the pup is on vacation.
the good news is that modern hotels, even cheap ones, have wireless access. The expensive water park the children and grandchildren stayed at had only "old-fashioned" ethernet.
and they made money selling the access cables.
so it all started on a warm last day of autumn in Kennesaw. I left the house, got gas, went back for missing items, went to Publix for ice, went back home, and finally left Kennesaw via US41.
what a shock crossing Lake Alatoona. there really is no water in it.
swiftly passing through GA, got to TN. a mess of traffic on I40/75 in west Knoxville. luckily there are now lots of lanes.
KY was mostly uneventful until I reached Ft Mitchell
I exited I75 at Buttermilk Pike. I began to feel an emotion rise up in me I could not name. I stopped at Blessed Sacrament Church but it was locked.
I went down Highland past Gertrude's house, then past 217, our old house. The neighborhood looks so small now. Cozy. Yet I was about to cry.
This didn't happen the last time when Kat was with me. But then it was day and not Christmas, and I was not alone.
I went to City Hall. The black stone monument still does not have Dad's name -- 22 yrs of service not worth remembering.
Then down Greenbriar, to Kroger's across from the cemetary, and onto 75N.
As I was passing King's Island, I saw a sign for Great Wolf Lodge. Large living quarters -- maybe 7 stories high, but smallish water park w/limited # of slides. Price about the same as Kalahari/Sandusky.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
A Christmas Story #3 - Even a stray cat
Any student of the 20th century would affirm that the Holocaust was one of the darkest chapters of modern history. Yet within that nightmare, there were in moments of humanity and life-giving compassion.
In August of 1942 my mother was one of the last survivors of the Lutsk ghetto in Poland. A young girl, not yet 20 years old, her life was saved by the miraculous appearance of one righteous Christian after another. No one could ever know why she was spared and her parents, her brothers and other family members were so brutally murdered. Evangelical Christians, farmers and peasants, each arriving at a precise life-saving moment, hid her in attics, cellars and chicken coops.
Fania Paszt's story began on 1942Aug19 when a Christian peasant came into the ghetto and proposed a plan to hide my mother's family in the town. Not wanting to jeopardize her entire family with a risky plan, my mother tore off her yellow Jewish star patch, covered her head with a shawl, and set out with the peasant to test the escape route. She left behind her entire family.
While leaving the ghetto she noticed an unusually large number of Ukrainian police, German soldiers, SS and Gestapo. Luck was with her and the escape route worked. The next morning, she attempted to return to the ghetto and smuggle out the rest of her family. The Ukrainian police, certain that she was a Ukrainian Christian, informed her that it was no longer possible to enter the ghetto - "something was about to take place."
Jews had lived in Lutsk since the tenth century and had flourished with the city as it became a political and economic center in the mid-sixteenth century. But on the morning of Aug.20, an order had been given to end that history once and for all. In the next two days, 17,000 Jews from the ghetto were led to the Polanka Hill on the outskirts of the city and thrown live into pits and machine gunned to death. Every Jew was murdered, including the leaders of the Judenrat and the Jewish police.
Having lost everything and everyone, my mother stayed hidden in the flue of the peasant's country oven.
But on 1942Dec24, Fania Paszt's luck seemed to run out. The Ukrainian peasant who had saved her life understood the risk to his own by continuing to harbor her, and threw her out of his house. This time there was no savior. She wandered the dirt roads of the Polish countryside, freezing cold in her tattered dress. As night descended, she knew her life was at its end. She recognized the home of the county warden and began to walk up its path. The warden's dogs jumped on her, ripped her dress and bit her. The warden, alerted by the barking, came out with a gun in hand.
The next morning, fearful that he could be killed for saving a Jew, he took her into town and gave her over to a Christian family.
Three more righteous Christians were to appear magically in her life until she descended from an attic during the Russian liberation of Lutsk in 1944.
Only decades later did I learn of the Polish expression,
Though a series of six righteous Christians had appeared miraculously to try and save my mother's life, on the evening of Dec24, my mother was abandoned like a stray cat in the Polish countryside. At that precise moment, God had to invoke Christmas Eve to save her life.
I am proud of my rich Jewish heritage and of my calling as a rabbi, but I will never forget the legacy that Christmas saved my mother's life. On this, the Eve of Christmas, peace on earth, goodwill to all men.
Merry Christmas, from a rabbi.
Rabbi Abie Ingber
[I got this from my mother so it is probably from a Cincinnati newspaper in the 1980s-1990s.]
In August of 1942 my mother was one of the last survivors of the Lutsk ghetto in Poland. A young girl, not yet 20 years old, her life was saved by the miraculous appearance of one righteous Christian after another. No one could ever know why she was spared and her parents, her brothers and other family members were so brutally murdered. Evangelical Christians, farmers and peasants, each arriving at a precise life-saving moment, hid her in attics, cellars and chicken coops.
Fania Paszt's story began on 1942Aug19 when a Christian peasant came into the ghetto and proposed a plan to hide my mother's family in the town. Not wanting to jeopardize her entire family with a risky plan, my mother tore off her yellow Jewish star patch, covered her head with a shawl, and set out with the peasant to test the escape route. She left behind her entire family.
While leaving the ghetto she noticed an unusually large number of Ukrainian police, German soldiers, SS and Gestapo. Luck was with her and the escape route worked. The next morning, she attempted to return to the ghetto and smuggle out the rest of her family. The Ukrainian police, certain that she was a Ukrainian Christian, informed her that it was no longer possible to enter the ghetto - "something was about to take place."
Jews had lived in Lutsk since the tenth century and had flourished with the city as it became a political and economic center in the mid-sixteenth century. But on the morning of Aug.20, an order had been given to end that history once and for all. In the next two days, 17,000 Jews from the ghetto were led to the Polanka Hill on the outskirts of the city and thrown live into pits and machine gunned to death. Every Jew was murdered, including the leaders of the Judenrat and the Jewish police.
Having lost everything and everyone, my mother stayed hidden in the flue of the peasant's country oven.
But on 1942Dec24, Fania Paszt's luck seemed to run out. The Ukrainian peasant who had saved her life understood the risk to his own by continuing to harbor her, and threw her out of his house. This time there was no savior. She wandered the dirt roads of the Polish countryside, freezing cold in her tattered dress. As night descended, she knew her life was at its end. She recognized the home of the county warden and began to walk up its path. The warden's dogs jumped on her, ripped her dress and bit her. The warden, alerted by the barking, came out with a gun in hand.
Please shoot me,my mother begged.
Let me share the fate of my family.
I cannot kill you tonight,responded the official. He took her inside, fed her, gave her a new dress and a place to sleep.
The next morning, fearful that he could be killed for saving a Jew, he took her into town and gave her over to a Christian family.
Three more righteous Christians were to appear magically in her life until she descended from an attic during the Russian liberation of Lutsk in 1944.
Only decades later did I learn of the Polish expression,
On Christmas Eve, even a stray cat is allowed to live.
Though a series of six righteous Christians had appeared miraculously to try and save my mother's life, on the evening of Dec24, my mother was abandoned like a stray cat in the Polish countryside. At that precise moment, God had to invoke Christmas Eve to save her life.
I am proud of my rich Jewish heritage and of my calling as a rabbi, but I will never forget the legacy that Christmas saved my mother's life. On this, the Eve of Christmas, peace on earth, goodwill to all men.
Merry Christmas, from a rabbi.
Rabbi Abie Ingber
[I got this from my mother so it is probably from a Cincinnati newspaper in the 1980s-1990s.]
A Christmas Story #2 - Listen to the angels singing
Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.
We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read scriptures.
But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.
Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see.
We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load.
Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on.
When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"
"You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight.
Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"
"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him.
We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand.
"What's in the little sack?" I asked.
"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the wood-pile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."
We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our concern.
We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door.
We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"
"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all.
Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children -- sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last.
I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.
"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up."
I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too.
In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference.
I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people. I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.
Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older brothers and two older sisters were all married and had moved away. Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, 'May the Lord bless you.' I know for certain that He will."
Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.
For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.
- Rian B. Anderson
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.
We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read scriptures.
But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.
Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see.
We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load.
Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on.
When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"
"You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight.
Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"
"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him.
We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand.
"What's in the little sack?" I asked.
"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the wood-pile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."
We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our concern.
We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door.
We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"
"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all.
Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children -- sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last.
I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.
"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up."
I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too.
In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference.
I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people. I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.
Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older brothers and two older sisters were all married and had moved away. Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, 'May the Lord bless you.' I know for certain that He will."
Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.
For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.
- Rian B. Anderson
Christmas Greetings
Great joy to thee
Good friend of mine,
And May thy joy be,
In giving of thyself for him
Who gave himself for thee
Remember Him
Good friend of mine
And what he said to thee
And what he said to me
"Do unto others as thou would'st
Have them do to thee."
Good fortune friend
In the New Year
And may thy fortune be
The love of folk and loving them
Who love or love not thee.
- Richard Orme Flinn 1962 q.Celestine Sibley
Good friend of mine,
And May thy joy be,
In giving of thyself for him
Who gave himself for thee
Remember Him
Good friend of mine
And what he said to thee
And what he said to me
"Do unto others as thou would'st
Have them do to thee."
Good fortune friend
In the New Year
And may thy fortune be
The love of folk and loving them
Who love or love not thee.
- Richard Orme Flinn 1962 q.Celestine Sibley
wait for the reindeer solo - then echoes of the past
Joshua Held 2002 [2008 - cobweb -- the website may be back]
and from the wayback files
http://puptrax.blogspot.com/2006/12/christmas-eve-in-iraq-from-my-son.html
simplicity
a Christmas story #1
not the usual Christmas story
Which Holiday Relative Are You?
and from the wayback files
http://puptrax.blogspot.com/2006/12/christmas-eve-in-iraq-from-my-son.html
simplicity
a Christmas story #1
not the usual Christmas story
Which Holiday Relative Are You?
Thursday, December 13, 2007
son report
As of December the 1st, I'm no longer a Polar Bear. My reassignment from Battalion Headquarters to Brigade Headquarters stripped me of my 31st Infantry Regimental Crest but moved me higher up the food chain and further from the fight. 4-31 conducted their Change of Command Ceremony yesterday, 2nd Brigade will do so today.
By Michelle Tan - Staff writer
Posted : Tuesday Dec 11, 2007 5:33:35 EST
Col. Michael Kershaw will relinquish command Tuesday of 2nd Brigade,10th Mountain Division, during a ceremony at Fort Drum NY. Kershaw,who led the brigade during its recent 15-month deployment to Iraq, will turn over command of the brigade to Col. David Miller, whose previous assignment was at Fort Polk LA. Kershaw will leave Fort Drum for Fort Sam Houston, TX. The change of command ceremony is scheduled for 10 am at Magrath Gym. The brigade, known as the “Commando Brigade,” deployed to Iraq in 2006Aug. The soldiers served in south Baghdad and returned to Fort Drum in November of this year. Two of the brigade’s soldiers, Spc. Alex Jimenez, 25, and Pvt. Byron Fouty, 19, remain missing in Iraq. The soldiers disappeared May12 in an ambush that also claimed the lives of seven fellow soldiers and one Iraqi interpreter. Jimenez and Fouty, of 4th Battalion, 31st Infantry Regiment, are listed as missing/captured. Soldiers from 3rd Brigade, 101st Airborne Division, who replaced 2nd Brigade, 10th Mountain Division, in Iraq, continue to search for Jimenez and Fouty.
By Michelle Tan - Staff writer
Posted : Tuesday Dec 11, 2007 5:33:35 EST
Col. Michael Kershaw will relinquish command Tuesday of 2nd Brigade,10th Mountain Division, during a ceremony at Fort Drum NY. Kershaw,who led the brigade during its recent 15-month deployment to Iraq, will turn over command of the brigade to Col. David Miller, whose previous assignment was at Fort Polk LA. Kershaw will leave Fort Drum for Fort Sam Houston, TX. The change of command ceremony is scheduled for 10 am at Magrath Gym. The brigade, known as the “Commando Brigade,” deployed to Iraq in 2006Aug. The soldiers served in south Baghdad and returned to Fort Drum in November of this year. Two of the brigade’s soldiers, Spc. Alex Jimenez, 25, and Pvt. Byron Fouty, 19, remain missing in Iraq. The soldiers disappeared May12 in an ambush that also claimed the lives of seven fellow soldiers and one Iraqi interpreter. Jimenez and Fouty, of 4th Battalion, 31st Infantry Regiment, are listed as missing/captured. Soldiers from 3rd Brigade, 101st Airborne Division, who replaced 2nd Brigade, 10th Mountain Division, in Iraq, continue to search for Jimenez and Fouty.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
where does he get the energy?
Cliff Card was browsing the Web to read about the newly elected PM of Australia and came across the opening sentence of the biography entry in Wikipedia for Mr Rudd's wife: "Thérèse Rein is the 26th Spouse of the Prime Minister of Australia." Busy man. [Ms Rein is actually the spouse of the 26th Prime Minister of Australia.]
[[So powerful is the World Wide Words website that, subsequent to this posting, the bio entry was changed. See link in the sidebar.]]
[[So powerful is the World Wide Words website that, subsequent to this posting, the bio entry was changed. See link in the sidebar.]]
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Friday, December 7, 2007
AMEN
I also have a rule of never donating money or buying anything from anyone that calls my house. I don't care if you are selling the greatest product/service on the planet or your organization is only a hundred dollar donation away from curing cancer. I will not reward any organization or person that harasses me by calling my house. - Aggie-master
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
thoughts on marriage
If you want someone who will eat whatever you put in front of him and never says its not quite as good as his mother made it:
Then buy a dog.
If you want someone always willing to go out, at any hour, for as long and wherever you want:
Then buy a dog.
If you want someone who will never touch the remote, doesn't care about football, and can sit next to you as you watch romantic movies:
Then buy a dog.
If you want someone who is content to get up on your bed just to warm your feet and whom you can push off if he snores:
Then buy a dog.
If you want someone who never criticizes what you do, doesn't care if you are pretty or ugly, fat or thin, young or old, who acts as if every word you say is especially worthy of listening to, and loves you unconditionally, perpetually:
Then buy a dog.
But, on the other hand, if you want someone who will never come when you call, ignores you totally when you come home, leaves hair all over the place, walks all over you, runs around all night and only comes home to eat and sleep, and acts as if your entire existence is solely to ensure his happiness:
Then buy a cat!
Then buy a dog.
If you want someone always willing to go out, at any hour, for as long and wherever you want:
Then buy a dog.
If you want someone who will never touch the remote, doesn't care about football, and can sit next to you as you watch romantic movies:
Then buy a dog.
If you want someone who is content to get up on your bed just to warm your feet and whom you can push off if he snores:
Then buy a dog.
If you want someone who never criticizes what you do, doesn't care if you are pretty or ugly, fat or thin, young or old, who acts as if every word you say is especially worthy of listening to, and loves you unconditionally, perpetually:
Then buy a dog.
But, on the other hand, if you want someone who will never come when you call, ignores you totally when you come home, leaves hair all over the place, walks all over you, runs around all night and only comes home to eat and sleep, and acts as if your entire existence is solely to ensure his happiness:
Then buy a cat!
Y'all be careful out there
A Minneapolis couple decided to go to Florida to thaw out during a particularly cold winter. They planned to stay at the same hotel where they spent their honeymoon forty years earlier. Now, because of their very hectic schedule, it was difficult to coordinate their travel plans. So the husband left Minneapolis and flew to Florida on Friday, and his wife was going to fly there the following day. The husband checked into the hotel, but unlike when they were there the first time forty years earlier, there was a computer in the room and he decided to send an email to his wife. As he typed out the address, however, he accidentally made a one-letter mistake in the email address.
Meanwhile, in Houston TX, a Baptist pastor had just had a heart attack and died. His wife returned home from the funeral and decided to check her email, thinking that there might be messages from relatives and so on. After reading the first message, she screamed and fainted dead away. The widow's son rushed into the room and found his mother on the floor. He then saw the computer screen, and here is what it said:
"To my darling wife, I know that you are surprised to hear from me. They have computers here now and you're allowed to send emails to your loved ones. I've just arrived and checked in. I see that everything's been prepared for your arrival tomorrow, and I look forward to seeing you then. I hope your journey is as uneventful as mine was.
"P.S. It sure is hot down here!" - Warren & Phyllis Spielmann
Meanwhile, in Houston TX, a Baptist pastor had just had a heart attack and died. His wife returned home from the funeral and decided to check her email, thinking that there might be messages from relatives and so on. After reading the first message, she screamed and fainted dead away. The widow's son rushed into the room and found his mother on the floor. He then saw the computer screen, and here is what it said:
"To my darling wife, I know that you are surprised to hear from me. They have computers here now and you're allowed to send emails to your loved ones. I've just arrived and checked in. I see that everything's been prepared for your arrival tomorrow, and I look forward to seeing you then. I hope your journey is as uneventful as mine was.
"P.S. It sure is hot down here!" - Warren & Phyllis Spielmann
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
picture show: moon over my ami - or
I thought your husband/wife was at work/out of town/out of the country.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Kegel alert (i.e. a pun time in the old town tonight)
A man was in his back yard using a weed eater to trim grass along the edge of his house when his wife's cat got in the way and the man cut its tail off. He immediately put the cat and the tail into the trunk of his car and headed to Wal-Mart because he had heard that Wal-Mart was the largest and most active retailer in the United States.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Property tax by state
http://articles.moneycentral.msn.com/Taxes/Advice/PropertyTaxesWhereDoesYourStateRank.aspx
btw after 62 I pay now no school property tax. when I turn 65 there will be no more city property tax.
compare rankings (Median tax, Tax as % of home value, Tax as % of Income)
NY (4,16,7)
PA (14,9,10)
MD (13 29 21)
OR (16,22,14)
OH (21,15,20)
FL (22,28,19)
VA (24,35,30)
GA (35,32,37)
KY (43,36,40)
AR (46,42,46)
The best and worst states for taxes
btw after 62 I pay now no school property tax. when I turn 65 there will be no more city property tax.
compare rankings (Median tax, Tax as % of home value, Tax as % of Income)
NY (4,16,7)
PA (14,9,10)
MD (13 29 21)
OR (16,22,14)
OH (21,15,20)
FL (22,28,19)
VA (24,35,30)
GA (35,32,37)
KY (43,36,40)
AR (46,42,46)
The best and worst states for taxes
Monday, November 19, 2007
Sic! Let's hope this is a mixed metaphor
Underwater windmill helps power Artic village - National Geographic News
[Whose wind is it any way? Whales?]
Related stories - also National Geographic
The future of alternative energy
Students take veggie-fueled "BioBus" on eco road trip
[cabbage? broccoli? Are the students "veggie-fueled", the bus or both?]
[Whose wind is it any way? Whales?]
Related stories - also National Geographic
The future of alternative energy
Students take veggie-fueled "BioBus" on eco road trip
[cabbage? broccoli? Are the students "veggie-fueled", the bus or both?]
More on squash
In an interesting experiment at Amherst College (Massachusetts) a band of steel was secured around a young squash. As the squash grew, it exerted pressure on the steel band. Researchers wanted to know just how strong a squash could be, so they measured the force it brought to bear on its constraints. They initially estimated that it might be able to exert as much as 500 pounds of pressure.
In one month, the squash was pressing 500 pounds. In two months it was applying 1,500 pounds and, when it reached 2,000 pounds, researchers had to strengthen the steel band. The squash eventually brought 5,000 pounds of pressure to bear on the band -- when the rind split open.
They opened it up and found it to be inedible, as it was filled with tough, course fibers that had grown to push against its constraints. The plant required great amounts of nutrients to gain the strength needed to break its bonds, and its roots extended great distances in all directions. This amazing squash had single-handedly taken over the garden space.
We have no idea just how strong we really can be! If a squash can exert that much physical pressure, how much more strength can human beings apply to a situation?
Most of us are stronger than we realize. I am told that it was Eleanor Roosevelt who observed, "A woman is like a tea bag; you never know how strong she is until she gets into hot water." (I suspect the same is true of men, but that's only speculation. ha-ha....
Does an obstacle you are presently facing loom large before you? Does it seem just too big? Perhaps overwhelming? If so, remember the squash. Its single-minded purpose was to break the bonds which held it. If you patiently focus your energy -- what problem can stand against the great mental, spiritual and physical strength you can bring to bear?
In one month, the squash was pressing 500 pounds. In two months it was applying 1,500 pounds and, when it reached 2,000 pounds, researchers had to strengthen the steel band. The squash eventually brought 5,000 pounds of pressure to bear on the band -- when the rind split open.
They opened it up and found it to be inedible, as it was filled with tough, course fibers that had grown to push against its constraints. The plant required great amounts of nutrients to gain the strength needed to break its bonds, and its roots extended great distances in all directions. This amazing squash had single-handedly taken over the garden space.
We have no idea just how strong we really can be! If a squash can exert that much physical pressure, how much more strength can human beings apply to a situation?
Most of us are stronger than we realize. I am told that it was Eleanor Roosevelt who observed, "A woman is like a tea bag; you never know how strong she is until she gets into hot water." (I suspect the same is true of men, but that's only speculation. ha-ha....
Does an obstacle you are presently facing loom large before you? Does it seem just too big? Perhaps overwhelming? If so, remember the squash. Its single-minded purpose was to break the bonds which held it. If you patiently focus your energy -- what problem can stand against the great mental, spiritual and physical strength you can bring to bear?
Now that we have a writer's strike
My friend Andrew has a new reality show for Fox:
Are you smarter than a Horse's Ass?
He is volunteering his boss's boss for the first contestant, although there a number of people on TV suitable to be contestants.
Are you smarter than a Horse's Ass?
He is volunteering his boss's boss for the first contestant, although there a number of people on TV suitable to be contestants.
Let's begin the Thanksgiving rush
[I have internet versions of this from 10 yrs ago. It reads like a Dave Barry column - whatever happened to him?]
In a few days, all America will be celebrating the holiday of Thanksgiving, or as it is known outside the United States, "Thursday."
Families separated for months or years will reunite, and shortly afterwards they will remember why they separated. In a darkened gymnasium, Richard Simmons will run his revenue projections and consider buying a small Caribbean island. Throughout the nation, those wretched souls condemned to the public school system will breathe a bit easier, eager in their anticipation of four days surcease from education. (The students are pretty happy about it, too.)
Yet running through this gaiety is an undercurrent of bewilderment. In this decadent age we live in, far too many of our unlettered countrymen think Plymouth Rock a music style from the '70s, or the Mayflower a potpourri ingredient. Accordingly, in the best traditions of journalistic public service and overweening arrogance, my column this frosty morn shall be dedicated to answering your questions about Thanksgiving.
Q. Gosh, you're right. I, the average reader, am dumb as a post. What exactly are the origins of Thanksgiving?
A. Thanksgiving is, of course, a holiday invented by grocers and farmers to allow them to sell huge quantities of disgusting "traditional" foods that no one in his right mind would eat otherwise, such as squash. The average squash is a triumph of minimalism wherein Nature manages to convert mud into a plant without bothering to change its taste and texture. Attempts to improve the mud-like flavor of squash by the addition of delicate seasonings and spices have produced dishes that taste, at best, like delicately seasoned and spiced mud. A master chef, faced with the necessity of making a palatable squash dish, would throw in his funny hat and become a short-order cook at Denny's.
Q. That's quite a conspiracy theory. Where do the Black Helicopters fit in?
A. They transport the squash.
Q. I should have guessed. But seriously, what are the origins of Thanksgiving?
A. The first Thanksgiving was a celebration of gratitude by a group of early English settlers known as the Pilgrims. The Pilgrims were Separatists who had come to the New World to practice their religion without government interference, and since the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms did not exist at the time, they were allowed to do so.
Unfortunately, the Pilgrims neglected to acquire a few skills (such as elementary agronomy) before setting off on their voyage, and as a result they nearly starved. The local Indians, who at the time were practicing their ancient sustenance methods of hunting and fishing, took pity on the Pilgrims and taught them to farm the native flora. In a display of appreciation, when the first harvest was taken in, the Pilgrims held a huge feast and invited the Indians over for dinner, after which they all fell asleep on couches while watching football.
Q. OK, but when did Thanksgiving become a national holiday?
A. Thanksgiving Day was adopted as an annual holiday by New York State in 1817, marking the first official celebration of Thanksgiving as a regular event, and the last time a New Yorker said "thank you" for anything. In 1863, President Lincoln appointed a national day of thanksgiving, and every subsequent president has followed suit.
Q. Speaking of turkeys, is it true that Ben Franklin thought the turkey should have been our national bird instead of the eagle?
A. Ben Franklin was indeed a proponent of the turkey as our national bird. Since he was a member of the Hellfire Club at the time, though, his motives were somewhat suspect.
It must be kept in mind that the modern domestic turkey bears little resemblance to its feral ancestors. The wild turkey is a cunning and elusive survivor, a challenging quarry for the most skilled of hunters. Farm turkeys, on the other hand, have been selectively inbred for generations in an attempt to improve flavor and increase breast meat production. These efforts have had numerous side effects on the birds in question, including reduced intelligence, difficulty in maintaining balance, and the creation of the Spice Girls.
Q. Is there a final message you would like to give to your readers on this Thanksgiving Day?
A. Enjoy your Thanksgiving dinner. You can have my squash. - Mikey's Funnies
In a few days, all America will be celebrating the holiday of Thanksgiving, or as it is known outside the United States, "Thursday."
Families separated for months or years will reunite, and shortly afterwards they will remember why they separated. In a darkened gymnasium, Richard Simmons will run his revenue projections and consider buying a small Caribbean island. Throughout the nation, those wretched souls condemned to the public school system will breathe a bit easier, eager in their anticipation of four days surcease from education. (The students are pretty happy about it, too.)
Yet running through this gaiety is an undercurrent of bewilderment. In this decadent age we live in, far too many of our unlettered countrymen think Plymouth Rock a music style from the '70s, or the Mayflower a potpourri ingredient. Accordingly, in the best traditions of journalistic public service and overweening arrogance, my column this frosty morn shall be dedicated to answering your questions about Thanksgiving.
Q. Gosh, you're right. I, the average reader, am dumb as a post. What exactly are the origins of Thanksgiving?
A. Thanksgiving is, of course, a holiday invented by grocers and farmers to allow them to sell huge quantities of disgusting "traditional" foods that no one in his right mind would eat otherwise, such as squash. The average squash is a triumph of minimalism wherein Nature manages to convert mud into a plant without bothering to change its taste and texture. Attempts to improve the mud-like flavor of squash by the addition of delicate seasonings and spices have produced dishes that taste, at best, like delicately seasoned and spiced mud. A master chef, faced with the necessity of making a palatable squash dish, would throw in his funny hat and become a short-order cook at Denny's.
Q. That's quite a conspiracy theory. Where do the Black Helicopters fit in?
A. They transport the squash.
Q. I should have guessed. But seriously, what are the origins of Thanksgiving?
A. The first Thanksgiving was a celebration of gratitude by a group of early English settlers known as the Pilgrims. The Pilgrims were Separatists who had come to the New World to practice their religion without government interference, and since the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms did not exist at the time, they were allowed to do so.
Unfortunately, the Pilgrims neglected to acquire a few skills (such as elementary agronomy) before setting off on their voyage, and as a result they nearly starved. The local Indians, who at the time were practicing their ancient sustenance methods of hunting and fishing, took pity on the Pilgrims and taught them to farm the native flora. In a display of appreciation, when the first harvest was taken in, the Pilgrims held a huge feast and invited the Indians over for dinner, after which they all fell asleep on couches while watching football.
Q. OK, but when did Thanksgiving become a national holiday?
A. Thanksgiving Day was adopted as an annual holiday by New York State in 1817, marking the first official celebration of Thanksgiving as a regular event, and the last time a New Yorker said "thank you" for anything. In 1863, President Lincoln appointed a national day of thanksgiving, and every subsequent president has followed suit.
Q. Speaking of turkeys, is it true that Ben Franklin thought the turkey should have been our national bird instead of the eagle?
A. Ben Franklin was indeed a proponent of the turkey as our national bird. Since he was a member of the Hellfire Club at the time, though, his motives were somewhat suspect.
It must be kept in mind that the modern domestic turkey bears little resemblance to its feral ancestors. The wild turkey is a cunning and elusive survivor, a challenging quarry for the most skilled of hunters. Farm turkeys, on the other hand, have been selectively inbred for generations in an attempt to improve flavor and increase breast meat production. These efforts have had numerous side effects on the birds in question, including reduced intelligence, difficulty in maintaining balance, and the creation of the Spice Girls.
Q. Is there a final message you would like to give to your readers on this Thanksgiving Day?
A. Enjoy your Thanksgiving dinner. You can have my squash. - Mikey's Funnies
Friday, November 16, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
requiescat in pace
An Anglican priest, Chad Varah conducted his first funeral at the St. Peter-in-Eastgate church in Lincoln, England, in 1935 -- for a 13-year-old girl who had committed suicide. "Little girl, I didn't know you, but you have changed the rest of my life for good," he said later: he decided to concentrate on helping those contemplating suicide. By the 1950s he learned that there were three suicides a day in London, so in 1953 he founded The Samaritans (now simply called Samaritans) in London, the world's first crisis hotline service, offering non-religious telephone aid to people contemplating suicide. It has since grown to 202 branch offices in the U.K. staffed by more than 15,000 volunteers. The idea went international when Varah founded Befrienders International in 1983, which now operates in more than 40 countries. The 13-year-old girl had committed suicide because she thought she had a shameful disease; in reality, she had simply reached menarche. Varah thus fought his entire life for "well-informed" sex education, which made prudes call him "a 'dirty old man' by the time I was 25," he once said. He ignored the critics and kept at it: in 1992, with the influx of East Africans to England, he founded MAGMOG -- Men against Genital Mutilation of Girls. Dr. Varah didn't retire until he was 92, and he died 2007Nov8 at 95.
http://www.HonoraryUnsubscribe.com
http://www.thisistrue.com
http://www.HonoraryUnsubscribe.com
http://www.thisistrue.com
Friday, November 9, 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
The Beatitudes Revisited
This has been circulated widely, but perhaps it is new to some of you:
"And seeing the multitudes, He went up on a mountain, and when He was seated His disciples came to Him. Then He opened His mouth and taught them, saying:
`Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake.'" (Mt 5:1-11)
Then Simon Peter said, "Do we have to write this down?"
And Andrew said, "Are we supposed to know this?"
And Philip said, "What if we don't know it?"
And Bartholomew said, "Do we have to turn this in?"
And John said, "The other disciples didn't have to learn this."
And Matthew said, "When do we get out of here?"
And Judas said,' "What does this have to do with real life?"
Then one of the Pharisees present asked to see Jesus' lessonplans and inquired of Jesus his annual goals and short term objectives in the cognitive, affective and psychomotor domains.
And Jesus wept.
Those of you who are teachers can relate to this (all too well, I'm sure you would say). And all of us who have been students can recall having the same attitude in school: "If this isn't going to be on the test, then I'm not going to write it down, I'm not going to learn it, I'm not going to remember it, and you can't make me!"
Perhaps some of that same attitude carries over into the workplace. "If doing this doesn't contribute to my chances for a promotion down the road (translation: 'it's not on the test'), then I'm not about to put forth the extra effort it would require."
Or how about at church? Ever heard someone say, "I don't attend on Sunday nights and Wednesday nights because I don't think you have to do that to go to heaven"? (translation: "I don't think it's on the test")
At what point in our Christian lives did we turn from wanting to learn, wanting to grow, wanting to do everything we can possibly do for God, to doing the least amount necessary to just barely "pass the test"?
"This is my prayer for you: that your love will grow more and more; that you will have knowledge and understanding with your love; that you will see the difference between good and bad and will choose the good; that you will be pure and without wrong for the coming of Christ; that you will do many good things with the help of Christ to bring glory and praise to God." (Phil 1:9-11, NCV)
That truly is my prayer for each of you.
"And seeing the multitudes, He went up on a mountain, and when He was seated His disciples came to Him. Then He opened His mouth and taught them, saying:
`Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake.'" (Mt 5:1-11)
Then Simon Peter said, "Do we have to write this down?"
And Andrew said, "Are we supposed to know this?"
And Philip said, "What if we don't know it?"
And Bartholomew said, "Do we have to turn this in?"
And John said, "The other disciples didn't have to learn this."
And Matthew said, "When do we get out of here?"
And Judas said,' "What does this have to do with real life?"
Then one of the Pharisees present asked to see Jesus' lessonplans and inquired of Jesus his annual goals and short term objectives in the cognitive, affective and psychomotor domains.
And Jesus wept.
Those of you who are teachers can relate to this (all too well, I'm sure you would say). And all of us who have been students can recall having the same attitude in school: "If this isn't going to be on the test, then I'm not going to write it down, I'm not going to learn it, I'm not going to remember it, and you can't make me!"
Perhaps some of that same attitude carries over into the workplace. "If doing this doesn't contribute to my chances for a promotion down the road (translation: 'it's not on the test'), then I'm not about to put forth the extra effort it would require."
Or how about at church? Ever heard someone say, "I don't attend on Sunday nights and Wednesday nights because I don't think you have to do that to go to heaven"? (translation: "I don't think it's on the test")
At what point in our Christian lives did we turn from wanting to learn, wanting to grow, wanting to do everything we can possibly do for God, to doing the least amount necessary to just barely "pass the test"?
"This is my prayer for you: that your love will grow more and more; that you will have knowledge and understanding with your love; that you will see the difference between good and bad and will choose the good; that you will be pure and without wrong for the coming of Christ; that you will do many good things with the help of Christ to bring glory and praise to God." (Phil 1:9-11, NCV)
That truly is my prayer for each of you.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
for son and tweeter concerning email not checked first w/snopes
Honesty is the best policy, but insanity is a better defense.
Monday, October 29, 2007
note from my next youngest brother
[Our academic backgrounds show in that he thinks this is funny and that I understand it.]
I need some queuing theory analysis for work and ran across this page http://www2.uwindsor.ca/~hlynka/qfun.html containing this joke:[The only person I can tell this to is another PhD in Physics I know at church.]Bill Becker (of Hitachi Data Systems) sent me the following story:For those who don't know, LK is a q theory founding father. You might try telling this at church or synagogue.I was attending a computer network performance management seminar conducted by none other than Leonard Kleinrock himself. (At the time, I had no idea who he was - this took place around 1985, or so.) He starts out his week-long intensive seminar with the statement:"Life is a queue. You come in, hang around for a bit, get some service, then depart."To which I commented"Is that a closed-loop or open-ended queue?"LK went silent and then proclaimed"That depends on your religious philosophy."
"Bella" means "beautiful"
2007Oct23
Late Sunday I returned from Florence, where I was making preparations for Catholic Answers' upcoming Rendezvous, which will be held there in April. A few days before I left on that trip, I met with Leo Severino, one of the producers of "Bella," which opens its theatrical release this Friday.
Severino left a DVD of the movie with me. Too busy to watch it before leaving for Italy, I just this morning finished viewing it. It was even better than he represented it to be. "Bella" is an intensely pro-life and pro-family film, yet the terms "pro-life" and "abortion" never appear in it. In no way preachy or propagandistic, the film conveys a strong message that love can overcome brokenness and that old sorrows do not have to be compounded with new sorrows.
"Bella" stars Eduardo Verastegui, who is hardly known in America but who achieved fame in Mexican soap operas, and Tammy Blanchard, who has acted in several television shows and who won an Emmy for playing the lead in a made-for-television movie about Judy Garland.
In "Bella" Blanchard plays a waitress who is fired on the day she discovers she is pregnant. Verastegui, a chef at the same restaurant, befriends her, losing his own job in the process. She comes from an unhappy home and does not want a child; he comes from a happy home but years before had his own life changed through a terrible accident. During the course of a day together each one begins a recovery. ...
And that is all I want to say about the plot, not wanting to be accused of being a spoiler.
I do want to say, though, that this is a remarkable movie, in several ways. It won the People's Choice Award at the Toronto Film Festival last year. Severino and the other principals behind the movie thought themselves lucky even to have "Bella" shown at the festival, which often showcases films that go on to win Oscars. They expected nothing because they were movie novices. "Bella" was a first-time effort for the producers, the director, the screenwriters, and for many of the actors.
Severino and the others behind the film are devout Catholics, several of them having come to or back to the Church only in recent years. Verastegui, for example, realized that the success he was having in Mexican soap operas was good for the bank account but not very good for the soul. He gave up a lucrative career to partner with Severino and director Alejandro Monteverde (they call themselves the Three Amigos) on a project that all three felt Providence called them to engage in.
When Severino was here on Oct1, he appeared on "Catholic Answers Live" and talked about the making of the movie. You can listened to that archived show at www.catholic.com. Afterwards, several of us went out to dinner, and during the course of the evening I asked what it would take for "Bella," which is opening this week in 31 markets, to become a nationwide success. Severino explained to us how the system works.
"Bella" is set for a two-week run. For it to be picked up for widespread national distribution, it needs to do well at the box office during those two weeks. No surprise there. But distributors and theater chains do not look only at the number of people walking through the theater door on opening night. They also look at the trend line over those two weeks.
Many movies do well their first weekend and then attract fewer and fewer visitors over the course of the following days. A movie that is strong on nights one and two but that cannot draw audiences for nights three through fourteen will not warrant the multi-million dollar investment required to have it open in hundreds of theaters around the country.
What the money men want to see is whether a movie still draws people the
second week. The crowds that show up the first weekend show up because of
the publicity surrounding a premiere (many viewers like to be "first" to see a film). The crowds that show up the second week do so because the reviews have been good or because word of mouth has touted the film. If the second week's box office receipts match or exceed the first week's, a movie has a good chance to go national in a big way--especially if it already has awards to its credit (such as the Toronto Film Festival award).
"Okay," I said to Severino, "but what does this mean in practice?" He said: "We need to get people to see the film during the second week." The opening weekend is important, but the second week is more important. There needs to be a clear upward trend if large-scale distribution is to happen.
I was impressed by Severino. He is intense, devout, and compelled. Like Verastegui, he gave up a lucrative career to work on "Bella." He had been with a high-power law firm in the Los Angeles area. He rediscovered his faith and felt God was calling him to do something more important with his life.
I hope he and his partners have much success with this film--first, because it really is a fine production and deserves to be recognized as such, and, second, because, if the movie succeeds, these fellows intend to produce more films of the same high caliber--high both in production values and in serious, morally uplifting content.
So here comes my request to you: Go and see "Bella." Take your entire family with you. Take your friends with you, if you have friends. Take strangers with you, if you do not have friends. But do not go during the first week. Go during the second week to help that trend line.
To find out whether you are in one of the 31 markets where the film debuts this weekend, visit www.bellathemovie.com, where you will find a list of cities and, for each city, a list of theaters where "Bella" will be shown. Once you have seen "Bella," talk it up to everyone on your e-mail list, and visit our forums and participate in discussions about the film.
Borrowing a line from Mother Teresa, we might say that Severino and the others want to "do something beautiful [bella] for God." I would like to see them succeed in that.
- Karl Keating
Late Sunday I returned from Florence, where I was making preparations for Catholic Answers' upcoming Rendezvous, which will be held there in April. A few days before I left on that trip, I met with Leo Severino, one of the producers of "Bella," which opens its theatrical release this Friday.
Severino left a DVD of the movie with me. Too busy to watch it before leaving for Italy, I just this morning finished viewing it. It was even better than he represented it to be. "Bella" is an intensely pro-life and pro-family film, yet the terms "pro-life" and "abortion" never appear in it. In no way preachy or propagandistic, the film conveys a strong message that love can overcome brokenness and that old sorrows do not have to be compounded with new sorrows.
"Bella" stars Eduardo Verastegui, who is hardly known in America but who achieved fame in Mexican soap operas, and Tammy Blanchard, who has acted in several television shows and who won an Emmy for playing the lead in a made-for-television movie about Judy Garland.
In "Bella" Blanchard plays a waitress who is fired on the day she discovers she is pregnant. Verastegui, a chef at the same restaurant, befriends her, losing his own job in the process. She comes from an unhappy home and does not want a child; he comes from a happy home but years before had his own life changed through a terrible accident. During the course of a day together each one begins a recovery. ...
And that is all I want to say about the plot, not wanting to be accused of being a spoiler.
I do want to say, though, that this is a remarkable movie, in several ways. It won the People's Choice Award at the Toronto Film Festival last year. Severino and the other principals behind the movie thought themselves lucky even to have "Bella" shown at the festival, which often showcases films that go on to win Oscars. They expected nothing because they were movie novices. "Bella" was a first-time effort for the producers, the director, the screenwriters, and for many of the actors.
Severino and the others behind the film are devout Catholics, several of them having come to or back to the Church only in recent years. Verastegui, for example, realized that the success he was having in Mexican soap operas was good for the bank account but not very good for the soul. He gave up a lucrative career to partner with Severino and director Alejandro Monteverde (they call themselves the Three Amigos) on a project that all three felt Providence called them to engage in.
When Severino was here on Oct1, he appeared on "Catholic Answers Live" and talked about the making of the movie. You can listened to that archived show at www.catholic.com. Afterwards, several of us went out to dinner, and during the course of the evening I asked what it would take for "Bella," which is opening this week in 31 markets, to become a nationwide success. Severino explained to us how the system works.
"Bella" is set for a two-week run. For it to be picked up for widespread national distribution, it needs to do well at the box office during those two weeks. No surprise there. But distributors and theater chains do not look only at the number of people walking through the theater door on opening night. They also look at the trend line over those two weeks.
Many movies do well their first weekend and then attract fewer and fewer visitors over the course of the following days. A movie that is strong on nights one and two but that cannot draw audiences for nights three through fourteen will not warrant the multi-million dollar investment required to have it open in hundreds of theaters around the country.
What the money men want to see is whether a movie still draws people the
second week. The crowds that show up the first weekend show up because of
the publicity surrounding a premiere (many viewers like to be "first" to see a film). The crowds that show up the second week do so because the reviews have been good or because word of mouth has touted the film. If the second week's box office receipts match or exceed the first week's, a movie has a good chance to go national in a big way--especially if it already has awards to its credit (such as the Toronto Film Festival award).
"Okay," I said to Severino, "but what does this mean in practice?" He said: "We need to get people to see the film during the second week." The opening weekend is important, but the second week is more important. There needs to be a clear upward trend if large-scale distribution is to happen.
I was impressed by Severino. He is intense, devout, and compelled. Like Verastegui, he gave up a lucrative career to work on "Bella." He had been with a high-power law firm in the Los Angeles area. He rediscovered his faith and felt God was calling him to do something more important with his life.
I hope he and his partners have much success with this film--first, because it really is a fine production and deserves to be recognized as such, and, second, because, if the movie succeeds, these fellows intend to produce more films of the same high caliber--high both in production values and in serious, morally uplifting content.
So here comes my request to you: Go and see "Bella." Take your entire family with you. Take your friends with you, if you have friends. Take strangers with you, if you do not have friends. But do not go during the first week. Go during the second week to help that trend line.
To find out whether you are in one of the 31 markets where the film debuts this weekend, visit www.bellathemovie.com, where you will find a list of cities and, for each city, a list of theaters where "Bella" will be shown. Once you have seen "Bella," talk it up to everyone on your e-mail list, and visit our forums and participate in discussions about the film.
Borrowing a line from Mother Teresa, we might say that Severino and the others want to "do something beautiful [bella] for God." I would like to see them succeed in that.
- Karl Keating
Friday, October 26, 2007
Good story
Even if computers and the players mean nothing to you, it's a good story.
I'm currently working on a new version of the IBM vs PSI analysis, based upon IBM's Amended Complaint and PSI's response thereto. Because this set of documents essentially represents the endgame, I'm taking a little time.http://www.isham-research.co.uk/
But I was forced into spontaneous gigglery (think LOL, ROTF,LMAO) when I read IBM's petty grumble about "IBM Confidential" materials.
The fire is out and the ashes are cold - some of the stories can be told.
IBM has _NEVER_ been security-conscious. Even to today. Idiots, who've failed to take on board the most elementary principles. Every IBMer in such a situation should read R. V. Jones' discussion of "working fiction" during the U-boat war. And take note - it's a seminal text on how to drag something out of what looks like nothing.
In the very early 1990s - 1990 or 1991, I can't be bothered to check - IBM set up a meeting in Dublin for all of the competitive marketing people in Europe. Oh, dear Lord - run by the Danes. Next time pick people with smaller egos. Incredibly, IBM had published (and still publishes) the internal structure of this group via Blue Pages. Equally incredibly, they always used the same hotels in every European city. A few beers and a good meal for a few staff in each of their hotels earned a stream of: "Guess who's booked twenty rooms next Friday?"
And so it was in Dublin this time. People whom one would expect to be there 'disappeared' from their geographies. You got a customer to call: "Sorry - he's back on Friday". In some cases we had flight numbers.
So with moderate effort you could reproduce the list of attendees.
Now - there is a general principle within most European countries of "totters rights" What this means is that what you discard (in the trash) is no longer yours. For a variety of legal reasons (to do with liability about its treatment) ownership and legal title passes to the cleasing/refuse department. It's theirs to do what they want with it. And they have an obligation at law to get the best price for all the recyclable material they collect.
All meetings and conferences are the same. There's always someone who doesn't turn up. Business commitments change, grandmothers get ill.
So a very simple offer to the Dublin Cleansing Authority (actually privatized, but that's a detail) for GBP1 for every 1lb weight of materials marked "IBM Confidential" was not only 100% legal but also quite productive.
Two complete copies of the secret squirrel manual and the handouts. GBP10 plus the airfare and one night in the Connaught on the same square. And a receipt.
Followed by a discussion with corporate counsel. "How did you get this?" "Here's the receipt."
Every page had to be marked with its certified origin, etc.
For a lot of people I know - and certainly for myself - "IBM Confidential" at the bottom of a page effectively means "Please turn over". Those familiar with my dispute with IBM's aßhole lawyer will know I sent them 13 (thirteen) warnings about the z890 data before using it. And being shat on for my trouble.
I've now got more than one unsolicited copy of the z6 stuff [not yet publically announced] - what in hell am I (or we, including PSI) supposed to do about this?
Thursday, October 25, 2007
spell check bytes hand that feeds it
Friday, December 7, 2007: Sharing the Spirit of the Season – Gift Exchange. Team members can bring in their contributions, toys, food, clothing, excreta, starting 2009Nov19. More information will be sent out later.
[If you wish to try this at home, in any program with a spellcheck facility, enter the word excetra and spell check. Please let me know if you get Et cetera. MSWord gets the above interesting word.]
[If you wish to try this at home, in any program with a spellcheck facility, enter the word excetra and spell check. Please let me know if you get Et cetera. MSWord gets the above interesting word.]
Monday, October 22, 2007
In explaining any puzzling Washington phenomenon,
... always choose stupidity over conspiracy, incompetence over cunning. Anything else gives them too much credit. - Charles Krauthammer q.tftd-l
[I agree.]
[I agree.]
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
some of my best friends were mushrooms
Five couples in a neighborhood decided to get together on a regular basis and socialize. As a result, they formed a dinner club and agreed to meet for dinner at a different neighbors' house each month.
When it came time for Jimmy and Susie Brown to have the dinner at their house, like most women, Susie wanted to outdo all the others and prepare a meal that was the best that any of them had ever lapped a lip over.
A few days before the big event, Susie got out her cookbook and decided to have mushroom-smothered steak. When she went to the store to buy some mushrooms, she found the price was far more than she wanted to pay. She then told her husband, "I think we aren't going to have mushrooms because they are too expensive."
He said , "Why don't you go down in the pasture and pick some of those mushrooms? There are plenty of them right in the creek bed."
She said, "No, I have heard that wild mushrooms can be poisonous."
He then said, "I don't think so. I see the varmints eating them all the time and it never has affected them."
After thinking about this, Susie decided to give this a try and got in the pickup and went down in the pasture and picked some mushrooms. She brought them back home and washed, sliced, and diced them to get them ready to go over her smothered steak. Then she went out on the back porch and got Ol' Spot's (the yard dog) bowl and gave him a double handful, putting a mess of bacon grease on them to make them tasty. Ol' Spot didn't slow down until he had eaten every bite. All morning long, Susie watched him and the wild mushrooms didn't seem to affect him, so she decided to use them.
The meal was a great success, and Susie even hired a lady she knew from town to come out and help her serve. She had on a white apron and a little cap on her head. It was first class. After everyone had finished, they all began to kick back and relax and socialize. The men were visiting and the women started to gossip a bit.
About this time, the lady from town came in from the kitchen and whispered in Susie's ear. She said, "Mrs. Brown, Spot just died." With this news, Susie went into hysterics. After she finally calmed down, she called the doctor and told him what had happened. The doctor said, "It's bad, but being this early we can take care of it. I will call for an ambulance and I will be there as quick as I can. We'll give everyone enemas and we will pump out everyone's stomach. Everything will be fine. Just keep them all there and keep them calm."
It wasn't long until they could hear the wail of the siren as the ambulance was coming down the road. When they got there, the EMTs got out with their suitcases, syringes, and a stomach pump. The doctor arrived shortly thereafter. One by one, they took each person into the master bathroom, gave them an enema, and pumped out their stomach. After the last one was finished, the doctor came out and said, "I think everything will be fine now," and he left. They looked pretty peaked sitting around the living room.
About that time, the hired lady from town came in and said, "You know, I think the fellow that drove the ambulance looks just like the one who ran over Spot an hour ago, but he didn't stop so I can't be certain." - Rick
When it came time for Jimmy and Susie Brown to have the dinner at their house, like most women, Susie wanted to outdo all the others and prepare a meal that was the best that any of them had ever lapped a lip over.
A few days before the big event, Susie got out her cookbook and decided to have mushroom-smothered steak. When she went to the store to buy some mushrooms, she found the price was far more than she wanted to pay. She then told her husband, "I think we aren't going to have mushrooms because they are too expensive."
He said , "Why don't you go down in the pasture and pick some of those mushrooms? There are plenty of them right in the creek bed."
She said, "No, I have heard that wild mushrooms can be poisonous."
He then said, "I don't think so. I see the varmints eating them all the time and it never has affected them."
After thinking about this, Susie decided to give this a try and got in the pickup and went down in the pasture and picked some mushrooms. She brought them back home and washed, sliced, and diced them to get them ready to go over her smothered steak. Then she went out on the back porch and got Ol' Spot's (the yard dog) bowl and gave him a double handful, putting a mess of bacon grease on them to make them tasty. Ol' Spot didn't slow down until he had eaten every bite. All morning long, Susie watched him and the wild mushrooms didn't seem to affect him, so she decided to use them.
The meal was a great success, and Susie even hired a lady she knew from town to come out and help her serve. She had on a white apron and a little cap on her head. It was first class. After everyone had finished, they all began to kick back and relax and socialize. The men were visiting and the women started to gossip a bit.
About this time, the lady from town came in from the kitchen and whispered in Susie's ear. She said, "Mrs. Brown, Spot just died." With this news, Susie went into hysterics. After she finally calmed down, she called the doctor and told him what had happened. The doctor said, "It's bad, but being this early we can take care of it. I will call for an ambulance and I will be there as quick as I can. We'll give everyone enemas and we will pump out everyone's stomach. Everything will be fine. Just keep them all there and keep them calm."
It wasn't long until they could hear the wail of the siren as the ambulance was coming down the road. When they got there, the EMTs got out with their suitcases, syringes, and a stomach pump. The doctor arrived shortly thereafter. One by one, they took each person into the master bathroom, gave them an enema, and pumped out their stomach. After the last one was finished, the doctor came out and said, "I think everything will be fine now," and he left. They looked pretty peaked sitting around the living room.
About that time, the hired lady from town came in and said, "You know, I think the fellow that drove the ambulance looks just like the one who ran over Spot an hour ago, but he didn't stop so I can't be certain." - Rick
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Nine Lives: what cats know about war
2007Oct14
IT was a bitterly cold night in the Baghdad winter of 2005, somewhere in the predawn hours before the staccato of suicide bombs and mortars and gunfire that are the daily orchestration of the war. Alone in my office in The Times’s compound beside the Tigris River, I was awaiting the telephoned “goodnight” from The Times foreign desk, eight time zones west, signaling that my work for the next day’s paper was done.
That is when I heard it: the cry of an abandoned kitten, somewhere out in the darkness, calling for its mother somewhere inside the compound. By an animal lover’s anthropomorphic logic, those desperate calls, three nights running, had come to seem more than the appeal of a tiny creature doomed to a cold and lonely death. Deep in the winter night, they seemed like a dismal tocsin for all who suffer in a time of war.
With others working for The Times in Baghdad, I took solace in the battalion of cats that had found their way past the 12-foot-high concrete blast walls that guard our compound. With their survival instincts, the cats of our neighborhood learned in the first winter of the war that food and shelter and human kindness lay within the walls. Outside, among the garbage heaps and sinuous alleyways, human beings were struggling for their own survival, and a cat’s life was likely to be meager, embattled and short.
Cat populations in the wild expand arithmetically with the supply of food, and ours multiplied rapidly, with as many as two or three litters at a time out in the shrubbery of our gardens, or beneath our water tanks.
Soon, our compound was home to as many as 60 cats at a time, their numbers carefully tallied by Younis and Saif, the enthusiastic young Iraqis who prepared heaped platters of rice and lamb and beef — and, as a special treat, cans of cat food trucked across the desert from Jordan, over highways synonymous with ambushes, kidnappings and bombings. As The Times’s bureau chief, part of my routine was to ask, each night, how many cats we had seated for dinner. In a place where we could do little else to relieve the war’s miseries, the tally became a measure of one small thing we could do to favor life over death. The American military command has a battery of “metrics” to gauge progress, and the nightly headcount of the cats became my personal measure, my mood varying as the numbers went up and down. Sometimes they went sharply down, during winter epidemics of cat flu, or after attacks by the compound’s two dogs (war refugees themselves) that proved, as they grew beyond puppies, to have a feral antipathy to cats programmed in their bones.
Not everyone in the compound saw the burgeoning cat population so fondly. Some, including my wife, Jane, who works as the compound’s chief administrator, loves cats as much as anyone, but thought matters had gotten out of hand when middle-of-the-night fights between the dominant males outside our building threatened to wake the devil, or when suppertime walks past the “cat motel” we built from a stack of water-bottle crates outside one of our kitchens turned into a pied-piper’s epic, each step followed by dozens of hungry, impatient meowing creatures.
One control measure, having the cats spayed, was unavailable, since all of Baghdad’s domestic-animal veterinarians seemed to have fled, among hundreds of thousands of other Iraqis who have sought sanctuary abroad. One attempt at neutering our female dog, Itchy, by a farm-animal vet, nearly killed her.
There were warnings, too, from the American military command, which imposed a ban, for American troops, on adopting stray animals, or feeding them. The Army’s General Order No. 1, setting out rules of conduct, bans, at least in theory, the age-old military tradition of keeping animal mascots, other than bomb-sniffing dogs.
“They’re cute, furry, and more dangerous than you think,” one command bulletin this year said, speaking of cats and dogs. Maj. Robert A. Goodman, chief of veterinary services for the Army’s 248th Medical Detachment, highlighted the rabies threat. “There’s nothing compassionate about compassionate feeding,” he said. “They’re increasing the risk of disease.”
Still, many troops in Afghanistan and Iraq ignore the ban.
Other bulletins from the American command have reviewed the ethics of feeding strays, saying that animal lovers among the troops do more harm than good when they accustom cats and dogs to a regular supply of food and affection — only to abandon them when they rotate home, leaving the animals depleted in their instinct to fend for themselves. At The Times’s compound, too, we have never been certain how long we will remain in Iraq. But in my mind, at least, the benefits to the cats and our own morale outweighed the longer-term concerns, the more so because conditions beyond our walls seemed to offer scant prospects that most of them, denied our shelter, would survive for long anyway.
On that bitter night in 2005, I went a step further. Making my way to a veranda overlooking the spot where the kitten was crying, I “bombed” it with a feather duvet off an absent colleague’s bed before it could scoot into an inaccessible recess in a garden wall. Thus did we acquire Scooter — white, with flecks of ginger and tabby, a female of extraordinary agility, who found a way, when still no bigger than the palm of my hand, to leap and claw her way out of a cardboard packing case five feet high.
Watching her, and the two litters of kittens she had over the following 18 months, offered we humans a new reaction to the cacophony of the war. The bloodiest suicide bombings, even miles away, have the sound and feel of the apocalypse, causing humans to freeze, no matter how often they experience it. Cats need to hear it only once. As they skitter to the safety of trees and bushes, they enter the blast and the tremor on the hard drive of their brains. On the next occasion, come the blast, they barely stir.
Mongrels though they are, our Baghdad cats, we learned from a recent study in the journal Science, have a noble lineage of their own — as inheritors of the same terrain occupied by the felines that were the forebears of all domestic cats, wild families that lived along the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates more than 10,000 years ago.
But Scooter had her own ticket out of Iraq booked from the moment I clutched her in the duvet’s folds. By August of this year, she had three 12-week-old kittens, each bearing the name of an American war machine — Apache (Patch, for short), Bradley and Stryker. The names were chosen, in part, in the hope that we might eventually find American veterans of the war, now home, to adopt them. We already have a cat in England, Scuzzie, who joined the family when he strayed into our home in New Delhi 13 summers ago to escape a monsoon, and he exhibits claws-out hostility to any other cat entering his domain.
Scooter and her kittens were fated to endure six months under rabies watch in a quarantine kennel in England, and it was shortly after her arrival there that we learned she was pregnant again. This has since raised the family in quarantine to seven.
But that lay ahead when I arrived at the Baghdad airport one recent summer day with the crate carrying the four cats. Getting them that far had been a saga, finding Iraqi health officials ready to issue and counterstamp fit-to-travel documents; negotiating the 12 hazardous miles to the airport through an obstacle course of checkpoints where soldiers and policemen have been trained to destroy on sight any “suspicious package”; and persuading wary airline personnel to clear the cat crate for loading.
The process took hours, and left me exhausted, sitting on the terminal’s marble floor beside the cats, as the time for boarding approached.
All about was hubbub, with hundreds of angry, fearful Iraqis struggling to secure their own passage out. The cats seemed terrified, so I fell once more into my anthropomorphic mode, offering them a quiet discourse on what lay ahead — the 3,000-mile air journey, detention in the quarantine center and, ultimately, liberation into a green and pleasant land where they would be full citizens, never again wanting for shelter, warmth and food.
A small crowd of Iraqis had gathered, and one among them, a middle-aged man who introduced himself as a physician traveling to Jordan to see his ailing mother, knelt down beside me and asked, in halting English, if I’d mind a question. By all means, I said. “Well then,” he said, his face breaking into a sad smile, “what I want to ask is this: This proposal you make, is it for four legs only, or also for two? Six months’ detention, British passport, free to stay, guaranteed home, this is excellent. I will take, and many other Iraqis, too.”
- John F. Burns in the nytimes q.map via internet
IT was a bitterly cold night in the Baghdad winter of 2005, somewhere in the predawn hours before the staccato of suicide bombs and mortars and gunfire that are the daily orchestration of the war. Alone in my office in The Times’s compound beside the Tigris River, I was awaiting the telephoned “goodnight” from The Times foreign desk, eight time zones west, signaling that my work for the next day’s paper was done.
That is when I heard it: the cry of an abandoned kitten, somewhere out in the darkness, calling for its mother somewhere inside the compound. By an animal lover’s anthropomorphic logic, those desperate calls, three nights running, had come to seem more than the appeal of a tiny creature doomed to a cold and lonely death. Deep in the winter night, they seemed like a dismal tocsin for all who suffer in a time of war.
With others working for The Times in Baghdad, I took solace in the battalion of cats that had found their way past the 12-foot-high concrete blast walls that guard our compound. With their survival instincts, the cats of our neighborhood learned in the first winter of the war that food and shelter and human kindness lay within the walls. Outside, among the garbage heaps and sinuous alleyways, human beings were struggling for their own survival, and a cat’s life was likely to be meager, embattled and short.
Cat populations in the wild expand arithmetically with the supply of food, and ours multiplied rapidly, with as many as two or three litters at a time out in the shrubbery of our gardens, or beneath our water tanks.
Soon, our compound was home to as many as 60 cats at a time, their numbers carefully tallied by Younis and Saif, the enthusiastic young Iraqis who prepared heaped platters of rice and lamb and beef — and, as a special treat, cans of cat food trucked across the desert from Jordan, over highways synonymous with ambushes, kidnappings and bombings. As The Times’s bureau chief, part of my routine was to ask, each night, how many cats we had seated for dinner. In a place where we could do little else to relieve the war’s miseries, the tally became a measure of one small thing we could do to favor life over death. The American military command has a battery of “metrics” to gauge progress, and the nightly headcount of the cats became my personal measure, my mood varying as the numbers went up and down. Sometimes they went sharply down, during winter epidemics of cat flu, or after attacks by the compound’s two dogs (war refugees themselves) that proved, as they grew beyond puppies, to have a feral antipathy to cats programmed in their bones.
Not everyone in the compound saw the burgeoning cat population so fondly. Some, including my wife, Jane, who works as the compound’s chief administrator, loves cats as much as anyone, but thought matters had gotten out of hand when middle-of-the-night fights between the dominant males outside our building threatened to wake the devil, or when suppertime walks past the “cat motel” we built from a stack of water-bottle crates outside one of our kitchens turned into a pied-piper’s epic, each step followed by dozens of hungry, impatient meowing creatures.
One control measure, having the cats spayed, was unavailable, since all of Baghdad’s domestic-animal veterinarians seemed to have fled, among hundreds of thousands of other Iraqis who have sought sanctuary abroad. One attempt at neutering our female dog, Itchy, by a farm-animal vet, nearly killed her.
There were warnings, too, from the American military command, which imposed a ban, for American troops, on adopting stray animals, or feeding them. The Army’s General Order No. 1, setting out rules of conduct, bans, at least in theory, the age-old military tradition of keeping animal mascots, other than bomb-sniffing dogs.
“They’re cute, furry, and more dangerous than you think,” one command bulletin this year said, speaking of cats and dogs. Maj. Robert A. Goodman, chief of veterinary services for the Army’s 248th Medical Detachment, highlighted the rabies threat. “There’s nothing compassionate about compassionate feeding,” he said. “They’re increasing the risk of disease.”
Still, many troops in Afghanistan and Iraq ignore the ban.
Other bulletins from the American command have reviewed the ethics of feeding strays, saying that animal lovers among the troops do more harm than good when they accustom cats and dogs to a regular supply of food and affection — only to abandon them when they rotate home, leaving the animals depleted in their instinct to fend for themselves. At The Times’s compound, too, we have never been certain how long we will remain in Iraq. But in my mind, at least, the benefits to the cats and our own morale outweighed the longer-term concerns, the more so because conditions beyond our walls seemed to offer scant prospects that most of them, denied our shelter, would survive for long anyway.
On that bitter night in 2005, I went a step further. Making my way to a veranda overlooking the spot where the kitten was crying, I “bombed” it with a feather duvet off an absent colleague’s bed before it could scoot into an inaccessible recess in a garden wall. Thus did we acquire Scooter — white, with flecks of ginger and tabby, a female of extraordinary agility, who found a way, when still no bigger than the palm of my hand, to leap and claw her way out of a cardboard packing case five feet high.
Watching her, and the two litters of kittens she had over the following 18 months, offered we humans a new reaction to the cacophony of the war. The bloodiest suicide bombings, even miles away, have the sound and feel of the apocalypse, causing humans to freeze, no matter how often they experience it. Cats need to hear it only once. As they skitter to the safety of trees and bushes, they enter the blast and the tremor on the hard drive of their brains. On the next occasion, come the blast, they barely stir.
Mongrels though they are, our Baghdad cats, we learned from a recent study in the journal Science, have a noble lineage of their own — as inheritors of the same terrain occupied by the felines that were the forebears of all domestic cats, wild families that lived along the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates more than 10,000 years ago.
But Scooter had her own ticket out of Iraq booked from the moment I clutched her in the duvet’s folds. By August of this year, she had three 12-week-old kittens, each bearing the name of an American war machine — Apache (Patch, for short), Bradley and Stryker. The names were chosen, in part, in the hope that we might eventually find American veterans of the war, now home, to adopt them. We already have a cat in England, Scuzzie, who joined the family when he strayed into our home in New Delhi 13 summers ago to escape a monsoon, and he exhibits claws-out hostility to any other cat entering his domain.
Scooter and her kittens were fated to endure six months under rabies watch in a quarantine kennel in England, and it was shortly after her arrival there that we learned she was pregnant again. This has since raised the family in quarantine to seven.
But that lay ahead when I arrived at the Baghdad airport one recent summer day with the crate carrying the four cats. Getting them that far had been a saga, finding Iraqi health officials ready to issue and counterstamp fit-to-travel documents; negotiating the 12 hazardous miles to the airport through an obstacle course of checkpoints where soldiers and policemen have been trained to destroy on sight any “suspicious package”; and persuading wary airline personnel to clear the cat crate for loading.
The process took hours, and left me exhausted, sitting on the terminal’s marble floor beside the cats, as the time for boarding approached.
All about was hubbub, with hundreds of angry, fearful Iraqis struggling to secure their own passage out. The cats seemed terrified, so I fell once more into my anthropomorphic mode, offering them a quiet discourse on what lay ahead — the 3,000-mile air journey, detention in the quarantine center and, ultimately, liberation into a green and pleasant land where they would be full citizens, never again wanting for shelter, warmth and food.
A small crowd of Iraqis had gathered, and one among them, a middle-aged man who introduced himself as a physician traveling to Jordan to see his ailing mother, knelt down beside me and asked, in halting English, if I’d mind a question. By all means, I said. “Well then,” he said, his face breaking into a sad smile, “what I want to ask is this: This proposal you make, is it for four legs only, or also for two? Six months’ detention, British passport, free to stay, guaranteed home, this is excellent. I will take, and many other Iraqis, too.”
- John F. Burns in the nytimes q.map via internet
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Ambushed soldiers weapons recovered
Friday 2007Oct12 13:20:48 EDT
Weapons identified as those belonging to 10th Mountain Division soldiers kidnapped and killed in a May 12 ambush were recovered near Baghdad on Tuesday, the Army announced in a press release. According to the release, the weapons were found by soldiers from 2nd Battalion, 14th Infantry, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division after Iraqi citizens led them to a cache in a house about seven miles north of the ambush site.
The May 12 attack, in which four soldiers and an Iraqi interpreter were killed, took place southwest of Baghdad in the Quarghulli village near Yusufiyah. The body of one soldier, Pfc. Joseph Anzack, was found floating in the Euphrates River 11 days later, and two other soldiers, Spc. Alex Jimenez and Pvt. Byron Fouty, are still missing.
The soldiers, all from 4th Battalion, 31st Infantry in 2nd BCT, were on a combat patrol when the attack took place. The cache discovered Tuesday consisted of 28 blasting caps in their original packaging, 50 pounds of homemade explosives, three 60 mm mortar rounds, an AK47 rifle and matching rigged pouch, two U.S. M-4s, one with an M203 grenade launcher attached, a single M203 and an M249 squad automatic weapon.
After finding the M4s and the M203, the release stated, analysts checked each of the serial numbers and determined that the M249 belonged to Jimenez. One of the M4s with the M203 attached belonged to Sgt. Anthony Schoeber, who was killed in the attack, and another M4 belonged to Anzack.
The soldiers' identification cards and wallets were found in mid-June in an al-Qaida safe house in Samara, about 75 miles north of Yusufiyah. These weapons are the first piece of physical evidence in the 2nd BCT's area of operations, according to the release.
Jimenez and Fouty are listed by the Army as missing-captured. There are two other soldiers in the same category, Staff Sgt. Matt Maupin, who disappeared in an ambush on his fuel convoy on April 9, 2004, and Spc. Ahmed Altaie, who has been missing since he was kidnapped by masked gunmen in a Baghdad neighborhood 2006Oct23 , while visiting his Iraqi wife.
During the search Tuesday, soldiers also discovered a manmade hide site near the house where the weapons were discovered. Nine locals were detained and are being questioned.
The recovered weapons will be turned over to the Criminal Investigations Department for fingerprints and DNA samples, the release stated.
The 2nd BCT soldiers will continue to search for more evidence that can lead them to the missing soldiers or the attackers, but the brigade is scheduled to return to its home base at Fort Drum, N.Y., by mid-November. It will be replaced by the 3rd BCT, 101st Airborne Division from Fort Campbell, Ky., which deployed in September.
- Gina Cavallaro, Staff writer
Weapons identified as those belonging to 10th Mountain Division soldiers kidnapped and killed in a May 12 ambush were recovered near Baghdad on Tuesday, the Army announced in a press release. According to the release, the weapons were found by soldiers from 2nd Battalion, 14th Infantry, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division after Iraqi citizens led them to a cache in a house about seven miles north of the ambush site.
The May 12 attack, in which four soldiers and an Iraqi interpreter were killed, took place southwest of Baghdad in the Quarghulli village near Yusufiyah. The body of one soldier, Pfc. Joseph Anzack, was found floating in the Euphrates River 11 days later, and two other soldiers, Spc. Alex Jimenez and Pvt. Byron Fouty, are still missing.
The soldiers, all from 4th Battalion, 31st Infantry in 2nd BCT, were on a combat patrol when the attack took place. The cache discovered Tuesday consisted of 28 blasting caps in their original packaging, 50 pounds of homemade explosives, three 60 mm mortar rounds, an AK47 rifle and matching rigged pouch, two U.S. M-4s, one with an M203 grenade launcher attached, a single M203 and an M249 squad automatic weapon.
After finding the M4s and the M203, the release stated, analysts checked each of the serial numbers and determined that the M249 belonged to Jimenez. One of the M4s with the M203 attached belonged to Sgt. Anthony Schoeber, who was killed in the attack, and another M4 belonged to Anzack.
The soldiers' identification cards and wallets were found in mid-June in an al-Qaida safe house in Samara, about 75 miles north of Yusufiyah. These weapons are the first piece of physical evidence in the 2nd BCT's area of operations, according to the release.
Jimenez and Fouty are listed by the Army as missing-captured. There are two other soldiers in the same category, Staff Sgt. Matt Maupin, who disappeared in an ambush on his fuel convoy on April 9, 2004, and Spc. Ahmed Altaie, who has been missing since he was kidnapped by masked gunmen in a Baghdad neighborhood 2006Oct23 , while visiting his Iraqi wife.
During the search Tuesday, soldiers also discovered a manmade hide site near the house where the weapons were discovered. Nine locals were detained and are being questioned.
The recovered weapons will be turned over to the Criminal Investigations Department for fingerprints and DNA samples, the release stated.
The 2nd BCT soldiers will continue to search for more evidence that can lead them to the missing soldiers or the attackers, but the brigade is scheduled to return to its home base at Fort Drum, N.Y., by mid-November. It will be replaced by the 3rd BCT, 101st Airborne Division from Fort Campbell, Ky., which deployed in September.
- Gina Cavallaro, Staff writer
Staff report - Friday 2007Oct12 5:27:16 EDT
About 60 soldiers from 2nd Brigade, 10th Mountain Division are scheduled to return Friday to Fort Drum NY.
The soldiers spent 15 months in south Baghdad. The brigade has the most months deployed of any Army brigade since 2001, according to Army data.
This first group of soldiers, known as the torch party, will help with re-deployment efforts for the rest of the brigade's 3,500 soldiers. Most of the brigade will be home by the second week of November.
Soldiers from 3rd Brigade, 101st Airborne Division will replace 2nd Brigade, 10th Mountain in south Baghdad, under Multi-National Division-Center. Third Brigade, 101st Airborne, now on its fourth deployment, will continue the search for Spc. Alex Jimenez and Pvt. Byron Fouty, two
soldiers from 2nd Brigade, 10th Mountain who were captured by insurgent forces after their patrol was attacked May 12.
The soldiers spent 15 months in south Baghdad. The brigade has the most months deployed of any Army brigade since 2001, according to Army data.
This first group of soldiers, known as the torch party, will help with re-deployment efforts for the rest of the brigade's 3,500 soldiers. Most of the brigade will be home by the second week of November.
Soldiers from 3rd Brigade, 101st Airborne Division will replace 2nd Brigade, 10th Mountain in south Baghdad, under Multi-National Division-Center. Third Brigade, 101st Airborne, now on its fourth deployment, will continue the search for Spc. Alex Jimenez and Pvt. Byron Fouty, two
soldiers from 2nd Brigade, 10th Mountain who were captured by insurgent forces after their patrol was attacked May 12.
Praise the Lord
from my son
I have returned to Fort Drum intact again. I was one of the 61 men who flew in late last night. I'm enjoying time off with the family now and will prepare for the remainder of the Battalion's return.
[the background facts #1]
[the background facts #2]
I have returned to Fort Drum intact again. I was one of the 61 men who flew in late last night. I'm enjoying time off with the family now and will prepare for the remainder of the Battalion's return.
[the background facts #1]
[the background facts #2]
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
A.A.A.D.D.
Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder
Son claims to have it -- if so it is genetic -- I have always had it!
This is how it manifests:
I decide to water my garden. As I turn on the hose in the driveway, I look over at my car and decide it needs washing. As I start toward the garage, I notice mail on the porch table that I brought up from the mail box earlier. I decide to go through the mail before I wash the car. I lay my car keys on the table, put the junk mail in the garbage can under the table, and notice that the can is full. So, I decide to put the bills back on the table and take out the garbage first. But then I think, since I'm going to be near the mailbox when I take out the garbage anyway, I may as well pay the bills first. I take my check book off the table, and see that there is only one check left. My extra checks are in my desk in the study, so I go inside the house to my desk where I find the can of Coke I'd been drinking. I'm going to look for my checks, but first I need to push the Coke aside so that I don't accidentally knock it over. The Coke is getting warm, and I decide to put it in the refrigerator to keep it cold. As I head toward the kitchen with the Coke, a vase of flowers on the counter catches my eye--they need water. I put the Coke on the counter and discover my reading glasses that I've been searching for all morning. I decide I better put them back on my desk, but first I'm going to water the flowers. I set the glasses back down on the counter, fill a container with water and suddenly spot the TV remote. Someone left it on the kitchen table. I realize that tonight when we go to watch TV, I'll be looking for the remote, but I won't remember that it's on the kitchen table, so I decide to put it back in the den where it belongs, but first I'll water the flowers. I pour some water in the flowers, but quite a bit of it spills on the floor. So, I set the remote back on the table, get some towels and wipe up the spill. Then, I head down the hall trying to remember what I was planning to do. At the end of the day:
Do me a favor.
Forward the link to this message to everyone you know, because I don't remember who on earth I've sent it to.
Son claims to have it -- if so it is genetic -- I have always had it!
This is how it manifests:
I decide to water my garden. As I turn on the hose in the driveway, I look over at my car and decide it needs washing. As I start toward the garage, I notice mail on the porch table that I brought up from the mail box earlier. I decide to go through the mail before I wash the car. I lay my car keys on the table, put the junk mail in the garbage can under the table, and notice that the can is full. So, I decide to put the bills back on the table and take out the garbage first. But then I think, since I'm going to be near the mailbox when I take out the garbage anyway, I may as well pay the bills first. I take my check book off the table, and see that there is only one check left. My extra checks are in my desk in the study, so I go inside the house to my desk where I find the can of Coke I'd been drinking. I'm going to look for my checks, but first I need to push the Coke aside so that I don't accidentally knock it over. The Coke is getting warm, and I decide to put it in the refrigerator to keep it cold. As I head toward the kitchen with the Coke, a vase of flowers on the counter catches my eye--they need water. I put the Coke on the counter and discover my reading glasses that I've been searching for all morning. I decide I better put them back on my desk, but first I'm going to water the flowers. I set the glasses back down on the counter, fill a container with water and suddenly spot the TV remote. Someone left it on the kitchen table. I realize that tonight when we go to watch TV, I'll be looking for the remote, but I won't remember that it's on the kitchen table, so I decide to put it back in the den where it belongs, but first I'll water the flowers. I pour some water in the flowers, but quite a bit of it spills on the floor. So, I set the remote back on the table, get some towels and wipe up the spill. Then, I head down the hall trying to remember what I was planning to do. At the end of the day:
- The car isn't washed
- The bills aren't paid
- there is a warm can of Coke e sitting on the counter
- The flowers don't have enough water,
- there is still only 1 check in my check book,
- I can't find the remote,
- I can't find my glasses,
- and, I don't remember what I did with the car keys.
Do me a favor.
Forward the link to this message to everyone you know, because I don't remember who on earth I've sent it to.
Monday, October 1, 2007
the great "This is True" link point
TIRED OF BEING TOLD WHERE TO GO? "Get Out of Hell Free" with our popular and (in?)famous cards, created in response to a reader insisting that Randy was doomed. http://www.GOOHF.com
SUBSCRIPTIONS to "This is True" are free at http://www.thisistrue.com Published weekly by ThisIsTrue.Inc, PO Box 666, Ridgway CO 81432 USA (ISSN 1521-1932). TRUE is available to newspapers as a regular feature column. "This is True" is a registered trademark of ThisIsTrue.Inc
COPYRIGHT 2007 by Randy Cassingham, All Rights Reserved. All stories are completely rewritten by Randy Cassingham using facts from the noted sources.
TO COMMENT to the author, mailto:arcie@thisistrue.com -- Please include your first name and location.
Distribution sponsored by Lyris Technologies, Inc.
SUBSCRIPTIONS to "This is True" are free at http://www.thisistrue.com Published weekly by ThisIsTrue.Inc, PO Box 666, Ridgway CO 81432 USA (ISSN 1521-1932). TRUE is available to newspapers as a regular feature column. "This is True" is a registered trademark of ThisIsTrue.Inc
COPYRIGHT 2007 by Randy Cassingham, All Rights Reserved. All stories are completely rewritten by Randy Cassingham using facts from the noted sources.
TO COMMENT to the author, mailto:arcie@thisistrue.com -- Please include your first name and location.
Distribution sponsored by Lyris Technologies, Inc.
shame shame yet another inverse of zero policy incident
Austin Perkins, 17, a senior at Golden Gate High School in Naples FL, was one of several students sent to the office for violating the school's dress code. "This was a group of students who had been talked to before," said Principal Bob Spano.
copyright notice et al
Because there was a group of them, it sort of brought more attention to it.The violation: the students wore coats and ties to school. The school dress code "says 'business dress'," Perkins said.
A coat and tie are business dress.All the boys received in-school suspensions for "exceeding" the school's dress code. (Naples News)
copyright notice et al
when giving the finger is not shooting the bird
When Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe didn't visit a Shinto war shrine on the anniversary of Japan's surrender of World War II, Yoshihiro Tanjo, 54, who heads a "right-wing" political group, was incensed. Abe had avoided the shrine in an attempt to improve relations with China and South Korea, but Tanjo protested by cutting off his little finger and sending it to the Prime Minister. Included in the package: a DVD with
copyright notice et al
very graphic images of him chopping off a part of his finger, which he had filmed himself,said a Kurashiki police spokesman. Tanjo was arrested and charged with intimidation. (AFP)
copyright notice et al
grandbaby gnuz
Abby started pre-school this morning.. She was so excited that she even went on the potty twice yesterday. Even though she's not potty trained they put he with her age group. Hopefully it goes well. Pray for her...
Jason got all sappy this morning.. I told him to suck it up ...it's just preschool...Wait till Kindergarten..then worry...
Even though Abby didn't go on the potty this morning...Hailey did.. amazing..if only ...
Hailey has 12 teeth. She eats ok..Not a big eater. I put her on our scale last night and it said she was only 20 lbs...Either its wrong...or she has lost 3 lbs... I need to check....
She is back in a size three diaper and 18 months clothes. It's a shame because we have lots of things that she will never be able to wear. oh well..
- tweeter
Jason got all sappy this morning.. I told him to suck it up ...it's just preschool...Wait till Kindergarten..then worry...
Even though Abby didn't go on the potty this morning...Hailey did.. amazing..if only ...
Hailey has 12 teeth. She eats ok..Not a big eater. I put her on our scale last night and it said she was only 20 lbs...Either its wrong...or she has lost 3 lbs... I need to check....
She is back in a size three diaper and 18 months clothes. It's a shame because we have lots of things that she will never be able to wear. oh well..
- tweeter
Friday, September 28, 2007
tweeter: is it true?
While touring historic buildings in Alexandria VA, we visited an old church. The guide told us that George Washington had attended services there and pointed to his pew. A reverent silence fell. The guide, encouraged by this, went on to tell us that church services back then had been very lengthy -- frequently lasting three hours or more. The mood of the moment was shattered when an anonymous voice whispered loudly, "So George Washington slept here too!" - Thomas Ellsworth q.gcfl
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Q & A
It was the first day of school and a new student named xyz entered the fourth grade.
The teacher said, "Let's begin by reviewing some American history. Who said 'Give me Liberty, or give me Death?'"
She saw a sea of blank faces, except for xyz, who had his hand up. "Patrick Henry, 1775."
"Very good!" apprised the teacher. "Now, who said, 'Government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth'?"
Again, no response except from xyz: "Abraham Lincoln, 1863."
The teacher snapped at the class, "Class, you should be ashamed! xyz, who is new to our country, knows more about its history than you do!"
She heard a loud whisper from the back of the classroom: "Screw the Mexicans!"
"Who said that?" she demanded.
xyz put his hand up. "Jim Bowie, 1836."
At that point, another student in the back said, "I'm gonna puke."
The teacher glared and asked, "All right! Now, who said that?"
Again, xyz answered, "George Bush to the Japanese Prime Minister, 1991."
Another student yelled, "You're INCREDIBLE!"
xyz jumped out of his chair waving his hand and shouting to the teacher, "Bill Clinton to Monica Lewinsky, 1997!"
Now, with almost mob hysteria, the teacher said, "You littlepunk ... if you say anything else, I'll kill you!"
xyz frantically yelled at the top of his voice, "Gary Condit to Chandra Levy, 2001."
The teacher fainted, and as the class gathered around her on the floor, someone said, "Oh crap, we're in BIG trouble now!"
xyz whispered, "Saddam Hussein, 2003."
Finally someone throws an eraser at xyz and another student shouts "Duck"!
Teacher, just waking, asked "Who said that?"
xyz answered: "Dick Cheney, 2006!"
The teacher said, "Let's begin by reviewing some American history. Who said 'Give me Liberty, or give me Death?'"
She saw a sea of blank faces, except for xyz, who had his hand up. "Patrick Henry, 1775."
"Very good!" apprised the teacher. "Now, who said, 'Government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth'?"
Again, no response except from xyz: "Abraham Lincoln, 1863."
The teacher snapped at the class, "Class, you should be ashamed! xyz, who is new to our country, knows more about its history than you do!"
She heard a loud whisper from the back of the classroom: "Screw the Mexicans!"
"Who said that?" she demanded.
xyz put his hand up. "Jim Bowie, 1836."
At that point, another student in the back said, "I'm gonna puke."
The teacher glared and asked, "All right! Now, who said that?"
Again, xyz answered, "George Bush to the Japanese Prime Minister, 1991."
Another student yelled, "You're INCREDIBLE!"
xyz jumped out of his chair waving his hand and shouting to the teacher, "Bill Clinton to Monica Lewinsky, 1997!"
Now, with almost mob hysteria, the teacher said, "You little
xyz frantically yelled at the top of his voice, "Gary Condit to Chandra Levy, 2001."
The teacher fainted, and as the class gathered around her on the floor, someone said, "Oh crap, we're in BIG trouble now!"
xyz whispered, "Saddam Hussein, 2003."
Finally someone throws an eraser at xyz and another student shouts "Duck"!
Teacher, just waking, asked "Who said that?"
xyz answered: "Dick Cheney, 2006!"
Wal-Mart Greeter
Undoubtedly bogus, but funny:
A very loud, unattractive, mean-acting woman walked into Wal-Mart with her two kids, yelling obscenities at them all the way through the entrance. The Wal-Mart Greeter said pleasantly "Good morning, and welcome to Wal-Mart. Nice children you have there. Are they twins?" The ugly woman stopped yelling long enough to say, "Hell no they ain't."
"The oldest one's 9 and the other one's 7. Why the hell would you think they're twins? Are you blind, or just stupid?"
"I'm neither blind nor stupid, Ma'am," replied the greeter. "I just couldn't believe you got laid twice."
"Have a good day and thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart."
A very loud, unattractive, mean-acting woman walked into Wal-Mart with her two kids, yelling obscenities at them all the way through the entrance. The Wal-Mart Greeter said pleasantly "Good morning, and welcome to Wal-Mart. Nice children you have there. Are they twins?" The ugly woman stopped yelling long enough to say, "Hell no they ain't."
"The oldest one's 9 and the other one's 7. Why the hell would you think they're twins? Are you blind, or just stupid?"
"I'm neither blind nor stupid, Ma'am," replied the greeter. "I just couldn't believe you got laid twice."
"Have a good day and thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart."
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Dear Tide:
I am writing to say what an excellent product you have! I've used it all of my married life, as my mom always told me it was the best. Now that I am in my fifties I find it even better! In fact, about a month ago, I spilled some red wine on my new white blouse. My inconsiderate and uncaring husband started to belittle me about how clumsy I was, and generally started becoming a pain in the neck. One thing led to another and somehow I ended up with his blood on my new white blouse! I grabbed my bottle of Tide with bleach alternative, and to my surprise and satisfaction, all of the stains came out! In fact, the stains came out so well the detectives who came by yesterday told me that the DNA tests on my blouse were negative and then my attorney called and said that I was no longer considered a suspect in the disappearance of my husband.
What a relief! Going through menopause is bad enough without being a murder suspect! I thank you, once again, for having a great product. Well, gotta go... have to write to the Hefty bag people.
- Kerry Baker
What a relief! Going through menopause is bad enough without being a murder suspect! I thank you, once again, for having a great product. Well, gotta go... have to write to the Hefty bag people.
- Kerry Baker
Monday, September 10, 2007
Short & Funny [no short people were harmed in the production of this post]
I dialed a number and got the following recording: "I am not available right now, but thank you for caring enough to call. I am making some changes in my life. Please leave a message after the beep. If I do not return your call, you are one of the changes."
Aspire to inspire before you expire.
My wife and I had words, but I didn't get to use mine.
Frustration is trying to find your glasses without your glasses.
Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting.
God made man before woman so as to give him time to think of an answer for her first question.
I was always taught to respect my elders, but it keeps getting harder to find one.
Aspire to inspire before you expire.
My wife and I had words, but I didn't get to use mine.
Frustration is trying to find your glasses without your glasses.
Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting.
God made man before woman so as to give him time to think of an answer for her first question.
I was always taught to respect my elders, but it keeps getting harder to find one.
With hurricanes, tornadoes, fires out of control, mud slides, flooding, severe thunderstorms tearing up the country from one end to another, and with the threat of bird flu and terrorist attacks, are we sure this is a good time toq.FranCMT2 q.gcfl
take God out of the Pledge of Allegiance? - Jay Leno
Friday, September 7, 2007
getting what we ask for
A man asked his wife,
Into McDonalds they went, where she was given a Double Big Mac with extra fries and a strawberry shake. Then off to a theater to see Star Wars -- more burgers, popcorn, cola and sweets. At last she staggered home with her husband and collapsed into bed.
Her husband leaned over and asked,
So often, the same thing happens in my life. God has a way of answering my requests, my prayers, in ways I never even dreamed of -- not always in a pleasant way, not always in a way I would have chosen, but always in a way that He sees best.
What would you most like for your birthday?She said,
I'd love to be ten again.On the morning of her birthday, he got her up bright and early and off they went to a theme park. He put her on every ride in the park -- the Death Slide, The Screaming Loop, the Wall of Fear. Everything there was, she rode. She staggered out of the theme park five hours later, her head reeling and her stomach upside down.
Into McDonalds they went, where she was given a Double Big Mac with extra fries and a strawberry shake. Then off to a theater to see Star Wars -- more burgers, popcorn, cola and sweets. At last she staggered home with her husband and collapsed into bed.
Her husband leaned over and asked,
Well, dear, what was it like being ten again?One eye opened and she groaned,
Actually, I meant dress size.That story reminds me of what happened to James and John. They came to Jesus with a request. Jesus said,
What do you want Me to do for you?Jesus told them they really didn't know what they were asking for. He asked them,They said to Him, 'Grant us that we may sit, one on Your right hand and the other on Your left, in Your glory.'
(Mk 10:36-37)
Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with? (Mk 10:38)Their response?
Of course!However, what they had in mind (prestige, power and glory) wasn't the same thing Jesus had in mind (persecution, suffering and servanthood). Jesus gave them exactly what they asked for, but it wasn't at all what they were hoping for when they made the request!
So often, the same thing happens in my life. God has a way of answering my requests, my prayers, in ways I never even dreamed of -- not always in a pleasant way, not always in a way I would have chosen, but always in a way that He sees best.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
sonshine from the land of the blazing sun
Here is what Jeff Foxworthy has to say about folks from TX:
If someone in a Lowe's store offers you assistance and they don't work there, you may live in TX. [btdt but it was a Builder's Square]
If you've worn shorts and a parka at the same time, you may live in TX. [or be visiting Mt Hood in OR]
If you've had a lengthy telephone conversation with someone who dialed a wrong number, you may live in TX.
If "Vacation" means going anywhere south of Dallas for the weekend, you may live in TX. [used to be on weekends Aggies would drive home if it took less than 8 hrs]
If you measure distance in hours, you may live in TX. [and you can't count them on just your fingers!]
If you know several people who have hit a deer more than once, you may live in TX. [does he mean the same deer?]
If you install security lights on your house and garage, but leave both unlocked, you may live in TX. [but not in Houston, Dallas, Fort Worth, San Antonio, Austin, ...]
If you carry jumper cables in your car and your wife knows how to use them, you may live in TX. [my boss once gave me a set of jumper cables in Houston]
If the speed limit on the highway is 55 mph -- you're going 80 and everybody is passing you, you may live in TX. [or GA -- the difference is that GA people don't know what "merge" means]
If you find 60 degrees "a little chilly", you may live in TX.
If you actually understand these jokes, and forward them to all your TX friends & others, you definitely live inTX. [or in the case of my children and one of the grandchildren, born there]
If someone in a Lowe's store offers you assistance and they don't work there, you may live in TX. [btdt but it was a Builder's Square]
If you've worn shorts and a parka at the same time, you may live in TX. [or be visiting Mt Hood in OR]
If you've had a lengthy telephone conversation with someone who dialed a wrong number, you may live in TX.
If "Vacation" means going anywhere south of Dallas for the weekend, you may live in TX. [used to be on weekends Aggies would drive home if it took less than 8 hrs]
If you measure distance in hours, you may live in TX. [and you can't count them on just your fingers!]
If you know several people who have hit a deer more than once, you may live in TX. [does he mean the same deer?]
If you install security lights on your house and garage, but leave both unlocked, you may live in TX. [but not in Houston, Dallas, Fort Worth, San Antonio, Austin, ...]
If you carry jumper cables in your car and your wife knows how to use them, you may live in TX. [my boss once gave me a set of jumper cables in Houston]
If the speed limit on the highway is 55 mph -- you're going 80 and everybody is passing you, you may live in TX. [or GA -- the difference is that GA people don't know what "merge" means]
If you find 60 degrees "a little chilly", you may live in TX.
If you actually understand these jokes, and forward them to all your TX friends & others, you definitely live inTX. [or in the case of my children and one of the grandchildren, born there]
In my next life
You may have seen this bit of humor making it's way around the Internet:
In my next life, I want to be a bear...
If you're a bear, you get to hibernate. You do nothing but sleep for six months. I could deal with that.
Before you hibernate, you're supposed to eat yourself stupid. I could deal with that, too.
If you're a bear, you birth your children while you're sleeping (who are the size of walnuts) and wake to partially grown, cute cuddly cubs. I could deal with that in a big way.
If you're a mama bear, everyone knows you mean business. You swat anyone who bothers your cubs. If your cubs get out of line, you swat them too. I could deal with that.
If you're a bear, your mate EXPECTS you to wake up growling. He EXPECTS that you will have hairy legs and excess body fat.
Yup...gonna be a bear!
I admit it sounds tempting -- especially the part about being able to eat and sleep (and growl!). But for those of us who are Christians, here's something even BETTER than lies ahead. What could possibly be better than that?
How about a life where there's no more pain and no more heartache? A family reunion where you're surrounded by people who all have a heart for God. A place where you don't have to live in fear and suspicion. A place where all your needs are met. An eternity in the arms of your heavenly Father.
"And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, 'Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.' Then He who sat on the throne said, "Behold, I make all things new." (Rev 21:3-5a)
I don't know about you, but in my next life, I don't want to be a bear......I want to be with God!
In my next life, I want to be a bear...
If you're a bear, you get to hibernate. You do nothing but sleep for six months. I could deal with that.
Before you hibernate, you're supposed to eat yourself stupid. I could deal with that, too.
If you're a bear, you birth your children while you're sleeping (who are the size of walnuts) and wake to partially grown, cute cuddly cubs. I could deal with that in a big way.
If you're a mama bear, everyone knows you mean business. You swat anyone who bothers your cubs. If your cubs get out of line, you swat them too. I could deal with that.
If you're a bear, your mate EXPECTS you to wake up growling. He EXPECTS that you will have hairy legs and excess body fat.
Yup...gonna be a bear!
I admit it sounds tempting -- especially the part about being able to eat and sleep (and growl!). But for those of us who are Christians, here's something even BETTER than lies ahead. What could possibly be better than that?
How about a life where there's no more pain and no more heartache? A family reunion where you're surrounded by people who all have a heart for God. A place where you don't have to live in fear and suspicion. A place where all your needs are met. An eternity in the arms of your heavenly Father.
"And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, 'Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.' Then He who sat on the throne said, "Behold, I make all things new." (Rev 21:3-5a)
I don't know about you, but in my next life, I don't want to be a bear......I want to be with God!
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
a shaggy dog is not a pup
Mane Troubles
The farmer didn't like to use a tractor on his small holding. He preferred to have his draft horses pull his plow and wagons. Unfortunately, a group of small birds insisted on forming nests in the horses' manes, which prevented him from hitching the reins properly.
The farmer tried every method he could think of to get rid of the pesky birds. He tried lotions, potions, and notions. He kept the stable colder; he kept it warmer. He went to horse doctors; he went to bird specialists. He called his congressman; he called the Department of Agriculture. He trimmed the manes as much as he could. He tried loud noises, cat noises, and classical music. Nothing would induce the birds to leave his horses alone.
In desperation, he went to an Indian medicine man from a nearby reservation. The medicine man, listening to his story, gave him some vile-smelling yeast extract to rub into the manes. Amazingly, it worked. Within two days, the birds had all fled and the horses were back to work.
The farmer was pleased with this outcome, but he was puzzled with the methodology. He went back to the medicine man and inquired about how a simple extract of yeast was able to solve a problem that many veterinarians and the Department of Agriculture couldn't.
The medicine man replied, "Simple. Yeast is yeast, and nest is nest, and never the mane shall tweet." - Cathy Gilstrap
The farmer didn't like to use a tractor on his small holding. He preferred to have his draft horses pull his plow and wagons. Unfortunately, a group of small birds insisted on forming nests in the horses' manes, which prevented him from hitching the reins properly.
The farmer tried every method he could think of to get rid of the pesky birds. He tried lotions, potions, and notions. He kept the stable colder; he kept it warmer. He went to horse doctors; he went to bird specialists. He called his congressman; he called the Department of Agriculture. He trimmed the manes as much as he could. He tried loud noises, cat noises, and classical music. Nothing would induce the birds to leave his horses alone.
In desperation, he went to an Indian medicine man from a nearby reservation. The medicine man, listening to his story, gave him some vile-smelling yeast extract to rub into the manes. Amazingly, it worked. Within two days, the birds had all fled and the horses were back to work.
The farmer was pleased with this outcome, but he was puzzled with the methodology. He went back to the medicine man and inquired about how a simple extract of yeast was able to solve a problem that many veterinarians and the Department of Agriculture couldn't.
The medicine man replied, "Simple. Yeast is yeast, and nest is nest, and never the mane shall tweet." - Cathy Gilstrap
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
requiescat in pace
A security guard at the summer Olympics in Atlanta GA in 1996, Richard Jewell discovered a pipe bomb in the Centennial Olympic Park. He alerted police and started to evacuate the area before the bomb exploded, but the blast killed one woman and injured over 100 others. For surely saving many others, Jewell was held up as a hero -- until two days later, when the Atlanta Journal-Constitution newspaper reported Jewell was "a focus" of investigators (though it noted that others had "not yet been ruled out as potential suspects.") Jewell was ridiculed as a wanna-be cop who "probably" planted the bomb himself so he could find it and be a hero. Several other news agencies picked up the report, smearing his name worldwide. It took nearly three months for the FBI to make an unprecedented announcement: that Jewell was NOT considered a suspect, and that the "unusual and intense publicity" surrounding him was
neither designed nor desired by the FBI, and in fact interfered with the investigation.(The actual bomber was anti-abortion domestic terrorist Eric Rudolph; his bombing spree killed three and injured at least 150 others.) Jewell sued several news agencies for libel, and most settled with him -- though the ajc itself refused to, and the lawsuit against them is still pending. Jewell went on to become a police officer -- and lecture at journalism schools about how unsourced and anonymous accusations can damage innocent people. Jewell finally received a commendation from Georgia Gov. Sonny Perdue last year on the 10th anniversary of the bombing.
I never expected this day to ever happen,Jewell said. He died 2007Aug29 from a heart attack. He was 44.
Top secret
Bryan Hilferty of Alexandria VA was the umpire for his son's Little League game, but wasn't sure how to call a play. He asked to see the league's official rule book, but no one had a copy. In fact, he couldn't find one available on the league's web site, either, so he called headquarters. He was told that not "just anyone" could get the rules, since the league was tired of being sued by players' parents. "I have a secret clearance," said Hilferty, a Lt. Colonel in the U.S. Air Force.
I work in the E-ring of the Pentagon, but I don't have clearance for the Little League rules.Little League officials were not moved.
There is no way we can give special treatment to someone just because they are in the Pentagon,sniffed spokesman Lance Van Auken.
We don't give preferential treatment. Everybody has to abide by the same rules.(Washington Post) ...Though naturally, no one is allowed to see what they are.
pest control professional
Jeff Goza, 37, was driving his pest control truck in Gurnee IL, when he accidentally cut off another driver behind the wheel of a Volvo. The Volvo driver was clearly angry, he said, and started to "aggressively" follow him until deciding to get back at him by cutting him off too. But the Volvo driver lost control and hit the curb, which caused him to flip at least four times before coming to a stop on its roof. But he wasn't done yet: the bloodied man crawled out and tried to pick a fight with Goza, who had stopped to render aid. Goza is at least five inches taller than the Volvo driver, and outweighed him by about 100 pounds, so he let the guy take out his frustration.
I wasn't going to hit him back,he said.
I was just afraid that I was going to be implemented in all of this.Police let Goza go, but charged the Volvo driver, Steven Stankovitch, 47, with reckless driving and battery. (Lake County News-Sun) ...It may sound impressive, but after all, Goza is a pest-control professional.
WABE - public broadcasting in ATL
Wild
Asian
Buffalo
Enterprise
And what is a wild Asian buffalo? Why a yak of course!
WABE is Yak radio -- yak yak yak yak .....
Asian
Buffalo
Enterprise
And what is a wild Asian buffalo? Why a yak of course!
WABE is Yak radio -- yak yak yak yak .....
Secretive solutions
9/3/2007
The Secret is a popular, and therefore self-contradictory book: If you can buy it on Amazon.com, how secret can it be?
Someone who read The Secret let me in on it. It resembles the movie What the Bleep do We Know? -- a new age spin on quantum physics.
It starts with what by now is well worn. A quantum event, such as the radioactive decay of an atomic nucleus, is intrinsically random. Until an observer sees the outcome, the universe simultaneously exists in two "superposed" states -- in one the nucleus has decayed, in the other it has not. The act of observation collapses the two states back into a single reality in which the nucleus either did or did not decay.
That's when it all goes wrong. The Secret is that through concentration you can take advantage of this principle to make random events come out your way.
Which leads to the question: If two people both know The Secret and concentrate in opposite directions, then what?
It also leads to the more important question, Weren't you paying attention when you read the phrase, "intrinsically random?" If an observer can choose the outcome of an event it isn't intrinsically random anymore.
It's a nice theory, though. It stands up to the two tests most Americans and far too many business leaders apply to such ideas: It (1) is more convenient than the way the world really works, and (2) fits their preconceived notions.
It sure would be handy if The Secret worked as advertised. If it did, instead of my typical stock picks' habit of plummeting like poisoned pigeons, they would soar like celestial seraphim.
Want to know a real secret? It's that there is no secret. The best way to forecast the future is to make it happen. You won't achieve this by concentrating your will to influence quantum events. You'll achieve it by concentrating your efforts and the efforts of those working for you to make them happen.
Here's a handy-dandy formula that can help: 3, 1, 3, 4. By the numbers:
3-year vision: This is what you want your organization to be and to accomplish. You should be able to explain it in clear, direct terms. This isn't the place for nuance.
And if you're a loophole sort of person, sorry, run-on sentences are cheating.
An example, if you're looking for one: "In three years, IT will be the company's partner in designing change and a leader in making it happen."
1-year strategy: This is the one-year down payment on your three-year vision. As is the case for your vision, you should also be able to express your strategy in one or two simple declarative sentences:
"This year, our goal is to achieve a 'culture of discipline' -- a shared way of thinking and acting that means every employee makes good decisions instead of managers having to enforce them through oversight."
3-month goals: Here's where it starts to become real. Anyone can look out three years, or even one year, and articulate brilliant outcomes. Three months is another matter. Three months is urgent. It's immediate. It's hard to escape.
Developing goals for the next three months isn't particularly challenging. What's difficult is figuring out a list that moves you toward your one-year strategy. My best advice: Don't worry about it at first. Getting in the habit of putting down any list of three-month goals is an interesting enough challenge. Once you've started you can refine it.
4 -week plan: This is where the rubber meets the road. It's what you intend to achieve each week for the next month to make sure your three-month goals turn into accomplishments at a steady pace.
I've said "your vision, your strategy, your goals and your plan." If that's all they are, you'll fail. Your management team has to embrace the vision and strategy -- it has to be theirs. The goals have to be their goals even more than they are your goals, and the plan isn't a plan at all -- it's the composite of their individual plans, shared so that everyone knows what anyone knows.
What's left is checking off the details as you complete them. That and all the hard work of making it happen.
Don't make the mistake of minimizing the hard work, just because other people have to do it. Compared to it, all of your planning is pretty easy.
-----------------
Copyright and other stuff -- The great KJR link point
The Secret is a popular, and therefore self-contradictory book: If you can buy it on Amazon.com, how secret can it be?
Someone who read The Secret let me in on it. It resembles the movie What the Bleep do We Know? -- a new age spin on quantum physics.
It starts with what by now is well worn. A quantum event, such as the radioactive decay of an atomic nucleus, is intrinsically random. Until an observer sees the outcome, the universe simultaneously exists in two "superposed" states -- in one the nucleus has decayed, in the other it has not. The act of observation collapses the two states back into a single reality in which the nucleus either did or did not decay.
That's when it all goes wrong. The Secret is that through concentration you can take advantage of this principle to make random events come out your way.
Which leads to the question: If two people both know The Secret and concentrate in opposite directions, then what?
It also leads to the more important question, Weren't you paying attention when you read the phrase, "intrinsically random?" If an observer can choose the outcome of an event it isn't intrinsically random anymore.
It's a nice theory, though. It stands up to the two tests most Americans and far too many business leaders apply to such ideas: It (1) is more convenient than the way the world really works, and (2) fits their preconceived notions.
It sure would be handy if The Secret worked as advertised. If it did, instead of my typical stock picks' habit of plummeting like poisoned pigeons, they would soar like celestial seraphim.
Want to know a real secret? It's that there is no secret. The best way to forecast the future is to make it happen. You won't achieve this by concentrating your will to influence quantum events. You'll achieve it by concentrating your efforts and the efforts of those working for you to make them happen.
Here's a handy-dandy formula that can help: 3, 1, 3, 4. By the numbers:
3-year vision: This is what you want your organization to be and to accomplish. You should be able to explain it in clear, direct terms. This isn't the place for nuance.
And if you're a loophole sort of person, sorry, run-on sentences are cheating.
An example, if you're looking for one: "In three years, IT will be the company's partner in designing change and a leader in making it happen."
1-year strategy: This is the one-year down payment on your three-year vision. As is the case for your vision, you should also be able to express your strategy in one or two simple declarative sentences:
"This year, our goal is to achieve a 'culture of discipline' -- a shared way of thinking and acting that means every employee makes good decisions instead of managers having to enforce them through oversight."
3-month goals: Here's where it starts to become real. Anyone can look out three years, or even one year, and articulate brilliant outcomes. Three months is another matter. Three months is urgent. It's immediate. It's hard to escape.
Developing goals for the next three months isn't particularly challenging. What's difficult is figuring out a list that moves you toward your one-year strategy. My best advice: Don't worry about it at first. Getting in the habit of putting down any list of three-month goals is an interesting enough challenge. Once you've started you can refine it.
4 -week plan: This is where the rubber meets the road. It's what you intend to achieve each week for the next month to make sure your three-month goals turn into accomplishments at a steady pace.
I've said "your vision, your strategy, your goals and your plan." If that's all they are, you'll fail. Your management team has to embrace the vision and strategy -- it has to be theirs. The goals have to be their goals even more than they are your goals, and the plan isn't a plan at all -- it's the composite of their individual plans, shared so that everyone knows what anyone knows.
What's left is checking off the details as you complete them. That and all the hard work of making it happen.
Don't make the mistake of minimizing the hard work, just because other people have to do it. Compared to it, all of your planning is pretty easy.
-----------------
Copyright and other stuff -- The great KJR link point
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