Moving, Calvinism, and the art of ham and bacon.

Hi neighbors. It's time to do this thing. In the past two weeks I have thought of many clever and awesomely awesome things to blog about but, after just now eating that ham, bacon, egg and cheese sandwich, my memory for anything else awesome has been triple-wiped from my memory. But that still leaves me here in front of this computer with a goal unmet. I can definitely tell you a few things about my life these days... I'll go from there. Ready? Skadoosh. 1. I'm sneezing my face off. Why? Because I'm genetically inferior to most humanoids and once something has been predestined, there's not much you can do about it, buddy-boy. See, I'm a presbyterian now and that means that before there was a speck of dust in the universe, my ass was Calvin'd right into a life of sneezing and wheezing at the faintest presence of old dust. Part of the problem/hugh-blessing is that we just moved to a bigger apartment (we now have what the people of Texas like to call, "a bedroom.") and much boxes were utilized in this move. Boxes are to my immune system as Mufasa is to limping wildebeest calf. 2. Other than that... Hey! The Pope resigned! That's pretty big news. I suppose my catholic friends are feeling a little bit of loss since they no longer have an idol to worship. I mean, that would really suck if my Lord and Savior were to just up and quit. I feel for the Cathy's. I really do. Just joking-- about the idol worship part. I actually do feel sorry for them. Anyways, Relax! I know the Catholics don't worship the pope. Sheesh. Whataya take me for? I know perfectly well that they never worshiped the Ratzinator. They totally worship Mary, always have. Everybody knows that. Aahhhh, I'm just joking again. They don't worship Mary. For realz. They just venerate her. Venerate is a fancy word for many of us and most of us think we think we know what it means but most times we only kind of know what it means because we never really use venerate in our daily sentences and it's closest cousins are generate or incinerate which aren't much help in knowing the real meaning of venerate. If you need to clarify further without looking it up, what you really need to know is this: Catholics venerate Mary as Protestants venerate Jesus. However, from time to time, if there is a statue of Mary when she is holding the baby Jesus, then Jesus gets in on the veneration action. So there you have it. I came, I blogged, I kicked some misconceptions-of-our-Catholic-brothers butt. And I sneezed whilst i typed. Nah, I'm not going to capitalize that last I. I've lost the energy. System... crash.

Lennox Hill (Hell)

What if difference being Beyonce (being incredibly rich and famous) can make.

First off, I'm over blogging about celebrities. It rarely happens these days. But something struck me as I glanced at the Yahoo news and I had to speak out. Two words, to be exact. Two words that are synonymous with "pit" and "hell". Those two words are... drumroll.... "Lennox Hill." It was shocking to me that Beyonce had her baby at Lennox Hill. See, Kate (our daughter) was born at Lennox Hill and when I see pictures of Beyonce's decked out baby birthing suite I can't even imagine that they are in the same building, or the same region of the Solar System as Lennox Hill.

I will give you a brief rundown of our experience with Lennox Hill:

We arrive pretty early in the morning and the nurses aren't exactly super glad to see us. Understandable, the graveyard shift at any hospital isn't usually the all-star cast. And most night-shift people are usually a little weird and need some serious vitamin D in the old bloodstream. In the first hour of contractions, two doctors started arguing in the room over a changing shift. Then later, two nurses argued over something, I think over a machine that was malfunctioning or something one of the nurses forgot to do, like take Amber's blood pressure or take take their clue pill before coming to work. I dunno. There was ONE nurse that seemed to be in tune with Amber while Amber was pretty deep into contraction-world (Amber was going natural birth with no drugs; the pain was for realz, ya'll) but after the first visit, this nurse seemed to pop in long enough just to say something about the baby's heart rate being a little high and then leave. Another nurse talked on her phone to her boyfriend and had to leave the room because Amber's pain scream was just too loud to hear her boyfriend. I just couldn't believe it.

One of the first things that we realized about the hospital was the general hygiene of the place; it was pretty dirty. Granted, we come from Dallas Texas where the clinics have flat-screen TVs in every room, and the clinic doctors call you two days later to see how you are doing (I know that sounds crazy but it's true) so maybe be are a tad spoiled... but I'm pretty sure I saw dirt-scum in about every corner the room and the window shade looked like a few crusty truck drivers had a peeing contest before they delivered the window shade and the window shade was the target.

Finally, Amber's doctor arrived. Amber's lady-doctor is really a wonderful Doctor. She really is. She's so great that she came into the room and demanded that they change the pee-stained shade on the window. (the air conditioner vent is right under the shade) Well, that would have been all fine if the repair guys wouldn't have gotten into an argument in the middle of one of Amber's contractions. At this point I wondered if everyone had to pass some sort of ineptitude exam to make sure that they measured up to the Lennox Hill standard of crappiness. Then, we found out the shower didn't work in the room. So the repair guys decided to give that a go. Basically, it turned into a construction site, where everyone, it seemed, was arguing and hollering over a first time mom and her praying husband and in the middle of the some pretty intense contractions. It was hell.

To top it all off, they decided to move Amber to another room, after the shade is fixed and after the shower is fixed, in the middle of a contraction. The reason is still a mystery. But they tried to make it sound like it was imperative. This room was bigger, but it had sticky dried up soft drink on the chairs and the shower and the birthing light (that really bright and important light the doctor uses to see the baby) didn't work either. They had to change the light out. All the while Amber is trying to get dilated and screaming her face off. This kind of crap went on for about 10 hrs straight. Just one crappy hospital experience after another. Finally, after 22 hrs straight of stressed-out contractions, Amber went on the epidural. She still had her own contractions but without the extreme pain. At this point all the nurses seemed to relax and stop running around like chickens. Then it occurred to me: If the women don't let the drugs take over as soon as they step in the building, the doctors and nurses don't have a CLUE as to what to do.

One might ask, well, Seth, this hospital sounds pretty Ghetto, didn't you tour the facility before sending your precious wife into the war zone? Of course I did. But guess what? You don't really pick your hospital, you pick your Doctor. And our Doctor was awesome and well-known and just one year from retirement. And she has delivered at Lennox Hill since Lennox Hill was Lennox Mountain and according to some ancient Mages and old-timer NYC soothsayers, Lennox Hill used to be the best of the best. Then some rich group of investors bought it and all the good doctors (except our doctor) left. Plus, it's in probably one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the country, the Upper East Side in Manhattan. If you look at the room furniture and the equipment, you'd think it was twenty years behind and in one of Billy Bob Thornton's indie films. The rooms had that Motel 6 feel about them (before they changed their image) and the furniture looked like it had come straight from the Good Will without a good scrub down. I think we would have been much safer in a missionary tent in Africa. Not kidding.

I will say the postpartum section of the Hospital had their stuff pretty much together, for the most part, except the bed. Amber's bed made an incredible racket when she wanted to incline which woke the baby up every time and scared the crud out of me half the time myself. The nurse actually LAUGHED at me when I asked if there was internet in the rooms. Not even a connection. I might as well have been asking her hand me a handful of pink diamonds and a ride on the spaceship.


This was our experience at Lennox Hill. It was not the posh, royale-with-cheese experience that Sasha Fierce and Jay-Z's little bundle got.

IT SUCKED.

It sucked so bad that I will NEVER ever ever E-VER set foot in that hospital again and wouldn't if I had one foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peel.

They basically did everything they could to make the situation as stressful and uncomfortable as humanly possible. It's only because of prayer and the Doula that Amber didn't go into distress and the baby didn't either. I mean, it was that bad.

A part of me is glad that the Beyonce's or the Z's or the Fierce's or whatever their last name is.... renovated the whole wing of that Hospital. It's probably how they got the sweet deal that they got. Who else but a King would get that kind of arrangement in a NY hospital. Lot's of celebrities live here and they all play by the rules, for the most part. I see old Regis at our gym sometimes and he's gets his water out of the same fountain as I do.

But here, I can just see the convo: "Hey, Lennox-Hill-people, we the people of the Z family will renovate this whole CRAPPY floor if you let us be the absolute ruler and dictator of the baby hospital district during our stay. We want absolute power of the building and that means bouncing other parents out of the ICU area if we think they look like they want to snap a picture of our baby with their phones. I mean, cause when people find out about OUR baby, they aren't even going care about their own dumb and boring babies and will just be dreaming about getting the chance to snap a shot of our baby. Because our baby... is FIERCE and HAWT and SUPERFAMOUS and just downright Babylicious."

Lennox Hill People: "Deal. And may I say I agree with Kanye about that video and if I could go back in time and lift Kanye on my shoulders to the microphone, I would. And You deserved that Academy Award of Jennifer Hudson. I mean, have you seen that video of Hudson singing to her overweight self? Stinking weird. That's what getting an academy award gets you?"

Z family: "Don't mention her name in my presence and don't look me in the eyes when you speak... or when I speak. And don't look into my unborn baby's eyes when you speak either."

Lennox Hill People: "As you wish, Lord and Lady Fierce."

Z family: "Shut it, punk."

Alright: end rant.

God bless baby Beyonce. From all accounts (I really haven't heard any) it's a very beautiful baby. And babies are truly the equalizing force in all creation. They don't know how famous their parents are. They come out with one command for mommy and daddy whether they be pauper, prince or king: "Yo. Wake up. I just pooped. Clean it up. You dig? Awah."

The end. God bless Beyonce, and God bless Amarca.

Ron Paul Misconceptions.

I am actually quite shocked at how people are snubbing Ron Paul. I'm mostly shocked because it's mostly conservatives who are snubbing him. I'm pretty convinced that it's because they listen to what the media says about him. For instance, Kelly Clarkson came out and endorsed Ron Paul. People got nasty and a few people stopped following her on Twitter. However, what the article didn't say was that her record sales spiked.

Ron Paul has two things going against him: The liberal media hates him because he's the only candidate that actually stands a chance to beat Obama. The only thing they can dig up on him is "He's a racist." The conservative media hates him because he's basically wanting to end the age of tyrannical banks by regulating and auditing the Federal Reserve. But what has really amazed me is how people will say, "Oh Ron, he's a nut" and then they have no idea why they think that.

I'm going to outline a few things Ron Paul stands for. This is directly from his website.

HEALTHCARE: He will work with Congress to:

* Repeal ObamaCare and end its unconstitutional mandate that all Americans must carry only government-approved health insurance or answer to the IRS.

* Allow purchase of health insurance across state lines.

* Provide tax credits and deductions for all medical expenses.

* Exempt those with terminal illnesses from the employee portion of payroll taxes while they are suffering from such illnesses or are incurring significant medical costs associated with their conditions.

* Give a payroll deduction to any worker who is the primary caregiver for a spouse, parent, or child with a terminal illness.

* Ensure that those harmed during medical treatment receive fair compensation while reducing the burden of costly malpractice litigation on the health care system by providing a tax credit for “negative outcomes” insurance purchased before medical treatment.

* Guarantee that what is taken from taxpayers to pay for Medicare and Medicaid is not raided for other purposes.

* Make all Americans eligible for Health Savings Accounts (HSAs) and remove government-imposed barriers to obtaining HSAs.

* Stop the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) from interfering with Americans’ knowledge of and access to dietary supplements and alternative treatments.

* Prevent federal bureaucrats from tracking every citizen’s medical history from cradle to grave by prohibiting the use of taxpayer funds for a national database of personal health information.

Ron Paul proudly worked every day to honor the trust his patients placed in him, and he will do the same as President with the confidence of the American people, who deserve a government that “does no harm” to their health care.


DEFENSE

As an Air Force veteran, Ron Paul believes national defense is the single most important responsibility the Constitution entrusts to the federal government.

In Congress, Ron Paul voted to authorize military force to hunt down Osama bin Laden and authored legislation to specifically target terrorist leaders and bring them to justice.

Today, however, hundreds of thousands of our fighting men and women have been stretched thin all across the globe in over 135 countries – often without a clear mission, any sense of what defines victory, or the knowledge of when they’ll be permanently reunited with their families.

Acting as the world’s policeman and nation-building weakens our country, puts our troops in harm’s way, and sends precious resources to other nations in the midst of an historic economic crisis.

Taxpayers are forced to spend billions of dollars each year to protect the borders of other countries, while Washington refuses to deal with our own border security needs.

Congress has been rendered virtually irrelevant in foreign policy decisions and regularly cedes authority to an executive branch that refuses to be held accountable for its actions.

Far from defeating the enemy, our current policies provide incentive for more to take up arms against us.

That’s why, as Commander-in-Chief, Dr. Paul will lead the fight to:

* Make securing our borders the top national security priority.

* Avoid long and expensive land wars that bankrupt our country by using constitutional means to capture or kill terrorist leaders who helped attack the U.S. and continue to plot further attacks.

* Guarantee our intelligence community’s efforts are directed toward legitimate threats and not spying on innocent Americans through unconstitutional power grabs like the Patriot Act.

* End the nation-building that is draining troop morale, increasing our debt, and sacrificing lives with no end in sight.

* Follow the Constitution by asking Congress to declare war before one is waged.

* Only send our military into conflict with a clear mission and all the tools they need to complete the job – and then bring them home.

* Ensure our veterans receive the care, benefits, and honors they have earned when they return.

* Revitalize the military for the 21st century by eliminating waste in a trillion-dollar military budget.

* Prevent the TSA from forcing Americans to either be groped or ogled just to travel on an airplane and ultimately abolish the unconstitutional agency.

* Stop taking money from the middle class and the poor to give to rich dictators through foreign aid.

As President, Ron Paul’s national defense policy will ensure that the greatest nation in human history is strong, secure, and respected.


What I think that most conservatives don't know is his stance on abortion. He was a doctor and he delivers over 5,000 babies and he's probably the only candidate who has come out totally against it in a while.

FAITH AND ABORTION


My faith is a deeply private issue to me, and I don’t speak on it in great detail during my speeches because I want to avoid any appearance of exploiting it for political gain. Let me be very clear here: I have accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Savior, and I endeavor every day to follow Him in all I do and in every position I advocate.

It is God Who gave us life. As He is free, so are those He created in His image. Our rights to life and liberty are inalienable.

I’m running for President of the United States because I believe that our traditions and way of life are under attack from an out-of-control federal government and reckless politicians who show no regard for what our Founders entrusted to our protection.

America became the greatest nation in human history because a dedicated band of Patriots believed their God-given rights were worth fighting for, even if it meant challenging the world’s most powerful nation in what many deemed a “hopeless” cause.

Being free meant so much to our forefathers that they put everything on the line – and thousands sacrificed their lives – to give the promise of liberty to not only their children and grandchildren, but to generations they knew they would never even meet.

Their courage and determination guaranteed they would defy the odds and achieve victory.

In this critical election, you and I must decide if the principles of limited government and personal freedom are worth fighting for once again.

Since I’m asking for your vote and your trust to lead this nation, let me tell you a little bit about my background and beliefs.

My parents raised my four brothers and me on a dairy near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where they set clear examples for each of us about faith, honest living, and individual responsibility. Their Christian values helped inspire two of my brothers to eventually enter the ministry, and provided me with the foundation I needed to practice medicine and one day become a U.S. Representative.

In addition to my time in Congress, I am proud to have delivered over 4,000 babies as a country doctor in Texas. As I trained to practice medicine, I became convinced without a doubt that life begins at the moment of conception. I never performed an abortion, and I never once found an abortion necessary to save the life of the mother. In fact, I successfully helped women struggling with their pregnancies to seek other options, including adoption.

I am running to Restore America Now, and by that I mean that it’s time to protect and promote the basic God-given rights inherent in the promise of America.

We must pass on our heritage of liberty to the next generation – not tens of trillions of dollars in debt and liabilities.

We must stand for life – not allow millions of innocent children to continue to be slaughtered with the government’s approval.

We must follow the Biblical mandate of using honest weights and measures – not printing money out of thin air in almost complete secrecy and then handing it over to oppressive dictators.

We must only send our men and women to fight for our country when the mission is clear, every necessary tool needed to win is provided, and we respect the Constitution by declaring war.

Once war is declared, it must be waged according to Just War principles. We should only fight when it’s in our national security interest, and we should no longer do the corrupt United Nation’s bidding by policing the world.

In Congress, I never vote for any piece of legislation that violates the Constitution’s strict limits on government power. I also do not participate in the congressional pension system.

As President, I give you my word that I will only exercise my authority within the confines of the Constitution, and I will work every day to rein in a runaway federal government by binding it with the chains of that document.

For my stands and beliefs, I am told that my efforts are “hopeless.” Like those who were proud to stand up for what they knew was right to create our nation, however, I firmly believe that now is a better time than ever before to reclaim our liberties. No situation is hopeless for those who receive their strength from their faith, family, and freedom.

And like those Patriots, I have no doubt that liberty will prevail.

I invite you to join me and millions of other Americans in taking our stand to honor our forefathers’ sacrifices and Restore America Now.


My Aside: So there you have it. Doesn't sound so crazy to me. Sounds pretty awesome.

The squatters doth protest too much.

I love America. I really do. Only in this country can a bunch of people get together and camp out in the greatest city in the world, for free, eat muffins, smoke cigs, eat their fill, and gripe about the country that is allowing it and then when the city wants to clean up their stinky mess, they can get online with their COMPUTERS and get a petition signed so they can continue their stint and stench as America's camper class.

And here's the beauty: They have no friggin idea what they are protesting. It's really a marvel. What a country!

Here's my problem with this so-very-brave, ignorant band of Patriot-vagabonds: They have no freaking clue that they are part of the problem. A huge part. So I am protesting THEM.

I am protesting the protestors for their laziness and lack of due diligence. I'm protesting because I'm tired of getting collection calls for James Lorenz, a man who seems to have applied to every credit card on the planet. James Lorenz... The richest man I know. Sometime I wish I were James Lorenz. He must have a huge house and a bunch of cool electronic equipment.

But I'm also protesting on behalf of some people that I consider more "American" than anyone on that scroungy lawn.

I am protesting on behalf of the illegal Mexican immigrant that brings me my food every-other night, afraid that I'll ask him a question while I'm paying the bill, because he can't speak a lick of English. That takes real courage, right there. So I tip big.

These are the people who are building our homes that we can't afford. They are working the jobs that we don't want to work, jobs that could actually pay for the homes that they are building for us. We used to build our own homes in this country. That country is long gone.

I am protesting on behalf of the cab driver from India, who used to be a doctor in his country. He's here on a green card and working 14 hr shifts, sleeping in his car, peeing in a plastic bottle so that he get as many people as possible cab fares and afford to send his kids to school in this country.

I am protesting on behalf of the teenagers working shifts down at the McDonalds and staying up late at night to study for their exams so they can get a good scholarship to go to a good college.

I am protesting on behalf of the single mom who is out working her tail off and leaving the baby with the nice old neighbor so she can pay her way through night school and get a good-to-decent job.

I am protesting because on my way to pick up lunch, I walked by four signs in four different stores that said they were hiring. And I'm protesting because the illegal immigrant, who hustled out of the restaurant (where I was getting lunch) into the rain, hopped on a bicycle to deliver food with a smile on his face. Thankful. I'm protesting because this man, who probably fled a mafia infested drug town in Mexico and crammed himself into a 8 person van with 30 people and drove to NYC to make a better life for his family, he can't apply for that job in the window, the one that none of the protestors want.

Someone told me last night during a discussion about this, "It's not the protesters job to know what they are protesting. Something is wrong and they want it fixed." I find that to be one of the most amazingly perplexing comments that I've ever heard. Not only are they not expected to apply for the job at Radio shack, they aren't even required to know what the hellck it is that they are protesting while they don't work. I guess they just woke up one day, looked at all their missed calls from collection agencies, saw all the fun revolts going on in countries where there is real tyranny and rape and horrors, and said...

"Wait a second. I'm so confused. Why don't I have a job paying me 250k a year. I mean, I got 200,000 in student loans for my degree in typing and a minor in Electric Guitar Performance. How am I supposed to pay this? Why are all those guys on Wall Street making money? Why didn't the government give me any money? Where's my check! Revolt!"

Then they pull out their government-subsidized iPhone while sitting at Starbux and text all their buddies to meet them out on the lawn and protest Wall Street. Because that's where the money is. "Yeah!"

Well, this just in, straight from the ILPCCC: (I'm-a-Lazy-Protestor Central Command Center) These big EVIL Wall Street guys, most of them, they lost big, too. I taught guitar lessons to one guy who said that one day he had $100,000 in the market and the next day, he was broker than the Ten Commandments. He was just a normal Wall Street guy that was trying to make it. (His girlfriend paid for the guitar lessons as a birthday present.)

So, you're on the wrong lawn, kids. Why aren't you on Obama's lawn? Congress's Lawn? They are the ones (Rebups and Dums) who cut the banks the checks. Start there. Then head on South to the dude who thought buying a $300,000 dollar house with 20k a year salary was a good idea. (I know a few of those.) Then find the guy who took out $200,000 of third party student loans, all-the-while dropping out his classes after the 3rd week so he could pocket the cash refund and live-it-up like an unemployed Tsar.

And I'm supposed to sign some petition to extend their free stay out on the park so they can protest, not "being poor", but, "not being rich"??? Well I got news: Do better. Figure it out. Even the dang hippies, arms all red and gnarly from trying to poke a good vein, and stoned into idiocy, knew what they were protesting about.

Knuckles cracking...

The real problem runs much deeper than Wall Street or our election process. It is the runaway sense of ENTITLEMENT that is eating away at the heart of our nation. Here's how everyone is responsible, including me:

Part 1. Everyone in this country feels like they are entitled to happiness. Well, we aren't. We are entitled to the pursuit of happiness, which used to be thought of as the greatest thing ever. Seriously. But, because nobody digs that "pursuit" part, the elected officials caught on to that and figured out that the way to get elected over and over was to make it possible for the poor to buy 300,000 homes.

Part 2. Re-election in the bag. I'm going to generalize some of this part because it would take a couple of hours to get all the details perfectly right. But here's the gist: Congress passed laws that put pressure on banks to lower their standards for people to get loans. (You used to be required to pay 20% cash before you could get the home loan.) They even kind of made their own home loan bank.... thing. The banks bended to the need (with government insurance backing them up) and loaned the cash. The smaller and more corrupt banks got in on the action and, in addition to home loans, congress passed laws to make it easier to get student loans. Well, the banks had already been doing that. But that paved the way for the third party lenders to get in on the action. These credit card companies with fancy bank-sounding names like "Wells Fargo" started offering student loans outside of the gov subsidizing at a ridiculous interest rate.

Part 3. And for eight years, everyone partied! Yes, everyone was having a gay old time (haha gay) in their new mansions and seemingly rich students were taking trips to Cancun, financed but their deferred summer loans at 18% interest. After about 8 years of that, it started to spiral of control and as it became apparent to the bank lender that the cashier at Costco couldn't afford his 3-story plantation mansion. They started to suspect that the dude who keeps racking up student loans and keeps dropping out after the third week is never going to graduate, or be able to pay the interest.

Part 4. Uhhh... I smell a dead possum under the house. The banks figured out a way, a perfectly legal, however on-the-edge-of-shady-cliff-legal it was, to start selling the bad debt for cheap. Then the debt kind of became this toy thing that was fun to bet on. Enter: Wall Street guys. These guys started splitting the debt up. Wall street started making bets on whether those debts would get paid or not.

And then it gets really stupid from there.

Part 5. Turning smelly water to vintage wine. The Wall Street gents trade all the time without knowing a whole lot about what they are trading. They look at statistics and charts. So as more people wanted to buy the bad debt the price went up. Supply and demand. For a while, they were making tons of "so-called" money on the value of the debt (weird, I know) and they got irresponsible. Yes they did. Of all the people, they knew better. They knew it was baloney. But then there was the Government in the background, still ready to sweep up the mess. And Uncle Sam's got a big broom.

Well, by the time the McRib hit the fan, they might as well be buying shibledabbers and scoodlydoodlies. Before you get too mad and spill your latte on your sleeping bag, you should know that this is not uncommon. It's as old as the hills. Remember when Cabbage patch dolls were like $300 bucks a pop? Or, do you remember that the same thing happened when the Internet bubble popped? Investors were runaway-investing in tech companies and they had no idea what the company was selling. As long as it had a ".com" after it's title, everyone went crazy over it. People doubled their money in a day on these "penny stocks." And sometimes the price of the company ran so out of control they were valued at 100 a share... twice the value of most Airline companies. $100 A SHARE. And the .com "company" was just some dude on his computer in his dorm room eating a snickers high-fiving his business partner/super-Nintendo opponent. But there were no protestors when that bubble burst. Because no one lived in an Internet house.

Anyways, I gotta wrap this up. I spent my lunch break typing this but I needed to get it out. My salad is calling me.

In short: Everyone is responsible. Period. That's why the government (We the people) cut the checks to the bank to bail their butts out. These guys on Wall Street... some of these guys go to my church. Most of them have worked their tails off their whole lives to get where they are. They are buying and selling stocks in real companies and investing in real people. Like Apple, and GM and Coke and Pepsi and the company that makes Pampers. Some came from nothing. And these guys who are mad that the Wall Street guys are richer than them are waving signs around and stinking up the park. GET. TO. WORK. JFK knew that the American way, the "pursuit of happiness" would only work if the heart of the country were built on the ideal that you work, whatever and however hard you can, to make your dreams happen. It all went to river styx when the government (that's our government, the one "by and of and for the people") lost sight of the words, "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country."

Okay, back to work. Somebody has to pay for the protestor's muffins and hot coffee, the food that fuels their proud and brave freedom to not bathe, trash the city's lawn, and protest in glorious ignorance. Who's to blame? Take out a penny and look up the latin translation on your Adroid or iPhone. E pluribus unum.

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."

Take a bow, Steve.

Oh man. It's been a few days now since the Mac maestro went on to the great circuit board in the sky, and I'm still depressed about it. I've been waiting to not be depressed so I can reflect without any sappy or silly sentiment. But I've still yet to break the bummed state. Maybe it's because I'm sitting here typing on the greatest laptop computer ever designed by a member of the human race. A computer that I used, only two months ago, to write a play using a screenwriting program that I downloaded off of the app store.

Maybe it's because I've just updated to iOS 5 on the techno-miracle that is the iPhone and I just finished watching The Incredibles for the 13th time and someday, I can't wait to introduce my little girl to Buzz Lightyear. And I've got Jobs to thank for that.

That's why I'm depressed, I guess...

Or maybe it's because for the past 15 years I've been a huge mac fan. Not just because they make great products, but since I found out that the company was turned around by one man's vision and creativity. That kind of stuff inspires me. And every year after his first year back at Apple's helm, Steve put out something that pretty much that made me guiltlessly happy, (whatever that word means) even for the briefest of moments. If it wasn't some new film editing software or music editing software it was a new Pixar film. Steve was a real friend to the poor artist. Being that consistently brilliant and innovate on an immense scale and somehow not managing to screw up the world? That's not a gift that a lot of people have.

I think that's why comparisons to Walt Disney and Barnum are being made. Like these two great men, Steve was a magician and entertainer of sorts. But he was also a bunch of paradoxes. He was a giant personality that lived to connect people but he also preferred solitude. He was a billionaire that lived in a huge house... with no furniture, until he got married. He was a computer nerd but he had a flare for aesthetics. He dared to think that efficiency and beauty could produce a dynamo synergy in technology.

I'm also bummed because I know that without vision, the people perish. That means that in about 5 years, Job's ideas will dry up and Apple will start its slow decline into money-controlled-and-motivated mediocrity. It stayed great because Jobs believed in his people and he was also hard on them. We live in an age of entitlement. People want to hear that they are a genius and that whatever they produce needs no improvement. Steve Jobs said that his job wasn't to tell people how great they were. His job was to take a bunch of really great and talented people and get them to make something better than they thought was possible.

I'm also sad because about 5 years ago, I watched his Stanford address, before everyone knew about it and it only had about 300,000 youtube hits, and though I didn't agree with some of the philosophies, that talk sort of set me on a new course:Yeah, I guess you could say that it influenced my life. Again, not something that's happened to me very often.

Alright, by now, some might read this and say that I'm a big cornball or a big softy. I didn't even know the guy personally. Whatever, I still believe in a world where a single person, however imperfect, can inspire someone. And not just the the people the come from nothing, with no particularly great gift, or the firemen who risk their lives to save others. Those are inspiring heroes for sure and we owe so very much to all the ordinary heroes that pass us on the street every day.

I'm talking about the ones that are born geniuses and achieve the greater task of turning that genius toward the good of man and sharing it with all their might, rather than turning inward and bitter and angry and then move to the mountains and start mailing people bombs. Yes, sadly, many times it doesn't work out as well for the creative genius as it did for Jobs. Besides the Unibomber, have a look at Bobby Fisher: The man died a rancid old bigot, running from the US government for Tax evasion. Probably the greatest chess genius that ever lived. Died a nasty old, foul-mouthed anti-semite with a thousand more chess matches in him.

Yes, I know Jobs was no Saint and yes I've seen that little Facebook add that tells me that that millions die every day and there is no fanfare for them. But that doesn't mean that one cannot be saddened by the death of someone that you really admired. Jobs died an early and terrible and painful death. Painful for him and, I'm sure, painful for his family.

I suppose I'm sentimental enough to say that Jobs was, in a way, a hero of mine. It's hard to say exactly how, but I'm okay with that and I could give a crap if someone thinks that's dumb. Our world is too iconoclastic as it is. We live to rip people apart to feel better about ourselves. In the end, Steve Jobs left the world trying to make it a brighter and better place. He left it too soon, and we'll never see that next technological symphony, and I think in the end, selfishly, that's what really makes me sad.

From The Texas Refugee Camp

Hi friends.

It's been an eventful week: Hurricanes, heat waves, US Open, Obama's Uncle was arrested for drinking too many Appletinis and driving... The usual stuff.

As I continuously defend my decision to flee the big apple and head to Texas, I would like to offer my thoughts about the hurricane and then proffer for some understanding concerning my decision to take the wife and child to the land of BBQ, big sunsets and Jumbo trons.

To help you understand, I would like to discuss two hurricanes with you. The two I'd like to discuss are Rita and Ike. (Katrina needs no discussing)

You see, Amber and I were in hurricane Rita. Rita, if you don't remember, was the Bramer bull of all hurricanes. Rita was a category 5 hurricane and the most powerful hurricane to ever hit the gulf and the 4th most powerful in recorded history of hurricanes. There were wind speeds of 235 mph with sustained wind at 185 mph strong. That's basically sitting through a 500 mile wide F3 tornado for 3 hours. Needless to say, the city was evacuated. But amazingly, here's what happened: Nada. The hurricane hit the land and fizzled like an Alka-seltzez in my dad's favorite Boomer Sooner glass jar/mug.

Praise God, right? Yes, for those that evacuated. But instead of being thankful, the squatters turned into the biggest pack of know-it-alls on the face of the earth and basically made all those that left town feel pretty dumb and faithless. But we evacuators endured and tried to forget the trauma of the evacuation. (That was hell all by itself.)

Then came Ike. Well, everyone who had fled Rita and got caught up in the largest traffic jam in US History (no kidding. Largest. EVER.) and were then subsequently ridiculed for evacuating, decided to take their chances and stayed home, waiting for the little-ole Categor 2 hurricane named Ike, (almost sounds like Tike, like, "Little Tike") to fizzle, too.

Long-story-short - IT DIDN'T. In fact, the squatters on Galveston Island and other places were greeted with the third costliest and damaging hurricane in Atlantic hurricane history. Many were sent to OZ. The island and all it's buildings, boats and bistros were pretty much wiped off the island like crumbs off a table. And that was just that island. The damage of hurricane Ike was bested only by the damage of Hurricanes Katrina and Andrew.

So, my friends, as I watched the news and observed New York's reaction to the monstrously huge hurricane ripping put the coast, I felt that NYC had that "about-to-experience-hurricane-armageddon-but-doesn't-know-it feeling to it. It had all the right ingredients for a horrible disaster... kind of like the people that lived on the beach in the movie JAWS -- It had a city that is totally unprepared for a hurricane; It had a population completely ignorant-bordering-on-arrogant about hurricanes; And finally, it had a Cat 2 hurricane with it's eye fixed on Rivendell. (Central Park)

It was when I heard that the Mayor was evacuating hospitals that I decided that I would accept the offer from my hurricane fearing family to fly us out and we were on a plane a day and a half before impact.

In closing, we left because we didn't want to take our chances with doom. Nothing happened though, and praise God for that. But here's the sad part about it. This should serve as a warning to those in NYC about the power of hurricanes. But it won't. Another Ike will roll around again sometime in the future and everyone will stay and people will drown.

I do know that the only thing I'll do different when that day comes is fly Jetblue.

I'm So Tired of being Back, I feel Like I have no Front.

So here we are again. I did have a reason for dropping of the face of the blog universe. Someday I'll tell you all about it. Let's just say that the blog and facebook is a wonderful way for people to collect information on you.

Or, am I making all this up just to lead you along? Making it up just to plant some intrigue in your brain like on of those little weird worms in Chekov's head? (Wrath of Kahn)

The REAL reason I'm back here talking into an empty room to myself is because I saw a movie that really made me mad. I started going off on it on my facebook and then I thought, well, might as well blog about a film that came out 3 years ago and nobody cares about anymore but me! So here goes!

ME AND ORSON WELLES, (directed by someone who liked Orson Welles but wanted to the money to do it so they decided to cash in on Zac Eff-ron's Disney Powers.)



Prologue: If a dinner at an expensive restaurant, where the food is overpriced but you are there because some critic that you respect (EBERT) said the food was the "best food representing theater that I've ever tasted", and then the food was Garbage in a lettuce wrap. That would be this dinner.

It was poo on a stick.

It was a naked old biker on a couch.

It was blasphemous.

And here's why:

Quick Summary. However, it's becoming more and more difficult to remember the film.

Me and the wife deiced to settle in for the night after finding out that the movie about Lincoln had been bumped by the Thunder God. We pick this film because Roger Ebert says that it's the best film on life in the theater, evar. We download it on the Apple Tv, then I turn out the light and right about when I'm about to find the little notch on the gummy-lifesavers bag the credits start. The credits look horrible. It's all black with the thinnest font I've ever seen. So it's basically too dark to start in on my gummy Lifesavers. Strike one.

Plot: Zac is a highschooler who likes books and movies and Shakespeare and stuff. Okay, okay. I'm trekking. He takes a train up to NYC on a whim and meets a girl in a bookstore: it's a presentable meet cute, but, it's basically a farewell-cute because you DON'T EVER SEE HER AGAIN TILL THE END OF THE MOVIE.

Anyways, she's a young writer and Zac flirts with her muchly. (My yawn engine started warming up after the third or forth gummy-saver.) He then wanders around the city and finds some older crazy actor-types standing outside a building. He offers to play the snare when the doof playing it can't and, well, whatayaknowaboutit? He's amazing. (More on that later) So, on-cue, Welles, (played wonderfully by Christian McKay,) enters and pretty much hires him on the spot. (Heretofore More on that later=MOTL) Then he meets Claire Danes who is answering phones at the Mercury Theater and she's way older than him but they end up flirting a bunch and eventually get it on. (MOTL) Then he rehearses with the cast and we find out that Orson is kind of eccentric and a big fat cheater who hides it with some code names so that the cast can holler the code name if his real pregnant wife comes in so his ballet mistress girl can have time to sit in the front row and hide her pouty face. (Yawn engine warmed and ready.)

Then the kid... well... he gets in trouble with his mom, but not really. I actually don't really remember what his mom looks like. Maybe she's an idiot. Or the worst mom ever. I-duuno. Neither will you if you see it. Anyways, Zaccky goes home backy to his class and sits bored while the Shakespeare teacher gives the literary lecture equivalent to "Bueller.. Bueller..." Come on. (First Yawn. Started to fantasize about how we should have picked Tron 2) (MOTL)

Then the kid kind of learns the Ukelele... but oh wait, see, he told Orson that he was the best at it, and Orson totally bought it, and so, it sets up this tension - like Orson is totally going to blow his top when he finds out, and then, Crissy and Janet come in and Mr Furly and Zac stumbles over the couch and Mr Furley demands that Zac play a concert and Zac fakes the Ukelele and Mr. Furley is totally ticked because he thought Zak was GAAAY. Oh, man, was THAT ever mix up. HA. Classic.

And then Zack sets off the fire alarm accidentally and Orson accuses him and Zachy denies it and calls it bad luck.

Finally, we get the one and only true tension of the film: Orson makes a move on Claire and Claire tells Zach she's going for it because she's a ho, um, I mean, she can't say no, and Orson is just evil. And Zach pleads with her to no avail. And then some actor veteran in the play (who was standing in the shadow, eavesdropping, smoking a cigarette, I AM NOT KIDDING) told Zac to "fight for her" and so Zack goes and waits on Claire and Orson to come out of his clandestine apt/love-cave in the Village and then Zachsy gets mad at Orson and tells Orson that Orson's really mean for cheating on his preggers wife. Of course, Orson tries to choke him and of course he fires him. (MOTL)

And then Zach is all like totally mad at the veteran actor for the bad advice and the vet actor says, "Hey dummy, I didn't mean LITERALLY fight for her. Whaaaat an idiot." And then Zach pouts until Orson (who is all-through-the-movie too busy to be anywhere until he's completely late, which is crucial part of Orson's character) wanders over where Zacc is pouting. Orson barters with him all-nice and tells him the show must go on. So Zack does the play (MOTL) and sings the song with the Ukelele (MOTL) and there is much rejoicing. And then he goes to the afterglow party with the cast and finds out he is fired (The first time I believed the film) Then he's really depressed and then he goes home and finds a secret note left in his theater keepsake box, and HOLY SMOKES! It's the meet-cute curlicue girl!

The dénouement begins with a Duck Tale vengeance and Zackyboy runs back to NYC and it is suddenly daytime (MOTL) and finds the the girl (oh yeah, I forgot, he sees her one other time the film and offers to hand her short story over to someone who can give her her big break) and guess what? She's totally been published! By the NEW YORKER. BULL CRAP. Then they talk some more about stuff like... how its Fri-day Fri-day and who is going to sit in the front seat and how Saturday comes after Friday and then Sunday afterwaaaards.

And then the talk some more about life and possibilities and then a bird escapes from the museum where they met, and the camera pans up melodramatically like the bird has a camera on it's foot. Then, the tears really start to roll because... wait, Zemeckis and his crew accidentally stumble onto the set, and we realize that they have double booked the set. At first everyone is all mad and confused until... Forest Gump walk up in the middle of the turmoil. The mob grows quiet, only Eff-ron's silent sobs to his agent can be heard. Forest pulls out his feather, and says, "hmm, maybe that bird is looking for this" Suddenly, Lutinant Da-un and the cast of High School Musical flood the steps and they all start singing about freedom and Friday, and Forest gets up on the bench and starts throwing chocolate into everyone's mouth as they sing and dance and make music. And that's it. The End.

Knuckles cracking. Three main reasons the film sucked.

Number 1. I'm an Orson Welles nut. So I felt that they had the opportunity to make a great film about Orson Welles and they blew it. It was like I was watching some cheeze-slathered Disney flick - decked out in a zillion dollar period production - about a kid who finds a secret rock that takes him back in time and he gets to meet and work with Orson Welles like he some great paleontologist on a ride in Great Actor Jurassic Park. Zac even reacts throughout the film like he is at Jurassic park. "Hey, is that___ or "is that ____? Whoa. Like totally cool." But you know what? That would have been a better film. Much more believable than this kid skipping school and winding up on Orson Welle's doorstep and playing a "perfect drumroll" on a snare ( because the guy playing snare is playing it channeling Steve Martin in "The Jerk" who couldn't clap in Rhythm with his adopted black family) and then getting a part in Julius Caesar, hand picked by Welles himself. Yeah. And THAT'S the "ah-ha!" moment where EFF-RON gets his big break? At that second, then and there, I knew this film was a vanity piece for Zac Eff-ron and that's a dumb idea when you are making a film with Orson Welles in it and I should have stopped the film and restarted watching TRON II where the free preview left off.


Number 2., I feel like Zac has some potential but he's going to have to sneak into the Department of Disney Artistic Molestation to burn the current files and rediscover who he really is. I didn't believe his character until he called out Orson for cheating on his pregnant wife and by then, he'd been so ... nothing... that he just seemed like a little psychotic idiot and I was glad that Orson had him in a choke hold. Zac needs to stop looking in the mirror all the time and find himself. You know, Leo made me believe every single on of those craptastic lines in Titanic. I never got the sense that he was in love with anything but Kate and therefore he sold it. Zac has that potential but... gag me.

Number 3. Just some basic core elements went AWOL in the storytelling. There was no antagonist. Now, I'm all for art bucking the norms and the forms but this wasn't the time to do it. We really needed an antagonist throughout the ENTIRE narrative, whether it be his mom not letting him go to NYC, or some guy in the cast hating him for being him, (I don't know, maybe start with the failed snare drummer?) or some father that never believed in him (Dead Poets Society) or some principle that hated him (Ferris Bueller)... SOMETHING. But we got NOTHING. The closest thing we got was when that guy stole his ukelele.. but then he found it in the next scene. Oh, there it is. Haha. funny joke. When there was foreshadowing it was about as subtle as belch in a cathedral. Take that fire alarm foreshadowing business. Bad film work. "Do-di-do, My name is Zack and I'm using this match to look at the ceiling, where some really tall guy has scribbled his name (camera lens is focused now so we can see the fire sprinkler) uhhh DUUUUH, what's this?" Fire alarm goes off. Orson throws a fit.

3.1.2. Other than Eff-ron, the actors were great. Orson was great, though the real Welles was much more magnetic and hypnotic than this fellow. I felt like this guy was "playing" Orson too many times. (Blame the director for that) and I suppose that's the real problem with the piece. It was self-conscious, or even self-paradoy. Maybe it's a good handbook on how to act like Orson Welles playing Orson Welles. The guy who played Mark Antony in the production gave the most believable performance in the whole cast. Claire seemed miscast and because she was both superior to Zac in acting and in maturity she was always condescending with too much cutesy smiling and blah blah blah and in the end she seemed like a chester-molester.

And what the heck was that meet-cute with the girl in the bookstore all about? What was the purpose? How about a real romance there? Maybe Zach is trying to work his way in and he has to make a choice between REAL love with the younger woman and BAD love with the older broad... But no. We don't realy know why. Was it so Zac wouldn't be lonely at the end and he could have someone to talk to? The final meeting with Zac and the curlicue girl at the end was one of the worst executed dénouements I've ever seen. He gets the note in the middle of the night after he's been fired (finally, some realism), grabs his coat and then he's there at the museum meeting her and its daytime? Um, did he fly around the world? Was there a pole shift in the night?

I think the film would have made so much more sense had they just left him back in his dull boring high school class, suffering from being a big immature dummy. LASTLY, his singing of the song in the Shakespeare play was like he was a little popstar. No one sang like that back then with the little High School Musical pop-scoops before every note. And the scene itself was set up to be some magical moment and it was .... (cue Price is Right tuba loser-music) B- SNORING.

That was fun!

Peace out.

Ping

Hello (cue echo)

It's been a while. I'm dipping my toe back into the blog world. I've learned a lot in the past year and I feel that I should share some of what I've learned. I've journeyed long mountainous roads, learned spirituality from croaking frogs and whistling reeds and Oprah reruns. I am much wiser than before. I promise. TRUSSSST me. Eckhart Tolle, step aside. There's a new guru in town, and one that doesn't talk through his German congested nose and laugh at his own lost-in-translation jokes.

But not really. I'm really back here by accident. Kind of. More like, "Wouldya look at all those safari links I don't use anymore. Why exactly do I have a link for a pyro remote? There's my blog!"

I stopped blogging for a while for a few reasons. First, it was really bothering me. I hated checking stats and I hated watching other bloggers check their stats and then blog about how they don't really care about sats or fans or whatever. (I guess that was several reasons.) Second, because my blog background was acting up and I was too lazy to fix it. So I tried a new format and this one works okay. Whatev's. It is actually easier to read. Amiright? Also, I got tired of griping. Believe it or not, I am pretty positive person. Something happens when I blog. I immediately want to make fun of people or gripe about something or brag about Apple. And that's just not me. Or not me anymore. Until today.

But I'm here typing a little and it feels alright, I guess. Kind of like going back to an old neighborhood and being flooded with a bunch of insecurity and whatever else that was felt during that time.

But life is good. We are enjoying the heck out of our time here in the city.

Not sure where this will go from here, but... HI THERE! Hope you guys are rocking and jammin and making babies and living your dreams and cutting old Joel Osteen some slack!


Shalom.

The iPad: The Jury is In

Well, I've made my decision.

This morning I went straight to the NY Times over a cup of coffee, sitting on my deck in 68 degree heaven. Hey, I'm not saying that I deserve all that goodness, I'm just saying maybe you don't. Hehe.

Last night, to unwind before bed, I played chess and Scrabble and browsed the Wikipedia for whatever the heck caught my attention. I then flipped on the ABC free viewer and caught up on a few shows. Then I went to Netflix and watched a little bit of the Wrath of Khan, naturally. Last Sunday my printer broke so my flautist just read the pdf from the iPad. Next week a visually impaired choir member will use the ipad to read his words better.

Is the iPad going to replace my laptop? Not right now, but probably, most certainly. But what is is? It's not an iphone, it's not a laptop... it is something new. It's what Steve does. He creates something new that we need and we wouldn't want to go without. Pixar... the first commercially available personal computers... iPods... iPhones... laptops... and now this. Love him, envy him, disagree with him or hate him, the guy has some legacy.

Is the iPad necessary for existence? Of course not. Is a computer necessary for existence? Of course not. Are cars, televisions, credit cards, telephones, or microwaves? nope, nope and nope x 3. But like all of these things that make our lives easier and somewhat more strange and complicated at the same time, the iPad is a marvel. It's worth every penny (debit or credit card penny, that is.)

Flash Me

Am I really watching Courtney Love play guitar on the tube with a Beck look-a-like?

It is interesting to see the evolution of the rockstar. Personally, I think that if we want a new generation of true rockstars wielding original music, the internet and itunes needs to explode. Oh, and fedoras will need to be banned from Nashville, as well as hair gel and polyester shirts and tanning beds.

What I want to really see is some fat guy with a bandana and pajamas blowing everyone out of the water with his out-and-out skills. I want to see some weird black guy playing the national anthem with his teeth and it sounds like a friggin guitar orchestra. I want to be wowed. Not only by content, but I want to see some flash. But gone are those days. Does anyone know how to play a scale on the guitar anymore?

Plus, everything is by comparison. Just like Broadway right now. EVERYONE wants to sound like two different singers: Kristen Chenoweth and Sutton Steven K Bernstein Foster... with at smattering of Elphaba. Don't get me wrong, I really like those two artists a whole lot, I just like to hear them do themselves... that sounded weird. You get my drift though.

So in other news... According to the new unauthorized biography of Oprah, It appears Oprah had some wild hanky-shpanky with John Tesh back in the day. And can I say thank you for that info? Because THAT is some serious TMI right there. I could have gone my whole livin' life and not known that. Same kind of thing happens when I go to a seeker friendly church where the pastor gives a sermon series on how God wants us to have some good hot-and-Godly sex with our wives. (Imagine "wives" spoken with a southern draw.) I really hate those sermons. As my friend Brant Hansen noted, it's really kind of gross to imagine deacon Bill with his wife Karen having plump Godly relation as they cuddle more and more with each subtle pastoral ever-so-SUBTLE double entendre.

Other than that....

I got an ipad and it rules. Yes, it rules. I rules like a gold pinkie toe to a toeless Gangsta. I rules like a shiny new shopping cart to the homeless-and-proud guy that sits on my street corner reading book after book in the beautiful new york spring.

That's all for now.

Dear Steve, I Hate You.

It's been 3 or 4 long days since I've held Job's T-Rex iPod in my hands. My first impressions were underwhelming. The room was too bright and scorching hot and it accented the already-billions of grimy fingerprints smeared all over the screen. Yes, I walked out of the room scoffing at Steve Jobs and feeling a little like Alice after she drank from her little bottle.

Whew. That was easy. I don't need it, want it, nor love it.

That was the first day.

Second day was spent bragging about how much I didn't want it.

That was the second day.

The third day was spent reading a few hundred reviews of the ipad so as to justify my don't-want-it of the piece of sorcery.

That was the third day.

On day four (today) I now confess that I full-on want it. I want to own one. Right now. I need one. I feel very much that I shall cry if I don't have one soon. I am impatiently awaiting the arrivals of the 3g versions so I can immediately have one. The experience is very much like the first time I tried Cashew Chicken in Springfield MO. I didn't see the big deal after the first dose. Within 6 hours I was back for more and had it almost every day for 3 years. I even bounced checks at the Cashew Kitty. I basically robbed Cashew Kitty the need was so fierce.

Right now, I wish that my beautiful MacBook Pro would transform into a sleek, fingerprint-streaked ipad. I want to play that highly pixelated Madden 09 game blown up to stupid proportions. I want to read a book on it. I want to drink more from the little bottle and tumble further into MacLand.

Darn you Jobs. Darn you to heck.

Dances With Big Orange Dragon

Avatar Avatar Avatar.

First of, all I can think of when I see that name is a goofy cartoonish face given to me for my Yahoo Chat 5 years ago, the one I never use and always wish I hadn't created when it turns up from time to time on various Yahoo question/answer forums. Now that that's out of the way... no, wait. I'm on to something here.

That's just it. Cameron needs to hire some script writers. The film is riddled with banal/unimaginative mines everywhere! like, Unobtanium??? That's the name for the metal that is worth destroying the biggest tree in the universe??? It's the same problem I had with Titanic: crappy script. Let's say I want to write a musical... and I do. I am writing one now. But let's say that when the time comes to direct it, I decide to choreograph the thing myself. I may do an okay job according to the handbook of "How to stupidly Choreograph High school Christmas Showtime Choir Concerts" but according to Broadway standards, D+ at best.

I honestly think if Cameron were born 100 years earlier, he would have been the greatest silent film maker of all time. He is a visual virtuoso of the highest order. It was just. so. visually. stunning. HOWEVER, at times, I felt like I was looking at a giant Thomas Kinkade gallery while tripping on acid. (No, mom, I've never really tried acid. Though that fire-hot chili dad makes is pretty hallucination-inducing sometimes.)

So yes, visually, the film is almost what everyone is saying about it. I wasn't overwhelmed like I was as a young lad watching Han Solo navigate through that asteroid field and into the belly of the space worm, but I was definitely impressed, enthralled at times, even.

I won't own it because you really have to see it in the big IMAX to get the full effect. There are plenty of reviews out there for this film and everyone knows what they are doing when they go see it. They are seeing the real King Kong chained up. They are seeing the three legged man dance ballet. They are watching a film spectacle that is so spectacular in its achievements that you forget what achievements are there, like forgetting that the Navi are digitally rendered. What has been accomplished in that 3-D arena is truly magnificent. However, it is so real, that I wondered how much money might have been saved if they would have had elaborate costumes and digitally rendered the tail and so forth.

As a visual spectacle, the film is worth seeing. As a moving story... I've seen Pixar shorts that are 3 academy awards ahead of this one in originality. It is a HORRIBLE Dances with Wolves rip. Throw in a little Gorillas in the Mist, equip with the woman who played in that movie and you've got a tasty little 90's save-the-natives clichéd film stew.

The worst problem I had with the film is Cameron's anti-American propaganda. It was garish and downright stupid. Even the liberal New Yorkers snickered at Cameron's BLATANT whack at W's regime and our presence in the Middle East. No sly wink. No little reference that would make you "aha!" later... It was whack over the head with a cinematic stick. "AMERICA SUCKS AND I'M USING MY 300 ZILLION DOLLARS TO EXPRESS IT WITH MY BIGTIME TITANIC MOVIE POWERS. I'M THE KING OF THE EFFING WORLD." That nearly ruined the film for me, honestly.

But I quickly forgot about it and was absorbed once again into the VISUAL world.

Go see it. But prepared to feel like you just had mom's dressing that wasn't quite as good as every other year but still good but still wasn't as good as every other year... but still good. "Humph. There's always next year. Hey! Wanna go to Sherlock Holmes???"

Avatar, Grade: B

Finished

Hello friends.

Wow, it has been a reaaaaaally long time here. It is really odd when you've done something for years and years and then you just stop and then go back to it. Like clipping your nose hair or toenails or something. One day you take off your socks and, "WOAH! Look at those suckers! Get out the bolt-cutters!"

So I finished my dissertation. I'm Dr. Ward. I handed it in. The University said yes. My committee said yes. My wife said, "HELL YES!"

It has been a long long long long haul here, friends. But I'm done. I've missed writing. Oddly, I haven't missed blogging. I've missed the interaction with my friends, but I've been terribly productive and that's a good thing.

But recent events have shaken me from my blumber. (blog+slumber). So, you might see a few entries splatter up here from time to time, but we'll see. Stay sharp. Stay liquid, but most of all, stay away from star golfers.

Yours,

Dr. Ward

Goodbye 2.0

Okay, so I feel like my blog-resignation should be more purposed. Therefore, here's the dealio: I am not blogging again until I get my dissertation finished and signed. Just can't do it. Sooooo, every time you click over here looking for a new post (all 250,000 of you) and you don't see a new string of wisdom pearls, paragraphs of penultimate petunias, or thunders of thoughtful wisdom from on high... rattle off a quick prayer for me, would you? Dreams are better shared.

In short, I'm pulling a Oral Roberts... light. Consider it a blog fast, even though when and if I return (for real this time) things will be different and I may move to a new address or something like that.

Until my finished dissertation or my next farewell...

Three Reviews in Three Posts

I've seen three films since my last review and overall, I've been pretty pleased.

First off: Harry Potter and the Half Blooded Prince.

On the whole... not my favorite Potter film.

SPOILER ALERT:

I've always had a problem with this book. I hate the way Rowling kills Dumbledore. I hate hate hate hate it. Dumbledore basically arranges for his Kevorkian-style death. He dies a weak old man, disarmed by a dufus imbecile of a wizard and finally killed by Severus Snape because he wants to die and not get eaten and humiliated by the mean old werewolf.

That is not how a great wizard should die. Let me tell you how a great wizard should die: A great wizard dies plunging down an endless chasm stabbing a Balrog IN THE FACE with an Elven sword, and the sword is so amazing that it is called, "Glamdring, the Foe Hammer."

THAT IS HOW A WIZARD DIES.

Dumbledore should have gone down in a blaze of fire - yes weakened significantly - but fighting off a hundred death eaters, 3 dragons and 10 giants and doing it all to save the life of pansy-boy Harry. But nay. Rowling emasculated the greatest wizard in her tale (as she does every male character in her books - seriously, name one that isn't a wuss, or evil. The one that's not a wuss is a bachelor.) and then outed him later in a press conference. Notice that one witch who was taken out in an incredible duel with Voldemort and a few other powerful witches. Notice that the great duel of the last two books comes from Ron's mother and Bellatrix and the men basically blunder around.

Overall, the film slugged along and there wasn't NEAR enough Dumbeldore kicking butt. What we did get was pretty awesome, but there just wasn't enough magic in this film.

I liked it but I think it was my least favorite of the Potter films. They spent entirely too much time on all that love potion business.

Next Up: District 9.

Pretty Fun

World Science Festival 2009: Bobby McFerrin Demonstrates the Power of the Pentatonic Scale from World Science Festival on Vimeo.

Poem: Ode to MOMA

Some thoughts on Bacon, Francis that is.

Amber and I made our way through an Exhibit of Francis Bacon at the Met Museum of Art this past Saturday.

I had a great time, but Bacon was a sick fellow. A very talented image poet, but ultimately, a sick chap. Of course, people have said the same things about me after hearing some of my "serious" compositions. It is no secret that I tend to gravitate to the macabre and I also happen to like scary movies. But there is a difference here. Bacon was an Atheist. I am not. And that really does make a difference. You can compose a macabre piece without nihilism.

I have long believed that sin is a kind of madness. It causes madness. I also believe that Judeo-Christian ethics have serve as the greatest moral compass that mankind has ever known. I also believe that man, though fractured, is capable of good things. This is because man was not totally ruined when he chose a path that was opposite to the will of his creator. This remnant of good is still a reflection of the goodness of our creator, as we were and are made in his Good image. I believe that man needed help to show him this path and he can chose again to take that path. That means, even at our absolute worst, we can still be compelled to do a good thing. Salvageable. Redeemable. Savable.

Good and Evil. There is a difference, we all know it exists, but we can't really explain it scientifically. Bacon tries to embrace a Darwin outlook and say: there is no good and evil, only animal. All Darwinian explanations break down at Stephen Hawkings. Hawkings should have been killed long ago as he is weak and drains the pack of resources. Therefore, I believe that every act of man to disprove the existence of God ends in a kind of pure nonsense. It never works out.

But like it or not, I also believe that Darwin was the most influential mind of our time. He is a great and magnificent peak in humanity's vast range of scientific minds. Sadly, his influence is responsible for more mass deaths than any man in the history of the world. Man is reduced to simply another in a line of animals, and what's good for the pack is good for the individual. This of course is contrary to the idea of Christian love. If we were to abide by Darwin's idea of a perfect world, the weak would die, the less intelligent would be killed, and unattractive would be exiled. Now, no matter how much my instinct says, "YES, YES!" at times - as far as stupid drivers go - this is a tyrannical mindset. And some would say that it is me at my most animalistic.

And what about those animals? Even the animals aren't totally mad.

But take a painting of Bacon: Man is reduced to a sack of meat and bloody teeth. Cool looking, but no beast or bird thinks so madly. Just the opposite. Only one or two monkeys in the pack will go crazy and eat a baby monkey. Only a rogue lioness will secretly kill other cubs in the night. These are exceptions. According to Bacon, we are all exceptions and a vision of the mutilated is at the core of our real thoughts. To be "animal" is to be savage. Well, excuse me, my wife's dog Cromwell is far from your kind of savage. That dog wouldn't bite a flea. And there is no beast or creature that willingly bathes in piss (because he likes his piss more than water,) fantasizes about bloody teeth emerging from slabs of mutilated meat, or revels in the homoerotic blood of man's animal desire. There are a few exceptions to this; they are called necrophiliacs.

There isn't space here to examine the atheism of Darwin and its contradictions, but no matter how badly Bacon wishes to cling to this idea in his art, I say here and now: No art can convince me of an absence of God. The very God-despair that a painting of Bacon is meant to inspire, brings me instead to a meta view his sanity and the knowledge that there is such a thing as sanity, or deterioration of it, beauty, and creation.

Justice is Served on the Buffet

Sweet, sweet, Old Country Buffet... I can still remember me and my dad, we are both sitting in his car. It was the day I got that first job serving as busboy beyond your scummy geriatric gates. And there sits my dad, behind the steering wheel, grinning ear to ear as I unwrap my new busboy apron. He looks a little mischievous in his smile. His hand reaches over the armrest to shake mine. "Good for you, son. Your first job. I'm proud of you." I remember that good feeling. That feeling of how easy it all seemed. "Just scrape a few dishes and get paid for it."

How young and stupid I was.


And do you remember that one manager, Mike? Yeah, you know the one. He's your first manager at your first job. You are just a lowly, pimply busboy and he's the big cool manager working on his third divorce. He's got one of those big German mustaches and he's always flipping his wavy, dyed-blondish hair. He claims to have a back problem so he can't lift any heavy trays or anything that resembles help. He always seems to find a worker to belittle when there is a pretty girl going through the buffet line. Yeah, you know the one. The one that's being super sappy nice to you one minute and you think that you are going to keep your job so you can pay for your car insurance so you can take out that pretty girl in your gym class but then the next minute he's berating you for missing a spot on a salt shaker in front of the whole staff and you feel like you just might be single for the rest of your life.

Most nights, as you fall asleep, you have visions of kicking him where his legs connect and spitting in his putrid blonde hair, but at the end of the fantasy, you are still alone, and dreading the next day. Your only comfort is that its not just you he seems to hate/like. He hates that guy in the dishroom too... It's the middle aged guy doing dishes that everyone calls "disher-dad." Disher-dad. Yeah, there was always disher-dad who got it the worst. Ah, sweet memories. I would have felt sorry for you, disher-dad, but you would give us busboys dirty looks and murmur profanity and kick the cup racks whenever we would bring in our full carts of dishes, as if we dirtied those dishes ourselves. I wonder whatever happened to disher-dad.

Ahhhh. Sweet, sweet bankruptcy. Good old Buffet. Good old, terrible, disgusting, nightmarish, I-wish-I-could-blot-out-that-16th-year-of-my-life Old Country Buffet.

Why I've Been Less Around

NT Wright on Blogging/Social Media from Bill Kinnon on Vimeo.

I've been trying to communicate this in different posts but N.T. sort of sums it up beautifully without being condescending or snarky.

The Brah Conundrum: A letter to my Best Brahs

Listen Brahs, there's been a lot of fussing about who is my number 1 Brah lately and well, I'm getting a little tired of to be honest. Totally tired of it. So here's the deal: All my Brahs mean something different to me, each and every one ya. I love that about you guys. You are all so different, even different in your color. I've got my Latino brah, dark brown and a serious danger to women up north, and my yellow brah, tons of fun and totally serves as a cheat-sheet for any math problem... etc. etc.

But some of you have been demanding that I declare my favorite and number 1 Brah... and I just can't do that. Honestly it works better if I divide you into subsets of number 1, as each of you are totally suited for different occasions.

So, you are all number 1, but...

Bob, you are my "A" Brah. I love to hang with you when I'm feeling heavy and need to get some things off my chest. You are totally a born psychologist.

Fred, you are my "B" Brah. I love just hanging and going to a killer action movie with you man. Just good clean fun all around.

James, you are my "C" Brah. You really are the master at having fun right up to the line of crazy. But let me remind you: I AM A MARRIED MAN. I don't like certain attention to be drawn to myself. You are a single guy and its just hard for you to get that sometimes. But I still love you Brah.

Ned, you are my "D" Brah. You are just ridiculously funny. You can't help but draw attention to yourself. You are just naturally over-endowed with too much personality. But you've got a real modest side to you as well and its that slightly embarrassed-about-your-personality side that is just so durn cool.

Joey, you are my "training" Brah. I can truly attribute all my physical fitness to your relentless training. But no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get as ripped as you. How does someone that is only 5 feet 5 inches get so ripped? I think you should quit wearing those sole-inserts to be taller by the way. Be proud of your height brah.

And last but totally not least, Aaron, you are my "Sports" Brah. There isn't a sport that I can win playing you. Somehow you just keep things together no matter how wild the game gets or how hard the play is. Amazing.


So there it is, fellas. I hope that puts to rest the "Main-Brah" questions. You are all my Brahs. And each one of you is cherished and appreciated.

Your Brah,

Seth.