Just so Bloody Typical

You scored as Journalism. You are an aspiring journalist, and you should major in journalism! Like me, you are passionate about writing and expressing yourself, and you want the world to understand your beliefs through writing.

English		92%
Journalism		92%
Psychology		83%
Theater		83%
Philosophy		75%
Mathematics		75%
Sociology		75%
Engineering		75%
Dance		67%
Anthropology		67%
Art		67%
Biology		58%
Chemistry		50%
Linguistics		50%

What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3)
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I, I Return

It is an incredibly surreal experience being back in the States. Actually, that itself is not so strange. The surreal nature of things rests in the understanding that the girl continues on without me. You see, I saw and, in a way, lived with the girl for a mere 5 days. And now I am away from that, yet she remains. It has been this way for the past 6 months and will continue for the next month and one half. 'tis as simple as saying, "I was with her and now I am not."

Sadness. Happiness. Impatience.

I miss her.

*waits for the collective "awwwwwwwww"*

I will post massive amounts of pictures forthwith. And I do promise at least one hell of a story. I have many, but this one in particular is...special.

I have a test tomorrow that will determine my graduation GPA. I still have not heard from Virginia, Vanderbilt, and UNC. My mother is now in England with my father for some brief frivolity. The girl is killing me with her lack of presence. And I have a cold.

I have a freakin' cold.

Italy Awaits, Again

Wahoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Italy Awaits

I have one class to get through and then four and a half hours to wait before my flight leaves.

My love to everyone. I will come back with many pictures and many stories to share with y'all.

ta ta for now, my friends.

Do Not Disappoint

X1 and X2 singlehandedly revived the super hero/comic book movie (with some help from Blade, of course). They are good movies, with X2 bordering on greatness. Bryan Singer (the director of both) was a savior to geeks all over the world. However, in the midst of wrangling for X3 he left for Superman. Not a bad mistress, eh?

However, while Superman might be reborn, there are genuine fears that Superman will replace the X-Men instead of standing beside them. There was despair, then hope with Matthew Vaughn, and then despair again. Brett Ratner? What, was he going to replace Alan Cuming with a wise-cracking, bamfing Chris Tucker?

But then the teaser trailer came out. And it was cool.

Then the awful promotional pictures came.

And now the X3 Trailer.

I honestly could not imagine anything cooler. My jaw was agape for nearly 3 minutes. I implore you Ratner, do not disappoint me.

Please?!

Delaware Loves It Some Bedingfield

I have great tidings of reasonable spiffiness.

First, UNC-G made its courtship official. Now I must set in motion the hope of in-state tuition. It would appear to be a fruitless endeavor, but with no stone left unturned I won't then kick myself in the ass too much.

Second, honestly, Deleware must love Natasha Bedingfield - for I have been accepted into their Economics Doctorate program. Huzzah? Huzzah.

Huzzah for two reasons. The first is the inherent coolness of being accepted into their program, even if it is not nationally ranked. The second is Delaware's obvious love of dance pop. Bare with me.

You see, I had this grand scheme. I would write my official statement of purpose with no specific University in mind and then tweak like a masochist for every school I applied to. Things were good, things were fine. Until Delaware required three essays. Three.

Three.

This in the midst of my last semester and dealing with...a lot besides school. So, what's a boy to do? What any right-minded fella would do - take his well-crafted and *shivers* glorious paper and gut it into three. I shiver with excitement, because while I was in a state of shock about where to begin, the entire process was like a work of modern art. A piece here, a piece there - a genre here, a genre there. Tragically, I fell in love with my writing at this point. More in love than usual, at least. And when I fall in love, I get...grand. My father often says, ripping off someone much more famous than he of course, if a writer thinks a sentence or phrase is the bee's knees it must be cut. Yet I did not cut. I was not too grand though. For even I can recognize when my amorous intentions with the pen become too much.

As I ended my last of the three essays (the key to each essay was the end, popping and locking was my only hope), I compared myself to a book. It is an old image but one of import. And considering my first essay contained a description of my education as a window unto the world (I know...), I figured that another over-the-top metaphor might not be so out of place. So...my life is a book. And there are pages in it yet to be written on. My last sentence stated my hope of writing upon those pages at Delaware. Cute, eh? I just hope it came across better than I'm sure it did here. Cute my writing is not. I like to think of it as, shall we say, bloody.

So, cute my writing may have been. It may have also been a direct plagarism of Natasha Bedingfield's recent hit "Unwritten" which is a delightful pop song about writing for yourself the pages of your life left to you. It was an incredible shock to hear Bedingfield's song about 2 weeks after I submitted my Delaware app. I suppose it is too much to hope that one of my application readers saw the book metaphor and laughed at my apparent plagarism?

Well, a boy can hope.

Grey's Anatomy: Season 1

My mother became a nurse. Then she was awarded her Masters in Nursing. She then applied to and was accepted into the doctoral of medicine program at Washington University. Then my father swooped in, ringed her, and snuck her away to Pennsylvania. The bastard, though I love him.

My mom is an amazing woman, truly amazing. She defines, in a lot of ways, the kind of woman I want to marry. Someone I can trust implicitly, rely on, and can admire. And of course have hot, hot sex with. But since my mom has nothing to do with that bit...the admirable traits will do just fine. She was accepted into a really good program of medicine and would have become a doctor.

I imagine her being as good a doctor as she is a nurse. And she is a fucking A nurse. Really. I don't believe she is bitter about letting go of the chance to become a doctor. In fact, I know she isn't. But I often wonder what life would have held for her if her husband had followed her instead of the other way around (of course, he couldn't have due to his visa restrictions). Such a rather large "what might have been" and it doesn't bother my mom in the slightest. I still wonder though.

Needless to say (remember: nurse, wanted to become a doctor, program in Washington, and, oh yeah, lived in Seattle), the woman has wanted to see Grey's Anatomy for a while. Actually, I do believe she had no idea it was set in Seattle, but nomatter. She wanted it and we got it. Badda bing, badda boom. Least I can do for erasing 2 years worth of pictures, eh? Yeah, the least...

What a brilliant show. I never got the hoopla surrounding Desperate Houswives, too bitchy for me I suppose. (I'd really like to sit down with that first season at some point and explore why I never sought it out even after watching a few episodes.) But, Mr. Wilely E. Coyote, I get this.

Location and set: Picturesque.

Camera: Smart.

Music: Fab.

Cast: Fabulous.

I was really excited after I saw the first episode because TV has to be damn good (or just full of giggles which, admittedly, a ton of "bad" TV shows are) to draw me in. And Grey's Anatomy did just that. It's smart, deliciously so.

Smart, smart, smart, smart, smart...I just like saying the word smart. Smart, smart, smart. (Classic newspaper cartoon reference. Anyone, anyone?)

To end. Sandra Oh is probably as thin as Ellen Pompeo, the show's star. Yet, the skinniness seems to fit Oh's body type. Pompeo, on the other hand, strikes me as one of those people whose body is almost completely wasted away. Really weirding me out, man. In her scrubs she looks about 10 years old. Now compare how she looks to how Sarah Chalke fills out her scrubs, delightfully un-10 year oldish.

(Great Grey's Anatomy reference in last weeks Scrubs.)

Matchbook Romance

Great pop rock.

And clapping.

Honestly, I can't get enough clapping.

I got an itch for the clap! ...doesn't sound so good, that.

Enjoy the Weather We're In

It almost hit 80 degrees today. Hallelujah, spring comes! As a guy who defines his enjoyment of a day by the percentage of hours he spends barefoot in it, I am giddy with the onset of warmer weather. The heat of the sun is almost like a tongue (anywhere), the more the better. Bring me heat, bring me heat!

I'm just happy about the heat.

Happy happy, joy joy. May the sun love us all the more (says the slight bitter, slight forever sun burt red head).

The First (Unofficial) Acceptance

Two days ago my boss covered my shifts and my professors excused me out of my Monday classes so I could travel to Greensboro, NC. What is in Greensboro that would hold such power over me to give up money and precious (hah!) class time? A prospective Economic graduate program, a veritable cornucopia of simplistic academic delight if you will. The dean of the Economic department at UNC-Greensboro desired my presence after I tantalized him with my application and who was I to deny him me? Especially when I am so greedy for any sign of direction for the coming year and desire a place for myself that exists outside of the places more unknown to me than known. So I ventured forth.

The city: A mini College Park, MD. I think Damion and the girl will know exactly what I mean. A bit run down, a bit ghetto, and promised niceness, just not too near the university.

The University: Greensboro, Damion, might actually have a worse parking situation than College Park. $230 a pop per year for the premium parking spaces. That combined with gas prices likened more to Charlotte than Rock Hill (a consistent 20 to 30 cent difference) has defined my belief that I will be biking to school, if I have to do that much at all. However, despite the nightmarish presence of cars on campus (they have two bloody stop lights!), it's a pretty little ditty. Again I make a comparison Maryland, green and nice without being as spreadout - to the campus' detriment.

And so it was with all of these thoughts that I made the slightly terrifying journey from a 3 story car park to the dean's office. The fellow was incredibly nice with a touch of oddity (a combination of Parkinsons and slight autism, perhaps?). I chatted with him for a wee bit. A common strain of conversation that was defined by this initial discussion was my application to the PhD program. Apparently Greensboro is the only school who distinctly separates their PhD and Masters programs. Schools such as Maryland, Viriginia, ect all have their Masters built in to their PhD programs. Reasonable to assume that Greensboro followed the pack, eh? Sadly not. Though, I like their spunk. Funnily enough, everyone who spoke to me about their hesitancy of throwing me into the PhD work without any Masters background (no shit, homey, I'd have been running away if I knew that) acted as if they might have been insulting me by suggesting I couldn't make the leap. I believe they even went so far as to say that they'd gladly let me in the PhD adventure as long as they could provide me with some prepatory classes. I assured them that in now way was I insulted. I think by the time I left, four hours after my arrival, they finally believed me.

From that initial meeting I attended an interesting microeconomic/literature review/statistics class. It was fun stuff, though I'm glad not to be in the current Masters class. Theere always has to be one smart ass in the class, right? If there isn't, I generally fill the role without everyone hating me because I'm just too fun. And goofy. (I think goofy has a lot to do with people not hating me.) Anyway, this class had 3 of these smart asses. Hopefully you know the type: the loud mouth who takes precious time to say precious little and contests every little thing until they're sure that it wasn't they who were wrong but the professor who was unable to explain correctly. Wow. I have a hard time with one. Three might be the death of me.

After the class and a short meeting with the professor (cool, wiry fellow), I spent an hour and a half talking with 3 masters students and a PhD candidate. I could not have imagined a more natural and informative meeting. All four students expressed utter delight about their program, their professors and their prospects. The three masters students are actually staying past the typical graduation point (the program runs only three semesters) in order to better prepare themselves for applying to other doctoral programs. Really...great. The students sold me on the program as an incredibly structured, whole, applicative Masters education.

Then I met with the Graduate head type person to chat some more. Nice guy, fun personality. Finally I met again with the shaky dean before I left. He essentially told me that he hoped their full court press had worked and in a few weeks I would receive my acceptance and, a few weeks after, that word about my assistanship.

Well, HOT DOG!

1 program loves me, 1 hates me. We shall see how this tete-a-tete progresses.

A Twist of Mind

Recently I did something that I have not done in, say, 2 years. And even then, my action was not complete as it was Thursday morning. You see, I think a lot. A great deal, in point of fact. One of my greatest wishes is to have a personal recorder beside me at all times so, when the lightning strikes, there is a place other than my mind to show the burn mark. There are a lot of marks that litter the past 10 years of my cognitive life (I use cognitive because I have a theory on my early childhood which you likely don't want to hear). Those marks are on my mind, scattered bits of paper, and the many journals randomnly tossed throughout my house. (Is it me, or did random used to be spelled randomn?) Yet while those marks may be clearly visible, I do not share them. Those marks manifest my tiny explosions of creation that may or may not be complete rip-offs of things heard and seen in my life. And I keep them to myself.

That was, I used to keep them to myself. Last Thursday I told the girl 2 thoughts I recently had: one that morning and the other two morning prior. Heady stuff, man.

(By the way, I respect all the people who read this. But you're likely to never touch an idea of mine unless it's published, in print, cut and dry, or in extensive draft form when I then enlist you for hearty, heavy criticism. I'm sure that's just heartbreaking...really...)

I loved telling the girl. Not just because she was excited about the ideas, though it was a hoot that she was. No, I loved telling her because she took them, my hare-brained ideas, as reality. The thoughts weren't stupid or ridiculous, birds without wings. Chicks with tiny wings, no doubt, but still with wings. I've lived for so long nurturing the belief that I was the only one who could ever invision my thoughts taking flight. And since I consider myself the greatest deceiver after Lucifer himself...yeah...not so much confidence.

And she gives me confidence. Mind you, I harbor no delusions that the girl won't shoot me down. In fact, I'm banking on the 100% probability of the carnage of ideas resulting from a few well placed words and daggers. Preferably words, but I can be rather head-strong so she might need to use deadly force.

I really like the girl. And I liked telling her the secret things in my head that no one else will get to see. That makes me smile.

"Reggie Wayne! Reggie Wayne!"

(Anyone get the "Hercules! Hercules!" reference? Ach.)

What a great day for Colts fans! Or night, as it turns out to be suprisingly. One of Peyton Manning's favorite targets for the past four years, Reggie Wayne, was signed (unofficially) to a 6 year near 40 million dollar contract. Wayne and Edgerrin James were the two big names from the Colts team left with no contracts after the 2005 season ended. Now that Wayne is signed, it looks like the Colts' defacto running game, Edgerrin James, will be unlikely to return. The Indianapolis Colts are unwilling, it seems, to give James the money a back of his caliber is likely to ask for. James has been with the Colts ever since 1999, when they finally made the transition from Marshall Faulk. It has been Marvin Harrison, Peyton Manning, and Edgerrin James for 7 years - likely no more. It's about time.

I love James, Manning, and James. They put on a fantastic offense. Yet they are no Aikman, Smith, and Irving. The Colts trio have proven that over and over again. Clearly there needs to be a change and nomatter how much I enjoy and respect James, if he's the change, so be it. Change is good for Indianapolis - Peyton needs some reality checks, I think, along with the team itself. Indianapolis needs to transform itself from the well-oiled machine to the football beast it has to be to run for the Superbowl.

Change is painful. But change is good, change is great. So I keep telling myself.

That's the Spot

What a cool picture:



'tis the hope and joy of every straight man: this face, contorted in pleasure of course, in response to the slightest touch.

Egotistical? Yes. Well, slightly. There has to be some egotism involved. We are rather selfish creatures.

Childish? Yes. "Me wanna give the best ewerytime!"

Still hoped for? Yes.

Although, I like to think that while most men seek such a face for their own gratification; I search for hers.

Congratulations to Tanith Belbin and Benjamin Agosto - not just for their names, either. First American silver medal in ice dancing in 30 years, I'd say it's a rather big accomplishment. Even though I still don't get the difference between pairs skating and ice dancing. More expression? More freedom of movement?

Has anyone ever done the tango on ice? In an ice skating competition?

Now that, that I would be excited to see. (However, seeing Tia Carrera and Awrnold perform on ice I would not be so pumped for.

Let the Countdown Begin

There are but 12 days and 20 hours until I leave these United States for Italy.

It is sorely unfortunate that I have an incredibly important test to take the morning before I leave. One that will determine whether or not I graduate with the highest honours my University can give (actually, that might not be true).

Oh well. Such is what she does to me.

Are Men Such Children?

Oh, those "girl talk" folk are providing me with such good fodder!

Right here, one lovely lady related some advice the former first lady Bush gave to the present first lady Bush: "Don't criticize your husband." Apparently when the former dear Bushess spoke negatively about a speech given by Bush Sr., the old man drove into a wall. Not only are the Bushes rather clumsy, they seem to have incredibly thin skin. Some men are men, some are pussies. I think we all know this.

The shocking thing is, this woman took what senior Bushess said to the present Bushess to heart. You see, she wrote:

"My mom has observed that, of all the criticism our husbands may receive—from their boss or their family or even an enemy—a wife's disparaging remarks can often do the most damage. To me, this is a sobering thought."

It is indeed sobering. Spouses, lovers, children, parents, friends - because of their relationships with us these people are the ones whose words can cut the deepest. We should indeed give care and guard our words to those to whom they mean the most. However, the woman goes even further.

"...when we refrain from criticism and cultivate encouragement, we can give them confidence in our love, inspire them to persevere, and point them to the Savior."

Now I'm sure, or simply hope, that the woman meant "overly negative criticism" when "criticism" was written. However, I shall bend towards the cynical and assume that she meant criticism of any kind, which is clearly nothing like "gentle correction." Because, really, without cynicism I never have that much to talk about.

What good can come of keeping criticism out of a relationship? I fully understand guarding against overly negative criticism that simply becomes harping and whining with no fruit. However, accepting that relationships should avoid the incredibly negative, why is there then another leap to avoide negativity all together? What honesty is there in a lack of negativity?

As quoted above, this woman believes that refraining from negativity leads to encouragement which leads to godliness. I'm afraid she has it wrong. Refraining from negativity leads to encouragement. Encouragement leads to perseverence. Perseverence leads to godliness. And godliness leads to...(well, not suffering, but since I'm giggling so much about this Yoda quote)...SUFFERING (in Yoda's very cool warble). ...this chick does indeed have it wrong, for two reasons. Yet first, before those two reason there must be an understanding of fallibility. As creatures, we all suck and make mistakes. Who doesn't suck? Excellent, we all agree that we all suck. I'm so proud of our fundamental self realization.

So, we suck. ("She's going from suck to blow, Captain! Blow! Blow! Blow!")

So now to why the chick is wrong about criticism.

The first is in response to her belief that it is only through encouragement that others can encourage. How utterly illogical. Professing Christians also profess themselves to be evangelical. Do they manage to evangelise by living their lives perfectly? Hardly. If so, there would be no need for the Christ they so desperately cry out for. No, it is through the mistakes of Christians and the continued humility to a God who thankfully does not demand perfection from any but His Son that Christians truly evangelise their faith. Mistakes and correction. Where is correction without criticism?

The second is my inability to get over how incredibly childish this whole approach sounds. The woman from girl talk actually suggests hiding "a card and his favorite candy in his bag when he goes on a business trip" in order to encourage "him." I cannot help but shake my head at that. A card is cool. Candy is slightly cool. Together they seem slightly morbid and infantile.

Are men so sensitive and irresponsible of their own actions that any criticism must be only given in the most glowing of terms? Or, even, not given at all? These questions are incredibly concerning because they originate from statements made by professing Christians. Where is the responsibility from both sexes to care for one another? Guide and instruct? And how do we guide and care and instruct without correction? What good is correction, if given at all, when the correcting words are too sweet and too gentle to be seen for what they are, criticism?

Honestly, that's just stupid.

What a Beauty

Bond's new Aston Martin has finally been revealed, called the DBS. It's a beautiful looking creatures with an exquisitely balanced front and back. Though as I continue perusing it, the car has a bit too much of a Toyota Celica feel for my tastes. There are truly very few small cars I can fall in love with. 'tis still lovely.

And with the craggy Daniel Craig as Bond (still cursing the rejection of Clive Owens) and the alluring Eva Green as the Bond, perhaps this new Bond won't suck!

Why Would You Do This?

In a world where religion is starting to rule the day, I ask why must we screw the world up even more?

A woman just gave birth to a girl and named her Carolyn Kimberly. That's Strike One.

The baby's nickname is Caly. I won't even go into it...but Strike Two, man.

Third, the parents of "Caly" are pronouncing the nickname like "Sally." Freakin' Strike Three!

This kid officially has no chance in life.

A strike out before she could lift up a baseball bat. 'tis really a sad state of affairs.

The Woman's "Job"

Y'all might have noticed on the right, in the midst of so many links which I must must must organize, is a link to girl talk. Now, as someone who purports himself to be a Christian, most things Christian tend to interest me - from the scoffable to the laudable to the detestable. This "girl talk" (do I put blog titles in quotes once I've already linked to them? how odd) is one of those curious aspects of Christianity...an outlet of the modern megachurch.

I bring attention specifically to the above blog for two reasons: I'll eventually talk about it in the future and I'm going to talk about it right now. I'm an effecient little bugger, eh?

In this post one of the many females who writes speaks about finding and focusing on three things that will always please her husband; recommending other wives do the same. A good thing and I shan't knock it - as long as the men do the same, and neither use such "top three's" to manipulative ends. However, I found two things of note.

The first is that the woman referenced "intimacy." I thought that was cute.

The second item of note I found in the blog is this quotation:

"...I’ve been doing a lousy job with meal preparation lately. My dinner meals have looked something like this: A rotisserie chicken from the grocery store with a couple of side dishes thrown together; hot dogs and coleslaw from KFC (my husband’s favorite coleslaw); peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and popcorn; frozen pizzas…. You get the picture. Pathetic, I know"

Eh?

Now this might just be because I am a lowly, lowly college student but the list of foods this "pathetic" wife just rambled off sounds darned delicious -- although I simply do not get the PBJ/popcorn combo, but to each their own.

I'm all for upholding traditional gender roles.

I'm all for subverting traditional gender roles.

...all in the right time and place.

Honestly, why are any of those dinners pathetic? Does everyone require a 5 course fine dining experience at the end of every day? I imagine even those who do require such extravagances get quite tired over the amount of jaw stress needed to finish such meals. I remember my mother, who cooks like a fiend hell or highwater, at one period in time used to cook scrambled eggs and toast for dinner. It was simple, a change of pace, and my family thoroughly enjoyed it.

Why is there this implied and obtrusive stricture upon the women in today's modern-reformed Christian households that equals the strictures placed upon the women of the Victorian period...without the distinction between upstairs and downstairs? If one defends such structures (and I did mean stricture earlier, without a care in the world as to its existence in the real world) as an attempt to reunify the family under traditional and formulaic gender roles where the wife cooks, cleans, and educates. Well, ok. I can buy and fully support unifying the family under healthy gender roles. However, where in the Bible does it say that the wife cooks and cleans and educates and bonks and boils all the while making herself pretty and pleasing? If one wants to go that far, I do believe the Bible itself does lay out a pretty good list of what a good wife does which goes a great deal beyond the limitations of the house and the family.

My contention with what this woman called pathetic is that her creations (and purchases) for her family to partake of were done in love, nomatter the speed and the hurry of the thought or the buying. Why can they not be viewed as such - defined by love instead of appearance? This woman makes mention of her husband not noticing her "pathetic" meal preparation. Did she expect his notice and subsequent correction for her failing?

I believe she did expect it, and therein lies what disturbs me. This life is of chaos, hurry, and ill-planning. If a family decides that cooked, sit-down meals are important, everyone in that family should help to make it happen - thankfully most white, middle class families have both a mother and a father, such advantages shouldn't be ignored. If a family decides that sit-down meals regardless of their origin are important, then so be it and origin/cellophane be damned.

As much as I look forward to delicious labor-intensive meals with the woman I love, I look forward to those harried moments where we try and find something and in that something find the peace which defines sharing a meal.

Eating is a fundamental part of commune. Apart from the fun of the cooking and the preparation, what the hell does it matter what one eats?

The important thing is the family, not the eats or digs or pretty things. The true pretty thing is the family. Why do we always miss that?

That's the Way I Like It

Clapping + a Xylophone (or Triangle) = Great music.

Ben Lee

Kelly's Grammys: Thatta Girl

I have an unabashed love of Kelly Clarkson. I do not deny it and am even quite proud of it. I dig Clarkson's music not because she's incredibly cute and certainly not because of American Idol. Rather, I put Clarkson on the same pedastal of Journey and Iron Maiden because she has a fantastic role in todays music that has not been touched since the days of Pat Benatar - powerful chick rock.

Sure, the stuff is poppy, but it's also edgy and makes me giggle. Even if I might be deluded about the edginess, no one can deny my giggles.

So, needless to say, I was quite pumped to see Kelly Clarkson rack up Grammys for Female Vocal and Pop Vocal Album. Nice done, Miss Independent (which was apparently co-written along with Christina Aguilera, who knew?). Nicely done.

But the Grammys weren't just about the punkiest Idol ever (whose nose ring gives me hope for if the girl ever gets her nose pierced). Indeed not!

Here are my thoughts on the rest of the Grammys, a week or so later. (When in the hell were the Grammys, anyway?)

The U2/Mary J. Blige performance of "One" was killer, even if Bono clearly is anti-touchy-feely whilst strumming his guitar:


Really, didn't Chris Martin seem a little...a touch...a smidge....high? Great performance though, though for the first time mainly because of a great guitar solo. (Stupid bitmap images and their inability to be cool and load.)

Gorillaz? Awesome!

Madonna? I prefer the video, thank you.

Maryland: The First Rejection

That's right ladies and gentlemen, I strove for the University of Maryland and I was denied!

I am certainly not very surprised, though disappointed. The University has too high level a program for me to really think I could get in.

And to think, one of my professors still believes I should have applied to Yale.

Go figure.

Happy Tuesday!

On this, the day of silliness, I have this to say to the girl:



Darn tootin' right you'll do, darlin'. You'll do 10 ways to Sunday and I don't care if that doesn't make sense! You're my precious, glorious, frustrating, godly woman.

And since Valentine's Day isn't just for lovers, here's the other people in my life that I love:

My mother, my father, my family in California, Wales, and Australia, and my friends in Kentucky, Cambridge and that little borough just north of it, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Perugia...*thinks*...and even some in South/North Carolina.

People, remember this and you shall live long and prosper:

If It's Round, Can It Bounce?

Andrew, for you I have scoured my vast collection of pictures from our glorious summer in Cambridgeshire and found one superb shot of the "Round Church." Or the "Brass Rubbing Center." Or "" as it's called now. Really, I believe it has no name and is currently a breeding ground for hippies. This is perhaps why Erin so strategically arranged herself by 10 minutes from the place. I wonder if this is 10 minutes as the punt floats.

I found another site with some 70s-ish images here. I found this highly interesting if simply for the fact that I am always fascinated with pictures taken in the 70s or 80s.

I also performed a search using Yahoo! Images which yielded at least a few interior shots.

Yay for me helping!

Much fortune with all your research Andrew. I look forward to seeing accolades abound for exploring the architecture of early Christian churches. Are you going beyond the scope of copies or were copies as much the It thing then as combining celebrity couple's names is now?

Valentines' for the Girls

I love that the celebration of St. Valentine matriculated into a celebration of love after the concept of romantic love was "conceived" during the Middle Ages. Because we clearly need a day set aside from all other days to express this new fangled thing called romantic love. Because it would just be unreasonable to strive to demonstrate that love every day. Inconceivable!

I don't mind the commercialism of Valentine's Day. I'll never succumb to it, so it doesn't bother me.



What does bother me is the focus on men as those instigating demonstrations of love on the 14th of February. There is such a focus on men throughout our culture, yet it seems to reach a high point of scrutiny during this day. Gender expectation is a reasonable description of such things.

As a man, I'm generally fine with such expectations. And as a romantic, I know full well that it'll typically be me who'll organize a trip for my presently unknown but spectulated future wife and I to London and propose to her in the heart of Trafalgar Square as friends and family surround us. (I really love that ...what was it, Mastercard?...commercial.) Yet the intense scrunity on men to "perform" in heterosexual relationships (I know not enough about the dynamics with gay couples though I sincerely doubt it's too different to avoid exclamations of: "You never remember anything!") just ticks me off.

Perhaps men as a collective deserve the scrutiny as emotionally shallow and unavailable creatures who want to fuck, grunt, eat, and sleep. (The grunting thing just weirds me out.) Because, of course, all women are emotionally deep and completely available. These are such sweeping terms which is likely a disservice to the trifling point I'm attempting to make.

Regardless, here it is. I'd love for a man and a woman to be together, both of whom are romantics in the sense that they show their love. [Man and Man, Woman and Woman, what have you] I'd love for a wife to wake up her husband with a day planned with some wicked cool stuff. Not just on Valentine's day. Preferably not, actually. And the guy too.

This seems pointless.

I think it sucks that men are required on this day to demonstrate their love.

I think it sucks that most men do actually need to be required.

I think it sucks that the relationships of today's world are so fucked that we have days set aside for couples to concentrate on themselves.

Every day should be that, eh?

Or at least every night, when two people share a bed of rest and peace. Where's the true love?

*Yes, I quoted Hanson.

**I thought to post this on Valentine's Day. But what the hell.

I am Such a...

...slut for beautiful women.

I really am.

Actually, I'm a slut for people who talk nicely. You give me a smile, some perkiness, and an air of reasonable intelligence.

I just get all giddy.

Being pretty doesn't hurt.

Neither does being nice.

I like nice people.

Danish Cartoons

For my benefit, at least:





Definitely inflammatory, both equally so. Yet, I look at those cartoons and I think: "great point."

Religiously insensitive.

But great point.

Just Shut Up

Think these guys are singing the theme song to Duck Tales? No, I don't believe they are, either.

I'm going to make a very strange and probably very dangerous connection here. Yet it's in my mind, I need some space to flex it.

The world wide response to the Muslim violence over the Danish cartoons defacing Muhammad are tantamount to the pacifism expressed by Chamberlain and the rest of Europe in the face of Hilter's war machine as it swept into Poland. Europe's inability to check Hitler led to annihilation of millions (despite what Tehran says). I believe we have as much to fear of the world's inability to check the fundamentalist/extremist reaction by Muslims - if only ideologically.

Those practicing Islam have every right to demand respect be shown to their religion. It is theirs to demand. The cartoons (which I admittedly have not seen yet have heard described) were in bad taste. I think it is true that America and the West are very desensitized to attacks on religion (and there attacks). I don't necessarily think it's a bad thing we are so numb to it, but it is there. If nothing else, those of the Muslim faith should have been united in a calm reflection about how apart they are from society.

Oh, but they have.

They've done it with rocks, protests, and fire. A baptism by fire is one in which ignorant eyes are awakened unto the truth by force and trial. I believe the world is beginning to experience such a baptism by fire. Not from Islam (what we are lead to believe as the real faith of Islam) or from Muhammad. Rather, from this sense of free reign given to every facet of Islam, including if not especially the radical sects. The world saw havoc (a bit, or a lot, depending on perspective) when the Bush chariot was given no hindrance. I think it not a stretch of the imagination that as Islam is being virtually bowed to by the media and even governments, it too shall reek some havoc.

Given free reign, any religion will fall off the edge of reason and humanity (I know the irony of using such a word). The varieties of paganism experienced such throughout the world's history. As has Christianity and Islam. Yet while the world seems to have a strict hold on Christianity (in professing ideology, at least), Islam has been left free (with admitted pockets of needed intolerance in Britain and unusual intolerance in France).

Every government has the right to rule its people as it wishes. Hopefully by the will of the people too, but, "Hey, can't promise that." What no government has the right to do is exert it's will upon another's without consequence. Indeed, a condemnation of the Bush administration. Yet also a condemnation of what so many of the states of Islam are clamoring for. They demand nothing of their religion be desecrated. And, I don't know, I rather get the sense that they'll kill to ensure the demand is met. Or, at least, they'll burn stuff.

Those pyromaniacs.

This all weirds me out greatly. About as much as the actions of President Bush.

I realise that moderate Muslims (seeing a link to moderate Christians?) condemn the violence spurred by the cartoons as much as the cartoons themselves; as much as they even condemn the acts of terrorism in their god's name. Thank God for them. Yet it is not the Moderates that are marching, some in the millions, and instigating violence. It is the poor, the disenfranchised, those so easily manipulated for in entire breadth of history. I really have not a doubt that all of the rage in the Muslim world is playing right into the hands of those who would gladly see the West go up in flame.

Visions of Dune and flame keep running through my head.

I'm not scared of a Muslim world. I am afraid of a Muslim world birthed through fire.

Talk, peace, dialogue - a nuclear treaty with Tehran.

Please, talk.

I'm a Toys-R-Us Kid

Yes indeed I am, homeboys and homegirls.

You're an 80's kid if:

1. You ever ended a sentence w/ the word "SIKE"
**Never, but I did live through it.

2. You watched Pound Puppies
**I still have two pups!!

3. You can sing the rap to "Fresh Prince of Bel Air"
**Only the first two chords *sigh*

4. You wore biker shorts under your skirts and felt stylish.
**Contrary to popular opinion, never wore skirts.

5. You yearned to be a member of the babysitters club and tried to start one.
**I was always intrigued, I must confess.

6. You owned those lil Strawberry Shortcake pals scented dolls.
**'Fraid not. Remember the show though.

7. You know that "WOAH" comes from Joey on "Blossom"
**Totally.

8. Two words: M.C.Hammer
**I actually bought his tape! Along with Kris Kross!

9. If you ever watched Fraggle Rock
**HELL YEAH!!

10. You had plastic streamers on your handle bars. (HECK YEAH!!!)
**Dude, that's so...uncool.

11. You can sing the entire theme song to "Duck Tales"
**Only the first few chords, again...*double sigh*

12. It was actually worth getting up on Sat morning to watch cartoons
**Yeah!!

13. You wore a ponytail on the side of your head
**Never, though I confess to a rat tail.

14. You saw "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" on the big screen
**Went for a birthday party, had shirts made!

15. You got super excited when it was Oregon Trail day in computer class.
**I rented a computer from school and played it.

16. You had a clip that held your shirt in a knot at the side
**Que?

17. You played the game MASH (Mansion, Apartment, Shelter, House)
**I still don't know how those things work.

18. You wore a Jordache jean jacket and you were proud of it
**What the hell is Jordache?

19. L.A. Gear... need I say more
**The bane of my childhood.

20. You wanted to change your name to "JEM" in kindergarten
**Double Que?

21. You remember all of the Ramona books
**Triple Que?

22. You know the profound meaning of "WAX ON, WAX OFF"
**Damn skippy homeboy.

23. You wanted to be a Goonie
**My saturday morning ritual, with a pop tart!

24. You ever wore fluorescent clothing (some head to toe)
**Dude, now that really is gay.

25. You can remember what Michael Jackson REALLY looked like
**He reminds me of a teddy bear now, with a poppable button nose.

26. You ever wondered why Smurfette was the only female smurf
**I only know she was hot.

27. You took lunch pals to school
**That was beneath me even then.

28. You remember the CRAZE, then the BANNING of slap bracelets
**Definitely!

29. You still get the urge to say "NOT" after every sentence
**I'm sorry, no.

30. Barbie and the Rockers were your fav band
**Not quite squire.

31. You thought She-Ra and He-Man should hook up
**He-Man still gives me goosebumps.

32. You thought your childhood friends would never leave you b/c you
exchanged friendship bracelets
**I'm thinking this is made for girls.

33. You ever owned a pair of jelly shoes (and probably in neon colors)
**Colour me convinced.

34. After Pee-Wee's Big Adventures you kept saying "I know you are but what am I"
**Guilty as charged.

35. You remember "I've fallen and I can't get up"
**Funnily enough, no, I don't.

36. You remember skating before inline skates
**I do, frighteningly.

37. You ever got seriously injured on a Slip-n-slide
**Pecans are deadly under those things.

38. You had a Skip-it
**Never "got" it.

39. You had or attended a b-day party at McDonalds
**Burger King, honkie. McD's is ghetto.

40. You've gone thru this nodding your head in agreement
**Giggling, actually.

41. "Don't worry, Be happy!"
**I think he was the one who inspired my bare feet.

42. You wore like 8 pair of socks over tights w/ high top reeboks
**Yet again, this is so girly.

43. You wore socks scrunched down
**I did, but honestly, not in a girly way.

44. "Miss MARY MACK MACK MACK all dressed in BLACK BLACK BLACK"
**This has something to do with jump rope, right?

45. Boom boxes vs. Cd players
**My parents had the sound system of all sound systems. I didn't need no stinkin' boom box.

46. Both Gremlin movies
**Late night TV.

47. "CARE BEAR STARE!"
**Freakin' A! I carry around a care bears lunch box, for pete's sake!

48. You remember Rainbow Bright and My Lil Pony Tales
**Only from my dreams.

49. You thought Doogie Howser was hot!
**Too skinny, man.

50. Alf, the furry brown alien from Melmac
**I still firmly believe he's real.

51. New Kids On the Block when they were cool
**I hated them then as much as I do now.

52. Knew all the characters and there life stories on the ORIGINAL Saved by the Bell
**The one in middle school?

53. Know all the words to Bon Jovi- SHOT THRU THE HEART
**I only came to know of this "Bon Jovi" when I turned 17.

54. You just sang it to yourself
**Never.

55. You remember when Mullets were cool
**Even back then so bloody gay.

56. You tight rolled your pants
**Once, because I completely misjudge the weather.

57. You owned a banana clip
**And we end with girly?! For shame!

Oh, I enjoyed that immensely. I did, I did, I did.

Worst Superbowl

I don't really expect too much from champsionship games (including series). It is a rare, rare thing for the two best divisional teams to meet in their respective ultimate games. So many things can happen from the beginning of the playoffs to the end that the uncertainty of the season is mirrored for us, albiet in a much shorter form. There are truly very few great championship games. Of note, the last few games yielding a sparkling ring that interested me were 1997-98 Bulls/Jazz saga, the 1996 Braves/Yankees ("They have surmounted every challenge, they have climbed every mountain..." - John Sterling), and the 2002 Patriots/Rams.



This game, as the pinnacle of pinnacles, sucked.

Saying that, I don't think it was a bad game. There were some truly great plays. All of them involving the Steelers, of course. No surprise there, they did win. However, I can count those great plays on one hand without using all of my fingers. Some argue that great football isn't about great plays. They define great as in huge 40 yard gambits. Sure, great plays include the gob-smackers. But great plays are also the smaller, consistent yard chewers exemplified and manifested by teams reaching 15 plus first yards per game. And hot damn if both the Steelers and the Seahawks didn't do anything to promote what good football looks like.

Neither team deserved to win the Superbowl, of all things. Ben Roethlisberger was inconsolable after the game? So he should have been. He played pathetically...for the most part. That's the incredible thing, there were two or three plays out of Ben which were reminiscent of his amazing performaces in the past 3 games. And here, there was almost nothing to give credit to the Steelers for winning the most recognizable sports tribute in the world (apart from the Olympic medals).

I believe history will have to look at the Steelers' overall performance in the playoffs in order justify their win in Superbowl 40. And so they should, even if this was the greatest Superbowl in history. The Steelers got to Detroit the hard way and deserved every accolade based on that alone. It's just too bad that the Pittsburg Steelers' 5th Superbowl title came in such a lackluster way.

I was so surprised at the lack of emotion on the field as the last seconds of the Superbowl ticked away. Sure, everyone on the Steelers looked happy. I loved the grin of Bill Cowers. Even the Steeler fans looked a bit happy. But everything else was just so...................uninspired. I was happy to see Jerome Bettis, Hines Ward and Cowers have their moment. I was thrilled to watch some incredible plays (and incredible blocks) unfold. But, overall, the game disappointed even the least bit of expectation.

Also....

What the hell was up with Mike Holgren after the game?

Did no one else see Bill Cowers waiting in the middle of the field in order to shake Holgren's hand? Cowers waited for near enough 5 minutes before the camera, after focusing on his rather impatient scowl, cut to commericial and came back to watch the set up of the stage for the presentation. I have seen nothing in the media about this, which may very mean Holgren was simply delayed and the two head coaches met off camera. Of course that would only point to shoddy camera work - which I wouldn't disbelieve as those idiots missed Bill Cowers standing under a deluge of gatorade.

Really, I was just thoroughly unimpressed.

Go Steelers anyway.

Oh, The Places You'll Go

First, my mother gave Seus' classic on my graduation from High School.

And now I had it read to me by the ever-sexy Harrison Ford, Roger Staubach, Bart Starr, Franco Harris, Jerry Rice, and Joe Mantana. (That it?)

That's just so flippin' cool.

Time for football!

That's Destiny

Steve Young's father's name is Grit.

GRIT

Sometimes, the plath you are to tread is really not left to question.

Super Saturday

Is it weird that when I think of Super Saturday, I not only think of the Saturday before the Super Bowl but also Slalom? I think that's because the huge Slalom races are called the Super G. That's the only connection I can find between the two. And that was after a day of mulling it over and 2 seconds seriously searching my mind. Weird stuff man.

I'm about the close the lab I work at. It's strange, people never know what time the lab closes. Don't people check on these things? Perhaps not. I suppose I cannot expect people to freak out about knowing every little detail when going somewhere. Bastards.

Apparently listening to an I-pod more than 20 seconds a day seriously increases hearing loss. HAH!

I believe I'm here just out of guilt and shame after reading the glories of Andrew's blog. He's just so freakin' cool.

Viking bastard.

February

3 months and 4 days until I graduate.

That is one scary fucking thought.

On a brighter note, we do actually appear to be experience some winter weather. It's nice, to be reminded that the earth hasn't completely flipped its axis. Positive reinforcement on the simple fact that we all won't die from floods, heat stroke, or the new ice age any time soon. Safe and sound for at least today. I can handle that. One step at a time, baby steps my friends. But eyes at all times, you never know when the unexpected comes.

Like Global Warming!!

(I love South Park. No one can deny my devotion. Huzzah! <- Imagine a rather manic voice there, and not the chippy English voice I do so enjoy.)

Kaine's Got the Goose

Why the hell isn't this fellow the Democratic front runner for the 2008 race? I know the damn thing isn't for another 3 more years, but come on, Ms. Thing and Mr. Wood are already campaigning. Let's get someone representing the Democratic party whom people actually like.

Governor Tim Kaine gave the Democratic response to the President's State of the Union address Tuesday night, and I was gobsmacked. I caught Kaine's speech quite by hapstance as I was just curious to see if I could see someone like Teddy going off against "the Right." Teddy always puts on a good show (see: Monday). I was on the one hand saddened by the lack of Teddy, yet quite heartened, on the other, to see a logical, compassionate response given by Kaine. The theme of "there's a better way" was fantastic, the best response out of a Democratic to Bush that I've heard. Period.

The one unfortunate facet about Kaine's speech is that I am suddenly expecting a lot more from the Democratic party. And I know I won't get it. Of course, I declare the same thing about Bush. I was profoundly delighted to hear many of the divets of Bush's speech. Yet now I except so much, with the sad understanding I won't be satisfied at all. Bush has repeated his assertions that Ammerican needs to kick the oil habit for 5 years without any success. That makes the hippy in my heart quite punchy. And the Indian in me just shed a tear. And the clown inside my brain just had his frown turned upside down. Twice! So many words, so little action.

Or just stupid action.

From both parties.

I would love to see: 1) Republicans working with Democrats and bowing out of the God complex I'm starting to see more often. 2) Democrats refusing to bend to the wealthy elitists who seem to run their party (hey, Republicans could stop doing that too!)

I'd also be pumped to see a guy like Kaine suddenly finding himself with huge numbers of supporters. Not because he's the best, or is the most conceptually conservative Democratic. But because we need someone who can handle the damn goose! Look at the way his hands are wrapped around that lifeless neck. Tender yet firm. I like a man with good hands. (Geez.) Go Kaine!

All Hail Federer

I've been so busy of late that there has been little chance for me to catch any of the Australia Open. So it was with supreme pleasure that I watched Sunday's Men's Final between Roger Federer and Marcos Baghdatis. I'm a huge fan of sport in general, but tennis holds a special place in my heart - likely because I equate it so much with pitching. I have seem some amazing matches, Grand Slam and otherwise, in my brief tenure. While the Baghdatis and Federer match isn't a classic, hot damn it was good.

Baghdatis actually took the first set from the world's number one, even though it was all down hill from there. Federer claimed the second set and dominated the final two. The match was fantastic for two reasons: 1) Men's tennis desperately needs charasmatic players who are great, and Baghdatis is just that; 2) Federer continued his "poor" Slam and still dominated. 'tis the definition of a champion, winning even with all the odds against you. Roger Federer is an amazing athelete, a superb tennis player, and a nice guy. That's a phrase you don't here in sports often..."nice guy." However, let there be no doubt of how decent a fellow Federer is. Not only did the guy break down whilst accepting the Slam trophy, he seemed as equally touched to be included in the club of very few men who have won three straight Grand Slams.

I'm a sucker for class.

Speaking of class, so many congratualations to Amelia Mauresmo who won the women's championship and actually tried to convince Justine Henin-Hardenne to continue playing the match depsite a severe stomach ailment. There was a great picture I saw up on ESPN of Mauresmo actually sitting beside Henin-Hardenne talking with her, yet I can't seem to find it now. Apparently no one else thinks it's the great shot that I do.

And hey, Martina Hingis is back. Consider this a tentative "yay." I still hold a great deal of animosity for her pathetic performance against Steffi Graf in the 99 French Open. Wikipedia says this: "She then reached the French Open final and was three points away from victory in the second set against Steffi Graf, but ended up losing 4-6, 7-5, 6-2." What it doesn't say is that after Hingis lost those three points in the second set and experienced the better part of an ass-kicking in the third, she gave up. And boo's, they did rain upon her.

Unclassy bitch.

Warning: Morning Wood Ahead

Actually, it's Morningwood for the kids:



Again giving homage to Yahoo! Music. There are a select number of songs that make me spaz. And when I say spaz = giggle, clap my hands, and all around act like the fool of a white man I truly am. Morningwood's "The Nth Degree" spazzes me out.

*snickers*...to the nth degree.

Full disclosure: Author is aware of lameness

Matisyahu

I'm a slut for Yahoo! Music. This is unequivocal. I get free streaming music whilst I'm at school (90% of my current life) that both exposes me to random, punky bands and pop favoraties.

That's right, I'm excited.

*note to the girl, this is a cd.



The song of Matisyahu's I've been listening to for the past few months is "King without a Crown." It's the kind of great song that you buy an album for and hope like hell it isn't the only worthwhile track. You know, if you had money. Damn this secondary education!

Live at Stubbs, if portrayed at all accurately by "King with a Crown," captures an incredible vibe of jazz phunk without delving too much in either. Really fabulous.

And he's a Hasidic Jew.

Singing reggae.

*throws his hands up*

Do you need anything more to convince you? I don't...*becomes distracted by the new Bloodhound Gang song*

Isn't He Lovely?

...there he is
Just a walkin' down the street
Singin'...

...something along the lines of, "Death to God." Is there any doubt that this Luigi Cascioli doesn't live in some type of assisted living? He's so fiesty!

It will be fascinating to watch the progress of the "trial," if it ever gets there.

Yet what is truly interesting to me is the response of the public, specifically the Christian public, to the criminal suit brought against the church for the purported lie of Christ's existence. I went through a brief search of some blogs to try and find out what people were saying. There has been little response so far. Yet what little there is below (in clipped form, highlighting the main message of each):

"It is a real shame and says a lot about the world we live in that this case(?) is even given the 'time of day'... God help us!"
--from Woody's Blog

"As a Christian, I can think of a lot of things that I should do before I die but trying to ‘take down Christ and His Church’ wouldn’t be one of them."
--from CommonSenseAmerica

"It's a sad world we live in. Christians can't afford to stay put in their "comfort zones" any longer."
--from Christians Crawling Out of Their Comfort Zones

"And, at the core of my life, I know that Jesus existed two thousand years ago and now sits enthroned in heaven. I’d be a fool to believe otherwise."
--from Another Man's Meat

Clearly the overarching theme to all of these snippets is this: "Woe is me, being a Christian is so hard! Why can't everyone just believe in Jesus?"

First, if this guy is just trying to clean up the church (balderdash), then I'm all for it. However, if Cascioli strives simply to grind his heel in the name of Christ, that's scary. It is frightening to look on a world that, through subtle or overt means, looks askance at God. This is my view as a Christian. My view as a citizen? Let the guy do as he will. Who cares?

Second, I say who cares because of a simple fact, one intimated absolutely by Christ and then Paul. Fact: being a Christian is hard stuff. That doesn't mean those who call themselves Christians should turn over and let the world slap them around like a Frenchman. No! But neither does it mean professing Christians should attempt to take over the world and forcefeed the Gospel to those who will not profess. That was the falt of the church for 2 millenia. And it remains the falt of the church. Is there any wonder why the world hates those who calls themselves Christians? Christians are hypocritical, do not own up to living in hypocrisy, and show little mercy.

Christ continually says this world is not for the world of the believers - so why do they continually strive to make it their own? I don't say that on a soapbox. But why does the Christian faith demand and battle to force the world around us into its image? That is not God's manadate. His first was for the Jews: one nation. His second is for those who believe: the elect. By defintion of each of those mandates there is exclusion inherent in faith. Some believe, some do not.

Those who profess Christ should, are called to evangelize. I am not arguing against that. But why not strive to evangelize through life and loving words, instead of harsh damnation and judgment? Need I remind that it is God alone who will damn and judge? Never forget that you are Christian. But never forget your humanity. Christ never did, I believe it is why he asked His Father to relent the cup of sacrifice. Christ humbled Himself. Why do those who profess to follow him refuse to do the same?

Stand against Luigi Cascioli. Stand with him. But for God's sake, remember that Christ's kingdom is apart from this earth. Don't try and do Him any favors by fighting battles that, I assure you, He can handle.

Can You Hear Me Now?

This image has been floating everywhere it seems. While I do images sparely, I thought this introduced the subject well enough.


Senator John McCain said this when asked about the debacle concerning the NSA and domestic spying and whether or not the law was broken: "I don't know. I want to be perfectly clear. I don't know the answer. That's why I welcome the hearings."

Good man. I appreciate his candor and, I hope, heartfelt willingness to find out the truth. Of course, there are quite a number of people telling us what that truth is. There is so little absolute truth in the midst of personal opinion, but surely the greater truth can be found so that instead of talking, spinning heads, there would exist something to righteously affect.

I don't believe the entirety of Ben Franklin's quotation showcased in the picture at the top doesn't inherently change what the students intended to say. However, I do consider important that Franklin qualified himself:

“Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.”

There is little doubt, I think, concerning the illegality of the President's actions in pure philosophical terms. Yet a man cannot live on philosophy alone. Neither apart from, nor alone. I think the clarification of what Ben Franklin wrote establishes the reality in the midst of the philosophy, or the philosophy in the midst of reality - your pick. We cannot abandon forsaking the ideal of freedom and privacy, yet neither can we abandon the stark reality of world that is unquestionably grey. If we abandon the philosophy and ideals, savagery and chaos will reign. And if we deny the reality of our world, we similarly deny ourselves the opportunity to defend against the savagery.

There must be some balance point.

"Blood Eagle?" Yes, Please!

I am thrilled to announce that the final of the "Cambridge Friends" - ala the "Super Friends" or the "Pound Puppies" - has whored himself out to the blogosphere! Yes, people, Andrew has come! Most especially satisfying is that now I will be able to catch up more often as...much to my shame...I suck at e-mail.

Andrew's new blog Getting Medieval is now gloriously linked for...well...the 6 people who read this here blog. Andrew, it's fantastic (I'm learning I'm susceptible to a great deal of hyperbole. There! I did it again!) to have you around. I hope we make up for lost time.

For Andrew and anyone else who excessively worries, fear not! I am not jumping on any bandwagon, steel or otherwise. I still cry little tears of blue & white for my ousted Colts. However, I recognize how good the Steelers team is and in the upcoming game, I favor them. And dude, who doesn't want to see Jerome Bettis win a Superbowl in his last game. That's gold, baby, gold!

Under Pressure!

Listening to the radio today I heard yet again the great cover of Under Pressure and had to express my joy. Freddie Mercury and David Bowie sang together on the brilliant song, and now The Used and My Chemical Romance have done the same on a very servicable cover. They do not shame, and for that we sing hallelujah! Romance and The Used released the song in April of last year, I believe for the Tsunamia aid fund. I had heard snippets of it but lately, through the utter usefulness of Yahoo's internet stream, I've been able to latch onto an Alt Rock channel that gives me much goodness, including the Pressure cover.

Immediately following Under Pressure came The Mars Volta's L'Via L'Viaquez from their album Frances the Mute. L'Viaquez the most interesting song I've heard in quite a while. Very....excellent. I'm always delighted when it tickles my ears.

Did Jesus Really Exist?

(*Shakes his ass to Gorillaz's 'Dare'*)

CNN chronicled a recent suit brought up in an Italian court. The suit, filed by Luigi Cascioli, is against a local priest who claimed in a church bulletin that "Jesus did indeed exist." Casciolli's suit claims that the Catholic church, via explicitly implicating the Rev. Enrico Righi, 1) fraudulently deceived people and 2) made financial gains by attributing a false name to someone.

Of course that someone is Jesus Christ or, as Cascioli believes, John of "some place in Palestine."

Interesting.

Cascioli wants to "denounce the abuse that the Catholic Church commits by availing itself of its prestige in order to inculcate...facts that are really just inventions."

...fascinating. While I don't think the facts (or some or most of them....at least a few) that the Catholic Church spews out are inventions, I'm behind the guy's intentions. You know, somewhat. Hell, all the way. The church sucks and does nothing for me (so I would imagine God might not find it altogether pleasing).

"We aren't optimistic -- unless the Madonna makes a miracle, but I don't think that will happen," Cascioli joked.

I can always get behind a good Madonna joke.

"Cascioli says he is merely going through the necessary legal steps in Italy so he can ultimately take the matter to the European Court of Human Rights, where he intends to pursue the case against the church for 'religious racism.'"

Now this, this is the crux of the article to me. The church as an institution is corrupt and decrepit, yet still wields amazing power over the masses. I would love to see the church held accountable for the uncountable abuses it perverts against those that love it. And singling out Christ as the lie that the church has perpetuated in order to abuse is an incredible way of seeking such accountability. Of course, I doubt the guy has much of a chance and sadly the focus (if there is any) on the trial will be about the fellow's denyng the existence of Jesus and not the atrocities of the church.

Though, perhaps a much more interesting way of changing the church's faults would be to reform it. But I'm sure that's just much too complicated for anyone to consider.

"I was born against Christ and God," he said. "I'm doing it (the complaint) now because I should do it before I die."

The quotation above confused me for a moment. The article spends almost the entirety of its length focusing on Cascioli's words against the church as an institution. He even goes so far as to say he has no problem with Christians professing their faith. And yet he ultimately equates the church and God, instead of continuing the previous statements about attacking the corruption of the church.

Of course, as I think of it, God in the eyes of an atheist is nothing more than a creation of man. Therefore the logic of the Cascioli's final words doesn't fail. In fact, it makes perfect sense. Cascioli equates the man-driven church as an evil, deceiving institution because it reaps money from those convinced to believe in Christ. And similarly, he equates God and man, the former being a construction of the latter to serve as the reason for all that happens in an inexplicable world. And thus, God is evil for deceiving everyone about himself.

The bastard.

Well, if you were an atheist.

Divine Steel

What a fantastic Sunday for football!

The Steelers continued their immaculate run with a deciding win against the Broncos and the Seahawks kicked Carolina from goal post to goal post. I was amazed to see the deserving team walk off the field the victor, in each case. Not to say that doesn't happen, but hot damn, if it wasn't a great exclamation point!

I love the Colts, unequivocally. But there's one thing I love more, those deserving to win winning. And the Steelers, hot tamale, they've waited for this a long damn time. I hope to soon say that about the Colts, but this was not their year. It was the year of Jerome Bettis and Bill Cower, Big Ben and Hines Ward and Troy Polamalu. I truly can't fathom a more deserving team winning the Superbowl. Uh...yeah, who cares about the next few weeks, they've won the Superbowl.

Nothing taking away from the Seahawks, but the minute, yea even second the Colts lost the chance to tie the game with the Steelers last weekend, I threw my hands up and I declared the Steelers Superbowl champions. That said, Mike Holmgren and his strong, stolid Seahawks will put up an amazing fight. I think this will be the most exciting Superbowl I've seen, ever. Two great quarterbacks, two great runningbacks, and two fantastic coaches. Yet, nomatter how decent the Seahawks are, they cannot fight destiny.

And gosh darn it, the Steelers got them some destiny! I remember when Bill Cower was clinging to his job. I remember the constant talk of retirement from Jerome Bettis in the past 3 years. But then I remember, too, the sudden emergence of Big Ben, the resurgence of Jerome Bettis, and the RETURN of the Steel Curtain in the existential form of the "Hairy One."

I wish I could watch this Superbowl 40 with the girl. I'm sad I can't. I just hope we get another classic like this in the next few years so I can show her the true climax of sports.

I'm so excited. (And so freakin' pumped the Panthers lost!)

That's Just Wrong

This night, coming home from some errands, I heard the first chords of Queen's classic "We Will Rock You." Naturally, I turned the volume all the way, ready to rock out and purposefully delay my arrival home (which I was just 30 seconds away from) in order to fully experience the glories of the song.

But....no.

Apparently, it some bastardization of "Rock You" will various lyrics celebrating the Carolina Panthers' trip to the NFC Championship game. Never mind that they're going to lose.

And! Never mind that you....Just. Don't. Fuck. With. Queen.

Oh, Freddie. What is the world coming to?

Hip Hop To The Hippity Hop

Amazing things happen when one walks. I'm not talking about the walks we all exprience throughout the day, walks that are hurried and rushed with the sole purpose of getting where we need to get. A walk is the antithesis of all the the hurry and rush that so pervades every day. I have thankfully been able to reclaim my devotion to this incredibly satisfying ambulatory motion. You see, having a car die on you isn't the worst thing in the world. While the sad death might throw the ultimate monkey wrench into plans to go to Italy, it emphasizes the need to cover short distances in other, exciting and less propelling ways.

Thus, to get to school I now walk. The distance I have to cover is about a mile to a mile and a half. So unless I'm really kickin' it up a notch, I saunter into Winthrop about 35 minutes after starting the journey.

I might have chosen a bicycle, unicycle, tricycle, skateboard, or a unicorn. But no, friends, I chose my feet. Though one of my feet has been rebellious over the past 6 months, the other has been perfectly reasonable and maintained a level head when others would have cracked. And, joyfully, the rebel foot has begun at long last to cool its heated head. So, I treat my feet and myself almost every morning to a walk of longish proportions.

I enjoy it. Immensely. Life is so tense, terse, and knotted that I relish the chance to not think. Not thinking is a big part of my life. I really don't or try not to do it much - think, that is. For when I do think, my mind seems to morph into a tornado. It's a rare thing for me to think of but one matter, satisfied with one portion of my mind covered for the moment. Rather, when one thought enters into my head, about four hundred and fifty-nine seem to follow. The thoughts don't overwhelm me, the multitude is rather comforting. But, such a mass of thoughts can make thought, even the most mundane thought, an intense and tiring experience. Hence my enjoyment of not thinking - or, in other words, my enjoyment of putting myself into a space of time where thoughts may come and go and have no order. I think it's the order and disorder of thoughts that gets to me.

Suffice to say, when a long walk stretches before me, it is as if a long avenue of peace also precedes before my mind. I have taken to praying at various points during my walk as it is one of the few times in my day I have to myself. I'd like to find the time elsewhere to pray: not only so I can focus on the prayer instead of being slightly distracted by all the shiny things around me, but also so I focus on being distracted and let my mind wander. I listen while I walk. To myself. To the words of others...actual people, don't you know. And to the world around me: the cars, the wind. What an amazing thing it is to just listen to all that could wash over you.

It is the thing I miss most about pitching (was a baseball pitcher for still the majority of my life...I'm still striving to make that was turn to is) - the isolation of self. However, surely you can see that it is not isolation just for the sake of isolation. I speak of isolation in order to foster a more receptive awareness -- isolate in order to open.

I used to walk to school when I was in middle school. And now I come to it again in my last semester of undergraduate work. Funny, the situations that surrounded both periods of time are somewhat similar. I hadn't thought of that before.

Walk, if you can. Or do something superbly isolating so you can see the world around you better. Of course, this might just be something peculair to me.

Reminder: if you walk, I guarantee you'll never run into one of these monsters. There is no such safeguard if you insist on driving piddly distances - at least, I don't know of one.

Gitofmibut: Para Jared

Yes, Jared, I finally read your Dante paper and was thoroughly delighted. As you can see, I was most impressed with Gitofmibut, the 5th Highway of Hell.

Though, I have to admit this. When I read your description of the 6th Highway and what I read to be "little Naufftus'," I immediately thought of two things: the fake oompa loompas from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and the tiny Bruce Campbell from Evil Dead. Very, very freaky and funny. I commend you for inspiring the memory.

Now that there's some spiffy writing.

A King's Immaturity

This past Friday I had the happy opportunity of seeing King Kong with some friends from school. While it is indeed hard to not see every movie on its first weekend of wide release, I have been able to salve my complaint with good friends to surround me. That said, I was disappointed with Kong. Surprisingly, I found it to be an exercise in immature filmmaking.

Now, I think King Kong is a good, solid film. Peter Jackson created a wonderful world which I loved exploring. However, I was expecting an immense film, full of the wonder and humanity that pervaded the Lord of the Rings. What I was left with was a film that felt like it was made by a talented 20 year old.

The shocking aspect of Jackson's Kong was his seeming inability to trust himself. Throughout the entirety of the picture, I got the impression that Jackson felt he was remaking God Himself as he remade the '33 Kong. I love the 1933 version, but it isn't the holy grail. However, Jackson seemed to treat it as precious as an orgasm, hell bent on doing everything in his power to hit the magic spot. And all he did was create a little chaffing along with the good, if underwhelming, sensations.

There is one scene in Kong that encapsulates what I believe to be Jackson's immature handling of the camera on this film. That scene is the reunion of Kong and Anne, wonderfully poignant and heartfelt...for the first 10 seconds. The subsequent 30 seconds of continued and repeated medium/close shots of both Kong and Anne's moist eyes does nothing but undercut the emotion and investment that Jackson built up to this pivotal moment. What a shocking travesty! I don't meant that to be hyperbole, I truly am shocked by Jackson's cut of King Kong. As I told the girl, it felt like Peter Jackson had no confidence in his ability behind the camera and tried too hard. I look forward to seeing if a director's edit of Kong will turn out to be much shorter than the theatrical cut.

*All that said, I am amazed by King Kong, just Kong. The work by Andy Serkis is phenomenal and yet again I clamor for a special Oscar for this fantastic actor. I am a fan of animals and the character they shine forth. And Kong did that! I saw, understood, and loved the character of King Kong. Brilliant work with such an amazing presence. Exaggeration be damned.

Say It Ain't So!

I fell off my sofa last night. No, I really didn't fall, I leaped. Catapulted might even be a better word. Why? Perhaps because of the single most exciting football play I've seen in my life.

Nick Harper picked up Jerome Bettis' improbable fumble at the Colts' two-yard line with 1:20 left that would have finally given the Colts the lead.

Key phrase: would have.

But the bastard cut inside! Why didn't he cut outside and avoid every single Steelers' players ahead of him? Maybe the knife wound Harper's wife gave him the night before had something to do with it. Either way, Harper's failed touchdown run set up yet another failed Peyton Manning drive.

Oh, what a game! What a game, what a game, what a game - as it should have been. The Indianapolis Colts versus the Pittsburg Steelers is always a great game. The Steelers came out with everything, guns blazing and pounding away. And the Colts. Well, the Colts looked like the Detroit Lions, and there is no greater insult. There is no team I love more than the Colts. And there is no quarterback I root for more than Peyton Manning. Yet all the love in the world doesn't account for the lack of physicality in the Colts offense and defense.

For me, the divine evidence over the past few years of their weakness was their inability to pound it through on a goal line offensive stand. Improbably, they seemed to be changing that this year. The Colts got a lot more aggresive on the defense, where it all counts. And yet, their key problem still remains. The Colts are a SMALL team. Their most acclaimed open field defensive man is 5'8", and even that might be stretching it. Peyton Manning stands a towering 6'5" but is the smallest tall man you'll ever see. And their great, great wide receiver, Marvin Harrisson, is even smaller and more lithe than Jerry Rice...by a lot.

The Colts have everything but teeth.

Once the Steelers stole the game from the Bengals, I knew absolutely that the Colts would go down in flames. Simply because the Steelers are smash mouth football, and if you smash the Colts too much, they go lame.

Peyton Manning will never win a Superbowl unless he bulks up and becomes as good a leader as he is a quarterback. This Colts team should be a dynasty, and it's a crying shame that it isn't. Amazing that Tony Dungy, known for his defense, is stuck in a hell where he is defined by his offense. Find the men, Tony, and demand that Peyton become man enough to make a run of 8 superbowl wins. I firmly believe the team is capable of it.

Capable, though. We're all capable of a lot. It's the few among who turn what they are capable of into reality. And that is why the Pittsburg Steelers will be the new World Champions.

My Funny lil' Robertson

I honestly don't know what to think of Pat Robertson's recent outburst. Correction: I know what to immediately think, but I'm just not sure where his words are coming from. Obviously he can either be the guy that truly believes he is the voice of God or is just saying what he can to get himself into the headlines. I mean, the fellow did run for Presidential canidacy on the Republican ticket. So I imagine there's a bit of both supporting the candor of his speech. Regardless, I wish the man would just shut up. I know full well what it means to be an evangelical Christian, and it does not mean being a belligerent, confrontational prick - something Pattie is embracing a bit too much lately.

Robertson claimed that Ariel Sharon's illness (and Yitzhak Rabin's death) was possibly "retribution" from God for attempting to divide the "Holy Land." Now, Robertson has since apologized for his words. We shouldn't ignore his contrition, it's a great thing. (If only he had been so contrite with his other words about the coming damnation of God upon the people of Pennsylvania for a collective state - secular - decision.) However, we cannot ignore Robertson's initial words if only because they reveal a frightening trend within the depths of those who hold the Christian voice.

The profound egotism of such comments, that not only declare but go into detail with foreseen punishment of God quite outside any realistic remnant of the prophetic scriptures, is frightening. I've already said much enough about Roberts in a previous delineation, but it is fundamentally important that such a man not be the voice of Christians in this nation or any other. (I have a bit of a problem with Christians having a voice anyway, as if they're some type of political/voting bloc waiting to be exploited...oh...wait...)

There has been outrage over Robertson's latest words: from other Christian groups, the White House, and Israel. I expected all three, though I was surprised (if only by precedence) by the presence of a Christian voice in opposition of Robertson's. Good! Great! While I don't delude myself to believe that such opposition marks a beginning of ephasized humility by Christian leaders, I'm thankful that a few men see the despicable nature of Mr. Pat's (clear Happy Days' reference please) words - even if they only recognize and come out against those words because of 3rd party reaction. It's something, if pathetically little.

Something is something.

Why Do They Always Send the Poor

So says the glorious System of a Down:

"Why do they always send the poor?
Why don't presidents fight the war?

Why do they always send the poor?
Why don't presidents fight the war?"

Whilst I greatly love System's BYOB from Mesmerize, I have always considered the refrain quoted above to be one of the most ignorant statements I've heard in song. (Ignorant statements in a song, that is, from one of the most intelligent bands.) Without fault I answer the question posited about the poor with, "because it's the poor who are in the armed forces." Simple, case closed...no shit, Sherlock. Yet the girl questioned that sentiment. ...so, considering her words generally mean most of everything to me, I want to explore my response to System's refrain. I'm going to ignore the prescribed inspiration for BYOB and focus, rather, on the general response that System of a Down gives to said (un-said) inspiration. The response is nothing new and has been around since the days of the Civil War draft when Lincoln ordered the Navy to fire on NYC because the City's citizens rioted against forced "incarceration." However, the response still rings true today. Why?

First, let's get rid of an argument that just came into my mind last night. Is there any need for the armed services? Perhaps the best answer would be, "Yes, dude, because people are fucked up." A more intelligent response would be strikingly like unto the previous statement. Even though we "appear" to be growing more and more towards a society of enlightened gals and fellows, progressivism in no way affects crime and aggression. To qualify: if there are any overt affectations, they result only from altered roles -- crime and aggression becoming what it was not before. For this reason, the existence of perversions of law demands the existence of the pigs...*coughs*...sorry, police. So, police govern or protect a society's provisions of law both for and despite its citizens. So likewise, it makes sense to draw a bridge connecting a society's police to its military. The military of any nation exists to either defend or extend the nation's sybolic or physical influence, replacing citizens with nations. It's therefore logical to support a nation's international sovereignty just as much as domestic sovereignty. But of course then you get into good, wrong and Axical uses of such sovereignty...which the UN can do nothing about. So such is for another time of discussion.

(Yet, for a sedgeway, let me declare that the one thing I hate Teddy R. for is his "big stick" metaphor. I fully support America exerting itself, in the "good" way, in its most significant realm of influence, ie the Americas. That's it. All else must be conducted within a conglomeration -- notice how deftly I avoided using the word coalition -- of concerned and affected parties.)

Then, should we accept the military, who makes up the armed forces? Obviously we're talking about U.S. forces - army, navy, marines, air force, and specifically the non-officers: the blue collar of the military world, if you will. So who are the men and women that don the uniforms of defense and green/blue/cammo? Anyone and everyone would be the simplest and most accurate answer. The military is fantastic for two reasons. The first is that it offers to pay your way through secondary schooling, something even most state schools are failing to offer now. The second is it offers specific job training within a realm of discipline and order, an amazing promise, though surely faulty, in such a world as this. Pretty decent setup for those who might not have many promises or much of a future without help. And I think this is the essential point when thinking of who is in the military -- those who have little opportunity otherwise. Such a description does not encapsulate all, to be sure, but I think it covers a grand majority of those in the military. Of course - I think, therefore I might be wrong.

Is this good? Is this right? That was, essentially, the prompting of the girl. Well, it certainly is the situation. I can really think of no other way to accomplish the existence of a substantial all-volunteer armed force, unless one wanted to suggest the use of conscription. And while I sometimes toy with the value of conscription for two years for youth (ala Israel and...maybe Sweden?), that ain't gonna happen. So how else do we create and maintain an all-volunteer force? We need the force, we won't conscript its members, so where are we left? It is an honest question which undoubtedly falls within the same realm of how in the hell do we entice more, better teachers into our schools. The military offers incentives and schools offer inadequacy. Hey, but at least you won't die in the classroom! Oh...wait.

Anyway, as the system is, the majority of our military is a certain type of person. That person is, in the most general of ways, referred to as "poor." Using this terminology, the poor make up our military and the poor fight our wars, fights, and bar scuffles. Thus to answer System of a Down's oft-repeated question, "'cause they are the military!"

If there were a draft filling up the depleted ranks of the service, then the question of the massive presence of the poor would be incredibly poignant. Just as it was during Vietnam. Yet this isn't Vietnam and the question isn't all that poignant.

While I love the song BYOB and I adore System of a Down, this specific refrain is a very sloppy anti-war statement. The lyrics are delightfully catchy and socially charged but, in this instance, with little purpose in reality. And for a band who told us civilization was dead, I expected a hell of a lot more.