Wednesday, December 31, 2008

It's That Time Again ~ Early Evening Thoughts

It started in New Zealand

- followed about an hour later in Sydney.


The New Year is being celebrated around the globe - and each area hopes that this year will be better than the last, and not worse!!!

But behind the fireworks, cheers and cheery drinks is an amazing combination of hope and fear. I have to agree with a commentator I heard last night that this combination is almost 50-50 in people. It will be interesting to see which side gains strength in 2009.

The most amazing part - it's up to each of us individually and collectively to decide whether fear or hope will rule. There's an intersting verse in the Bible that talks about "men's hearts will fail for fear" . . . I have NO intention of letting mine go that route. I already went down that road once before, and am NOT going down it again.

Am I doing resolutions - no. Am I making commitments instead - yes. I'm convinced I will have better luck with that then resolutions. Of course, if I really want to make sure I continue on with the commitments/resoltions - I could use the services of -->this web site<-- to keep me on the straight and narrow!!

I am going to continue to blog, with a lot greater frequency and relevancy this year. I'm going to continue to loan money to individuals around the globe through -->Kiva<-- and challenge each of you to take $25 and put it to good use through them AND you get it back . . . it's a loan program after all. Welcome to the New Year

Hey, my lad, ho, my lad!
Here's a New Broom.
Heaven's your housetop
And Earth is your room.
Tuck up your shirtsleeves,
There's plenty to do-
Look at the muddle
That's waiting for you!

Dust in the corners
And dirt on the floor,
Cobwebs still clinging
To window and door.

Hey, my lad! o, my lad!
Nimble and keen-
Here's your New Broom, my lad!
See you sweep clean.

- Eleanor Farjeon


This is probably one of my favorite New Year Videos ~ ABBA around the piano is what it is normally called - and is usually played in Sweden around midnight!!

New Year’s Resolutions


Each year I resolve with the strongest intent
To be better this year than the last.
And I work very hard; the rules hardly get bent,
But this discipline gets old so fast!

But with this new year I just know I’ll win out,
Just watch how I do and you’ll see!
I’m not going to have yet another blowout;
I’ll be good as I know I can be.

But, if wicked things beckon, and I’m not so strong,
If I weaken and fall on my ast,
I’ll be thankful again that you’ll help me along
As you have during all new years past.
I'm so glad you are all my friends!!!

-- Karl and Joanna Fuchs

Happy New Year Everyone!!!!!!

Saturday, December 27, 2008

A Disappointment ~ Early Evening Thoughts

I was so hoping that we had moved beyond certain backwater behaviors, that some how we as a people had gotten beyond certain things in our lives that hold us back from reaching our own potential and allowing all others to reach the potential within themselves.

How wrong I was ...

I've been following the controversy over Rick Warren - fed in part by Rachel Maddow (who might be heading down the road of becoming the Ann Coulter of the left). I'd been reading about Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich being guilty and defiant at the least of idiotic conversations and possibly more.

But these paled in comparison to the stories about Republican Chip Saltsman, a candidate for the chairmanship of the Republican National Committee distributing as CD titled "We Hate the USA" and includes songs referencing former presidential candidate John Edwards and the Rev. Jeremiah Wright, among other targets.

According to The Hill, other song titles were: "John Edwards' Poverty Tour," "Wright place, wrong pastor," "Love Client #9," "Ivory and Ebony" and "The Star Spanglish Banner."

The big main song according to reports was "Barack, the Magic Negro." (to the tune of "Puff, the Magic Dragon)

Saltsman's lame excuse was "political satire" and "I think RNC members understand that."

Sorry sir ~ They might, I do not. It certainly didn't make it any easier when I found out that the Rush Limbaugh 's radio show had played it first back in 2007. While this is the kind of racist behavior I would expect from Rush and gang, for someone who wants to be considered a serious contender for Chairmanship of the ailing RNC and the ailing party, it certainly was not one of the better ideas he might have had.

The song had it's genesis in an article by David Ehrenstein (who's Father was a Jew and Mother an African American with white Irish roots) who often writes about homosexuality in cinema and in the article talks about the "magic Negro" of cinema and somehow Mr. Ehrenstein makes the leap from the silver screeen to the politcal stage. You can read the article --->here<--- And he certainly would have been upset if someone had written about the "Magic Jew" problem...given his ethnic background.

All this was coupled with realizing that we as a people, have NOT really progressed to where we should be in this day and age ~ and I'm including BOTH sides of the ethnic divide. I hear African Americans say things in public that if someone else were to say them would cause immediate backlash of all kinds. I have gotten e-mails from people I really love containing Obama jokes that not only are tasteless, but border on racist. These kind of things hold someone up to ridicule and show how little we hold them in regard.

SIDE BAR: I need to say here that I do understand satire and political satire...those are both vibrant and valid forms of expression and speech. What is involved here is neither. Satire really doesn't work when it only involves characteristics that someone can no change. For example, Barack Obama can NOT change the color of his skin or his ethnic heritage. Jokes about either are not satire..they are more the old saying of "keeping the uppity in their place." (THAT ring a bell for anyone around in the 60;s?) The fact that Prince Charles ears are rather large and obvious serves as "quick identification" in satire, but if was the only thrust of the story or sketch would not be satire, but rather cruelty.

If goes back to what I have written about before, this kind of behavior simply allows "us" a sense of "control" over the person we have labled as "the enemy." And allows "us" to label them, put them in a box and decide how all behavior toward them will be.

All it does is belittle, cut down and move toward humiliation of people. And for those that are listening (especially children or youth), they form the idea that it's perfectly acceptable to behave in a similar manner. And why shouldn't they? After all they see/hear the actions, speech and "satire" , so it must be alright. It must be "cool."

This reminded me of the lyrics of "You've Got to be Carefully Taught" from South Pacific and I think they are more true today than when they were written:

You've got to be taught
To hate and fear,
You've got to be taught
From year to year,
It's got to be drummed
In your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade,
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught before it's too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You've got to be carefully taught!

Is there a place for satire and political satire? Absolutely!! Satire is a wonderful lens to hold up the mistakes and foibles that the great and near-great and the not-so-hot make. But merely denegrating someone or holding them up to contempt for my own amusment or sense of control isn't.

Dear Lord ~ January 20th can't come soon enough and according to a poll just released 75% of the people asked can hardly wait for the 20th as well!!!


Wednesday, December 24, 2008

O Wonderous Night ~ Early Evening Thoughts

'Tis Christmas Eve. It's been an interesting season, one of some sadness, much joy and continued exploration of what life holds. And so, on this Christmas Eve I offer to you one of my absolute favorite stories of all time, just as it was written.

Merry Christmas Everyone!!!! ~



THE GIFT OF THE MAGI
by O. Henry

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room curiously.

"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house.

But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest.

O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest.

Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Slightly Over The Edge ~ Early Evening Thoughts

Honest - my mind has NOT checked out because of the coming holiday ~ But these two items have been on the back burner for so long, they were about to dry out . . . especially the X-Files Christmas story. It's slightly over 500 words, but I'll forgive them!


Signs Santa Doesn't Like Your Kid


- 10 -
Kid's letter to north pole comes back stamped, "Dream on, Chester!"
- 9 -
Kid asks for new bike, gets pack of smokes
- 8 -
Along with presents, Santa leaves hefty bill for shipping and handling
- 7 -
By the time he gets to your house, all he has left are styrofoam peanuts
- 6 -
Christmas day, your kid wakes up with a Reindeer head in his bed.
- 5 -
Instead of "Naughty" or "Nice", Santa has him on the dork list
- 4 -
Sends him off on one of them Carnival Cruises with Kathie Lee
- 3 -
First words when kid gets on his lap are, "Touch my beard and I'll put the hurt on you."
- 2 -
Labels on all your kid's toys read "Straight from Craptown."
- 1 -
Four words: "Off my lap, Tubby!"

(Source: Top Ten Lists from LATE SHOW with DAVID LETTERMAN)

The X-FILES Christmas Case
author unknown

"We're too late! It's already been here."

"Mulder, I hope you know what you're doing."

"Look, Scully, just like the other homes: Douglas fir, truncated, mounted, transformed into a shrine; halls decked with boughs of holly; stockings hung by the chimney, with care."

"You really think someone's been here?"

"Someone or some THING."

"Mulder, over here - it's a fruitcake."

"Don't touch it! Those things can be lethal."

"It's O.K. There's a note attached: 'Gonna find out who's naughty and nice.'"

"It's judging them, Scully. It's making a list."

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity who could travel at great speed in a craft powered by antlered servants. Once each year, near the winter solstice, this creature is said to descend from the heavens to reward its followers and punish disbelievers with jagged chunks of anthracite."

"But that's legend, Mulder -- a story told by parents to frighten children. Surely you don't believe it?"

"Something was here tonight, Scully. Check out the bite marks on this gingerbread man. Whatever tore through this plate of cookies was massive -- and in a hurry."

"It left crumbs everywhere. And look, Mulder, this milk glass has been completely drained."

"It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse."

"But why would they leave it milk and cookies?"

"Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop its wilding."

"But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The doors and windows were locked. There's no sign of forced entry."

"Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace."

"Wait a minute, Mulder. If you're saying some huge creature landed on the roof and came down this chimney, you're crazy. The flue is barely six inches wide. Nothing could get down there."

"But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions at once?"

"You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?"

"Exactly. Scully, I've never told anyone this, but when I was a child my home was visited. I saw the creature. It had long white strips of fur surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its bloated torso was red and white. I'll never forget the horror. I turned away, and when I looked back it had somehow taken on the facial features of my father."

"Impossible."

"I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It brought me a Mr. Potato Head, Scully. IT KNEW THAT I WANTED A MR. POTATO HEAD!"

"I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're asking me to disregard the laws of physics. You want me to believe in some supernatural being who soars across the skies and brings gifts to good little girls and boys. Listen to what you're saying. Do you understand the repercussions? If this gets out, they'll close the X-files."

"Scully, listen to me: It knows when you're sleeping. It knows when you're awake."

"But we have no proof."

"Last year, on this exact date, SETI radio telescopes detected bogeys in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The White House ordered a Condition Red."

"But that was a meteor shower."

"Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian reindeer vanished from the National Zoo, in Washington, D.C. Nobody - not even the zookeeper - was told about it. The government doesn't want people to know about Project Kringle. They fear that if this thing is proved to exist the public will stop spending half its annual income in a holiday shopping frenzy. Retail markets will collapse. Scully, they cannot let the world believe this creature lives. There's too much at stake. They'll do whatever it takes to insure another silent night."

"Mulder, I --"

"Sh-h-h. Do you hear what I hear?"

"On the roof. It sounds like . . . a clatter."

"The truth is up there. Let's see what's the matter."


Saturday, December 20, 2008

12 days of Christmas ~ What REALLY happened!! ~ Early Evening Thoughts

You won't see this on a TV commercial - when gift-giving goes wrong - horribly wrong!!

The Twelve Days of Christmas ~
What Really Happened...

Letter sent on the first day of Christmas...

Miss Jennifer Masters
227 Aggar Avenue
Bigfork, Montana


December 14,
2000

Dearest John:

I went to the door today and the postman delivered a partridge in a pear tree. What a thoroughly delightful gift. I couldn't have been more surprised.
With deepest love and devotion,
Jennifer


Letter mailed on the second day of Christmas...

Miss Jennifer Masters
227 Aggar Avenue
Bigfork, Montana

December 15, 2000

Dearest John:

Today the postman brought your very sweet gift. Just imagine two turtle doves. I'm just delighted at your very thoughtful gift. They are just adorable.
All my love,

Jennifer


Letter sent on the third day of Christmas...

Miss Jennifer Masters
227 Aggar Avenue
Bigfork, Montana


December 16, 2000

Dearest John:

Oh! Aren't you the extravagant one. Now I really must protest. I don't deserve such generosity, Three French hens. They are just darling but I must insist, you've been too kind.
Love,
Jennifer

Letter mailed on the fourth day of Christmas...

Miss Jennifer Masters
227 Aggar Avenue
Bigfork, Montana

December 17, 2000

Dear John,

Today the postman delivered 4 calling birds. Now really, they are beautiful but don't you think enough is enough. You're being too romantic.
Affectionately,
Jennifer

Letter mailed on the fifth day of Christmas...

Miss Jennifer Masters
227 Aggar Avenue
Bigfork, Montana

December 18, 2000

Dearest John:

What a surprise. Today the postman delivered 5 golden rings; one for every finger. You're just impossible, but I love it. Frankly, all those birds squawking were beginning to get on my nerves.
All my love,
Jennifer

Letter mailed on the sixth day of Christmas...

Miss Jennifer Masters
227 Aggar Avenue
Bigfork, Montana

December 19, 2000

Dear John:

When I opened the door there were actually 6 geese a-laying on my front steps. So, you're back to the birds again, huh? Those geese are huge. Where will I ever keep them? The neighbors are complaining and I can't sleep through the racket.
Please stop.

Cordially,
Jennifer

Letter mailed on the seventh day of Christmas...

Miss Jennifer Masters
227 Aggar Avenue
Bigfork, Montana

December 20, 2000

John:

What's with you and those crazy birds? 7 swans a-swimming. What kind of terrible joke is this? There's bird droppings and worse all over the house, and they never stop with the racket. I can't sleep at night and I'm a nervous wreck. It's not funny. So stop sending me all these birds!
Sincerely,
Jennifer

Letter mailed by special delivery the eighth day of Christmas...

Miss Jennifer Masters
227 Aggar Avenue
Bigfork, Montana

December 21, 2000

O.K. Buster:

I think I prefer the birds. What am I going to do with 8 maids a-milking? It's not enough with all those birds and 8 maids a-milking, but they had to bring their cows! There is crap all over the lawn and I can't move in my own house.
Just lay off me,smart ass.

Jennifer

Letter mailed (return receipt requested) the ninth day of Christmas...

Miss Jennifer Masters
227 Aggar Avenue
Bigfork, Montana

December 22, 2000

Hey! Flushing Toilet for Brains,
What are you? Some kind of sadist? Now there's 9 pipers playing. And boy, do they play. They've never stopped chasing those maids since they got here yesterday morning. The cows are getting upset, and they're stepping all over those screeching birds. What am I going to do? The neighbors have started a petition to evict me.
You'll get yours,
Jennifer

Letter sent by overnight courier the tenth day of Christmas...

Miss Jennifer Masters
227 Aggar Avenue
Bigfork, Montana

December 23, 2000

You Rotten Sadist,
Now there's 10 ladies dancing. I don't know why I call those sluts ladies. They've been messing with those pipers all night long. Now the cows can't sleep and they've got the diarrhea. My living room buried in soft cow pies. The Commissioner of Buildings has subpoenaed me to give cause why this building shouldn't be condemned.
I'm sicking the police on you.

One who means it.

Letter sent by telegram the eleventh day of Christmas...

Miss Jennifer Masters
227 Aggar Avenue
Bigfork, Montana

December 24, 2000

Listen! Loser,
What's with the 11 lords a-leaping on those maids and ladies. Some of them are considering filing sexual harassment charges against ME for having those #@$*() lords! Those pipers ran through the maids and I'm convinced are beginning to think about the cows. All 23 of the birds are dead. They've been trampled to death in the mayhem. I hope you're satisfied,you rotten, vicious swine.

Your sworn enemy,
Jennifer

Letter hand delivered by a sheriff's deputy the twelfth day of Christmas...

Law Offices
Badger, Bender and Cajole
303 Knave Street
Chicago, Illinois

December 25, 2000

Dear Sir:
This is to acknowledge your latest gift of 12 fiddlers fiddling which you have seen fit to inflict on our client, Miss Jennifer Masters. The destruction of the house, of course, was total. All future correspondence should come to our attention. If you should attempt to reach Miss Masters at Happy Valley Sanitarium, the attendants have instructions to shoot you on sight.
Please note that under separate cover, the deputy who delivered this has a warrant for your arrest.

Wishing you the best for the holidays!
Badger, Bender and Cajole

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Helping The Gene Pool ~ Early Evening Thoughts

I have to admit I've been watching a lot more "news" television than I should over the last several days. I've reached a stage of "You have GOT to be kidding me" over what the talking, frothing heads are choosing to be talking and frothing about. I really was needing something to make the day(s) better - something to offer some kind of hope.

Even though it's too early for the official "Darwin Awards" - they will come probably in January, there are some nominations that I thought I might share. The published purpose of the awards is stated quite simply:

The Darwin Awards salute the improvement of
the human genome by honoring those who
accidentally remove themselves from it...

These stories have been verified and are not urban legend. . . .

(July 16, 2008, Italy)
Ivece Plattner, 68, was queued at a traffic light in his Porsche Cayenne sportscar. Before one reaches the light, there is a railroad crossing. As you might imagine, given Murphy's law, a train was coming.

The man did not let the queue progress forward far enough before he crossed the railroad. The safety bars came down, leaving the Porsche trapped on the rails. It took the driver awhile to realize he was stuck, according to witnesses. Finally, he jumped from the car and started to run -- toward the oncoming train, waving his arms in an attempt to save his car!

The attempt was successful. The car received less damage than its owner. He was pushed hard enough to land 30 meters away, and attempts to revive him were unsuccessful.

---

(8 March 2008, Czech Republic)
Steel is valuable, especially the high grade alloy used in steel cable. Scrap metal dealers do not ask questions. They pay in cash. And a good supply of cables can be found in elevator shafts.

This particular goldmine was a towering shaft inside an empty grainery near Zatec, 40 miles northwest of Prague. The cable was tightly fastened, and the far end of it disappeared into the shadowy distance above.

After substantial wear and tear on a hacksaw, our man finally cut through the strong steel cable. At that instant, the counterbalance, no longer held in check, started to move silently downwards, accelerating until it reached the bottom of the shaft.

Result: one proud winner of a "terminal velocity" Darwin Award.

R.I.P.

---

The telephone company was replacing above-ground telephone lines with buried lines. In one sparsely populated farming area, if lines crossed a country road they would dig a trench halfway across, so rural traffic could continue through. Then they would fill in the trench, and dig a trench on the other side.

One morning, local farmers called the sheriff to report a smashed-up pickup. Inside were two ranch hands who were last seen the previous night, heading home after last call. You see...

On their way to the bars, the men had decided to play a prank. They stopped their pickup, and moved the flashing warning signs from the trenched side to the good side of the country road. Crime scene analysis later confirmed that they were the culprits who moved the flashing stands. Investigations also revealed that at the time of the accident, they were driving at an excessive speed with an impressive amount of alcohol in their systems.

No crime scene analysis is capable of determining whether the ranch hands forgot their prank, or chose to see what would happen if they hit that trench at a high rate of speed in the middle of the night.

No good prank goes unpunished.

---

Snowmobiles and alcohol are a dangerous mix. Then came the rabbit.

After a day spent partying and racing snowmobiles in the wilderness, a group of snowmobilers were headed back to their cabin, when up popped a jackrabbit! They gave chase. Several collisions were narrowly averted, and so all the snowmobiles backed off... except one.

This snowmobiler kept his eye on the quarry and rapidly closed in. The rabbit darted aside to save itself. The snowmobiler closed in again. The rabbit ran toward the road, where there was less snow. Trying to ram his rabbit before it crossed the road, the man accelerated to Mach 1.

But the rabbit had other ideas. It darted into the culvert beneath the road. Witnesses stated that the snowmobiler never even braked. There was a metallic crunch as the accelerating vehicle rammed into the culvert, followed by a blast that shattered the snowmobile into a thousand bits.

This brand of snowmobile had a fuel tank mounted in front. The culvert admitted the tip of the snowmobile, then cut into the cowling, spilling fuel over the hot engine. The body of the snowmobiler was blown twenty feet back into the field.

The rabbit's whereabouts was unknown.

---Rare Double Darwin!

Three hale and hearty young men had finished their basic training. Before heading out to their respective assignments, they decided to spend their few days of leave with one's grandmother, who lived in the town where they had completed basic training. The privates descended upon Grandmother, who filled them with home cooking and gave them soft beds to sleep in. Grandmother had a swing job to make ends meet, so the privates were left alone late into the night.

How could they repay her for her kindness?

Grandmother had three children. To commemorate the birth of each child, a pine tree had been planted in the front yard. In the fifty years since the last tree was planted, the pines had grown considerably, and the middle tree now blocked the view from the living room window. The privates decided that they would cut down that tree, letting the sun and the view into the room.

A case of beer went into the planning.

To keep the 50-foot tree from crushing the house, the privates reasoned that they would tie a rope to the top of the tree and pull the rope away from the house as the tree was cut.

The middle pine tree, the doomed one, was slightly closer to the house than the other two. The privates climbed an end tree, wound a rope through its upper branches, and threw the rope to a private in the middle tree. He tied the rope around the trunk. By this device, they could pull the rope from the ground. The middle pine tree would fall away from the house, and the privates were also clear of the path of the falling tree.

Climbing a pine tree is very sappy work, and scrapes and gouges are infliced by the natural roughness of its bark. But the hale and hearty privates completed the preliminaries without complaint. The middle tree was lassoed and levered by the rope running through the end tree.

So far, so good.

Two privates were situated on the ground, each straining to pull the tree away from Grandmother's house. The third private revved his 20 HP chainsaw and started to cut. Lo and behold, the tree actually fell away from Grandmother's house! However...

The rope-pulling privates had wrapped the rope around their waists, not considering that the falling pine weighed several tons. As the middle pine tree fell, both privates were ripped off their feet and smashed through the branches of the end pine tree. At the height of their acceleration, they broke through the top branches of the tree, and were briefly airborne before being jerked toward the earth when the middle tree hit the ground. The privates entered into Darwin history, either on the way up through the branches or on the way down to the cold, hard ground.

The event spoke for itself.

---

Somehow not being able to get the garland hung outside today seems to pale in comparison.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

A Politically Correct ... Holiday ~ Early Evening Thoughts

The holiday season approaches, and the mail deadlines loom; yesterday was the last day to send regular mail to arrive for the holidays. While we sing of "Peace on Earth, Goodwill to non-gender specific personages," I thought it would be good time to look over somethings about what now has to be a politically correct holiday!

Here's something for that last minute gift:



Should you go a'caroling, I would be remiss if I didn't give you the correct version to sing:
Deck The Halls
Kristine Austin

This song uses the Spanish protocol endings on the refrain:
"Fa la la la la, la la la la-" Feminine
"Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo-" Masculine

Deck the halls with boughs of non-endangered plant species
Fa la la la la, la la la la

'Tis the season to be self-actualizing
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo

Don we now our alternate-lifestyle apparel
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Toll the ancient non-sectarian-winter-solstice-equal opportunity holiday carol
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo

See the blazing log of non-sectarian-winter-solstice-holiday-non-endangered wood before us,
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Play the harp without unnecessary brutality and join the new paradigm chorus
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo

Sing we emotionally stable in a collective group effort,
Fa la la la la la la la la

Heedless of the weather patterns despite the effects of global warming,
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo

Fast away the mature year passes
Fa la la la la la la la la

Hail the new year without any implicit ageism, ye persons
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo

Dance in a non-hierarchical manner in merry esoteric measure,
Fa la la la la la la la la

While I tell of non-materialistic, non-sectarian-winter-solstice-holiday treasure,
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo


And hopefully, your cards will reflect the new found sense of the time of year.


A Politically Correct
Holiday (or no holiday) Greeting


Best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low stress, non-addictive, gender neutral, winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most joyous traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, but with respect for the religious persuasion of others who choose to practice their own religion as well as those who choose not to practice a religion at all;

Additionally, a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling, and medically uncomplicated recognition of the generally accepted calendar year 2006, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions have helped make our society great, without regard to the race, creed, color, religious, or sexual preferences of the wishes.

(Disclaimer: This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her/himself or others and no responsibility for any unintended emotional stress these greetings may bring to those not caught up in the holiday spirit.)


---this is a repeat, but bears repeating!!

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Blue, Blue - My Love Is Blue ~ Early Evening Thoughts

After having been away for a "few" weeks, I thought my return to the blog would be somewhat unnoticed. Two emails quickly settled that idea. So, as promised ~ an explanation of "blue" ice . . . And while I explain this, my vice-president is at an undisclosed secure location.

In the 80's I worked for a major airline. Which one is somewhat immaterial, but I will offer the hint that it was in bankruptcy at the time with the pilots doing very interesting things to let everyone know we were operating that way.

Those of us in reservations were an unusual group of people. Because we were not at the airport, we were considered somewhat apart from the rest of the world. Although, in our customers minds we were the ticket counter and as such should be able to see people who were there or, in one case find out if someone had left a briefcase on the floor. I was sitting next to the person who got that call, and hear him say: "OK, let me look - OMG someone just walked off with it . . . " When he finally got the person on the phone calmed down and got him convinced that indeed he really wasn't at the airport and wasn't able to check for the missing item - he'd earned a trip to his supervisor. . . and not a pleasant one either.

As reservation agents we had a fairly powerful reservation system to use. We had access to multiple "windows" which allowed us to look up various types of information and display them all on the same screen. We could look up flights in one, fares in another, airport weather in yet another and return flights in a fourth.

As reservation agents we were supposed to only work on screens that had to do with the business of reservations. Alas for the airline, that was NOT the case. It wasn't too long after I started working there that I was introduced to the "dark side" of the system. (cue theme from Jaws here. . . )

We were connected to the various airports, hotels and car companies who all had sites resident in the system. There was no Expedia/Travelocity connection that allowed someone to go directly to another reservation system. All entries involving cars, hotels or such involved requesting what you wanted and pushing enter. At that point an electronic message would be sent (as I told my travel academy students) to the Valhalla of all computer requests - Actually ARINC (Aeronautical Radio, Incorporated)located in Chicago who would, in their own sweet time, send back an answer.

That's a long way around to say that hotels and cars kept quite a bit of detailed information available - all on "pages." They were updated by that company or by the airline itself. What was discovered was that - with a specific entry - we as reservation agents could update them as well. And a completely immediate, unmanageable and totally private system of IM's were born.

One that was used a lot was XXX car company - page 100. That XXX would ever get to that page was pretty slim - as in none. The chance that the reservations office supervisors or later the travel academy people would discover what was going on - even less.

That was an amazing world - IM's before IM's had even been invented, conversations with people from all over who knew of the place and some very seedy, funny and downright erotic stories and such. The kind of talk that would get one banned from AOL ... but very few knew about it.

That, however, is for a later post -- especially how those private conversations came back to bite me in the butt and cost me a job.

Blue Ice - quoting from Wikipedia: "Blue ice in the context of aviation is the frozen material formed by leaks in commercial aircraft lavatory waste tanks, a mixture of human waste and liquid disinfectant that freezes at high altitude. The name comes from the blue color of the disinfectant, and is a sardonic reference to the Blue Ice line of products used for cooling ice chests and similar applications.

Airlines are not allowed to dump their waste tanks in mid-flight, and pilots have no mechanism by which to do so; however, leaks can occur. There were at least 27 documented incidents of blue ice impacts in the United States between 1979 and 2003. These incidents typically happen under airport landing paths as the mass warms sufficiently to detach from the plane during its descent. A rare incident of falling blue ice causing damage to the roof of a home was reported on October 20, 2006 in Chino, California.

On January 28, 2007 at the Timberlanes subdivision in Tampa, Florida, under the approach path to Tampa International Airport, a red Mustang automobile owned by Andres Javaze was struck by a large block of ice estimated at 50 pounds which crushed the rear of the vehicle. A neighbor named Raymond Rodriguez reported hearing a whistling or whizzing noise as the ice fell from the sky before impact and watched as it smashed the vehicle. However, the chunk of ice was not blue and is not thought to have fallen from an airplane. The incident is being investigated by the FAA.

Blue ice became known to many people from the last 2003 episode of the HBO series Six Feet Under, in which a foot-sized chunk drops on an innocent bystander. It is also the title of a 1992 film where Michael Caine's character describes the concept of blue ice,and it also described on the tv show MANswers ."

Now, as reservation agents we had access to a lot of information, but nothing that involved maintenance or inner workings of the airport. . . until someone discovered that (long before blogs) someone at the airport was writing the "Blue Ice Newsletter" in the computer. Whoever was writing this had an acid sense of humor, biting wit and a complete command of what was happening on the ground/tarmac and mechanics role in the controlled chaos.

Who knew that airplane parts were interchangeable from one type of airplane to another? Who knew that "tug" operators (those zippy little luggage and plane pushing/hauling carts) could do so much damage. Who knew that it was possible for a few mechanics to service more planes than they should have - and get them in the air. Who knew that by canceling a return flight of an overseas trip, they were cannibalizing the parts into other aircraft - sending them on their way and when they returned, the parts would be pulled and the return trip of the overseas flight would "continue."

The author of "Blue Ice" knew, and it was written in black and white - well, more green - and was intended for airport personnel only. Don't ever put a members only sign on a site like that - at that time reservations would find out about it and pile in. And we did. We could find out about cancellations before anyone else and other interesting tidbits about what to fly and what might be best avoided.

Ever since then - "blue ice" has come to mean to me, something that simply continues to unfold in a highly dramatic and damaging way. Something that appears to be complete chaos - without form and void. Something that will simply not go away. Even when the tanks have been pumped. (OK, just how did you think those tanks on aircraft got emptied? By the blue ice elves?)

And since it's a mixture of excrement and disinfectant - the analogy is right there in plane plain sight.

--- more to come

Just A Thought ~ Early Morning Thoughts





I ran across this delightful quote the other day and the more I thought about it, the more intrigued I became . . .

This seems to be one of those simple sentences that becomes more interesting the more you think about it:









"You can not talk yourself out of a problem you behave yourself into. . . . "

Friday, December 12, 2008

And The Ice Continues To Flow ~ Early Evening Thoughts

I'll have more to say about all this over the next few days ~ I'm using the excuse that they need to play out a little more (my story and I'm sticking to it). I continue to watch the unfolding of the "sturm und drang" of the Illinois Governor. the auto hand-out . . . uh . . . bail-out, home foreclosures, the frothing at the mouth TV talking heads (with or without a grip on truth and/or reality), the money lost in "helping" the banks survive and such.

What started as a slight feeling in the back of my brain finally moved to the front (a sometimes arduous journey!) and I was reminded of one of the most famous and effective theater posters of ALL time.



Nothing like a little 'Liza crossing the ice to get things going!!!

--More on this later!!

P.S. I was going to title this And The (Blue) Ice Continues To Flow, but I'll explain that later as well . . . .

A Tardy Celebration ~ Early Evening Thoughts


In my last post (oh so many weeks ago) I teased about an important celebration that was coming up. That date ~ the 27th of August ~ is very important to me. Actually, all days are now important to me. On the 27th of August, last year, I began a journey back from the edge of having no edge at all.

So - the announcement? On the 27th of this month I will be celebrating one year and four months of sane(r) and sober life. As those who have followed this blog (through its ups and downs) will know that each of these dates represent a real milestone. I'm enjoying my life, considering I almost didn't have one ~ and waking each day with a sense of renewal and hope.

I'll be talking more about the recent journey, such as the fun of the knee replacements, the JOY of hurricanes and learning that no matter how young my mind is convinced I am - the body wants to tell me a very, very different story.

So, welcome back! To me and to you!! Pull up a chair, and we'll continue to talk about it all.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Please Pass (Over) The Nuts ~ Late Morning Thoughts

Christian Hate And Christian Witchcraft

Christian Hate:
This week the Westboro Baptist Church (God Hates Everyone Except Us) founded by Fred Phelps (Godhatesfags.com) tried to go into Canada to hold a hate-filled protest at the funeral of the innocent man who was decapitated on a bus trip. Quoting from Paul Gackle,Winnipeg Free Press as published in the National Post:

"Residents rallied Thursday to protect the family of a young man murdered on a Greyhound bus last week from a posse of radical religious protesters planning to portray Tim McLean's death as God's wrath.

Earlier this week, the Westboro Baptist Church - an organization branded as a hate group and infamous for protesting the funerals of slain U.S. soldiers - announced they would picket Mr. McLean's funeral to let Canadians know that his decapitation was God's response to Canadian policies enabling abortion, homosexuality and adultery.

But Shirley Phelps-Roper, daughter of church's founder, Fred Phelps, said a small group of protesters was stopped at the Canada-U.S. border on Thursday afternoon.

"They won't let us in, but we have a group that will cross in another spot," she said. "They'll have to strip search everyone who crosses that border or they won't know who we are. They'll have to see the WBC (Westboro Baptist Church) tattoo on our butts."

The resistance to the planned funeral protest started on Facebook yesterday morning when Jim Cotton, a resident of Winnipeg Beach, launched a page asking city residents to help protect Mr. McLean's funeral. . .

. . . Mr. Cotton was outraged and asked Winnipeg Facebookers to circle around the seven picketers tomorrow and pray for Mr. McLean's family.

By mid-afternoon Thursday, Mr. Cotton's page had over 100 friends. Rodney Taylor, an Ottawa resident, found the page and pitched in.

Mr. Taylor phoned the Prime Minister's Office, Public Safety Minister Stockwell Day's office and border services, asking them to keep the Westboro group out of the country. He also created his own Facebook page urging other offended Canadians to follow his lead.

"These people are callous, vicious and shouldn't be let into our country," he said. "We have freedom of speech, but they are inciting hate."

Mr. Taylor's plan worked. Winnipeg NDP MP Pat Martin said his office was flooded with phone calls yesterday from angry Winnipeggers.

"These people [from Westboro] are almost as crazy as the murderer," he said. "If they are here to disrupt the social order, that constitutes grounds to deny them entry. There is no redeeming virtue in the message they are bringing."

According to Mr. Martin, Mr. Day's office sent an alert to border patrol to "look out" for people with signs and pamphlets that fit the hateful messages that the church promotes and to keep them out of the country.

"In the opinion of his office, coming up here with the message they're articulating constitutes hate speech," said Mr. Martin.

Members of the Kansas-based fundamentalist sect were already planning to picket in Canada prior to last week's bus slaying. The group was scheduled to protest in Toronto Thursday night at the opening of playwright Alistair Newton's "The Pastor Phelps Project: a fundamentalist cabaret", which satirizes their leader's fervent anti-gay stance. . .

. . .In 1999, the Canadian government said it was powerless to prevent Mr. Phelps from entering the country when he was planning a protest in Ottawa over a Supreme Court ruling extending rights to gays and lesbians.

At that time, the government said the minister could only make exceptions at the border to grant people entry who might otherwise be denied, not deny people entry who would normally be admitted. . .

. . .The Winnipeg Police Service said they were not planning to block the funeral protest if the group successfully crossed the border, but they were prepared to be on hand if necessary. "

This hate group was a no-show at the funeral ~ citing concerns for their safety - but in actuality they must have realized that they lost the opportunity for publicity as 250 Winnipeg residents were on hand to protect the funeral and the family.

What troubles me so much is that this group - while spewing hatred for everything and everyone that doesn't believe in them are now trying to export this brand of hatred. Adding insult to injury, they are also spewing in the name of God, that God has already decided who is going to Heaven and who is going to Hell, so it makes no difference what you do - (unless you're a Westboro church member - which automatically grants you access through the Golden Gates). I'm not going to get into the murky waters of predestination and/or pre-ordination. But rather the manner they are going about it.

The church itself (as a non-profit organization) is supported by the donations of its members and those who share their perverted view of God's law and God's attributes. And without publicity, their donations would, in fact, start to dry up. Trained as a lawyer, Fred Phelps was disbarred in 1979 by the Kansas Supreme Court, which asserted that he had “little regard for the ethics of his profession.” Which says a lot to me.

Once a group moves from sharing what they believe and trying to beat people into submission of ONLY what they believe ~ they have moved into being a cult, not a belief. But to this group of hate-mongers it makes no difference. They have become publicity whores and donation driven. How else could he and his family afford all these trips to perform at "20,000 protests" (their claim) and put fairly well done videos on the web? Being non-profit gives them incredible tax advantages which helps fund their activities.

But here's what troubles me the most. What is it within people that makes them believe in this kind of activity and speech? Is it within each of us to fall into this kind of trap? Is there something within me that festers and decays that would allow me to live in that kind of hate and fear? That's the troublesome question. I have some very strong held beliefs, could those turn into a driving force pushing me "over the edge?"

--thus endeth part one of today's meditation

Please Pass (Over) The Nuts (2)~ Late Morning Thoughts

Christian Hate and Christian Witchcraft ~

Christian Witchcraft ~

As I grew up in what would be considered a fairly conservative family, church was always present in the schedule of our household. There was Sunday School where I argued with my teacher over the length of the days in Creation. Church services where I watched the church split one Easter Sunday morning.

But often there was the prayer meeting/Bible Study night. which was very interesting to me growing up in the 40's - 60's. There were the ladies that looked as if they hadn't smiled in 20 years - much less laughed - announcing that they were so glad they had the JOY down in their hearts. There was gossip disguised in request form to make it legal ~ "Let's pray for Sister Thomas to have strength as her husband has been seen with another woman." As I was somewhat young to really understand this, it was later in my own struggles with what I would believe that I came to these realizations. And it was late in the struggle that I came to understand the last of these ~ Christian Witchcraft. "And let Sister Abigail's husband be stricken with a disease that will keep him from drinking every again. Let any mouthful of alcohol make him deathly sick." "Do what it takes to turn Sam around - be it disease or even death."

Later I was to realize the audacity of those kind of statements. The sheer impertenance of the approach and the fact it was simply practicing witchcraft ~ of a Christian kind. This was moving beyond asking God to do something FOR someone and into asking God to do something TO someone. And it was a minister who labeled that Christian Witchcraft.

Recently - Stuart Shepard, who produces videos for Focus on the Family and hosts a video segment titled Stoplight, --> released a video <-- asking people to pray. Not a bad thing in my opinion, but it was WHAT was being asked that really bothered me. He is asking for everyone to pray for rain the night that Barack Obama speaks outdoors at the Democratic National Convention.

We're not just talking a little rain either. This man would have us ask for a torrential, flooding downpour. Something of epic proportions . . . that would, of course, destroy the theatrics of the evening. Talk about asking God to do something TO someone. So, somehow, we are being asked to perform a rain-dance prayer of some kind in order to ruin someone's time in the limelight?

Regardless of what you believe, the Bible is quite firm ~ that kind of behavior is a real no-no. And in the Old Testament (and the Torah) the penalty for it and participating is rather profound and life-ending. (Of course, tacking Christian in front of it makes it perfectly acceptable right?)

Before the e-mails start coming, let me say this - I am NOT against prayer ~ I am not against prayer. What I am against, is using it as a weapon to hurt or damage someone. I know all the theological arguments, and I've used some of them. But, in this case and using prayer this way I am saying is wrong - wrong - wrong. What I am against, is using prayer as some kind of weapon against someone who is innocent or has not wronged in any way.

So often, we barge into the Throne Room with our demands in hand, often based on very shaky ground to demand from the Creator something we feel we have a right to or should have . . . handing the Almighty (of any religion) a contract that has neither been signed nor seen.

Mr. Shepard tried to pass off his video as "boyish humor" - but it seems to me that both he and Fred Phelps have forgotten on of the major tenants of the New Testament mainly ~

"But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust." Matthew 5:43-45

--thus endeth the 2nd rant