food from the mothership

Table for one? Non-smoking? Right this way ...


Does this sound good to you? I’m still mulling it over.

Latvian Sauerkraut Soup

Ingredients:

5 Cups Seasoned Vegetable Broth
2 Cups Sauerkraut -- Drained
1/2 Cup Sour Cream
Salt And Pepper -- To Taste
6 Small Potatoes -- Cubed and Cooked

Directions. Bring broth and sauerkraut to a boil. Simmer for 20 minutes. Add sour cream and mix well. Season with salt and pepper. Add potatoes and bring to a serving temperature. Serve.

Got it under the Latvian entry. I switched the broth from beef – I do, after all, have some pride.

I have read the recipe several times. Thought about lifting the soup to my mouth, presumably with a spoon, but the sauerkraut is throwing me. Do I eat it like spaghetti? As I run through the visual, my colon tries to get my attention. Not sure what it wants yet. I would be very clear on my colon’s reaction if the directions ended with, “Serve cold.”

Same link, but now under Poland/Polish

Pickled Eggs

Ingredients

3 Cups Beet Juice
1 Cup Red Wine Vinegar
8 Whole Peppercorns
4 Whole Allspice
4 Whole Cloves
1 Bay Leaf
6 Eggs -- hard cooked & peeled

Directions. Heat all but eggs to boiling. Pour over the eggs. Cover and refrigerate for 24 hours. Serves 1.

The best part of this recipe is the very end: Six eggs, three cups beet juice, et al., yet serves one. God bless ya! And I am the one with a replaced colon – go figure!

Romania has a good looking recipe here.

Creamed Potato Soup

Ingredients

2 Large Leeks -- Chopped
1 Tablespoon Olive Oil
1 Pound Potatoes -- Cubed
1 Can Tomato Paste
Salt and Pepper -- To Taste
4 Tablespoons Sour Cream
4 Tablespoons Parmesan Cheese
2 Cans Vegetable Broth

Directions. Sauté leeks in oil for 5 minutes. Add potatoes and broth. Simmer for 20 minutes. While still in the pan, mash coarsely. Mix in tomato paste, salt and pepper. Simmer for 5 minutes. Stir in sour cream and cheese. Serve. Serves 4.

There is no way you will need more salt in this recipe between the cheese, vegetable broth, and potatoes (they always taste a bit salty to me). I can’t picture the effect of the tomato paste yet. Yeah, looking over the recipe, it uses “can” like that is a measurement of some sort. We’ll figure it out.

Last one … under Russian

Moldavian Vegetable Soup

Ingredients

5 Tablespoons Unsalted Butter
1 Large Onion -- finely chopped
2 Cloves Garlic -- sliced
2 Medium Leeks -- sliced
1 Large Parsnips -- julienned
1 Stalk Celery -- finely chopped
3 Small Green Peppers -- finely chopped
1/4 Teaspoon Dried Thyme
1/4 Teaspoon Dried Marjoram
5 Cups Vegetable Broth
Bouquet Garni
3 Medium Potato -- cubed
Salt And Pepper -- to taste
1 Can Plum Tomatoes -- finely chopped
1 Package Corn -- rinsed in warm water
2 Tablespoons Lemon Juice
3 Tablespoons Fresh Parsley -- finely chopped
3 Tablespoons Fresh Dill -- finely chopped
Sour Cream

Directions. Sauté onion, garlic, leeks, parsnip, celery and peppers in butter about 20 minutes. Add thyme, marjoram, stock and bouquet garni. Bring to boil. Boil for a few minutes. Add potatoes, salt and pepper. Reduce heat and simmer, uncovered for 20 minutes. Stir in tomatoes, simmer until potatoes are tender. Add corn and lemon juice. Cook for 4 minutes. Remove bouquet garni. Adjust seasonings. Let soup stand 15 minutes before serving. Serve sprinkled with parsley, dill and sour cream. Serves 6.

Now we get “can” and “package” as a system of measurement. So funny. I’ll make these recipes and get back to you.

table for one? non-smoking? right this way, sir.

I’m not one for looking back too often – looking forward can be confusing enough. I did, however, just look at two posts: December 31, 2006, and February 6, 2004. The latter was my very first post. Coming up on four years. I am being honest when I write that I don’t remember where I lived then - I've tried, can't seem to grab it. I can list the places I have lived and their order, but the timeframes have blurred significantly. Oh well.

Last year this time. I was in the classroom. I was in the bedroom. Have since moved out of both, and have no intention of returning to either. I have watched both scenarios ebb and flow throughout the year, with both, thankfully, finally finding their steady-states. The difficult part following any change is not the immediate aftermath, it is the change following that change. Once the second generation is achieved, then the original state is forever past.

My goals for 2008 are to either achieve or ensure the next generation on both issues.

2007 ... anybody get the license-plate number off that truck?

touching coal

I continue to get plenty of masturbation hits. This guy googled, “how to masturbate your wife.” That’s kinda personal, pal. Would you mind rephrasing, “how to masturbate MY wife”? Let’s keep the second-person pronouns to a minimum when we are discussing intimate sexual touching, ok?

A bit of a twist, “my wife is upset that I masturbate.” Then tell her to take over! Simple enough. “Let me show you, honey. You grab it right here, no, not too tight. Now, don’t get upset if I call out your sister’s name …”

Got one very cool hit – “coal cracker recipes.” Lead me on quite the journey. I found this site devoted to coal crackers. Quit funny as well as informative. Quit, um, close to home in some of the observations. The section on Coal Speak was humbling. I am reading through this dictionary and thinking, “Ah, yeah, that IS how it is pronounced.” In sum, I felt more stupid as I went from letter to letter.

Are you a visual learner? Try this introduction:



I grew up not just saying but writing in letters to friends the amalgam, “aposta,” which means “supposed to.” I have an on-going feud with my twin over “crick” and “creek.” I still say “catlick,” and I remember many a “swift kick in the ass.” I had no idea these pronunciations were so local. Ugg.

Did you ever eat … Hot Bologna?

1 ring bologna
1 tbsp. crushed red pepper
1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp. salt
1 1/2 cups white vinegar
3/4 cup water
Cut ring of bologna in pieces, about 2 inches long. Place in a glass jar. Add crushed red pepper, cayenne pepper, and salt. Mix white vinegar and water. Pour over bologna. Shake well, place lid on jar and refrigerate. Should be ready in a day or two.

Can you even buy bologna in rings anymore? More recipe links on the bottom of the page of any of the links above.

I read through a few of the message board items. But I can’t relate – they call themselves “coal crackers.” I’m coal trash – big difference.

I learned something of personal interest to me. One of my favorite people passed away a few years ago. I always knew her as “Aunt Frances,” although we were not related and, no, my father was not banging her. It was a term of endearment for a close family friend (well, close to a couple of us). Her people came from down the line in a town I always knew as Avoca. But this is taken from the ”Patches” link – Avoca : off Rte 81, between Wilkes-Barre and Scranton. Site of the Wilkes-Barre / Scranton Airport. Long-time residents of the area around the airport refer it as "Houston City" or "Howston City". The town was once called "Pleasant Valley", but renamed to Avoca after a rail accident killed many people there. Avoca means "vale of tears" (in Irish or Gaelic?)

His links page is pretty good.

Enough looking to the past. Gonna go.

sea swells and storms

Times change with little control by us. Split milk, toothpaste out of the tube, water under the bridge or over the dam. The at-once beautiful and frightening aspect of time is that it only moves from left to right. Once an event occurs or words are shared, it becomes a part of history that cannot be undone or erased. At best, one tries to say, “I didn’t expect that,” or “I didn’t want that to happen.” A careful examination of the record, not always possible but many times is (at least in important part), makes it all too clear that the event was inevitable, even invited. Protestations to the contrary rise (or lower) to the level of being humorous. What is sorely lacking is honesty: “Yes, that is what I expected, it is what I invited, and, when it came, I was a little taken back, but I am back on track on now. Yes, that is what I want.”

Is that so hard?

A remarkable thing about humans is our ability to adapt to new circumstances. We have a strong need to socialize (remember the Russia experiment (or was it Hitler’s gang?) to raise kids without social interaction – they all died young), so our difference is not just opposable thumbs. But today’s society gives us an incredible array of social outlets. My situation is a good example on a few fronts: I work at home and my teenagers are home-schooled. Take away the internet, add a few cows and chickens, and we could be reading at night by oil lamp in the 1840s wilds of somewhere west of the Mississippi and east of Sacramento. I leave the house almost not at all, aside from two or three business trips a months. I have little need or desire for new outlets. In fact, and I believe I wrote this before, unlike other periods in my life, this one has no feeling of an end. If my job changes to having to show up someplace everyday, I will be truly disappointed. I will adapt, but only because I can and, apparently, must.

So with new circumstances comes adaptation. Intellectual and emotional adaptation is very similar to me to a card game, perhaps 7-card Stud. As time goes on, the majority of the cards of the other players’ (not “opponents,” just other players) become known. There are no good or bad cards – they are just hardened paper with symbols. It is unfair of me, for example, to place my forearm over my up-turned cards. Mine are to be as visible as yours. With four cards out of six visible towards the end game, there is little need to bullshit one another. Inside straights are hard to hit. In fact, this is where the analogy falters, because it is not gambling with stakes to be won or lost – it is just information to be shared. Yes, personal information that belongs to one person as much as their own poker hand does, but when that personal information if shared would help the other to adapt, then play fair: keep your forearm off the table.

I’m one of those people that identify with an un-tethered bobber cast into the ocean. I have ridden swells to great heights, and have been consumed by countless waves. Somehow or another, I never sink completely (been close!). Calm waters always find me. I also know that I am the bobber and am not the water beneath. Whether it be God’s hands or another person (God-driven or not), it is not me in charge.

This perspective drives me to want information. If I cannot be control – and I never can be nor do I want to be (that’s a young adult’s fantasy) – then allow me the information to know about tomorrow’s sea conditions. That is all I ask. I adapt. I survive both the swell and the storm. Just share with me what you learned about the coming conditions.

Is that so hard?

¿Dónde está el cuarto de baño?

Alright, let’s try this. I am still quite cranked, but it has nothing to do with you all – well, most of you at least.

Regardless of writing much of my personal feelings for net publication, I am at heart a private person. Intensely private. I’ve left enough stories in my wake for people to talk for the rest of their lives in some diminishing increment of their pathetic existence. In fact, I’ve faced the wall of blowing my brains all over the forest floor and decided not to because I didn’t want to give the vermin yet another story which either began or ended with, “I knew it would happen.” Talk about pathetic, eh?

I don’t mind being tagged as a vacationing carny. I love that some people tune in just to see if the train wrecked yet. I chuckle when I check my SiteMeter and see locales threaded through my history. I do mind, however, when those given a crow’s nest view of my life abuse the privilege. It is a privilege to be so perched in anyone’s life – there is no aspect of a “right” to it. Privileges, quite by design, can be revoked or, in the alternative, made painfully uncomfortable.

Intensely private. The privilege of the crow’s nest. Painfully uncomfortable. We on the same page? Glad we had this conversation.

Alright. Done. Onward.

New bumper sticker: “Your honor student initiated sex with my dog.”

Found this in my travels: Since light travels faster than sound, is that why
some people appear bright until you hear them speak?

Orlando was good. It was all work – never left the grounds of the conference center. Twelve hundred attendees with a handful of fun folks. Disney dominates that town like something out of Brave New World. It’s frightening. Bus after bus at the airport transported visitors on their pilgrimage to the Land of Manufactured Happy. You gotta know that the Queen of Hearts (or whoever that cranky one is) is a dominatrix in her second job, and that the testosterone-driven unspoken contest each year is to see who can nail the new Alice or Cinderella or Snow White first. Is it a trifecta if you get all three? There is a dark side to Disney, and it is not limited to the frozen cells between Uncle Walt’s ears.

I’ve mentioned this before, but it is worthy of sharing again … you can get a lot of free music through Papaiti. It is nothing more than a specialized google search for indices of mp3s. I just put in an artist name and rarely bother with song titles. Not all hits return music – when you get to a site and within a directory so that you have apparent mp3 files, right click and do “Save As.” If it returns a save as “mp3” you are ready – sometimes it comes back as an html file. Move on to another site. Also, be sure to move up the line on a site by hitting the “parent directory.” Sometimes you tap into the mother lode. I’ve found some good bootleg as well as released music.

I was over on futility closet, and noticed a November 11, 2007 post (tagged, “death”) wherein he lists some “unfortunate grave inscriptions.” I have always enjoyed graveyards. I cannot remember a time when I was not moved to silence as I walked through the resting places. I always notice fresh dirt or flowers as I drive by. I used to wonder what inscription I would want, and I finally realized a few years ago why I could never come up with even a phrase: I am not going to have a gravesite. I want nothing left behind but stories and fading memories. I toyed with the idea of having my ashes made into Christmas ornaments for a few folks that I loved deeply, but that, too, has receded. A few stories, traversing good and bad, a few pics that lose their depth over time and become a two-dimensional rendering of a person the viewer once knew – that is appropriate methinks. “Fade to black, and … cut! On-set break for lunch.”

I have nothing more to say right now. I’ll be your clown later. Have a good day …

self imposition

I was outside earlier. Wasn’t as cold as I thought it would be, as cold as it looked. I went about my morning writing things that someone in another position, with a job description and skill set foreign to me, would use to fulfill their professional goals. When asked to write it, I was reluctant at first (more accurately, “WTF?”), but I have since dived in deep and see progress.

I have curtailed my interaction with the world so much that I barely look beyond a few feet of where I sit. Gauging my mood after I showered, I was comforted to have the outside pointed out to me and to see grey. I was surprised because I had no idea what the forecast was or is.

It’s been a period of 24 hours of observation for me. There is so much to learn when you sit a lot. Patterns of behavior are clear, and deviations are clearer. It is so easy to capture out-of-sight activities if you just pay attention. No question is ever asked without being formed with intent. Just pay attention, and the list of prompting reasons grows shorter and shorter. Then, humorously, that short list feeds back to the deviations. It's like plugging a power strip into itself - a cheap, endless supply of electricity (nee, amusement).

I am growing very comfortable with the thought of a minimalistic existence. Could just be a phase, as was the Irish-Whiskey Phase, the I’m-a-good-cook phase, and the Fuck-me?-Fuck-you!-No-on-second-thought-blow-me-douche-bag phase. The first was potentially dangerous; the second lost joy when I lost a portion of the audience; the third was fun but incredibly stupid. This potential phase feels more long term, terminally so.

I can see how everything plays out, how a complete existence tumbles into place. It is one that is alone, granted, but that does not also mean lonely. I have few contacts outside work, and am content with that. I know what it is like to be in and around people all the time, to go out to dinner and social events routinely, and to enjoy that rare one day or one evening at home. It holds no interest for me anymore. Nor, I suggest more importantly, do I want it to.

There are tugs within me. I like to see other people enjoy themselves, particularly people for whom I care. Historically, I was the guide, the one that had no reservations about ensuring (and, oftentimes, insuring) that an entertaining evening occurred. At times now, when others have their fun evening, a memory comes quickly, even instantaneously, as they walk through the door. I recall vividly being in my bedroom when I was perhaps 12 or 13. My father was going somewhere with us boys, and the night before I had said that I did not want to go. The next morning, I was awoken by the sound of his car leaving the drive. I went to the window and saw him looking over his shoulder as the car moved backward, my brother sitting in the front seat. In that instant I wanted desperately to join them, but I knew I could not. I was crestfallen. Sometimes now, when the social times are enjoyed by others, that emotion slaps back with all the reality of 35 years ago. But I know in my heart that I have to simply accommodate that tug. It is muscle memory in its rawest form. It will fade, as everything within me does.

I am not that person anymore, nor do I wish to be that person, nor would I find joy in fulfilling the role of that person. I can do it – I know that with certainty, and others would enjoy themselves greatly, and I would smile and relate how wonderful a time it was. Then I would shed that persona as a cloak. It would rest in my inner field’s closet, in a place of dishonor, until I was required to don it once more. I can pull it off without anyone catching on – I know, I’ve done it with increasing frequency for years.

So today I need to go out. Have a couple of errands. I will stay close to myself until the moments of interaction, and then I will burst onto the scene like some fucking superhero. It takes that sort of effort. It’s not Al Gore Phobia by any stretch. It’s just a desire to live within an ever-decreasing circle, both of people and space.

I slept well last night for the first time in a week. I awoke refreshed for the first time in a longer period.

words to (in)action

Just writing. No thoughts as I type. We’ll see where ADHD takes us.

Basketball season started tonight. I detest basketball. It isn’t the game, per se, it’s the players. Just a bunch of highly focused egomaniacs. Too much money and too little brains. I remember a comic 20 or 30 years ago that did a bit about alternative careers if sports or acting was not available (read, "income greatly disproportional to effort). He was an impersonator-type guy – did Kirk Douglas saying, “You want fries with that?”

So LA is probably going to get Joe Torre. That’s a good thing. They’ll get Don Mattingly in the deal. One manager for 4 years or so, then another for 10 of more. You’re welcome. It’d be nice if Marino Rivera went, too. Stocking the left coast with some good Yankee talent. Somebody somewhere is turning in their grave as the Bronx Bombers start to shift talent to the Brooklyn Dodgers. Somebody somewhere is also paying off an old debt. Muscle memory kicks in a bit because I lived by SF for so long. We used to sit in the stands at Candlestick and taunt Tommy Lasorda. We hated LA. But SF sucks. And I warmed up to LA when they warmed up to Pat O’Reilly. NY and LA seem to have this symbiosis that I can accept.

Enough sports.

I was drifting around the net and found something called The Ultimate Final. A lot of the other stuff on the page was hit or miss, but this bit was humorous …

Instructions

Read each question carefully. Answer all questions. Time limit: 4 hours. Begin immediately.

History. Describe the history of the papacy from its origins to the present day, concentrating especially but not exclusively, on it social, political, economic, religious, and philosophical impact on Europe, Asia, America and Africa. Be brief, concise, and specific.

Medicine. You have been provided with a razor blade, a piece of gauze, and a bottle of Scotch. Remove your appendix. Do not suture until your work has been inspected. You have fifteen minutes.

Public Speaking. 2500 riot-crazed aborigines are storming the classroom. Calm them. You may use any ancient language except Latin or Greek.

Biology. Create life. Estimate the differences in subsequent human culture if the form of life had developed 50 million years earlier, with special attention to its probable effect on the English parliamentary system. Prove your thesis.

Music. Write a piano concerto. Orchestrate and perform it with flute and drum. You will find a piano under your seat.

Psychology. Based on your knowledge of their works evaluate the emotional stability, degree of adjustment and repressed frustrations of each of the following: Alexander of Aphrodites, Ramses II, Gregory of Nicea, Hammurabi. Support your evaluation with quotations from each man's work, making appropriate references. It is not necessary to translate.

Sociology. Estimate the sociological problems which might accompany the end of the world. Construct an experiment to test your theory.

Engineering. The disassembled parts of a high-powered rifle have been placed on your desk. You will also find an instruction manual, printed in Swahili. In ten minutes a hungry Bengal tiger will be admitted to the room. Take whatever action you feel appropriate. Be prepared to justify your decision.

Economics. Develop a realistic plan for refinancing the national debt. Trace the possible effects of your plan in the following areas. Cubism, the Donatist controversy, the wave theory of light. Outline a method for preventing these effects. Criticize this method from all possible points of view. Point out the deficiencies in your point of view, as demonstrated in your answer to the last question.

Political Science. There is a red telephone on the desk beside you. Start World War III. Report at length on it socio-political effects, if any.

Epistemology. Take a position for or against truth. Prove the validity of your position.

Physics. Explain the nature of matter. Include in your answer an evaluation of the impact of the development of mathematics on science.

Astronomy. Define the universe. Give three examples.

General Knowledge. Describe in detail. Be objective and specific

There’s another line on the site that I am going to use sometimes: The more you run over a dead cat, the flatter it gets. Words to live by. It’s followed (in the Corporate America section) with, There is always one more imbecile than you counted on. Man, ain’t that a statement we’ve all proven out countless times.

One final bit from the Laws of Combat, but could just as well be in the Corporate America section: If the enemy is in range, so are you.

So I’ve been trying in some ways, marginally so, without much diligence, perspective, or commitment, to put things into perspective in my life. It’s tiring, even debilitating, to go from one fire to the next. There must be some respite out there. Planning, anticipating, avoiding the easy problems would change so much. Ah, fuck it. It’s tough being us, eh?

I need to stop writing now because I feel a bad flip coming. Look out, fire in the hole!!!

stepping towards God

There’s some conversation on the net I breezed through concerning god (little “g” on purpose for the moment). No links, not needed. This woman is going through 12-steps as a spouse – husband’s a heroin addict trying to pull his life together.

I know from discussion that God is and through the 12-step program because of my teaching. Atheists have tried to can the government support of the program based upon the Separation and Establishment Clauses, but to no avail – the government just cannot do the job without them (AA, Nar-Anon, etc). I have never read the program or even a description of it. Alright, FINE. HERE. A description of the 12 Step program. Happy?

These are the original Twelve Steps as suggested by Alcoholics Anonymous (Narcotics Anonymous changes in parentheses).

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol (over the Addict)—that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6. Were [We’re?] entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His Will for us and the power to carry that out.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics (to others), and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Well, seems the God-less out there have a point – sure be a lot of God being established and not separated in them thar steps. Bummer that, eh?

Where was I? Oh yeah, I was marginally in this conversation. This woman is going through the program for the support she receives. Tough situation for her, but seems dedicated. So she is on Step 3 (I don’t know, but I believe that she completed the program before) and she writes, “I gotta figure out what god is, give my life to that person, place, or thing, and render some writing about it fit to show folks at tomorrow's meeting.” (Step 3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.)

Fair enough. But I was struck by two things. First, she presented God as a common noun. Elsewhere, same post, “… it isn't always so goddamned complicated.” I always cringe when I see God’s name slapped around like that. I know it’s common, I know most people doing it really do not mean it as insulting to God – I know all of that, but it doesn’t lessen my reaction.

So I left a comment: “the first step in understanding god is to spell it with a capital g ... God.”

Comment from an interested 3d party comes in, and I respond with, “i consider God to be a discrete entity - although you are correct in that He may not be classified as a person, place, or thing. but isn't that a noun? can we not use a capital to denote honor, or to suggest a specific entity, like a name which just so happens to also be a common noun? there are, afterall, many competing gods through history. my point, … is that, for me, the first step to understanding God is to remove this entity from a common designation, and thereby begin to give Him a shape, a form, a physical presence in my life. i then can learn and attribute to Him qualities. i am not making those up out of convenience - i am searching the Bible to understand. in the end result, yes, i have imbued quite a human form upon God - but i can't relate to a cloud, i don't feel responsible to an ethereal mist.”

Another poster adds, in part, “Have you ever read the Bible? I am not being rude, just curious.”

The owner of the site then writes, “It's good you've found your God, Clyde. Mine is more of that ethereal mist kind...and that disembodied thing isn't interested in capitalization.

“Just so you folks know, all further debate in these comments is stopping...looks like it's going in a direction that my god isn't interested in having me go.” She was nice about it. Even added, “Love you guys!”

No hard feelings, but I was struck by something. It felt as if her quest to identify God was truly because she has to due to Step 3. There doesn’t seem to be any open inquiry, unless the inquiry leads to information consistent with her pre-existing feelings. Will that persist through Steps 5, 6, 7, and 11 as God makes more appearances?

I remember when, as an adult, I heard a sermon and let it resonate for months. It finally struck me. God finally got through my objections. Here’s the summary of it.

I spent lots of time reading about the alleged contradictions in the Bible, reading the “lost books,” comparing Greek translations and dismissing the entire KJV because the Lord’s Prayer is presented twice in identical English but the original Greek differs (somebody wrote what they wanted to write!).

Then this sermon comes along. The guy points out that no major religious figure ever claimed to be the Son of God except Jesus. Good point. Now, he went on, you can spend all the time you want working to disbelieve, working to find the faults, but let me ask you this: What if He (Jesus) is right? Can you really afford to be wrong?

It was a complete “duh” moment for me. I decided to stop fighting – just for the meantime – and focus purely on believing. The Bible began to talk to me. I saw through the parables, understanding their meaning before I ever read supporting materials to ensure my understanding was correct. I felt Paul in the Roman prison: the cold, damp cell, his hunger; his moments of loneliness.

You want to find out who God is? Quit arguing, quit applying your standards, drop your preconceived images. Open the Bible. I started with the NIV New Testament, but I avoided the Gospels. I didn’t feel it appropriate to Jesus’ words. I wanted the other guys. I read Galatians through Jude, skipping Hebrews.

The bottom of this page gives you full text chapter by chapter.

By the time I was done with those books, I found myself spiritually prepared to read the words of Jesus. It was the most amazing thing. So I read the Gospels – Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Acts feel into place. I continued through the rest of the NT, re-reading the books I had finished not too long before, and then read Revelation.

Here’s the homepage to that link above with all different Bible versions in full text plus references to supplement your understanding.

What’s the best version? Whatever one speaks to you. No such thing as “one best one.” I just like the NIV.

Read a chapter or two a night. Ask God to help you understand it – before you start and after you are done. Night after night after night. After a month, you’ll already be several books into it.

I always find that reading an intro to a book sets the stage nicely. Here’s the same introduction I use for Galatians, and you can select any book under the drop downs for OT and NT.

escape

flight instincts are wonderful. i always think of white-tailed deer that i see so frequently in my area. they're good eating, if you go for such things - i'm a veg for the last 20 years, so i don't anymore. but even before we hunted bambi and served her up with a dark sauce riddled with garlic and fragrant herbs, there were plenty of predators in the wild. (side note - the good news is that aliens stopped anal probes; the bad news, they discovered we're made out of meat.)

how did deer adapt to a dangerous environment? long legs for running swiftly; nocturnal so they roam in darkness and hide during daylight.

i have my own flight instincts, my own predators. i find that when the pressure is great i sleep hard. i create diversions when i am awake. i do anything to avoid dealing with the situation at hand. i protect those around me by letting them live their lives in blissful ignorance. then slowly God presents the problems to me one by one, usually with workable solutions. somehow He manages to show me the ram in the bush.

the frustrating part is that He shows me - as has been said - just enough light for the next step. i can see the multitude of problems out there, can understand that just this one is being resolved. i continue to feel the weight of all the problems.

sometimes i find solace in remembering the weight of previous times. i recall that no matter how heavy it felt, somehow it all got resolved. somehow, God presented the ram in the bush, however piecemeal, until all the problems went away. new problems, new weights always came, but the old ones somehow got solved.

i need to remember that more often.

even when i do remember it, i can easily defeat its comforting message. God is in charge. if He wants a major change in life, then it happens. when i look at solving problems, it presupposes achieving the status quo ante. i know enough to understand that sometimes that historical position no longer exists. so i brace myself for the unknown around the bend.

sometimes, from a well-considered, dispassionate view, life just sucks. sometimes, and this is one of those times, i wish i could get nietzsche out of my head.

From David Bowie's album, "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars," is a song way too personal to discuss, Lady Stardust. The subject of the lyrics is Marc Bolan. Someone put together this video. I just stared at the screen as it played. No words.


People stared at the makeup on his face
Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace

The boy in the bright blue jeans
Jumped up on the stage
And lady stardust sang his songs
Of darkness and disgrace

[CHORUS]
And he was alright, the band was altogether
Yes he was alright, the song went on forever
And he was awful nice
Really quite out of sight
([second time:] really quite paradise)
And he sang all night long

Femme fatales emerged from shadows
To watch this creature fair
Boys stood upon their chairs
To make their point of view
I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey

Lady Stardust sang his songs
Of darkness and dismay

[CHORUS]

Oh how I sighed
When they asked if I knew his name

[CHORUS]

Get some pussy now!

beware of darkness

One of my favorite songs from the 1960s is the Byrds, My Back Pages, although I didn’t come across it until I was 14 or so. There is no song, for me, that is so well-suited to Roger McGuinn’s Rickenbacker. I was too young at the time to realize that someone else had written the song (Bob Dylan).

I remember the disdain I felt towards teachers and others in the educational establishment as I listened to the song. Funny that I became an educator.

On October 16, 1992, there was a concert held to celebrate Bob Dylan’s 30 years in music. It was George Harrison’s only American concert appearance after 1974. The last song of the concert was My Back Pages. Roger McGuinn does the first verse, then Tom Petty, then Neil Young (before his head exploded from decades of drug and alcohol abuse). Eric plays a solo and sings a verse, followed by Bob Dylan’s verse, and finally Hari does his verse.

I find it interesting that Hari is given the last verse in a concert for Bob. A sign of respect. The video is below, followed by lyrics.


Crimson flames tied through my ears
Rollin' high and mighty traps
Pounced with fire on flaming roads
Using ideas as my maps
"We'll meet on edges, soon," said I
Proud 'neath heated brow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth
"Rip down all hate," I screamed
Lies that life is black and white
Spoke from my skull. I dreamed
Romantic facts of musketeers
Foundationed deep, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Girls' faces formed the forward path
From phony jealousy
To memorizing politics
Of ancient history
Flung down by corpse evangelists
Unthought of, though, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

A self-ordained professor's tongue
Too serious to fool
Spouted out that liberty
Is just equality in school
"Equality," I spoke the word
As if a wedding vow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

In a soldier's stance, I aimed my hand
At the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I'd become my enemy
In the instant that I preach
My pathway led by confusion boats
Mutiny from stern to bow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Another of my favorite songs is Hari’s, If Not For You. A simple song in its devotional lyrics. Always struck something within me. Always, as is written above, “deceived me into thinking I had something to protect.” Thankfully, that self-deceit has ceased. (But I still like the song!)

These two videos are an interesting contrast. The first is from the same concert as above, except Hari is alone at the mic. The second video is from 21 years earlier (1971). Hari and Bob Dylan were rehearsing for the Concert for Bangladesh. Interestingly, like Hari came on an American stage for the first time in such a long time, Bob Dylan has basically retired and played the Concert for Bangladesh only because of Hari. Bob was actually billed at the headliner.



If not for you
Babe, I couldn't even find the door
I couldn't even see the floor
I'd be sad and blue, if not for you

If not for you
Babe, the night would see me wide awake
The day would surely have to break
It would not be new, if not for you

If not for you, my sky would fall
Rain would gather, too
Without your love I'd be nowhere at all
I'd be lost, if not for you

If not for you
The winter would hold no spring
Couldn't hear a robin sing
I just wouldn't have a clue, if not for you

If not for you, my sky would fall
Rain would gather, too
Without your love I'd be nowhere at all
I'd be lost, if not for you

If not for you
The winter would hold no spring
Couldn't hear a robin sing
I just wouldn't have a clue, if not for you

If not for you

The final song in this post is Hari’s Beware of Darkness. I have countless versions of this song. My favorite is when he talks before he plays and says, “I just wrote this song the other day. Not sure what to call it yet. Still have a bunch of words to figure out.”

This version of the song is from the Concert of Bangladesh. Leon Russell takes a verse. Video followed by lyrics.


Watch out now, take care
Beware of falling swingers
Dropping all around you
The pain that often mingles
In your fingertips
Beware of darkness

Watch out now, take care
Beware of the thoughts that linger
Winding up inside your head
The hopelessness around you
In the dead of night

Beware of sadness
It can hit you
It can hurt you
Make you sore and what is more
That is not what you are here for

Watch out now, take care
Beware of soft shoe shufflers
Dancing down the sidewalks
As each unconscious sufferer
Wanders aimlessly
Beware of Maya

Watch out now, take care
Beware of greedy leaders
They take you where you should not go
While Weeping Atlas Cedars
They just want to grow, grow and grow
Beware of darkness (beware of darkness)

mixed mood

Not sure how to proceed through the day, if at all. So let's spend time in the extremes ...

Here are the first three verses of Genesis:

1. In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

2. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

3. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

Pick any word in the first verse, count its letters, and move ahead by the corresponding number of words. For example, if you start at beginning, you'd count 9 letters and move ahead 9 words, landing on the in the second verse. Count that word's letters and continue in this manner until you've entered the third verse.

You'll always arrive at God.

Qyotes from Friedrich Nietzsche :

One should die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly.

If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.

A good writer possesses not only his own spirit but also the spirit of his friends.

Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.

Perhaps I know best why it is man alone who laughs; he alone suffers so deeply that he had to invent laughter.

To predict the behavior of ordinary people in advance, you only have to assume that they will always try to escape a disagreeable situation with the smallest possible expenditure of intelligence.

roots

A friend of mine sent me a link to Shorpy – a 100 Year Old Photo Blog. Some amazing pics from long ago. Below is a picture of Shorpy Higginbotham, a grease boy in the mines. The pic here was taken in 1910; Shorpy’s the dude up front with the grease can. The site states disbelief that he was the 14 years old claimed. Probably was younger, and probably had to lie to get the work. Shorpy was killed at age 31 in a mining accident, crushed during a collapse. Too common.

(You can click on all the pics here and see larger views.)

How many people killed? In my area alone, where all the anthracite in the world is found, between 1870 and 1995 there have been 31,113 deaths recorded in mining accidents. There are only four years in that entire stretch - 1982, 1984, 1987, and 1992 - that recorded no deaths form mining accidents.

Anthracite is tougher to mine than bituminous. Anthracite coal seams are locked in the folded layers of rock that make up the geology of Northeastern Pennsylvania. The tunnels and shafts driven into the ground to mine anthracite coal were often at steep angles that forced miners to either crawl up mine tunnels and down others to get to the coal. Nasty.

Here’s another remarkable pic. Miners in 1908. This is what my family did, hence the title I have labeled on my forehead of, “coal trash.” Notice the drill bit used to loosen coal, which was then collected by shovel. The flame on the hat to see had to create an incredibly lonely presence in the darkness of the mine.

Another pic. January 1911. Shaft #6, Pennsylvania Coal Co. mine at South Pittston – my backyard. The caption reads that these miners are waiting for the cage to take them to the top. Not sure what to make of the notice the rails for the cart that seem to go through the elevator area. These guys are leaving behind the night of the mine to return to the day they left at the beginning of their shift.

Last pic from this site. Let’s just call it, “Coal Trash.”

Want to know what my grandfather’s lungs looked like from working the mines? The docs called it “Coal worker's pneumoconiosis.” We just called it, “Black Lung.”

The pathogenesis: Coal dust that enters the lungs can neither be destroyed nor removed by the body. The particles are engulfed by resident alveolar or interstitial macrophages and remain in the lungs, residing in the connective tissue or pulmonary lymph nodes. Aggregations of carbon-laden macrophages can be visualized under a microscope as granular, black areas. In serious cases, the lung may grossly appear black. These aggregations can cause inflammation and fibrosis, as well as the formation of nodular legions within the lungs. The centers of dense legions may become necrotic due to ischemia, leading to large cavities within the lung. Sucks, eh?

Remember that number above? 31,113 deaths in mining accidents? Didn’t include those that died outside the mine, suffocating on their personal stash of coal dust.

I need to make dinner.

la fille avec yeux de kaléidoscope

I am fighting writing so much. A thought struck me, a picture came with it, so I grabbed someone else’s words that ran with it and tossed them into the post below. It felt good, but as I sit thought after thought after thought races in, each with its own picture, each running somewhere in my head. I opened Word, wrote two lines, and bailed. Now I find myself with fingers to keyboard again.

The past 72 hours have been redefining in a very core way. I dislike such changes. I dislike passages. I dislike the lonely side of being alone. I dislike what it portends for the future.

The path I walk has narrowed. The forest is closer to my sides now, and that is unsettling. There’s always an issue within me of safety. I’m perfectly fine for long stretches, but then a moment arises and I need – need – reassurance. The path I walk now isn’t wide enough for anyone else.

What is interesting, purely from an observational sense, is the unknown length of the journey. Does the path end around the next bend? Is there a resting place? Did you ever get to a stage in your life where it really doesn’t matter? The commitment was made to walk, so I walk. What is there is there; my conjecture won’t change it.

LES AUTRES parce que vous n'avez pas gardé
Ce voeu profond-juré a été des amis du mien;
Pourtant toujours quand je regarde la mort dans la visage,
Quand je grimpe aux hauteurs de sommeil,
Ou quand je grandis excité avec le vin,
Soudain je rencontre votre visage.

overdue

It’s been a long time since I have written here. Sorry to those three or four coked-up manic-depressives staring out at SF bay wondering why life is so thin these days. I know you have come to count seeing witty analyses and insightful instructions on how to give a damn as you wander from paycheck to paycheck looking over your parents’ belongings on Sundays in between and making a mental note what you can sell on eBay. I understand. I’m here for you. I loved you long ago, and that has never left me. Never could. If we met again, I probably would nod politely at the familiarity of your face, and laugh when you laugh, but I wouldn’t have much recollection. Age does that to people from away. I think it is the east coast water. With such a high percentage of the US population living here, you know the ground water supply had to get personal at some point. Stay in Cal. You’re safe there. Well, safe until Sac becomes beachfront property. But people saying the “big one” is coming are a dime a dozen – that’s like a nickel a piece or something like that. Walk around with a life preserver on; you’ll be fine. Does your car float?

So I’ve been working my ass off, that’s why I haven’t written at all. I am helping to design a distance-learning school for a group of post-secondary institutions. I am the academics guy – go figure. Yeah, I shake my head at the thought, too.

I hope you aren’t looking for discussion of news or politics. I quit both. Seriously.

I quit listening to liberals when some chick said that all women should be blowing Bubba Clinton for all he did for women. How incredibly embarrassing it must be to be a person anywhere near that women, someone so pathetically vacuous. I bet you your ears pop when she walks past your desk.

And then I quit listening to conservatives when they turned on W. All W is doing is finishing what he started, and everyone around him are weak-kneed pussies. It doesn’t matter if you agree with the war or not, W didn’t lie, nobody lied, everyone was on the same page, and we marched in. So it isn’t easy. So what? You think WW2 was a cake-walk? You read the old newspapers and read about the then-war-pussies? They bitched and moaned just like now.

So anyway, I am done with politics. Done voting, too. Nobody gets my encourage to give up there soul.

So why the broader news apathy? Libs run the presses; cons run the internet. There is no news anymore – it is all politics. They can all kiss my ass.

I write. Got a book coming out in 18 months or so. No more news until some blood is let. I do my job. I raise my kids. I talk to my twin. That’s my life. Focused. I like it.

I’ll start writing about it more. Promise.

nonconforming cartoons

So I am working the girl to crank out some drawings. Forgive the lack of a question mark on the end of the interrogatory posed by the girl inside the mirror. Even an exclamation point would be better. It's tough getting kids to care about grammar and punctuation, dammit! But, alas, who am I to criticize art. Perhaps the selection of the period is meant to inspire in the viewer a combination of shock, horror, and resignation. Art can be so deep sometimes. Makes me feel inadequate. Small. Unimportant. Coal trash (well, that part is true).

Is there a painting class for adults I can take? I like paint-by-numbers. I never did one, but I remember my great Aunt Irene use to do them. I recall a real pretty doggy. It was in a quilt or next to flowers or something. I could do that. I think. Is that stuff erasable in case I go over the lines? I suck at coloring books.