Superstar (A Review)
The latest effort from the acapella group
Go Fish is entitled
Superstar (click on this link to sample the album tracks) and is geared toward kids. In fact, the band procaims it to be "Cool kids music that the whole family will love"!
I utterly agree.
The Ten Commandment boogie is quite charming and is the initial single from the album. The title track is a very positive uplifting song that will encourage your children. Specifically, in regards to his or her sense of self worth. This song seems aimed at the down-trodden, or hurting child and because of this I am willing to overlook the fact that the song is ill-named. Of course I am refering to the tenet that all Christian doctrine hangs on. Namely, that God is and must be God centered. God is the only superstar in God's universe, but the spirit of the song is wonderful and I see what the guys are aiming for. Not mention, it is a rather catchy tune.
The album contains some silly songs, two (
Friends Of Mine &
Be That Way) of which seem to be in the vain of a
Veggie Tales style; however the songs don't wear on the nerves as fast. I find these quite humorous, and the latter song incorporates more grown-up references, such as a pass toward Elvis and the like. I often find myself singing these songs at work or in the car, which should reinforce the notion that this album is fun.
The guys cover a classic in
Skinnamarinkidinkidink which is phenomenal. More importantly this is a great album to introduce your children to singing as a form of worship. The renditions of
Lord I Lift Your Name and
Jesus Loves Me are spectacular. The latter boasts a rather interesting, and to my hearing, preferential arrangement.
The album concludes with a beautiful lullaby entitled
Sail Away. Mrs. Grisby and I are so fond of this song, we've incorporated it into the children's bed time routines.
So the question now is whether the album lives up to it's billing as music the whole family will love? I will respond in two ways. My children dance and sing everytime they hear a track on the radio. Not to mention, the middlest child, was devastated to learn that the band does not live at the state fair. In her mind, that is the whole reason for going. Second, if when I get into the van to run errands, I ifind the album in the disc player, I will listen to it. Oh yeah! Daddy's rockin' to his kids' music!
It's worth the fifteen bucks. I give it 5 out of 5 stars.
On Sunbeams & Autos
There are moments when the all the mundanities of one's life are vanquished by the punctuated arrival of a brief, but truly sublime experience; the transcendence of which, you promise yourself you will always remember, hoping that it's true, yet somehow knowing in the end you are really deluding yourself.
Such moments are fated to the degradation of our memories, being supplanted by the enormity of information that somehow is given hap-hazard priority. If not careful, the end really won't resemble the sage-like wisdom in Sinatra's crooning--
"Some day, when I'm awfully low, When the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you... And the way you look tonight."Thus, it becomes necessary for the sentimental to preserve such moments, with video, audio, or in this particular instance, by writing it down. This is a bitter sweet exercise for me, for I'm at once enraptured in the glory of this morning's
moment, only to be wrenched with the veracity of my aforementioned self-deception. That is, I have failed to preserve the bewitchment of such erstwhile moments.
So why all the languishing words? As I put on my shoes preparing to leave the house for an appointment, my 17-month old daughter was toddling around chasing the sunbeam streaming through the curtain. I watched with awe as she discovered the light, trying to catch it. Suddenly, without warning, she toddled up to me, grabbed my face and while smiling widely, exclaimed
"love you dada." Then without prompt, she planted a big slobberingly wonderful kiss on my cheek.
Utterly glorious. Thank you God.
As is the cruel disposition of time, I was forced to peel myself away, leaving the house for work.
I entered the heap of rust, that is my car. While ugly, the car has been a faithful servant to me over the years.
Old Betsy, as we affectionately call it, lost her luster long ago and recently I've been overtaken with the desire for something newer, different, more shiny. The very fact, that
Betsy is on her last leg, serves as a daily object lesson for me. I've been humbled by it. Sure I could drive something nicer, more sleek, but driving it (as it is) reflects the values that I want my children to adopt. Namely, to not be saddled with worldly possesions--something, daddy struggles with from time to time.
In the moments I feel ashamed of my ride, I am reminded that my children, think Old Betsy is the greatest thing out there. In fact they beg me to ride in it. And so, I pulled the old bucket out into the street, turned back to the house and to the waving hands of my greatest eartly treasures, waved back, and made my way into traffic.
Parenting is hard work, but the benefits are incalcuable.
Speechless? Not Quite
Wow.
Pat Robertson. Hey Pat! Thanks for marginalizing Christians everywhere. In case, you don't know what I think, here it is for you. Preachers should preach the word. Teach it verse by verse,
that is your job. Sheperd your flock.
Commenting on Chavez, in terms of U.S. foreign policy, whether you meant assasination or
kidnapping, is beyond your purview. Being a public figure, you should know better. I'm disappointed.
Cindy Sheehan's blog and the coming showdown this weekend between
Camp Reality &
Camp Casey (you'll love this website-insert snarky little emoticon). A reader forwarded this comment from Cindy's post on the Huffinton Blog. It is written by drbfg on 8/25/05 at 8:25pm.
"It breaks my heart to read the polarized opinions in these posts when there is so much ground available to be shared with respect to the soldiers at war in Iraq.
All soldiers are heroic by virtue of their service to our country as soldiers. Period. It doesn't matter whether they served during peacetime in Nebraska doing nothing more than maintaining our country's readiness, never seeing combat, or whether they were sent to a just war -- or an unjust war. By volunteering to serve, by saying "Yes" to our country's call, each member of our military demonstrates courage and sacrifice, the hallmarks of a hero. Some make the ultimate sacrifice, giving their lives, but all who join up qualify as heroes -- because all know that at any time they might be called upon to make that sacrifice and join anyway. Some exercise poor judgment and dishonor themselves and their service, but most soldiers are heroes, whether they live or die and whether they serve in peace or war -- any war.
Soldiers who die never die for nothing. For their own sakes they know that they have given what they knew they may be called upon to give in the service of their country, and for the rest of us they demonstrate an ideal of selflessness and commitment to purpose to which we can all aspire in our own way. That's why we should support them -- not because of the morality (or lack thereof) of the orders given them -- but because they express in word and deed a willingness to accept any order, even one causing their death. There is nobility in that willingness even if there is nobility in the order.
Whether or not the Iraq war (or Kosovo or Vietnam...whatever) was promoted with lies, planned by incompetents and ordered by greedy opportunists should have no effect on the meaning we associate with the sacrifices of our soldiers. The duty of the President and his advisors is political; the duty of the soldiers is civic. The way we judge the exercise of each duty should not be dependent on the other. A President should not be made more noble by the heroism of the soldiers under his command, and a soldier should not be made more corrupt by the venality of the President. Conservatives believed all of this to be true when Clinton was President, and liberals should do the same with Bush in office."
Well stated, and does the author's politics matter? Isn't this the right thing to do?Lastly, I am
linking to a website you should spend hours on. I mean that. I've been there a few times over the past few months. You MUST read the first post in it's entirety. If your heart doesn't swell with pride or you don't feel an inner compulsion to stand up and say God Bless America, then check your pulse to see if your alive. Permanent links will be forthcoming.
For next week, watch for the Armchair Pundits review of the
GoFish Album Superstar. Have a great weekend!
Life's Lessons (Part 3)
Okay, so I was a little salty with yesterday's submission. I've had an attitude adjustment, so this posting should be a little more palatable.
Generally, I am not one to find great wisdom in the mouths of children. I tend to be a little more old fashioned. By this I mean, more often than not kids should be seen and not heard. Now by this, I don't mean that my children (or any children for that matter) have no voice. On the contrary, I want my children to be vociferous in the expression of their thoughts and feelings. I just expect them to know when it is appropriate to speak and when it is not. And by expectation, I mean it is incumbent on me and my better half to teach them this value.
It begins with recognizing the distinction between adult and child. It seems to me that this is often blurred by our culture, which esteems friendship with children as to be sought after. I have no such ambition. At this point in my life, I am more concerned about being the moral conscience of my children as they are forming their values of right and wrong. It is incumbent on me as their father to instruct them in this matter. I am more concerned that my children are obedient than I am about their frustration with me for enforcing guidelines. We habitually make time to process such feelings, but only after compliance is achieved. I believe that friendship will come later, now is the time for training, for doing the work of parenting.
This is fresh in my mind due to a recent experience. I introduced one of my children to an adult. "Child, this is Mrs. So-&-S0." Mrs. S0-&-S0 replied "Hello Child. You may call me Suzie Q."
I am sure the parents out there have had such an experience. This drives me nuts. First, children should know that a distinction exists between adult/child. And due to this distinction, a modicum of respect is warranted. Second, by counter-manding my instruction, Mrs. So-&-So, effectively underminded my authority and the teachable moment. Bad form. Perhaps well-intentioned, but misguided none-the-less.
At any rate, this is becoming tangential, when all I wanted was to give a little background before departing to the point at hand. I say departing, because I there is something inherently instructive about the adult/child distinction in relationship. Consider the following:
One of the great joys in my brief stint as a parent, has been observing the development of faith in my children. This has been most noticable to me in their enthusiasm for prayer. They pray for everything. For example, "Dear God, help me to be a good boy/girl. Help me to find my C-3PO. Help me to find my Polly Pocket. God, please protect/heal/provide for ____. Dear God, please help me to catch or hit the ball. Dear God, please make the baby stop crying." You get the idea.
What get's me about this, is that nothing is to silly or insignicicant for the children to pray about. We taught them this principle and it yet convicts me. How often do I believe that I have to solve my own problems? To often. I may give mental ascent to the contrary but default mode is that of the typical responsible, go-getting, American capitalist, make your own fate, rah-rah-rah.
The Truth is (Romans 8) that God calls me his adopted son and what petition will a father refuse to hear from his child? So despite adult/child distinctions, I have been reminded that the first place to go, regardless of the circumstance, is prayer. I am reminded that I am but a child (the child) pursuing wisdom and knowledge from the Father, the ultimate adult, The One who infinitely cares and is my "ever present help in times of trouble."
The faith of a child. I sometimes forget that we are to approach God in this manner. I am sorry for the negative complaining attitude yesterday.
15 Days & Counting
No, I am not talking about the misappropriation of Cindy Sheehan's grief. Rather, I feel compelled to warn my readers that what you are about to read will be distasteful. If you are faint-hearted, turn away now. What follows is my faint excuse for few recent postings.
I say distasteful for two reasons. First, the content that follows and second, it always makes me [personally] uncomfortable when a grown man whines like a child.
To the mom's--I know that nothing on earth compares to the agony of pushing out another living being, but I am but a mortal man, so my baseline or threshold of...uhm...discomfort is different. It's the weekend and we're all still sick. I'm feeling a tad discouraged so pardon my tone. You see, it all started earlier this month. The boy and I had been camping with another father and his son. It is an annual affair, occurring the same weekend each year. The faces are the same but older and the venues change. I don't know if it was the heat (day 2) or the fact that my buddy
G & I had stayed up a little late enjoying the fire, but I knew that Sunday, something was amiss. My head hurt, my eyes ached, & I felt tired and not entirely myself.
G on the other hand, is a man of impeccable constitution. He thrives on 5 hours of sleep a night. Yes, thrives. Most days, I wish God had designed me like that, but I am contented to associate with such a friend. And for more mere mortals such as myself, there is always coffee.
Upon arriving home, the lovely Mrs. Grisby was not quite herself. A sore throat seemed to be playing a game of hide-&-seek with her. There in the morning, gone in the afternoon, a day on, a day off, you get the idea.
Wednesday saw the first assault in the offensive. The boy went down with pink-eye and a sore throat. That evening/early Thursday morning, all the warning signs I'd ignored earlier, came to bear in my body. Stuffy nose, ear ache, body aches, tickling cough, thickening phlegm. Not fun.
As the week progressed, I became increasingly scarce at work. It's hard to function on next to no sleep. By day, I survived. Night was a nightmare, as symptoms would worsen making rest difficult. I don't know if my body has seen
stage 5 in the last 10 days.
The wife? Stalwart. The very picture of fortitude,
General Mommytm was in full fledged defensive posture. Any previous sign of illness-surpressed. By the weekend, two of our three children were down with the affiliction. I too had been treated for a sinus infection & conjunctivitis when the invading hordes struck another major blow.
Friday into Sunday was a pivotal front in this battle. The family, besieged with illness, felt another sting, when
General Mommy'stm defensive blockade was overcome and she succumbed to illness. The image in my mind was that of an invading army seiging a castle. Outside the walls the invaders brought forth catapults and reigned terror on those behind the moat and stone fortifications. What tyrannical weapon would the invader use? Stones to break the walls? Molten fire balls? In our case, it feels more like
the black plague. At any rate, when
General Mommytm goes down, you know it's a serious offensive.
The current manner of morphing infestation inflicting the Grisby household, involves much hacking and expulsion of goo. Thick mucousy phelgm, alternating between shades of green and brown. For some of my readers, this no doubt conjurs up 15 year old memories (better forgotten) of a van trip and a jar (ack-spit), but alas, I digress.
This is truly bad news readers. For it appears the invaders are virul rather than bacterial. The sinus infection has subsisted due to the medication, but the nagging tickling coughing remains. In fact, this past weekend a fit of coughing lead to a little vomitting. Oh joy! The fun! And now the third child has fallen prey to the invader as well. You knew it had to happen eventually.
Is there a silver-lining moral to this tale? Not really. We have missed two long scheduled and highly anticipated social engagments, an extended family get together, spent hundreds of dollars at the doctor's office, missed work, rescheduled appointments, thus losing wages.
Although, as I think about it, I may have some material for a chapter in my buddy's book. Oh, didn't I mention that? Well, one of my dearest friends is currently working on a diet/nutrtional book. As a chemical engineer (with a wicked sense of humor) working for a fortune 500 manufacturer of food products, he is emminently qualified to do so. I think my contribution could be to the exercise portion of the book. I've found that coughing hard enough to make you wretch gives your abs a great burn. Mine have been sore for about a week. Maybe it's not to late to get that six-pack in my thirties.
I guess my whole point is this:
Being sick sucks. Being sick during the nicest part of a Minnesota summer sucks more.
Strange Bedfellows???
The Grisby household, as of late, has been tainted with a form of the black plague. None are immune, and the ailments range from pink-eye, to sinus infections, laryngitis, & a flu-like viral (?) monster, to a combination of any two. Needless, to say our full lives do not allow for such things, but none-the-less, we've been pretty much quarantined.
This brings me to the point at hand. Monday, I went to work for several hours, couldn't handle it, so I came home. I had the lovely opportunity to listen to Howard "Moonbat" Dean's
Face The Nation transcript on the
Prager show once I arrived home. Man, that guy is awesome! Having Dean run the DNC, has to be a dream come true for
Ken Mehlman, et. al. Dean brings the fringe left to the forefront in the democratic party. I say give him a microphone and as much tv as he wants. He spouts so many fever swamp lies (all of which went unchecked by the half-witted reporter on the show), he consistently demonstrates that he and his party have no ideas for the future, no solutions on foreign policy, and no real understanding of how the debate in this country is being framed. It just shows how much contempt there is among elites as to what we, the common folk may be informed about. Again, the old guard is becoming increasingly irrelevant.
This leaves the old boy to spout the same tired rhetoric we've heard for nearly 3 years. And when it goes unchallenged, MSM is once again unmasked as the mouthpiece of the left it is. This is precisely why the democrats will lose more seats in 2006. They have become the party of obstruction. If Bush and the republicans are for it, you know, without even having to think a milisecond about it, that the dems will be against it. Just look at the reactions regarding the SCOTUS nominee. It didn't matter if it was Roberts or anyone else did it? Reading the lefty bloggers, you knew they were going to be against whomever the nominee was. But now, I am getting off hand.
Maybe it was Deans comments or the prostituting of Cindy Sheehan by the anti-war left, that got me back on the war, but here it is. All we here about these days, is how 60% of the American public is against the war. Well, first I think that data is skewed and secondly, look at how
the war has been covered in the MSM and ask if it's realistic that public support would drop?
Of course! And because we citizens of this great nation have such short memories, I thought I would include
this to jog our collective thoughts. Support the troops AND their mission.
Life's Lessons (Part 2)
In part 1, I described how I was reminded to be patient and trusting that things do in fact, work out. Also, in re-reading my post, I failed to mention, that even though my kids were crabby, they did remarkably well considering the circumstances. Another, key which is paramount & that I failed to mention, involves managing expectations. This is something I try and do every day with my clients and yet, I failed to heed my own counsel. Ah well, those are the reminders and now I move on to the second part....technology.
Technology is a wonderful thing. It provides us with many, many, many, invaluable and time saving resources. None-the-less, becoming enamored with technology may inevitably lead to new sources of frustration. Consider:
Recently, I received a mini-mp3 player, from a vendor that I do business with. It is akin to an
Ipod Shuffle, but much cheaper and smaller, i.e., only holds ~14-15 songs, roughly an hour and five minutes. Now, for my regular readers, you must know that even though I blog regularly, I am not the techno-sophisticate you might think. I'll continue.
One fine Saturday evening, I transfer about 3 hours of tunes [those I can work out to] from my CD collection to my laptop. Having never done this before, I'm impressed with the ease and speed that said transfer takes place. Have I mentioned I love my Toshiba laptop?
Unfortunately for me, I left the mp3 player at the office, so on the following Monday, I spent about 30 minutes figuring out how to get the files onto the player, also surprisingly easy, but alas the player would not play. The problem? Had I disconnected from the USB port without signaling to the machine that I was about to do so? No that wasn't it, but I did learn that such actions are not recommended. I had the music in the wrong format. Ah....so the computer doesn't automatically convert to mp3 format? I see. If
Lileks were reading this, he'd be laughing vigorously by now.
Well how do I set about converting to the right format? I went to the headwaters, meaning I asked a few more techno-versed friends (the Mikes), and I was directed to type my question into
Google. I did so and was quickly ushered to a host of pages that had software to sell me.
Now, it is probably no surprise that I'm rather frugal and so I'm thinking: "Why buy software for a ~15 song playlist, on a free media device? Surely, there must be something I can test for free out there? "
There is and I found it. Unfortunately, the first installation, which took 11 seconds to download, was directed at Macs, which explained why I couldn't open it. The second program took to my machine, although, it took me awhile to locate where the heck on my computer I had saved it to.
Next the conversion process. I receive the first 30 selections free, afterwards I must pay 20 dollars to license the software. The ease of use with this particular program has lead me to conclude, that upon tireing of my current playlist--and just so you know, it RAWKS!--I will want to experience different playlists, so I will end up purchasing said software when I get to conversion number 31. At any rate, I go back to sync my playlist, did I mention it rocks? And I am able to do so in user-friendly fashion. Next, I go to listen to my player and it won't work.
"I don't get it! The songs are on the stupid device! What's the deal?" I know that right about now, all you Ipod owners are laughing at me in your best Bugs Bunny voice "what a maroon!" But hey! How was I to know that the computer would wisely create a file for my mp3's and that I would have both mp3 and wma files of the same songs?
Well, you guessed it. Post conversion, I synced the wrong files. I finally figured it out and the little guy really kicked out the tunes--nearly went deaf I did. Friday comes around, yes Friday (it took nearly 3 hours over the course of an entire week, but I figured it out), and I was ready to run.
What a glorious morning. I'm up early, and feeling great. The sun is shining, the dewpoints comfortable, the birds are singing, even though I am about to obliterate any ability to discern their melodious harmonies. I cannot wait to get out and run. I head off, the first song, making me feel like I should sprint for three miles.
I get about 3 houses down the block when my left earpiece pops out. No problem wedge it back in. A few more steps, and the right earpiece pops out. Wedge it back in. Another step, earpiece pops out again. You get the picture.
The stinkin' machine isn't well equipped for running with the given earpieces. Nuts! I was disappointed and after a mile or so of trying to keep the speakers in my ears, I gave up. Now I'm off to the big box retailer for some conventional earphones. This is supposed to be a luxurious convenience right? No longer do I have to hold the walkman of CD player.
Even so, it sure serves as a distraction from the things that I really need to get done.
So my moral? Don't become to enamored with stuff. Stuff costs you money, stuff costs you time, which costs you money, and stuff can cost you missed opportunity.
By the way--did I ever tell you about my van? The power-windows motors burned out and now I can't get the driver's or my passenger window down. Wait till I tell you what that one is going to cost!
Life's Lessons (Part 1)
I thought I was a patient man. Then I had children. You parents out there, know intimately, that of which I speak. Given the manner in which I began my career, I would not have thought this to be an issue, but alas, it is so. Recently, I found my expectations foiled, leaving a modicum of ensuing stress. Consider the following examples: 1) family travels, and 2) technology. Allow me to illustrate my meaning.
Recently the family & I had occassion to visit the sunny shores of South Carolina. The trip was both for business and pleasure and we had a late Sunday afternoon departure, so the day could proceed at a leisurely pace. Well that didn't work out. On the preceding Thursday, our airline called to inform us that our flight had been cancelled. They offered two alternatives for transport, neither of which was very convenient. Pressing the coordinator, for a few more options, I was able to get us booked with a partner airline, and this flight had an hour earlier departure, which to my thinking, was a gift of a little extra margin.
Sunday arrives and things began well. Up at 5:30 am, I met with some friends, A.K.A,
The Brothers Of Good FortuneTM, to race in a triatholon. The heat was, well stifling, but the weather was otherwise fortutious, and we all finished with respectable times, and we're home before lunch. A feeling of smugness came over me, as I thought "this is working out even better than I'd planned. " Next, on the agenda was a shower, lunch and packing. All of which occurred in a rather expeditious fashion. Mom arrived shortly and things continued to look golden. Departure time occurs, load up the troops throw in 1 last bag, and .........the locks on my van doors jam. Up-down-up-down-up-down interminably. I nearly prayed for the motor to burn out. But this was a day of good fortune and so, we were able to determine that my golf clubs we inadvertently applying pressure to a rear switch. Collective sigh of relief from the wife and I. After all who wants to start out a vacation/trip with an automotive repair?
Pulled out the van, shut the garage door and we're .....uh-oh. The garage door broke. Great! I'm seeing my margin vanish into the afternoon sun. Well actually, the cable came unhooked from the pulley, so a minor repair, and a liter of sweat later we were finally underway.
Ah, the airport! Feelings of nostalgia and excitement, and the familiar rush of adrenaline. Checked in with record speed. Was pumped, but then, the stinkin' little terminal monitor had the gall to instruct me to get my seat assignments at the gate. This is not a good sign as you undoubtedly know. We get to the gate, gate F. Wife und kinder settle in and I get in line. 5 minutes later I am still in line, when the attendant informs us of a gate change. She is not happy as this is apparently the second change already. Oh well of to gate C. That's right gate C. So for the benefit of those unfamiliar with the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport, let me just say, that's a haul, particularly with three children, now whining, and their carry-ons. The eldest child Grisby & I took off for the gate, determined to get a seat assignment. I was pleased that his little legs kept up and we made it in about 7 minutes, slightly sweaty, and beating the gate attendant. Good fortune smiled and this time we were second in line. The attendant arrives and calls her Super to let he/she know that she's arrived and setting up. The expression on her face & and the expletive under her breath told me things were about to change again. So they did. Off to another gate. This time, I was near the rear, the kids and wife were visibily annoyed and I was losing confidence in being able to get on our flight. A half-hour later, I end up at the desk and learn to my dismay, that due to winds and air-temperature, our full flight had to bump 15 passengers. "What! Are you saying we're too fat to fly?" I screamed increduosly in my mind. Okay, I didn't really, I just threw that in, for what is probably a vain attempt at humor.
The culprit in all this was a little fella named
Dennis. And seeing as we were part of the last 15 reservations made, we were first on the list to get bumped. Well, my blood pressure was pretty high as we had a connection into Atlanta (freebie lesson--don't connect in Atlanta-ever). Suffice it to say we were the last on the plane, big whew! The flight was delayed for what seemed like an eternity and Atlanta was a monsoon upon arrival. The good news was our connection was also delayed so we were able to make it.
Well we finally arrived at our ultimate destination around 11:30pm, which when all the delays are considered, wasn't terribly late. All our bags? Accounted for-bonus! The baby's car seat was soaked from the Atlanta deluge, but considering we were there--happy feelings.
I went to get our van from Enterprise, and....they're closed. What the heck! We just confirmed this morning and they're supposed to be open to midnight! I was feeling peevish. Fortunately, Budget was open, and as good fortune would have it, they had a van. Now we had called Budget early in the reservation process and they were out-of-control expensive, so I was not to happy; but having spent the morning with
The Brothers Of Good Fortune, their graces must have rubbed off on me, for I was able to procure a better deal than I had with Enterprise. Net savings = $55. Oh yeah!
So, even though things didn't work out quite as I'd planned, they worked out. And as I drifted off to sleep around 1:45 am I was reminded of the value of trusting patience. I smiled knowing that my crabby children, safely sleeping in their beds, would undoubtedly sleep late allowing us to make up for this grueling day.
At 7 am, I awoke with a start from the little human alarm clocks.
Have You Heard?
Probably not. I have to keep this brief as I'm heading to the North Shore for a little weekend camping. At any rate, a big scandal is afoot at Air America, but this is getting little to no attention by MSM. Makes you wonder how many news outlets would be covering this if it involved
Rush Limbaugh? Check out
Michelle Malkin (scroll down to Air Enron) for the round-up. I've got an F-word for you dear readers, and that word is FRAUD. While your there check out the NY Times Roberts debacle. That is not going to play well anywhere in this great nation. In my opinion, Malkin should be catergorized as must read regularly blog.
And just when you thought it was over.
Uh-oh.
Someone smells $. A travesty of justice.
Have a great weekend!
A Little Humor
I'm not sure where this came from, but seeing as I've a little Italian in my blood, I found it amusing and so I thought I'd share.
The Italian Tomato GardenAn old Italian man lived alone in the country. He wanted to dig his tomatogarden, but it was very hard work as the ground was hard. His only son,Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter tohis son and described his predicament:
Dear Vincent, I am feeling pretty bad because it looks like I won't be ableto plant my tomato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be diggingup a garden plot. If you were here my troubles would be over. I know youwould dig the plot for me. Love, DadA few days later he received a letter from his son:
Dear Dad, Not for nothing, but don't dig up that garden. That's where Iburied the BODIES! Love, VinnieAt 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug upthe entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. That same day the old man received another letter from his son:
Dear Dad, Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances. Love, Vinnie
Profile
Neil Cavuto is right. Lay off grandma! Neil experience reminds me of the scene from one of the Airplane movies. I don’t remember if it was I or II. It is the scene at the metal detector. People are walking through. An obvious terrorist walks through carrying an RPG. Nothing. Some people in military uniforms walk through carrying machine guns and grenades. Nothing. Then a little old lady shuffles through and sets off the metal detector. She is immediately swarmed and thrown up against the wall and searched at gun point. When that scene is played out in reality, something needs to be changed.
Brit Hume put the whole profiling issue into perspective this past weekend. He said that if a group of white male terrorist had been blowing up things in Bombay and then I traveled to Bombay, I should expect some specific action to be taken to verify that I am not a terrorist. I should expect to be searched. As Brit said, it is not a case of race, it is a case of statistical probability.
As one who has been plucked from airport lines and unceremoniously wanded in front of my fellow passengers, I support tighter airport security. I am perfectly willing to give up some of my rights so that certain individuals do not deny me of one of my most fundamental civil rights: the right not to be blown up.
Personally, I think we should follow Israeli airport security. Several years ago before the fetching Mrs. Squirrel was Mrs. Squirrel, she was traveling in Israel. When leaving, she was taken out and questioned for about twenty or thirty minutes. From what I know, she received a “light” questioning. Israeli authorities have been known to grill people for hours. I would be willing to put up with that.
I know as Americans we have many rights. But, when the exercise of those rights threatens the rights of others, then I think measures need to be taken. To paraphrase that great civil rights and constitutional scholar Mr. Spock, “The [rights] of the many out weight the [rights] of the few, or the one.”
Summer Stock 2005
Part IICal sat by the window watching the scenery pass by as the bus made its way through the city. His mind replayed the fight for what seemed like the hundredth time. How did it start again? He wasn’t sure he couldn’t remember the details. Why had he exploded like that? He never had before. Why did Rick come after him like that? Another question he couldn’t answer.
Deep in thought he continued to look out the window. Looking at the buildings and houses without really seeing them. The fight replayed again.
He suddenly gave his head a shake that was barely noticeable to those sitting around him on the bus. He consciously pushed the fight scene from his head. He had to stop thinking about it. It was, afterall, such a long time ago. He did the math in his head. Nineteen, no twenty years ago. He had no clue why over the past several weeks the memories of that fight on playground from twenty years ago seeped back into his mind.
He had been feeling nostalgic of late. Maybe it was finding that ten-year reunion booklet. He had tossed it aside when it arrived two years ago. He had no interest in going back. But, he ran across it a month or so ago, buried under a pile of unimportant papers in his rolltop desk.
He had looked through it again. More carefully this time. He dissected each entry, each persons little biography. He knew how they were written and he knew why they were written. For the most part, they were written to impress. “Look at me. Look what I’ve accomplished. I am somebody.” At least that is what they seemed to say.
But, Cal had read beyond the surface. He looked into every nook. He read between the lines. He had read over Linda’s entry. She had sat in front of him in Trigonometry his Junior year. She was a nice girl. She lived a state over now and worked in a retail clothing store. She had a daughter. Cal wondered if she had married and divorced or had she just gone from carefree high school student to single mother. Whatever it was, she was facing a difficult life now. Much more difficult than the entry in the booklet revealed. There were many more just like Linda. Different circumstances, but in the end a similar difficult life. Too many questions lurking under the surface.
Cal smirked to himself. It was after all a reunion booklet. No need to be a downer. “Hi, I’m Jimmy the Jock. I’m on my third wife already and have filed bankruptcy once. I dropped out of college after just three semesters. My life is a disaster. You might as well just tattoo a big ‘L’ on my forehead for ‘Loser.’” No. No one would write that. Even if it was true. The ten-year reunion booklet was a chance play spin doctor with the story of your life.
He remembered coming across his own entry. The vague job description. No sense boring everyone with the details. His life wasn’t an action movie, at least not yet. Then the lie. “I can’t wait to see everyone at the reunion.” He had no intention of going. He had worked so had to get away. He had no intention of returning.
But maybe in the two years since he had received the booklet he had mellowed. When he found the booklet again, he began thinking more and more about his old friends. What were they doing now? What had happened to them? He had googled a few just to see if there might be any information about them. He had thought about calling one or two but had decided against it.
Maybe it was all that thinking about the past that had done it. Maybe all those memories had pushed the memory of the fight to the surface. He couldn’t say for sure.
There was an electronic buzz overhead and the bus driver called out the next stop. This was his stop. Cal smiled to himself. If he kept riding the bus maybe someday he would be able to figure out the meaning of life.
As the bus slowed and stopped, riders rose from their seats and shuffled to the door. Cal waited for a lady to pass and then joined them. “Thanks,” he mumbled to the driver’s automated wish for a good day.
He inhaled the fresh air as he stepped off the bus.
