A Taste for the Absurd

Behind me I hear a clunk. I turn and look into the living room. P (4 year old boy) is walking down the hall with a large, dull, wet stain around his mouth. I look to see from where he has come. My wife's glass of Coca-Cola is sitting empty on the piano bench. "P!" I say. He immediately replies (it has been his knee-jerk reaction when he hears that particular tone of voice for the past year or so) "E (2 year old girl) did it!" Now he has compounded drinking something that he knew he wasn't supposed to with lying. Great. I take him to his room. We sit on his bed. He burps. A slow, gurgly, sweet burp. His lips are still wet with Coca-Cola. He continues to deny wrongdoing. At last, I get him to confess.
"Why did you drink momma's drink?"
Shrug.
"Did you like it?"
"Yeah."
Secretly, I am pleased. My boy likes Coca-Cola. I had hoped and planned for this day. It was supposed to take place under more controlled circumstances. It was to be one of those first steps on the road to manhood, shared between men. The first real Coca-Cola. I wonder how many other times he has surreptitiously stolen a swig. I wonder how much he drank. We are on our way to a big party and I wonder what may happen there.

Later.

The wife and I later estimate that P went to the restroom six times in four hours at the party. I took him on his last trip. He was giddy. I knew any Coca-Cola he may have consumed must have worn off by now. Was he just tired? Alcohol was served at the party, including Sangria, which looks a lot like fruit punch. Did he get into something he wasn’t supposed to? I interrogated him as he finished using the facilities.
“P, what have you had to drink tonight?”
“`rite” (Sprite) he says, beginning to laugh.
“What else have you had to drink tonight?”
“Wipes!” he says, beginning to laugh hysterically at his own joke.
“Wipes? What else have you had to drink tonight?”
“Your nose!” he says, now doubled up in laughter.
My boy has a taste for the absurd.

Getting into the car to leave, P says with feeling, “That was a fun party.”
That it was.

Peace

Friday Miscellany

My two year old girl had a significant nose bleed last night. It didn't really bother her. All she said that she needed was "a wipe". Read about it here.

A couple of nights ago, my four year old son was heading up to bed, but before he left he had to update me on what he was doing with his little people. "The boys are in the castle and the girls are in the house." Gender stereotypes? How did this happen? He watches PBS! Of course, last week he was dressing up in his sister's princess costume.

A group of British teachers has proposed replacing the word "fail" with "deferred success" (see here). Does such an asinine proposal deserve a comment? We cannot teach children that they will always eventually succeed; some things they may never be able to do; we must teach them how to respond to failure. Despite what PBS Kids tells us, we can't do everything we want to do.

I bagged my first spider of spider season. He was a fat, rusty red, perched between the shrubs and our garbage can at waist height (I shiver to think about walking into it while taking the garbage out at night). My wife was returning with the kids at night, pulled up in the driveway and illuminated her with the high beams. It was a piteously easy kill. A double tap of Raid to the body, and she had spun to the ground. I always thought that this type of spider started to show up in mid-August about the time school started. Maybe they are as confused as I am with some schools starting school next week (see my post 26 June 2005 Fear and the Four Year Old for more about Spiderfall).



Here are what the spiders look like. Many of them are a bit more red. See more like it here.

Peace

Super-Duper Family Fun Movie Night

Monday night was Super-Duper Family Movie Fun Night at the Chintzibobs' household. For SDFMFN, the lights are turned down low, the surround sound is turned up, popcorn is popped, pillows are thrown on the floor, and drinks are distributed. Our intention is to help train our four year old boy for the movie theater and to create a family tradition for Sunday or Monday movie nights. Our boy doesn't like loud, sustained noise so we can't take him to the movies (see here).

We began the tradition last week with "The Incredibles". It wasn't the best choice to start the tradition. It is a very fast paced movie with continual, scary states of peril for the family of four who are the Incredibles. The boy was distressed (and seemed near tears) at a couple of points and kept saying, "They need the police, they need the police" or "They need superheroes". The two year old girl was very funny to listen to. She kept her comments and exclamations to "uh-oh" or a distressed "oooh". They both perservered and seemed to enjoy the family time and popcorn. The adults both enjoyed the movie, but it is hard to say whether they enjoyed the movie or their kid's reactions to it more.

On Monday night, we watched "Ice Age". This was a much better choice. It has slower pacing. Scenes of peril are alternated with periods of calm, and the peril was never terribly intense. Its themes of redemption and forgiveness were appreciated by the adults. This choice was affirmed when the boy asked to see "Ice Age" again this morning with the lights out. The kids watched it again and enjoyed it.

Interestingly, both movies were "PG". The non-stop intensity made "The Incredibles", I thought, more of PG+. While "Ice Age" was more of a PG-. I was glad to see that both of them eschewed the potty humor of so many recent animated films (Shrek especially). "The Incredibles" was fun from an adult standpoint, but I thought "Ice Age" was much deeper (for an animated kid's movie).

I have decided that I really don't like computer animation or CGI. Animated films these days are not nearly as pretty as one of yesteryear, and actions films have become nothing but CGI showcases (see SW 1-3). CGI still does not look real to me. It is too clean. Reality is much less perfect. It also allows directors to pull stupid stunts that distract from the intensity of the moment (I'm thinking of Legolas and the Oliphants in LOTR3). I find it hard to suspend my disbelief at moments like that.

Our challenge with SDFMFN now is three fold. We must find movies that:
1. Our kids haven't seen yet at relatives' houses.
2. Our appropriate to our children.
3. The adults can bear to sit through.

We are considering trying Star Wars IV for our next SDFMFN. Suggestions?

Peace

Scandal at the Ohoopee: Splendid Splitcat to Split?

An investigation by the ATF has uncovered serious allegations of misbehavior by the Editor of Ohoopee Online, Splitcat Chintzibobs. Agent Nobadaddie of the Atlanta office of the ATF explained the shocking charges, “We have credible evidence that Mr. Chintzibobs has begun to drink Diet Coke with Splenda.”

Evidence compiled so far includes a large pilof empty Diet Coke with Splenda cans found concealed above the ceiling tiles in the offices of the Ohoopee. The tiles are directly above the workstation of Chinztibobs. Also, investigators discovered a stash of Diet Coke found in the company refrigerator under a large plastic container of leftovers labeled “TaterTot Extravaganza—do not touch”. Handwriting analysis of the writing on the container shows the writing to be consistent with Chintzibobs’. The reputed stash of Diet Coke has an estimated street value of $2.99. In addition he has been recorded on security cameras making an illicit deal for what investigators call a “Dime Case” with a mysterious dealer named “Mr. Kroger”. Agent Nobadaddie remarked, “It is hard to come to any other conclusion than that Mr. Chintzibobs has become a Diet Coke head.

If the allegations prove true, Chintzibobs could have trouble reconciling his past statements on Diet Coke. In 1995 Chintzibobs stated unequivocally his opposition to all diet soda products, “I unequivocally state that I am opposed to all diet soda products.” He has also been reported to say, “Diet Coke is disgusting. It is both nasty as a drink and morally repugnant.” His 1989 red Ford Escorts sports a bumper sticker that claims, “They can have my real Coke when they can pry if from my cold, dead fingers.”

A source inside the investigation claims that Chintzibobs has confessed, though investigators refuse to confirm or deny any confession. According to the source, Chintzibobs said, “I never thought I would be one of them, you know, those addicted to Diet Coke. I used to hate and pity them. They would drink six, seven, ten Diet Cokes a day and supersize their value meals. They claimed they couldn’t even stand the taste of real Coke anymore. I could never let myself fall so far…that’s why I still make sure to drink at least one real Coke a week; you know, so I won’t forget.”

Asked by investigators about how he first became a Diet Coke head Chinztibobs reportedly explained, “Well, Buchasa had been on me to try it. She said it would help me lose weight. I thought I could control the Diet Coke. I just took the first sip…it was like there was a fire on my tongue and the aftertaste…it sticks with you for hours…the first can was the hardest. It was, like I always expected, disgusting, but I knew that if I just kept going that I would get used to it. The next thing I knew I was on the floor, surrounded by the remains of an empty twelve-pack. Now, oh dear Lord forgive me, I almost like them. You have what you wanted now? You happy now? Gimme what you promised! You said I could have one! Come on, I need it. I’m going crazy here. There’s bugs…bugs crawling all over me…I need it!” Our source refused to reveal what happened after this point in the interview, as it was too gruesome to repeat.

It remains to be seen what will happen to Chintzibobs if these allegations prove true. Most doubt his ability to continue to lead Ohoopee Online with a serious Diet Coke problem. Of course, most doubt his ability to lead Ohoopee Online without a serious Diet Coke problem.

Ohoopee Online Turns One! (month)

I have made it a month (33 total posts). My guess is that 99% of blogs end after three months or three posts, whichever comes first. It's hard to do. My purpose in doing this was to create a record of the life of my family as my kids grow up. I hoped the pressure of knowing someone might read it would lead to higher quality and consistent posts. I also knew that it would be good to practice several different types of writing (to anyone who has been reading, I apologize for my political posts--I'm mulling over a long one on flag burning...strange, no one has left comments on my political posts). It will be a challenge to get to this two or three times a week when I go back to school in two weeks. Thanks for reading.

Peace

Friday Miscellany

Tonight, the lovely Buchusa Bluttersplangle and I had a short night out without the kids. We went to Chili’s and Media Play. That’s a big night for us. I noticed that Media Play has a large section of used CDs and DVDs. They are called “Previously New”. I have seen “Previously Owned”, “Pre-Owned”, “Vintage”, “Newly Used”, “Antique”, “Like New” and the classically honest “Used”, but “Previously New” is new to me. What will be next? “New when Made”? “Post-New”?

I have been in class all week (which explains the paucity of my posts and may give a hint to how effective I will be in keeping this up when I go back to school). The class is an AP institute called “How to Teach AP US History”, which I shall not be teaching. I was informed during the first day of class that I would be teaching all English next year. The class was held at beautiful and richly endowed Woodward Academy in lovely College Park (really, it is lovely). Most of my classmates were public school teachers from the south side of Metro Atlanta. They were also predominately male. Many were coaches. Some observations and some things I learned:

We read some sample essays written by actual students. One was truly excellent and included advanced vocabulary. The teacher behind me, a male coach, mumbled very lowly under his breath so that I think only I heard him, “ ‘egalitarian’…jeez, this kid’s a nerd.” (see "Marry a Nerd, She Said" July 5)

The Collage Bored (I shall spell this way to avoid legal troubles) has a committee called the “sensitivity” committee so that, to paraphrase my instructor, “Romanian born, bisexual, peanut farmers with overbites won’t be offended by any of the questions.” They excluded a question about Archie Bunker as it would discriminate against students without cable T.V. (since the only place to see the show is on Nick at Nite).

The Woodward computer lab is excellent (all their classrooms are equipped with smartboards, too). On the computer that I was using, someone had renamed the shortcut to Microsoft Explorer as “Microsoft Exploiter”. I have now made the needed updates on my computer.

A different male coach read a thesis statement a group of three teachers had written. It was a fragment. Our instructor kindly said, “That’s good except that it’s a fragment.” The group re-wrote it. It was still a fragment.

Indians, I mean Native Americans, I mean American Indians. That’s right, the new P.C. term for Indians is “American Indians”. Apparently, “native” conjures up the image of primitive tribesmen in people’s heads. Actually, I think this is better term as it will distinguish them from Indian-Americans and the term “native” was never exactly correct (in fact, scientists continue to find evidence that Indian-Americans may not have been the first humans in the Americas). One radical group of American Indians is holding out for the term “First Americans”. I find it very interesting and encouraging that all of these terms include “American” as a significant part of their identity.

As you probably know, referring to America as a melting pot is politically incorrect. The preferred term is a “salad bowl”. You see, the thinking goes that we are all mixed up together, but we still keep our original shape and size (our cultural identity). I prefer to think of America as a hearty stew. In a good stew, the ingredients break down a bit, adding their flavor to the broth and the other ingredients, but the broth (which I see as the idea of America) holds everything together and continues to break down the ingredients the longer they stay submerged.

Overall, I left with the impression that I am very lucky to teach in a private school. Also, I will carefully screen my children's teachers when they get to high school (if they go to a public one). I don't want my child's history teacher to be a coach who happens to teach.

Peace

Tray Mountain, Part II: It's Only the Wind

Below you will find the final installment of our story "Tray Mountain: A Tale of Frost, Fear, and One Man's Inner Courage". Find the first installment here.

Tray Mountain, Part II:

It's Only the Wind

They set off for the shelter, racing to beat the failing light. At last they reached the side trail leading off to the shelter. But upon consulting the map, Larry was convinced that they should press on in search of a better campsite despite the imminent darkness. They hurried down the trail in search of a campsite out of the roaring wind. After much fruitless marching, they were no closer to a campsite then they had been an hour earlier. Larry then demanded, in violation of all trail guides and plain common sense, on leaving the trail in search of a campsite. So they consulted the map and plunged down a near vertical slope and made camp. It was here that the astute MacManus found the first disturbing evidence of bear infestation. On the ground was a mangled Vienna Sausage can with obvious large teeth marks on it. By carefully measuring the marks, MacManus estimated that, “They were the marks of a three hundred pound, five and half foot male grizzly with a slight overbite.” Nearby were several small trees that appeared to have been pushed over by a large animal. In their exhaustion, however, they were unwilling to search out a safer campsite. MacManus struggled to build a small fire, the smoke of which blew in every direction, depending on where MacManus was sitting.

With the sun going down, the temperature soon followed. Above them, clouds sped across a nearly full moon at incredible speeds, casting a surreal pall across the mountain. With the cold and the wind, they decided to turn in about 7:00pm. Sleep was evasive for the two, and time dragged on at a painfully slow pace. Both longed for the dawn and a new day. At approximately 9:30pm MacManus woke up and asked Larry what time it was. Larry responded that it was 9:30 in the morning. MacManus responded that Larry was stoned and tried to go back to sleep.

Outside of their tent, unknown to them, a three hundred and twenty-five pound, five foot and nine inch grizzly bear was on the prowl, stirred to hunt his favorite prey, the ever-elusive Vienna Sausage. Larry woke up with a start. It sounded like a three hundred pound, six foot grizzly bear was sniffing his forehead. MacManus came out of a half-sleep to the sound of a four hundred pound, six and a half foot grizzly sniffing around the base of the tent. Larry exclaimed, “There was a four hundred and twenty-five pound grizzly sniffing my forehead!” Both men’s hearts pounded with fear, adrenalin flowing freely into their veins. Larry grew hysterical and was on the verge of shouting, “You can have our Vienna Sausages, just let me keep my map!” when the cool-headed calmed Larry with a lie, “It’s only the wind.” Larry went back to sleep, but MacManus could not, knowing the danger they were both. He was determined to stay awake and on guard.

The four hundred and fifty pound grizzly returned often during the long night, undoubtedly attracted by the seeming mating call that Larry’s snore resembled. MacManus remained awake though it all. At around four in the morning, he knew that the final confrontation was coming. The snore of the slumbering Larry rattled the tent pegs, the sniffing of the bear grew nearer, and the pressure on his bladder grew to superhuman proportions. Having waited as long as he could, necessity conquered fear and MacManus exited the tent. Towering a full seven feet above his was five hundred pounds of hungry grizzly. Grabbing a can of Vienna Sausages, MacManus used a sock as a sling and flung the Sausages at the five hundred and fifty pound grizzly. He missed wildly and the Vienna Sausages rolled down the mountain. The six hundred pound grizzly, sensing his favorite food, lumbered after the can. The can flew off of a cliff with the six hundred and fifty pound grizzly behind it, its paws flailing wildly in the air. MacManus was then much relieved and went back into the tent where a sleeping Larry snored on.
The next day, Rangers found the body of an eight foot, seven hundred pound grizzly at the base of the cliff. The can of Vienna Sausages was unharmed and proved a hearty midday snack for the Rangers. MacManus never told Larry of the grave danger they both faced that night, undoubtedly his innate humility at work, unwilling to boast of this own bravery or reveal the horror which is Larry’s snore.

Tray Mountain: A Tale of Frost, Fear, and One Man's Inner Courage

A note to readers: What follows is one of the finest articles we could cull from our print archives. It is an inspiring story of heroism and cowardice, fear and triumph. The names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved and some grammatical errors have been changed in exchange for new ones. We hope you enjoy this first installment of "From the Archives".--the editors

Tray Mountain
Part I: Trail Mix

It was a bitterly cold December morn as the two young men confidently saddled up their gear for a three-day, two-night trek on the most dangerous section of the Appalachian Trail in Georgia. In the bright morning sun, their enthusiasm ran high until they stepped out of the truck. Patrick MacManus, the eldest and a former Boy Scout, shivered and said, “Dang nab it, it’s cold!” and got back into the truck. Larry “Lashes” O’long, a young blond, spent the majority of the morning re-packing his backpack with three of everything while MacManus stood patiently in the wind, repeating at intervals, “It’s cold. Boy is it cold. It sure is cold. Think we will meet any chicks? Man is it cold!”

At last, after Larry had taken his pack on and off numerous times, they set off down the trail. Five minutes later they took their first breather and consulted the map. A breathless Larry looked back on their progress and the glorious vista and said, “I can still see the truck.” After several more hours of hiking and countless references to the map, they could still see the truck, but they pushed on despite the burnings in their legs and lungs.

The section of the trail that they were on, as the map showed, followed a ridgeline up and down many tall, steep, rocky, bear-infested mountains. In fact, it was known to many as the “Trail of Really Big Bear Tracks”. They made there goal for the day the shelter on the far side of the tallest mountain they would face, Tray Mountain. Little did the two men realize the stark terror that lay in wait for them on the other side of Tray Mountain.

The men plodded on through the cold and checked the map. Nearing lunch, MacManus pointed out a sunny, warm, grassy dell in a valley where they could eat lunch, but the younger Larry pointed at the map and insisted that they continue. Instead, they ate lunch on a cold, wet, dark stone, where a bitter wind whipped through their meal of trail mix and canned Vienna sausages, making it really hard to hold the map. It was to be the first of many mistakes Larry would make that fateful day.

Finally, as the sun began to slide down closer to the horizon, the two young men saw the monstrosity that is Tray Mountain. Larry saw its great height towering above them and looked at the map, hoping he was lost. MacManus took the lead, bearing up the rocky trail as it twisted back and forth across the steep slope.

When the two felt they could go no more, they crested the summit. They were on top of the world. Miles and miles of mountains and valleys stretched out as far as the eye could see. Not another human being or evidence of habitation could be seen in any direction. All was as is was when the Creator spoke it into existence. A gentle frost covered the ancient hardwood forest surrounding them. “What no chicks?” observed a tired MacManus. Miles to the south Yonah Mountain was easily distinguishable. Far off to the west, Brasstown Bald could be made out against the darkening sky. “Darkening sky?!” said a concerned MacManus, “We need to make camp.” Larry got out the map. Their night of terror was about to begin.

Tomorrow: Tray Mountain, Part II: It's Only the Wind

What's in a Name?

My first two posts were about my struggles with a name for my blog. BlogoaurusRex would have been nice but it is owned by a philosophy major in Florida. I just came too late to the Blogosphere. Alas.

So I named my blog "The Ohoopee Letter News". TOLN, as it is called by its aficianados, was a short lived publication in the early to mid-nineties with a circulation of about four. It was begun by me in an effort to keep up with and make fun of my former college roommates. I think I published about four or five of them. If I can ever figure out a way to open the ancient files, I will post some of the better stories here.

The name of the original TOLN is based upon this river:

This beautiful river is the Ohoopee River in south-central Georgia. Lovely ain't it? What it doesn't show is the swarm of nose-gnats and ear-gnats or the 98-degree heat with 99-percent humidity. I went to college at Georgia Southern University. It was a long drive from Atlanta to GSU. The drive was made tortuous by the mind-numbingly boring I-16. The stretch from Macon to the GSU exit seemed to go on and on and on. The only thing to break the monotony was an occasional dead animal (usually unidentifiable) or a broken down Hyundai Excel (usually mine). Fortunately, I often rode with one of my roommates. We would find things to amuse ourselves. The purchase of a 20oz Coke and some kind of chocolate was enough to keep us awake (though it did prove an environmental hazard). About the time our sugar buzzes and caffeine highs were wearing off, dementia began to set in, and we had to talk whoever was driving from ramming the car at 70 mph into the four millionth pine tree we drove by. Then we would see it: the bridge over the beautiful Ohoopee River. It was a sign that we were nearing our exit! I am not sure how the tradition started, but we began to chant "Ohoopee, Ohoopee, Ohoopee" every time we crossed the bridge (I think it had to do with an old Indian tradition). Everyone in the vehicle had to participate, and the chanting had to continue all of the way across the bridge.

There was another reason I choose the name "Ohoopee". There was a much darker motive. A reason no one has heard until today. I had aspirations of being a writer during my days at GSU. I took a creative writing class and submitted poems to the college poetry journal. They rejected my poems. It made me bitter. The name of the journal was...The Ogeechee Review. It was named after another south Georgia river. I figured that I could sure show them by starting my own showcase for writing and using a name that parodied their name! Obviously, I was not very astute at revenge, but the Ohoopee lives on and where is the Ogeechee Review? So there. (And the editors here only occasionally reject my pieces).

As far as the "Letter News" part of the name, it is simply the reversal of "newsletter".

The Ogeechee River or an open sewer?

In keeping with the confessional nature of this piece, here is the poem I submitted:

Muliebrity

Cool freshwater tears
Melt out of not-blue icebergs,
Eroding a trough through
Base and not-cherry red cheeks.
Gravity-bent lips frown
And "words 'words' words":
Signs blowing a minty wind
Which would better fit
the other end.

By the way, muliebrity means "the essence of woman." I know, I had a bitterness problem.

Peace

Dean of Men Breaks the Case of the Fishy Finals!

Details Finally Revealed

The shocking and degrading prank upon the students, faculty, and staff of Nobadaddie Academy for Misfits (NAM) in Rosmell, Georgia, was solved within two days of the incident, but journalists working for the Ohoopee have just now uncovered the details of the investigation that uncovered the vicious perpetrators. After extensive interviews, examination of the records, and the co-operation of an inside source, the Ohoopee presents the entire story here, told in total for the first time.

The school year was coming to a close. Graduation was a few days away. The week of underclassmen finals was getting underway. The seniors had already completed their coursework and taken their final exams, and that, the Dean of Men of NAM knew, meant trouble. As at most schools, seniors at NAM had a long tradition of performing a senior prank on the students, faculty, and staff of NAM as a way of saying thanks for their contributions to the lives of the graduates.

Something Fishy is Going On

Dean of Men Moe Ron explained, “Well, honestly the pranks had been standard run of the mill stuff. We had been t.p.’ed a couple of times, someone played a silly song over the intercom during classes, nothing major. But this year, I knew things would be different. This was a senior class that had reached new depths of depravity. My spidey sense was tingling, I tell you!” After a pause Ron continued, “That last comment, that kind of falls into the ‘too much information category’, doesn’t it? Don’t print that.”

In fact, Dean Ron was the second person to school on the first day of finals. He entered the gym and, “I looked around. Everything seemed in order. The entire school takes its exams in the gym together by subject areas. We pack 200+ students in there at tables. There was a strange odor in the air. Something seemed vaguely fishy with a hint of oregano.” Ron dismissed the odor, thinking it consistent with the many transitory odors that accompany a building filled with over two hundred teenagers. What Ron didn’t know was that the scent he smelled was the first sign that the seniors had already launched their attack upon the testing area.

School of Fish

The school custodian, Bill Bixby, was the first to enter the building that fateful day. After unlocking the facility and turning on the lights, Bixby entered the gym to double-check the arrangements one last time. The scene he discovered still haunts his dreams. He described, “A scene out of ‘Old Man and the Sea’. Imagine if someone took about a two-pound grouper filet and cooked it up in a light butter sauce with garlic, oregano, and a healthy twist of lemon. Now, imagine that he leaves it out overnight. Then imagine that he takes that grouper and throws it at a table like a fastball. Imagine that same event repeated twenty times.”

Lobstercide

Cooked fish had been scattered across the gym. Fish had been dumped in chairs. Fish had been splattered on the tables. A can of sardines had been dumped on a chair and the chair pushed under the table, the prankster clearly hoping some hapless student would sit in it. There was one more twist. It was Dean of Men Ron who found it, “Bill had told our secretary about the vandalism and she called me down to investigate. Fortunately, no students had arrived yet. I was appalled by the malicious nature of the prank. This was clearly intended to disrupt final exams. While Bill began work on the fish, I examined the crime scene. I saw an empty can of sardines. I found some more chairs with fish in them. Then, on the other side of the gym, I saw her. Lying on her back, her little legs twitching, was a medium sized lobster. Rigor had not yet set in. That lobster had been alive when the pranksters left.” Staring down at the still warm body of ‘Lobster Jane’, as she was later christened by investigators, Ron vowed to hunt down the culprits and bring them to justice.

Fishing for Clues

The fast work of custodian Bixby got all of the fish cleaned up by the time the first students arrived for their exam. While some students remarked about the fishy smell, the pranksters were denied the satisfaction of disrupting the exams. Most of the students never even found out about the prank, but the vandals were still out there, and Dean Ron was determined to keep his vow to Lobster Jane.

Further investigation extrapolated the time of death of the lobster based on the level of post-mortem rigor. By finding the average time of death of a medium sized Maine lobster when removed from water, Dean Ron was able to estimate the time of the break-in. Security tapes showed two shadowy figures bearing large bags through the parking lot. The time on the tapes lined up with the estimated time of the lobster release, but the identities of subject one and two could not be determined from the tapes.

By the end of day one of the investigation, Dean Ron found that the vandals had wedged open one of the back doors of the gym with a large stick. He knew what they had done, when they had done it, and even had the hooligans on tape, but he still lacked that one piece of evidence that would break the case open.

Working late that night, Dean Ron was one of the last to leave campus. On his way out and surmising that the pranksters might still desire satisfaction, he decided to take the precaution of checking all of the doors. At the door of the break-in, Ron stood thoughtfully for a moment, wondering what he had missed. Then he saw it, a Publix bag blowing in the wind. Could it contain the receipt? He ran after it and pulled it open. It was empty; his heart sank, but he refused to give up. If they had left some of their garbage here, maybe they had left more. He looked into the underbrush surrounding the gym. Another Publix bag! This time there was evidence inside. Ron found the top of a sardine can, a deli wrapper for cooked fish, and a deli box for the lobster. No receipt. Dejected, he turned to go to his car, planning on throwing away the garbage in the school’s dumpster.

Ron described his thoughts at this critical juncture, “I knew I could find out who did it with a receipt. It would tell me what date, time, and store the fish was purchased at. If I were lucky, it would even have a credit card number. But at this point I was completely baffled. I thought back on poor Lobster Jane. I mumbled a plea, almost a prayer, ‘Speak to me Jane. Come on girl, help me out’. I looked down at the lobster box in my hands, and there it was. The Publix store number.”

Hooking the Culprits

Ron did a quick Internet search and discovered that the Publix in question was a good twenty-five miles from the school. This greatly reduced the number of potential suspects to be looked at. He also knew the lobster had to have been purchased within the last twenty-four hours. He picked up the phone and hoped Publix kept good computer records. Besides, he reasoned, how many lobsters are typically sold on a Tuesday?

The manager at Publix did a quick computer search for “Medium Maine Lobster”. Dean Ron waited anxiously by the phone for the manager to call him back. The manager called back after a long ten minutes and reported that only one lobster had been purchased on Tuesday. The computer recorded the exact time of the transaction, a transaction that included over $50.00 of cooked fished, sardines, and one medium Maine lobster. Ron asked, “Now, can we cross reference that time with your store video cameras?” The manager was one step ahead and reported to Ron, “I’m looking at the tape right now. I see five teenagers at the deli purchasing a lobster.” Now it was just a matter of Ron going to the store to identify the five teenagers.

Reeling Them In

After viewing the Publix store security tapes, Dean Ron knew that ‘Lobster Jane’ had not died in vain. It was her box that had provided the vital clues to closing the case. All of the vandals were identified and brought to justice.

Revenge: A Fish Best Served Cold

Dean Ron was frank in confessing his thoughts after the events of two years ago, “I have to admit a certain satisfaction in that case. The prank failed to disrupt finals and all involved were properly punished. I have a peace and, I think, ‘Jane’ can rest in peace now.” But not everybody is at peace. Bill Bixby, the man entrusted to cleaning up the prank before students arrived, was given the thanks of a grateful school. That thanks was not enough. Despite two years of therapy, he still can’t eat fish. In fact, he says, “I can’t eat fish, I can’t look at fish, I can’t bear the smell of fish. And what they did to Jane. Think of what it must have been like to wander around a dark gym all night, slowly suffocating, occasionally coming across the dead, cooked bodies of fish you knew so well. Bumping into tables. Feeling your shell and body drying up minute by minute. Sometimes I dream that I am Jane that night, and I experience what she experienced that night. What kind of kids are we raising these days?” Bixby is only one of many employees to have exhibited symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder from their experience in NAM.

Rest in Peace

Jane (?-2004)

Miscellany

Noodling is now legal in Georgia! If you don't know what it is, there is an entertaining documentary about it here. Basically, it involves catching catfish with your bare hands by sticking your hands into underwater alcoves where catfish hangout. Unfortunately, many other things hang out there as well (snapping turtles, beavers, water moccasins). Quite a few noodlers are sans digits. My wife's grandfather once told me about he used to do it when he was young (though he called it something else). I didn't quite believe him until I saw the documentary.

My son is still working on his conception of the past. So far, everything in the past is referred to as "yesterday". It doesn't matter if it was yesterday or a year ago, to him, it was "yesterday". He recently took a step forward in his understanding. He said about something that we did last summer, "We did that two yesterdays?"

Our local paper had an article about the 25th anniversary of Pac-Man on Wednesday. It quoted Ian Bogost. Ian is a teacher of Video Game Rhetoric and Criticism at Georgia Tech. I can't decide if having a teacher of Video Game Rhetoric and Criticism is incredibly cool or simply disturbing. One of the things he said about Pac-Man, "it has the dramatic tension of you being the hunter and the hunted." Personally, the game appealed to the obsessive compulsive in each of us. I just had to clear that screen, each and every dot.

It looks like I will be a full-time English teacher next year. I don't know how I feel about that. I have loved teaching history and have become pretty good at it. I also come off two years as the interim dean of men (I have some good stories to share about that). It shall be a very different year.

Peace

Curses! Time to Mow the Lawn Again! Part III

Recently, I mowed my parents’ lawn while my parents were out of town. It reminded me of all of the times growing up when I mowed the lawn. As soon as I was able to operate “Old Orange” without cutting off my toes, my father handed over the pull cord to me and never touched the lawnmower again until we all moved out. When I was over there last week to mow their lawn, I couldn’t help but notice how much the lawn has shrunk since we all moved out; the pine straw “natural areas” have spread until the lawn is about a quarter of its original size. This isn’t to suggest that my dad is lazy; in fact, he is the hardest working man I know, but I think I get my hatred of mowing the lawn naturally.

I shared mowing duties with my brothers. Generally, the only thing that we argued about was whose turn it was to mow the lawn. Once, it almost led to a fight between my two older brothers that would have ended up on the evening news if my eldest brother had been able to run (he had been crushed between two cars). As it was, my eldest brother waddled about the unshorn front yard, braces on both knees, a crutch in each hand, like some kind of deranged penguin chasing after my other brother. My other brother was wise enough to stay just out reach of those crutches and clever enough to prolong the situation by baiting my eldest brother with taunts. Why my crippled brother was in the argument, I will never know; the dispute was between my other brother and I. It went something like this:
Crippled brother: “Come back here and say that!”
Other brother: “I’m not gonna fight a cripp!”
Crippled brother: “Why don’t you just mow the bleep lawn?”
Other brother: “You gonna make me?”
Crippled brother: “Come back here and say that!”
Other brother: “I’m not gonna fight a cripp!”
Crippled brother: “Just wait until my knees get better!”
Other brother: “I’m faster then you when your knees are fine.”
Crippled brother: “Come back here and say that!” It went on like this for some time. I sat on the front steps and watched. I don’t remember who ended up mowing the lawn, but I am fairly certain it was my turn.

Peace

Curses! Time to Mow the Lawn Again! Part II

When my neighbor gets ready to mow his lawn, mothers take their children off the streets and put them in front of the TV. They turn the volume up as high as is possible without doing permanent damage to their children’s eardrums. Walk down my street at this point and you will hear the muffled bass lines of the theme songs of “Elmo’s World”, “Jay-Jay the Jet Plan”, and “Dora the Explorer” and the sounds of one man mowing. For the first ten minutes, this sounds like any other man mowing, but my neighbor has a forgetful son. Despite specific instructions from the parents, this son leaves things in the yard. Sometimes, many things.

The gentle whirring of blades and humming of engine will invariably be interrupted by the telltale twack-twack-twack of an inorganic item meeting the twin rotating metal blades of a riding mower. Then there is a pause. The entire neighborhood holds its collective breath. Dogs stop barking. Birds stop singing. As surely as the sun rises in the morning, we all know what is coming next. My neighbor lets loose a torrent of curses that would put a blush on the face of a career Navy mechanic. These curses aren’t mumbled and incoherent like the ones spoken by the father in A Christmas Story; rather the elocution, enunciation, and projection would inspire all three tenors. The treetops shake with “sons of this” and “mothers of that”. Like fireworks on the Fourth of July, expletives explode above our roofs in dazzling variety, abusing our eardrums with the shockwaves.
The engine begins again. The whirring of blades and humming of engine return harmony to the world. We relax, but not completely. Until all the grass is cut and the lawnmower is returned to the garage, our hands will remain close enough to cover our children’s ears at a moment’s notice and our eardrums will remain clenched. He has a large yard.

Tomorrow: "Who's turn is to mow the lawn?"

Peace

Curses! Time to Mow the Lawn Again!

I enjoy yardwork. I love to plant things and see them grow. I love the first shoots of plants coming up in the spring (usually it is chives, and they start in February). I love the taste of a cucumber from my own garden.

I generally plant perennials because you can watch them grow from year to year. There is something wrong with annuals. They flower for a few months and then die. They're like the rocks stars of the plant world...a brilliant flash, then an early death. They seem like a waste of time and money to this gardener. Part of this, I am sure, is my own desire for permanence. Annuals are just a reminder of impermance, while perennials promise rebirth with each spring. Okay, you are probably thinking I could fertilize my garden with that last part. Maybe. With perennials, you have to be patient. You watch and tend them as they grow and wait expectantly for that first blossom. It may take years before the payoff finally comes, and the payoff may be one blossom that fades after a few days, but it is worth it.

I enjoy yardwork, except for mowing the grass. Truth be told, a scientific analysis of my lawn would show about 24% clover, 17% crab grass, 11% dandelion, 6% moss, 12% misc. weeds, 30% grass, so I don't have much "grass" to mow. But in order to mow that 30% of grass, I also have to mow the other 70%. When mowed properly, it actually doesn't look that bad from a distance. Weeds grow very fast. They don't need sun, water, or fertilizer. Apparently, all they need is my yard. I have a very large yard.

When we first moved in, the previous residents had just given up on the backyard (the previous residents will be the subject of a future post). It was over two feet deep. In some places it was almost four feet deep. I mowed it with a walk-behind mower. It was one of the scariest and bravest things that I have ever done. Some of the things I ran over with the mower are just too traumatic to discuss. Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I would see huge living things scurrying off into the tall weeds. I might get a glimpse of the back of a leg (like that first glimpse of the alien's leg among the corn in Signs). Some of the beasts I could only perceive by the movement of the weeds; the tops of the weeds would shake and shiver and drop as the beast pushed them over with his massive body (like the overhead scene in Jurassic Park II when the raptors are chasing the humans through the tall grass). I am ashamed to admit that my neighbors' first impression of me was of "the guy who screams a lot when he mows his lawn."

At one point, my mother-in-law, who was helping us get moved in, came out to offer me some water. I was mowing, eyes darting left and right for danger, when one of the beasties got me on the back of my leg. I felt pain shoot down my leg and what felt like electricity run through my entire body. I let go of the mower and started dancing around and yelping like someone who's been stung by a hornet, which is what had happened. My mother-in-law, who saw me dancing around like a crazy man just after she shouted out her offer of water, thought that she had never seen someone so happy to be offered a glass of water and wandered what her daughter had gotten herself into.

It took me two weeks to mow the lawn.

I have a rider now. Now it only takes an hour to mow my lawn. The beasts are gone now, though I still sometimes wake up screaming.

Tomorrow: My neighbor, "the guy who curses a lot when he mows his lawn."

Beep--Beep--Beep

FLASH FLOOD WARNING NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE PEACHTREE CITY GA 725 AM EDT MON JUL 11 2005
THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE IN PEACHTREE CITY HAS ISSUED A
* FLASH FLOOD WARNING FOR... COBB COUNTY IN NORTH CENTRAL GEORGIA FAYETTE COUNTY IN NORTH CENTRAL GEORGIA
* UNTIL 1030 AM EDT
* AT 715 AM EDT...NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE DOPPLER RADAR INDICATED FLASH FLOODING FROM HEAVY RAIN SHOWERS FROM MARIETTA THROUGH PEACHTREE CITY TO WOODBURY...MOVING NORTH AT 40 MPH. ADDITIONAL RAINFALL OF 1 TO 2 INCHES CAN BE EXPECTED WITH THESE SHOWERS.
* OTHER LOCATIONS IN THE WARNING INCLUDE BUT ARE NOT LIMITED TO WHITEWATER...VININGS...SANDY CREEK...MARIETTA...MABLETON... KENWOOD...KENNESAW...FAYETTEVILLE...AUSTELL AND ACWORTH.

I thought I had repaired the problem...but the water keeps coming in...can't stop it...must...reach...the...shop...vac...yes! now as long as the power doesn't go

Movie Meme

Movie Tag

1. What was the last movie you watched?
At home: The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. I very much enjoy unusual movies. I still haven't figured out this one yet. I felt that it was about to say something, but kept backing off from fear of sounding too preachy. The characters seemed to be wandering around in their own bad dream--you know the ones where your feet seem to be stuck in molasses and you can only move very slowly so you hope you will wake up soon? To sum up, I don't know if I liked it or not, but I recommend seeing it.

2. What was the last movie you bought?
I bought the following two at the same time for the US History classes that I teach:
The Indomitable Teddy Roosevelt: My previous copy of this, on VHS, was stolen with about five other historical documentaries from my cabinet. It is the only thing that I have ever had stolen at my school, and I have to admit that I have very mixed emotions about it. He or she must have really liked history in order to steal historical documentaries. I guess it is possible that he or she was merely being altruistic. That is, he or she might have found the movies so boring that he or she (who am I kidding? it was a he) hoped to save future generations from being forced to watch them. All that being said, I don't have my students watch very many movies. I would like to think I have very high standards for what I make them watch. This movie is required watching every year. The music is stirring (it is all Souza in keeping with the time period under study), the narration is superb (George C. Scott), and the topic is the most fascinating president in American history. If you have any interest in history at all, you should see this.
Walt Disney Treasures: On the Front Line: I do a special unit on propaganda with my World War II unit. We examine posters, music, and wartime cartoons by WB and Disney. Until recently, Disney has hidden away most of their stuff (I think they are ashamed to have been so 'jingoistic'). At last, they have released some of it. Includes two DVDs and annoying commentary by Leonard Maltin. Some great ones included in the collection. Now, if they would only release their truly offensive ones...for educational purposes you understand.

3. What was the last movie you went to a theater to see?
Batman Begins: I enjoyed this as an action movie. Like with Life Aquatic, I felt that it was about to say something, but (unlike Life Aquatic) didn't know how. Favorite superhero movie is still Spiderman.

4. What is the movie you have seen the most?
I went to the same small Christian School that 4boydad went to. We were always watching these movies there and in youth group:
The Princess Bride
The Natural
The Empire Strikes Back

5. What are the 5 movies you like the most?
Sorry, but I have to separate by genre. I have a hard time comparing say, Strange Brew with Saving Private Ryan.

• Historical Drama: The Mission. I have never decided what I think about this movie, but I know how I feel: from the opening music to the end of the movie I struggle to control my emotions. I watch this movie alone.
• Historical War: Glory. The best Civil War movie ever made. Another one that challenges my emotional well-being. A fine soundtrack. Only weakness: Matthew Broderick and Cary Elwes. I always half expect Ben Stein to show up as a drill-instructor. Denzel and Morgan Freeman are spot on. Another movie I watch alone.
• World War II (I know what you are thinking, but I think it is a genre just like Western): Saving Private Ryan. I refer to the movie every year on the first day of class. Tom Hank's line "Earn This" is a powerful reminder to us all of our responsibility to those who have gone before us.
• Historical Biography (Okay, now I am just making up categories, but I have to fit all my favorites in somehow): Patton. Worth it for the opening monologue alone. A powerful movie about a tragic figure. Apparently it was titled Patton, Lust for Glory in England, and Life of Brian's working title was Jesus Christ: Lust for Glory (see here).
• Comedy: I don't have any one favorite, but the following are honorable mentions: Being There (w/ Peter Sellers), Dr. Strangelove (really a dark comedy, but I think I have already pushed the genre thing too far), Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail (mostly for the memories of watching it with good friends many years ago), Strange Brew, and many others.
• Horror: Alien
• Sci-Fi: Star Wars: A New Hope. The first movie I remember seeing in the theater. My dad took me several times. Created a lifelong love for sci-fi in me. Honorable Mention: Signs and Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.

I have already listed more than five and I still have several more genres to go (I even snuck in my favorite superhero movie in my answer to #3). Oh well, I have listed my favorite movies.

6. Tag 5, yada yada.

Peace

Mixed Messages

Parents as a group must leave their children perpetually flummoxed by the mixed messages we continually give them.

Overheard at the supermarket:
Parent, leaning down to distraught child in stroller: "How are you doing? Would you like your ba-ba?"
Child: "Yeah."
Parent: "Can you say, 'Yes'?"

Reinforce improper English with one breath and encourage proper English with the next. What's a kid to say?

Peace

Hungry, Hungry Hippos

Sorry about all of the politics/political theory from Thursday. I seem to be writing two different blogs: one political, one personal.

A few weeks ago, I brought home a new game for the kids: Hungry, Hungry Hippos by Hasbro. I thought it would be a good way to teach counting, fair play, rule following, and alliteration. I found it as true with parenting as I have with teaching: the lessons that we intend are rarely the lessons taught, and teaching any lesson involves learning one yourself.

My four-year old boy loved it. He had some difficulty operating his "Hippo" (it is not a well made game), but he persevered and was able to feed his "Hippo" quite a few marbles. He also had a problem with the concept of "winning". He was quite sure that taking turns winning was the proper course of action. So I tried to teach him a lesson.

After a few minutes, I realized that I should have done some more prep for my lesson. I realized that the popular wisdom held by our society is massively contradictory: winners are celebrated, venerated, and paraded as heroes; losers are not. At the same time, we are told that it doesn't matter whether we win or lose, it only matters how we play the game. We are supposed to give it our very best effort, regardless of the outcome. Somehow, playing well is supposed to make us feel good. Anyone who has ever played anything knows that it feels better to win than lose. My son is aware of that already.

I want my son to be content with a "best effort", but at the same time I don't want him to become a "loser". Almost every team I have ever been a part of has lost. I don't mean we lost a few games here and there; I mean we mercy-rule lost; I mean our only victories were often earned when the other team failed to show up. It starts to work on you, the continual losing.

So I found that not only is our society conflicted, I am. I find it hard to rationalize competitive enterprise with a life of Christian service. To begin with, why would I want to elevate myself above another? Does this bring me closer to heart of Christ? Does it, in some way, glory God to use the gifts that God has given to defeat a fellow human being? At the same time, some of the best times of fellowship I have ever had have come while gaming. Does that make it okay? I don't know.

So what did I do about the doubly-hungry hippos? I feed my son all of the well-worn cliches that the world teaches us while we competed to feed our hippos as many marbles as possible. He will have to sort it out later. I think he knows at least that you can't take turns winning. He has tasted the thrill of victory and the sting of defeat.

My two-year old daughter, however, is another story. She also had difficulty operating the hippo. At first she solved this problem by manually holding the hippo's mouth open, but was informed that it was against the rules to do so. So she let down her hippo's mouth and began to scoot the marbles into the mouths of my and my son's hippos. I think my daughter knows something that I don't know; I just don't know what it is yet.

Peace

Good News, Part II: Peacemakers

Read Part I here.

What is a "peacemaker"?
Google gave me 680,000 hits for the term.
Dictionary.com has this to say:
"1. someone who tries to bring peace
2. a belt-fed machine gun capable of firing more than 500 rounds per minute; used by United States troops in World War II and the Korean War"

Historically, three things characterize peacemakers:

1.) They are people of high idealism who see freedom as the highest ideal. While peacemakers value peace highly, they are not willing to sacrifice their own or someone else’s freedom to achieve peace. In fact, they see peace as a state where individuals are able to enjoy as many freedoms as is possible. Patrick Henry was a peacemaker, “Give me liberty or give me death.”

2.) They are willing to do anything to make the peace. Peacemakers recognize that truth in the paradox that war is often a necessary requirement for peace. The first fifty years of the 20th century saw the rise of major threat to Asia-Pacific peace. Japan fought a war with China, Russia, and China age. Her actions were brutal, aggressive, racist, and imperialistic. Fire from the sky made the peace. Japan has not been a threat to any nation in world in the fifty years since. In fact, it has become a model of freedom, prosperity, and peace in the region. Negotiations would never have achieved this.

3.) They think that peacekeeping is an appropriate strategy with rational and moral nation-states and when no other options are realistic, but they also recognize that despots must be utterly destroyed and generally, the sooner the better. Peacemakers see mankind as fundamentally selfish and self-serving and that disagreements and conflicts are brought about by the evil desires of despots.

The fundamental difference between the two is more than just a semantic one. Peacekeepers seek to preserve the status quo with reason, understanding, and tolerance. They hope to “keep” peace, so give it a chance. It is, at its essence, a passive position. They want to keep the peace as though they are keeping the neighbor’s dog while they are away for the weekend. If that were the case, all one would have to do is feed it some kibbles, take it for walkies, and scoop its poop. Unfortunately, there is a dog-knapper out there, and he wants to steal the neighbor’s dog and ship him to a slave-dog factory in the third world where poor Fido will slave out his last days making coffee mugs inscribed with the lyrics of John Lennon’s “Just Imagine”. When the dog-knapper shows up at the door with a loaded Uzi, our peacekeeper is going to be prepared to do little more than watch as Fido is boxed up and shipped out. If he is a well-trained peacekeeper, he will probably offer to help with the taping, hand over the leash, and offer to drive them to the airport. A peacemaker would have dropped a smart bomb on the dog-knapper’s car, sent the marines to the factory to liberate the pooches, and then built an entirely new factory based upon basic civil liberties and manufacturing flea collars.

Case in point, here is the Canadian monument to peacekeepers. I have a great respect for the many selfless men and women who have sacrificed their time and lives in attempts to preverve the peace in numerous difficult areas. That being said, look at the monument: there is a guy observing through binoculars, a woman using a field radio, and guy standing watch with a rifle. They aren't doing anything. Notice the inscription, "Reconciliation". Contrast that with the Marine Corps War Memorial. They have conquered a deadly foe on the road to the defeat of an evil totatitarian regime. They will lose many thousands of their own in this one battle They were peacemakers.











Peacemakers seek to make the peace where there is no peace. Peacemakers are also willing to sacrifice in the present in order to avoid conflict in the future. In Iraq, there had been a kind of peace. That is, there was no armed conflict or violence (if you don’t count state-sponsored murder and genocide). That made it an ideal state for the peacekeepers. But peacemakers looked at Iraq and saw a leader that had launched two aggressive wars, had gassed his own people, denied his people any sort of civil liberties (a think I even saw an Amnesty report that suggested it was becoming “worse than the fascist-totalitarian regime of the United States”), had used poison gas against civilian communities, and had led the third world in research into atomic weapons, chemical, and biological agents. Seeing this, the peacemakers in the Bush administration made the decision to sacrifice peace in the present to assure a true peace in the future. It was a bold mood and heavily criticized. It rattled the peacekeepers and exposed the failure of their strategies in Iraq. It is the type of move few politicians are willing to make these days. That is the fundamental difference between a politician and a leader. A leader is willing to risk current standing and power for a greater future good while a politician only seeks to preserve his current status.

I think George W. Bush may go down in history as a peacemaker despite launching two “aggressive” wars. James Madison earned that that status after finally dispatching the Barbary pirates in our first war on terror. Harry S Truman, George Marshall, and Douglas MacArthur earned that status after World War II. Ronald Reagan earned that status after the Cold War. Much has to happen before Bush the Younger will be considered a peacemaker. Today and days after it will be important days.

Thoughts Anyone?

Peace

Thoughts on the London Attacks

My earlier post today was written before my knowledge of the London atrocities. I was going to apply it the world’s response after 9/11. Despite the clear fact that the peace had already been broken and an initial unity, the world divided itself into peacemakers and peacekeepers. Tony Blair led his people, almost alone in Western Europe, in declaring themselves on the side of the peacemakers (which I have yet to define in my blog).

First, I offer my prayers for the English people. They have been our closest allies for the past hundred years. I have no doubt that if they had abandoned us after 9/11 like so many of our other so-called allies, then the attack would not have occurred this morning in London. I pray for their pain, grief, and shock. I pray also that their response to this attack will represent the best of the English spirit:

I have, myself, full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made, we shall prove ourselves once again able to defend our Island home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone. […]

We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this Island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.--Winston Churchill

Second, al-Qaida is very, very smart. While the attack must have been planned weeks ahead in order to coincide with the G-8 summit in Scotland, it came with an added bonus, London had been awarded the Olympic games the day before. Four simultaneous attacks with perfect timing would be impressive by the U.S. military. It is even more impressive by a terrorist organization. They should not be underestimated.

My analysis: I am certain, considering the scope and depth of al-Qaida operations, that they are perfectly capable of launching another attack on U.S. soil. They haven’t. Why? The 9/11 attacks initially created worldwide sympathy for the United States that must have scared their leadership. Successful terrorists attacks should serve to divide the victim and expose his impotence. Another attack runs the risk of unifying American public opinion. Al-Qaida is better served by fighting us in Afghanistan and Iraq and basking in American disunity and the slow weakening of her resolve. Time is al-Qaida’s greatest weapon in the United States. There is nothing to gain in an attack on American soil.

In addition, the United States runs presidential elections every four years. Al-Qaida knows that it has to deal with Bush the Younger until 2009 and knows that his response will not be the weak Western response that al-Qaida saw after earlier attacks (WTC I; USS Cole; African Embassies, etc). The 9/11 attacks did not expose American weakness, but revealed the strength of an America when led by a man willing to take steep political risks. Instead of planning another attack, al-Qaida has spent the years since 9/11 consumed with defense while undergoing a strategic reassessment. Their goals have not changed, but their means have.

My belief is that al-Qaida has been systematically seeking to isolate the United States on the world stage and divide Americans at home. The Bali and Spanish bombings were attempts to dislodge Australia and Spain, respectively, from the US coalition. The London bombings are part of that same strategy. This attack is aimed at our only major partner. It is a test of English resolve. Before the bombing, English resolve was weakening much like it has here in the United States. Blair has been indomitable. His leadership in the war has been as courageous, perhaps even more so, than Bush’s. However, I hazard no guess on what may happen next. I fear the English response will be the Spanish one: submission. At the same time, I was left surprised and moved when the 9/11 attacks revealed that a deep strength resides in America. We shall see. We shall pray.

Peace

Good News: "Peacekeepers seek to prevent attack"

I was using some old newspaper to wrap up some glass valuables for storage. A headline caught my eye: "Peacekeepers seek to prevent attacks" (from the AJC Oct 7, 1999). The article concerns the troubles in East Timor. Before I get off track by explaining why I have a newspaper from 1999, let me seek to understand this headline. Let's see. Peacekeepers are people who, I presume, try to keep the peace. So, they were trying to prevent attacks, as opposed to planning attacks (warmakers) or observing attacks (reporters). Is this a case where the paper is merely trying to define a term in the headline? i.e. Peacekeepers (noun-pl): those who seek to prevent attacks. Or is something else going on? Were these people referred to in the headline keeping the peace in the "hoarding" sense? Maybe they had all the peace in the neighborhood and didn't want to share. In that case, they would be entirely justified in trying to prevent attacks aimed at stealing their peace.

This little headline got me to thinking about the terms, "peacekeeper" and "peacemaker". I realized that their is a fundamental difference between the two; it is that difference that explains much of the red/blue debate here in the states and the Bush/Blair vs. Chirac/Schroeder debate internationally.

What is a "peacekeeper"?
Google gave me 603,000 hits for the term. Apparently there was a "Peacekeeper War" on Farscape.
Dictionary.com has this to say:
"1. One that preserves or promotes peace: the peacekeeper in the family.
2. A member of a military force engaging in peacekeeping activities, often under international sanction. "

Historically, peacekeepers are characterized by three things:
1.) They are people of high idealism who see peace as the highest ideal. Peacekeepers generally define peace as the absence of armed conflict or violence.

2.) They are willing to do anything short of violence to preserve the peace. Usually this involves giving parties that view themselves somehow aggrieved whatever it is that will mollify them. When that is not possible, the peacekeeper may resort to punitive measures like isolation, sanction, boycott, etc. This often means gaining peace today at the risk of trouble tomorrow.

3.) They think that understanding and conciliation are the keys to achieving peace. Peacekeepers see mankind as fundamentally good and that disagreements and conflicts are brought about by misunderstandings and intolerance. Promoting tolerance and understanding is, therefore, the primary safeguard to peace.

Despite their good intentions, peacekeepers are generally not remembered kindly by history. Neville Chamberlain is usually cited as the greatest (or worst) example of this. No one doubted his high idealism. His desire to keep the peace was so intense that he gave Hitler everything that der Fuhrer wanted. He reached an understanding with Hitler at Munich and thought that he had achieved "peace in our time". His real achievement was the encouragement of Adolf Hitler and the beginning of the most destructive conflict in world history.

The problem with peacekeeping is that peace cannot be "kept" unless peace is desired by all involved. While peacekeepers recognize this problem, their primary way of addressing it is by creating this desire for peace among potential belligerents. The preferred process to achieving this end is to understand the potential belligerents demands and to give to them what they demand. But this tactic only creates a different desire, the desire for more.

European leaders allowed Hitler to violate the Treaty of Versailles because they wanted to keep the peace and they understood his demands. European leaders allowed Hitler to annex Austria because they wanted to keep the peace and they understood his demands. Europe allowed Hitler to seize part of Czechoslovakia because they wanted to keep the peace and they understood his demands. Europe allowed Hitler to seize the rest of Czechoslovakia because they wanted to keep the peace and they understood his demands. Why then were they so surprised when he invaded Poland? What lesson had they taught him at each step of the way? "Ask and it shall be given unto you" because we value peace above all other ideals. They thought his demands were reasonable and that he would eventually be satiated. Forty million lives later he was.

This weakness of peacekeepers has been manipulated by despots the world over. How can you assure your nation billions of dollars of foreign aid and free power plants? Announce that you are planning on building a Nuclear Device (Iran and North Korea). Western powers will beat down your door with offers of just about anything, as long you don't go nuclear. President Clinton thought that he had been successful with this strategy with North Korea. He wasn't. The same kinds of threats are used more often on a smaller scale. Act aggressively toward a neighbor and the peacekeepers will sweep in, handing out aid packages like candy. Rinse, repeat. This strategy becomes a never-ending cycle of threat, payoff, threat, payoff. In this case, discerning the real threats from the bluffs becomes the most important case of the peacekeeper.

If giving a potential belligerent what they want is unsuccessful, what then? Punishment, usually economic and/or diplomatic isolation, is the last tool in the peacekeepers' toolbox. The idea is to make life so uncomfortable for the despot that either internal dissent or economic collapse will force them to compromise on their demands. Who can doubt that the years of sanctions against Iraq made Saddam uncomfortable? Okay, it didn't really hurt him. The problem with despots is that they don't tolerate internal dissent; they bury it in a mass grave. Has economic collapse worked with Cuba (40+ years of sanctions)? The historical success rate of this strategy is suspect. It did not change Libya, Iraq, North Korea, Cuba, etc. Instead of creating a desire for peace in the hearts of the potential belligerents, the sanctions are manipulated by the despots' propaganda ministers to further reinforce their "justifiable" demands. The potential belligerent is able to rhetorically transform itself from an aggressor nation into an aggrieved nation.



What is a "peacemaker"?
Google gave me 680,000 hits for the term.
Dictionary.com has this to say:
"1. someone who tries to bring peace
2. a belt-fed machine gun capable of firing more than 500 rounds per minute; used by United States troops in World War II and the Korean War"
The Bible says this (Matthew 5:9):
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God."

This post is already much too long. I will give my thoughts on "peacemakers", later.


Peace

"I Hated You";"Thank Gosh, You're Here!"

"I Hated You."
It took four years, five months, and twenty-four days. Today, my son told me for the first time, "I hated you." He still has to work on the tense, and his tone was all wrong (a pitiful plea), but I know we have crossed into a new stage in our relationship. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would, but I was disappointed none-the-less.

"Thank Gosh, You're Here!"
I overheard this on one of my son's TV shows. It reminded me of the old definition of "heck" as "eternal separation from gosh". This was not a PBS show (I think it was Disney). If I had thought that they were doing it to avoid violating the third commandment then I would have been impressed and a little amused, but I am certain that the word was edited to save offense to those who are offended by any public mention of the word "God". On another note, is it just me or is the theme of all PBS kids' programming, "Believe in yourself"? I am certain I have heard it in songs on at least four different shows. 4 Boy Dad had some interesting observations on educational programming here.

Peace

"Marry a Nerd", She Said

Our 6th grade niece has been spending the last couple of weeks with us. Her mother (my sister) drops her off in the morning and picks her up in the evening. She just earned her orange belt in Tae kwon do. Because it has provided us a break from our normal summer routine, we have all enjoyed her sojourn with us. My children idolize her. But I think she is learning more about us than I am comfortable with.

Yesterday, my sister told me something very interesting that my niece said after going home one night. She said something like, “I don’t want to chase after and marry the popular guys at school. I want to chase after the nerds and marry one of them.” When her mother asked her why she thought that, my niece replied, “Because that is what Aunt D. (my wife) did.”

I will be more closely monitoring the communications between my wife and my niece.

Peace

Survival of the Fattest?

The South African Research Symposium on Genetic Research just issued the following press release. Major media probably won’t pick it up so I thought I would pass it along. This is the kind of story you will only see in The Ohoopee Letter News.

Fated to Fat?

Scientists at the South African Research Symposium on Genetic Research (SARSYGR) have announced a major breakthrough in deciphering the human genome. According to a paper published by the Symposium at their annual meeting entitled “Survival of the Fattest: Evolutionary Adaptations Favoring Subcutaneous Fatty Deposits in Early Modern Man”, the development of extraneous fat in the male abdomen, commonly known as a “beer belly” or “gut”, is actually a byproduct of eons of evolutionary adaptation.

Researchers have concluded that not only was the possession of a beer belly a demonstrable advantage, but also that it appears that attempts of the modern human male to avoid the appearance of a beer belly goes against ingrained instinct and genetic programming. “It is like trying not to grow an arm,” claimed Dr. Don Tessist, the head of the Symposium, “The modern gut of the human male is actually a sign of competitive success and we would be much better off if we were to simply embrace it. The fatuous modern day insistence on male thinness must be cast off in light of our findings.”

Dr. Paddy Nobadaddie, the group’s spokesman, explained the process by which the group reached this conclusion. “Actually, we started at the present. How can we explain the sudden onset of male belly fat in the human male? How could this be an advantage? Is it a mutation? It appeared to many of us that it had to be a residue of millions of years of genetic adaptation. In other words, at some point there must have been a marked advantage for those males who exhibited significant belly fat.” Symposium scientists compiled information on historical records of and pre-historical suppositions on “the belly factor” in reaching their conclusions. Their findings represent fourteen years of work by a scientific staff over 140.

“The first thing that struck us was the recent, say pre-1900, belief that a male or female was not attractive if they were too thin. Indeed, thinness was associated with illness or poverty. Until recently then, what we would consider extra fat today actually indicated an attractive mate.” Dr. Nobaddaddie went on to explain that further historical research indicated a strong survival component of male belly fat. “We think that a pronounced belly was a significant advantage in survival situations. For example, long-distance backpackers actually try to gain weight before a long trek. That extra weight is utilized by the body as an energy reserve, eventually melting away through constant effort. In this sense, the beer gut is serving much like a camel’s hump. Early man was nomadic, and sources of calories were scarce. There is no doubt that a male who was able to bring along a ‘spare tire’ during a long distance race was at a significant advantage to one who could not.” SARSYGR also argues that extra male fat serves as an insulator, a property quite necessary to survival during an ice age and pre-historic winters.

Dr. Nobaddadie and the scientists at SARSYGR don’t stop at explaining the survival advantages of the beer belly, however. They also argue that male belly fat was important in combat situations. “Given the nature of pre-historic combat, striking with stones, clubs, or pointed sticks, one cannot avoid the conclusion that fat was fitter. The way we see it, there were at least three advantages to male belly fat in combat: One, a thick layer of fat served as a vital layer of natural armor over the vital organs. Two, a fat man will move into combat slower, not only giving him time to think out his next move, but most likely getting him to the battle after the initial, and most dangerous, collision of forces. Third, and this is the most controversial point, it is supposed that in the heat of battle a male figure with a big gut might appear in the enemies’ peripheral vision to be a pregnant female. This would activate the male protective instinct. While no warrior would be fooled more than an instant, that instant of hesitation might very well prove fatal.” All of these factors together made a fat-enabled combatant significantly more likely to survive a battle. “Only a survivor can pass on his genes,” continued Dr. Nobaddadie, “And in those genes, we see a predisposition to male belly fat.”

SARSYGR also consulted with linguists from around the world for evidence of the belly factor. They found two things of interest to SARSYGR’s theory. First, they discovered that the modern word “father” actually descends from the Indo-European language group. The oldest traceable stem is an ancient Sanskrit word, “fath-ur”. The word is at least four thousand years old and translates as “he who is fat”. This stem has been passed down to the majority of modern day languages in some form. The second major linguistic link came from the expression, “He’s got a lot of guts.” In tracing the origin of this phrase, etymologists discovered that the expression has an analogous saying in nearly every other language group and can be traced back to the Greeks and Romans (who thought that emotion came from the guts), and virtually every ancient civilization with a written language. Dr. Nobadaddie explained the significance of the finding, “The gut has a tremendous place in our shared memory and that place has been consistently and continually made manifest in our languages.”

Dr. Tessist summed up the group’s findings by stating, “The evidence is quite clear to us at SYRSYGR; the survival advantages of the male gut were enormous. A male with a prominent display of belly fat would certainly have attracted the most fertile females. His belly fat served to broadcast his success in finding food, his durability in combat, and his endurance on the move. He literally had the guts to survive and to provide for a mate and their progeny. There is no reason why the male gut should not continue to be a marker of success in the modern world. Indeed, at the rate the species is progressing, our geneticists predict that our next great evolutionary step is just around the corner…Homo Humungous.”

--End of Story

I don't know what to say. If this is true, this could be a glorious Independence Day, as men across America return to their genetic roots by putting down a few Buds while grilling over an open flame.

Peace and have a glorious Independence Day

Book Tag

Thanks a lot 4boydad for tagging me. How does one type something sarcastically? Maybe someone needs to invent a new formatting for fonts. We have B=bold, I=italics, U=underline, why not S=sarcastic? Perhaps the letters could have flames coming out of them, or devil horns. Or drips of venom. I don't know. Just a thought. It would be really useful right now. Actually, anything about books is welcome and I shall give it my best:

1. How many books have I owned?
I don't know. I have eleven bookcases in my home. They all hold books. Two hold SF and Fantasy, two hold general fiction, at least three hold books that only my wife reads (mystery and craft), one holds non-fiction theology/devotional, one holds a mish-mash of textbooks, anthologies, etc, two hold history and Star Wars Lego models (the Lego is for my son who can play with them when he is old enough. Until then, someone has to keep them from getting too dusty...that job falls to me), two hold children's books (I think I just passed eleven...hold on...let me check the other wing of the Splitcat library), and five bookcases of gender studies (no, wait...that's at Barnes and Noble).

I have avoided the question. My guess is a bit over 2,000, which means that I have just a bit fewer than 2,000 left to read.

2. What was the last book you bought?
Gary Wills' Reagan's America (bargain rack find). I had read and enjoyed his Lincoln at Gettysburg and hoped for a reprise. I made it through the "new" introduction and realized the book was an attempt to explain just how twisted America had to be in order to select such a dunce as Reagan and how skilled he must have been at playing America while accomplishing nothing other than cracking some pretty quick one-liners. Apparently, Mr. Wills believes that for every silver lining of the eighties there was a category five hurricane named Ronnie aimed at the heartland. I read no more.

3. The last book that you've read?
Orson Scott Card Children of the Mind. I have a great fondness for Ender's Game and even Ender's Shadow. That fondness has led me to wade through the rest of the related books...Xenocide, Hegemon, and Children of the Mind. I just needed to know how the story ended. Now I know (until the saga continues). I can't say I enjoyed it. It was like going to the dentist. You've made the appointment, you've driven to the office, you've waited forty-five minutes while reading a Glamour magazine about an up and coming young actress named Susan Sarandon, you've been picked, flossed, x-rayed, and pressure washed by the hygienist, at this point you might as well let him drill...for five hundred pages. It reminded me of reading the Dune series. The first book was inspiring, the second book was interesting, the third book was bizarre, the others (I can't even remember how many there are. I have heard his clone is continuing to write) were just plain painful and weird. To sum up my review: two thumbs up, put them over your shoulder, and hope someone picks you up and drives you away from Children of the Mind.

Okay, I got a little carried away there. I really admire Card's work. Ender's Game is a classic. If you haven't read it, do.

4. List five books that mean alot to you.
This is a hard question. Here they are:

• The Bible
• LOTR. I can't read them anymore because I know them too well. I didn't need the movies...the images were powerful enough in my head already. The Ride of the Rohirrim haunts me just to think about.
• Lilith by George MacDonald. This book helped me understand hope in an entirely new way. That understanding of hope got me through one of my darkest times and continues to challenge me today.
• Where's the Poop? I have a four year old and a two year old. Need I say more?
• Starship Troopers. I agree with 4boydad on this one. Actually, I think he is the one who made me read it. At the very least I should blame him for one of the bookcases of Sci-Fi.

5. Tag five people that haven't played yet.
I am new to the blogosphere and don't know five people that haven't played yet. Actually, I am not a reader of one blog that hasn't played yet. Am I supposed to tag random bloggers? I don't know how to play this game.


Peace

P.B. If you live in the Atlanta area and don't mind used books, make sure to check out the Goodwill Book Sale. It is the primary reason that most of our furniture consists of bookshelves.