tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-126167412024-03-07T18:41:02.421-05:00underdogisheregshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.comBlogger541125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-20670633756041430632020-11-07T18:42:00.005-05:002020-11-07T18:42:48.060-05:00A new hope?Five years ago I told a joke. Not really a joke just a humorous aside that I used to say now and again in safe company. It went along the lines of “Please oh please let Trump be the Republican nominee”. Why would an intelligent person wish for this you ask? The answer was simple. Although I personally believed that Hillary would make a perfectly fine president I knew she was a flawed candidate. At the time there were some pretty well qualified Republican candidates running for the office and I thought the only way Hillary could be a shoo-in was if she was running against a sexist, racist, buffoon with a string of failures longer than your arm. Silly me, I had enough faith in America to believe that it would not elect someone who openly boasted of sexually assaulting women, who openly mocked the disabled and did everything within his power to divide the country.
Turns out the joke was on me. Four years ago my faith in America came crashing down.
Trump's election was an eye-opening experience, shedding a new light on who we are. I had allowed myself to believe that the election of Barack Obama heralded in a new era for our country. Certainly I was aware that there were wacko racists out there who believed in a 50 year old conspiracy to hide the 'truth' of Obama's birth. I had thought the wacko racists were a fringe group, four years ago I learned they were a majority (well, not quite a majority, Hillary did win the popular vote).
Four years ago my faith in who we are as country died. I no longer recognized America. Overnight we changed from a country boldly leading the world to a new future into a freak show lead by a bullying, ignorant child-man who lacked the self-awareness to recognize his incredible stupidity.
The most depressing part of, course, was the degree to which vast numbers of (mostly white) Americans worshiped the child-man, putting him above America itself.
So four years ago I dropped out. I stopped listening to news channels and news radio. I would poke my head in every once in a while to keep abreast of what was happening but I felt no need to have a ringside seat for the dismantling of America. Instead I filled my hours with books on tape. I tried to get into podcasts but never really got hooked by any. I subscribed to an archaeology site but couldn't get into that either (archaeology was an early interest of mine). At night I used to listen to the BBC to lull myself to sleep, I turned that in for audio recordings of the Sherlock Holmes stories. By now I have listened to them all dozens of times. For the first time I regretted bringing children into the world, wondering what kind of world they would be living in when I am gone. (I took some comfort from the fact that they are white, it is obviously much easier to be white in the world of the trumpians).
And now Biden has been elected. I am, of course, very happy. At the same time I am afraid to be hopeful for the future of America. The trumpians showed us once how quickly they can destroy everything America stands for. How long before they show us again? And can we ever step back from that?GFShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08417409862987272718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-60971452554136761082013-01-06T08:11:00.000-05:002013-01-06T08:11:14.852-05:00Nicholas St. North and the Battle of the Nightmare King<br />
I'm reading William Joyce's <i>Nicholas St. North and the Battle of the Nightmare King</i>. One of its many charms is that, in the old-fashioned way, the chapters have individual titles. Some of my favorites:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Chapter Seven, Is Not Really a Chapter at All -- Just a Piece of the Greater Puzzle</blockquote>
<blockquote>Chapter Eight, Where the Impossible Occurs with Suprising Regularity</blockquote>
<blockquote>Chapter Eleven, In Which Wisdom Is Proven to Be a Tricky Customer Indeed</blockquote>
There is also a very minor character (who comes to a bad end) named Gregor of the Mighty Stink. Reading that, I had the same reaction as, in the story, a moonbeam has when it encounters Gregor in person:<br />
<br />
<i>Yikes!</i>gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-29752769912108679762012-12-18T09:21:00.005-05:002013-01-06T08:10:05.958-05:00Daniel Inouye, September 7, 1924 – December 17, 2012<br />
So it's only been a year and a day since I last posted here? I was sure it had been longer than that. What brought me out from under my rock? <br />
<br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_Inouye">Senator Daniel Inouye</a> died yesterday. He was, in a way, a hero of mine. This goes back to the Watergate investigation, which was the event that put Inouye in the spotlight for the first time. He was being interviewed on television -- 60 Minutes, maybe? -- and he told a story about losing his arm in battle in Italy during World War II. He was quite a war hero -- a Medal of Honor recipient -- but you can read about his exploits elsewhere; they're well documented. It was that story he told on television those years ago, when I was a teenager, that has stuck with me: <br />
<br />
He was in the hospital, in bed, in 1945, just after having had his right arm amputated. A nurse was passing by, and he asked her for a cigarette. She took out a new, unopened pack of cigarettes and tossed them on his bed, and then left. He was disgusted that she didn't even open the pack for him -- how was he supposed to open it, with only one hand? But he managed to get it open and get a cigarette out -- I think he used his teeth. <br />
<br />
Then the nurse walked back by, and he asked her for a light. She took out a pack of matches and tossed them on the bed. As she walked away, his disgust overflowed, and he called, "Hey! How am I supposed to light a match? I only have one arm, you know." <br />
<br />
The nurse turned around and said, "Soldier, you're only going to have one arm for the rest of your life, so you better start figuring things out for yourself." <br />
<br />
She left, and Inouye thought about what she said. Then he set himself to figuring out how to light a match with one hand. <br />
<br />
"And I did," he told the interviewer -- we'll say it was 60 Minutes. "Do you want to see?" <br />
<br />
Of course the interviewer did. Inouye got out a pack of matches. "I quit smoking a long time ago," he said, "but I carry matches with me just to show people." He used his thumb to flip open the cover and then bend one of the matches down so the matchhead was against the sandpaper. He pinned it there with his thumb, and then flicked his thumb sharply to the side, rubbing the matchhead against the sandpaper and lighting it. <br />
<br />
In that moment, he became a hero to me.gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-77004694700679935802011-11-09T08:34:00.002-05:002011-11-09T08:39:02.109-05:00Have I been living under a rock?<br />The combination of <a href="http://www.mongodb.org">MongoDB</a> and <a href="http://jquery.com/">jQuery</a> is the coolest thing I've worked with in a long, long time.gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-23842949808869635142011-07-21T19:28:00.002-05:002011-07-21T19:32:38.722-05:005:55...were the numbers I saw when I looked at my clock this morning, as the <a href="http://underdogishere.blogspot.com/2006/09/slow-learner.html">twin sonic booms</a> reached my ears and rattled my sliding glass doors...<br /><br />...for the last time. Ever.gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-48126543579298824812011-02-06T07:42:00.004-05:002011-02-06T08:22:10.101-05:00Unusual questionJana Remy, on <a href="http://janaremy.com/2011/02/04/twitter-weekly-digest-for-janaremy-2011-02-04/">her blog</a>, posed this question:<blockquote><em>what is the plural form of 'apocalypse'?</em></blockquote>...to which I would answer:<blockquote><em>Why would you ever need to know?</em></blockquote>I mean, how many of them can we have?gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-34568192199223909592011-01-01T10:58:00.002-05:002011-01-01T18:13:39.289-05:00Retrospect<br />...because that's what we do at the end of a year, isn't it? Retrospect? Because we in "the West" have arbitrarily chosen this point in the Earth's orbit to look back on what has happened since Earth was last at this point in its orbit. <br /> <br /> For me, there were two events in this past orbit that easily stand out above all others: The first was the death of Barkley. The second was the death of Andrea. <br /> <br /> I never knew, until this past year, how much loneliness could ache. <br /> <br /> Yesterday, on the final day of the past year, we were out in my car and we were behind a car that had a bumper sticker that said "Dog Only Nose." In case you're not a dog person, this is a common conceit among dog people, to play on the fact that "dog" is "god" spelled backwards, as in, for example, "dogspeed." <br /> <br /> When I saw "Dog Only Nose," I thought it was pretty clever. But as the day wore on, and I couldn't get thoughts of Barkley and Andrea out of my head, I realized that it was in fact profound. <br /> <br /> Happy New Orbit, everyone. <br /> <div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5</div>gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-53556246091585905812010-12-25T02:00:00.000-05:002010-12-25T02:00:04.737-05:00Merry Christmas, Finale<br />Rubber duck Nativity:<br /><br /><img src="http://beaglewriter.com/blog/images/rubberducknativity.jpg" alt="Rubber Duck Nativity" />gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-81888660492406858132010-12-24T13:29:00.003-05:002010-12-24T13:31:22.052-05:00Merry Christmas, Part III<br />My Christmas tree at work this year (those are Swarovski ornaments):<br /><br /><img src="http://beaglewriter.com/blog/images/workchristmastree2010.jpg" alt="My work Christmas tree" />gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-79971170862051434902010-12-22T03:00:00.001-05:002010-12-22T06:17:30.278-05:00Keeping the "Christian" in ChristmasWe were in a restaurant, and at a nearby table the waiter was wrapping up serving a party. Overheard:<blockquote><em>Waiter:</em> Happy Holidays!<br /><br /><em>Patron:</em> Where I come from, we say "Merry Christmas."<br /><br /><em>Waiter:</em> We're supposed to say "Happy Holidays," so we include people who don't celebrate Christmas.<br /><br /><em>Patron:</em> First we were entertained by your stupidity, and now we're being entertained by your bulls**t.</blockquote>Except this obviously pious Christian didn't censor himself with asterisks.gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-75614487338627875202010-12-20T03:00:00.000-05:002010-12-20T05:58:37.207-05:00Merry Christmas, Part II<br />Judi's Christmas tree!<br /><br /><img src="http://beaglewriter.com/blog/images/christmastree.jpg" alt="Judi's Christmas Tree" />gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-22849377438899860382010-12-18T07:31:00.003-05:002010-12-18T11:41:52.388-05:00Merry Christmas!<br />This was produced by a company in England, <a href="http://www.alphabetphotography.com">Alphabet Photography</a>, as a Christmas gift for their customers, and was originally sent to about 5,000 people. Since it has now, already, had tens of millions of views, you've probably already seen it, but in case you haven't, grab a tissue, and Merry Christmas:<br /><br /><object style="height: 390px; width: 640px"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SXh7JR9oKVE?version=3"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SXh7JR9oKVE?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="390"></object><br /><br />I think the expression on the face of the guy at 3:24, by itself, made the whole thing worthwhile.gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-81966550390811223422010-12-17T07:58:00.002-05:002010-12-17T08:10:08.905-05:00Recently overheard....<br />A young man speaking:<blockquote>My grandma is kinda mostly sane. Sometimes.</blockquote><br />The color commentator on a broadcast team covering a college football game:<blockquote>The kid's got a good imagination. When he graduates, he wants to be a fictional writer.</blockquote><br />I guess if you go around telling people you're a writer, but you don't write a word, then that would make you a "fictional writer." No?<br /><br />Finally, a woman speaking with a young man who appears to be in a relationship with her son:<blockquote><em>Woman:</em> Does your mother smoke?<br /><em>Young Man:</em> No, she never has.<br /><em>W:</em> Does she drink?<br /><em>YM:</em> No, she never drank. But once when I was little I ate some of her brownies and... they weren't right.</blockquote>gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-40193408124559634482010-12-08T11:00:00.000-05:002010-12-08T15:04:30.251-05:00Reality Deficits<br />A couple of months ago, on Morning Edition, there was a professor who specialized in Pakistani history talking about why so many Pakistanis have such crazy ideas about the United States (for example, that the U.S. funds the Taliban). She said it was due to a "reality deficit."<br /><br /><em>Reality deficit!</em> The term struck me immediately. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Now, I don't want to imply that every boneheaded belief is due to ignorance. For example, I suspect that most Young Earthers are well aware of the preponderance of evidence regarding the true age of the Earth. They aren't boneheaded because of a deficit of reality. They're just boneheaded because they choose to be.<br /><br />On the other hand, I think there's a constant stream of evidence that the boneheaded ideas of many so-called Tea Party members and many religious conservatives can be chalked up to reality deficits. Some good examples are the many so-called Tea Partiers that I've heard claiming that Obama should be impeached for violating the Constitution, or that the Constitution states that Christianity is the official religion of the U.S., but who, when questioned, admit that they have never actually read the Constitution. This ignorance creates a knowledge vacuum -- aka a reality deficit -- that can be filled in or made up by any talking head or radio jockey saying pretty much whatever he wants. You see, the real value of the idea of reality deficits, as expressed by that Pakistani professor, isn't just that people are ignorant. No, the real insight goes a step further: It's how this missing reality leaves a gap into which obviously wrong ideas can be easily poured.<br /><br />So much attention these days is being directed at budget deficits. In my humble opinion, those aren't the deficits that should <em>really</em> be scaring us.gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-1253108509933163342010-12-03T10:38:00.003-05:002010-12-03T10:43:48.958-05:00Toys For Tots<br />Last weekend, we made our annual Toys For Tots drop off at the Crowne Plaza Hotel on the beach:<br /><br /><img src="http://beaglewriter.com/blog/images/toysfortots2010.jpg" alt="Toy For Tots Drop Box" /><br /><br />Judi's mother joined us this year for the first time. The box was empty when we started, and Judi packed it... well, the way Judi packs things.<br /><br />Happy Christmas Season!gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-2605893107005082132010-11-24T09:05:00.005-05:002010-11-25T08:22:14.767-05:00Thanksgiving Day Treat: A Pink Butterfly Cake!<br />A coworker baked this gorgeous cake, which I photographed using my phone just before she sliced into it:<br /><br /><img src="http://beaglewriter.com/blog/images/butterflycake.jpg" alt="Pink butterfly cake" /><br /><br />It was more beautiful than the picture conveys. The flowers and butterflies were edible -- the tips of the butterflies' antennae where even dipped in edible glitter! The lady who made it is a test engineer; she told me this is only the second cake she's ever baked. She made the cake from scratch (no mix), and made the butterflies and flowers herself.<br /><br />It was delicious.gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-1352640535631009892010-11-24T08:53:00.003-05:002010-11-24T09:02:43.426-05:00::smile::<br />From time to time I'm in a store and see a sign that says "Unattended children will be sold as slaves." Besides being conventional and banal, I imagine there are some times when this sign might actually encourage parents to leave their children unattended.<br /><br />Last weekend I was in a shop in Cocoa Village and saw this sign, which made me smile:<br /><br /><img src="http://beaglewriter.com/blog/images/unattendedchildren.jpg" alt="Unattended Children will be given a double espresso and a free puppy!" /><br /><br />And there was nary an unattended child in sight.gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-65242326196863610562010-11-12T06:00:00.001-05:002010-11-13T09:04:42.425-05:00This is the Way We Cook!<h2 style="padding:0;margin:0;"><em>Asina Nos ta Cushina</em></h2><br /><h3 style="padding:0;margin:0;">compiled by Jewell Fenzi</h3><br /><img src="http://beaglewriter.com/thisisthewaywecook/images/cover_sm.jpg" alt="Cover" style="float:left;padding-right:2em;padding-bottom:2em;" /><p>One of the greatest pleasures of traveling is enjoying the local cuisines. Cooking seems like such a straightforward human activity, yet each culture and even sub-culture has found food to prepare and a way to prepare and even eat it which is completely original and unique and just as amazing and enjoyable as every other culture's and even sub-culture's cuisine.</p><p>Isn't that amazing?</p><p>I mean the multiplicity of wonderful cuisines, not the really long sentence.</p><p>So isn't that at least part of why you travel? I mean, there are some people who go to Italy and eat at McDonalds, but don't <em>you</em> eat Italian? And there are some people who go to France and eat at Taco Bell, but don't <em>you</em> wallow in French? And there are some who go to Japan and camp out every mealtime at Kentucky Fried Chicken, but don't <em>you</em> seek out authentic Japanese?</p><p>I know you do.</p><p>So why is it, I ask you, that people regularly travel to the islands of the Caribbean, and proceed to dine in restaurants that feature... Italian, French, and Japanese cuisines? (Not to mention McDonalds, Taco Bell, and Kentucky Fried Chicken.) But they do. In droves. And it's not to say that the Italian, French, and Japanese restaurants in the Caribbean aren't great -- they are (I guess). But, you know, you can eat great Italian, French, and Japanese cuisine back where you live, in the great United States of America. So why wouldn't you indulge in an exquisite cuisine that you probably can't get back home, that's right at your fingertips: Caribbean cuisine!</p><p>But it seems hardly anyone does. To be fair, part of the problem seems to be in the marketing: Local Caribbean cuisines are swept under the rugs, like an embarrassing mother-in-law who drinks and wears housecoats all day, while top-notch Italian, French, and Japanese chefs are drawn to the Caribbean by the big tourist bucks. But, to be even fairer than fair, the fact is that native Caribbean cuisine is the equal of any in the world. It just gets shorted in the islands.</p><p>Why make a Federal case about all this? Well, we just got back from a visit to the Dutch West Indies, where as usual we ate some awesome West Indian meals, but, more important, we brought back a cookbook! A cookbook with an exclamation mark in the title! <em>This is the Way We Cook!</em> Subtitled, in Papiamentu, <em>Asina Nos ta Cushina</em>, which means "this is the way we cook." It's packed with recipes from the native cooks of Aruba, Bonaire, Curacao, Saba, Sint Eustatius, and Sint Maarten, as well as illustrations sketched by Helen Dovale.</p><p>And here's how this can be great for you, too: <em>This is the Way We Cook!</em> is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/This-way-cook-outstanding-Netherlands/dp/9990494371">available here from Amazon!</a> You'll notice that there are a bunch of used copies available for next-to-nothing, and new copes available for prices in the $18 range. You should have this wonderful cookbook addressing this wonderful cuisine, and if the less expensive used copies are all you can afford, then that's what you need to buy. But be aware that the writer makes no money on these sales, so if you can afford it, buying a higher-priced new copy will put a couple bucks in the writer's pocket, and I'm sure would be much appreciated.</p><p><a name="titwwcrecipelist"></a>To whet your appetite, here are a few recipes that I've reproduced from <em>This is the Way We Cook!</em> Try them, and become convinced that you need this cookbook:</p><ul style="font-family:sans-serif;"><li style="list-style-type:none;"><a href="http://beaglewriter.com/thisisthewaywecook/empana.htm">Empana (Filled Corn-Meal Crescents)</a></li><li style="list-style-type:none;"><a href="http://beaglewriter.com/thisisthewaywecook/callalusoup.htm">Callalu Soup</a></li><li style="list-style-type:none;"><a href="http://beaglewriter.com/thisisthewaywecook/keshiyena.htm">Keshi Yena (Filled Cheese Shell)</a></li><li style="list-style-type:none;"><a href="http://beaglewriter.com/thisisthewaywecook/islandcurry.htm">Island Curry</a></li><li style="list-style-type:none;"><a href="http://beaglewriter.com/thisisthewaywecook/pigeonpeasoup.htm">Pigeon Pea Soup & Dumplings</a></li><li style="list-style-type:none;"><a href="http://beaglewriter.com/thisisthewaywecook/coconutrice.htm">Coconut Milk and Coconut Rice</a></li><li style="list-style-type:none;"><a href="http://beaglewriter.com/thisisthewaywecook/pigeonpeasandrice.htm">Pigeon Peas & Rice</a></li></ul><p><em>Bon probecho!</em></p><div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'>Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.3</div>gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-12318566929233513092010-10-04T19:33:00.004-05:002010-10-05T18:02:01.301-05:00Coming home<br />Andie has been gone <br />four weeks; heartbreak still opens <br />a lonely home's door.gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-11827624860798349192010-10-03T06:35:00.002-05:002010-10-04T08:15:12.588-05:00Watch for her...<br />Judi, as we were leaving a bar-b-que restaurant last week: "I'm leaving with wings on my fingers and ribs on my toes."gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-57756265537918645902010-09-25T07:17:00.005-05:002010-09-30T18:26:48.606-05:00It's Banned Books Week again<br />Banned Books Week began this weekend! Now this is <em>my</em> idea of a holiday.<br /><br />Librarians, of course, stand at the forefront of those who battle censorship, and the American Library Association, one of the sponsors of Banned Books Week, keeps a top ten list, and you can see 2009's <a href="http://www.ala.org/ala/issuesadvocacy/banned/frequentlychallenged/21stcenturychallenged/2009/index.cfm">here</a>. A great deal has been made this year of the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of <em>To Kill a Mockingbird</em>, which is a perennial among banned books, and it's still up there and going strong. And other books that appear year after year are still secure in their places: <em>And Tango Makes Three</em>, <em>Catcher in the Rye</em>, and <em>The Color Purple</em>. The Harry Potter series has dropped off, replaced, perhaps, by the Twilight series. And I'm sure the ghost of Mark Twain is disappointed to find that <em>Huckleberry Finn</em> didn't make the cut this year.<br /><br />All of which leads me to wonder why certain books make the coveted top ten, while others do not. For example, why not <em>Their Eyes Were Watching God</em>? <em>All The Kings Men</em>? (<em>All The Kings Men</em>, by the way, was required reading when I was a sophomore in high school. When the teacher assigned it, he remarked that it was "intense," but he "hoped" it wouldn't be "too much" for us.)<br /><br />Anyway, back to which books make the list: Clearly, books are more frequently targets of censorship when they are more frequently read. Hence <em>To Kill a Mockingbird</em>, <em>Catcher in the Rye</em>, and the replacement of Potter with Twilight. But some of the others... why them and not others? <em>And Tango Makes Three</em>? Lauren Myracle's Internet Girl series?<br /><br />I've been analyzing the lists from recent years, and I'm pretty sure that if you can't write a blockbuster like <em>Catcher in the Rye</em>, but you still want to make the most-censored top ten, you should chose one of these two meal tickets: (1) Write about homosexuality, or (2) write realistically about young adults, especially girls, maturing (while Judy Blume never made the top ten list with a single book, five of her books made the list of top one-hundred challenged books of the decade of the 1990's, which makes her a rock star among the censored). If you want to really stack your deck, you should write realistically about about young lesbian girls maturing. If the young adult lesbians are realistically witches or vampires, I don't think that would hurt.<br /><br />Barring that, writing a story that portrays Christianity in a bad light is as good fallback.<br /><br />Happy Banned Books Week everyone! Read a book!gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-35954195530853755632010-08-19T05:00:00.000-05:002010-08-19T07:44:49.666-05:00Um, no<br />From time to time I teach classes where I work. In one particular class, all but one of the students arrived early. While we were waiting for the final student, the ones who were there were talking among themselves. The following snippet occurred between a young, blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman, who I will call Sue (not her real name), and a young man from India working for us on a Green Card, whom I will call Umang (not his real name). You should know that my employer bunches our holidays together so we get a week and a half or two weeks off over the Christmas and New Year holiday -- that's our "Christmas Break":<br /><br /><strong>Sue:</strong> Are you going back to India during Christmas Break, Umang?<br /><br /><strong>Umang:</strong> No.<br /><br /><strong>Sue:</strong> You did last year, didn't you?<br /><br /><strong>Umang:</strong> Yes, but it's too expensive for me to go every year. I go every other year.<br /><br /><strong>Sue:</strong> Do you even celebrate Christmas?<br /><br /><strong>Umang:</strong> No, I am a Hindi.<br /><br /><strong>Sue:</strong> Does that mean you worship the Devil?<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> <i>::head bang on podium::</i>gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-40201804704277190522010-08-15T18:40:00.001-05:002010-08-15T18:43:53.410-05:00Mid-life Crisis<br /><em>Special note: The following post was actually written two years ago, almost to the day. I thought I had posted it then -- I don't know why I didn't --but I came across it today in a folder of unposted posts, which I guess are "unposts". Two years have past, and some things have changed, but I still think it's worth posting. Here it is:</em><br /><br />One night recently Judi and I were sitting in her Florida room while it rained outside. "Look at the paver-stone walk," she said, referring to the walkway that runs in front of the butterfly gardens. "Does it remind you of somewhere we've been?"<br /><br />The walkway was puddled, and raindrops were splashing down hard. The accent lights in the butterfly garden were shining in the wet.<br /><br />Somewhere we've been? We've been to so many places. The someplaces began to flood into my mind:<br /><br />San Diego, St. Lucia, Lisbon, Atlantic City, Cedar Rapids, Key West, Los Angeles, Curacao, Dallas, Seaside Heights, Chicago, Barbados, Pensacola...<br /><br />...Palm Springs, Freeport, Barcelona, Binghamton, Bonaire, Miami Beach, Yosemite, St. Kitts and Nevis, Rome, Boston, Tortola, Madison, Daytona Beach...<br /><br />...San Francisco, St. Maarten, Naples (Italy, not Florida), New York City, San Antonio, Puerto Rico, Santa Cruz, Cannes, St. Thomas, St. Paul, St. Petersburg (Florida, not Russia)...<br /><br />...Aruba, Napa, St. Barths, Savannah, Provincetown, Las Vegas, St. John, York (Maine), Jacksonville, Nassau, Biloxi, Reno, Sanibel, Venice...<br /><br />...and how many others? But I watched the lights in the raindrop-shattered puddles, and the memory she was talking about literally bubbled up in my mind. It was a memory from almost twenty years ago:<br /><br />"New Orleans," I said, and Judi smiled brightly in the dark.<br /><br />"We were in Jackson Square," I continued. "It began to rain, and we ducked under cover. The rain cleaned off the pavement, and the lights were reflected in the water on the pavement just like that."<br /><br />The last few years, I've been going through a mid-life crisis. Nothing extraordinary, nothing worth blogging about, just the usual run-of-the-mill mid-life crisis that most men go through around my age. You know: Why haven't I accomplished more with my life? What do I have to show? I had expected so much more of myself, and now I will never achieve it: I'm on the downhill run towards death. Why did I squander my youth?<br /><br />You know, that kind of ho-hum mid-life crisis.<br /><br />But recently I've been coming to terms with it (as most men my age do). It started with the realization that if I were to be diagnosed with a fatal disease tomorrow, I would have to admit to myself that already, in my life, I have been to many extraordinary places. Already, in my life, I have seen many extraordinary things, eaten many extraordinary meals, experienced many extraordinary adventures (<em>did I ever tell you about the time...?</em>). Already, I have met many extraordinary people...<br /><br />...not to mention having had the most extraordinary of them all by my side the entire time.<br /><br />Already, I have made many extraordinary memories.<br /><br />My journey to acceptance of mortality isn't complete, but in moments like that one, that night, watching the sharply plunking raindrops send out circles of rapidly expanding light and reliving the warm, hearty memories of that New Orleans night so many years ago, I realize what it is I have, and how much more satisfying that is than dwelling on what I have not.<br /><br />I haven't lived the life I had thought I would lead. But I could have done worse. I could have done a lot worse.gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-14528592269660730832010-08-12T12:33:00.004-05:002010-08-12T13:18:17.409-05:00Is it all good?<br />A while back (okay, five years ago -- how times flies) I <a href="http://underdogishere.blogspot.com/2005/08/bless-his-heart.html">posted</a> about the magical effect of the phrase "bless his heart." Last week a coworker informed us that she nags her father, but, she added, "it's all good."<br /><br />"It's all good." Such a breezy statement. Just as it seems you can say anything bad about anyone if you include "bless his heart", you can also confess to any crime and be forgiven as long as you wrap it up with, "it's all good." The <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=it's%20all%20good">Urban Dictionary</a> has this entry for "It's all good":<blockquote>Platitude that covers so many emotions and situations that it says little; its only real meaning is that the speaker is trying to rise above whatever problem exists, without expressing their underlying negative emotions.</blockquote>Ouch. C'mon, Urban Dictionary, don't hold back.<br /><br />Anyway, as with "bless his heart," let's see how far we can push this. Let's start with the original inspiration for this post:<blockquote><em>I nag my Dad, but it's all good.</em></blockquote>Okay, she seems to be saying, "it's not like it sounds." She might even be implying (or intending to imply) that her Dad doesn't mind being nagged.<br /><br />Let's kick it up a notch:<blockquote><em>I wrecked my Dad's new car, but it's all good.</em></blockquote>Okay, we can buy this, too. Maybe Dad is simply grateful that his child wasn't hurt. And who knows? Maybe he was already regretting buying that particular model, and he's relieved that fate took it off his hands.<blockquote><em>I got mad at Dad and threw a glass and cut him over the eye, but it's all good.</em></blockquote>You know, this example begins to show the real power of "it's all good", because it works. "It's all good" is so obdurately positive that it convinces you that, somehow, something positive came out of this incident. It somehow ended well. The world is a better place for this assault and battery.<br /><br />One final try:<blockquote><em>I framed Dad for that armed bank heist that I pulled, and now he's doing twenty-five in the state pen, but it's all good.</em></blockquote>Doesn't this leave you with a sunny, happy little feeling? It <em>is</em> all good. And, somehow, we are deflected from the question of, <em>for whom?</em>gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12616741.post-56821128336492620532010-08-09T09:57:00.004-05:002010-08-09T18:41:31.759-05:00Happy Birthday, Judi!<br />Yesterday was Judi's Happy Birthday. She took the opportunity to visit the butterfly exhibit at our <a href="http://brevardzoo.org">local zoo</a>. It was her final opportunity, because, coincidentally, the limited-run butterfly exhibit ended on her birthday. The exhibit was nothing special -- Judi's own gardens and Butterfly House are more impressive, her gardens aren't on a limited run, and she's a much better guide than the largely uninformed volunteers at the zoo -- but afterwards she went into the bird house and fed the lorikeets.<br /><br />"Feeding the lorikeets" means buying a tiny cup of some sort of nectar at a booth which is outside the bird house. You realize why the booth is outside the bird house as soon as you re-enter the bird house with the tiny cup of nectar in your hand. You are expecting to freely move to the center of the bird house and hold up your tiny cup of nectar, inviting the birds to sip. What really happens is the birds (who are not stupid) dive-bomb you the instant you come through the door from the nectar booth:<br /><br /><a href="http://beaglewriter.com/blog/images/birds1.jpg"><img src="http://beaglewriter.com/blog/images/birds1_sm.jpg" alt="Judi feeding the lorikeets" style="border:none;" /></a><br /><br />But Judi surprised me and got into it:<br /><br /><a href="http://beaglewriter.com/blog/images/birds2.jpg"><img src="http://beaglewriter.com/blog/images/birds2_sm.jpg" alt="Judi feeding the lorikeets" style="border:none;" /></a><br /><br />Rock on, Judi! Although I wish you many more Happy Birthdays to come, I hope you continue to refuse to grow up.gshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01728098613576618648noreply@blogger.com0