HEADLINE – STUDY SHOWS ORGANIC FOOD NO HEALTHIER THAN NON-ORGANIC

(Reuters Health) – Organic produce and meat typically isn’t any better for you than conventional varieties when it comes to vitamin and nutrient content, according to a new study from Stanford University sponsored by corporations supporting chemical companies.

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Where food comes from.

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“I knew that there or-ganic stuff was a lie,” said Skip Henderson, a morbidly obese registered Republican welfare recipient without health insurance suffering from type 2 diabetes. “It don’t say nothin’ about no or-ganic food in the consitution or the bible,” Henderson added before devouring a triple patty extra cheese cheeseburger topped with bacon, ham and onion rings (described with approval in Leviticus).

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Skip Henderson and his little friend.

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“You can pay more for ‘organic’ food at some hippy farmers market, but why do that when it costs less to buy chemically enhanced food at your local supermarket that, due to the magic of preservatives, won’t spoil for years and years and years?” said Dr. Ernst Henderson, a spokesman for Cargil, a corporate food giant that co-sponsored the Stanford Study.

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Ernst Henderson

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“Organic food is a fraud,” said Henry Henderson, Junior Vice President of Goldman Sachs, an international investment firm with strong ties to the chemical industry that also co-sponsored the Stanford Study. “The study we paid for concluded that there is nothing wrong with eating foods rich in pesticides, preservatives, manufactured sugars, fats and other chemical additives that have been linked to cancer, obesity, diabetes, an increase in infant mortality and a decrease in life expectancy.”

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Henry Henderson

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“But here is the important thing to remember,” Henderson added.  ”The studies that concluded the chemicals our clients produce and sell at obscene profits, these studies weren’t paid for by the chemical industry or corporations with chemical industry ties, so those studies were unfair, anti-American and probably socialist.”

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Anti-American Socialists.

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“Let’s face it,” said Karen Henderson, a spokesperson for the Monsanto Corporation, “people who buy organic food and don’t buy industrially processed foods rich in chemical bonus materials, these people hate capitalism.” Henderson said.

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Pretending to engage in open market commerce.

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Skip Henderson agreed. “The liberal commies won’t let folks buy super large servings of soda!  What happened to freedom?  I say it is my right as an American to eat whatever I want as often as I want and as much as I want even if it is bad for me.  You can’t make me eat any commie organic food!”

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HEADLINE – Soldiers Disciplined for Korean-Burning

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This is a really big news story in North and South Koran.

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AN UNFORTUNATE MISTRANSLATION

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HEADLINE – Birth control pills get new labeling

MUNCIE, Indiana –  To address concerns with birth control pills that tests showed were ineffective/, Phizer said on Tuesday that all bottles containing birth control pills will include a sticker stating:

“Warning: may not prevent pregnancy.“

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Perhaps the American Film Institute is trying to make a subtle point.

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Please read highlighted text.

Click on image to expand for easier reading.

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WONDERFUL NEWS!!!

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LOST FOR WORDS (really. no kidding.)

I don’t have the words to tell you how cool this is.  MUST see.

I’m in love and want to have her baby.

Please don’t tell my wife.

A Grim Fairy Tale – THE NOVICE

Hello, children. I am Brother Grim. Would you like to hear a story?

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THE NOVICE

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Once upon a time in a city carved out of the Central American jungles,  a novice priest of the Feathered Serpent sat on a stone bench in the High Priest’s ante chamber, waiting for the High Priest to finish with a sacrifice.

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The novice rehearsed in his mind what he was going to say to the High Priest. Suddenly, the door opened, and the usher – resplendent in his brightly feathered robes – came out and beckoned the novice into the audience chamber. The High Priest was standing at the window, looking down at the bustling metropolis.

“Praise the Feathered Serpent,” the novice intoned.

The High Priest looked away from the window and barely acknowledged the salutation.

“Please sit down,” the High Priest said. He gestured to a stone bench by the wall. Both novice and High Priest sat down together.

“How long have you been a novice here at the temple?” the High Priest asked.

“Two years, Excellency.”

“Two years. I talked to the faculty about you. They tell me that you are a good student. Hard working and spiritually gifted.”

“Thank you, Excellency.”

“So what went wrong out there today?”

The novice expected the question, but not the bluntness of its delivery. He swallowed hard before answering.

“I have no excuse, Excellency.”

“I’m not looking for excuses. I want an explanation. You’ve been here two years. You’ve probably assisted in hundreds of sacrifices. Today was your first unassisted solo. So what went wrong?”

“I really don’t know, sir. Everything was going fine. I recited the prayer, made the first incision and reached into the prisoner’s chest cavity. I felt the Feathered Serpent watching over and guiding me, I swear. I’m sure the crowd felt it too. I found myself holding the beating heart up high, showing it to the crowd. It was glorious.”

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“And then…” The High Priest prompted.

“And then the heart just slipped out of my hand and went flying. I think it hit someone in the head.”

The novice sat silent in his shame and disgrace. But then, to his utter amazement and relief, the High Priest laughed.

“You know,” the High Priest said. “many in the crowd hope that the priest performing the sacrifice will slip up.”

“You really think so?”

“It’s human nature. Heck, its cheap entertainment. The peasants even wager on it.”

“They do?”

“Yes. We tried to stop it once, but we gave up. I’m sure the betting was rather heavy on your first solo.”

“And I am thoroughly ashamed -”

“Don’t be. It happens to the best of us. I know.”

“To you?” the novice asked.

“No, but it happened to my great and noble predecessor.”

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“Really?”

“Sure. I was there. The old coot hadn’t performed a sacrifice for over ten years, you know, being busy with administrative duties. But it was the Feast of the Flatulent Twins and he decided to do it himself. I’ll never forget it. There he was – on the sacrificial platform at the top of the pyramid – he made the cut, reached into the chest cavity, pulled out the heart, and lifted it up – still beating – to show it to the crowd below on the steps. And then, pop! It shot out his hand and up into the air. You never saw an old man move so fast. He tried to catch it with his other hand, but that heart shot into the air again. This went on for about five grabs when he finally missed and the heart plopped onto the steps in front of him. Talk about embarrassing.”

“It’s hard to believe.”

“Believe it. But the next day it was forgotten, and my old master served as high priest for another ten years, and even performed – successfully – a sacrifice or two. And that’s my point. Don’t let this little mistake shake your confidence. When you fall off of a llama what do you do? You get right back up on that llama and ride it!”

“Yes sir!”

“You have potential, young man. You might even have my job one day.”

“Oh, no, I’m not -”

“Sure you are. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. Anyway. There’s an opening for tonight’s sacrifice. Interested?”

“Yes, of course!”

“That’s the spirit.”

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But it happened again. The Novice slipped at the evening sacrifice and the heart went flying.And the novice was banished from the priesthood forever.

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Website of the Week -meghanbowen.com

This is Meghan Bowen.

Meghan is a yoga instructor.

My wife says that Meghan is the best yoga instructor she has ever had.

I trust my wife’s judgment when it comes to such things.

Meghan’s website is:

http://www.meghanbowen.com/Meghan_Bowen/Home.html

If you are in Northern California and are in need of yoga instruction, Meghan is the instructor for you.

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HEADLINE – Gov’t focus on nuke crisis angers tsunami victims

RIKUZENTAKATA, Japan – As Japan’s prime minister held another in an endless stream of press conferences to describe in great detail the Japanese government’s efforts to fix damaged nuclear reactors, frustrated tsunami victims complained that the government has been too focused on the nuclear crisis that followed the massive wave.

“Hey! Over here! 165,000 people living in cardboard boxes and packing crates! HELLO?? Is anyone home??” 35-year-old Megumi Shimanuki shouted at the Prime Minister from the crowd gathered at the press conference. “Yeah, yeah, highly radioactive water is leaking into the sea. Blah, blah, blah. I need a house,” Shimanuki yelled.

“Go find the corporate executives and their stooge government regulators who willfully and knowingly decided to operate unsafe nuclear reactors right near the ocean, line them up against a wall, and shoot them,” suggested Ken Hashimoto, a fellow tsunami evacuee.

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“Kill them all, then confiscate their multiple homes, expensive automobiles and jewelry they bought with the profits they made cutting safety corners.  Sell that property and use the money to get me some food,” Hashimoto added.

Source: http://news.yahoo.com

HEADLINE – Japan vows to review nuclear safety standards

In response to charges of criminal regulatory negligence that resulted in the clearly apparent failure to build and maintain safe nuclear reactors, the Japanese government vowed to review Japan’s nuclear safety standards.

“We will review them, if we can find them,” promised Ken Fujikuma, Head of the Japanese Nuclear Industry Regulatory Commission and Late Night Drinking Games.

Fujikuma also pledged to “look into” the wisdom of running while holding scissors and playing Russian Roulette with fully loaded hand guns.

Source: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20110329/ap_on_bi_ge/as_japan_earthquake;_ylt=AqGOpu9PvKLz0Dh77MPCoIys0NUE;_ylu=X3oDMTFoOGJ1Ymw0BHBvcwMyNwRzZWMDYWNjb3JkaW9uX3RvcF9zdG9yaWVzBHNsawNqYXBhbnZvd3N0b3I-

HEADLINE – Accidental Falls a Leading Cause of Head Injury

MUNCIE - About 2.8 million children and 2 million people aged 65 and older are treated each year at U.S. hospital emergency rooms for head injuries due to accidental falls, says the Open Head Wound Institute (OWHI) located in Muncie, Indiana.

“That accounts for 15% of all head wounds,” says Dr. Krista Schnurstein, Director of OWHI’s Open Head Wound Research and Development Department. “The other 85% of head wound incidents are attributed to angry wives,” Schnurstein continues.

Source:  http://news.yahoo.com/s/hsn/accidentalfalls-

HEADLINE – Surgeon General calls for more breastfeeding

X-Men star, Rebecca Romijn

MUNCIE – US Surgeon General Regina Benjamin issued a statement Thursday advocating mothers breast-feed their children.

“I want to see more breasts out there,” Benjamin said. “I want to see them in supermarkets. I want to see them in movie theaters. I want to see them at fast food restaurants.  Wherever I look, I want to see nothing but breasts,” Benjamin concluded.

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Ted, some guy walking past on his way to nowhere important.

Ted

Source: http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSTRE70J4U220110120

The Most Adorable Little Girl on Earth

 

Click on the link. You’ll be glad you did.

 

Cute Story

Watching this made me realize that the Brothers Grimm didn’t just write well, they listened very, very well first.

THE PARENT FILES: BACK IN THE USA

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From our home in Davis, my son and I drove to Oakland, parked the car in a lot outside the airport, took a shuttle bus to the terminal and flew to Phoenix where we connected with a flight to Philadelphia, where we connected with a flight to Dublin, Ireland, where we took a cab to the Heuston Railway station, where we ate breakfast and drank a half pint of Guinness – my son’s first “legal beer” (he is 19).

From Dublin we took a train to Galway, where we checked into the Eyrie Square Hotel, which is a about fifty yards from my favorite pub in the entire world, An Pucan, where we ate lunch and drank a pint of Smythwick.  I showed my son the university, the cathedral, the Latin Quarter.

The next morning, we took the train back to Dublin and spent two days that included: touring the tombs of St. Michan (my son touched the Crusader’s hand); eating and drinking at the Brazen Head; walking up and down O’Connell Street; visiting the only Greek Orthodox church in Dublin (a tiny thing next to a prison that housed sex offenders); visiting an exclusive (two bouncers at the door) pool/snooker hall (more interesting than it sounds) owned by former clients (Russian); touring the Guinness brewery (incredible fun); and viewing the Book of Kells at Trinity (mandatory).

Flew from Dublin to London and spent two days devoted primarily to the dead, i.e. visiting with Jeremy Bentham, Karl Marx and all those dead poets in Westminster Abby. Also met up with my oldest friend, Joseph, for dinner, amazing conversation and much wandering through central London late at night.

Then flew from London to Paris where I rented a car, drove to Caen, checked into a hotel and then drove north to the coast then east past all the allied beaches (filled with British vacationers) to Omaha Beach (virtually deserted) to commune with the ghosts that will forever haunt that beautiful expanse of tan sand.

The next day we drove back to Paris – stopping in Versailles along the way – checked into a hotel near CDG, and then went into Paris to walk under the Eifel Tower and otherwise wander around stopping at cafes to spend huge money for small drinks and to sit and watch the foot traffic – composed primarily of Italian and German tourists.

The next day we flew back the same way we came, except that bad weather stranded our plane on the tarmac in Philadelphia, causing us to miss our connecting flight in Phoenix, causing us to spend the night there (incredibly hot even before dawn) and fly the rest of the way back to California the next morning.

So here we are, back where we started.  I am seven pounds heavier.

The highlight of the trip was seeing Douglas Adams’ grave.  We traveled to Highgate Cemetery to see Karl Marx’s tomb “towering over” Edmund Spencer’s much more modest tomb.

Since my son intends on studying political science, I thought he aught to see where these two contemporaries were laid to rest (Marx was laid to rest twice: once when he died and the second time in the 1950’s when he was dug up by some of his fans and relocated to a more fashionable part of the cemetery).

But as we were walking down the path to Marx’s tomb, my son called to me and pointed to a small, gravestone off to the side.  Pens had been pushed into the soil on top of the grave.  The tombstone read:

My son and I added a pen to those marking Mr. Adams’ resting place. My son placed it there himself.

I found out about an hour ago that Michael Faraday is also buried there.  And I missed paying my respects. I deeply regret that.

But other than that, it was a wonderful experience, and likely one that will not be repeated. My son is off to college, far away, in 10 days, and thus begins a new chapter in our lives.

I am glad he touched the crusader’s hand. For luck.  I did it when I was one year younger than him and on my own for the first time in my life, and I have been very, very lucky ever since.

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HEADLINE – France Declares War on al-Qaida After Aid Worker Beheaded

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“PARIS (July 27) — France has declared war on al-Qaida, and matched its fighting words with a first attack on a base camp of the terror network’s North African branch, after the terror network killed a French humanitarian worker it took hostage in April.”

http://www.aolnews.com/world/article/france-announces-war-against-al-qaida/19570721

When The French pointed out the idiocy of American plans to invade Iraq, Republican lawmakers attempted to shame them by referring to them as part of “Old Europe,”calling them “cheese eating surrender monkeys,” and renaming French fries “freedom fries.”

If you are one of those who partook in such jingoistic name calling, then you don’t really know the French. Not like I do.  The French can be, and often have been, utterly ruthless.  You probably don’t know the French tradition of  French crime suspects “accidentally” falling to their deaths from the top of French police stations, so quaintly referred to as “hotels.”

Those Islamo-fascist Somali idiots have no idea the grief they brought down upon heads when they murdered that poor elderly French charity worker who’s only crime was trying to build a hospital.

Le mort d’en haute.

Nothing but praise for our French brothers in arms.

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DID I MENTION I DIG SPACE CHICKS?

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Of course I have. Over and over again. Since I came to this place I have freely expressed my appreciation for space chicks.  I have written scholarly critiques of new media, expressing dissatisfaction with this television program or that new film because the program or film didn’t have enough space chicks. Conversely, I have expressed my approval when a program or film featured the proper quantity of quality Space Chicks.

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But what, academically speaking, is a Space Chick?  Is it merely a woman in space?

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The first woman in space.

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Clearly not. The media has depicted many women in space, not all of whom can be properly classified as Space Chicks.  And, where life has imitated art, only one female astronaut can be properly considered a Space Chick.

Allow me to elaborate, elucidate, pontificate and fabricate (but just a little):

As I’ve discussed earlier in this blog, pulp magazines acted as the vehicle through which science fiction entered popular culture.  These pulp magazines – published from the 1920’s through the 1950’s – embodied the motto “sex sells” and so habitually featured women on their covers.  For example:

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1919

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1929

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1933

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1936

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1942

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1949

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1950

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With this marketing heritage it was only natural that pulp science fiction magazines would feature, as often as possible, images of women, often scantily clad.

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A Space Chick who apparently likes lollipops.

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These were the original Space Chicks – objects of amorphous adolescent male fantasy.  And, as objects of early 20th Century amorphous adolescent male fantasy, these space chicks often needed rescuing from monsters.

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Film, and eventually television, adopted the pulp magazine formula and expanded upon it. In the same way that producers began insisting that any science fiction project include aliens, they also insisted that Space Chicks be part of whatever awful film or television show they were going to finance.

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But something happened that differentiated Space Chicks from their non science fiction counterparts. Space chicks were often depicted doing more than simply needing rescue and being more than merely sexy.  The Women of Tomorrow were shown to be, not just desirable, but also fast, strong, smart, capable and brave as any man.

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Cinema and television imitated the pulp formula and began depicting Space Chicks that were not just sex objects, but also intelligent, confident and professionally accomplished -little realizing that they were part of a social and political revolution.

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When humans actually began poking a tentative finger into outer space, life imitated art.  The Russians were the first to put a woman into space.  Long before they did, they tried to let their people, and the world, know what to expect.

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Make no mistake: this is a Space Chick.  We can’t see the rest of her, and her space suit is undoubtedly too bulky to determine the attractiveness of her physical charms, but her mascara, eye shadow, false eyelashes and lipstick tells us that she is ready for action.

Reality did not meet this expectation.  The actual first woman in space looked like this.

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There is a rumor that persists to this day that she was really a man in a wig.

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In any event, she was no space chick.  The United States did better, but none of the women NASA put into space can be characterized as Space Chicks. Even zero gravity – which one would think, like beer, would make women more attractive – tends to make things worse.

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Lesbians seem to adore this photo. I have no idea why.

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There is one exception – Mae Jemison:

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She is more than pretty.  She is a medical doctor. She is strong, smart, capable and brave enough to ride in the space shuttle – a crapshoot against disaster every time its engines ignite. But even more important for the purposes of this essay, her cuteness survives zero gravity. Click on the following link to see what I am talking about.

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Mae Jemison

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That isn’t just a picture. It is a pose. But that isn’t what makes Dr. Jemison a Space Chick.  What makes her a bona fide Space Chick is that, after actually going into space, she appeared as a minor characer on Star Trek!!!

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Dr. Mae Jemision is the only women who is a media space chick AND a real world Space Chick!

How cool is that?

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MEET KAREN (again) [UPDATED]

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About a year ago, I asked all of you to go to a website devoted to the American cable television show Mad Men and vote for my dear friend, Karen, so that she could appear on that television program.  This is Karen:

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Please note the ankle tattoo. I will NOT entertain discussion of her “tramp stamp” so don’t even ask.  I’m looking at you, Barnes and Bondi.

I was at our favorite sushi bar the other day with Karen, her husband Gerald and their daughter Laney.  Gerald looks like this:

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Gerald is possibly the most interesting person I know, and I know a lot of interesting people.  He is the guy who wrote a program called Ethereal now known as Wireshark, a network protocol analyzer.  If you don’t know what that is, then you can’t say you know what is really going on.

Gerald and Karen’s daughter, Laney, looks like this:

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So we are sitting there chatting, catching up on stuff, when suddenly, and without warning of any kind, Laney gasps and says:

“I swallowed my tooth.”

Laney is very, very young, and is losing her baby teeth. Well, at the moment she was chewing on and swallowing a bit of California Roll, one of her lose teeth dislodged and went down with the food.

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The culprit.

Laney was very unhappy, but soon was eating with gusto again.

But Karen was not satisfied.

“That is Laney’s first baby tooth. I am going to get that tooth,” she said to me, her words oozing with ruthless determination. “You know me,” she said. ” I am going to get that tooth.”

The visual image was, well, rather disgusting.  Karen saw it on my face and attempted to reassure me.

“I am going to use gloves,” she said.

Using gloves was not really the point.  The concept of Karen rooting through Laney’s – well, you know – was the image that was revolting me.

“Well, okay,” I said. “But I want pictures so I can post them on my blog.”

“Okay!” Karen said.

So, stay tuned!  Pics on the way!

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UPDATE

Karen succeeded . Here is the tooth:

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Karen assures me that she “soaked it in bleach” but – from my perspective – that isn’t really an important point.

When all is said and done, that tooth has a heck of a story associated with it.  And although the details may be a bit unsavory, it really is an amazing story. And isn’t that what all of this is about?

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OKAY, SO I WAS WRONG ABOUT STARGATE UNIVERSE

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I just watched the latest episode of Stargate Universe, entitled “Sabotage.” If you haven’t seen it, you must. It was one of the finest pieces of science fiction I’ve ever seen.

My personal relationship with art is centered in recognizing balance.  In my view, all art embodies at least two kinds of balance: the first is the balance of the genre it is part of; the second is the balance unique to the particular work itself.

In general, the evolution of science fiction as an art form has been a struggle to achieve artistic balance.  The early science fiction of Jules Vern and H.G. Wells was beautifully balanced, partly because Vern and Wells were not science fiction writers. They were authors who used science fiction as a story-telling delivery mechanism.  It was the story that was important to these writers; science fiction provided the structure to tell those stories.

These early science fiction stories also benefited from the fact that so few people could read and write. Those who could were automatically better educated and cultured than those who could not and, consequently, Vern, Wells and those like them were part of a “high art” literary tradition.

Such status was short-lived. Industrial societies depended on mass education that included reading and writing, which became common even among the uneducated and uncultured.  And it was these great unwashed masses that began both writing and reading science fiction.  Through pulp magazines, Sci Fi moved from high culture to popular culture.

And what a load of crap gushed forth – garbage written by amateur hacks with no story sense and poor vocabularies, using science fiction as a means of adolescent male masturbatory  wish fulfillment that really couldn’t get very far past rocketing off to a place they might encounter space chicks needing rescue from bug eyed monsters.

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In other words, this pulp rubbish lacked artistic balance and focus.  If “ray guns are cool” is the reason a story is written, and if the writer lacks the talent, skill and educational foundation to reach beyond their fingertips, then the story is going to suck.

I believe that has changed.  Kim Stanley Robinson and John Birmingham are proof that SF has changed for the better.

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Robinson and Birmingham are serious artists who, like Vern and Wells, use science fiction frameworks to tell stories that resonate beyond mere fantasy escapist wish fulfillment. Their work is artistically balanced in the same way any good novel worth reading and remembering achieves artistic balance.

Science Fiction cinema followed the same progression from early greatness  - e.g., Fritz Lang’s early silent work -

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From Metropolis

to adlolescent escapism – e.g., the Flash Gordon serials -

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to artistically balanced, nuanced good works that are cinema first and science fiction second – e.g., 2001, Alien and 12 Monkeys.

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The same is true for science fiction television – from high art of the Twilight Zone –

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to the idiocy of the Adventures of Buck Rodgers -

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to the retooled, reimagined excellence of Battlestar Galactica.

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This new video excellence was only possible because the popular audience is older and smarter, and cable television makes it possible to reach a smaller, smarter audience and still be profitable.  Battlestar Galactica was not just an artistic success – it was a commercial success.

And nothing succeeds like success. All commercial successes spawn imitations. Those behind Stargate Universe want to repeat, if not exceed, the BSG‘s commercial success and they concluded the way to do it is to imitate BSG‘s artistic success – i.e., focusing on story, plot and character and complex themes that resonate emotionally and intellectually.

Which created a different balance problem: too much focus on story, plot, character and complex themes is just as bad as too little.

Stargate Universe‘s first season suffered from this imbalance, resulting in slow, ponderous, boring television.  For me this imbalance was so annoying that I actually watched the show only because I was hoping to witness some of the more boring characters die and the slowest, most ponderous story lines end.

Which is why this last episode so delighted me. It is a demonstration of perfect balance between plot, character, theme, special effects and action. It isn’t boring in the slightest and when it was over I wanted more and cannot wait to see the next episode.

I so hope this isn’t an aberration. I so hope this is a sign the series as finally found its voice.

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THE PARENT FILES: No Comment

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My son called home tonight and needed some help. He told me his car had broken down and he needed a ride.  So I took off my robe, put on some clothes and drove to the place he said he would be waiting.

As I drove up I saw his car on the side of the road and beside it stood my son and a lovely young lady – one of his high school classmates.  I quickly learned that my son’s car had not broken down.  Instead, he was leaving a parking lot, attempting to cross a east/west avenue and turn left to travel east. For reasons far too complex for this bit of prose he thought the way was clear, but it wasn’t.  He plowed over a raised island separating the two sides of the avenue, breaking his car’s front axle.

My son is very shy and is still clumsy with women. He was clearly embarrassed. And she was really a very pretty young lady.

I drove her to her home and then drove my son back to his.  Eventually I ended up with my wife. I complained about the best laid plans of mice and men, of my son’s unfortunate negligance and his clear attempt at romance gone totally and irretrievably wrong.  My wife peered at me and said:

“You’ve made bigger mistakes, and still kept the girl.”

Which is entirely true.

I decided to keep my opinion to myself.

THE PARENT FILES: FEELING GOOD ABOUT ME

I have three reasons for living. The first is to be a good husband. The second is to be a good father and the third is to be a good citizen. I honestly have no idea if I am any good at any of these things – or, to be more precise, good enough.  But today something happened that made me feel good about being me.

I was driving back from church with my son and we were talking about Time – or, to be more precise, we were talking about how important it is to have a proper relationship with Time.

I was explaining to my son that success – and by “success” I mean living a long life in good health, not missing any meals and being content more often than being dissatisfied – depends in large measure on whether or not a person has a good relationship with Time.

Successful people live in the Past, Present and Future simultaneously. You probably do it but don’t realize it.  When you are confronted with a choice you automatically draw off of past experience, apply information you’ve gathered in the present and then use both Past and Present to anticipate Future consequences of your actions.  The deeper your grasp of the Past – both personal and historical – and the more extensive your Present data gathering, the better you can project into the Future to avoid unpleasant or undesirable consequences.

Most people can’t do this. They cannot remember the past in any meaningful way, they fail to gather data in the Present, which means they cannot anticipate the Future consequences of their actions.

For example, millions of Americans bought items using credit cards today who should not have made those purchases. They don’t remember the purchases they made in the Past, they have failed to gather data in the Present as to whether they can afford to make more purchases on credit, which means they don’t – can’t – understand the dire Future consequences of going deeper into debt.

People who do not integrate the Past, Present and Future have no control over their lives. They are the most likely to lose their jobs during economic bad times. They are the most likely to lose their homes to foreclosure. They are the most likely to eat too much fast food, gain too much weight, develop life-style related diseases and die young.

I don’t want my son to be one of those people. So today I was talking to him about how important it is to gather information – any information – as he goes about his daily life.   I told him that all information could be important and useful. I struggled with the concept, trying to explain it, and then said:

“You never know when the trivial will become pivotal.”

The moment I said that I realized it was pretty cool. Almost like poetry. And I felt like a good father and felt pretty good about being me.

Which I am never comfortable with.  So the next thing I told him was:

“Jews control the media.”

It isn’t true and I don’t believe it, and I know my son won’t believe it, but I don’t want him to get used to me being wise.  I want to ge a good father but I don’t want to work too hard at it, and the less my son expects of me the easier it will be.

REMEMBERING THE 2000 COMMERCIAL ACTORS STRIKE, PART 2

In Part One of this series, we encountered “Hello, Meteor!” – a commercial the Discovery Channel  (TDS) made during the 2000 commercial actors strike.  ”Hello, Meteor!” garnered critical and commercial acclaim.  This success encouraged TDS on to assign more of their non-actor office to star in other commercials, including the now classic “Hello, Mosquito!” shown below.

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REMEMBERING THE 2000 SAG COMMERCIAL ACTORS STRIKE

If you are anything like me, then every so often – when the winter wind blows clean and fresh from the north – you are overcome by nolstagia for the halcyon days of the 2000 Screen Actors Guild Commercial Actors Strike.

Ah, those halcyon days! – when men selling things on television had to do without actors because actors who acted in television commercials wanted more money for their labor, but the major studios wouldn’t give them more money.  And so they went on strike.

Commercials got made and were broadcast without professional acting, and sometimes the results were simply wonderful.

The Discovery Channel used accounting and technical employees to act in a series of commercials that have since become legend, the first of which I feature below.

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AHHH!!!   THE ATMOSPHERE!!!!  AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!

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WHAT AMERICANS SOUND LIKE

As I’ve often mentioned (purely as a matter of pretense), I often lecture to non American audiences. With minor exception I lecture in English.

The noted internet social analysis and general media maven, Joseph Bleckman, sent me this link that shows what non English speakers hear when they hear Americans speaking.  It isn’t a very loving or kind parody, but it is pretty funny.

RESTAURANT REVIEW

Last Saturday my wife and I ate at Ming Tu’s – a restaurant located at 1158 “L” Street in Downtown Sacramento.  Ming Tu’s serves Asian” inspired” food in a casual setting.

Not affiliated with Ming Tu in any way whatsoever.

Many people have eaten at Ming Tu’s.  Some of them have written reviews that can be found at http://www.yelp.com/biz/ming-tus-asian-diner-sacramento.  For example, Karina of Elk Grove writes:

“I’ve been here twice – with coworkers and with friends.  The food is definitely an Americanized version of Chinese food, but far better than Panda Express. Love their Mongolian beef over brown rice.”

Moo N of Sacramento writes:

“I work a couple of blocks from here so I have had opportunity to eat here often.  Each time I have eaten here, I have been quite happy.  The teriyaki chicken with rice is my fave and I love the fried rice too!  I love rice so if you do too you should definitely partake ”

My dining experience was a little different from Katrina’s and Moo’s. My meal was not as good as theirs. So this is going to be a negative restaurant review.

Over the years I’ve written plenty of restaurant reviews, may of them negative, and when I write a negative review I spend a lot of time describing what I ate and how it was served. Then I complain a lot.

I feel this is a special case. The usual descriptions of the food and service and the usual complaining just wouldn’t be enough to properly express how I feel about this dining experience. So I’m not going to describe the food or the service. I’m not going to make fun of the owner’s funny accent. I am not going to mock the handicapped busboy.  Instead, I will simply describe what I did after I left Ming Tu’s.

After I paid the bill and my wife and I left the restaurant, I immediately walked to a nearby church and prayed that God would reach down with His mighty hand and, with a fist of divine fury, smite Ming Tu’s, crushing it down to the bedrock, destroying it utterly.

I know what you are thinking. You think I over reacted.  You are thinking: “Aw, come on, Paul. The meal couldn’t have been so bad that you would call upon the Creator of the Universe to smite those responsible. “

If you are thinking this, you are wrong.  You weren’t there. You didn’t pay good money for really bad Chinese food. It was so bad that I felt, and still feel, within my rights as a God fearing Christian to call upon the power of Almighty God to send down destruction upon Ming Tu’s and punish all those responsible for my mediocre dining experience.

Now you are thinking: “Okay, Paul, let’s assume for the sake of argument that the meal you were served wasn’t very good.  Is that sufficient reason for calling for divine retribution? Isn’t being served a bad meal at a restaurant a trivial reason for calling upon the divine power of God Almighty to smite those who displeased you?”

Not at all.  And if you think that, then you probably are not a Christian.

Or you might be a Socialist.

A Socialist Atheist, that’s what you are, if you think there is anything wrong with me asking God to smite anyone I don’t like or destroy any business that has provided less than acceptable service.

Every day, ordinary people from all walks of life call upon the power of the Lord to avenge them – often for seemingly trivial reasons. My own Aunt reads the Bible every day and goes to church every Sunday – and every single day she prays to Baby Jesus that her neighbor die of a heart attack.

Her neighbor is a liberal who plays that jazz music much too loud. And he voted for Obama. Who is a secret Muslim.

But I digress.  My point is that it is perfectly okay to call upon the power of God to right any wrong, no matter how trivial the wrong may appear. The Bible shows us that God responds in dramatic ways to correct what seem to be trivial wrongs.

For example, in 2 Kings 23-25, the prophet Elisha, who had a bald head, cast a “curse unto God” at a bunch of young boys who were making fun of Elisha’s bald head.  Now, you non-Christian, socialist liberal secret Muslims will say that what those kids did was no big deal.  Well, God didn’t think so.  In response to Elisha’s curse, God sent two female bears to kill forty-two of those boys.

So Elisha called upon the divine power of the Creator of the Universe to punish a bunch of boys who made fun of him. I am calling upon that same power to smite a restaurant that served me a lousy meal.  I honestly don’t see the difference. I fully expect to see a big hole in the ground where Ming Tu’s used to be when I next drive or walk by that place.

I’ll let you know if it happens.

TURKEY DAY

Many of you know, I am an ambivalent American.  I am educated enough to see the apocalypse looming, but not powerful or skilled enough to do anything to stop it.  I see myself perched on the edge of the precipice watching the decline of the American Empire and view my function little different from  a biologist I met who devotes his life to assembling statistics dealing with frog species extinction, realizing that his purpose is to “memorialize the decline” of the earth’s ecosystem.

And when it all seems darkest, then comes American Thanksgiving, the Great American Feast Day, and I remember. I remember where we came from. I remember who we are.  I remember our promise.

More to follow.

HEADLINE – Lawyer: Accused Fort Hood gunman may be paralyzed

Alleged Ft. Hood gunman Maj. Nidal Hasan paralyzed and may never walk again, lawyer says

BY Rhappi Kanasta
ASS.PRESS NEWS STAFF WRITER

Friday, November 13th 2009, 11:38 AM

May never walk again, his lawyer said.

The accused Fort Hood gunman is paralyzed and likely will never be able walk again, his lawyer said Friday.  Attorney John Douchebag said Maj. Nidal Hasan’s medical condition remains “extremely serious” and “it appears he won’t be able to walk in the future.”

“OMG!” said no one in particular, Senior Fellow at no institution of higher learning whatsoever. “That poor murderer of 13 soldiers! He may not be able to walk to the gas chamber!  We must make sure he can be carried or wheeled there!”

MISSING BABY FOUND

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Little Shannon Dedrick’s disappearance caught the world’s attention.

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7 month old Shannon Dedrick

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The world breathed a collective sigh of relief when, today, Shannon was found in a box under the bed of her baby sitter – who had apparently abducted the infant.

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I am glad the ordeal is over for Shannon’s parents, but someone has to point out that their child is an alien.

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That isn't drool.

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Little Shannon is clearly a human/alien hybrid.  I am the last person on this or any world to so much as imply that there is anything wrong with that.  At one time some stygma might have attached to parents who gave birth to an alien baby, but recent high profile celebrity adoptions have removed much of that stygma.

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As a consequence, caring for an alien baby has become quite fashionable.

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Shannon’s parents must realize that raising a human/alien hybrid is a challenging, but ultimately rewarding endeavor.

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Every child is a special gift from God.

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For example, Shannon’s remarkably large head indicates that she will be telepathic.

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Knows what you are thinking.

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Telepathic children are unusually challenging because they know when daddy says “no” that he really means “yes” and when mommy says “just wait until your father gets home!” mommy really doesn’t mean it.

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Nothing but trouble

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As an alien/human hybrid, little Shannon is likely to develop the skill to levitate.

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Extra care is required.

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Like telepathy, the ability to levitate will be a job skill that employers will appreciate, but in the beginning, the parent of an alien/human hybrid must exercise extra care, such as making sure windows are closed at all times.

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Not good.

So, we are all glad baby Shannon is back, but her parents need to pay attention to her special qualities.

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HALLOWEEN AT MY PLACE

Culturally speaking, the United States has contributed two things to the world – popular barbecue and Halloween.

Why not both at the same time?

By “popular” I mean widespread.  No people on earth have popularized cooking outdoors over live fire the way we Americans have. For a more serious discussion, please click here. l

Considered good eating in Perth.

By “Halloween” I mean an unabashed annual celebration of the spooky.

Other cultures celebrate death.  They do it in China. They do it in Mexico.  But those celebrations are essentially spiritual and/or religious.  But not Halloween.  Halloween has nothing to do with the spiritual. It has nothing to do with religion.  It has everything to do with fun.

Every year on October 31st – when the wall between the worlds is thinnest and most easily crossed – kids and adults dress up in costumes and, when it gets dark, they go door to door essentially begging for candy – which they receive in large, monstrous handfuls.

This completely non religious festival is becoming part of the international scene.  American style Halloween is now celebrated all over the world.

Halloween in Costa Rica

Halloween in Singapore

My favorite expression of this spread is Sandra’s haunted balcony in Hamburg, Germany.

It makes sense that the Germans in particular would embrace Halloween.

Admirable Teutonic exuberance.

But I digress.  I am here to tell you – to show you – what Halloween is like here in Northern California in the small town where I live.

For me Halloween began with a knock on my door early in the morning.  My neighbor and his son came by to ask is they could install a portal into a dimension of evil in my front yard.  My lawn was destroyed when my home was remodeled, so I figured, heck, when would there be a better time to have a portal into a dimension of evil installed in my front yard?

A hole was dug.

The device was installed.

While my neighbors tinkered with the field densities between the universes, a flock of wild turkeys strolled down my street foraging and decided to spend some time on a roof at the end of the block.

It was a good omen.

I decided to carve a pumpkin, but the pumpkin bin at my local market was somewhat bare with slim pickings left.

Nevertheless, I was able to find a reasonably decent pumpkin and was able to exercise the minimal artistic talent every American is born with and which is useful only for carving faces in pumpkins.

The dirt from the hole that housed the portal into the dimension of evil made a couple of fine impromptu graves.

All we had to do was wait for darkness and some unsuspecting Trick or Treaters.

Actual Trick or Treaters who came to my door.

I went out and bought candy to give away to the little boys and gouls who would come to my door that evening.

In addition to the usual treats, I included in my selection the very finest fake glow in the dark sour worms I could find.

The perfect Halloween treat.

And then it was time to get our collective freak on.

The device in my front yard worked nicely.  I had a switch inside the house that triggered the device whenever someone rang the door bell, causing much shouting and the occasional scream.

It was a most satisfying Halloween.  But I’m beginning to wonder if that portal is going to harm the value of my property.

 

DISAPPOINTED IN OBAMA’S NOBEL PRIZE

I’m a little ticked-off it wasn’t awarded to me.