘translation’ it refers to the belief that there is a Heaven and that entrance to this Heaven has prerequisites. And ‘Church’ either does the fulfilling of the prerequisites or instructs one on how to complete them oneself.
Most people would stop there, either thinking the sentence simple truth or absurd hogwash. How can there be a middle ground? But I choose to ratchet it up a notch, and ask the question, what prepares us for Birth, and by inference, Life?
But that’s a waste of time, because naturally, I don’t have any answers. No sane Laztheist would!
But if Life is just a four-dimensional examination to see where we ‘fit’ in the Hereafter, how does ‘passing’ this test prepare us for anything other than ‘worshipping’ God? It kind of sounds like those who pass the test will be on some kind of Eternal Welfare. They’ll just stand, sit, lie, float around, etc., worshipping God.
Most of us have to ‘struggle’ to get by. I’ve met people on welfare and for the most part, they are very boring people, especially those who really and truly live on welfare. The ones who are on welfare, but also seek out ways to increase their income, are a lot more interesting. It’s the Work they do to outwit/supplement welfare that makes them interesting. I think it’s the Work that we do that makes most of us interesting.
But the only trade that’s taught here on earth that seems to apply for the Hereafter is worship. Will there be any need for me to paint addresses on curbs in Heaven? Can people can write books in Heaven, or throw pottery, or push paper? None of the religious papers I’ve read give any indication that this may be so, and logic would certainly take a dim view regarding these possibilities.
So maybe there’s a way to work at worship that’ll make the Hereafter, and us, interesting.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Two & A Half Men: A study in the simplicity of our Humanity
Two & a Half Men is a sitcom. In the Pacific time zone it airs at 9:00 p.m. on Mondays. It just ended. I'm thrilled. Again.
Two & a Half Men practices the two essentials of Humanity: flatulence and meaningless sex. In the admittedly short history of television (when viewed through the lens of human history), this is the first show to focus on sex and flatulence. And they have three generations, Grandmother, her two sons, and the son of a son, showing us the way.
There is no silly attempt to present a message. There is no pretense that humans have a 'higher purpose,' nobility, or a purposeful reason for existing. And forget the concept of shame. None of these hokey concepts have a chance in this sitcom. It's just one tasteless joke after another. Potty humor, sexual humor, stupid sillyness: A three legged cat named Tippy...
Apparently the show's ratings are good. Which is a good thing, in my view. What do you think of the show?
Two & a Half Men practices the two essentials of Humanity: flatulence and meaningless sex. In the admittedly short history of television (when viewed through the lens of human history), this is the first show to focus on sex and flatulence. And they have three generations, Grandmother, her two sons, and the son of a son, showing us the way.
There is no silly attempt to present a message. There is no pretense that humans have a 'higher purpose,' nobility, or a purposeful reason for existing. And forget the concept of shame. None of these hokey concepts have a chance in this sitcom. It's just one tasteless joke after another. Potty humor, sexual humor, stupid sillyness: A three legged cat named Tippy...
Apparently the show's ratings are good. Which is a good thing, in my view. What do you think of the show?
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Is that Roscoe loaded or are you just aimin' to please?
Dreams are one way to experience realities that haven’t yet occurred. But sometimes when we wake up, we hope the reality we’ve just ‘dreamed’ doesn’t ever occur. I haven’t decided whether last night’s dream needs, or ought, to occur. I’m genuinely conflicted.
The dream started with me at my local polling place. The voting machine screen was fuzzy. For some reason I was thinking to myself that the voting machine was acting like a cell phone with a bad connection. I was trying to review the votes I’d cast, but I couldn’t read anything. I was embarrassed at how long I was taking in the booth so I just hoped for the best and hit the button to record my vote.
Next thing I knew I was watching TV. The Republican candidate, whom I didn’t recognize, what with the fake glasses, big nose & bushy eyebrows disguise, was conceding the election and congratulating Barak Obama on his history-making win. And then a ‘talking head’ interrupted to say that they were switching to President-Elect Obama’s headquarters.
Barak Obama was in mid-speech as he came on the screen. He was saying something like, “… will help the country come together if everyone calls me Roscoe. That’s right, from now on, I want to be known as Roscoe Obama. Many of you will recall that a “roscoe” is a slang word for pistol. And what’s a pistol good for? Well, I’m good for all that, too.”
There was more, but now the TV was acting like my cell phone with that bad connection routine; I was only hearing every fourth or fifth word. And then my wife came into the room and asked me if she should start calling me Roscoe Bananas, because if ever there were a ‘pistol’ it was me. I blushed and she came up to me and chuckled me under the chin.
I turned back to the TV and there was a commercial on for string cheese bikinis. But I was too busy thinking about a President of the United States named Roscoe to really appreciate the product placement.
I may or may not have awakened from this dream….
The dream started with me at my local polling place. The voting machine screen was fuzzy. For some reason I was thinking to myself that the voting machine was acting like a cell phone with a bad connection. I was trying to review the votes I’d cast, but I couldn’t read anything. I was embarrassed at how long I was taking in the booth so I just hoped for the best and hit the button to record my vote.
Next thing I knew I was watching TV. The Republican candidate, whom I didn’t recognize, what with the fake glasses, big nose & bushy eyebrows disguise, was conceding the election and congratulating Barak Obama on his history-making win. And then a ‘talking head’ interrupted to say that they were switching to President-Elect Obama’s headquarters.
Barak Obama was in mid-speech as he came on the screen. He was saying something like, “… will help the country come together if everyone calls me Roscoe. That’s right, from now on, I want to be known as Roscoe Obama. Many of you will recall that a “roscoe” is a slang word for pistol. And what’s a pistol good for? Well, I’m good for all that, too.”
There was more, but now the TV was acting like my cell phone with that bad connection routine; I was only hearing every fourth or fifth word. And then my wife came into the room and asked me if she should start calling me Roscoe Bananas, because if ever there were a ‘pistol’ it was me. I blushed and she came up to me and chuckled me under the chin.
I turned back to the TV and there was a commercial on for string cheese bikinis. But I was too busy thinking about a President of the United States named Roscoe to really appreciate the product placement.
I may or may not have awakened from this dream….
Friday, January 05, 2007
Imagination running religiously wild
Pat Buchanan inspires this post. Last year God told Pat that tsunamis would hit North America. I think Pat also got a crib sheet from God on which God wrote that He'd make it rain hard somewhere. And it did! So basically Pat batted .500 last year. Which is very Big League, if you're involved in MLB (Major League Baseball, for those of you not into acronyms. Which begs the question, does God ever use acronyms?)
At the very root of Pat's problem is his imagination. Which you could extend to say that 'imagination' is the root of all mankind's problems, if you're of the opinion that persecution, genocide and one man telling another man what to do, or else, are problems. If you're doing the persecuting, the genociding, and the telling another man what to do, or else, then you may not think these are problems. But that's another issue.
I subscribe to the hypothesis that if there were a Power, or a Being/Beings, running this Universe, English (or any Earth language) is not spoken there and they aren't bipeds. (Which view also requires an excess of imagination!) My hypothesis is really just a statement of non-belief in 'earthly religions.' All of which, the religions, that is, have sprung up from an excess of imagination, IMHO.
Think about what it was like 180,000 years ago when the human primate began exhibiting sapient behavior. There was a moment in time when self-awareness first became common place, and languages began developing. There was no history at that point, no accumulation/repository of 'facts,' other than what everyone could see and touch. Children were not told fanciful stories, because there were no such stories to tell, during those first generations of self-aware sapients.
I like to imagine some strapping young newly sapient human being told by someone in authority (his mom) to go down to the river and catch some fish. He dutifully sets out and spends the day in fruitless efforts. He gets scolded when he comes home empty-handed. He's told to try again the next day.
Some unique event takes place that night or the next day. Maybe he sees an unusual animal, sees something 'different' in the night sky or finds a unique-looking stone. Coincidentally (in my view) he then has a very productive day at the river and comes home loaded with fish. Since he has rudimentary reasoning powers, he thinks about the two days and formulates an explanation: The unique thing or event is the difference between no fish and lots of fish! So now he invests 'power' in the unique stone, in the shooting star, or in the act of seeing a rare animal. And eventually he founds a 'religion' based on reverencing snapping turtles, shooting stars or turquoise rocks, etc.
It's my view that this is how 'religion' came to exit. From the need, or desire, to think that coincidences are proof of "divine" intervention, and that there is someone, who, with the proper urging, will make sure you win the lottery. Or you can substitute 'superstition' for 'religion' and it works out just the same. Meaning that somewhere in our collective past, some man stepped on a crack and when he got home, he found out that his mother had broken her back! Coincidence? He didn't think so and this has been passed on and on and on...
And what action do I advocate based on these rough-hewn thoughts? Only that you think for yourself and accept that coincidences are natural occurrences, and that the law of the bell-shaped curve allows for even extreme weirdness to exist. Every continuum has two ends and those two ends can be related, but a universe apart.
Oh, yeah, and please send your kids' college fund money to Pat Buchanan so that God will continue to whisper in his ear.
At the very root of Pat's problem is his imagination. Which you could extend to say that 'imagination' is the root of all mankind's problems, if you're of the opinion that persecution, genocide and one man telling another man what to do, or else, are problems. If you're doing the persecuting, the genociding, and the telling another man what to do, or else, then you may not think these are problems. But that's another issue.
I subscribe to the hypothesis that if there were a Power, or a Being/Beings, running this Universe, English (or any Earth language) is not spoken there and they aren't bipeds. (Which view also requires an excess of imagination!) My hypothesis is really just a statement of non-belief in 'earthly religions.' All of which, the religions, that is, have sprung up from an excess of imagination, IMHO.
Think about what it was like 180,000 years ago when the human primate began exhibiting sapient behavior. There was a moment in time when self-awareness first became common place, and languages began developing. There was no history at that point, no accumulation/repository of 'facts,' other than what everyone could see and touch. Children were not told fanciful stories, because there were no such stories to tell, during those first generations of self-aware sapients.
I like to imagine some strapping young newly sapient human being told by someone in authority (his mom) to go down to the river and catch some fish. He dutifully sets out and spends the day in fruitless efforts. He gets scolded when he comes home empty-handed. He's told to try again the next day.
Some unique event takes place that night or the next day. Maybe he sees an unusual animal, sees something 'different' in the night sky or finds a unique-looking stone. Coincidentally (in my view) he then has a very productive day at the river and comes home loaded with fish. Since he has rudimentary reasoning powers, he thinks about the two days and formulates an explanation: The unique thing or event is the difference between no fish and lots of fish! So now he invests 'power' in the unique stone, in the shooting star, or in the act of seeing a rare animal. And eventually he founds a 'religion' based on reverencing snapping turtles, shooting stars or turquoise rocks, etc.
It's my view that this is how 'religion' came to exit. From the need, or desire, to think that coincidences are proof of "divine" intervention, and that there is someone, who, with the proper urging, will make sure you win the lottery. Or you can substitute 'superstition' for 'religion' and it works out just the same. Meaning that somewhere in our collective past, some man stepped on a crack and when he got home, he found out that his mother had broken her back! Coincidence? He didn't think so and this has been passed on and on and on...
And what action do I advocate based on these rough-hewn thoughts? Only that you think for yourself and accept that coincidences are natural occurrences, and that the law of the bell-shaped curve allows for even extreme weirdness to exist. Every continuum has two ends and those two ends can be related, but a universe apart.
Oh, yeah, and please send your kids' college fund money to Pat Buchanan so that God will continue to whisper in his ear.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
WARNING!! HERE BE MONSTERS & SALACIOUS MATERIAL !!
As I have tried to point out, repeatedly, I love words. Words as toys. Other people use words as shovels, or as weapons or as screw drivers... Okay, that was not some of my best work. But it gets the point across...
Anyway, this phrase suddenly popped into my head and now I can't get rid of it:
"She was so tough she kept a toothpick in her vagina."
Now this is patently ridiculous. I don't for a moment suggest that there is a woman in the entire world who keeps a toothpick..., you know..., there...
It's such a silly phrase. I hope no one is seriously offended. Maybe it would help if I created a silly phrase involving a guy's..., you know...
Okay, help me out here... fill in the blank:
"He was so effeminate that he kept a _________ around his penis."
Sorry, no prizes. Not this time. Maybe later.
Anyway, this phrase suddenly popped into my head and now I can't get rid of it:
"She was so tough she kept a toothpick in her vagina."
Now this is patently ridiculous. I don't for a moment suggest that there is a woman in the entire world who keeps a toothpick..., you know..., there...
It's such a silly phrase. I hope no one is seriously offended. Maybe it would help if I created a silly phrase involving a guy's..., you know...
Okay, help me out here... fill in the blank:
"He was so effeminate that he kept a _________ around his penis."
Sorry, no prizes. Not this time. Maybe later.
Monday, January 01, 2007
My Year in Review
I'm going to toot my own horn. This is the best that blogging has to offer the individual blogger and I'd be silly to disavow this boon.
Some of what I accomplished was by plan. And it's nice that I planned my work and then worked my plan. But most of what I accomplished only became apparent by applying a figurative microscope to the details of the year gone by. So with just a bit more ado, we'll begin. I haven't listed anything of a negative nature, since when viewed through the lens of Laztheism, the only things that qualify as negative involve supernovas. Since ol' Sol didn't go nova or supernova in 2006, it was all good.
1. Every round of golf I started in 2006, I finished!
2. Not for a single instance was I constipated in 2006.
3. I drove 39,462 miles in 2006 and did not get a single speeding ticket, despite having NEVER driven on a freeway at less than the speed limit.
4. My wife and I continue to be in love, but me more than her, as I weigh more.
5. I founded Laztheism, a new way of doing nothing. And what is more important than nothing?
5½. Oh yeah! I had my portrait painted and posted to this blog! Lucky you!
What was notable in 2006 for you?
Some of what I accomplished was by plan. And it's nice that I planned my work and then worked my plan. But most of what I accomplished only became apparent by applying a figurative microscope to the details of the year gone by. So with just a bit more ado, we'll begin. I haven't listed anything of a negative nature, since when viewed through the lens of Laztheism, the only things that qualify as negative involve supernovas. Since ol' Sol didn't go nova or supernova in 2006, it was all good.
1. Every round of golf I started in 2006, I finished!
2. Not for a single instance was I constipated in 2006.
3. I drove 39,462 miles in 2006 and did not get a single speeding ticket, despite having NEVER driven on a freeway at less than the speed limit.
4. My wife and I continue to be in love, but me more than her, as I weigh more.
5. I founded Laztheism, a new way of doing nothing. And what is more important than nothing?
5½. Oh yeah! I had my portrait painted and posted to this blog! Lucky you!
What was notable in 2006 for you?
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