Garage Logic

While living in Minnesota a few years ago I had the opportunity to listen to local radio talk show host and St. Paul Pioneer Press columnist Joe Souchery on his daily afternoon program Garage Logic. Joe was the self appointed mayor of Garage Logic, capital of Gumption County MN. The place where every problem can be boiled down to the common sense logic found in any group of guys having a beer in their garage.
For example; as a public service, after a series of incidents of schoolchildren inadvertently being left on board the school bus until after they had reached the bus barn, Joe began the "No Child Left Behind Program." See the lexicon of Garage Logic here.
In today's Pioneer Press Joe wades into the controversy of the refusal of certain individuals to scan the prices of pork products at Minneapolis Target stores. In part Joe writes;

As wave after wave of immigrants arrived in, say, the Twin Cities, I can find no historical evidence that they demanded that America accommodate them. On the contrary, they assimilated, worked hard and benefited from America. I can find no historical evidence that other immigrant groups wished to have such a religious presence in the material marketplace, or, to put it another way, we have not previously been this expected to accommodate such a public component of one particular faith.

This could also be true of the cabbies refusing to carry alcohol in their cabs and the call to provide prayer sanctuaries in airports and sports facilities.

Read the whole thing here.

Iditarod Wrap Up.

Another Iditarod is in the record books. Lance Mackey of course was first in and walks away with $50,000 and a new Dodge truck.
Iowa musher Matt Anderson finished in 41st. place in just over 12 days.
Personal favorite, Rick Swenson finished in 26th place in just over 10 days. To show how the race has changed, his run this year is faster than any of his 5 winning times.
23 teams dropped out of this years race, including 4 time champ Doug Swingley, and perennial favorite Dee Dee Jonrowe.
Congratulations to all the mushers in this years race!

Threat Level: Elevated

Who's your bus driver?
Excuse me sir. but you have wires coming out of you ass!!
Airline security probes?


Dont make me touch your pig.
This story is more in line with the cab drivers that refused to carry passangers that have booze at the Minneapolis airport.

Economics Humor

Having just finished courses in Macro and Micro Economics, this video is somewhat timely for me and hopefully funny for you.



Yorman Bauman the stand up economist on stage.

The Dark Side of the Moon

Story Here

Congratulations Lance Mackey

In the caribou tundra, in the wild barren land
On the fierce arctic ice where the polar bear stands
Where the trail of the Eskimo hunter is worn.
This is the country where legends are born. (Where Legends are Born, by Hobo Jim)

From the first Eskimos that found their way into its vast wilderness, to today’s modern adventurers seeking challenges in a world that has grown soft, Alaska is still a place that has the ability to forge new legends. The history of the Iditarod Trail Sled dog race is filled with many of those legends over the past 37 years.
Who could forget Libby Riddles heading out alone into a blizzard on the Norton Bay ice to become the first woman to win the race. Or the year Rick Swenson won his fifth Iditarod title by pushing on through a blizzard when the rest of the teams had turned around and headed back to the checkpoint. Each of the 17 winners of the race are legends in their own right and the trail has produced thousands of stories for the hundreds of the adventurers that have made the trek with no intentions of fame or glory. This week another legend was born when 36 year old Lance Mackey drove his dog team across the finish line in Nome in the 35th Annual Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race.

Lance Mackey

Lances story has all the elements of a made for TV movie. Son of 1979 Iditarod champion Dick Mackey, who won the race in the closest finish ever, and brother of 1984 champ Rick, Lance accomplished what was thought to be the impossible.

Mackey had a cancerous tumor removed from his neck two years ago. That left him with nerve damage in his left index finger and pain so unbearable he had the finger removed.

This Iditarod win is something special because Mackey is the first to win both the1,000-mile Yukon Quest International Sled Dog Race and the Iditarod back to back, largely with the same dogs. No one thought it could be done.

The No. 13 bib Mackey wore was the same number both his father and half-brother Rick had worn to victory before him. Each of them won the Iditarod on their sixth try. This was Lance’s sixth try, and his fifth finish. He scratched from one Iditarod.

Read his entire story here.

Could you repeat that?

Iditarod Iowa Connection

University of Iowa wrestler Matt Anderson is competing in this years Iditarod. As of Tuesdays the rookie from Shanendoah Iowa is currently in 34th place. Wrestling teammate Jessman Smith is following the race in Alaska and reporting on Matt's progress on the web site Iditarod Iowan to Nome .
Best of Luck to Matt and all the mushers battling their way to Nome.

Current Standings

Iditarod

The Iditarod Song. by Hobo Jim

Way up in Alaska, the state that stands alone
There's a dog race run from Anchorage into Nome.
It' s a grueling race with a lightning pace, where the chilly winds do wail.
Beneath the northern lights, across the snow and the ice and it's called The Iditarod Trail

Chorus.
Well Give me a team and a good lead dog and a sled that's built so fine.
And let me run those miles to Nome. One thousand Forty Nine
And when I get back to my home, hey I can tell my tale
I did I did I did the Iditarod Trail.

Well the race it wont be easy for the masters of the trail
Some of them will make it, and some of them will fail
But just to run that race takes a tough and a hearty breed
And lot of work done by the dogs that'll run cross the snow with a whistling speed.

Chorus

Well I just pulled out of Safety, on the trail and all alone.
I'm doing fine. I'm picking up time and I'm running on into Nome.
There's no sled tracks in front of me and no ones on my tail
I did I did I did the Iditarod Trail.

It's Iditarod time in Alaska!

Links.
Official Iditarod Site Standings,Maps and all things Iditarod.
Iditarod 35 news and updates courtesy of the Anchorage Daily News
Iditarod History, courtesy of Iditarod Headquarters in Wassilla Ak.

Potty Mouth Update

During the recent Bru- ha -ha over John Edwards hiring of a couple foul mouth blogger babes I wrote an oblique observation about the matter. I had always gotten the impression from my forays into the left wing of the blog"o"sphere that there was an uncontrollable cyberspace road rage in action. The News Bucket , using comedian George Carlin's "7 Words You Can't Say On TV" have gathered empirical evidence that this phenomena is indeed invasive on the left and to a lesser extent on the right.

Moment of Insight

Not one to let a writing assignment be wasted just on a professor here at Tall Corn College and Technical Institute I submit today a recent Non Fiction Literature, Moment of Insight.


"Indiana Avenue"

When I heard Aunt Ruby’s voice on the other end of the line I knew it was one of those calls that you know will someday come and yet in your heart you hope never does. She was going through her address book, announcing the death of her mother. We all knew that at 92 it was only a matter of time. Although her mind was still sharp, over the years Granny had shrunk in size and her vision had become hazy and faded. She didn’t want a funeral so there was no worry about a trip out to the coast.
It wasn’t long before the phone rang again. "How you doing Scotty? Did you hear about Granny?" Aunt Dawn asked in typical machine gun fashion. "We went out and bought a pack of Salems and a 12 pack of Coors to commemorate Mom. She didn’t want a funeral but Kim and I are putting together a party. Friday night at the Corner Bar in Charles City. You gotta be there Scotty." "I wouldn’t miss it, we’ll be there." I promised her.
Charles City. I hadn’t been there since Grandpa died. After Granny removed her name from the headstone, sold the house and moved to California to live with Ruby there was no reason to go back. Following in the path of her children, Granny was the last to leave.
As a kid a trip to Charles City was like Christmas. The planning took weeks, with all the precision of a military assault. There were bags to pack, pies to bake, and the over sized picnic basket to fill to the brim. By the time the big brown Bel-Aire was packed with blankets and pillows and what nots there was barely a hole for my sister and I to squeeze into. Even though it was a mere fifty or so miles away the chorus "how much longer, are we there yet" would begin in earnest as we passed through the first town. This trip would not be as elaborate.
It was a quick four-hour drive from our home to Charles City that late autumn afternoon. We made a quick stop at the hotel to check in and drop off the luggage before we headed to the party. With the pretext of showing my wife around I could not resist a tour of the town.
Charles City is frozen in time. Main Street looks the same and the "swinging bridge" over the Cedar that used to scare the girls on the way to the swimming pool is still there. As are the big immaculate houses with the manicured yards in the Riverside neighborhood, where as kids we always seemed to pass through quickly and quietly like scared kids cutting through a cemetery.
As if drawn by some unseen force we turn north, crossing the tracks that divide the town, a left at the school, and a couple blocks down to Indiana Avenue. We pull to a stop and as day fades into twilight I can make out a hazy image of the place where Granny used to live.
The little three-room tar paper house where Granny once said, "She raised nine kids and my grandpa." The dirt path behind the house leading to the toilet and just beyond that the railroad tracks. To the left, the little shed where we filled the big metal tub on bath day and where Grandpa skinned muskrats for trappers in the winter and recycled metal from the city dump in the summer.
No matter how many of us showed up there was always room for everyone, with kids and adults alike, packed liked sardines on the front room floor. In the early morning, eagerly waiting for the day’s adventures to begin, I would lie awake and listen to the sounds of Tinker’s nails clicking across the linoleum of the kitchen floor, the squeak and slam of the screen door as she let herself outside. Grandpa in his chair in the corner of the kitchen, coughing as he lights a Chesterfield, while his old radio is tuned to the morning farm report. The ker-chunck of the pump handle as Granny fills the coffeepot and scoops in the grounds to boil.
"What are we doing here?" my wife’s voice softly wafts from the truck. As I squint through the growing darkness, the scene somehow seems wrong. Like peering at the scenery through an old pop bottle. The tracks are too close and he trestle over the creek is too low. Everything somehow shrunken, and faded. "This is Granny’s place" I whisper. I slowly turn the truck around and we head to the Corner Bar.
The party is more than I expected, with people that I never knew or with names that I vaguely remember. One old gentleman, too full of beer, keeps telling me how well he had known my mom, and Aunt Dawn teasing that perhaps he is my real dad. As the evening wears on the crowd slowly drifts away.
"Scotty when you think of Granny, what do think of?" asks Dawn in a sad little girl like voice. "I always think of the place on Indiana Avenue" I reply. "Me too Scotty. Kim and I stopped down at the old place before the party," tears welling up in her eyes. "I had to stop there too." I admit.
It was never about the place, the place was God-awful, but we didn’t know that. Children are blind to such things. Life’s circumstances extend only to the length of their reach or the scope of their vision. It was about us. It was about Dawn and I, best friends making mud pies together down by the creek. It was about me, teaching her how to whistle through her fingers, or her and Kim teaching me how to ride a bike that was two sizes too big. It was about a room full of kids whispering and giggling late into the night and how a shush only brought about more giggles.
Most of all it was about a woman that once served beers right here in this very bar. That scraped nickels from the bottom of her purse so we could all buy a piece of candy. That could take a chicken and a bag of flour and make a bottomless pot of noodles for which I still get a craving for today. A woman that spent her life bandaging scraped knees and giving hugs. Unselfishly ensuring that despite the circumstances our little heads would be filled with fond memories, while knowing full well that one day each one in turn would wake up and realize those circumstance and at the first opportunity would blow out of this little town like a shot.
"Kim thinks the house was where third base is. But I think its closer to the creek, like on the first base side." She says, breaking my trance on the glass of beer. Obviously, they are having trouble seeing through their own pop bottles. If there is one thing I am sure of, there is no baseball diamond on Indiana Avenue.

Update 5/4/2007 Although the prof thought this was a good relection piece he didn't see a Moment of Insight.

From the Deathbed

Having a three year old that spends time in the day care world, leads to opportunities to meet new and interesting bacterium and virus' on a regular basis. Over the last week I developed a relationship with what must be a new form of cyano-bacteria, judging from the wonder full blue green hue, that had adapted to the dark damp conditions of my lungs. I coughed so much that for a moment I thought I was in danger of my twelve pack abs turning into a six pack, and I was wheezing like a ninety year old asthmatic.

Since there is usually a silver lining in every dark cloud I would like to pass on this one. Being ill gave me the opportunity to spend inordinate amounts of time in front of the TV while the poor wife (bless her heart) took over snow and ice removal during the week end storm.

I ran across an astrophysicist Dr Neil deGrasse Tyson, director of New York City's Hayden Planetarium promoting his book Death by Black Hole: And Other Cosmic Quandaries on CSpan's Book TV. Move over Bill Nye the Science Guy, here is a guy that can take a subject like cosmology, astrophyics, or ID, and relate it to the general public in a way that is relevant understandable and in many cases, with just a touch of humor. Plus he has the goods to back it up. He had me hooked at how the elements were formed. Just an amazing speaker. As a bonus he narrated a NOVA special on Monday night. If you get the opportunity check him out.

I am by the way on the road to recovery and thanks to the work of modern science and the development of antibiotics and steroidal medications I will soon have the lungs of an out of shape middle aged fat guy once again. Thank you Merck and Co. for all you do.

Lead, Follow, or Get Out of the Way.

If not for the fact that it is so funny, it would be almost painful to watch the once emboldened Democratic Leadership, which ran an election as the party to end the war, wallow rudderless in the mire of disgraceful indecision. Their only actions to date required no real commitment on their part and the only ideas they are floating now have no chance of ending the war but are geared toward embarressing the president politically. As Rep. Lynn Woolsey, D-Calif recently lamented, "Bush hasn't to date done anything we've asked him to do, so why we would think he would do anything in the future is beyond me," and with the Bush's approval rating at 36% that tactic has little life left in it.
The Murtha Plan is DOA and the latest twist involves using budget waivers whereby anytime the president needs another box of ammo he will have to get authorization from congress. Biden has proposed revoking the original authorization but when Bush declared the end of major hostilities it could be argued that we are no longer working under that bill anyway.
So that brings us to defunding the Iraq operations, the one action that legally and constitutionally could stop the war. But for reasons that only the democrats can say (and they aren’t at this point) defunding has become the third rail of the debate and they are loath to pull the plug.
It must be painful to try to nuance your core beliefs in exchange for political expediency. (The use of methods that bring the most immediate benefits based on practical rather than moral considerations. (Encarta) In a time of war that expediency reaches another level. Mark Twain once said ;

Each man must for himself alone decide what is right and what is wrong, which course is patriotic and which isn't. You cannot shirk this and be a man. To decide against your conviction is to be an unqualified and excusable traitor, both to yourself and to your country, let me label you as they may.

It is not at all unpatriotic to question the war but it is morally bankrupt not take the actions to back up your stated convictions.

Iowa Destinations.

If you are traveling through the Hawkeye State, known affectionately as the gateway to Nebraska, take time to check out some of our states many roadside attractions. This weeks stop.....
"Is this Heaven? No this is Iowa." Dyersville, Iowa to be exact. Home of the movie location of the 1989 film "Field of Dreams" staring Kevin Costner.

True to the movies hook "Build it and they will come", nearly 50,00 travelers a year pay a visit to this out of the way Iowa destination.
It is doubtful you will see the ghosts of baseball past emerging from the surrounding cornfields but you are welcome to bring your bat, ball, and glove and play a little ball on one of the countries most famous diamonds.
The field itself straddles the property line of two adjoining farms which touched of a feud between the two neighbors and in Solomon like fashion the site is divided into the "Original Field of Dreams" Open 9AM to 6PM and the "Left and Center, Field of Dreams" Open 8AM to 8PM.

MAP HERE

Thanks Steppenwolf.

You know I've smoked a lot of grass
O' Lord, I've popped a lot of pills
But I never touched nothin'
That my spirit could kill
You know, I've seen a lot of people walkin' 'round
With tombstones in their eyes
But the pusher don't care
Ah, if you live or if you die

God damn, The Pusher
God damn, I say The Pusher
I said God damn, God damn The Pusher man

It was probably about 1973 and I was sitting in my bedroom, the headsets plugged into my brand new, turntable, eight track, FM radio, stereo system, blasting Steppenwolf in to my mushy young brain. The air giutar was yet to be invented but I was singing along, apparently at the top of my lungs because it eventually drew the attention of Dad. Now I have to say that most of the things I learned from my father must have happened through DNA transfer because besides this incident that I am about to relate we didn’t spend a lot of time together hashing out life’s mysteries. He was always working two jobs so that us kids could have stuff like a stereo in our bedrooms whether we deserved one or not, or I was out running rampant though the countryside. On this night however a point was about to be made that I have carried to this day.
When he entered the room and I removed the headset, the only thing he said was "Give me those and get out of here". Several minutes later he came down the hallway. “If a person can’t make their point without cussing they don’t have much of a point to make.” I of course had to make the argument that they were cussing about drug dealers, but he was not swayed. “If you can’t do it without cussing you shouldn't do it at all." He didn’t make me get rid of the album, (he did know how to pick his battles) but the point was made.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am by no means an angel. I have been know to throw back a few beers, cuss like a sailor, and to throw the F-bomb in the heat of the moment. But to this day the thought of sitting down at the keyboard to fire off a foul-mouthed diatribe to make a point makes me cringe. I also cringe when I run across it in the blog“o”sphere. It really adds nothing to the writing, in fact if anything it reveals a persona lacking in depth, maturity, or gravitas. State your argument, support it with a fact or two if you can and if you find that it can't stand without the support of the third leg of the vile invective perhaps you shouldn't say it at all.
Thanks Dad... And Steppenwolf

You know the dealer, the dealer is a man
With the love grass in his hand
Oh but the pusher is a monster
Good God, he's not a natural man
The dealer for a nickel
Lord, will sell you lots of sweet dreams
Ah, but the pusher ruin your body
Lord, he'll leave your, he'll leave your mind to scream

God damn, The Pusher
God damn, God damn the Pusher
I said God damn, God, God damn The Pusher man

Well, now if I were the president of this land
You know, I'd declare total war on The Pusher man
I'd cut him if he stands, and I'd shoot him if he'd run
Yes I'd kill him with my Bible and my razor and my gun

God damn The Pusher
Gad damn The Pusher
I said God damn, God damn The Pusher man

"Steppenwolf" (1968) “The Pusher”

Mr. Mom

I have had the good fortune to play Mr. Mom to my three year old for the better part of her short life and when my favorite sister in law sent me this link I couldnt help but think of the times I have spent in that role. Thanks Double J.

Global Warming

The other night while skipping through the channels I paused for a moment on Larry King Live. Not a show I normally watch because I think it is a little morbid of CNN to use an interviewer that actually died in 1987, but I digress. What caught my attention was Larry’s guest Bill Nye the Science Guy was on, discussing the upcoming made for TV, end of the world as we know it, apocalypse now, topic of Global Climate Change. Formally known as Global Warming. What made this interview interesting was that Nye was debating MIT climitologist and infamous global warming denier Richard Lindzen.
I don’t know if Mr. Bill Nye Inc., Cornell University educated engineer, former Boeing employee, and sometimes comedian would use a topic as serious as the end of the world to promote his Science Guy schtick but it became pretty clear that Bill was out of his league in this debate.



What this clip doesn’t show is that after several more minutes of Nye lobbing the climate change mantra and Doctor Lindzen smashing every serve a flustered Nye switches gears and presses the Professor to admit that we ought to do it for the good of the people so they have clean air. He then goes on to say that we ought to do it because it would an economic boom as people make a switch to alternate energy. It appeared that his scientific arguments didn’t have much leg.

If Nye, Gore, and DeCarpio are the Science Front Guys for Climate Change then the awaiting disaster has all the credibility of Y2K, West Nile, Flu vaccine shortages, or any number of scares that in hindsight came no where near the point where we had a guy dragging a cart through the streets yelling "bring out your dead".

“Comic Interlude”

During my days in Alaska I witnessed the glaciers receding and I have no doubt that the earth's climate is changing. If there is one constant in this world it is change, but there are credible voices that say that the sky is not falling and as the global warming inquisition gains steam those voices have a right to be heard. As Lindzen said many years ago: "...the consensus was reached before the research had even begun. Now, any scientist who dares to question the prevailing wisdom is marginalized and called a sceptic, when in fact they are simply being good scientists."

Global Warming: The Cold, Hard Facts? : Timothy Ball, Canada Free Press

Al Gore Is a Greenhouse Gasbag :Professor Bob Giegengack, Penn St.

Fear, Complexity, & Environmental Management in the 21st Century :Michael Crichton

The real deal?: Lawrence Solomon, National Post; Ten part deniers series.

Iowa Destinations.

If you are traveling through the Hawkeye State, known affectionately as the gateway to Nebraska, take time to check out some of our states many roadside attractions. As a public service we will periodically point out a few of our more interesting destinations. This week.....
Brandon. Home to the worlds biggest fry pan.
Located just off Interstate 380 between Waterloo and Cedar Rapids, this eight foot steel behemoth is capable of frying 528 eggs or over 350 pounds of those delicious Iowa Chops.

Map

Clinton's Socialist Agenda

Senator Hillary Clinton plans to "take" oil company profits and put them into a fund for energy independence. It is unclear at this time if she plans to do this through taxation or nationalization. Through legislation or executive fiat but whatever her plan it will not be good for energy independence or energy prices. She might as well say she wants to take the profits from Home Depot and give everyone a house, or from Microsoft and give everyone a computer. What she evidently doesn't understand about our system is corporate profits are not hers to take and as history has proven it didn't work in Russia and it can not be allowed here. Just say no to Hillary.




Perhaps she has been taking lessons from Hugo Chavez:
Chavez announces May takeover of all Venezuela oil fields

Polar Bear Humor

Bert: I’m king of the mountain! I’m King of the mountain!
Ernie: Quit playin around Bert. Don’t you smell that? I think it’s Gore-Tex.
Bert: Look, over on the beach. What’s that guy doing?
Ernie: I think he’s taking our picture.
Bert: Boy that sure is a pretty shade of red. Stands out on the tundra like a dead caribou in July don’t it Ernie? Do ya figure it’s one of them there environmentalists?
Ernie: Maybe. This one sure smells prettier than a local and I don’t see any guns.
Bert: Ya figure they’re any good to eat?
Ernie: Not as tasty as a big fat seal but it probably beats the hell out of hanging out at the Barrow dump looking for muktuk.
Bert: I say we swim over there and have a snack.
Ernie: Ok but we have to be veeeery quite.
Bert: Why’s that Earnie, are they fast?
Ernie Nah there easy to catch. But if you aren’t careful, you scare the shit out of 'em then there isn’t much left.

Literary Madness

I have been an avid reader throughout my life though it seems that “litra-ture” had somehow escaped me until I returned to college and had it introduced to me in a vain attempt to make me a logical thinker. Like writer Joan Didion wrote, “I do not think in abstracts”, and from what I have ascertained, abstract is the realm of the literary mind, a part of my mind that failed to develop.

I knew from the start that literature and I could be civil but we would never be best friends. This became embarrassingly apparent in my first college composition class. We would read an essay from some esteemed author and during the class discussion the professor would ask my interpretation of some inane paragraph. I would give my sincerest interpretation and then get the look. The slight grin, an upturned eyebrow. “Interesting.” she would say, with a tone that was apparently her metaphor for “Ok, so you are a loon”, before moving on to the more enlightened in the front row. Further indoctrination with the likes of Faulkner and Tan failed to garner any improvements in my perception. Perhaps it is the annoyance of having to read and reread in order to flesh out exactly what the author has said that makes me think that literature is itself just a code word for lunacy.

This groping to understand these hidden meanings has led me to resent literature as having a bit of snooty pretentiousness. I recently read that even a “ rancid maggot covered piece of meat can make anyone feel something. And any pretentious moron in a beret can call it a metaphor for anything.” When EB White says that he has hanging in his closet the “ Mantle of Montaigne, smelling slightly of camphor” who is to say White is not just wondering, what is that smell?

I now find myself in one final attempt at understanding literature, studying a genre hell bent on unique and interesting ways to state the obvious. But this time as I became acquainted with the God-father of the essay Michel de Montaigne I found myself agreeing with what he was saying. Cynthia Ozick reflects that it is the intrinsic power of the essay to “… be a force for agreement. It co-opts agreement, it courts agreement, it seduces agreement.” Not that what Montaigne wrote was some eye opening revelation of something I did not know but instead was like carrying on a conversation with an old friend as he reminded me of my own similar experience that I would then like to recount.

It was Montaign’s “Of Idleness” and the images in my mind that his piece evoked that convinced me to try my hand at an essay. To take the topic of what is the essence of an essay and define my understanding of the subject by steeping it in imagery and a variety of literary devices to see where it might lead.

"The Madness of the Essay" :

Picture if you will, the disheveled man in the crumpled hat, we have all seen him shuffling through town, as he carries on a conversation, with no one else around. We smirk and then we reason, “I’m glad as hell that I don’t act that way”, but when you think about it, we are all a touch insane. The difference between him and us? We don’t move our lips.

“The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs”
(Pink Floyd)

The mind is never silent; it banters back and forth but that is perhaps the one thing that defines that we are real:

“I think therefore I am.”
(René Descartes)

There is never respite from it, it continues as we sleep. Those “monsters” that jolt us wide-awake at night are visions that make no sense to us:

You lock the door, and throw away the key, There’s someone in my head but it’s not me. (Pink Floyd)

Our heads are packed with stories that we tell ourselves, or friends. Each one our skewed reflection of the places we have been. If we could only take the time to jot these ramblings down we could fill the cellar walls with these memories that we’ve built.

But I for one have this “childish notion” that someone more might care, so to quell this vain compulsion I will bottle up these memories and present them to the world. Montaigne called it the “essay” but madness fits as well, a thousand words in each “attempt” to share my private tales.

I will pick these words with caution like the grapes for a fine wine. Message them with the greatest care so they age well over time. I have no crazed delusions that by this folly I’ll gain fame, my goal is purely “pleasure” for those minds that might partake. My one great hope is when they are through and we find we both agree they will raise a hearty toast to this, the earthy brew I‘ve made.


There I’ve done it. I have created litra-ture. As I look at the finished piece I am amazed that it in no way resembles the initial thoughts that I put to paper. It evolved as I tried different words, ideas, and similes in search of the perfect feel to make my point. This process was described by Virginia Woolf “the essay… can be polished till every atom of its surface shines, there are dangers in that too.” Too much polish can lead to as she stated, “…grapes on a Christmas tree, that glitter for a single night but are dusty the day after.” You have to know when to stop and on that point I am afraid that I didn’t heed her advice in this attempt.

I don’t know that my essay will reach the level of pleasure that Woolf and others referred to, beyond my own pleasure in writing it, but the critiques I received from my fellow students have been encouraging. The one recurring theme in the reviews though has been “creative” which may just be a metaphor for “Interesting.”

A Global Warming Primer

1. What is meant by the term “global warming” and why may it is a problem?
Global warming is the term that has been applied to an apparent increase in the average temperature of the earth in the last hundred years or so. This increase in temperature is expected to continue for the foreseeable future and according to some it may mean the end of the world, as we know it. Some expect coastal flooding, increased storms, and droughts. On the other hand it just may mean that we could once again see wineries in Scotland.
2. What is the most probable cause of “global warming”?
The cause most widely quoted for this increase in temperature are the rising levels of CO2 gas entering the atmosphere due to the use of fossil fuels in our industrialized society. The additional CO2 does not allow the sun’s energy to escape back into space trapping it in the atmosphere and increasing the temperature much like a “greenhouse”. Hence the name, greenhouse effect.
3. What lines of evidence support or refute “global warming”?
Scientists have examined the CO2 levels and global temperature ranges for the last 650,000 years or so and determined that there may be a correlation between the two. Although the earth has always undergone cyclical variations in temperature the concern today is that CO2 levels are now higher than at any time in history “probably” due to mans use of fossil fuels. There are alternate theories to explain the rise but CO2 is the most popular at this time and those that do not adhere to the greenhouse hysteria are now being vilified in the media.
4. Can we do anything about “global warming”?
Reducing the use of fossil fuels “may” have an effect over the long term. It is unlikely though that all nations i.e. China and India would agree to the reductions needed to be effective. It is also unlikely that the industrialized nations will cripple their economies without worldwide cooperation in controlling CO2 emissions. I myself will be looking for beachfront property in Greenland.

Edwards New Shack

Dean Barnett at Townhall has done another of his always insightful and humorous FAQ articles. Today's subject, John Edwards new shack in the Chapel Hill SC countryside. Question eight:

#8) This whole FAQ seems like a cheap shot. Big deal. We’re supposed to believe you’re suddenly against conspicuous consumption?
I’m not. Quite to the contrary, I conspicuously consume as much as my meager means allow me to. Furthermore, conspicuous consumption is good for the economy. The design and construction of the Edwards house is no doubt employing dozens of artisans, craftsmen and day laborers.
But I’ve always felt that Edwards is a phony. I don’t call him an empty suit – that’s too generous. I refer to him as a suit filled with anti-matter. It’s a bit hard to believe that someone who is actually obsessed with the plight of America’s downtrodden would devote so much energy and so many resources to building a home fit for a modern Medici. I just don’t buy it.
You can read the whole thing here.

Raider Ramblings

Comedian Ron White does a bit about being on a plane bound for Phoenix that develops engine trouble and needs to return to the airport. A nervous passenger asks if they’ll make it and Ron responds "you bet, he says, all the way to the crash site".

If you are an Oakland Raiders fan you are asking yourself the same question. Ever since Jon Gruden bailed out then proceeded to beat Bill Calahan senseless with his own play book in Super Bowl XXXVII, the Raiders have been in a death spiral. First with Calahan, followed briefly by Norv Turner. Even in the down years of the late eighties and early nineties the team has never performed this badly, nor given absolutly no glimmer of hope to a hungry Raider Nation.

I held my breath that Art Shell II would turn things around until he stated after week three, that when the team returned after the bye week they had a "few things" to work out.

When they get back? You loose the first three games of the regular season and you get a week off? You don't get a week off ya bunch of yahoos. You get to bust ass in two a days till you got those "things" worked out.

"In the unlikely loss of cabin pressure the oxygen masks will automatically drop down in front of you. Quit screaming like a little girl and put it on!"

Thanks Art, Don't let the door hit you on the backside.

Al Davis had to realize by the number of applicants that beat a path to his Coliseum door that the wings have completely fallen off the machine. Even though the Raiders have become the Lions, Davis was eventually was able to persuade 30 year old Lane Kiffin to be the fresh meat thrown into the new Black Hole of coaching.

Kiffin will need to find a quarterback and build some kind of an offense in the off season, a tough job even without Al Davis being at the controls. He also will also inherit a disgruntled defense whose loyalties lie with D-coordinator Rob Ryan (who was passed over for the top job) , and when he gets that squared away he gets a chance to deal with the likes of Randy Moss, the most over-hyped player to have never played the game.

For Kiffin, Head Coach may look good on the resume but only if he is able to walk away from the crash.

Good Luck Kid. Hope you brought your chute.

The Edwards Compound

I bet he doesn't shop at Wall Mart.

102 Acres, 10,000 Sq Ft house, 17000 Sq Ft rec center.

Six Million Dollars,

Story Here.