sexy

if we don't get green, we'll all be blue...

2010-03-05T10:51:00.001-08:00

An idea came to me yesterday that I think is going to be the big one: Wind turbans. Basically, we are going to design wrapped headgear with a fan device embedded in it that captures wind energy as the wearer walks.

This could be the green industry that turns around unemployment and brings an era of energy independence. Plus, it might improve foreign relations by showing fashion solidarity with various folk in Afghanistan, India, and parts of the Middle East.

Now we just have to find a few mothballed propeller-beanie factories, and we are in business.

the art of what is next...

2010-02-20T21:51:00.000-08:00

So...

If my carpentry career is winding down, what is next?

Was just talking with a buddy the other day and he posed the question: 'Do you ever have those days where you feel like you are just okay at everything: an okay carpenter, an okay guitarist, an okay surfer... but not truly great at any one thing?'

Well... I want to be done with those days. Been having far too many of them. Any suggestions what to dive into? Something that won't be another three years and done?

lose your illusions...

2009-05-25T17:53:00.000-07:00

Alright... Understanding that I have no great false hope that anything remotely like this will ever get passed, let us dive in to proposing some sexy new legislation...

What if we eliminated corporate taxes, capital gains, tariffs, and the like while instituting a flat income tax? Nothing new here, right? But what if we made the flat tax rate variable, keyed to actual annual spending plus a percentage for debt reduction or savings?

Essentially, we create a system where the tax burden is shared equally and encourage growth. But beyond that we de-incentivize federal spending, and especially deficit spending. And the taxpayers reap the benefits. The less Congress spends, the more money each of his or her constituents takes home to use productively.

Just a thought. Other than that Congress would never actually pass such laws, what do you think?

a note to central intelligence...

2009-04-29T19:54:00.000-07:00

An idea today regarding enhanced interrogation methods: Instead of waterboarding, try chocolateboarding. Replace the water with tasty melted chocolate from a chocolate fountain. You would accomplish the exact same goals. And who is really going to prosecute someone for chocolateboarding? The defense: Dude, it was CHOCOLATE.

Also, for extremely tough cases, they would have extra leverage. If the prisoner isn't forthcoming, he can be threatened with having to clean the chocolate fountain.

and one for the road...

2009-02-12T18:37:00.001-08:00

Some time ago, some friends were on a bit of kick. They were growing wheat grass and juicing it, while praising its quality for raising the drinker's health. And I was not immune to the siren song of the little green cup.

Whilst researching the benefits of the wheat grass juice, one came across an interesting bit of information. Apparently there are quite a few folk who, instead of drinking the wheat grass juice, use it in an enema. Now I am not quite sure what the medicinal value of a wheat grass enema might be, but it gave me an idea.

I want to start a chain of, well, restaurants modeled after juice bars like Jamba Juice and Blenders in the Grass. Essentially, we will offer a menu of fruits, vegetables, vitamin supplements, juices and the like. The customer can select whichever ones they like to be juiced and then enjoyed as an enema. The name? Blenders in the A$$.

The same research indicated that there are also those who find medical benefit in coffee enemas. So we will offer another chain to meet this customer's needs. At Starbutts, we will prepare and serve your favorite double decaf skinny mocha latte right where you need it.

Anyway... there is still some room for a few more investors. Who's in?

a lease for my liege...

2008-05-09T17:54:00.000-07:00

I am considering a new career as a real estate developer. My first project will be a medieval-themed neighborhood called...

Chivalry Timbers.

Each house is like a miniature castle. You can have a moat to keep the neighbor's dog from soiling your pristine tilting green. And if the folk down the street are having yet another loud party you can break out the catapult and lob some trash cans their way.

After all, a man's home is his castle. Any takers?

if you're going to drill in ANWR use a Makita...

2008-04-15T22:04:00.000-07:00

Tool companies are missing out on a marketing goldmine. Imagine if they were to sponsor films and television programs that specifically highlighted their products. We are talking product placement on crack.

For instance, who wouldn't watch La Femme Makita? A highly physically God-glorifying female assassin uses Makita cordless power tools to take out her targets. We are talking 15 gauge finish nailer shots from across the room, interrogations with belt sanders and 1/8" round-over bits, and some serious impact driving. She will finally prove whether or not a reciprocating saw truly saws all. Plus, they could use filters to emphasize the light blue color and burn it further into our collective subconscious.

survival of the fitted...

2008-03-23T00:16:00.000-07:00

Rolling through a lovely conversation with a lovely lady some days ago something sort of wandered into my head. A lot of environmentalists believe in evolution. And a lot of Christians seem to ignore the whole dominion thing and take more of "it's all going to burn" approach to the environment. That seems a bit backward to me for this reason:

If species can mutate into other species, and over time a one-celled organism can evolve into such diverse creatures as sperm whales, ocelots, and honeysuckles, why should we care if a few go extinct. Even if all the kinds of living things in all the world were to disappear but one, then why couldn't that one species evolve into a proper panoply of life?

It seems to me that of all people creationists, who believe that what we have is what we have, should be concerned about preserving species.

worth its weight in rubies...

2007-12-15T13:30:00.000-08:00

Business ideas are flowing like milk and honey. So I have another on tap if anyone cares to invest:

Redneck gift baskets.

They are filled to overflowing with alcohol, tobacco, and firearms. Skoal. Southern Comfort. 12-gauge shotgun shells. XXL novelty t-shirts. And Wal-Mart gift certificates. Maybe a Jeff Foxworthy video on VHS. And instead of a basket, we will use an oil-change drip pan.

I'll bet we sell a ka-ching-illion of these suckers.

a marsupial in the hand...

2007-12-05T19:00:00.000-08:00

We have a lot of big eucalyptus trees 'round these parts. At lunchtime today Greg said that they were originally brought over from Australia to be used as pilings for the pier. As it turned out, the wood rots and is not useful for that particular application. But the trees thrive and smell even to this day.

Well, to my thinking, if you are going to have to have eucalyptus trees around, why not make the best of it? Import koala bears. This area would be even sexier with those cute little fuzzballs wandering around in our trees.

Plus, with a new easy food supply, the local condor population might thrive.

call me israel...

2007-11-30T16:33:00.000-08:00

I have it from a well-informed inside source that the gray whales are migrating right now and that they have been breaching, right off our very own coastlands. And apparently a whale breach is significantly different than a breach birth. When a whale breach(es?) it jumps up out of the water FACE first. Though it would be pretty cool if one could pull it off the other way. I mean, maybe it is like the X-Games. A trick seems impossible until one athlete finally pulls off the triple-axle-endie-360-tailgrab-wangshiggie in competition and by the next games every other kid in Decorah, Iowa is doing them on Main Street. So one of these days one of those whales has to get on that...

So I had another million-dollar idea. Nerf harpoons. All the fun of whaling without endangering species. The Japanese would eat that up! Especially if you worked it into a game show. Plus you could make accessories: eye-patches, peglegs, and whaling dinghies.

Any investors?

without a little barleycorn...

2007-11-14T18:50:00.000-08:00

Was talking with a fellow hammer-swinger at work today about music. He leant me a great documentary about Townes Van Zandt. So here is the question: Where are the great songwriters today? There are some great musicians out there, and some good tunes. But when I listen to Townes or to Dylan, they have a way of weaving a story in song. There is just something satisfying in a good solid narrative that draws you in, takes you places, if only for a few minutes. Thirsty for some solid American mythology writ sweet in gritty song.

One question that entered in... what is left to sing about? The folk folks of decades past had the coalminers the moonshiners the hobos the outlaws... those society left behind and those who left society behind. But it seems like these days the edge has lost its sexy. I mean, it seems like most of the downtrodden have trod themselves. You can't write the great American song about the meth-head-who-smells-like-piss the union-member-that-prices-himself-out-of-the-industry the high-tech-hacker-who-robs-banks-via-the-internet. And even the staples of the balladeers of yore, like peace and civil rights have become mindlessly mainstream. Every time we send troops somewhere to clean up some international mess you see the huge corporate-sponsored post-peacenik rally full of college kids cracked out on Red Bull and wheat grass breaking out 'Masters of War' as if they'd wrote it. I might be able to take them seriously if I heard just one student make the case in a way that gives the slightest impression that they could at least point out the country in question on a map, or knew something about the geopolitical costs and benefits. I don't know... It makes me want to write a song about standing over the graves of the 'Masters of Peace'. At least that would have a slight hint of damn-the-man.

I know of some great artists that write good songs that take you into a moment, but I need some legends, some stories, some myths... So there is the question... is there anyone making music to slake my thirst? Are there folk telling tales today?

In the meantime, some of the other carpenters and I may start a band: Staiyn Graiyd.
Already working on The Ballad of John Freeman Whipp.

living it up...

2007-10-31T22:20:00.000-07:00

Alright, new invention:

I was hanging some sick handcrafted walnut elevator doors the other day when had a sort of inventive epiphany. Introducing...

wait for it...

The Libravator.

Yep, that's right, folks, the libravator. It is an elevator lined with bookshelves. Think of it... How much time do you spend going up and down elevators? What if you could spend that time constructively reading?

It could be argued that the average elevator ride is somewhere between thirty seconds and a minute. But, think of the aggregate of all those thirty second rides. Over twenty or thirty years you could probably finish War and Peace. All we need now are some really effective bookmarks.

So I am starting the American Libravator Company. Anyone looking for a sure-fire investment opportunity?

close your eyes...

2007-10-27T00:27:00.000-07:00

New business idea, a lucrative non-profit. Here is the concept:

There is the Make-A-Wish foundation, where they find out what poor, ill, or underprivileged kids most desire, their biggest dreams, and they make them come true. Well, we are going to institute a similar charity, but one more in line with democratic and egalitarian ideals. At the Take-A-Wish foundation, we will choose wealthy children, children of privilege and take away each one’s most treasured or cherished possession. This will necessarily make all the less-privileged kids feel better about themselves, and better about their lot in life. Make-A-Wish only benefits the few children who are selected. Take-A-Wish will benefit all the rest of the children. There is no quicker way to national happiness than through active social leveling.

Someone will have to serve as the founder and director of this selfless endeavor, with at least a six-figure compensation package. I may humbly offer my services in that capacity. Anybody want to be on the board?

Donations!

and the survey says...

2007-10-11T21:05:00.000-07:00

The autumn has me contemplating:
shall I grow out the beard again?

the sun also rises...

2007-09-30T14:01:00.000-07:00

Mom and I were talking the other day about the names my younger brother and his wife are considering for their second daughter, who will be making her grand entrance shortly. And we were discussing the likely parallels with my Dad’s family. My older brother will likely follow Dad’s pattern of an eldest daughter and three sons. My younger brother (who I have affectionately dubbed ‘She Shooter’) will likely have all daughters. But if the pattern holds true, it puts me in the position of the uncle who traveled the world, got married in his forties and had one son-of-his-old-age. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Somehow the conversation wandered to a story of a family member allegedly celebrating the solstice by dancing naked on the roof of a skyscraper. Yes, in fact there are pagans in the family, or perhaps more properly Neo-Pagans… I am not sure how these things work, perhaps they are Free Reformed Neo-Pagans of America…but whatever branch or sect, some of my dearly beloved relatives worship naked with drums. Pretty cool, huh? So there was an alleged skyscraper incident. And it got me to wondering about a couple of things:

What if the sun were a person, a deity. Would it really find naked folk gyrating at solstice-time all that interesting? I mean this is the same sun that travels over the Amazon basin every day, and European beaches. It sees lots and lots of naked folk probably doing lots and lots of different things every day. Although I suppose the same could be said for singing or praying or sacrificing animals for that matter.

And getting back to skyscrapers… what if the events of September 11th hadn’t been an act of terrorism? What if a couple of jets were trying to make up some time at the beginning of a transcontinental flight by sort of jetting over downtown Manhattan? And at the same time a group of aging hippies had decided to welcome the September mid-morning sun with some naked drumming and dancing atop a skyscraper as they are apparently wont to do. The pilots are minding their own business, concentrating on the intricacies of modern aviation when WHOAH… a blinding flash of bright white, wrinkle-ridden naked hippie-flesh gyrating on the spire of the Chrysler building! I certainly don’t mean to make light of those tragic events, but imagine how much simpler the six years since would have been if it was a simple religious accident instead of a horrible act of religious war.

Think of it. Pagan terrorism would be decidedly easier to deal with than Islamic terrorism. With Muslim fundamentalists you have to watch out for homemade explosives, guerrilla tactics, and WMDs. Pagans wouldn’t use nukes for fear of harming the Earth. At worst you would have to watch out for a sacrificial dagger or something, and much of the time they are naked, and have no place to hide their knives.

There isn’t an officially pagan country to invade (none that I know of anyway). There are a lot of nations out there that are essentially pagan, but nobody really makes it official. And even if there were one, it would be much easier to prosecute a war against them. It can’t be too difficult to bomb folks back to the Stone Age if they are already 95% of the way there. Plus, it seems like most American pagans I know are pacifists, though admittedly fairly militant in their pacifism.

All in all, though, I guess the world is what it is, things swing how they swing, and you rarely get to pick your fights unless you pick your fights. And I am really kind of glad it is the Islamic fundies we are up against and not the pagan folk, because I think it really pisses them off that not only do we HAVE naked-skyscraper-drum-dancing-knife-wielding-hippie-pacifists here, but we let them VOTE and we care about them and hug them on the holidays… at least when they have their clothes on.

why shake the chains ye wrought...

2007-09-22T23:12:00.000-07:00

Watched a wonderful documentary tonight, called 'God Grew Tired of Us'. I don't think have seen a film that really captured the realities of displacement into a culture different than one's own like this one. The filmmakers did a beautiful job of turning that cultural foreignness into the American culture. You get to walk with these kids from their homes in Sudan, through lushness, war, the community of the camps, and then into Pittsburgh and Syracuse as an African.

And then there was tea in Montecito with Adam Smith. Started 'Wealth of Nations' today for the first time, a brilliant ride into the heart of capitalism. From the first sentence it was interesting... straightforward... all business. What I particularly noticed were the presupposed elements with which Smith works. The first sentence bears the nation-state and time.

I guess it deserves more thought and more spinning out, but there is something in the intersection between the raw realities of work, the land, meeting our physical needs and desires, and the realities of community and alienation in the aftermath of war that the Lost Boys of Sudan faced in their journey from the Nile to the Allegheny.

tell me true...

2007-09-14T17:07:00.000-07:00

What is beauty?

Not asking what things are beautiful. Am asking what you mean when you say something is beautiful. Is beauty a correspondence to the ideal (It is good, proportional, etc. in substance and form)? Is beauty subjective (It makes me feel a certain way)?

Not looking for anything heady. Just curious what you mean when you say something is beautiful.

Pray tell. No room for shyness on this one...

all's red that ends red...

2007-08-30T17:01:00.000-07:00

I really like those Budweiser radio commercials... 'Real American Heroes...' They have been on forever and I still cannot but stop and listen, see if it is one haven't heard before. Well today one came on and I had a bit of an idea: they need to do a series of beer commercials saluting real Communist heroes. Budweiser could salute:

Mr. Peoples' Manifesto Writer
Mr. Guerrilla Revolutionary Ammo Carrier
Mr. Deputy Undersecretary for the Manufacture of Lightbulbs
Mr. Tiananmen Square Tank Commander.

I don't know. Just think there are all those nameless, faceless masses out there who will never get their just due on commercial radio. It is an injustice. Kind of makes you want go on strike or something.

total eclipse of the heart...

2007-08-28T17:04:00.000-07:00

Today's question:

If you had your druthers (and I really think you should) what would be the capital of the world?

the heartbeat of america...

2007-08-25T23:51:00.000-07:00

Among several other wonderfully pleasant things today, I finished 'The Way of the Pilgrim'. 'Franny & Zooey', by J.D. Salinger is one of my great favorite books of all time. I love the Glass family, and have felt a strange sort of kinship toward them. Well, I also feel a sort of kinship for my friend Sara, one of the best givers-of-gifts that I have had the pleasure of knowing. Well, some time ago, Sara gave me 'The Way', which is the book Franny is reading in Salinger's novel.

I walked 'The Way of the Pilgrim' with a bit of a mixed heart. It was an enjoyable read, a fun path with some bright narrative elements. But the soul of the book is the call to practice the Jesus Prayer as a sort of spiritual discipline. Essentially the idea is that one can 'pray without ceasing' by reciting the prayer 'Lord, be merciful to me' over and over thousands of times a day. Eventually the prayer becomes automatic. And then, with certain practices, one can get the prayer to connect with one's heartbeat so that one actually prays the Jesus Prayer unceasingly in the very heartbeat.

My first response was a sort of hiccup that was more than a hiccup. The pilgrim who is narrating the book is actually looking for salvation through the prayer. And he presents it to several people along the way as a means of attaining salvation. I don't know much about Russian Orthodox doctrine, but I do know that no practice, no mantra, and even no prayer will save any of us. We are saved by faith in Jesus, the real person who died and raised himself from the dead. And we can express that faith in prayer, especially in asking him for mercy. But the repetition of a prayer as a sort of mantra is simply not in itself going to put us into right relationship with God.

At the same time, there is something beautiful in the prayer, I think. One of the key things that it is supposed to do is cause you to dwell on God constantly. And you can imagine that if you are addressing someone constantly, you are on some level recognizing that person's presence and entering into a kind of relationship with that person all of the time. I know there are huge gaps of time where I am consumed with everything but attention to God, much less conversation with him. It is sort of tempting to try this discipline, not as a means to salvation, nor as a sort of vain repetition, but simply as a constant personal reminder to live in relation to the Father, to remember him as he remembers me.

Also was reading in John today (Tim sparked me back onto the book recently). And hit the passage where Jesus is telling his disciples that the sheep know the shepherd's voice. The simplicity of this reality hit me hard. I have wrestled a bit lately and at different times with the desire to authentically know God, to experience him. At the same time I have had times lately where I am looking and asking... where in all that I run into in life is God? What in religion is just folk imagining and doing things, and what is really God meeting his people? What in the seemingly providential is God's letting me know that he loves me, and what might be coincidence? Is the voice in my guts the Spirit, the Enemy, or the chilis that Jeryl spiked the pasta sauce with? But the simple reality is that his sheep hear his voice and follow the Shepherd. Looking forward to dwelling in that simplicity.

a bit of a ditty...

2007-08-23T00:09:00.000-07:00

My soul is of the desert
My love is of the sea
Between them stand vast mountains
And dark forests thick with trees.

I thought to dig a tunnel
And then to cut a road
But I have no ax or shovel
Nor a mule to bear the load.

a circus absurd...

2007-08-19T23:42:00.000-07:00

The other day someone called me, sarcastically and in passing, 'Boss Man'. To which I replied 'Wasn't the Big Boss Man the police officer in the WWF back in the day? (And we ain't talkin' the World Wildlife Fund here.) Hadn't thought of classic WWF in quite some time. Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, Macho Man Randy Savage, Hacksaw Jim Duggan... Never got into it much, but I remember those guys were larger than life. The good wrestlers versus the bad wrestlers. And in the Midwestern industrial suburbs where I grew up, there were a lot of kids who looked up to those guys because they were tough. A lot of times it seemed like it was the kids who didn't have the best home lives.

Then it occurred to me. A policeman, an indian, a construction worker, all with their shirts off... isn't that basically the Village People? I don't know... just think it is kind of funny that the extremes of urban homosexual and redneck macho end up in the same place... sweaty guys in costumes with their shirts off.

Correlations between pro wrestling, gay pop, Sodom and Gomorrah? Throw in some Marxism and attack fundamentalist Christianity, and you've got the makings of a proper doctoral thesis. Anyone out there looking for a doctorate in Sociology?

american history in miniature...

2007-08-19T23:40:00.000-07:00

‘How’ said the Red Man.
‘Let me show you’ said the White Man.
‘Ni hao’ said the Yellow Man.

the current that sweeps all away...

2007-08-15T16:43:00.000-07:00

reading:

'Florentine Histories' by Niccolo Machiavelli.
The Histories are a bit of a trip. A great Italian political soap opera crossbred with Thucydides sort of history that is far more than history. Factions. Amazing view of the divisions of a city, in all the richness of possibility. In politics and war, one must know the realities, the possibilities, and most of all the intended end. Limited war is inherently problematic.

'Selected Poems 1934-1952' by Dylan Thomas.
Hmmm... Words that must be read aloud, as deeply and powerfully as possible. Oh, for more Welsh a voice. A dark, sound dance of mind and guts, nature, sex and the sea. My first real foray into Dylan other than a few chance readings of his more popular poems. So far, being pulled out to sea.

listening to:

'Black Holes and Revelations' by Muse.
It is like tough electronic emo crack. Kip plays it a lot at poker. Can't stop listening to it, really. And tempted to pick up 'Absolution' which is another great album.

'Sleepless Nights' by Gram Parsons and the Flying Burrito Bros.
Sexy, like GP's solo albums, but a tad more upbeat, a shade less spare and gritty, but a whole lot of goodness. And a little less sort of well... sinful?... than 'Guilded Palace of Sin'. If I skip directly to a track it is 'Tonight the Bottle Let Me Down'. But SN is full of goodness through and through.

'Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven' by Godspeed You! Black Emperor.

The Blues... Lightnin' Hopkins. Mississippi Fred McDowell. Son House.

because fortune is a woman...

2007-08-09T00:26:00.000-07:00

knowing how way leads on to way...

2007-08-05T16:32:00.000-07:00

Jenny was saying that in one of her classes they are traveling around Iowa looking at different farming systems comparing the systems, techniques, and outcomes. Basically they are asking the question, 'What is sustainable?'. It is an interesting question. On the one hand there is ecological/resource sustainability. Whatever we do, sooner or later, the environmental chickens are going to come home to roost. At the same time you have real-world market sustainability. In a global and integrated economy, agriculture must be able to meet the nation's food (and possibly fuel) demands in a complex world economy and in a way that works, that makes a profit or that provides incentive to actually do it and do it well.

It is exciting to see some shifts toward organic farming and to see niche possibilities popping up as the market diversifies a bit and there is a demand for other options than mass manufactured foodstuff. Admittedly, I probably have a somewhat stylized and romantic perspective on the world of farming.

But I remember reading Czeslaw Milosz about returning to his grandparents' home, the forest where he had grown up by a river in Poland (or Lithuania?). He had spent his childhood in the woods, getting to know the trees and birds, his own world, a space that you can sense in his poetry. Under communism, the forest and the buildings had been cut down along with everything for miles around to make a giant collective farm. He finally returned to fields along the river following the bare contours of a world that was left only to an old man's memory and words. Perhaps it was not simply communism that erased those family lands. The farmstead that has been a staple way of life in Western culture since the Neolithic may disappear under capitalism as well. Whether it falls to ideas or to the market, it simply may not be sustainable as a means to meet our culture's needs.

All the rivers flow into the sea, but the sea is not full. I know that the prairies become farmsteads and that the forests become fields become forests again. Staple foods became hay with the horse-driven economy. And hay turned to corn and beans when the car came to drive the horse into history. But I can't help but will to imagine a way in which we can live and live well with our land, our poetry, and a little hard work.

wrecked him...

2007-08-02T21:14:00.000-07:00

I was going to list all the things I have done for money. But I changed my mind.

a couple two three...

2007-07-31T19:38:00.000-07:00

The more I carpent, the more am intrigued with Jesus' choice of being born into the household of a carpenter. I mean, who gets to choose those kind of details on the front end of life? Not usually really big on reading into things, but the smell of all the wood shavings, the sound of tools, the sense-immersed concreteness of everything...

Have been reading a bit about architecture. There is some fun to be had in the properties of different materials. All force acting upon a structure as either compression (pushing) or tension (pulling). Stone is amazing under compression, but it cracks easily under tension. Steel has wonderful capacities in tension and compression until it is very cold or hot. But wood.

Wood has good compression strength and amazing tensile strength. Look at a tree. Every part of the tree above ground is reaching, branching out further and further, balancing above the ground in a dance of tension and compression. Then open it up and look at the wood. The grain made up of layers, producing the strength of a composite structure in a direction. The design is beautiful. And working wood with chisel in hand and the tree in mind... Buber's example at the beginning of 'I and Thou'.

I think of Blake's Ancient of Days. God, the creator of all things, the one who fashioned men and trees chose to be born into the household of a carpenter.

an observation...

2007-07-15T21:57:00.000-07:00

Jesus was a carpenter.
Socrates was a stonemason.
Buddha was a coddled prince.

why not...

2007-07-15T21:37:00.000-07:00

Have been circling this book for a while, and finally bit the bullet and bought it. Only a few chapters in, it is tremendously informative, readable, and fun. Don't think I have just plain enjoyed a read this much in a long time.

'Why Buildings Stand Up' by Mario Salvadori

And if you are planning on adding a skyscraper on your back forty, it is a must read.

you may say i'm a dreamer...

2007-07-09T17:27:00.000-07:00

Paul and I were talking the other day in the wilds of Coast Village Road after rambling around Cold Springs for a bit. As usual the conversation sort of wandered everywhere as we wandered, winding up the hill to a great vantage-perch. Well, one of the things we were talking about was Timothy, and specifically where another Paul told a particular Timothy to pay attention to the public reading of Scripture.

When thinking of such things I often remember a particular conversation from my meteoric semester of seminary education. I took a class on Old Testament Introduction with a wonderful professor who opened up many of the beautiful intricacies of form and content in the Scriptures. It was wondrous, and a little overwhelming for all of us, I think. Now there were some folk in the class who, being especially practical and zealous became frustrated. And one of these students, a man I called Shlomo (to this day I can't remember his real name) confronted the good doctor after class one day. If it was necessary to understand the complexity of the warp and woof of the literature to follow the meaning of the Scriptures, how could Shlomo teach a group of Jr. High kids? Wasn't the Bible accessible to everyone? I can't remember what the professor's answer was exactly. But I remember that for me the following image was formed...

You can set the rifle on a bench, unscrew the plate, take it apart into pieces, and marvel at the intricacy of the springs, the finely machined pieces, the miniature masterpieces of engineering that go into a fine crafted firearm. But to use the rifle as a rifle, you must put the pieces back in order (good luck), screw the plate back on, load it, point it at something, and pull the trigger.

The Scriptures were made to be read aloud, complete. As I understand it, the Torah was to be read aloud in the hearing of all the people. The narratives come to life as storytelling. The words of the prophets rain and ring and hammer. And the epistles encourage and exhort and teach best when read aloud to the church in their entirety. I don't know. Not a big advocate of much, really. I just think that the Word among other things is mythology. As we hear it spoken aloud, it forms our minds, crafts our ways of thinking, gives us words, introduces its laws into the way we think and feel and act.

Wouldn't it be cool to sort of reintroduce the public reading of Scripture to the church? I am sure that there are folk who are doing it. But it seems like it would be fun to just get together sometimes and apart from a sermon or too much framing just read a whole book of Scripture aloud.

Another cool thing would be if instead of a sermon as such, a book of Scripture or an extended passage was read aloud and then some of the elders and teachers of the church were to dive into it, discuss it... a sort of interactive teaching conversation. And the young could listen and learn the Scriptures, brotherly conversation, gracious speech.

In the interest of sustainability, just a few recycled thoughts...
I am stoked to give 'em a try.

come as you are...

2007-07-01T14:53:00.000-07:00

And did the Buddha never
Deep in contemplation
Of being and becoming nothing
Swat mindlessly a passing fly?

down the hatch...

2007-06-28T11:43:00.000-07:00

Some time ago, I was speaking with a friend who had been a paramedic. And in the course of conversation, she mentioned that usually drunk drivers survive the car accidents they cause. The innocent folk they run into bear the brunt of injury. She had some intriguing ideas about why that might be, but basically, it is in general an accepted fact. So I had this idea...

We should introduce legislation mandating that in order to occupy a motor vehicle, one must be legally drunk.

Think of it. An immediate dramatic decrease in traffic-related deaths. The economy booms as alcoholic beverage sales go through the roof and the auto body industry increases significantly. The American farmer enjoys new demand for the grains from which to make the necessary whiskey and beer to keep America safe. Whole areas of government bureaucracy are eliminated as the ATF becomes merely the TF. And with a shift to pure ethyl alcohol for auto fuel, we could kill two birds with one stone, providing the liquor to lower traffic deaths while saving the environment by eliminating our dependence on foreign oil.

There are a few minor considerations. We will likely need to have some sort of subsidy so that even the economically disadvantaged can afford to get properly intoxicated. Also, the drinking age must be eliminated so that we can provide safety for all vehicular passengers. We must protect America's children.

I think it is clear that to save American lives, we need this legislation. Let's get America swerving in the right direction!

alas...

2007-06-21T15:50:00.000-07:00

Glancing, spin me like wool, fine wool.
Weave what is I with your eyes
As the craftsman her glass,
As the potter his clay.

if i told you you had a nice body...

2007-06-16T16:16:00.000-07:00

Alright, the order of the day is pickup lines (and I am not talking about the winch on the front of your truck).

My personal favorite is one that I am saving for just that perfect occasion:
"I have the gift of tongues. Want to interpret?"

So... what are your favorites, especially ones that you have actually used or that have been used on you?

may i have some peta for my hamas...

2007-06-14T17:21:00.000-07:00

Been watching a bit of Charlie Rose lately. Discovered that you can watch back episodes at www.charlierose.com . Went through most of the interviews Charlie conducted with the several Israeli prime ministers and leaders Olmert, Sharon, Barak & Peres. I wanted to get a clearer picture of the situation over there over from Camp David on... What I keep hearing from the Israelis, both hawks and doves, is essentially that the Palestinian leaders, the Syrians, et. al. talk a lot about peace and what they are willing to do, but that there is never any action. The world puts pressure on Israel to move forward in implementing concessions and they do move forward to a point, but they keep saying that they need something more than words from the Palestinian side to proceed. Several of them characterized Mahmoud Abbas as an honest, well-intentioned statesman who they thought they could work with. But they have yet to see the Palestinians DO one thing to stem the terrorism or to make any progress in their responsibilities.

Enter the past few days' events. What are we supposed to do with a Palestinian state that is so volatile? It highlights one of the great problems for Israel. When all is said and done and there is a contiguous Palestinian West Bank and Gaza, what kind of neighbors can the Israelis expect to have? How can Israel 'give back' strategic areas when doing so creates a salient that can so easily become a staging area for Hamas or even something worse?

I guess the big question is... what can the Palestinians do to finally create a stable government, free of these unstable organizations such as Hamas, that their neighbors can realistically deal with. It seems like the majority of Israelis and Palestinians who seem to want a workable situation where they can just live and work and enjoy the land in peace deserve an answer.

But the thing that chaps my chaps is that when Israel does anything that is perceived to destabilize the peace process, like their response in Lebanon last summer, the world comes down on them pretty hard. But when the Palestinians, or the Syrians, or Hamas, or Hezbollah do things that raise question about even the possibility of ever achieving a workable solution, we seem to pussyfoot around it. I don't get it.

in the year 2000...

2007-06-10T17:55:00.000-07:00

if mama has to go through labor...

2007-06-07T14:57:00.000-07:00

On the Great Trek eastward last spring, we stopped in Moab and Arches to get some hiking and biking in. Beautiful country, great fun. Well, we were walking up a steepish trail past some cool petroglyphs and toward some of the arches when I experienced one of those great moments of insight. This trail being a popular one in a national park, there were lots of families meandering up it. At least the parents were meandering; the kids were circling like my dad's springer spaniel on the portage trail. I mean, I am in the prime of life, relatively active, and all that, but even so there is no way in communism that could keep pace with those little circling supercharged-batteries-on-two-legs. So a thought came to me...

Why do we take those kids when they love nothing more than pure motion, try to stack them into classrooms and rows of desks and try to get them to listen and read and take in information? Meanwhile, their parents who likely just want a few moments of rest for contemplation have to sit in a cubicle or on an assembly line and move repetitively all day. It just doesn't make sense.

So we desperately need legislation requiring child labor. Think about it. When a kid is weaned and walking, about the age we would shuffle them off to school, we give them a job. They've got boundless energy and nimble little fingers. Then, after 30 or 40 years of solid work experience, they retire at the prime of life, armed with myriad questions to work out in their ensuing education, for which they have already saved up tuition. If necessary, we could give them a couple years of primary school before sending them into the workforce, enough to acquire basic math and elementary reading, or they could learn these on-the-job.

China is already employing this strategy to a limited extent and their economy is growing at something like 10% per annum. Ours is inching along at something like 2%. Think what would happen if we one-upped them and institutionalized their shady little secret weapon of child labor.

On a somewhat less serious note, imagine how greatly we could decrease our dependency on fossil fuels if we simply installed tot-sized hamster wheels instead of chairs in elementary school classrooms. Give each kid a coke and some zingers, and... bam! energy crisis eliminated.

some cheese with your whine...

2007-06-05T15:32:00.000-07:00

So I was lamenting the pitiable state of my palate the other day. Actually, was just saying that I enjoy wine very much, but that when the label or the critics say that it carries a hint of blackberry or a touch of truffle, most often I find these flavors and aromas rather elusive. I certainly know what I enjoy and am getting a sense of some of the elements of the enjoyment of the variety of the vine. Well, the other party involved in the conversation summoned up his best aristocratic New England wine critic accent and made some comment about a hint of cow dung and poison oak or some such lowbrow fare.

And then it hit me like a bolt of lightning from out the sky on a clear summer's day, a moment of pure interpretive epiphany! ...the MEANING of the scene in Napoleon Dynamite at the FFA, where Napoleon must tell what has gone wrong with each of the bottles of milk. Brilliant!

agriculture can be fun...

2007-06-05T15:28:00.000-07:00

I remember reading about the invention of paintball some time ago. If memory serves, it involved the convergence of a friendly disagreement in a conversation regarding the relative survival skills acquired in urban versus rural upbringings and the opportune discovery of an existing tool used by sheep ranchers for marking their stock. And I remember thinking that nothing leads to great leaps of civilization like disinterested intellectual discourse and Yankee problem-solving. In a Parisian café, for instance, such a disagreement would have remained a mere intellectual argument, possibly eventually resulting in deeply entrenched rival philosophies. Never in America: In America we resolve our disagreements through science and action. We are not satisfied with a web of untested hypotheses and stillborn ideas. Instead, Americans will devise an experiment to test the point in question in a free-market economy of ideas, in this case a few wooded acres of the New England countryside.

So I was visiting some friends the other day. They were recently blessed with the birth of their firstborn, a beautiful and quite a serious little boy. This was the first I had seen them since the birth, so when my friend said that he had to run an errand, I offered to join him, desiring to catch a bit of windshield time and see how he was holding up in the whirlwind of new fatherhood. As it turns out we were going to pick up a breast pump. Now, I have had a few accidental interactions with the electric breast pump, cleaning a nozzle among a sink full of dishes and that sort of thing. But this was my first time ever actually seeing the machine. It is an intriguing thing. The pump had the look of a piece of medical equipment, like something that you would see in a hospital, in the birthing unit, of course, as there were not enough lights or dials or buttons or tubes for it to be for the ICU or emergency room or anything. It is portable, compact, and yet not so small that you wouldn’t notice it sitting on an end table. But the medical nature was masked, mitigated visually by the fact that it had rounded edges, it was made of tough plastic, and it was the sort of color usually reserved for newborns’ toys. And reaching from it, the simplest clear plastic tube sat prepared to bridge the gap between machine and man (or in this case, decidedly woman). What a marvelously engineered device!

Picture a Renaissance painting of the Madonna and Child. There sits Mary, seated in her glory as a beautiful, new mother. And to her breast she holds… a plastic cup connected to a plastic tube and a brightly colored plastic box with a dial on it, the Child sitting elsewhere in the room. We have actually taken the most beautiful, innocent, intimate connection between a mother and child and MECHANIZED it.

So in my momentary passing glance at this breast pump, being an American and a man I found myself wondering aloud, which was invented first: the breast pump or the automatic cow milking machine, and whether one of the inventions led to the other or whether they were imagined separately. The Lady of the House immediately posited that likely the dairy version came first, as the need for the people version would only have been terribly useful after women began to join the workforce. This made good sense, but I decided to investigate the subject. As it turns out, she appears to have been correct. It seems that the earliest suction milking machines were being patented in the 1850’s. The breast pump, on the other hand, was invented in the 20th century by a chess player, a man named Edward Lasker. Mr. Lasker was a German-born American with degrees in mechanical and electrical engineering, and he played chess, contending even for the U.S. championship. Lasker also played go, and even helped found the American Go Association. A go player invented the breast pump! In many ways, chess is a beautiful game, logical, mathematical. Go is graceful. It is organic. It is a dance and it is war, life and death. And a go player invented the breast pump! Why is this significant?

I have seen two faces a great deal lately, both looking out my window and in the mirror. One shines upon nature and upon life, the organic. The other’s eyes brighten at technology, art, the created and the new, industry and organization. The faces look in different directions, and with distance from a point their paths diverge. Essentially the difference between what we call organic and what we call industrial is the agency of man. The fewer times we act upon something, the shallower we go toward the essential elements in our imposition of order, the more we call it natural, organic. But our words betray a friendly disagreement at this point. What is organic is characterized by life. Things alive are composed according to a separation of powers, a division of labor. Looking in ourselves we see different organs with different functions. And as we attempt to recreate the natural orders, mimic them, we act with craft and industry, essentially, we organize. We even create corporations in our own image, magnificent fictitious bodies that act with the power of thousands, imposing their own order on the natural world. And so the other face looks away, toward nature. We attempt to mitigate the agency of man, we place value on the organic. And yet we cannot exorcise the other face. To do so would be to eliminate the agency of man. It would be suicide.

So what does Yankee problem solving do with this friendly disagreement? That remains to be seen. Perhaps there are instruments already existing to resolve the question, a sheep marker or a milking machine, to be exercised on a few wooded acres in New England.

youth and enthusiasm...

2007-06-03T16:02:00.000-07:00

A thought occurred to me the other day. Both the race car driver and the fighter pilot use speed and mad maneuvering skills to defeat their opponents. But the race car driver is using those skills to get ahead of the other guy. The fighter pilot is using them to get behind him.

The other day I was driving on the 101 and this sedan blew by me in traffic like something out of Talladega Nights. And, expecting to see a wannabe Ricky Bobby, I turned to catch a glimpse of this skilled but frightening driver. I swear this woman probably played the organ at church maybe thirty or forty years ago. The sweetest looking little old lady, thin with grandmotherly grey hair, and the intense look of a fighter pilot in her blessed old eyes.

Usually my experience with elderly drivers has been the opposite, though. But as much as sometimes I would like to be frustrated with the grey-haired man driving a Buick like it was a mule, I just can't really work up that kind of emotion any more for several reasons.

For one thing, I can't help but think that there is a good chance that this guy was driving a tank across Europe or Korea, or a landing craft in the Pacific while facing enemy fire, say 50 or 60 years ago. So if he drives his car like a tank now, he's probably earned the right. Perhaps he didn't, but I should probably give him the benefit of the doubt.

Another reason is that I think about the changes that have taken place in these peoples' lifetimes. I remember the way my grandfather held the steering wheel when he was driving. I asked my dad one time why he did it that way. I guess on the old tractors (maybe new ones, too) there was a knob for turning it around. And, though he was a great driver, he still drove his Oldsmobile like it was an International Harvester. I remember him talking once about how when he was a kid, you were lucky to see a biplane come to town crop dusting or barnstorming, and when he had grey hair we were putting shuttles in orbit regularly.

But I suppose the biggest reason for me is that I can't help but think about those people who I know and love who are old and full of life, who age has finally come upon, and who have to reconcile themselves to their bodies not working the way they once did and to watching their spouses' worlds grow smaller and smaller as they are able to do less and less.

All that to say, I think it is important to respect our elders, that our days may be long in the land. We'll get there soon enough.

And at the same time, I must say that the 55-year old guy with his captain's hat who intentionally dodges in to cut me off in his shiny Cadillac because he thinks he deserves the road more than I do... that dude is fair game.

self contained...

2007-05-30T17:52:00.000-07:00

Imagine shipping containers. Pretty exciting, huh?

Well, I guess folks are making houses out of them now. Go ahead, Google it. Pretty slick. You can take a number of empty shipping containers (we have plenty of empties here thanks to a healthy trade deficit), cut doors and windows, etc., in them, weld them together, finish them out, and voila (or Vila), you have a shiny new house. And it is rather economical, hip, environmentally friendly-ish and nearly indestructible. Can't wait to play with one and see if I can't pull it hoff.

The great thing about it is the irony. We have outsourced everything but our children, packed nearly every postmodern artifact and cultural object in a great continuous container caravan from China. Almost everything you touch during the day came over in a shipping container. Our lives are commercial products, including the 40 plus most of us sell to a company during the week. And now, finally, we can put the decimal point on the great economic equation of life... An eco-friendly economic oikos. What a great Ikea... I mean idea. Pretty sexy if you ask me.

king and country...

2007-05-21T15:29:00.000-07:00

Am cruising through Dwight D. Eisenhower's 'Crusade in Europe', his memoirs for the period of the Second World War. His descriptions of the various personalities involved are succinct, but gracious and insightful. I have especially appreciated the glimpses of George Patton and Winston Churchill. Especially growing to appreciate Churchill's tenacity of will and his skill at using his oration, logic, wit, and any other weapon at hand to get his way when he had his mind set on something.

On the eve of the Normandy invasion, apparently Eisenhower, acting as Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces turned down a number of people's requests to observe the landing from the ships, including Churchill's request. Churchill was too important to the war effort to risk as a casualty.

He replied with complete accuracy, that while I was in sole command of the operation by virtue of authority delegated to me by both governments, such authority did not include administrative control over the British organization. He said, "Since this is true it is not part of your responsibility, my dear General, to determine the exact composition of any ship's company in His Majesty's Fleet. This being true," he rather slyly continued, "by shipping myself as a bona fide member of a ship's complement it would be beyond your authority to prevent my going."

But what is great about it is the counter:

I later heard that the King had learned of the Prime Minister's intention and, while not presuming to interfere with the decision reached by Mr. Churchill, he sent word that if the Prime Minister felt it necessary to go on the expedition he, the King, felt it to be equally his duty and privilege to participate at the head of his troops. This instantly placed a different light upon the matter and I heard no more of it.

Where are men like these at such a time as this?

fiat luxury...

2007-04-28T19:19:00.000-07:00

What do you want for Christmas?

let the conversation continue...

2007-04-16T19:10:00.000-07:00

Hey all! Thanks for the digging in a bit on the business of business. Let's continue the conversation here. All's fair. Personal observations, stories, analysis, theory, etc.

words that start with p...

2007-04-12T22:45:00.000-07:00

So this past Saturday, Jeryl and I were looking for a spot to do some bouldering. We grabbed a scary-looking but surprisingly tasty egg salad sandwich from an hippie-infested deli and we braved the tick-infested California wilderness in search of the perfect spot. Well, we yondered on past the Sespe, looking for the road to this spot called Pine Mountain that was in some bouldering guide Jeryl had picked up. Quite a piece down the road, we were getting antsy for some climbing or hiking and we realized that to get to this Pine Mountain we would have to turn off on a six-mile-long dirt road. And suddenly the boulders right there alongside old highway 33 started looking sexier and sexier.

To make a short story long, we found a sign for a goat-path-looking trail called Chorro Grande that looked like it wound up to some really cool rocks and caves and whatnot. So we took the trail. The trail actually went the other way, up to this really sweet ridge. Instead of trees ending at the treeline, the desert ended at altitude (maybe 7000 ft), and there were these huge cool evergreens on the ridge with sexy climbworthy boulders set amongst them and a sweet view of the valley. It was muy bueno.

So I have been working construction for a bit. And most of the subcontractor crews hail from the land of our friendly neighbors to the south. Mostly they are pretty cool folk. One thing about these Mexican construction guys, they love them some polka. Basically they listen to polka and mariachi music and that ilk constantly. Those guys can jam on the accordion! It is actually pretty wild. I guess aesthetics don't necessarily translate. But am getting to where I at least recognize some of the songs now even though I'd rather listen to some KTYD or communist propaganda or something. I asked my new buddy Jose what one particular song was about because I keep hearing the song and it keeps sticking in my head. He said it is about some guy getting down on his knee to profess his love for his novia. I thought that was pretty sweet.

Oh, and I asked Jose what 'chorro' means. It means diarrhea. Still trying to figure that one out.

you know it, otto...

2007-03-28T21:06:00.000-07:00

A juxtaposition...

"All great things must first wear terrible and monstrous masks to inscribe themselves on the hearts of humanity."
-Uncle Friedrich (Nietzsche)

"That which is imposing here on earth... has always something of the quality of the fallen angel who is beautiful but without peace, great in his conceptions and exertions but without success, proud and lonely."

-Otto von Bismarck (as quoted by Henry Kissinger in 'Diplomacy')

bringing back sexy...

2007-03-26T19:35:00.000-07:00

a thought that came to me at the airport today...

2007-03-13T23:28:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed that the red blinking light on those automatic-flush toilets looks exactly like the red blinking light on a video camera?

hail to the chef...

2007-03-11T20:20:00.000-07:00

I have an idea for my new career path.

In 2012 I will be 35 years old and officially qualified to occupy
the office of the President of the United States of America.

Here is the plan:
Born in New York: 31 electoral votes.
Grew up in Michigan, Democratic swing state: 17 electoral votes.
Family in Pennsylvania, Democratic swing state: 21 electoral votes.
Family farm in Iowa, Democratic swing state: 7 electoral votes.
California love, Governator style: 55 electoral votes.
Love of alcohol, tobacco, and firearms. The South: 138 votes.
For responsible environmentalism: The rest of the Blue states.
Conservative Christian: The rest of the Red states.

Basically, it’s a lock.

The way I figure it I put in four years, no second term, and then I retire. A sweet pension, free office space, the lecture circuit and my presidential library. All for just four years of work.

Presidential pardon, anyone?

Oh... and let me know if you can recommend a good carpenter, because I'll need some good platforms and a sexy cabinet.

it is well said...

2007-03-01T18:24:00.000-08:00

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always--
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

-from T.S. Eliot's 'Four Quartets'

back in the saddle again...

2007-02-27T15:30:00.000-08:00

"...just as another is pleased by a good horse or a dog or a bird, so I myself am even more pleased by good friends, and if I possess something good I teach it, and I introduce them to others from whom, I believe, they will receive some benefit with a view to virtue. And reading collectively with my friends, I go through the treasures of the wise men of old which they wrote and left behind in their books; and if we see something good, we pick it out; and we hold that it is a great gain if we become good friends with one another."

-Socrates, from Xenophon's Memorabilia

ka-chinnggg...

2006-11-24T20:57:00.000-08:00

Alright, new business idea. As soon as can get documentation confirming my Native American ancestry (1/8 Mohawk), I intend to open my very own shiny new indian casino, maybe even open it up right there on the Strip.

But here is the beautiful thing... it is going to be a Christian themed casino. All the slot machines will have doves and crosses and fish on the wheels. 21 tables instead of blackjack. The waitresses all wear angel costumes. Weddings in the Cana Room. The Twelve Baskets Buffet. Floor shows that would make Sight & Sound look like amateur hour.
Guests can stay in the Billy Graham suite, the Mother Theresa suite, the Jimmy Swaggert suite.

So who is in? You can invest financially or with more ideas.

yet another question...

2006-11-14T14:30:00.000-08:00

If you could choose a shiny new super-hero power, what would it be and how would you use it?

must give us pause...

2006-11-09T14:53:00.000-08:00

Alright, kids... trying to chew through something and feel like a bit of a little kid. So if anyone has a knife and fork and would care to sort of work this into more bite-sized pieces, help a little brother out...

Been working through Thucydides. Basically, as I understand it, he is presenting a basic thesis of life and justice and then showing the gritty reality that life is nasty, brutal, and short as well as sort of three dimensional so any basic thesis will fall short of the absolute. Even the best efforts of men will sometimes be wrecked on the rocks of fortune. And the basic thesis he is throwing out there, the contemporary Athenian doctrine is that:
Justice (dikaiosune) does not enter into the affairs of men or cities until they have achieved empire and become self-sufficient in security, honor, and profit. Once they have met these basic needs, justice is acting in moderation toward others. But until that point, justice is the advantage of the stronger.

Another Athenian traditional idea of justice is that it is giving to each what is owed (to friends, friendship; to enemies, enmity; to benefactors, repayment...).

This is based in the traditional Hellenic worldview, that all we have is this life. Hades is a world of shades. Either we exist there as shadows, or we simply exist in memories of those who have known us or heard of us and what we have done. So essentially, this life is all we have and the best way to live it is to be so heroic and famous that we will be praised and remembered, especially in poetry.

(My friend Helen at work keeps criticizing us men for being aggressive and brutal, starting meaningless wars and then blaming women like her namesake for them. Mostly she says that when I am in the Military History section and she is in her precious Literature or Romance section. I think that it might have more to do with the fact that the present war is keeping her husband a couple thousand miles away. But I think she may have at least a little point in that there seems to be a bit of this heroic motivation in all of us with broken X chromosomes.)

At the same time am working through some parts of the Republic, where Plato's Socrates is attempting to turn a young man (Plato's brother) from a desire to get power and to rule tyrannically over the city and instead to rule his own soul well by privately pursuing philosophy. One of the things he uses to do this is a redefinition of what happens at death, introducing the eternality of the soul.

And as these and some other elements have been rattling around in the old noggin, it occurs to me more really than ever that what we believe and how we live is in a very real way driven by what we believe about death and the afterlife.

I certainly would have agreed with this statement at any point prior to this had I heard it (and am sure I have before). But it strikes me that it is true in a more concrete way than the theoretical religious way I have heard it framed, and in a more real way than the 'guilting folks into a frenzy of activity' way I have also heard it framed. The reality is that if you want to know what a person really believes about death and the afterlife, you can look at the mechanisms that drive them in everyday life.

Just finished a first reading of Henri Nouwen's 'Life of the Beloved'. He says, "Everything changes radically from the moment you know yourself as being sent into this world. Times and spaces, people and events, art and literature, history and science, they all cease to be opaque and become transparent, pointing far beyond themselves to the place from where you came and to where you will return." That in the context of understanding oneself to be truly beloved of God, not having to earn that beloved-ness or prove it, but being able to rest in it and live it actively.

I don't know. Am more inclined to knowing the world in a more I-Thou sense than an over-teleological one. Am excited about knowing God immediately and letting the world fall into place around that focal point. And at the same time can see that under theology and stated beliefs there are very real habits and motivations that perhaps are greatly driven by our real, fundamental beliefs of what comes next.

'tis new to thee...

2006-10-28T20:05:00.000-07:00

Sitting precariously balanced on the edge of a shiny new decade, I am considering... Any suggestions on what to do to fill the next heartily to the brim? Pray tell.

and rouse him at the name...

2006-10-25T21:04:00.000-07:00

591 years ago today Henry V and his band of brothers destroyed the French army at Agincourt.
Let us all raise a glass today in remembrance of one of France's most glorious defeats!

considering...

2006-10-25T20:23:00.000-07:00

A chisel is useless but for the space between.

from the dust of the archives...

2006-10-22T15:28:00.000-07:00

…For poetry makes nothing happen…

There are nearly as many perspectives on poetry and the creative process as there are poets and creative people. In fact, due to the progression of time and the generally progressive nature of creative people, there are probably quite a few more artistic perspectives than there are artists. To cast some light on the nature of poetry, rather than wading, waste deep, through theories, it may be profitable to hold to the light two creative patterns that have stood up to some degree through time and that have been more than a light and momentary affliction on the minds and souls of those who have chanced upon them. Essentially, our question is this: Is the poet a creative thief or an inspiring creator? How should we address the one who delves into our collective memory, mines the images of our thoughts, and mixing them with blood, reforms us in his own image? And in order to achieve this, we will lightly examine poesis and genesis, two of the most momentous creative patterns ever to kick in the doors of humanity.

Well, then, let us take up an odyssey, a search for something that might cast light on such a devious man. Let us go down to the sea and our finely crafted vessel, let us drag our ship down to the bright water, and setting the mast in its place, let us set sail, riding the ocean in search of a true landfall.

The necessity for poetry is as clear as water. The chaotic nature of the world is apparent to all. All around us we see an intricately woven cloth, a world with a staggering order, an order of being and motion that disappears into the limits of our sight in the minute, the magnificent, and the temporal. But this tapestry is fluttering in the breeze. All is flux and an ironic storm. Flux and motion are inherent natural principles of the world and of human experience. And almost everyone seems to express that chaotic element of the world in terms and imagery of ocean, the sea, or something that somehow expresses fluidity of form. It is important to establish the relationship of the poet to the necessity of his poetry, or to this fluid context. There are two major options when dealing with a raging ocean: drown or float. The nature of the classical poet can be seen in Homer’s Odysseus. Essentially, he is the only one in the Odyssey who manages to stay on top of the water, at least most of the time. He is a wave-rider. Whether it is by ship or by raft or by whatever is left of his ship or raft, Odysseus is riding the storm out on the chaos of the sea. There is actually a third option, beyond drowning and floating. In contrast to the poet, Genesis presents the creator in a different relationship to the chaotic (hammayim). (Elohim) is seen hovering over the face of the waters. The nature of this ancient artist is such that he is able to transcend the chaotic deep without craft. Unlike the poet, this sort of creator is by nature above the chaos.

Upon the grounds of established necessity, the nature of the actual creative process leaps heartily to the fore. Poetry, like shipbuilding, is (tekne). A poem, like a ship, is not created ex nihilo. Rather, a poet is a craftsman who takes images and forges them together, fitting them tightly and beautifully to a purposeful end. We see Odysseus, a master craftsman. Taking forms and images, words and thoughts he weaves them into an intricate and beautiful web, one that depicts his homegoing. His tale convinces the Phaiakians, educates them, and it even happens to enrich him and purchase conveyance to his home. In contrast, we see the creator (Elohim) calling his artistry into existence apart from any fashioning. Word and thing are one. His making is complete poetry.

The poet was not lying who said that poets are thieves. Poems are not crafted of gopher wood, but of images. And images are not cut from the forests of Norway or of Lebanon, but from the very word-forests of the minds and memories of those who are to be re-created. Poetry is taking a tree from the forest, reshaping its nature and returning it to flourish again, taking root in the same soil from which it was taken. Odysseus, in order to craft his poem, must, upon a finely crafted ship, cross (okeanos) reach the shores of Hades, and give life and words to the images and shades of the remembered dead.

For both creator and poet, a wall exists. Men die, and dead men have no breath. The dead have no voice, no mind. How shall they speak?

“Easily I will tell you and put it in your understanding.
Any one of the perished dead you allow to come up
To the blood will give you a true answer, but if you begrudge this
To any one, he will return to the place where he came from.”

The poet gives mind and voice to the remembered dead by allowing them to drink of the blood sacrificed to the ‘strengthless heads of the perished dead’ and to the blind prophet. With a sense of piety, the poet gives words to the dead, he gives them form and the ability to speak by choosing whose voices shall remain. Holding his sword over the blood for others, he refuses to allow them a true voice. The poet, if he cannot make the dead live, can at least make their images speak, and form the living. In crossing back over the river of death, the creator also uses a sort of bridge of blood. The creator, having made a sacrifice of blood is able to enact a resurrection more complete than that of forming memory and voice. As he once stooping down, breathed life into the father of man, he is able to once again breathe life into lifeless dust.

Breathing life again into the lifeless, the creator actually enacts a sort of redemption. Chaos is overcome within the actual realm of the (kosmos). The overarching poem of creation is rescued and is able to stand in the light, firm and real and complete. Chaos and order find an ultimate resolution, as the creator transcends both. The poet rather must walk his readers out of the realm of the living. He must take them from the melee of motion and, crossing (okeanos), he must rule over them in Hades, in an afterlife of images. For those images are the only solid thing to which he can anchor. Forming a sort of collective memory he crafts a sort of dead existence realm where men can live and breathe in order far from the light and the sea.
In order to create such a world, to craft a poem and a man, one must see. The poet must see the world as it is. Climbing from the realm of images, into the light, he must know the world as it is, seeing the sea and riding its waves with skill.

Sailing lightly through these waters, a great question seems to arise. Whether the artist is poet or creator, seeing him to some measure for what he is, we are forced to realize that we exist in relation to him. To the extent that we live in civilization, we are the craft of poets. Even the creator appears to us in a poem. And most of what we know about the natural world is handed down. Weighing all, in the end, one recognizes that from which he comes. In the end, whether the poet creates or crafts it is the same. Poiesis or genesis, we must call him father.

another question...

2006-10-18T21:33:00.000-07:00

Which would you choose:

to live forever being unknown
or
to die young but the greatest in glory?

rambo was a little girl...

2006-10-10T20:33:00.000-07:00

Rambo was a pussy cat compared with me. He got chased around some northwestern town for vagrancy once. But I have now had TWO Rambo experiences in NEPA, and that makes me twice as cool as that old sly character.

Today was Rambo experience number two. We got pulled over by Barney Fife's gung-ho grand-nephew. The guy interrogated us, kept us by the side of the road forever. And I think he almost pulled his gun something like five times. It was really strange. In the end he told us to get lost. Later we found out that someone robbed Mr. Z's and ran off in the direction we were driving. It is probably a good thing he didn't look in the gun cases in the truck because we had enough firearms to supply a small revolution (all completely legal in NEPA, of course).

Nelson rolled into town today. Nelson was on the September WILD trip with us. He is a cool kid from central PA, a good solid unassuming guy, King of the Delaware River, half Mennonite carpenter and half forest creature, a Tim Bott disciple, and just an all around nice person. Well, Nelson came to NEPA today to visit the family, to eat chinese food and to kick around, but most importantly to shoot guns.

And shoot guns we did.

We meandered on down to the shootin' range. Nelson brought a Bushy AR-15 with a bipod, a heavy barrel and some sweet optics. We were putting rounds in a pretty tight pattern at 200 yards with that mofo. I brought along my M4 & SKS and we also threw some rounds at the pistol range with his Kimber .45's, a massive .44 Magnum revolver, and a sweet shooting Ruger .22 pistol. All in all, we was throwin' a bit of lead.

We dined at Ben's house, where we shot Nelson's longbow (see meditations on the bow...). Then we rounded Ben up and headed to the Longacre Plantation to meet Joey Love for a proper evening of redneck night shooting. Between unloading 20 rounds at a time from the SKS, two handing the .45's, rocking the laser sight on the Glock .40, and throwing two feet of flame from the front of the .44 Magnum it was glorious.

One of life's indescribable pleasures is the simple joy left in the belly after life's cares are melted away via a cathartic shooting session with the bros.

a question...

2006-09-28T08:46:00.001-07:00

Which is better--stability or daring?

on the reservation...

2006-09-03T23:14:00.000-07:00

Today was a good day. Joey and Clare Brigli-oh-oh got the married tonight in a ceremony that i must say was really quite lovely and quite a lot of good old-fashioned fun. They were simply beautiful and it was really a great honour and a pleasure to get to kick it with them and theirs in the bosom of their beloved Ojai stomping grounds.

And before that got to have brunch with Dave and Jess down by the beach after which we went succulent browsing and then Jess lent me her nail tools for a little pre-game man-icure. I guess that is what married life holds, huh Dave? And I have to say it was all pretty cool.

But here's the thing. At the reception I was sitting between a rather lovely young lady and this one cat who are both good friends of Joey's. The conversation was nice enough but when this cat hears that I am living out East he kind of throws out the standard comments about how SoCal is essentially the Garden. Now don't get me wrong. I think the old SB is just about one of the most beautiful places I have been in the States and am pretty stoked to yonder back this direction for a while. Could even see putting down some roots in the Coastlands. But I have to admit that I have a reservation or two.

One of the reservations just has to do with the fact that have encountered such overwhelming beauty here and there around the country that it is hard to accept gavel-pounding. I cannot imagine never again looking down on the confluence of the Mississippi and the Wisconsin from the bluffs at Pike's Peak. Or feeling the charge in the air as the sky turns green and yellow in the middle of a grand Midwest thunderstorm. Or rolling through the hills of Northeastern PA in the middle of the splendour of the crisp mid-October changing of the leaves. Just have a hard time getting the sights and smells out of my head when all of that is shuffled away with 'I couldn't live anywhere else'. But I must say that there is definitely something about looking down at the Coastlands from the ridge on a warm winter day or watching the stars dance on the surf at night with a nice pipe full SB tobacco. It is just all so good.

But the real reservation can be illustrated from two very different sources:

Herodotus in his history tells how after the battle of Platea where the Hellenes had rolled through the Persians like a Panzer through Paris the Spartan general Pausanius was looking at what was left of the Persian camp. Now the Persians had invaded Greece the last bastion of independence from the Great King's empire. And at every turn it seems their massive international army had suffered setbacks and defeats. Even in their victories they were bested by these crazy rugged folk from the mountainous Western hinterlands. Pausanius was going through the tent of Mardonius the Persian commander and marveling at opulence of the silver and gold ornaments and table settings and the pimped out Persian gear that Mardonius had left when he went French and turned tail. So Pausanius commands the Persian cooks and bakers to lay out a normal daily meal that Mardonius would have enjoyed. And when they were finished he was amazed at the banquet they had laid out. So he told his Spartan cooks to prepare a normal Laconian meal beside the Persian one. And he paraded all of the Greek generals in past the table laughing and saying "Men of Greece, the reason I have summoned you together is because I want to show you the stupidity of the leader of the Medes. He had daily meals like this, and came upon us to take from us the miserable fare we have here."

Herodotus ends his history with an account of a conversation between Artembares and Cyrus the Great after Cyrus conquered the Medes and formed his kingdom. Artembares suggested that since the Persians had conquered all of Asia they could move from their rough and rocky little homeland in Iran to one of the other lands they had taken where they might be more comfortable and be admired for more things. Cyrus replied that if they did so they should prepare no longer to rule but to be ruled, for "From soft countries come soft men. It is not possible that from the same land stems a growth of wondrous fruit and men who are good soldiers." They chose to "rule, living in a wretched land, rather than to sow the level plains and be slaves to others."

The other source is a song from several years ago called 'Wear Sunscreen' by Baz Luhrman. It is in the form of a commencement speech to the class of '97 and it states:
Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.
Live in ... California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

So here is the thing... the Coastlands are beautiful and they are certainly calling. But I need a little help getting off the reservation.

one shot one kill...

2006-08-31T10:52:00.000-07:00

Here's the thing. I had this idea a couple o' weeks ago essentially to combine two of man's greatest inventions namely the driving range and the shooting range. So the idea was that we would have one guy tee off and drive the ball as far as he can. The other guy stands ready with a frickin' 12-gauge and attempts to blast the ball out of air. This would give an added sense of competition to the confluence of two beautiful sports. A work of pure athletic asthetics.

On a flight the other day I was trying my best to ignore Mission Impossible 3. As is customary when the movie finished they showed some short comedy sketches. And one of the sketches involved a guy with a shotgun at a driving range shooting unsuspecting golfers' balls from the air. A cheap cheap version of a very sexy idea.

Well I had another idea a couple o' weeks ago at a wedding reception. And I am hoping that this one hasn't been stolen because it is in the area of national security and I think it is a really really good idea. Here goes:

If I am ever tapped by the CIA to use my sexy skills as a secret agent in the service of our nation's interests abroad I have an idea as to how to perform certain covert duties. If there were a high-value target that needed to be disposed of I would use...

a poisoned urinal cake.

Here is how it works. You develop a urinal cake which has some kind of poison gas embedded in it like chlorine or something. When the unsuspecting target goes to the old WC to take care of some urgent business he unwittingly releases the gas and... one shot one kill, baby. Plus the urinal cake is used up in the process so there is no evidence. And who would be suprised at the trace smell of chlorine in a restroom with a regular cleaning schedule? The perfect solution.

(By the way does anyone happen to have Ahmenininahjodd's address?)

and speaking of the waters...

2006-08-31T00:55:00.000-07:00

I ran into two texts several years ago at about the same time. And for me something in the confluence of these two texts was rather meaningful. When I mentioned it back then, my friend Sara put them together in a lovely frame for me which was really sweet and I rediscovered it several weeks ago when going through the few boxes which contain my things. Anyway, I mention it now because these two texts and their confluence came back to me tonight. So thought I would share them. Both make statements and I think the second text sort of answers and brings a kind of completion to the first. The first is a poem composed by a man named William Carlos Williams. The second is a psalm of the sons of Korah.

The Seafarer

The sea will wash in
but the rocks - jagged ribs
riding the cloth of foam
or a knob or pinnacles
with gannets -
are the stubborn man.

He invites the storm, he
lives by it? Instinct
with fears that are not fears
but prickles of ecstasy,
a secret liquor, a fire
that inflames his blood to
coldness so that the rocks
seem rather to leap
at the sea than the sea
to envelop them. They strain
forward to grasp ships
or even the sky itself that
bends down to be torn
upon them. To which he says,
It is I! I who am the rocks!
With out me nothing laughs.

Psalm 46

God is our refuge and our strength,
A very present help in time of trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, thou the earth should change
And though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea;
Though its waters roar and foam,
Though the mountains quake at its swelling pride. Selah.

There is a river that makes glad the city of God,
The holy dwelling place of the Most High.
God is in the midst of her, she will not be moved;
God will help her when morning dawns.
The nations made an uproar, the kingdoms tottered;
He raised his voice, the earth melted.
The LORD of hosts is with us;
The God of Jacob is our stronghold. Selah.

the sea will wash in...

2006-08-31T00:10:00.000-07:00

Well, today I saw what I want for Christmas.

Don't know if I am a good enough boy this year though.

cinderella had it easy...

2006-08-22T21:20:00.000-07:00

So I am attending this black tie event in a couple of weeks. Actually it is 'black tie optional'. I guess this is a milestone or something, because it will be the first time I will have worn a tuxedo except as a member of one of those wedding party thingies.

And it brings up an interesting question:
What sort of footwear should I wear with my tux?

Here is the thing. Every online resource I checked out said that I should wear shiny black dress shoes with my tux, preferable patent leather. But every time I have worn a tux it has come with those dumb patent leather dress shoes and they are ugly, uncomfortable, and just plain poorly made.

So can anyone suggest any other footwear options that would look sexy with a tux?

another business idea (this one's for betzhi)...

2006-08-15T12:51:00.000-07:00

Alright, once again looking for investors.

Here is the plan: West Coast Mopeds.

We take old scooters and mopeds. I am talking Vespas, Sprees, and even the old retro mopeds with the bike pedals. We take them and turn them into sweet custom choppers. Serious chrome, ape-hangers, massive horsepower, and everything you'd expect in a sexy custom ride. Then we give them custom paint, and Harley Davidson branding (HD will be so stoked!).

My own personal ride? The Captain America moped chopper. Gonna roll that thing through the desert Easy Rider style.

Maybe we'll even get a reality show.

Who's in?

nomads, cannibis, and foreign policy...

2006-08-12T18:33:00.001-07:00

So I was at Gin's tonight, enjoying a roast half-chicken and a slice of chocolate meringue pie with my old friend Herodotus.

Now Herodotus was speaking of a people known as the Scythians who lived in what is now southern Russia and Eastern Europe. The Scythians lived just past the edge of the civilized world. While the Assyrians, Persians, Greeks and myriad others built farms and cities, conquered, traded and fell, the Scythians, on the fringe, survived them all. Wave after wave of the armies of civilization fell at the feet of the horsemen from the North. And Herodotus made some interesting observations about these crazy cats:
This greatest thing that they have discovered is how no invader who comes against them can ever escape and how none can catch them if they do not wish to be caught. For this people has no cities or settled forts; they carry their houses with them and shoot with bows from horseback; they live off herds of cattle, not from tillage, and their dwellings are on their wagons. How then can they fail to be invincible and inaccessible for others?

Essentially, people who have none of the constructs of civilization have certain advantages over those who depend on highly organized structures. They have nothing concrete to lose. There are disadvantages as well, but how do you hold up against an enemy who has no home to destroy, no land to invade, and who can disappear into the horizon at will?

Herodotus also says:
The Scythians take the seed of this hemp and, creeping under the mats, throw the seed onto the stones as they glow with heat. The seed so cast on the stone gives off smoke and a vapor; no Greek steam bath could be stronger. The Scythians in their delight at the steam bath howl loudly. This indeed serves them instead of a bath, as they never let water near their bodies at all.

So these folk were hanging out in the steppes, riding their horses, shooting their bows, and getting stoned off their ponies. Every now and again they would roll up on Media or Anatolia, beat down the locals, pillage a bit and enjoy the local fare, and then head back to the homeland for a bit of a cannibis sweat lodge. And yet, for some reason, we have based our civilization on those of the people they consistently plundered.

I'll bet no Scythian kid ever argued with his parents about having to take a bath.

on the homeland...

2006-08-09T15:26:00.000-07:00

Revisited Yehuda Amichai today, the Israeli poet. With all that has been going on in Israel and Lebanon lately, his words keep echoing. I read that in 1973 when some students were called up they went back to the University and grabbed their gear, their rifles, and their copies of Yehuda Amichai's poetry. Chana Bloch, who relayed that story also translated the following poem from his original in Hebrew.

Wildpeace

Not the peace of cease-fire,
not even the vision of the wolf and the lamb,
but rather
as in the heart when the excitement is over
and you can talk about only a great weariness.
I know that I know how to kill,
that makes me an adult.
And my son plays with a toy gun that knows
how to open and close its eyes and say Mama.
A peace
without the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares,
without words, without
the thud of the heavy rubber stamp: let it be
light, floating, like lazy white foam.
A little rest for the wounds-
who speaks of healing?
(And the howl of the orphans is passed from one generation.
to the next, as in a relay race:
the baton never falls.)

Let it come
like wildflowers,
suddenly, because the field
must have it: wildpeace.

a fragment...

2006-08-05T15:47:00.000-07:00

Yes, perhaps all hearing is proximity
and so we enter into the same space
Hear O Israel
to share a new communion
The LORD is your God
immediate and empty
The LORD is one
as the wineglass waiting to be filled.

on certain ethical implications of fossil fuels...

2006-08-02T20:31:00.000-07:00

Oil is a topic greatly weighed in discussions of the politics, economics, and ecologics in these, our times. Especially now, with growing concerns of politically driven supply shortages and environmental implications, we must look clearly at the reality of how we will continue to acquire energy, and what consequences will result from the means we elect to use. I wish to bring one more strand into this discussion, one which has been thus far ignored. I intend to address some inherent moral issues regarding the use of fossil fuels, apart from the resultant effects of said use.

Geologically speaking, coal occurs in seams which lie in various areas of the world at a relatively consistent depth below the surface. And these coal seams run roughly parallel to the the layers of sedimentary rock which again roughly parallel the basic contours of the surface of the earth. Oil, as a liquid, generally occurs in pockets or pools at some depth beneath the surface. These are the fossil fuels that we use to drive the feverish pace of our post-modern lives. And we acquire them by digging shafts and drilling holes to pull them up from beneath the ground.

What is coal? What is oil? Essentially, fossil fuels are the result of carbon, pressure, and time. And this carbon was provided by the decayed remains of living organisms, this pressure by the weight of the strata above, and this time by that mysterious river whose source we can only imagine.

So I ask, how might a great layer of the decayed remains of living organisms be layed down at a relatively consistent depth beneath strata of sedimentary rock at some time, rather remote from the present? The Noahic flood, of course. In this flood, according to the Scriptures, all living things perished save those on the ark. And when this great mass of living creatures perished, their remains would have settled, buried in the sediment at the receding of the waters. This gives account for a significant amount of carbon in a consistent layer beneath sediment for a great period of time. And the result is the layer of coal and the pools of oil beneath the surface of the earth. Consider also the fact that the world's great reserves lie geographically near what we might understand to have been the center of antedeluvian civilization.

And this is the source of some tremendous moral implications for the use of fossil fuels. How can we justify unceremoniously pumping the remains of our antedeluvian ancestors into our vehicles?

Nearly every civilization in the world considers the bodies of their dead to be sacred, things to be respectfully and soberly interred or treated in some ceremonious way. They are not to be violated, and certainly never to be trafficked. And especially those civilizations which are most involved in the fossil fuel industry would find the desecration or commercial trafficking of corpses to be simply unconscienable. Can you imagine such a thing in the United States? Or in the Arab countries where, by and large, bodies may not even be exhumed in even the most respectful of ways. And yet for decades we have pumped millions of gallons of the remains of real human beings from the ground, refined them, and crassly burned them at a rate of between ten and thirty miles to the gallon. Remoteness of time and lineage is not an issue: we are burning human beings to heat our houses, to run our cars, and to make shingles for the steeples of our churches. Ours is a world powered by the desecration of corpses.

It could be argued that we cannot know for certain whether a given amount of fossil fuel came from the bodies of human beings or from the carcasses of animals. Perhaps I am merely buying the remains of an animal at the local Sunoco. Perhaps it is not someone's grandmother who is fueling my trip to the grocery store. But is it really all that much better if you are pumping a puppy dog into your gas tank? Or a dolphin? Or a dead kitten?

One thing is certain: We must consider the moral implications of fossil fuels, and we must rebuild our energy policy after considering the depth of the realities inherent in our actions to date.

toward a scientific theory of girth measurement...

2006-07-27T11:11:00.000-07:00

A rule of scientific inquiry is that theories, even the greatest ones, must be consistently assessed and challenged. We must consistently test even those theories that have become structural walls and lodestones of our understanding of the world. Think of where we would be if Einstein had not taken us past Newton's physics. Or if Galileo and Copernicus had not taken us past the Ptolomaic system. This being the case, I have decided to offer a series of posts that shall allow interaction on a number of theories in several scientific and historical disciplines. I invite the reader to enter the conversation; to improve, to challenge, or to add to these theories in order to finally use the blogosphere to better Western civilization in a very real and lasting way. I only humbly ask that you engage these theories strictly in a scientific and rational way.

Since the time of classical Athens, great thinkers have dashed themselves upon the rocks of a great philosophical problem. How can aesthetics be reconciled rationally?

In recent years, one aspect of this great challenge was tackled (how successfully I will let the reader judge) by a sort of thinktank comprised in the main of a number of great minds, and in a merely incidental manner by the present author. If memory serves, the greatest service was rendered by one NB.

The problem at hand: There are nearly as many body types as there are bodies. The variety in human form seems nearly endless. And a simple statement of the girth of an individual: "He is fat", "She is thin", even given the seemingly scientific ratio of height to weight, simply does not properly quantify the aesthetic quality which these esteemed scientists chose to call 'girth'. The simple height to weight ratio does not address several important realities such as build that can render two persons of the same height and weight significantly different in aesthetic quality. So, essentially, how can the aesthetics of girth be properly discussed?

Being that those involved were rational men, they chose to attempt to apply a truly scientific method to this distressing aesthetic problem.

This congress of minds occurred at a chalet in the northwoods of Canada. And a story had recently been relayed regarding a group of camp counselors at Lake Michigan, a story that seemed to offer a possible point of departure. It seems that a number of camp counselors had been boating on one of the Great Lakes, and their watercraft had capsized. All aboard had proper flotation devices, but given the extremely cold water temperature, all but one succumbed to the elements. The survivor was a young lady who, fortunately for her in this situation, had an excess of internal personal insulation. So this hypothesis was submitted:

Relative girth can be assessed by the duration of time that a person can be immersed in freezing cold water without experiencing severe hypothermia.

What was then needed was a test case. Obviously, it would have been quite unethical to utilize human experiments to establish such theories. But, fortunately, there was a test case already at hand. There was a young woman, there at the chalet, who had that very week capsized a watercraft in freezing cold water. She was quite physically God-glorifying in a decidedly... well... shall we say voluptuous way. Having been in the water for approximately nine minutes, she was decidedly hypothermic. So they had their upper baseline. And there was a sort of informed group consensus that they could establish a lower baseline at say, three minutes. If she had succumbed after only three minutes of exposure, she would have been dangerously past established extremes of waifish supermodeldom.

And so the theory: Girth can be measured by the above-stated method. And reasonable aesthetic parameters would be three to nine minutes submersion with marginal hypothermia.

meditations on the bow...

2006-07-12T22:49:00.000-07:00

Well, it has been a couple of days since the Italians slaughtered the French in the OK Corral shootout of the World Cup. I was somewhat pleased that one of these two teams would get a chance to win. Since both countries are so long accustomed to losing military engagements, it is nice to know that one of them gets to feel what it is like to win something for a change. I guess Patton said something to the effect that the thing about battling the Italians is it is difficult to fight a battle when both armies are moving in the same direction. But seeing the French lose sort of set me to wistfully contemplating some of my favorite French defeats throughout history.

There was this little battle at a place called Crecy. Edward the Black Prince, son of Edward III of England was sort of vacationing in France, an army in tow, looking into the local real estate market. Well, in an early instance of localism, the French expressed a lack of appreciation for Edward's presence, specifically by sending a greeting committee in the form of their army. And to make a long story short, the English demonstrated the military value of the longbow, as their archers whooped up on the French, cutting down the flower of the French nobility.

A few years later, another English royal named Henry V was enjoying the hospitality of the Continent. He had besieged and taken a town called Harfleurs when, once again, the French showed themselves bad hosts by sending their army to ask him to leave. They met him at a little place called Agincourt. Well, there were a lot of Frenchmen and they had their signature heavy cavalry with them. All the English had going for them was a muddy day and their little old longbows. At the end of the day, "Oh, what a royal fellowship of death", old Harry and his band of brothers had taught the French a lesson in manners and in the English language, specifically the phrase 'arse whoopin'. And once again, the English longbow proved its value as a switch for taking the French to the woodshed.

So I was over at the Joey Love plantation the other day, as Joe and I were going to go shooting the shotgun and the .40 for a bit. And I don't mind saying that skeet was an endangered species after that outing. We were knocking those things out of the sky like nobody's business. But before we went out to the shooting range, we wandered down to Nick's place, where he had a little range of his own set up. Now Nick is the proud owner of a sexy little toy called a Matthew's single cam compound bow. I can't claim great knowledge of such things, but I seem to recall something about 70 lb draw and something like 750 ft/second. And silent. This was truly a sexy machine. Joe was putting them straight and deep, with pinpoint accuracy into the target at something like 30 yards. And it does the same thing at 70 yards, but we couldn't find the space to test that out in Nick's yard at the time. Not having ever shot a compound bow before, I heartily took up Joe's offer to try out Nick's bow. Mmmm... Other than a bit of a bow hicky from not holding my arm properly, it was a pretty amazing experience.
I tried to get Joe to stand by the target with an apple on his head, but I guess he just isn't a really trusting person.

Anyway, here is my point... Every American should go out today, get a bow, and get started practicing shooting it. Why? Because it is sexy. But more importantly, because you never know when you are going to be head-speared by an angry French soccer player. And when that happens, why not be prepared to give them their obligatory English lesson.

two deeply meaningful quotes...

2006-07-06T23:12:00.000-07:00

Just want to share two deeply meaningful quotes.

The first is from an anonymous source. It is anonymous because I don't know which sexy mountaineering book Jeryl snagged it from when he shared it with me. The second quote is from the ancient church father Ignacio. I want to drink in both each day and live by the depth of their meaning...

"The life you want to live has no recipe. Following the recipe got you here in the first place.
Mix one high school diploma with an undergrad degree and a college sweetheart. With a whisk blend two cars, a poorly built house in a cul de sac, and 50 hours a week working for a board that doesn't give a shit about you. Reproduce once. Then again. Place all the ingredients in a rut. or a grave. One is a bit longer than the other. Bake thoroughly until the resulting life is set. Rigid. With no way out. Serve and enjoy.
Live the lifestyle instead of paying lip service to the lifestyle. Live with commiment. With emotional content. Live whatever life you choose honestly. Give up renaissance man, dilettante bullshit of doing a lot of different thiings. Get to the guts of one thing: accept, without casuistry, the responsibility of making a choice. When you live honestly, you can not separate your mind from your body, or your thoughts from your actions."
-Mountaineering Book

"They think I do not know a buttload of crap about the Gospel, but I do!"
-Ignacio

dave v. dave...

2006-07-05T23:07:00.000-07:00

I saw Dave Matthews in concert tonight. Some friends were going to see his concert at Montage and they had an extra ticket. Not the biggest DMB fan in the world, but figured I would give it a whirl and was pleasantly surprised. Those crazy kids are pretty talented (though almost all of their songs really DO sound the same, even live). Some of the guitar work was really clever and the violin was remarkable. Pretty sexy music on the whole. But I digress...

The upshot is, when I finished satiating the munchies I got from my first contact high (I think that is what the kids are calling them these days) with a couple of hot dogs from the Dunmore Sheetz and a McDonalds hot fudge sundae, it occurred to me to arrange a proper Battle of the Daves between Dave Matthews and one of my favorite Daves, Dave Barcelona. So here goes...

Dave Matthews grew up in S Africa. But Dave Barcelona got to grow up in Germany, in Lompoc (aka. Fresno-by-the-Sea), etc. S Africa is pretty sexy, but Germany? vacations in Lauterbrunnen? the US of A? Barcy clinches this one.

Dave Matthews plays the guitar and sings. Barcy rocks at the guitar AND the bass. He can work the keyboards and he's got a voice. Dave Matthews has a band. Dave Barcelona IS a band. Point, Barcelona.

Dave Matthews spends his evenings on tour surrounded by thousands of stoned hippie chick high school girls. Dave Barcelona spends his evenings in the company of his lovely wife Jessica and her radiant smile. Barcy 3, Matthews nil.

1/2 of Dave Matthews' band are brown people. 1/2 of Dave Barcelona is brown people. Once again, point Barcelona.

Dave Matthews' payoff for making music that he loves, cash and fame. Dave Barcelona's payoff for making music that he loves... the opportunity to express his soul, his love and awe to God, to lead His people in doing the same, and to enjoy sharing it all with his shiny new wife. This one is all Barcelona.

So Barcelona takes the Battle of the Daves like the Germans took Paris. No contest.

Congratulations, Dave. Now pack up your wife and fly out here for the medal ceremony.

easy there little fella...

2006-07-04T20:47:00.002-07:00

So I was at this farm in Saxonburg, PA the other night. Rolled into town in the wee hours to help my friends Chris and Ana get married. I stumbled into an upstairs bedroom in this farmy bed and breakfast out in the beautiful countryside of western Pennsylvania in the dead dark of night. When finally got situated, and well along the path to the land of Morpheus, I noticed a green light sort of slowly circling above me in the room. After a brief flickering thought, through the fog of near sleep I came to realize that the green light tracing his way around the room was in fact a shiny little lightning bug.

That little lightning bug was flying tighter and tighter circles, getting closer and closer to my bedstand as he blinked his little posterior to the glory of God. Then I noticed something rather interesting.

My cellular phone has a wee little blinking light on it, and that wee little blinking light just happens to be lightning bug green.

That crazy little guy was putting the moves on my cell phone. And let me tell you, as smooth as he was, it was fated to be unrequited love.

new beginnings and genital protection...

2006-07-03T21:43:00.000-07:00

Hey, kids!

I decided to inaugurate my shiny new blog with a sexy new concept. We need to make a new kind of jock strap that is decorated with a picture of the globe.

The product's name: The World Cup.

Plus, we could put alternating soccer balls and flags of the countries that made it to the tournament around the edges or on the strappy parts.

I know this idea is kind of late for this year, but we could probably get production ready for the next tourney. The perfect gift for athletic supporters the whole world over.

Alright, who is ready to invest?