After much searching, top-secret astronomers discovered where the future government's time machine ended up.
Turns out that a time machine is a timespace machine, placing the traveler(s) and the machine in the exact location of space where that time occurred, taking into account the expansion of space, the natural movement of galaxies, stars, planets, etc., as well as a previously undiscovered change in subatomic makeup (you know, that whole dark matter/energy thing).
Top-secret medical advisors think this might be a way to cure diseases, by sending people to a different place in timespace (as opposed to the conventional spacetime, a minor difference but significant), rearranging their subatomic structures such that "modern" diseases can't form.
Now, how do we communicate with the timespace travelers and figure out how to tow them back to our spacetime location?
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
19 April 2010
16 April 2010
The Peppermint Patty Calypso Ska Reggae Band Is Back!
Another hero passes this way no more. Nick Russin, one of the leaders and members of my hometown church choir, gone to the great Harmonious Sky:
Thanks for sharing your life with us, Nick! You're gonna be missed. You and others like you who made Kingsport and Oak Ridge special places to live make me glad I live in Huntsville where great minds think alike - your greatness and pursuit of perfection rub off on the rest of us mere mortals.
Dr. Nicholas (Nick) Charles Russin, 88, of Kingsport, passed away Wednesday, April the 14th, at his home with his family.Men and women like Nick demonstrated to me that dedication to a better life only the experience of a true, loving family can give you.
Nick was born on February 6, 1922, in Butler, PA, and has been a resident of Kingsport since accepting a job as research chemist with Tennessee Eastman Company in 1950 where he worked until retiring in 1985. He began violin lessons at the age of five and made his violin debut in Pittsburg's Carnegie Hall at the age of seven. He graduated from Washington and Jefferson with Phi Beta Kappa honors and earned his master and doctor of science degrees from the Carnegie Institute of Technology. He also attended UCLA during the beginning of WWII to learn to determine the weather on Naval ships in the south Pacific, serving on the USS Midway.
Nick was a talented athlete, and played baseball at UCLA where he struck out twenty batters in one game as a pitcher. He was offered a minor league contract with the Cincinnati Reds, but joined the Navy instead and was in the south Pacific the latter part of World War II.
He was a longtime member of Colonial Heights Presbyterian Church and was a deacon, elder, choir member and/or director for over forty four years, and a Johnson Memorial Sunday School teacher for many years. Other memberships he enjoyed were the VFW, the Lions, the American Legion, and the Elks. Nick was past Worshipful Master of the Kingsport Masonic Lodge and was a member for over fifty years. Nick was a Sullivan County Commissioner. He was also a violinist for over thirty years in the Kingsport Symphony Orchestra as well as past president and board member.
Thanks for sharing your life with us, Nick! You're gonna be missed. You and others like you who made Kingsport and Oak Ridge special places to live make me glad I live in Huntsville where great minds think alike - your greatness and pursuit of perfection rub off on the rest of us mere mortals.
08 April 2010
Blue Tail Flies
Silence is a killer. We stepped back and let the system run by itself without our input, watching and waiting.
Phrases on the computer screen:
We listened to the SSDs stir up trouble in their neighbour's room-sized post-"meeting" shower room filled with STDs. Anyone have an SUD or SVD to spare?
Analysis and backwash produce culture.
There's no final outcome when running a planet full of seven billion people. No final reward. No closing the books on the game and starting a new game. The play is perpetual. Sometimes the back room operators get bored when the game of life is the only game in town.
We sat in silence and didn't tweak any settings, letting new players show themselves.
"My name is Candy."
"My name is Sandy."
We placed a few tracking devices on the submersible sailing vessels. The desktop icons refreshed automatically.
How do you compare a nation-state to sleeper cells? Follow the ideology spoken at the "fresh breath" mint factory.
How many tens, dozens or fourteens are willing to die to maintain a revolution? Depends on how dire the count, wouldn't you say?
We saw the players playing. We have little to compare the management of a quadrillion to a few hundreds in our pocket. Do they?
Do we open the Book of the Future together this time? Us?
Millions of military personnel indoctrinated to fight for the homeland(s) and defeat the enem(y/ies). How quickly can we reprogram the indoctrination? How many will see during the transitional, transitory retraining that the enemy is them and rebel against themselves?
What's the difference between an SLA and the SLAC?
How many use an AK47 instead of an AK74?
We will not touch the automatic controls for a while and let the system run its course until a major course correction is needed. For us, peace and war are the same thing - change. See you a few moments from now (or to your senses, see you after many minor/major changes have occurred).
Remember, clouds do not exist - they're all figments of your cultural indoctrination.
Phrases on the computer screen:
- "Dewey and his crew at Trent Remodeling put the mod in remodeling."
- "Aaron is a smartass away from the Acropolis."
- "My ... name ... is ... Melinda ... on a clear day ... and ... Theresa ... when ... I ... can't fix your problem."
- "Developing for China, the world's largest market - what will their consumer products exported to the U.S. look like? Will we recognize a reworked version of 'Anne of Green Gables' when we see it?"
We listened to the SSDs stir up trouble in their neighbour's room-sized post-"meeting" shower room filled with STDs. Anyone have an SUD or SVD to spare?
Analysis and backwash produce culture.
There's no final outcome when running a planet full of seven billion people. No final reward. No closing the books on the game and starting a new game. The play is perpetual. Sometimes the back room operators get bored when the game of life is the only game in town.
We sat in silence and didn't tweak any settings, letting new players show themselves.
"My name is Candy."
"My name is Sandy."
We placed a few tracking devices on the submersible sailing vessels. The desktop icons refreshed automatically.
How do you compare a nation-state to sleeper cells? Follow the ideology spoken at the "fresh breath" mint factory.
How many tens, dozens or fourteens are willing to die to maintain a revolution? Depends on how dire the count, wouldn't you say?
We saw the players playing. We have little to compare the management of a quadrillion to a few hundreds in our pocket. Do they?
Do we open the Book of the Future together this time? Us?
Millions of military personnel indoctrinated to fight for the homeland(s) and defeat the enem(y/ies). How quickly can we reprogram the indoctrination? How many will see during the transitional, transitory retraining that the enemy is them and rebel against themselves?
What's the difference between an SLA and the SLAC?
How many use an AK47 instead of an AK74?
We will not touch the automatic controls for a while and let the system run its course until a major course correction is needed. For us, peace and war are the same thing - change. See you a few moments from now (or to your senses, see you after many minor/major changes have occurred).
Remember, clouds do not exist - they're all figments of your cultural indoctrination.
09 March 2010
Removal Of This Bear Warning Sign Is Punishable By A Death By Bear Sign
Some friends of mine from the area I know as the Middle East have frequently asked me to divulge the information I have concerning the facts leading up to the events that occurred in the United States of America on the 11th of September, 2001. They are willing to trade concessions for facts. If I will share data, they might nudge Iran into being a little more cooperative internationally.
Having friends from Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Israel, Syria, Lebanon and Florida who all compiled a compost heap of data for me over the years, I have obtained information that contradicts information that contradicts information that contradicts information that ... well, you get the contradiction, I'm sure.
What is a fact? We've looked at that question many times, haven't we? Perspective, implication, belief - these all influence what you call a fact.
Thus, to divulge information would mean I would have to present facts from one or more perspectives, which would imply a certain image (or images) whose interpretation(s) would depend on your beliefs.
Fact: Many airplanes did not meet their stated flight plan objectives on 9/11/01.
Fact: Many airplanes did meet their stated flight plan objectives on 9/11/01.
Fact: While using 9/11/01 as a rallying cry to drum up support for war, President George W. Bush had not made up his mind whether to attack Iraq.
Fact: The U.S. military and its private contractors had spent months putting assets into place to attack Iraq before President Bush's public announcement to attack.
Fact: One person's terrorist group is another person's fight for the recognition of the right to exist.
Fact: Saudi Arabia is officially a friend of the USA (oil and regional stability speak louder than words).
Fact: Osama bin Laden and his extended family are associated with Saudi Arabia.
Fact: Osama bin Laden has never been officially captured by the USA and Saudi Arabia (or Saudi Arabian families) has never been severely punished for the fact that most of the hijackers of 9/11/01 officially held Saudi citizenship.
Fact: History belongs to the successful aggressor and its allowance of freedom of speech.
Fact: I support both the majority and minorities within a plurality but know who butters my bread; thus, in this case, my hands are tied, my lips are sealed and some facts will go silently with me to my grave. I know this means Iran will have a stronger bargaining position because of my silence but it also means others who have a different perspective on the situation can reveal facts that I cannot if we want to deal frankly with the Iranian leaders in the public arena.
History is rewritten constantly - nothing is permanent. The USA can become a former empire like many European countries or it can find ways to strengthen its longterm global credibility without the use of shortterm military coercion and still remain strong. "Walk softly and carry a big stick" is still apropos. In fact, China is using that phrase against the USA just as the USA used that phrase against others in the past.
Just because you took the bear warning sign down doesn't mean the bears have left the woods. In other words, just because you didn't see a bear warning sign doesn't mean the woods are safe - you're at the mercy of someone who forgot to put up a warning sign, didn't know to put up the warning sign or maliciously removed the warning sign - nothing is what it seems. Live in blissful ignorance, if you want - I look for signs you can see if you know what you're looking for, like footprints in the mud, scratches on trees or scat on the trail.
We may just be states of energy but those states of energy like to hold together in rather consistent forms. Know the consistent patterns of your misbehaving child and you know what that adult child will do later on - ultimately, you are responsible for your offspring and I will hold you accountable because, remember, I don't tolerate intolerance ... in any form. You have the child, you pay the price for the child's behaviour - a simple fact we can both understand and deal with. I'll deal with you later. That's a fact.
Having friends from Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Israel, Syria, Lebanon and Florida who all compiled a compost heap of data for me over the years, I have obtained information that contradicts information that contradicts information that contradicts information that ... well, you get the contradiction, I'm sure.
What is a fact? We've looked at that question many times, haven't we? Perspective, implication, belief - these all influence what you call a fact.
Thus, to divulge information would mean I would have to present facts from one or more perspectives, which would imply a certain image (or images) whose interpretation(s) would depend on your beliefs.
Fact: Many airplanes did not meet their stated flight plan objectives on 9/11/01.
Fact: Many airplanes did meet their stated flight plan objectives on 9/11/01.
Fact: While using 9/11/01 as a rallying cry to drum up support for war, President George W. Bush had not made up his mind whether to attack Iraq.
Fact: The U.S. military and its private contractors had spent months putting assets into place to attack Iraq before President Bush's public announcement to attack.
Fact: One person's terrorist group is another person's fight for the recognition of the right to exist.
Fact: Saudi Arabia is officially a friend of the USA (oil and regional stability speak louder than words).
Fact: Osama bin Laden and his extended family are associated with Saudi Arabia.
Fact: Osama bin Laden has never been officially captured by the USA and Saudi Arabia (or Saudi Arabian families) has never been severely punished for the fact that most of the hijackers of 9/11/01 officially held Saudi citizenship.
Fact: History belongs to the successful aggressor and its allowance of freedom of speech.
Fact: I support both the majority and minorities within a plurality but know who butters my bread; thus, in this case, my hands are tied, my lips are sealed and some facts will go silently with me to my grave. I know this means Iran will have a stronger bargaining position because of my silence but it also means others who have a different perspective on the situation can reveal facts that I cannot if we want to deal frankly with the Iranian leaders in the public arena.
History is rewritten constantly - nothing is permanent. The USA can become a former empire like many European countries or it can find ways to strengthen its longterm global credibility without the use of shortterm military coercion and still remain strong. "Walk softly and carry a big stick" is still apropos. In fact, China is using that phrase against the USA just as the USA used that phrase against others in the past.
Just because you took the bear warning sign down doesn't mean the bears have left the woods. In other words, just because you didn't see a bear warning sign doesn't mean the woods are safe - you're at the mercy of someone who forgot to put up a warning sign, didn't know to put up the warning sign or maliciously removed the warning sign - nothing is what it seems. Live in blissful ignorance, if you want - I look for signs you can see if you know what you're looking for, like footprints in the mud, scratches on trees or scat on the trail.
We may just be states of energy but those states of energy like to hold together in rather consistent forms. Know the consistent patterns of your misbehaving child and you know what that adult child will do later on - ultimately, you are responsible for your offspring and I will hold you accountable because, remember, I don't tolerate intolerance ... in any form. You have the child, you pay the price for the child's behaviour - a simple fact we can both understand and deal with. I'll deal with you later. That's a fact.
06 March 2010
"Take back the streets!"
That was the shout I heard last night while walking through downtown of a place misnamed by the post office, I'm told - another blunder by the government.
I turned to see who'd yelled. Nobody, or so it would seem. The sidewalks were empty but the open door of Patrick's told me I might find my answer there.
My wife and I entered the shop. Furniture, fabric remnants, a man at a sewing machine staying busy and the eyes of a guard dog staring at us between the slats of a kid's bunk bed.
Thirty minutes before, we'd sat at a window booth of The Sicilian, a popular gathering place for those who want to be seen and not seen at the same time. My wife ate the daily special while I wolfed down a plate of gyros.
We watched the action outside the window, wondering about the sign we'd been told to fixate on, "Historical Complex."
An Owens Cross Roads police cruiser cruised by cruisingly.
A convertible Mercedes sedan and a Volvo wagon waved their behinds at us from in front of Patrick's.
A Subaru delivered some dry cleaning to Patrick's. At last the signal we'd been given for the go-ahead.
A customer inside The Sicilian kept trying to get my attention. I was supposed to be on a staycation (domestic holiday) and not taking down no notes from no rogue operatives but I listened to what he had to say anyway. He was saying "yes" and "no" out of both sides of his mouth, partly out of fun and partly out of his serious side. His demonstrated intelligence shows he's very useful. His female companion didn't make it clear whether she was a "yes" or a "no."
Our server, a pretty young woman, the perfect example of the hope and verve of the next generation, shared some anecdotes with us. Her missing vest button gave my wife and me some new ideas for passing messages in the future - we'll keep you informed (but not in this blog 'cause it's getting too much attention from "them" right now, if you know what I mean).
We finished our desserts, tiramisu and baklava, and casually wandered over to Patrick's. Following our instincts, we dug through a stack of remnants and found the message my wife had been promised.
Can I get a day off in this business? Apparently not.
We got back in the car and drove around town, looking at the businesses that were out of business, including a coffee shop, a church and a restaurant. When you can't drink caffeine and eat a slice of pie at a place of worship, the world has gone to shit. Of course, that's why we were in the town, to round up some recruits and get updates from some of my buddies from the old days, former playground mates and now generals in their local "armies."
I drove us in a random pattern, finally finding the historical complex and the lettering on the business signs that formed an anagram just for me and the missus.
You belong to any secret societies? I don't. Not that I haven't been invited. Some of the ones you know, like the Masonic folks, have been wanting my membership for a long time.
Thing is, I gotta be neutral. I can't lean one way or the other on account of what I promised the Great Mother and the Great Father a long time ago.
Well, after deciphering the anagram, I found out I was going to get surrounded by some folks looking for any secret signs from me while I was in this town of theirs. Some of them would be Masonic types and some would belong to another secret society I can't mention on account of it don't exist.
We moseyed on through town and looked at more houses and neighbourhoods, getting a feel for the place and what the folks here could offer.
Eventually, we pulled into a parking spot in front of our prearranged meeting place and took care of some official business that's none of your business but we all gotta do it so it's no secret.
It wasn't until I left the place of business and my wife inside talking with the ladies up front that I got the answer to who yelled, "Take back the streets!"
You see, I got friends all over. They tell me they provide me a special security force that nobody can see 'cause although I call myself the messenger boy, they call me their de facto leader 'cause I'm the only one who's got the goods on everybody and the connections what some others only think they got.
So, I sit down in the car and there across the street is the fellow who was sent to tell me it's time to call in all favours. The generals have got their soldiers trained and ready. The IT army has got all the mobile phones bugged and the computers hacked. The domestic help has got all the houses wired for eavesdropping and gotten us copies of all the illegal activity going on with their employers. Our lawyers on retainer have got all the lawsuits lined up and ready to go. Accountants have all the ledgers fully documented.
All I gotta do is give them the signal and the streets will be ours again.
I done told you I'm just an ol' country boy disguised in city clothes. My family history runs deep into the roots of this continent's government and further back to other continents and other eras. My family has agreed that we're going to lead our species to greater causes than any one country or government seeks. We don't care who gets in our way or who falls behind because we're carrying the greatest standard our species has ever seen.
Is it time to take back the streets?
Almost. I've got a few more people who need their chance of "convincing" and if they say "no," then let's get this party started.
Plus, I want another day of staycation before I have to hunker down and work with my computer programmers to put all the controls and switches into manual mode so we can accelerate our plans, which means I'll have to sit at the control station for days on end and make sure every group is acting on their agreed-upon subproject objectives.
Remember, if anyone asks, I'm just the messenger boy. I'm unimportant. Nobody knows who I really am. If anyone gets in your way, you have our various groups at your disposal to do as you see fit. If any organisation - corporation, government, etc. - gets in your way, we can motivate whole groups to act at once, including new methods for tectonic plate activity (some of our scientists say they can activate volcanoes but I think it's still in the theory stage at this point), atmosphere manipulation and other large-scale demonstrations of what it takes to bring a whole society to a halt. However, I suggest we stick to targeted economic disaster as a motivational tool because ecological disaster affects both sides.
The fate of our species is in our hands. Let's make sure our actions are meticulously thought-out and taken seriously but with a sense of humour. Some of you will jump early and that's okay. We still support freedom of choice. I recommend that most of us hold back until the moment is right.
I suggest we all take a couple of days to enjoy life on this planet to understand what we're about to do. If you get too tense in anticipation, you lose your edge when you're needed most.
By the way, many of you have your day in the limelight coming to you, according to the Book of the Future. So don't despair.
I still prefer anonymity, using a pen name for my byline. After all, this is all about you and our species, not me. I just happen to be standing or sitting here in this spot. Someone will take over for me when my turn is up. It's what I've always wanted to happen, training my replacement(s) to excel, finding new avenues to explore that'll open their eyes to fresh ideas for our species to spread across the universe.
I turned to see who'd yelled. Nobody, or so it would seem. The sidewalks were empty but the open door of Patrick's told me I might find my answer there.
My wife and I entered the shop. Furniture, fabric remnants, a man at a sewing machine staying busy and the eyes of a guard dog staring at us between the slats of a kid's bunk bed.
Thirty minutes before, we'd sat at a window booth of The Sicilian, a popular gathering place for those who want to be seen and not seen at the same time. My wife ate the daily special while I wolfed down a plate of gyros.
We watched the action outside the window, wondering about the sign we'd been told to fixate on, "Historical Complex."
An Owens Cross Roads police cruiser cruised by cruisingly.
A convertible Mercedes sedan and a Volvo wagon waved their behinds at us from in front of Patrick's.
A Subaru delivered some dry cleaning to Patrick's. At last the signal we'd been given for the go-ahead.
A customer inside The Sicilian kept trying to get my attention. I was supposed to be on a staycation (domestic holiday) and not taking down no notes from no rogue operatives but I listened to what he had to say anyway. He was saying "yes" and "no" out of both sides of his mouth, partly out of fun and partly out of his serious side. His demonstrated intelligence shows he's very useful. His female companion didn't make it clear whether she was a "yes" or a "no."
Our server, a pretty young woman, the perfect example of the hope and verve of the next generation, shared some anecdotes with us. Her missing vest button gave my wife and me some new ideas for passing messages in the future - we'll keep you informed (but not in this blog 'cause it's getting too much attention from "them" right now, if you know what I mean).
We finished our desserts, tiramisu and baklava, and casually wandered over to Patrick's. Following our instincts, we dug through a stack of remnants and found the message my wife had been promised.
Can I get a day off in this business? Apparently not.
We got back in the car and drove around town, looking at the businesses that were out of business, including a coffee shop, a church and a restaurant. When you can't drink caffeine and eat a slice of pie at a place of worship, the world has gone to shit. Of course, that's why we were in the town, to round up some recruits and get updates from some of my buddies from the old days, former playground mates and now generals in their local "armies."
I drove us in a random pattern, finally finding the historical complex and the lettering on the business signs that formed an anagram just for me and the missus.
You belong to any secret societies? I don't. Not that I haven't been invited. Some of the ones you know, like the Masonic folks, have been wanting my membership for a long time.
Thing is, I gotta be neutral. I can't lean one way or the other on account of what I promised the Great Mother and the Great Father a long time ago.
Well, after deciphering the anagram, I found out I was going to get surrounded by some folks looking for any secret signs from me while I was in this town of theirs. Some of them would be Masonic types and some would belong to another secret society I can't mention on account of it don't exist.
We moseyed on through town and looked at more houses and neighbourhoods, getting a feel for the place and what the folks here could offer.
Eventually, we pulled into a parking spot in front of our prearranged meeting place and took care of some official business that's none of your business but we all gotta do it so it's no secret.
It wasn't until I left the place of business and my wife inside talking with the ladies up front that I got the answer to who yelled, "Take back the streets!"
You see, I got friends all over. They tell me they provide me a special security force that nobody can see 'cause although I call myself the messenger boy, they call me their de facto leader 'cause I'm the only one who's got the goods on everybody and the connections what some others only think they got.
So, I sit down in the car and there across the street is the fellow who was sent to tell me it's time to call in all favours. The generals have got their soldiers trained and ready. The IT army has got all the mobile phones bugged and the computers hacked. The domestic help has got all the houses wired for eavesdropping and gotten us copies of all the illegal activity going on with their employers. Our lawyers on retainer have got all the lawsuits lined up and ready to go. Accountants have all the ledgers fully documented.
All I gotta do is give them the signal and the streets will be ours again.
I done told you I'm just an ol' country boy disguised in city clothes. My family history runs deep into the roots of this continent's government and further back to other continents and other eras. My family has agreed that we're going to lead our species to greater causes than any one country or government seeks. We don't care who gets in our way or who falls behind because we're carrying the greatest standard our species has ever seen.
Is it time to take back the streets?
Almost. I've got a few more people who need their chance of "convincing" and if they say "no," then let's get this party started.
Plus, I want another day of staycation before I have to hunker down and work with my computer programmers to put all the controls and switches into manual mode so we can accelerate our plans, which means I'll have to sit at the control station for days on end and make sure every group is acting on their agreed-upon subproject objectives.
Remember, if anyone asks, I'm just the messenger boy. I'm unimportant. Nobody knows who I really am. If anyone gets in your way, you have our various groups at your disposal to do as you see fit. If any organisation - corporation, government, etc. - gets in your way, we can motivate whole groups to act at once, including new methods for tectonic plate activity (some of our scientists say they can activate volcanoes but I think it's still in the theory stage at this point), atmosphere manipulation and other large-scale demonstrations of what it takes to bring a whole society to a halt. However, I suggest we stick to targeted economic disaster as a motivational tool because ecological disaster affects both sides.
The fate of our species is in our hands. Let's make sure our actions are meticulously thought-out and taken seriously but with a sense of humour. Some of you will jump early and that's okay. We still support freedom of choice. I recommend that most of us hold back until the moment is right.
I suggest we all take a couple of days to enjoy life on this planet to understand what we're about to do. If you get too tense in anticipation, you lose your edge when you're needed most.
By the way, many of you have your day in the limelight coming to you, according to the Book of the Future. So don't despair.
I still prefer anonymity, using a pen name for my byline. After all, this is all about you and our species, not me. I just happen to be standing or sitting here in this spot. Someone will take over for me when my turn is up. It's what I've always wanted to happen, training my replacement(s) to excel, finding new avenues to explore that'll open their eyes to fresh ideas for our species to spread across the universe.
22 February 2010
Volumes and Reams
I had listened to many proposals to resolve the stalemate. Some of them included references to recent pop culture - movies like "The Net," "Hackers," "Antitrust," and "Live Free or Die Hard."
So I dug deeper.
I pulled out scrolls given to me by an old couple down the street, both who meditated on the enormity of every task at hand, telling me that this moment in which we live is it, so treat it with grace, honour, dignity, seriousness, humour and patience.
I consulted with wise sages by reading their texts in dogeared books.
I smelled the wind.
I picked up fallen leaves and compared them to the naked, twisted sculptures standing tall above me.
I listened to those who had no solutions to offer.
Here, in this moment, is what I found. The seriousness of this moment is a laughing matter. We need not raise angry voices to sway lost leaders. So, I call on those of you physically able to do so to give thanks for all we have. Let us proclaim this "Hunger Strike Week" and demonstrate our solidarity in wanting to creatively get us out of the way of fatcats and others who desire to enrich themselves by taking all our money.
In this part of the world, it is Black History Month, which is a way of celebrating the diversity within our general culture.
Diverse ways of thinking. Martin Luther King, Jr. Gandhi. Benjamin Franklin. Sacagawea.
I live only in this moment. In this moment, I choose to drink water. Let this moment live for a while until I see that leaders put us first. If they, active or retired, show they are using their re-election funds for personal use, then I will continue to find similarly quiet, dietary ways to encourage them to think otherwise. I will not act rashly.
So I dug deeper.
I pulled out scrolls given to me by an old couple down the street, both who meditated on the enormity of every task at hand, telling me that this moment in which we live is it, so treat it with grace, honour, dignity, seriousness, humour and patience.
I consulted with wise sages by reading their texts in dogeared books.
I smelled the wind.
I picked up fallen leaves and compared them to the naked, twisted sculptures standing tall above me.
I listened to those who had no solutions to offer.
Here, in this moment, is what I found. The seriousness of this moment is a laughing matter. We need not raise angry voices to sway lost leaders. So, I call on those of you physically able to do so to give thanks for all we have. Let us proclaim this "Hunger Strike Week" and demonstrate our solidarity in wanting to creatively get us out of the way of fatcats and others who desire to enrich themselves by taking all our money.
In this part of the world, it is Black History Month, which is a way of celebrating the diversity within our general culture.
Diverse ways of thinking. Martin Luther King, Jr. Gandhi. Benjamin Franklin. Sacagawea.
I live only in this moment. In this moment, I choose to drink water. Let this moment live for a while until I see that leaders put us first. If they, active or retired, show they are using their re-election funds for personal use, then I will continue to find similarly quiet, dietary ways to encourage them to think otherwise. I will not act rashly.
13 February 2010
Relish Treasure Finder
I consider myself one of you. Fortunate to have friends all over the world - friends I found engaged in work situations, sitting in classrooms, focused on retail shopping, walking down the street or cheering in the stadium. I've worked with and for people of many social, cultural, and family backgrounds, with gender preference never an issue that was or became an issue. We were and still are who we are. We need be no more or less than us.
Thus, it pains me when I see trends emerge that contradict what I believe friendship to be - a sample of the cosmos of cosmic relationships. Especially when I can do little to stop the trends that appear to be our society out of control. Even more so when I see that it is selfish people or groups who are working others into a frenzy unnecessarily so.
You are my brothers and sisters. Like siblings with distinctly different personalities, I will disagree with you when I feel you're taking a wrong turn in life. You may not listen to me or know I'm talking to you but I'll hold my ground and maintain my train of thought until you catch on to what I'm saying.
In my walk through life today, driving through north Alabama with my wife, seeing all the small stores and cafes that have folded during this economic downturn, including one of our favorites, the Blue Willow, I have met new friends and talked with you on short but intimate terms. We learn what we can in those quiet moments of one-to-one eye contact. The deep browns, the light greens, the sparkling blues.
I love you all. You know that and hopefully you see my loving smile when we look at each other. I am happy to meet you even if just for a quick glance across the clothes racks at Unclaimed Baggage Center or the tables at Thai Garden or when my wife and I bought Girl Scout cookies from a mother and her cheerful daughters at Star Market.
I will not accept defeat. I will not let the world of disagreement drag me into a fight that is not mine. Look at ourselves. We're the only ones on this planet together. Your ancestors aren't brandishing weapons. Your unborn descendants aren't making the rules. It's you and me. That's it. So get over the ancestor worship. Quit quoting ancient texts and claim you can do nothing but repeat yourselves because some dead people said that's what you have to do to live or die. I don't care about your dead family. I have dead family, too, you know. I have ancestors-turned-to-dust who would expect me to participate in genocide without blinking an eye. In fact, they'd expect me to trade an eye for an eye, literally and metaphorically speaking. I disregard their deadly decision-making. I'm smarter than them and so are you.
Forget who you think you are. You are not you. I am not me. We are one and the same. I've said it over and over, repeating those who know what I'm talking about. Let's use our common sense here, not our short-sightedness.
I picked up some books at Unclaimed Baggage today, books that I wanted to enrich my understanding of us and what makes us think we have to take wrong turns in life. If you're a biker, a truck driver, a forklift operator, a dressmaker, a teacher, a banker, a farmhand, a religious leader, or a student, you learn something new every day. You see new adverts. You pick up a new trick in the trade. You adapt to changing weather patterns. You adjust your buying habits to your increasing or decreasing income. You can learn, too, by reading and studying books outside your limited understanding of your subculture and see just how rich and powerful a mix of subcultures really is (because, no matter what you think you believe, your subculture is not the only one thinking it's the only one that knows and stays on the true path to wealth both here in this life and beyond). Here are some books that I would not normally read but have chosen to read because I believe every one of you has something important to teach me. I hope you can find similar books, or websites or people to teach you that we all contribute to our people's good health and happiness.
History is full of one subculture meeting another, with violent clashes where one group kills people in the other group, along with their knowledge that would have helped the next civilisation grow and thrive, forcing everyone to start over.
In a recent movie, a cinema character called another one a con artist for turning people's flats and houses into ideal selling points because furniture and home accessories were moved in temporarily to make the place a home. We all fall victim to con artists of this sort. We create self-promotional marketing campaigns and turn ourselves into walking adverts that simplify who we are and what we represent. Don't be fooled by your own confidence trick. Just like aboriginal people of the Pacific Northwest who put up totem poles to indicate their wealth and status, we are not the carvings we create. We are not the magic tricks we play on stage. Don't be a victim of your own imagination.
Most good sports coaches will tell you to get out of your head and get into your body. Your thoughts do not score goals. Your thoughts do not win games. Your bodies make the moves that help you achieve your victories.
I am talking to you, to us, as bodies here. We can win together when we get the images out of our heads that falsely indicate we are part of some subgroup that's better than others. The fact is that our success and failure depend on people all over this planet who use their bodies to complete tasks we could not achieve with ease.
You can keep fighting each other, if you want. I will not stop you. But I will work to ensure those who want to turn each other into mortal enemies will be sequestered and put into a hole where neither one of you will escape alive unless you decide that you have better things to do, like working with the rest of us to share our subcultures and learn from one another. Again, we don't have to like each other or agree but we can give each other room to enjoy our subcultures how we choose as long as it doesn't include killing those in other subcultures.
I'll give you some more time to think about this. Then, at some point in the future, you will have to make a decision. Respect one another and all of our rights to celebrate our subcultures, or don't. If you choose the latter, then you'll deal not with me (I'm an easygoing guy) but with those who have been trained to take care of intolerance. It's not a threat or a promise. It's just the way we are, you and me.
Meantime, I've got to get back to the world of those who do want to work well with others. I don't have time for those who want to drag others down with them. See you on the bright side. With a smile. And a hearty laugh.
Thus, it pains me when I see trends emerge that contradict what I believe friendship to be - a sample of the cosmos of cosmic relationships. Especially when I can do little to stop the trends that appear to be our society out of control. Even more so when I see that it is selfish people or groups who are working others into a frenzy unnecessarily so.
You are my brothers and sisters. Like siblings with distinctly different personalities, I will disagree with you when I feel you're taking a wrong turn in life. You may not listen to me or know I'm talking to you but I'll hold my ground and maintain my train of thought until you catch on to what I'm saying.
In my walk through life today, driving through north Alabama with my wife, seeing all the small stores and cafes that have folded during this economic downturn, including one of our favorites, the Blue Willow, I have met new friends and talked with you on short but intimate terms. We learn what we can in those quiet moments of one-to-one eye contact. The deep browns, the light greens, the sparkling blues.
I love you all. You know that and hopefully you see my loving smile when we look at each other. I am happy to meet you even if just for a quick glance across the clothes racks at Unclaimed Baggage Center or the tables at Thai Garden or when my wife and I bought Girl Scout cookies from a mother and her cheerful daughters at Star Market.
I will not accept defeat. I will not let the world of disagreement drag me into a fight that is not mine. Look at ourselves. We're the only ones on this planet together. Your ancestors aren't brandishing weapons. Your unborn descendants aren't making the rules. It's you and me. That's it. So get over the ancestor worship. Quit quoting ancient texts and claim you can do nothing but repeat yourselves because some dead people said that's what you have to do to live or die. I don't care about your dead family. I have dead family, too, you know. I have ancestors-turned-to-dust who would expect me to participate in genocide without blinking an eye. In fact, they'd expect me to trade an eye for an eye, literally and metaphorically speaking. I disregard their deadly decision-making. I'm smarter than them and so are you.
Forget who you think you are. You are not you. I am not me. We are one and the same. I've said it over and over, repeating those who know what I'm talking about. Let's use our common sense here, not our short-sightedness.
I picked up some books at Unclaimed Baggage today, books that I wanted to enrich my understanding of us and what makes us think we have to take wrong turns in life. If you're a biker, a truck driver, a forklift operator, a dressmaker, a teacher, a banker, a farmhand, a religious leader, or a student, you learn something new every day. You see new adverts. You pick up a new trick in the trade. You adapt to changing weather patterns. You adjust your buying habits to your increasing or decreasing income. You can learn, too, by reading and studying books outside your limited understanding of your subculture and see just how rich and powerful a mix of subcultures really is (because, no matter what you think you believe, your subculture is not the only one thinking it's the only one that knows and stays on the true path to wealth both here in this life and beyond). Here are some books that I would not normally read but have chosen to read because I believe every one of you has something important to teach me. I hope you can find similar books, or websites or people to teach you that we all contribute to our people's good health and happiness.
- Home Life in Colonial Days, by Alice Morse Earle
- The Post-American World, by Fareed Zakaria
- A Maggot, by John Fowles
- The Mad Ones, by Tom Folsom
- The Face Behind The Veil, by Donna Gehrke-White
- Sinn Féin: A Hundred Turbulent Years, by Brian Feeney
History is full of one subculture meeting another, with violent clashes where one group kills people in the other group, along with their knowledge that would have helped the next civilisation grow and thrive, forcing everyone to start over.
In a recent movie, a cinema character called another one a con artist for turning people's flats and houses into ideal selling points because furniture and home accessories were moved in temporarily to make the place a home. We all fall victim to con artists of this sort. We create self-promotional marketing campaigns and turn ourselves into walking adverts that simplify who we are and what we represent. Don't be fooled by your own confidence trick. Just like aboriginal people of the Pacific Northwest who put up totem poles to indicate their wealth and status, we are not the carvings we create. We are not the magic tricks we play on stage. Don't be a victim of your own imagination.
Most good sports coaches will tell you to get out of your head and get into your body. Your thoughts do not score goals. Your thoughts do not win games. Your bodies make the moves that help you achieve your victories.
I am talking to you, to us, as bodies here. We can win together when we get the images out of our heads that falsely indicate we are part of some subgroup that's better than others. The fact is that our success and failure depend on people all over this planet who use their bodies to complete tasks we could not achieve with ease.
You can keep fighting each other, if you want. I will not stop you. But I will work to ensure those who want to turn each other into mortal enemies will be sequestered and put into a hole where neither one of you will escape alive unless you decide that you have better things to do, like working with the rest of us to share our subcultures and learn from one another. Again, we don't have to like each other or agree but we can give each other room to enjoy our subcultures how we choose as long as it doesn't include killing those in other subcultures.
I'll give you some more time to think about this. Then, at some point in the future, you will have to make a decision. Respect one another and all of our rights to celebrate our subcultures, or don't. If you choose the latter, then you'll deal not with me (I'm an easygoing guy) but with those who have been trained to take care of intolerance. It's not a threat or a promise. It's just the way we are, you and me.
Meantime, I've got to get back to the world of those who do want to work well with others. I don't have time for those who want to drag others down with them. See you on the bright side. With a smile. And a hearty laugh.
07 February 2010
Pick A Dilly Of A Dalliance, Mrs. Dalloway
Let the dead die intravenously. Let them soak in their solace alone. Let the lives of those who wander the planet with nothing in the way of commercially-viable victual-earning credits worry about weather or whether the ether will either let them live or weather their bones to nothing.
More books on the loan shelf:
Yet, where are we going? What's it all about?
A CD:
The movements are not mine to make or take away. The movements to observe are yours to own and make anew.
So England beats Wales and Ireland wins while the Colts falter in the land of Little Cuba and the Saints go marching back to a perfect storm of a tickertape Mardi Gras parade that leads to Lent and then St. Valentine's Day. What of cricket for India, Pakistan, and Australia this year? What of the worldwide gathering of futbol players in South Africa? Is there still a good chocolate shop in Vancouver to recover one's wishes for health and happiness after a poor showing in the mountainous Olympic mismatches nearby? What day is it, again?
Why did Avocent accept a ~$25/share bid by Emerson and APC let itself go by the wayside for Schneider Electric? Why was I not able to exercise options above $35? Lack of vision. Lack of clarity. Leadership wanting someone else to lead for a while. Forgotten deals and forgotten feelings. Does anyone remember the cost of the Boer Wars? Does anyone have an accurate count of the bodies thrown aside to create the empires of Russia, India, China and the United States. Is anyone keeping count of the back-and-forth slaughter on the African continent? Why is there no one left to speak for the people of Machu Pikchu?
Did I tell you about the time I worked for General Electric in their Aerospace Division where we designed test equipment (acronym: CASS) for the Navy? Do you know why I have a jaded sense of trust of government contracts in general? Because of the way the CASS contract was [wink-wink] agreed to, with the government paying GE for writing so many lines of code per deliverable, no matter whether the code worked reliably, made sense or not, guaranteeing that GE would get follow-on contracts to fix the bad code its employees wrote.
Would you buy a product you knew wasn't going to work right the first time? The government did, for a while, until it got wise to the schedule slips and cost overruns. Sounds familiar to you, doesn't it? It happens every day, somewhere, between one government and one private enterprise all the time. It happens with the commercial software you use, to a greater or lesser extent, depending on your relationship with the software manufacturer. Part of it is built into our genes, because we aren't perfect and can't anticipate all the causes and effects of software algorithms and GUIs. Part of it is intentionally messy.
That's where your smarts come into play. If the deal smells too rotten or too sweet, then you know you're on one side or the other of a product design that's probably not going to look good in the light of day. Either take your money and run or make sure the blame rolls uphill/downhill past your doorstop. Or be like me and never put your money where your work is. I call it freedom. You call it whatever you like as long as I pocket the profit and can choose how to spend my untaxed earnings.
Time for a dry/wry philosophical story and let love linger in your thoughts for a more detailed tale of descriptive, contemplative, offscreen rendezvous later in your/our future...
More books on the loan shelf:
- In Praise of Idleness and other essays by Bertrand Russell
- The Way: An Anthology of American Indian Literature, edited by Witt & Steiner
- British Women Writing Fiction, edited by Abby H. P. Werlock
- Introduction to Mathematical Philosophy by Bertrand Russell
- History as a System and other essays toward a philosophy of history by José Ortega y Gasset
- A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson
Yet, where are we going? What's it all about?
A CD:
- Cikada String Quartet, in due tempi
- "And Another Thing... Douglas Adams's Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Part Six of Three" by Eoin Colfer
- "A History of Pi" by Petr Beckmann
- "Eats, Shites and Leaves, Crap English and How to Use It" by A. Parody
- "Bathroom Reader [22nd Edition]"
The movements are not mine to make or take away. The movements to observe are yours to own and make anew.
So England beats Wales and Ireland wins while the Colts falter in the land of Little Cuba and the Saints go marching back to a perfect storm of a tickertape Mardi Gras parade that leads to Lent and then St. Valentine's Day. What of cricket for India, Pakistan, and Australia this year? What of the worldwide gathering of futbol players in South Africa? Is there still a good chocolate shop in Vancouver to recover one's wishes for health and happiness after a poor showing in the mountainous Olympic mismatches nearby? What day is it, again?
Why did Avocent accept a ~$25/share bid by Emerson and APC let itself go by the wayside for Schneider Electric? Why was I not able to exercise options above $35? Lack of vision. Lack of clarity. Leadership wanting someone else to lead for a while. Forgotten deals and forgotten feelings. Does anyone remember the cost of the Boer Wars? Does anyone have an accurate count of the bodies thrown aside to create the empires of Russia, India, China and the United States. Is anyone keeping count of the back-and-forth slaughter on the African continent? Why is there no one left to speak for the people of Machu Pikchu?
Did I tell you about the time I worked for General Electric in their Aerospace Division where we designed test equipment (acronym: CASS) for the Navy? Do you know why I have a jaded sense of trust of government contracts in general? Because of the way the CASS contract was [wink-wink] agreed to, with the government paying GE for writing so many lines of code per deliverable, no matter whether the code worked reliably, made sense or not, guaranteeing that GE would get follow-on contracts to fix the bad code its employees wrote.
Would you buy a product you knew wasn't going to work right the first time? The government did, for a while, until it got wise to the schedule slips and cost overruns. Sounds familiar to you, doesn't it? It happens every day, somewhere, between one government and one private enterprise all the time. It happens with the commercial software you use, to a greater or lesser extent, depending on your relationship with the software manufacturer. Part of it is built into our genes, because we aren't perfect and can't anticipate all the causes and effects of software algorithms and GUIs. Part of it is intentionally messy.
That's where your smarts come into play. If the deal smells too rotten or too sweet, then you know you're on one side or the other of a product design that's probably not going to look good in the light of day. Either take your money and run or make sure the blame rolls uphill/downhill past your doorstop. Or be like me and never put your money where your work is. I call it freedom. You call it whatever you like as long as I pocket the profit and can choose how to spend my untaxed earnings.
Time for a dry/wry philosophical story and let love linger in your thoughts for a more detailed tale of descriptive, contemplative, offscreen rendezvous later in your/our future...
Black and Blue
Sarafina clipped the hair around my ear. "So you think it'll be a good game?"
"I hope so." I looked at Sarafina's face while she cut the hair around the base of my neck. I don't know hairstyles so the best I can describe hers is coquettish, with bangs combed down to cover one side of her face, her left eye peering flirtingly through her platinum locks. "I know the Manning family'll be proud of their son and his team, no matter who wins."
"Oh yes. Peyton. He's great. I bet the halftime show will be okay. The Who, is it?"
"Or the Rolling Stones?"
"Something like that."
"I'm trying to remember the last band that did the Super Bowl halftime show who I saw in person. Guess it was Prince...in 1983 or thereabouts."
"Wasn't that show awesome?"
"It was. I think he toured with Vanity 6 and Time. There was a boxer who sat near me. Umm...John Holmes?"
Lucillia looked over at me while thumbing through her tunes on her iPod. "John Holmes? You mean Larry Holmes, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, 'cause John Holmes was a porn star."
"Good point."
"Yeah, there's a bit of a difference between the two. Or I imagine there is."
"Well, I guess you're right. Having to imagine one of them, huh?"
We all laughed.
Sarafina spun my chair around. "There you go. You like it?"
I looked at my trimmed head. No longer the shaggy dog look and more like the professional amateur professional I am, keeping deals moving smoothly for those who require my services without overtly requesting my services. "Fantastic, 'fina. You're grand."
"You know any good Super Bowl parties going on nearby? I...I mean, I and my boyfriend are looking for one to attend close by, seeing as I don't get off work until five."
"Can't say as I do. I've got plans myself."
"I see."
= = =
After paying Sarafina, I picked up my wife and stopped by her sister in-law's house for an early St. Valentine's Day Sunday dinner, including roast beef, stewed potatoes, steamed corns and a heart-shaped brownie cake topped with Mayfield vanilla ice cream. We chatted with the family for a while, catching up on what my nephew, his girlfriend and my niece and her husband have been up to.
Afterward, we swung by the Wagon Wheel liquor store, a hop and a skip from our house, to buy some high gravity brews including a Left Hand Imperial Stout and something else I can't remember but will enjoy soon, I'm sure. I noticed the fellows hanging out inside, regular blokes, the type one would hope to have sitting on barstools beside you in the pub, chewing the tire flat, shooting the Febreze, and letting the insults fly from one wallflower to one barfly and back to ya, laughter all around.
We wheeled our wagon over to Wal-Mart and ran down the list of groceries necessary for consuming during the American football spectacle about to take place as soon as I finish recording this important conversation.
I'd noticed a fellow sauntering between rows of frozen food and fresh bread. Upon turning down the facial tissue aisle, he stopped us, taking off his hat (a toboggan) in a gentlemanly manner.
"Is your name O'Leary?"
"O'Leary?"
"Yes."
"No, 'tisn't."
"No? Well, I know a fellow by the name of O'Leary."
"Not me."
"I see. You ever been to Coleraine?"
"No."
"No? How about Portrush?"
"Never heard of it."
"You sure about that?"
"As far as I know."
"I see. Well, I attended a wedding in those parts back in '76. Quite a wedding. Held in what they called a Sheraton because they needed a place big enough to hold 250 people. At the reception, they use the time-honoured tradition of having the oldest male of each family and generation introduce the bride, and the same for the groom, going all the way up to the grandfathers and great-grandfathers. All we had to drink was a mixture of Guinness and lemonade or whiskey. When the introductions were over, I was drunk. Then they announced the presence of an American, Danny. That's me. Well, I being drunk and seeing the sign outside the window of a dead man with the word 'INTERNMENT' on it, designating what the British do to the Irish, I took my turn at the mike and spoke up.
"I looked them all in the eye and I told them that 250 years ago our ancestors, the Scots and the Irish, we took up arms to defend ourselves against the tyranny of the British and we drove them out to sea. Now, I look at you here and I see men who do the cowardly acts of blowing up women and children when you should be taking up arms to drive the British out of Ireland. And you can do it, too. That's what I said to them. I expected them to throw me out on my ear. Instead, they all stood and applauded.
"You see, it's the English what's causing all our problems still. They don't know how to stop expanding and then they don't know how to keep invaders and the indigenous from claiming what's their rights. I'm a Scot, you know. Scottish and Irish blood. We're not the ones who're to blame."
I nodded. The man was sincere-sounding but the look in his eyes and the near-empty shopping cart told me he'd seen better times. He followed my eyes and read my looks.
"I've been a labourer my whole life. Them Irish, they shook my hand and expected me to be a dandy American but were surprised to find my hands calloused like theirs. See, that's who's really running things, isn't it?"
I smiled.
"I returned in '79 and rode the train. Second-class, of course. Two kids, strangers, about twelve years old each, they talked me into joining them in the first-class section. In the empty seat of the compartment we chose was a hat, a coat and a newspaper. Eventually, the owner of them things returned and the man told me he'd traveled the whole of the United States, including Alaska and Hawaii. He knew more about my country than I did. When I asked him what he did for a living, he told me it wasn't nothing special. Well, he let me borrow the newspaper, which was folded up, and there on the front page was his picture. He was the president of the European Common Market! See, that's how it is in Ireland. Everyone's the same, the first-class and the second-class are no better than one another except as seen through British eyes."
My wife started walking our cart forward, a hint for us to be moving on. I slowly walked beside her. We wanted to finish shopping and then return to our house for the game.
"Oh, I see you folks are busy. I guess I better be going. Good talking with you."
I nodded. "You, too."
He tipped his hat to me and turned away.
When my wife and I saw John at the airport earlier this week he reminded us of the old saying about European stereotypes: "The Irish are all drunk, the English are all assholes and the French run away."
We carry images in our heads of what we think we see around us. It's best to clear those images out and meet people as they really are and not what we think they represent. Then, and only then, can we make friends and making lasting impressions on one another.
"I hope so." I looked at Sarafina's face while she cut the hair around the base of my neck. I don't know hairstyles so the best I can describe hers is coquettish, with bangs combed down to cover one side of her face, her left eye peering flirtingly through her platinum locks. "I know the Manning family'll be proud of their son and his team, no matter who wins."
"Oh yes. Peyton. He's great. I bet the halftime show will be okay. The Who, is it?"
"Or the Rolling Stones?"
"Something like that."
"I'm trying to remember the last band that did the Super Bowl halftime show who I saw in person. Guess it was Prince...in 1983 or thereabouts."
"Wasn't that show awesome?"
"It was. I think he toured with Vanity 6 and Time. There was a boxer who sat near me. Umm...John Holmes?"
Lucillia looked over at me while thumbing through her tunes on her iPod. "John Holmes? You mean Larry Holmes, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, 'cause John Holmes was a porn star."
"Good point."
"Yeah, there's a bit of a difference between the two. Or I imagine there is."
"Well, I guess you're right. Having to imagine one of them, huh?"
We all laughed.
Sarafina spun my chair around. "There you go. You like it?"
I looked at my trimmed head. No longer the shaggy dog look and more like the professional amateur professional I am, keeping deals moving smoothly for those who require my services without overtly requesting my services. "Fantastic, 'fina. You're grand."
"You know any good Super Bowl parties going on nearby? I...I mean, I and my boyfriend are looking for one to attend close by, seeing as I don't get off work until five."
"Can't say as I do. I've got plans myself."
"I see."
= = =
After paying Sarafina, I picked up my wife and stopped by her sister in-law's house for an early St. Valentine's Day Sunday dinner, including roast beef, stewed potatoes, steamed corns and a heart-shaped brownie cake topped with Mayfield vanilla ice cream. We chatted with the family for a while, catching up on what my nephew, his girlfriend and my niece and her husband have been up to.
Afterward, we swung by the Wagon Wheel liquor store, a hop and a skip from our house, to buy some high gravity brews including a Left Hand Imperial Stout and something else I can't remember but will enjoy soon, I'm sure. I noticed the fellows hanging out inside, regular blokes, the type one would hope to have sitting on barstools beside you in the pub, chewing the tire flat, shooting the Febreze, and letting the insults fly from one wallflower to one barfly and back to ya, laughter all around.
We wheeled our wagon over to Wal-Mart and ran down the list of groceries necessary for consuming during the American football spectacle about to take place as soon as I finish recording this important conversation.
I'd noticed a fellow sauntering between rows of frozen food and fresh bread. Upon turning down the facial tissue aisle, he stopped us, taking off his hat (a toboggan) in a gentlemanly manner.
"Is your name O'Leary?"
"O'Leary?"
"Yes."
"No, 'tisn't."
"No? Well, I know a fellow by the name of O'Leary."
"Not me."
"I see. You ever been to Coleraine?"
"No."
"No? How about Portrush?"
"Never heard of it."
"You sure about that?"
"As far as I know."
"I see. Well, I attended a wedding in those parts back in '76. Quite a wedding. Held in what they called a Sheraton because they needed a place big enough to hold 250 people. At the reception, they use the time-honoured tradition of having the oldest male of each family and generation introduce the bride, and the same for the groom, going all the way up to the grandfathers and great-grandfathers. All we had to drink was a mixture of Guinness and lemonade or whiskey. When the introductions were over, I was drunk. Then they announced the presence of an American, Danny. That's me. Well, I being drunk and seeing the sign outside the window of a dead man with the word 'INTERNMENT' on it, designating what the British do to the Irish, I took my turn at the mike and spoke up.
"I looked them all in the eye and I told them that 250 years ago our ancestors, the Scots and the Irish, we took up arms to defend ourselves against the tyranny of the British and we drove them out to sea. Now, I look at you here and I see men who do the cowardly acts of blowing up women and children when you should be taking up arms to drive the British out of Ireland. And you can do it, too. That's what I said to them. I expected them to throw me out on my ear. Instead, they all stood and applauded.
"You see, it's the English what's causing all our problems still. They don't know how to stop expanding and then they don't know how to keep invaders and the indigenous from claiming what's their rights. I'm a Scot, you know. Scottish and Irish blood. We're not the ones who're to blame."
I nodded. The man was sincere-sounding but the look in his eyes and the near-empty shopping cart told me he'd seen better times. He followed my eyes and read my looks.
"I've been a labourer my whole life. Them Irish, they shook my hand and expected me to be a dandy American but were surprised to find my hands calloused like theirs. See, that's who's really running things, isn't it?"
I smiled.
"I returned in '79 and rode the train. Second-class, of course. Two kids, strangers, about twelve years old each, they talked me into joining them in the first-class section. In the empty seat of the compartment we chose was a hat, a coat and a newspaper. Eventually, the owner of them things returned and the man told me he'd traveled the whole of the United States, including Alaska and Hawaii. He knew more about my country than I did. When I asked him what he did for a living, he told me it wasn't nothing special. Well, he let me borrow the newspaper, which was folded up, and there on the front page was his picture. He was the president of the European Common Market! See, that's how it is in Ireland. Everyone's the same, the first-class and the second-class are no better than one another except as seen through British eyes."
My wife started walking our cart forward, a hint for us to be moving on. I slowly walked beside her. We wanted to finish shopping and then return to our house for the game.
"Oh, I see you folks are busy. I guess I better be going. Good talking with you."
I nodded. "You, too."
He tipped his hat to me and turned away.
When my wife and I saw John at the airport earlier this week he reminded us of the old saying about European stereotypes: "The Irish are all drunk, the English are all assholes and the French run away."
We carry images in our heads of what we think we see around us. It's best to clear those images out and meet people as they really are and not what we think they represent. Then, and only then, can we make friends and making lasting impressions on one another.
11 January 2010
22 December 2009
Seasonal Measurements
Heard this song long ago, sung by the Irish crooner Danny Doyle in a pub in New Orleans, later personified by the movie, Joyeux Noël. Here are the lyrics, which serves as today's blog entry, two days away from ending this blog:
Christmas in the Trenches
by John McCutcheon
My name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool.
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear.
'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung,
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung
Our families back in England were toasting us that day
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.
I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
Says I, "Now listen up, me boys!" each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.
"He's singing bloody well, you know!" my partner says to me
Soon, one by one, each German voice joined in harmony
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war
As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
"God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent
The next they sang was "Stille Nacht." "Tis 'Silent Night'," says I
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky
"There's someone coming toward us!" the front line sentry cried
All sights were fixed on one long figure trudging from their side
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shown on that plain so bright
As he, bravely, strode unarmed into the night
Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's Land
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
Young Sanders played his squeezebox and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men
Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each prepared to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wonderous night
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"
'Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost, so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone forevermore
My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War I, I've learned its lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same
© 1984 John McCutcheon - All rights reserved
Christmas in the Trenches
by John McCutcheon
My name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool.
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear.
'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung,
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung
Our families back in England were toasting us that day
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.
I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
Says I, "Now listen up, me boys!" each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.
"He's singing bloody well, you know!" my partner says to me
Soon, one by one, each German voice joined in harmony
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war
As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
"God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent
The next they sang was "Stille Nacht." "Tis 'Silent Night'," says I
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky
"There's someone coming toward us!" the front line sentry cried
All sights were fixed on one long figure trudging from their side
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shown on that plain so bright
As he, bravely, strode unarmed into the night
Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's Land
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
Young Sanders played his squeezebox and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men
Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each prepared to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wonderous night
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"
'Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost, so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone forevermore
My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War I, I've learned its lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same
© 1984 John McCutcheon - All rights reserved
03 November 2009
A Pause for Refreshment - Sain De La Peau
Have you ever held a catalpa leaf, a paulownia leaf and a redbud leaf in your hand? Have you ever watched a moving comet, asteroid or meteor in a telescope? Have you ever sat for a single day and watched the shadow of a sundial count the hours?
One student of mine told me his boss is paying him, since real work is limited right now, to help build a house for Habitat for Humanity, wanting to keep the work crew together and employed, their skills finely tuned to what the boss needs when the economy picks back up. Great news! Because of that, a friend of mine wants to employ those folks in house construction to do work around his house in recognition of another entrepreneur's actions to put people in the right place during an economic downturn.
Another student of mine has started her own company and should be overwhelmed by all that's going on in her life - selling her home, buying a new home, moving her house furnishings and her business, taking care of a grandchild and going to school - but she is happily tired. Her desire to run her own business drives her to joy.
Other students look forward to better employment days ahead. How do I inspire them to see they have the knowledge and skills to start their own businesses and be successful, even in these times? They can use many available laws and opportunities in the medical, education and government sectors at this very moment.
Is Ralph Hood the Flying Humourist still around? Folks like him have poked holes in my funny bone through the years. Just like ol' Jerry Clower and his tales of the Ledbetter family. Finding the universal in the local. Seemingly simple humour that makes you think and smile. Intellectual satire is not the only audible, suborbital oracle in town.
The tufted titmouse birds are upset with me today. They really expect me to go out and fill the feeders in the backyard. The woodpeckers had tapped their Morsel code to me earlier today. I still haven't gotten in my head that investment profits can be used for consumables. Instead, I find salary to buy my celery and tasty treats for pillorying aviary chatterboxes.
Smiles at lunch today on the faces of Tai Pan employees/owners. I feel like the whole world is smiling back. Smiles lead to conversation and laughter, new memories to talk about again next time. Circles and spirals. Fall leaves and meteorites. Woodpeckers instead of turkeys. Nature's tale, no storyline or punchline needed.
The older I get, more pieces of the blinders fall away from my eyes, revealing the world, the universe around me. Above. Behind. Below. Beside. The more I see and sense, the more I see and sense I am not separate from any of it. We all see and sense we are the same but somehow, for some reason, we tell ourselves and others we are separate.
I do not change the world solely by telling you we are the same. I change the world by treating myself and others the same, active in the social connections around us, honest in expressing my emotions and thoughts so we can see and hear we all have happiness, joys, fears and doubts we think are our own.
We can celebrate our heritage, our history, our past while others do the same and have love, happiness and fun for everyone to enjoy. Find the real reason to give special thanks for political and/or military victories and leave behind the momentary buildup of hatred of the enemy of the time. Will we rewrite history in the process? Absolutely. Is that a bad thing? No. Our ancestors are still our ancestors and worth remembering now and forever more, realising they were just like us, with emotions and thoughts that contradicted those of their neighbours but they loved their neighbours anyway. So can we.
Time to enjoy the outdoors free of this electronic tether for a while. Have a thoughtful day!
One student of mine told me his boss is paying him, since real work is limited right now, to help build a house for Habitat for Humanity, wanting to keep the work crew together and employed, their skills finely tuned to what the boss needs when the economy picks back up. Great news! Because of that, a friend of mine wants to employ those folks in house construction to do work around his house in recognition of another entrepreneur's actions to put people in the right place during an economic downturn.
Another student of mine has started her own company and should be overwhelmed by all that's going on in her life - selling her home, buying a new home, moving her house furnishings and her business, taking care of a grandchild and going to school - but she is happily tired. Her desire to run her own business drives her to joy.
Other students look forward to better employment days ahead. How do I inspire them to see they have the knowledge and skills to start their own businesses and be successful, even in these times? They can use many available laws and opportunities in the medical, education and government sectors at this very moment.
Is Ralph Hood the Flying Humourist still around? Folks like him have poked holes in my funny bone through the years. Just like ol' Jerry Clower and his tales of the Ledbetter family. Finding the universal in the local. Seemingly simple humour that makes you think and smile. Intellectual satire is not the only audible, suborbital oracle in town.
The tufted titmouse birds are upset with me today. They really expect me to go out and fill the feeders in the backyard. The woodpeckers had tapped their Morsel code to me earlier today. I still haven't gotten in my head that investment profits can be used for consumables. Instead, I find salary to buy my celery and tasty treats for pillorying aviary chatterboxes.
Smiles at lunch today on the faces of Tai Pan employees/owners. I feel like the whole world is smiling back. Smiles lead to conversation and laughter, new memories to talk about again next time. Circles and spirals. Fall leaves and meteorites. Woodpeckers instead of turkeys. Nature's tale, no storyline or punchline needed.
The older I get, more pieces of the blinders fall away from my eyes, revealing the world, the universe around me. Above. Behind. Below. Beside. The more I see and sense, the more I see and sense I am not separate from any of it. We all see and sense we are the same but somehow, for some reason, we tell ourselves and others we are separate.
I do not change the world solely by telling you we are the same. I change the world by treating myself and others the same, active in the social connections around us, honest in expressing my emotions and thoughts so we can see and hear we all have happiness, joys, fears and doubts we think are our own.
We can celebrate our heritage, our history, our past while others do the same and have love, happiness and fun for everyone to enjoy. Find the real reason to give special thanks for political and/or military victories and leave behind the momentary buildup of hatred of the enemy of the time. Will we rewrite history in the process? Absolutely. Is that a bad thing? No. Our ancestors are still our ancestors and worth remembering now and forever more, realising they were just like us, with emotions and thoughts that contradicted those of their neighbours but they loved their neighbours anyway. So can we.
Time to enjoy the outdoors free of this electronic tether for a while. Have a thoughtful day!
01 November 2009
Poor Agincourt
History repeats itself. We're revising the victory at Agincourt to reflect the more likely number of assailants. Pretty soon, we'll realize that rarely do the facts line up with the facts. All victories were strength and power over poor planning rather than the bravery of the few against the massive size of the complacent.
So that's the answer to all my problems? Gather an army of like-minded folks and take on the status quo? C'est vrai! Mais oui!
Yesterday, while munching on a salmon sandwich at the 50s diner in Lamar Alexander's hometown (our server, Ashley A, with eyes the colour of a full bottle of Lea&Perrins worcestershire sauce), where you're liable to seeing Scots fighting in the field on a fall day, I looked at the wall coverings. Old vehicle licence plates and other memorandumabilia. Thought about the song on the jukebox, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight."
Victory in the Lion's Den. A soft jazz quintet at the Donors' club BBQ luncheon. Cheerleaders with names like Bruce Pearl jazzing up the crowd. Rain, drizzle, rain, memories of Bill Murray in Caddyshack, "I believe the worst is over." When was the last time two fullbacks scored TDs in the General's house? High-fiving new fans around us during the 31-13 shellacking of the Evil Genius on the 31st.
And finally, hungry for more, we stopped at Shoney's midnight breakfast bar and enjoyed Kristen's hot chocolate, glad that she's been with the company for ten years, ever since she was 16, having enjoyed the days of an employee-owned franchise before selling out to the Nashville group, her loyalty higher than stock value, her dedication to us tired fans more than we can ask for, assisted by T. Boudre with the post-game rush of folks wanting some way to celebrate taking the Gamecocks down a notch.
The universe is bigger than I can imagine, my being able to write the word light-year but have no clue how many tanks of gas it takes to drive that distance, assuming an infinity of life to drive it. Thus, for me, Kiffin and his crew put life in perspective, sharing the ups and downs of a first year college-level football coach's career, proving that Agincourt was no fluke. It might not have been David and Goliath but it was a giant of a win, anyway. If we can conquer our fears, we can conquer the distance between here and wherever we want to go, spooky halftime Southland thriller shows, included.
Glad that Peyton, Dallas and Jeff can joke about their complete ignorance when it comes to Sunday football. Glad that fans of all makes and models can enjoy el fútbol americano / अमेरिकी फुटबॉल / 아메리칸 풋볼 together, overlooking Shields-Watkins Field. I am always surprised by those who congregate for sports and glad to be surprised. Hope my new friends around me at the game didn't mind meeting the other side of me, who turns on his aggressive, angry fan mode for a few hours a week, now that I'm too old to body-slam opponents during industrial league football games, coed softball games, or church league volleyball games.
[No time for proofreading/editing this entry. 'Tis what what what iiit is. Real life interrupts with other plans.]
So that's the answer to all my problems? Gather an army of like-minded folks and take on the status quo? C'est vrai! Mais oui!
Yesterday, while munching on a salmon sandwich at the 50s diner in Lamar Alexander's hometown (our server, Ashley A, with eyes the colour of a full bottle of Lea&Perrins worcestershire sauce), where you're liable to seeing Scots fighting in the field on a fall day, I looked at the wall coverings. Old vehicle licence plates and other memorandumabilia. Thought about the song on the jukebox, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight."
Victory in the Lion's Den. A soft jazz quintet at the Donors' club BBQ luncheon. Cheerleaders with names like Bruce Pearl jazzing up the crowd. Rain, drizzle, rain, memories of Bill Murray in Caddyshack, "I believe the worst is over." When was the last time two fullbacks scored TDs in the General's house? High-fiving new fans around us during the 31-13 shellacking of the Evil Genius on the 31st.
And finally, hungry for more, we stopped at Shoney's midnight breakfast bar and enjoyed Kristen's hot chocolate, glad that she's been with the company for ten years, ever since she was 16, having enjoyed the days of an employee-owned franchise before selling out to the Nashville group, her loyalty higher than stock value, her dedication to us tired fans more than we can ask for, assisted by T. Boudre with the post-game rush of folks wanting some way to celebrate taking the Gamecocks down a notch.
The universe is bigger than I can imagine, my being able to write the word light-year but have no clue how many tanks of gas it takes to drive that distance, assuming an infinity of life to drive it. Thus, for me, Kiffin and his crew put life in perspective, sharing the ups and downs of a first year college-level football coach's career, proving that Agincourt was no fluke. It might not have been David and Goliath but it was a giant of a win, anyway. If we can conquer our fears, we can conquer the distance between here and wherever we want to go, spooky halftime Southland thriller shows, included.
Glad that Peyton, Dallas and Jeff can joke about their complete ignorance when it comes to Sunday football. Glad that fans of all makes and models can enjoy el fútbol americano / अमेरिकी फुटबॉल / 아메리칸 풋볼 together, overlooking Shields-Watkins Field. I am always surprised by those who congregate for sports and glad to be surprised. Hope my new friends around me at the game didn't mind meeting the other side of me, who turns on his aggressive, angry fan mode for a few hours a week, now that I'm too old to body-slam opponents during industrial league football games, coed softball games, or church league volleyball games.
[No time for proofreading/editing this entry. 'Tis what what what iiit is. Real life interrupts with other plans.]
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