Evil Idiot of the Month for May: Pat Buchanan

Part of me says, "this goes without comment", but I won't let it go at that.

WorldNetDaily: Was World War II worth it?

Buchanan is a knowing throwback to a part of US history that is largely forgotten. Not many know or recognize how vehemently isolationist this country was. Few want to face exactly how racist and anti-Semitic we were as well. And here we have one of the very few clear cut cases of human evil - Nazism - a victory that should live in pride for all Americans - and Mr. Buchanan claims "it wasn't worth it."

How dare he downplay the evil Germany perpetrated on the world. Does he really think Hitler could have been appeased with just Poland? Does he really think that if Britain had stayed out of the war that Hitler would have contented himself with just invading Russia? [He still wouldn't have beaten Russia. If you think he could have, you haven't read enough history - see what happened to Napoleon.]

We know what would have happened. Given time, all of the Jews and other "undesirables" of Europe would have been quietly eliminated. And you, Mr. Buchanan, would have been OK with that, wouldn't you? Contain Nazi Germany? Are you insane?

It's also too easy to forget just how much the Republicans hate FDR. Bush is now trying to lump him together with Stalin. So you, Mr. Buchanan, think that FDR and Churchill were worse than Hitler? Shame on you.

And for you, dear readers, don't be blinded by this insanity. Read history widely. If you have not read your Barbara Tuchman, do so immediately. The March of Folly* is again upon us.



*Could we please get someone to read this to the current President?

Signs We Wish We'd See

Traveling the roads between here and home I’m bombarded with messages. Why aren’t any of them truly useful, informative, or helpful? Perhaps an occasional apology.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Church Sign Generator

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Strange Nostalgia

Yesterday afternoon I had my regular dentist appointment. Kathleen and I have been taking our appointments together for years and I swung by the house around 3:30 P.M. to pick her up and have a quick brush and floss. Dr. Fulton, our family dentist for years, has his office in a very cool 1950's era medical building right beside the Westerville library. It's made of stone and glass with big exposed wood beams - someone was paying attention to Frank Lloyd Wright.

But now the owner of the building has sold it to an engineering firm and the dentist office has to go. By some trick of fate, Kathleen and I were their last patients before they pack up and move. They'll first go to temporary lodgings before moving into a new space, not yet built. Everyone, including the dental hygienist to the receptionist to Dr. Fulton, seemed in no hurry to complete our cleaning and checkup. Each pointed out that I was their last patient. As I shook Dr. Fulton's hand some of their reluctance and sadness rubbed off on me. I've been visiting that interesting and convenient office for 20 years. Not only will it be a new office location, but Kathleen will take separate appointments and before long, be gone herself. Strange how these ordinary events shape and color our lives.

Blogging from the Dashboard

That's right - this blog entry composed using a Dashboard Widget courtesy of Mac OS X 10.4, otherwise know as "Tiger".

Further reports pending.

Taken to Task

The wise, OLDER owl has pointed out, rightfully so, my careless use of the term "elderly".

These ARE the Good Older Days

Quite right. What I should have said was "Many that have lived into their 80s and 90s, when asked, report that their favorite time of life was from 50 to 70."

45

Shortly before his death at the age of 60, John McNulty sent his friend James Thurber a short note. It read: "I think that maybe threescore years and ten is subject to change without notice."

I've been reading a lot lately about a group of men in the first half of the last century. Virtually all of them died in their 50's and 60's. Sobering. Of course, these men worked obsessively hard, smoked continuously, drank like fish, and were without the benefit of modern medicine. Here, on my 45th birthday it gives me pause.

But it's a promising time. I see myself now entering a third stage of life. Childhood is long left behind (but not all childish ways). My years as a custodial parent are about over. And now it's time for what I hope is a long productive and enjoyable portion of life. Many elderly, when asked, report that their favorite time of life was from 50 to 70.

I have great hopes on a long life, longer than the threescore and ten if possible. I want to fill those years with getting to know my children as adults and being an active part of my grandchildren's lives. I want to spend as much time with my wife, traveling and finding new interests together. And I want to purse my personal interests as a writer and playwright.

Should that all be subject to change I have no regrets.

Wrestling with the Mundane

So, we need a new HVAC system. That’s Heating and Air Conditioning system for you civilians. And as I suspected, it’s frighteningly expensive. Mind numbingly so.

Really, really expensive.

But it must be done. So, I’m doing due diligence. I having at least four local contractors give me bids before I select one and open a vein for them.

And of course, I also need a new dishwasher, just replaced a garbage disposal, and I suspect that the gutters need work.

Ain’t owning a home fun?

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Wrighting

When I left grad school in 1985 I knew two things: I needed to make a living to support a family and although skilled and trained, I didn't have much to say. I knew I was not mature enough to write to my own satisfaction.

I have, over the past 20 years, written short stories, made a couple of novel attempts (vile stuff), published this blog, and written untold amounts of business and technical writing, let alone all of the marketing and PR stuff.

But now it's time. I've started a new play and am researching and reading in preparation for the first draft. The swirl of ideas is simply thrilling.

What kicked it off? Timing. Time. That long awaited maturity. Will In The World reminded me what it was to be a playwright and sent me back reading Shakespeare with a playwright's eye.

And a subject, an idea. The clear vision that tells me, yes, it will work. Something special that lit up a dark, empty stage in my mind and made me want to know what would happen.

So, if you see infrequent posts from me here, know that I'm intentionally killing the distractions, focusing on the subject, and building this new play.

First Class

I thought I had gotten to the terminal too early, so I paid the chair a dollar for a massage. All of the chairs were empty - four leather recliners looking out of place in the middle of the concourse. A sign announced they were "First Class." So I sat and the chair welcomed me and offered its services. For three minutes I was kneaded while late arrivals walked by on their way to pick up luggage. I let the firm twin balls roll up and down my back while two rather large women closed down the newsstand and gift shop. Though it looked like a recliner, it would not. That would have been too comfortable and too odd at the same time. Being comfortable in public is wrong in some way, I suppose.

Then the chair was done and welcomed me again, so rather than spend another buck, I got up and walked around, bound on one end by the escalators down to baggage claim and the other by dire warnings and pronouncements from the Traffic Security Administration. The elderly and well-fed uniformed agents did not increase my sense of security. And the food court, never very appealing, was closing as well. Port Columbus at 9 PM, a small and uninviting little airport.

I was, of course, standing in the incorrect spot. I missed her and soon found my phone buzzing, but reception was poor and it took several more calls to determine that she was waiting below, bag in hand. I gladly paid the parking attendant two dollars to purchase our escape and was glad to be on our way home.

Scanning for Americans

Yes, it's handy for the friendly crew of the Enterprise to be able to scan for life forms, but I would definitely prefer that terrorists and frankly, any one else NOT be able to scan my pockets for my passport information.

Why Use Remotely-Readable Passports?

But someone will get rich over this. I herby claim the invention of the RFD blocking passport wallet.

Maybe those nuts that cover themselves in tinfoil were on to something.

Evil Idiots of the Month for April: Paramount Television

Simply amazing. Is it just because no one at Paramount knows how to operate a spread sheet?

TrekToday - 'Enterprise' Sets No Longer Up At Paramount

How exactly is it that they don't think a Star Trek series won't make them untold millions of dollars? Even if UPN wants to do programing for young, black, urban females, doesn't ANYONE at Paramount understand that they can make Star Trek for the next hundred years, someone will pay to broadcast it first run (remember, both Next Generation and Deep Space Nine were run in syndication only), then sell DVDs and all of the other stuff the fans will buy.

Just plain stupid.

I'm just a fan. My parents weren't interested in Star Trek during its original run, so as a kid I had to catch it where I could and that wasn't often. I really got hooked starting around age 11, reading the novelizations by James Blish. If forced to classify myself, I'd call myself a fan, but not a Trekker and certainly not a Trekkie. I've never been to a convention, don't participate in online forums, and no, I don't write or read fan fiction. I do enjoy watching the shows and I've gotten a kick out of watching Enterprise with my youngest daughter. She was crushed when she heard it was canceled. Sometimes Paramount forgets that yes, there are hard core fans, but they are only the tip of the iceburg. There are literally millions more that watch and enjoy the series, just like me and Jen.

But now it's in the hands of the suits. They're still trying to figure out how the twist things around to make it a hit TV series. They don't (and frankly can't) understand that it doesn't have to be a hit for them to make LOTS of money. Simply keep it on TV, keep making new episodes, and the fans will watch, the fans will buy.

Little known fact of the day: Lucille Ball herself approved Star Trek for initial production. Yep, Lucy. God bless her.

There once was a Pope from Kentucky

He's got my vote.

Cardinal Randy

FAQ About Dennis For Pope

Back, But Behind

Yes, I too am lax in posting since retuning from family spring vacation last week. Here's a list of future topics:

Working on new play
Cross Country Travel By Car
Why watching Deadwood and travel is good for you
Tired of hearing too much about the Pope and musings on if a person can be truly intelligent, self aware, and a believer (I don't think so)

We now pause

Off with the family for a long anticipated Spring break vacation. I leave the internet in your capable hands until I return.

The Exact Same Thing Happened To Me

Tom Waits on his cherished albums of all time

"14 Passion for Opera Aria (EMI Classics) 1994

I heard 'Nessun Dorma' in the kitchen at Coppola's with Raul Julia one night, and it changed my life, that particular Aria. I had never heard it. He asked me if I had ever heard it, and I said no, and he was like, as if I said I've never had spaghetti and meatballs - 'Oh My God, Oh My God!' - and he grabbed me and he brought me into the jukebox (there was a jukebox in the kitchen) and he put that on and he just kind of left me there. It was like giving a cigar to a five-year old. I turned blue, and I cried."

Upon reading this I instantly reached for my iPod and found Jose Carreras singing this. It is utter bliss.

I don't know - kinda looks like a Pokeman to me

Pet store owner sees Satan's image on turtle's shell

I find that the innate pattern recognition ability that humans possess and works wonders most of the time, may also be one of the root factors in the development of religions.

As I recently wrote Hedwig:

"Here's me going out on a limb: religion might well be a human adaptation "artifact" from our pattern recognition abilities.

A while back we painted our guest restroom with a swirling, multi-color "faux" finish (shades of red, mainly). There at the throne, I see faces. Now I painted the walls myself. I know there are no faces there. And I don't see the same face twice. We see objects we recognize in clouds, in the pile of leaves behind the house, in a stray grill cheese sandwich. All artifacts of this remarkable brain being on alert. And it goes on from there. I think the roots of the supernatural are all there (along with some other adaptations that are useful to us in other ways - and this damn monkey curiosity).

I imagine that if some day we were to meet another intelligent race and some how found a way to communicate (which may be very, very difficult if not outright impossible), and we mentioned our many religious beliefs, they'd reply "what the fuck are you talking about?""

CSI: Shakespeare

Does everything in modern culture find its source in Shakespeare?


WARWICK

Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.


KING HENRY VI

That is to see how deep my grave is made; For with his soul fled all my worldly solace, For seeing him I see my life in death.


WARWICK

As surely as my soul intends to live With that dread King that took our state upon him To free us from his father’s wrathful curse, I do believe that violent hands were laid Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.

SUFFOLK

A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue! What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?


WARWICK

See how the blood is settled in his face. Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and bloodless, Being all descended to the labouring heart; Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, Attracts the same for aidance ‘gainst the enemy; Which with the heart there cools and ne’er returneth To blush and beautify the cheek again. But see, his face is black and full of blood, His eye-balls further out than when he lived, Staring full ghastly like a strangled man; His hair uprear’d, his nostrils stretched with struggling; His hands abroad display’d, as one that grasp’d And tugg’d for life and was by strength subdued: Look, on the sheets his hair you see, is sticking; His well-proportion’d beard made rough and rugged, Like to the summer’s corn by tempest lodged. It cannot be but he was murder’d here; The least of all these signs were probable.


Warrick Brown vs the Earl of Warwick?

Catholic Cardinal Admits The Truth

"'You can find that book everywhere and the risk is that many people who read it believe that those fairy tales are real,' he said. 'I think I have the responsibility to clear things up to unmask the cheap lies contained in books like that.'"

Oh, wait a minute, he's talking about "The Da Vinci Code." I thought he was talking about the Bible.

And the scary part? This guy, until very recently, was the number 2 guy in "The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith".

You might know it better as its popular name, "The Inquisition."

How Wonderfully Odd

You'll recall, dear reader, my writing about bluegrass and Del McCoury
recently. Well, here's something interesting and odd and maybe just
plain freaky that you'll learn only here:

William Gibson listens to Del, too.

At least I'm pretty sure he does.

I recently decided to re-read "Virtual Light" and its two companion
novels (won't call them a trilogy - each work alone, but better
together), "Idoru" and "All Tomorrow's Parties". In ATP one of the
characters is a wiry and weird singer, Buell Creedmore.

And Chevette, another character we know from Virtual Light, is given a
knife she saw made with her protector and father figure, now dead. The
knife is hammered from a drive chain of a 1952 Vincent White Lighting
motorcycle. The chapter she receives it is titled "Vincent White
Lighting."

Knowing nothing more, it's a powerful story. More so when you know
McCoury's music and singing.

Especially this: Vincent Black Lighting

Billy boy, you deep.

The Taste of The Win

Something odd has happened since I began playing poker.

I know success. I know love, recognition, pride. I am intimate with
their opposites as well. But I really didn't know winning. I suppose
it's because I never played sports, team or individual. I've never
been much of a game player - fun, but not challenging. I don't have
the right sort of mind for chess - I'm too visceral and impatient.
There is satisfaction at finishing a puzzle, writing, making something
with my own hands. But winning is different and I never knew.

Success and accomplishment are satisfying, but typically slow to come
and more cerebral in their nature. But with the win, there is a
precise moment in time. It is clear, not only too the winner, but all
observers, who has won and what they have won. It is one of the prime
points that make sport so attractive. It is easier to excel at a sport
than to become good, wise, or accomplished. The young can win, can be
glorified much more easily than they can master a musical instrument,
succeed at a trade, gain intellectual stature.

But this isn't a reason to spurn sport, to turn away from the win.
There's something both purely animal and uniquely human in the win.
First, for a win, there must be a contest, and a contest requires
fairness. All opponents or contestants must be equal in their chances
to win for there to be a contest. A boxing match between unequal
boxers isn't a contest and doesn't produce the same glory as evenly
matched ones does. A sense of fairness has been observed in our
cousins, other primates. It is innate, a built in module for sensing
what is fair. And they, as well as we, seem to understand cheating as
well and will not be observed cheating or stealing, if possible.

When I sit down at the poker table and the first hand is dealt I feel a
rush of adrenaline that sets my body vibrating. For many, this would
be an obstacle. For me, through age and experience, especially my
training in the theater and hundreds of hours on the stage and
performance, it's a benefit. That burst of energy is a welcome friend.
To me it means, "focus, you're on." And it sustains. And also
through my theatrical training, I know how to play the people, not the
cards. I know how to watch and listen and most importantly, think
under pressure. What you're dealt is random and unlike chess, the
outcomes are not fixed for those that can calculate the percentages and
likelihoods. What is important is how predictable is your opponent.
Staying calm, focused, and watching the opponent. It is a pleasurable
time of hyperawareness.

And it may be that poker requires something to be at stake. Even a
small amount of money (and we only play for small pots), make it more
than a pleasant passing of the time if one loses. Frankly, you can't
play poker without something real at stake - the nature of the game
requires the analysis of gain and loss. If it's just markers, why not
go for it? But if that marker represents real, hard currency it
becomes clear that going for it is not always the best.

And then, if I play well and the randomness doesn't overcome me, there
is a moment, a grand moment when I've won. There's nothing like it.

I'm not concerned about being addicted. First, I know my limits, and
for the moment, they are friendly games, played once or twice a month.
There are too many other things I enjoy out of life and sitting playing
cards every night isn't remotely attractive. And there's the balancing
effect of losing, which is as unpleasant as winning is grand. But the
real chance of losing must be there to make winning sweet. Knowing how
to lose, what to learn from it, keeping balanced in the face of the
loss, is equally valuable.

Winning is better.