Boredom a trois (pardon my attmepted French)

The NFL has reached an agreement with CBS and NBC to broadcast the Saturday night game between the so-far perfect New England Patriots and the somewhat less perfect (that's an understatement) New York Giants. In addition, the NFL Network will run the game.

Let's face it, this is the dull conclusion to a boring season. It is assumed, most likely correctly so, that the Pats will win. Some will watch to see that happen, thereby making football history with the only perfect 16 game season. Others will watch to see if the Giants can pull off the upset of the century. Win, lose or draw, this is good advertising for the fledgling NFL Network, now available in fewer than 40 percent of the nation's homes with TVs, due mostly to monetary disagreements with cable and satellite providers. The NFL hopes this game will turn the tide in their direction.

Too bad it's going to be a boring game. The NFL used to be fun, there used to be color and personality and character. No longer. The NFL used to be Ditka, now it's Dungy. There's a part of me that wants the Patriots to be perfect, so I don't have to hear those geezers from the '72 Dolphins gloat. There's another part of me that wants the Giants to crush Pretty Boy Tom and his partner in boredom, Randy Moss. Most of me just doesn't care though. I won't be watching, I won't be caring and I think that's a sad statement on the NFL today.

The Gift That Will Keep on Sucking

I always get good, sometimes great, Christmas gifts. It's nice to get anything at all; it warms the cockles of one's heart (I feel them heating up as I write this) to know that someone thought enough of me to get me anything at all, much less a thoughtful, interesting gift. This year was no exception.

My father-in-law passed on some cuff links that I consider treasured heirlooms; my cousin gave me Bob Dylan and Cheap Trick DVDs; a friend gave me a harmonica with a how-to booklet! I'm leaving out many wonderful things but I did want to mention the Christmas gift I received that sucks.

I write, of course, about a brand spanking new Eureka vacuum cleaner, given to my wife and I by my wife's sister and her husband. (I think of it as mine though, as I do the vacuuming, and most of the housecleaning. It's mine, I tell you, all mine!) Done up in glittery ruby red paint, this does not look like the gun-metal gray Electrolux of my mother's day. This is a carpet dirt killing machine. And I love it, even though I haven't even used it yet; I just like looking at it. I didn't think a vacuum could look so cool, like a new Mustang or something. So there it sits, waiting for the right vacuuming experience. I want the first time to be special.

I don't really know what's wrong with me. I enjoy doing the laundry as well, and ironing the clothes. Ironing is a bit of a chore, but still, there is satisfaction to be gained, a sense of fulfillment. A woman I used to work with once told me I enjoyed doing the laundry because it was a simple, necessary task, one in which I could readily see the fruits of my labor, in this case, clean, ironed clothes, thereby easily achieving a sense of accomplishment that I didn't get from my gainful employment. While perhaps a tad overly psychoanalytic, she did have a point about my employment; I felt nothing while working in the insurance industry, nothing other than the sense of time passing me by.

But I digress. I have had a wonderful Christmas season, filled with the numerous pleasures of family and friends and food and enough booze to float a battleship. I'll rev up the vacuum one day soon and let you know how it goes.

A Merry Jingle for the Holiday Season

What do you get when you team up Thin Lizzy, the greatest Irish rock band ever (sorry U2), and two members of the Sex Pistols? You get the Greedies performing "A Merry Jingle."

And why do I bring you this? Well, the song is certainly in keeping with the holiday spirit. And it does wish everyone a happy new year, New Year's Eve being right around the corner. So that's all good. But also, I couldn't find a video of Ella Fitzgerald singing "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" Great song by the greatest pop standard singer of the 20th century (sorry Frank; I hope he can't send an order from the grave to have me whacked). Lots of Ella videos, just not the one I was looking for.

Oh well, this will have to do. And it does.

Christmas Countdown December 25 Merry Christmas!

Christmas Countdown December 24 Lights, please

My favorite scene from my favorite Christmas special.

Christmas Countdown December 23 Silent Night? Hah!

Christmas Eve is but a day away, and it is rarely a silent night in this house. However, the song "Silent Night" is one of my Christmas favorites, going to back to my childhood. I was looking for a good version of this hymn to share with you, and I think I found it.

Christmas Countdown December 22 Christmas Baby (Please Come Home)

I am a fan of David Letterman. And David Letterman is a fan of Darlene Love. Every year at the holidays Letterman has Ms. Love on to sing "Christmas Baby (Please Come Home)" and it's always great. Every year we look forward to seeing this on "The Late Show" and watching it has become an annual tradition.

Christmas Countdown December 21 Equilibrium

Well, we've got the marshmallows for toasting and the chestnuts for roasting and...hey, wait a minute, we don't have either of those things. I don't remember the last time I roasted a marshmallow, and I've never roasted a chestnut in my life. I wouldn't mind tasting a roasted chestnut, I just haven't got around to it yet.

And who has time to do either one of these things? I've been busy with cleaning and shopping and last minute issues like a vacuum cleaner that has decided to stop working. The power cord that leads from the vacuum has declared a state of semi-autonomy; in other words, part of the cord is torn where it meets the body of the vacuum. If I hold it in just the right place the vacuum gets power, but it's not easy to do while I'm running the vacuum over the carpet. I did use all of my handy-man skills to attempt a fix (I wrapped some electrical tape around the area in question) and while the fix worked for a few brief moments, when I heard some loud popping noises, I decided it was in the best interests of everyone for me to just unplug the darn thing. Thankfully, my hand-held vacuum still works, although I don't envision myself vacuuming the whole house with a hand-held vacuum.

But aside the vacuum incident, we are in fairly good shape around the house. We've done a lot of cleaning in preparation for having family and friends over on Christmas Eve, the tree is up and decorated, the gifts are not just purchased but wrapped as well, and we go shopping tonight for last minute grocery items.

We have reached a state of Christmas party equilibrium, where there is still more work to be done (cleaning and cooking), but we have things under control and feel a certain calm that everything is going to work out well. Even the weather report looks decent.

I'm feeling good.

Christmas Countdown December 20 Put the X in Christmas

Did you think from the title of this posting that it was going to be about sex and Christmas? Doing something really naughty under the mistletoe? Well, you're wrong. Get your filthy minds out of the gutter. This posting is going to be about Christmas jokes, like this one:
What did Adam say on the day before Christmas? It's Christmas, Eve!

Ok, it's not going to be all about Christmas jokes, also known as "cracker jokes". Crackers are an English tradition. They're small cardboard tubes wrapped in colorful paper and when the crackers are pulled, a small gift or party hat or holiday joke falls out. Thus, "cracker jokes".

How do I know this bit of Christmas lore? Whychristmas.com, that's how. This website has all sorts of Christmas related information, history and trivia. It tells us why we celebrate Christmas on the 25th, why we kiss under the mistletoe and why the alleged word Xmas exists.

I always hated seeing that word. It just didn't look right. It always appeared that someone was just too lazy to write out the whole word "Christmas," and so randomly chose the letter x to substitute for the Christ part and voila, Xmas.

Shows you what I know. In Greek, the letter that looks like an "x" is pronounced Christos, which means Christ. Which isn't so bad after all. And I learned that at whychristmas.com.

Christmas Countdown December 19 The Thin White Duke meets Der Bing

I wish I knew the story behind this match-up. Who suggested these two get together and why? Did Bing see David on his Ziggy Stardust tour and say, "This lad is swell. We've got to get this Bowie boy on our Christmas bash." Probably not. But it doesn't matter really. As odd as this duo is, it works.

Christmas Countdown December 18 George Bailey Moments: Everyone Has Them

Anyone who has seen, or is even a vaguely familiar with, the film "It's a Wonderful Life," knows that George Bailey, Jimmy Stewart's character, has a moment of of crisis, a severe loss of faith. He thinks his life has been a failure, that he hasn't lived up to the goals he set for himself. George Bailey wanted to escape Bedford Falls, travel and see the world. Instead he winds up, for various reasons, staying in his hometown and fighting the good fight against that mean old Mr. Potter for the soul of the town. Because George Bailey stayed to tend the family business rather than eventually becoming a captain of industry like some of his school boy chums, he lacks the material wealth he would have liked for his family. George Bailey's crisis of faith is so severe he wants to jump from a bridge and end his life, thinking his family will be better off without him.

Many of us in real life exist in a world of doubt about our personal success. We struggle to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads, much less pay all the other bills we have. We struggle with work stress and family stress. Sometimes we even doubt our very usefulness on this earth. We wonder if we make a difference, if anybody would miss us if we were gone. Sometimes we even think our family and friends might have been a little better off had we not been born.

In the film, George Bailey gets a gift from an angel. George gets to see what the lives of his loved ones would have been like had he not been born. The child he saved when he didn't deliver a mistakenly poisonous prescription would not be saved without him. The brother he rescued from drowning in an icy pond, instead dies. The woman he married turns out to be a spinster, and his mother, whom he took care of after his father's death, instead makes a living renting rooms to strangers. And of course, one life touched, touches others. The brother George doesn't save isn't there years later to help save his fellow troops during World War II.

In real life, we don't have humorous, kind hearted, slightly bumbling angels to show us what life would be like if we weren't around. We have to do our own thinking and use our imaginations to visualize what the world would be like without us. And also, in real life, there may not be so much drama, with lives literally hanging in the balance.

But that's not to say the average person doesn't have some sort of George Bailey moment, quite possibly every day. A kind greeting and a smile to a co-worker can change their day for the better, and in turn they may end up making other peoples lives better that day, if only for a moment in some small way. We may volunteer our time or work for a helping organization, thereby giving people a meal for a day that they wouldn't have otherwise, or a warm place to sleep for the night they might not have normally, or a safe place to exist, temporarily removed from a violent reality.

What we do affects the people we see. What we don't see is that how we've treated others, how we may have helped another, is many times passed on by that person doing something good to or for someone else. The good we do in life grows exponentially through the deeds of those we've touched. Those are our George Bailey moments. Everyone has them. We just need to stop and realize that and count our blessings that we can help others, even with just a simple act of kindness. At Christmas it's good to be grateful for the gifts we've received, but it's also a good time to think about the gifts we've given, to think about our own George Bailey moments.

Christmas Countdown December 17 George Bailey Moments

"It's a Wonderful Life" is one of my favorite Christmas films. I think it captures the highs and lows of the average persons life better than just about any movie I've ever seen.

Christmas Countdown December 16 Good tidings of great joy

"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round them: and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all the people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord."
Luke 2: 8-11

I have what would seemingly be considered an odd relationship with religion. I was baptized in a Catholic church, my mother's side of the family being Catholic, but I was not raised a Catholic. I never went to mass on Sundays, that's for sure.

I attended a Lutheran grammar school, both for it's close proximity to where we lived and because it wasn't a Chicago public school. At the time, the 1970s, the public school system was not known for it's quality education. Also, my father was from a predominantly Lutheran country, Denmark, so it seemed a Lutheran school would be a logical choice. He was contrary by nature, I think, and so proclaimed atheism.

I understand the comfort religion gives to people, especially in times of personal need. Personally though, I've never felt comfortable attending church services on any kind of a regular basis. A lot of times it seemed to be nothing but empty words I was hearing from the pastor, priest, whoever. I just never felt any strong correlation, while sitting in a service, between church, religion and belief in God.

But I am indeed a believer. I believe in God and I believe Jesus Christ was the son of God. Think about that story, though. Born to a virgin, he was son of man, and son of God. Born in a manger, surrounded by sheep. Visited by three wise men guided by a star. That's a tall tale, and if you give it serious thought rather than accept it with blind faith you may start to disbelieve.

Or not. I know the birth of Jesus is quite a fantastic story. And that's why I like it. It's a marvelous story, the kind that gives people hope and comfort. That's certainly what I feel when I think of the birth story.

I am given hope by those most humble of beginnings for the Christ child and by what we all know what was to come in His life. His teachings and his death, the Crucifixion bringing what was truly a New World Order, a rebirth for man.

So this Christmas Eve, even though I'm not a Catholic, I'll be watching the Pope saying Mass in St. Peter's in Rome. I like seeing the ritual of it all, the spectacle that it is. I'm glad religion exists, usually, even though I don't necessarily derive direct comfort from it. I know it gives comfort to others, and that's enough for me.

Christmas Countdown December 15 A Boss Christmas, Part Deux

Bruce Springsteen version of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" has become a modern-day Christmas classic. Here's vintage Boss, from 1978 and recorded in New Jersey, no less. Why is it in black and white? I don't know, don't bother me with these things....

Christmas Countdown December 14 A Boss Christmas

I like these rock 'n roll Christmas tunes more than I at first thought. Bruce Springsteen does an excellent version of "Merry Christmas, Baby" here on Conan O'Brien's show, and Conan even plays guitar! Everybody looks happy and energetic, just like Christmas should be.

Christmas Countdown December 13 Time is Tight

You still haven't gone Christmas shopping yet, have you? Well, there's still time, though not much. I do remember Christmas shopping at the local drug store with my mother on Christmas Eve one year. Don't let this happen to you. And as a public service for the procrastinating Santas, I'm offering some great gift hints for those on your nice (or maybe your naughty) list.

Cookbooks are all the rage now. There's that annoying chick who thinks everything is yummo, the "Good Eats" guy on the Food Network is actually pretty good, and there's always something from Emeril or Martha Stewart, but what you want is a little something different. My favorite might be Manifold Destiny: The One, The Only, Guide to Cooking on Your Car Engine. This book actually would be good not only for the culinary enthusiast, but the gear head as well. Manifold Destiny can be found at abebooks.com which has a number of, uh, "interesting," cookbooks, including Cooking to Kill: The Poison Cook Book by someone, or something, named Ebenezer Murgatroyd.

If you're shopping for someone who's interested in the environment you can give them some dung. Elephant dung to be exact. Well, ok, it's paper products made from elephant dung and the proceeds go to help feed and care for elephants in Thailand. Staying with this dung theme, you can also purchase products made from rhino poop, all in the name of helping the environment, of course. For someone really special on your list, and one who may not care about saving the environment, you can purchase some chicken poop lip balm on eBay, in addition to a rather startlingly high number of poop related items. Again, this would be for that really special someone.

What are the holidays really about? Family? Friends? The birth of the savior? No. Alcohol. For the boozing golfer (those two are really one and the same, aren't they?) on your list, there's the Designated Driver Kooler Klub. It's a golf club disguised as a drink dispense, for the golfer who still wants to try and hide his alcoholism. For the non-golfer who may be in need of a few at the holidays, there's the Twelve Shots of Christmas Shotglass Wreath. This can be found at Prank Place, a web site with a disturbing amount of alcohol and poop related Christmas gifts.

The true booze connoisseur on your list might be impressed by a bottle of absinthe. It's the stuff of which nightmares are made and allegedly hand a hand in driving the likes of Edgar Allen Poe and Vincent van Gogh over the edge. The sale of this strong, green colored liqueur had long been forbidden in the U.S., but as with every other law, there is a loop hole. It's illegal for a U.S. store to sell absinthe but it's not illegal for a U.S. citizen to possess it. One may purchase it on the Internet perfectly legally. (Why wasn't I informed of this years ago?) The hooch can be bought at a number of sights, including Absinthe Online. Absinthe.se is a wonderfully informative site, with information on the history of the drink, recommended brands and how to properly make one of the drinks.

As for me, if I'm on your list, my dress shirt size is 17 in the neck, with a 32-33 sleeve. Straight collar with French cuffs is the way to go, so you may as well get me some cufflinks as well. Something tasteful, not gaudy. And if you're getting me all that, you may as well get me a tie. Check out Paul Frederick Menstyle for some ideas.

Hope you found these hints helpful.

Christmas Countdown December 12 The 12 Smells of Christmas

1. Sheetrock. How, you may wonder, does the smell of Sheetrock evoke thoughts of Christmas? What, some others of you may be asking, is Sheetrock? Sheetrock, referred to commonly as "mud," is the substance that gets spread over drywall before the drywall is painted. It is applied to the drywall with a large knife-type thing (yeah, I know, this is getting pretty technical) and then left to dry for twenty-four hours before it is sanded smooth, at which point it can be painted.

Again, what's this got to do with Christmas? Well, there have been a few times in my married life when, for some reason that defies logic, I, sometimes in cahoots with my step-son, who is knowledgeable in the ways of home remodeling and what-not, have taken on a small project, such as painting the bathroom. This year, I painted the kitchen. Each time one of these projects was done, mud needed to be applied, either to smooth walls that had been wall-papered or to fill holes in the wall. And every time mud is applied I have sanded. And sanding creates dust. Lots of it. Lots of light grey-ish dust that gets over everything and smells like...well, like dust. It's actually kind of a peculiar smell, somewhat akin to when a road is being torn up and the worker is jack-hammering a piece of concrete to the point where it becomes a fine particulate matter...yes, similar to that. And after the mudding comes the...

2. Paint. Modern latex paint does not stink up the joint like the paint I recall from my long distant childhood, which is a good thing. One used to have to throw open all the windows when painting to get some good ventilation, but now it doesn't seem to be so bad. Still, there is an odor. And when I paint, well, I am not a handy man, nor am I really super neat when it comes to painting. When the job is done, there may be paint in some places where it doesn't belong, such as the stove, the floor, and items other than the wall where the paint should be. This paint needs to be cleaned off. This is when I use a product called...

3. Goof Off. I don't know how the makers came up with this name, if it's some sort of insult to the less handy or the less clean, but I do know it works. And it smells to high heaven, a fragrance very similar to the magic marker you used to huff in grade school to get "high", except the smell of Goof Off is a thousand times stronger. You want to huff it a little, but just using it for its intended purposes is making you a little queasy, so you don't. You behave yourself. Because Santa knows if you've been good or if you've been huffing products from the hardware store.

4. Perfume. Ah, this is a lot nicer than all that other manly, home repair stuff. I remember my aunt, and probably my grandmother as well, wearing perfume at Christmas get togethers when I was a child. I don't remember my mother wearing any. But still, when my aunt, or any other woman who comes to our house on Christmas Eve, is wearing perfume, I'm reminded of Christmases past and I know there will be a party goin' on.

5. Windex. Ok, I suppose this may another non-traditional choice for a treasured Christmas olfactory memory, but Windex is what I use to clean the mirrors in the bathroom and the windows before the Christmas Eve party we have in our home, so the smell of Windex is always a pleasing one to me. When I'm giving the house it's one big top-to-bottom cleaning of the year and I smell that Windex, I know Christmas-time is here.

6. Lemon Pledge. This goes hand-in-hand with the Windex. I'm dusting and wiping and vacuuming and I clean the furniture with Lemon Pledge and I know it's Christmas-time.

7. Rumpleminze. This is 100-proof schnapps that I've been very partial to at Christmas for many years now. Too much of this stuff will lead to the 12 Step Program of Christmas, if you're not careful. Due to my being overserved last year (by me) I'm going to have to tone things down a bit this holiday, and perhaps go from a 100-proof schnapps to an 80-proof vodka. My step-son Bryan recommends Chopin (the vodka, not the composer). I think that'll work.

8. Beer and wine. At the holidays, I like to have an ample supply of both for our guests, in addition to the wine that is brought by family and friends. I lean towards imported or higher end beers (yes, I'm a beer snob) but I'll drink wine from anywhere in the world at any price (preferably a low price), as long it tastes good.

We have a small second bedroom that we use as a computer room; once upon a time I had hoped to make it my opium den, but that never panned out. At Christmas it becomes the bar area and when guests begin to arrive and the bottles of social lubricant are opened, the little room takes on the aroma of a tavern. I like that.

9. Burger King. Say what now? Burger King? A treasured Christmas aroma? Well, yes. The King on Dundee Rd. in Wheeling, IL sells bags of ice for 99 cents. A better deal is not to be found in the immediate area so that's where I go to get ice for the chest that will cool down the various libations that need cooling for our Christmas Eve dinner. And of course, as I approach the Burger King in my car, I can smell those Whoppers broiling away inside the restaurant. Smells pretty good, too. So, yes, Burger King, is one of my twelve smells of Christmas.

10. O Tannenbaum. We like to get a real Christmas tree every year. I just think a real one looks great, and smells great, too. Our tradition is to go shopping about a week or so before Christmas and find ourselves a good tree at a local nursery. My wife will search and search, walking around in the cold, shaking the trees, turning the tree to see it from every angle, and invariably she will choose the heaviest tree. All the better for my struggle to get the tree upstairs to our condo.

I must admit I also wear the same Bulls sweatshirt and White Sox jacket, both of which I've had for over a decade, each year we shop for our tree. Whether I do this out of tradition or superstition, I don't know.

11. Onions, celery, and whatever else my wife, Jayne, puts in the stuffing. Jayne will cut up the onion and celery the night before Christmas Eve (would that make it Christmas Eve Eve?) and the aromas unleashed in the kitchen are just wonderful. I know that the next day will be a great dinner with family and friends. Food aromas can be fantastic stimulants to memories and warm feelings. They provide comfort and joy, and that sounds like Christmas to me.

12. Turkey. A turkey roasting in the oven to be exact. The aroma is mouth-watering. It's the best. It's Christmas.

Christmas Countdown December 11 More music, more music, more music

I love music; I've always believed life should have a good soundtrack. By extension, I love Christmas music and I have already noted my general preference for Christmas music from a certain era. While I am a rocker (and a roller too, baby), rockers and holidays just don't always work for me. Twisted Sister performing "Silent Night" just doesn't fill me with a warm holiday glow. Eartha Kitt singing "Santa Baby" is way better than Madonna singing anything really.

That's not to say Christmas can't ever rock. "Elvis' Christmas Album" is a classic. Just listen to the King (not the King of Kings, but the King of Rock) perform "Santa's Back in Town" and you'll realize Christmas can indeed rock.

But when it comes to mixing rock and the warm fuzzies John Lennon's "Happy Xmas (War is Over)" does it it for me. It's a great song (despite the presence of Yoko) with a beautiful melody that puts me in a Christmas kind of mood whenever I hear it, and it's a call for peace on earth, good will toward man. You can't really ask for more than that in a Christmas song.

Christmas Countdown December 10 The Voices

I like to call myself a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas music, by which I mean I am drawn to the great American crooners singing tunes synonymous with Christmas. Bing Crosby singing "White Christmas" or "Silent Night" always makes for good listening as far as I'm concerned. Perry Como, Johnny Mathis and Andy Williams probably made a good chunk of money performing Christmas songs, and rightfully so. They had, and, in the case of Williams and Mathis, still have the kinds of voices that sounded sincere when singing about the holiday. But let's not count out the Rat Pack of Frank, Dean and Sammy. "A Jolly Christmas from Frank Sinatra" I think is a classic Christmas cd.

What is it that draws me to singers and songs of that era, from the 1940's through about the mid-60s? Well, as you can see in the accompanying video, men looked good in suits and ties. I guess, in general, people dressed better then. But there's something about America from that period of time, a feeling of unity perhaps? A feeling of strength, almost an invincibility? After helping World War II Americans possibly found that their feeling of Americas destiny for greatness was finally being proven and fulfilled on a world stage. That feeling was in the music. During the war, Bing Crosby sang "Ill be Home for Christmas" for all the GI's longing for the comforts of home. When the war ended, there was a new found national confidence you could hear in the popular voices, especially in someone like Sinatra and especially in the Sinatra of the 1950s. It was a confidence borne of sacrifice, and there was a thankfulness that, while there was sacrifice, we, Americans, had done the right thing.

Christmas Countdown December 9 Must Be Tonight?

No one knows the exact day of the birth of Jesus Christ. Scholars cannot even pinpoint the exact year the birth took place, putting it somewhere between 7 B.C. and 4 B.C. Doing some net surfing I came across a study that claims September 11, 3 B.C. is the exact day. The study is suspect as it seems to have been done by an Englishman, and the English are a group of people who don't think it's a good idea to put fluoride in the water. To be fair, Jesus was born over 2,000 years ago and over such a period of time facts can get a little murky.

So why do we celebrate the birth of Jesus on December 25th? There is some tradition there. St. Hippolytus, living in the second century A.D. (he wasn't a saint then, that came later), argued that December 25th was the exact date. But is there historical accuracy to the assigning of this date? Probably not, but early on the church wanted a date to celebrate the Holy birth and what the church wanted, the church got.

There is of course, the argument that this date coincides with pagan winter festivals, and in an effort to ease the conversion of these people the church placed made the Holy birthday in winter.

Quite frankly, the exact birth date of Jesus Christ isn't important. What's important is the fact that he was born. While Christianity has had a few bumps along the way (Christians thrown to the lions in Rome being an example) and hasn't always lived up to the love Christ taught (the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, which no one was expecting), and has had its share of charlatans in the guise of televangelists, no one can deny that this Christ kid had some pretty great things to say about how to live one's life and deal with one's fellow humans. JC was all about love and compassion, not judgment and damnation. His were the kind of messages that warm the heart in the middle of winter, or anytime.

So it doesn't matter when the exact birth day was. We can all, Christian and non-Christian, believer and non-believer, join together in celebration of a man who taught a way of life, that if more people followed it now, it might just be a better world.

Christmas Countdown December 8 The Violentest Christmas Ever!

There are certain rules that are universal to all men. I was trying, not altogether successfully, to explain this to my wife as we were shopping for a gift for a friend, a friend who just so happens to be a man. We were perusing the video section at one of the many local Barnes & Noble stores, when I suggested "Patton." She didn't care for that idea at all, and wasn't sure that our friend would enjoy the movie.

I attempted to explain that there are certain things a man will always watch and enjoy. One is a really good war movie, such as "Patton." Anther thing any man will enjoy watching is the Three Stooges. We're men, and we like to see other men hitting each other. It's why we watch football, although football isn't nearly as funny as the Three Stooges. With the Three Stooges you have a concept of comedic filmed violence that still works to this day.

All this long-winded expository is my way of explaining why I, a man, love Carol Kane as a Christmas angel who fancies fisticuffs when she pays Bill Murray a visit in what I think is a modern-day Christmas classic (really a twist on an old classic, to be honest), "Scrooged."



P.S. My wife, a woman no less and no fan of war movies or the Three Stooges, really enjoys the sight of Carol Kane beating the Christmas spirit into Bill Murray. Maybe men and women have more in common than we care to acknowledge.

Christmas Countdown December 7 Ok, Computer

On this date that lives in infamy I have come to the conclusion that I am addicted to the computer, more specifically to the Internet. I'm addicted to constantly being connected. Ironic for a man who aspires to a Howard Hughes-like seclusion. Ah, that would be the life...padding around the house with Kleenex boxes for slippers, waiting for "The Simpsons" re-runs to begin for the day...but I digress.

How did I come to this realization? Well, our security has been breached, by which I mean our computer seems to have a virus, or at the very least a really bad cold. We've had problems with the system running slowly, our security program would send pop-ups that it had blocked an intruder, I would try to go to a web site and get a message that it wasn't responding; there are obviously ghosts in this machine, viruses and trojans, cookies and spyware, cats and dogs living together, total anarchy. Ok, I exaggerate, but you get the idea. Things were not going well as far as the computer was concerned, and they still aren't. The thought of not being able to check my e-mails, to not check on the status of my eBay empire (I'm trying to sell a few things on eBay), the thought of not being able to continue my blog postings...well, that sent me into a panic. A tither, you might say. A slight depression.

Thankfully, though, I am able to check my e-mails and, apparently, post to my blog. But I must say I was very surprised at my reaction. I have apparently become part of the technological world to an extent that I hadn't imagined possible. But I'm in and in deep into this technological world and I don't think there's any turning back. It's too late, I am too reliant on this machine.

I do need to step back and assess though. I probably don't need to check my e-mails twenty times a day, nor daily and religiously read the Internet version of the New York Times, nor surf a few sites, just to feel a little better, a little more calm, like a smoker taking a drag on a cigarette.

That's my Christmas gift to myself this year: self-awareness, the knowledge that I need to constantly be aware that I may be becoming a tad obsessive, be it about my need to be connected or my need to eat my weight in sugar products every day. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go do some ironing. And maybe have some M&M's. No! I must be strong! But they're the fun-size! Yeah, but I'll eat a half-dozen of the bags.

Be strong this Christmas.

December 6 Christmas Countdown

I have to admit, as silly as it is, this trailer gave me a few much needed laughs. (This is also my favorite of the "National Lampoon Vacation" movies.)

Christmas Countdown: December 5 Winter Wonderland?

Here's the problem with Christmas: it falls in winter. Yeah, ok, I know, many Biblical scholars put the birth of Jesus Christ not necessarily on the December 25 but sometime in early winter and the Romans celebrated the winter solstice at this time so after a while Christmas came to be December 25, and that's the way it's been for the last eighteen centuries or so.

Well, Bah Humbug. Winter is messy. And do you know why it's messy? Because of snow, that's why. Snow, and sleet, and freezing rain and whatever the heck else falls out of the sky at this time year, yet does not keep your postal carrier from his or her appointed rounds.

Winter is messy and I do not like a mess. I can speak for all the garage-less among us when I say I do not like having to brush a few inches of snow off my car or scrape a layer of ice off the windshield. And people, no matter how long they've lived in an area where it snows, forget how
to drive in snowy weather. Add to these forgetful folks the holiday drivers (much like Sunday drivers, holidays drivers have such poor driving skills it must be that they only drive once a year at the holidays) and traffic becomes snarled, much like the snow covered branches pictured above.

What are my options? Moving to San Diego, where the average year-round temperature is 72 degrees? Hey, that's not a bad idea. Sure, there's the occasional wildfire that could possibly burn my house down, but still, no snow.

I suppose I could try to learn to live with the dark side of winter and try to find the bright side. Snow can be pretty. A stand of trees in the forest preserve after a snowfall, the stillness and quiet that surround you in the midst of that winter beauty, that's not so bad. Does it make up for scraping and brushing and shoveling and all that? Well, I don't know but I'm not packing for San Diego just yet.

Christmas Countdown: December 4 Frosty the Snowman, Old School Style

Here's another old-fashioned, 1950s cartoon I grew up watching in the '70s on Ray Rayner's show at the holidays. There's just something about it being in black and white, or the slightly primitive animation style, or the song itself, that I just love.

Christmas Countdown: December 3 Billy's Gift

Billy Joel was at the Sears Centre in Hoffman Estates, IL this past Saturday. He debuted a new song with singer/guitarist Cass Dillon. It's called "Christmas in Fallujah." Hey, guess what it's about? Hey, guess what else? It's already on YouTube.

The song will be available on iTunes Tuesday, December 4. All proceeds will be donated to Homes For Our Troops, an organization that builds home for soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan with severe disabilities.

Think what you will of the Piano Man, or the song, or the war, but I don't think anybody can argue about where the money generated by this song is going.

Christmas Countdown: December 2 A Boy's Best Friend: Television

A dog you thought was your best friend can turn on you and bite, cats only think about being fed and killing you in your sleep, but television...ah, television truly is a boys best friend.

Growing up in Chicago in the 1970s was a blessing, television-wise. There still existed something called "local programming," shows, other than the local news that are produced in whatever city or town you happen to be watching television in. And nothing said "local programming" like kids shows, and nothing said "kids show" like "Ray Rayner and Friends."

Rayner was a middle-age guy who wore a jump suit with notes about what cartoons he was going to show attached to it. It was a morning show that I watched religiously before going to my Lutheran grammar school to learn about a religion that wasn't tv. If I remember correctly he did weather and traffic so one's parents could at least have a vague idea of what was going on in the world, and he did school closings. (The apartment we lived in and the school I attended were on the same street, named Le Moyne, pronounced with a distinct "oy" in the middle, but Ray always misprounced it as "Le Moan." Perhaps he thought that sounded more French.) For the most part though, Ray showed a lot of Warner Brothers cartoons, which is how I came to love Bugs Bunny.

The "friends" in "Ray Rayner and Friends" consisted mostly of Cuddly Duddly, a large stuffed dog who helped Ray read the letters children wrote to him, and Chulveston the duck. This was a real, live, large white duck who didn't seem to like people and would go after Ray, nipping at his jumpsuit pant legs. Even when trying to play nice with him, Ray seemed mildly terrified of Chulveston, odd for a World War II vet who survived imprisonment in the POW camp pictured in the Steve McQueen movie "The Great Escape."

Turtle races. I also remember turtle races. Turtles don't race so much as they directionlessly amble. It was fun to watch nonetheless.

At Christmas it was tradition for Ray to show a short piece of animation that people my age and older will remember until our final days. "Hardrock, Coco and Joe-The Three Little Dwarfs" is, I guess, by today's standards, a fairly primitive and cheesy piece of stop-action animation. It is also charming and cute and warm-hearted and set to a song that will weave it's way into your brain cells and take up residence.

I'll always remember Ray and Chulveston and Hardrock, Coco and Joe.

Christmas Countdown: December 1 It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Baby, it's cold outside, the wind is blowing, the snow is falling, and it is really beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Which is good because Christmas is but a scant 24 days away.

The big day for me and mine though is 23 days away, Christmas Eve. That's when my family has traditionally celebrated Christmas with a family get-together.

They were always fun and happy occasions, at least in the rose-colored glasses I wear this time of year. Always lots of food and libations, conversation and laughter, and always gifts, even in years that might have been a little lean financially. So I look back at my childhood Christmases with fondness.

There was a Christmas when I was 5 years old or so and, when I drifted away from any adult supervision, I ate quite a few of the chocolate liqueur filled ornaments on my grandparents Christmas tree, thus beginning a life-long, mostly happy, association between booze and Christmas. In my teenage years I was deemed old enough to be given a shot or two of potent Polish Christmas cheer, and I liked it. And in my middle-age a shot or three of spirits is still enjoyable.

I remember the gifts of my childhood, both new and hand-me-down: an electric Lionel train that passed through the hands of my cousin, my uncle and then to me; a Bobby Hull hockey game; a pinball machine, the Dr. Seuss book, "How the Grinch Stole Christmas".

But really, you and I both know that it's not the gifts that were of utmost importance, (although they were certainly nice to receive). What's important is being able to spend time with family and close friends. With work or school or any other of the million modern day distractions, you may not have been able to spend as much time as you would have liked with those people. That's life and we accept it. But at Christmas we always strive to be together. No matter how different family members may be as people, no matter that we certainly don't always agree on every little thing, we know we are there for each other. The Christmas gathering is an affirmation of love, the love and forgiveness we feel for each other. We gather to show our love and to feel the love of others.

Television and My Weird Wisconsin Memories

A while ago I wrote about my fondness for the great state of Wisconsin and how the heady aroma of dairy farm manure evokes pleasant thoughts of long ago summers spent vacationing Up North.

Thoughts of warm days spent idling poolside or lakeside or wherever are indeed pleasant but I also have a slew of memories that are perhaps a little odd, sometimes funny, sometimes tragic and all involving television.

Age of Aquarius? No, I am a child of the Age of Television, a baby suckled by the Boob Tube. When I should have been rough-housing out of doors as a child, I was instead planted firmly in front to the tv, even on vacation.

I went with my parents to Wisconsin Dells in the summer of 1972. That was when I first the first summer when television delivered weirdness to me, this time in the guise of tragedy. The summer Olympics were in Munich, the game's first return to Germany since 1936. There was the mustachioed Mark Spitz winning seven gold medals, there was Olga Korbut, but there were also Palestinian terrorists and dead Jewish athletes and Jim McKay saying, "They're all gone."

The next summer I remember watching the Watergate hearings on tv. Sure, that seems an odd viewing choice for a child, but really, who amongst us could resist Sam Ervin's eyebrows, eyebrows that seemed to have a mind of their own?

The hearings seemed bizarre to me. Nixon was not a well-liked man in our household, but to see his presidency collapsing, all the lies unfolding, on tv like that, well, let's just say it was compelling television, even for an eight-year-old.

Years later I was in Milwaukee with my wife, when on the news I saw that Mike Tyson had bitten a chunk of Evander Holyfield's ear off during a heavyweight bout. Now that's bizarre, although not surprising, I suppose, since Tyson was involved.

That same summer, in 1997, I was in a cabin in the North Woods when I saw news reports of the end of the Andrew Cunanan saga. He was a spree killer who left dead bodies in his wake from California to Chicago to Pennsylvania and finally to Florida. Some of his victims were unknown, some were famous and wealthy, like Lee Miglin and Gianni Versace. Cunanan's end came by his own hand as police were bearing down on him on a houseboat in Miami.

These are the odd events of note that I associate with Wisconsin and summer fun just as much as I do beer and brats and fudge.

Sports: *

* was indicted last week by a federal grand jury on charges of perjury and obstruction of justice. The story of * is a sad one really. * was once upon a time a sure-fire, first ballot lock on entry into baseball's Hall of Fame. * had it all, but the greedhog wanted more.

The slender * was a graceful outfielder and at the plate he could hit for average and power and he could steal bases too. He was quite possibly the best all around player in the game. But he had the biggest ego in the game as well. He also had one of the worst attitudes. Thin skinned and overly sensitive, * felt any criticism was the result of jealousy and/or racism. And once the likes of the Bash Brothers and Sammy Sosa, pumped up on whatever they were pumped up on, starting hitting home runs in overly prodigious numbers and "saving" the game for commissioner Bud Selig, * grew envious and felt overlooked.

* couldn't deal with the fact that he might be ever so slightly overshadowed by another player. So * joined the ranks of the pumped up. He joined the ranks of those who disgraced themselves and disgraced baseball.

In 2003, * spoke to a federal grand jury and denied steroid use. It took four years for the charges to come, but here they are. While California has an odd tendency to let celebrity offenders off the hook, no matter how brutal their crimes are, we are talking about a trial in Federal court. The Feds tend to do things a little more efficiently than the average state court. Just as the Mounties always get their man, the Feds tend to get a conviction more often than not. If that happens, after all the appeals, no matter how long it takes and no matter how much money * spends on high powered defense attorneys, * will do time.

When that happens, that's all * will ever after be: an asterisk. Forever tainted. Forever disgraced.

Sports: The Dull as Dishwater NFL

"There are teams that are fair-haired, and those that aren't so fair-haired. Some teams are named Smith, some Grabowski. We're Grabowskis."- Da Coach, Mike Ditka, January,1986

The problem with the NFL is that there are no more Grabowskis. While I enjoy watching the occasional football game, and the quality of play seems to be adequate (other than a lot of players who don't know how to actually tackle someone), what's lacking is personality.

Case in point: The Super Bowl winning Chicago Bears of the 1985-86 season had personality to spare. The Super Bowl losing Bears of the 2006-07 season had none and are still operating at a personality deficiency.

Present day Bear Brian Urlacher, unhappy with the media, gives one word answers to reporters questions, all the while looking like a sullen, petulant teenager who had his car keys taken away by mom and dad. 1980s Bears defensive star Steve "Mongo" McMichael, when unhappy with a reporters question, took out a large knife and cut the reporters necktie in half. Now that's personality.

Of course, I'm not suggesting violent knife play should be expected of every player. Not everyone can pull that sort of activity off. Some players are the type who charm their way through life. Walter Payton was one of those. Players nicknamed "Sweetness" generally didn't draw knives on people. Payton was a delight, an intelligent, well-spoken person with a mischievous sense of humor (he really seemed to enjoy pulling the pants down on his fellow Bears, sometimes even on the field). I can't imagine Baltimore Ravens linebacker Rae Lewis pulling down a team mates pants in jest. He just doesn't look like the sort who would do that.

Speaking of Lewis and his ilk, the NFL now seems filled with either reprobates whose names frequent the police blotter or bland characters who couldn't be fun loving if their lives depended on it. While the NFL commissioner, Roger Goodell, is making a good effort at cleaning out the riff-raff, there does seem to be some sort of dull torpor overcoming the sport. Is it because the NFL is legislating against individualism? Or is it because the colleges of today aren't producing free-thinkers, just mindless drones?

I don't know the answer to those questions. I don't know how to return the quality of individuality to NFL players. I do know, however, that it would be fun to see some Grabowskis again.

A Fleeing Thought

Gentlemen Prefer Blondie. Have you ever read the comic strip "Blondie"? Let's face some facts here. Blondie is hot. And considering she's been around since 1930, she's aging very well. Dagwood is a lucky man. He's got a hot wife and he can eat those mile- high sandwiches and still stay thin.

Same crap, different decade

Coincidence?

On Tuesday of this week, Georgia Governor Sonny Perdue (isn't he the chicken guy?) held a prayer vigil, beseeching the Lord above to bring relief to their drought stricken area.

On Wednesday it rained. Now that's good customer service.

The Clusterf%&#kers: Ron Paul

The white signs with blue lettering that were posted alongside Lake-Cook Rd in suburban Chicago simply asked one question, nothing more. I glanced at them as I sped by and thought they asked, "Who is Ru Paul?"

Was the noted entertainer/drag queen entering local politics? Opening a celebrity restaurant in the area? Just trying to get his name out there?

Turns out the signs actually read, "Who is Ron Paul?" Well, that's a different story, isn't it?

"And just who the heck is Ron Paul anyway?" I thought to myself.

Well, he's a guy who raised $4.2 million in one day, that's who. Turns out he's running for president and he's a Republican, although he's not like any Republican in existence today. He's certainly not like any other Republican candidate. (Also turns out, Paul bears a vague resemblance to Pat Paulsen. For you youngsters out there, Paulsen was a comedian who "ran" for president in every election year from 1968 to 1996.)

Ron Paul, if his website is to be believed, is a true conservative, the kind with genuine conservative ideals of the sort that people who once called themselves conservative Republicans used to have.

Paul is a believer in small government and strict adherence to the Constitution. He thinks the Federal Reserve stinks, the FDA incompetent and believes in the right of every American to own a firearm.

Paul also believes that Americans, when it comes to health care, should have the right to full knowledge about alternative medicines and natural remedies, probably not something the large pharmaceutical companies want people to hear. He thinks there are some people, such as veterans with Post-Traumatic Stress syndrome, who should not be allowed to own guns. According to the Chicago Tribune, Paul would like to see marijuana and prostitution decriminalized.

In a politically polarized world, Paul's views could be looked at as being all over the ideological road map. That is a problem in terms of the way voters will perceive him and for the media who don't know how to deal with anyone who can't be simplistically defined, especially with a 10-second sound bite. (Wait, I just received word from CNN and Fox News that ten seconds is too long for a sound bite, they must all be five seconds now, and full sentences spoken by candidates must contain no more than three words.)

Personally, I hope Paul gets more and more recognition. This is one interesting cat. And he actually seems to believe in what he's saying.

Further reading:
http://www.ronpaul2008.com/
Paul: A seller of ideas

A Fleeing Thought

If you ever see Tony Dungy of the Indianapolis Colts without a hat you will notice that his head is shaped like a football. I wonder if his head shape may have pre-destined his current role as head coach of a football team.

A Fleeing Thought

Jon Bon Jovi has show business teeth.

A Fleeing Thought

The American Heritage Dictionary defines the word flee as "to run away, as from trouble or danger." It also defines flee as "to pass swiftly away; vanish."

People flee all the time from all manner of dangers: fires, people with weapons, large angry dogs, etc. Thoughts can flee as well. They flee their maker, the ones with the dangerous minds, the ones with minds that ain't hooked up right. Thoughts make their escape from the mind and into the ether. Thoughts sometimes form themselves into spoken words, and sometimes become printed words. Occasionally these words forms sentences that may be pearls of wisdom or they may be non sequiturs spouted forth from a deranged hermit.

A fleeing thought looks to escape danger, hoping to find safe harbor when absorbed into the intellect of one who lives in rooms where the walls are not padded.

Blog thoughts are fleeing thoughts. Posted by a crazy diamond, they pass swiftly away. They vanish. There. There's your fleeing thought for today.

Memo to Congress: Start packing

Say what you will about Dennis Kucinich, a member of the House from Ohio who's running to be the Democratic presidential candidate. Say he's an impish, geeky fellow married to an attractive Amazon twice his height and half his age. Go ahead, say it. Don't bother, I already did.

Say what you will about Kucinich, but he does have the integrity and, more importantly, the guts, to actually bring to the floor of the House this week a call for the impeachment of Vice President Cheney. The move will fail, as House Speaker Nancy Pelosi has already said the matter of impeachment is "off the table."

That's the problem. Anything that requires guts is off the table for this Democratically led Congress. If impeachment won't be discussed, at least come up with a rational way of downsizing the American presence in Iraq, firmly let President Bush know there will be no war with Iran unless he's willing to put on a uniform and go fight it himself, and then convince enough Republicans that it's in the best interest of our nation and its citizens to pass a health care bill that will help a greater number of children.

This past Friday, November 2, President Bush vetoed a water projects bill. Congress has indicated that it will override the veto, the first time that will happen in this presidency. So, let me get this straight. Congress already has the votes lined up to override a veto of a bill that will bring projects and money to their constituents, but they can't find it in their hearts and minds to muster up votes to get health care to children?

Bush and Cheney have been allowed to run rampant, allowed to create an imperial presidency not mindful of checks and balances. They were not mindful because Congress didn't attempt to make them mindful. It is up to the American people to make sure a horrible president such as the one we have now and a do-nothing, cowardly congress are never given power again. It is up to us to ensure the elected heed the will of the electors.

Next November, let's send EVERYBODY in Congress packing.

We need to start over again.

The Ballad of Pretty Boy Tom

There are rules in the NFL. Steroids and other artificial muscle enhancers are against NFL law, as is spying on other teams' offensive signals. Pretty boy quarterbacks, though they may be almost inhumanly successful and efficient, should also be banned. Professional football should never be pretty.

"Broadway Joe" Namath was a party animal who showed a feminine side by claiming to wear panty hose under his uniform but this link to femininity did not make him pretty. Nobody could accuse Johnny Unitas of being anywhere in the neighborhood of pretty. Jim McMahon, John Elway, Peyton Manning, all not pretty. A case for calling the likes of Joe Montana, Steve Young and Dan Marino handsome could be made I suppose, but the word "pretty" would not be mentioned. Brett Favre on a good day might even be said to resemble handsomeness in rugged Mississippi by way of Green Bay, Wisconsin sort of way.

The natural order of things in the NFL should work against the pretty. It is a rough,violent sport and when the game is played in the weather it's supposed to be played in, there is snow and mud and frozen grass clinging to the helmets of the tackled and the players blood mixes with the earth. But the 21st century is a time when tradition is fading away in all areas of life and with the New England Patriots defeating the Indianapolis Colts in a clash of the unbeaten yesterday afternoon, Pretty Boy Tom Brady may now be considered by some to be the greatest of all quarterbacks. Ever. He's got 3 Super Bowl victories with the Patriots and they seem header for a fourth, the team at this point in the season is 9-0 and appear to be unbeatable.

How galling for the average football fan, and most fans are nothing if not average. The average fan usually has none of the talent of pro football starter (or any other pro sport), so while we are envious of their physical ability to do what they do so well on the field of play, we can look at Peyton Manning and think, well, at least I don't have that goofy pug-nosed dog looking face or we can view the bland pleasantness of Dallas QB Tony Romo and not be green with envy. I don't think any man has ever said to himself, "Gee, I wished I looked more like Rex Grossman."

But Pretty Boy Tom is a different story. He is not the boy next door who made good. The boy next door doesn't impregnate his actress girlfriend and then leave her for a model, all the while leading his team to a perfect (so far) season.

But don't misunderstand me. I don't hate Pretty Boy Tom for having vastly superior looks to mine. I don't hate Pretty Boy Tom for having skills and gifts in abundance while others lack even the merest of skills or gifts. I don't really hate him at all. That would be a waste of emotion on something as fairly insignificant as sports. I just want my NFL players to look like they've taken a few hits in life, to look like they've lived somewhere outside whatever cryogenic chamber allows Pretty Boy Tom to look as he does.

Having said all that, I hope the Patriots go 16-0 because I'm really sick of hearing those old farts (I was going to use a different f-word, but I don't want this blog to be rated R for language) from the 1972 Miami Dolphins crow about how they were the last team to go unbeaten in a season. It's time to shut them up and Pretty Boy Tom's New England Patriots are just the team to do it.

And once they go 16-0 for the season I hope they get blown out in their first playoff game, preferably to the Indianapolis Colts. Nothing personal, Tom.

Nirvana? Nevermind.

No hell below us, above us only sky? Maybe. I am on occasion worried about the hell part. Possibly being damned to burn in unbearable pain for eternity amidst the fires of hell is not a prospect I look forward to with relish. Not only can I not tolerate the heat as well as I once could, eternity is such a long time. As for heaven, no matter how clean and pleasant heaven may be, do I want to spend eternity fluttering about with wings on my back and a harp in my hands? Not unless it's a Harp Lager, no. But is the wings and harp thing only for angels, and not everyone in heaven is an angel? I'm not really sure how that all works. I must have missed that day in religion class at the Lutheran grammar school I attended.

And what about this Rapture thing? It was indeed one of Blondie's better songs, but I'm referring to that judgment day business alluded to in the what was apparently the first LSD inspired piece of literature, the book of Revelations. When the Rapture occurs Jesus Christ will return to separate the naughty from the nice, there will be lots of fire and brimstone (what the heck is brimstone anyway?), the naughty will descend into a fiery pit and the nice will ascend to the pearly gates and beyond.

But seriously folks, I don't think it's going to go down that way. I don't think it's going to go down at all. Earth is here forever, and all it's inhabitants as well, at least the ones that don't become extinct.

Earth is heaven and Earth is hell. Right now it is hell. It's hell because of the way we treat each other, with pettiness and ill-will, it's hell because we rape and rob and kill and assault and numb our souls with drugs and alcohol, it's hell because we're all going to the mall instead of going after Bin Laden.

There are flashes of heaven on Earth, flashes that transport us temporarily from our self-created hell. There is love and kindness, there are sunrises and sunsets and blue skies. But mostly we make Earth hell.

God, however, wants Earth to be heaven. His plan for us is that we humans become educated. God wants us to learn. He wants us to learn to love our fellow man, to learn not to kill and hurt and numb ourselves. God wants us all to coexist peacefully.

When peaceful coexistence occurs for generation after generation after generation then we will have heaven on Earth. We will have attained the nirvana God wants for us here on Earth.

Nirvana will only come when mankind truly learns to deal with it's problems, when every last human makes the effort to be good. There are many who try to make the world a better place yet it appears that nirvana keeps slipping farther and farther away. That's why I, pessimistically I'm afraid, feel that Earth will be here forever.

The Clusterf%&#ers: Rudy, Part Three

Here's a little something from Beantown, the apparent home of all the current great sports teams, about the mystifying Republican front-runner for the presidency, Rudy Giuliani. I say "mystifying" since the family values, anti-abortion, anti-gay marriage GOP seems to be in love with a pro-choice, gay rights supporting cross dresser on his third marriage.

Giuliani's Iron Fist, by James Carroll of the Boston Globe.

Feelin' Grimm

Spreading freedom and democracy wherever we can

I was listening this past weekend to a show called "Those Were the Days." Hosted by a gentleman named Chuck Schaden, it re-broadcasts programs from the "golden age" of radio, mostly from the late 1930's through the early '50s.

With Halloween coming up, one of the featured broadcasts was the famous October 30, 1938 Orson Welles production of "War of the Worlds." If you're not familiar with it, the story is based on the novel of the same name by H.G. Wells, in which Planet Earth is invaded by unhappy, downright mean and violent, aliens from Mars. This radio production, set in New York and New Jersey, is possibly the most famous radio show of all.

Being a simpler time in America, with no cable tv or Internet or other distractions, many people tuned in to this show, presented partly in the form of news bulletins and with only one commercial interruption, and had the wits scared out of them. When folks heard that Martians were incinerating the US Army at a place called Grovers Mill, New Jersey and were headed for New York City, they panicked. It may just be an urban myth that people ran out of their homes intending to flee the invaders but the show did cause controversy and made Orson Welles a sensation.

The "War of the Worlds" broadcast was very well done and is a lot of fun to listen to, even in this day and age. Yet, while I was listening to the story of Martians invading the United States, I couldn't help but think: Gee, I hope President Bush isn't listening to this show or else he'll try to get us to go to war with Mars.

A Life Lesson from Baseball

My prediction of a Cubs-Red Sox World Series was only half-correct. The Red Sox will face the National League champion Colorado Rockies rather the Chicago Cubs, who are indeed having a bad century, championship-wise.

The Boston Red Sox are a team full of characters and personalities like David "Big Papi" Ortiz, Curt Shilling, Manny Rodriguez and the only player I can think of who seems to be named after a children's cereal, Coco Crisp.

The Colorado Rockies, on the other hand, are an unknown commodity, at least to the world outside Colorado. Not many paid any attention to them during the regular season; I know I didn't. But there is something distinctive about these Rockies, something that sets them apart, not just from other sports teams, but many businesses in general.

A recent article in the New York Times focused on the Rockies organizational goal to choose players with "character", because, according to General Manager Dan O'Dowd, "character is an innate part of developing an organization, and to me, it is nothing more than doing the right thing at the right time when nobody's looking. Nothing more complicated than that."

It has also been implied by the media in the past that the Rockies are trying to construct a Christian based roster. O'Dowd admits his Christian faith affects his decision making but not in terms of choosing players based on their faith but rather on their integrity and moral values.

The team has a Sunday chapel service as well as a Bible study class and, while one player says this team has the highest concentration of devout Christians he has played with during his nine year, seven team career, all players on the Rockies seem comfortable with the emphasis on character, responsibility and accountability.

Now, certainly, there are a lot of people who may mock the idea of Christian values and sports intermingling. If the Colorado Rockies win the World Series will it because God was on their side and forsook the less righteous Red Sox? Personally, and this is a sad commentary on me or the world or both, I'm always a little suspicious of those who claim to have religious faith guiding their lives. Far too many times have I seen people, in all walks of life, allege themselves to be guided by Christ only to prove they have no idea what it means to be a Christian.

But if you think about it, genuine Christian based values, and I emphasize the word "genuine," are really not bad values to run an organization with, be it a baseball team or an insurance company. It would be a good way to run a country as well.

Rockies relief pitcher Jeremy Affeldt says the team is "humbled" to be where it is now and that when he looks around the clubhouse, "I don't see arrogance here, I see confidence."

I think there are a lot of Christians, especially a certain someone in the White House, who could learn a lot from the Colorado Rockies, especially when it comes to responsibility and accountability. It may even be more important for that special someone to be reminded of the Christian emphasis on humility and to understand that arrogance is vastly different from confidence.

The Cluster%&#ers: Stephen Colbert

It's official! Stephen Colbert is now part of the Clusterf%&# to the White House! No longer just a presidential considerer, his hat is now in the ring, along with the 128 or so other candidates for the presidency.

Well, Colbert's got my vote. Or, he would, if I lived in his home state of South Carolina, which is the only state he's running in. And he's running as both a Republican and a Democrat. Shrewd move, Mr. Future President, shrewd move.

I think Colbert embodies what this country needs, a solid liberal Republican-Democratic conservative who will bring truthiness back to Washington. Can South Carolina alone put him over the top? Yes, yes, it cannot. Who knows really? But seriously, let's get Carl Rove and James Carville working on his campaign, and then we'll be getting somewhere (most likely the road to hell). God speed, Stephen Colbert, and God bless.

Mr. President, I have something to say

Comfort Addiction and the eventual triumph of the American Way

Today, October 15, 2007, is Blog Action Day. What's supposed to happen, and what is happening, is that a whole lot of people with blogs are supposed to post about one topic in order to heighten awareness of that topic. Today all the blogs are about the environment.

"Environment." That words covers a lot of territory. The air we breathe, the water we drink, the garbage we dispose of and how we dispose of it. There's a lot to worry about.

And worry I do. I like to think of myself as environmentally conscious, meaning I'm concerned about the negative effects of the earth of my behavior. I do recycle. I bring newspaper and other used paper products to the recycling center here in Wheeling, IL, as well as cans and plastic, rather than just throwing those items in the garbage. (Also, when I become king, littering will be punishable by death. Too stern a punishment you say? Get over it. Too many logistical issues to work out, what with all the litterers in the world? We'll work out the issues. But I digress.)

Does my recycling cancel out the deleterious effects of my driving a fairly sizable, older vehicle, the kind of vehicle in which a family of six could live comfortably in the trunk? No, I' m thinking bringing a couple of bags of newspapers to get recycled every couple of weeks doesn't even things out. But it's a comfortable car, smooth riding and fast, and I like it and I don't want to give it up.

Nor do I want to give up being able to set the air conditioner in summer to "frostbite." On the flip side, seasonally speaking, I like to have heat in the winter. I also like water. I like being able to turn on the tap and get what seems to be an unceasing supply of fresh water.

In general, I like being comfortable. Most Americans do; most people in the industrialized world do too. Even Al Gore does, as evidenced by the the energy sucking home he has in suburban Nashville, although he is making it more energy efficient. The author Kurt Vonnegut said we are addicted to fossil fuels. Well, that's part of it. But in general, we are addicted to comfort.

I want to be able to use my computer or watch tv with a light on that's bright enough for me to see, have a fridge full of edible delectables, and when I get bored with all that I want to jump into my touring automobile and drive across the country, should I so choose. That's what makes me an American. The freedom to do whatever the heck I want, in comfort.

So here's my challenge, America. Figure out a way for me to do what I want, comfortably, and not kill the planet at the same time. I'll continue to recycle, because I think it's a good thing, and I'll continue to shut the lights off when I leave a room.

But I don't want to drive a car that looks like a one-passenger insect just because it might get 100 miles to the gallon. No one else does either. American automakers, figure out a way to build a big-ass car like you used to make before I was born and make it economic fuel-wise.

And that's another thing: Fuel. Oil companies, guess what? Oil is a finite resource. There are only so many dinosaurs and other critters that died in the cause of making us fuel for all our vehicles. All the oil will be sucked out of the earth sooner or later, so how about stepping up to the plate and doing your duty as patriotic Americans, or for you non-Americans companies, good citizens of the world. Look for other ways to fuel our cars and planes and trains. I have faith in you. You will find alternative sources of energy for us all to maintain our comfortable lifestyles. And you will find a way to make an enormous profit doing so. Like I said, I have faith in you.

We here in this country, and people all over the world, cannot allow ourselves to be stuck in the past, because if we stay the course and keep doing what we're doing, we will not have a future. We all need to change the way we think and act regarding energy and the environment. I have faith that the United States of America will lead the rest of the world in discovering new ways to live our lives, the comfortable lives of modern people, in such a fashion that we will be able to have a world not depleted of resources and dying, but rather one that is not merely livable, but rather one that is a joy to live in, where we have clean air and water and land and everyone on the planet has access to enough air, water and land to live a life worth living.

Americans will lead the way to making a better world because Americans will find a way to make money making a better world. It's the American Way.

The Clusterf%&#ers: Rudy Giuliani, Part Two

I don't think I need to make any comment; just watch this video.

Happy belated Columbus Day

When I first heard "Phantom Limb" by the Shins I thought of the Beach Boys. The high pitched harmonies and great pop melody put me in the mind of songs like "God Only Knows" from the Pet Sounds era. At first I was half-hearted about the song, thinking it a bit derivative, but also finding it interesting that a modern band would want to emulate the Beach Boys. I just assumed today's youngsters would find the southern California surf sound a bit antiquated.

The more often I heard "Phantom Limb" the more I liked it, although I must admit I never paid much attention to the lyrics. I was just swept away by the music, dreaming about the sun and ocean breezes.

Today, though, I watched the video for the song on You Tube. I should have known something called "Phantom Limb" would not be about fun, fun, fun nor T-Birds nor anything resembling good vibrations. The video is done up, quite well I think, as a school play depicting some of the darker episodes of North America's conquest by Europeans. (No, I don't really understand the correlation between the songs lyrics and the video's images. I'd also like to mention that not one school play I was ever in gave cannibalism even a passing mention. Perhaps I'm the lesser for it. Then again, perhaps not.) It's an interesting video and a great song, a pop rock wonder, but when I hear it from now on I would prefer to retain my delusions and let the song conjure up images of warm and sunny beaches rather than conquistadors and sheep beheadings.

The Smell of the Dairy Air

I love the smell of manure in the morning. Well, not really. I don't love it, or even like it, in the morning or at any other time. However, the aroma of manure, emanating from a Wisconsin dairy farm and wafting through an open car window, does bring back pleasant memories.

A friend asked me not long ago why I enjoyed road trips to Wisconsin so much. This was during the summer when my wife and I had either been to or were going to visit Door County one weekend and an art festival in the capitol city of Madison on another weekend.

There's much to like about the Dairy State. The people are friendly, there are many picturesque places to visit and there are ample amounts of beer, fudge and cheese available, enough for everyone who lives there and visits from other states to get their fill.

I suppose, though, one reason I keep returning is a need to go back to where I had some of the most fun of my childhood. In my long lost youth of the 1970s my parents would take me once a summer, sometimes even twice, to Wisconsin Dells. The area was, and still is, sort of like Vegas for children; what happens there, stays there. At least until somebody cleans it up.

There was an attraction named Fort Dells, a cross between an amusement park and a replica of a fort from the 1800s where once an hour a bloodless shootout was staged between the notorious criminal Black Bart and the nameless good guys. We knew the good guys from the bad guys by the color of their hats, bad guys in black, good guys in white. Fort Dells also had a tower where you could ride to the top in a slowly spinning car and survey the surroundings. How this mini space needle fit in with the fort motif, I'm not sure, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

There was Tommy Bartlett's Water Show, boat rides on the Wisconsin River, a park with tame deer that would eat food bought from a vending machine stocked with deer chow right from your hand and the famous Ducks. These Wisconsin Ducks were World War II surplus vehicles that could drive on land and float on water. They had once sailed in Mediterranean waters and stormed the beaches at Anzio and now they were hauling kids and their parents through the woods and into the Wisconsin River. It was a lot of fun and I still remember the Duck driver saying, as he passed along side a steep ridge in the forest with nothing but chicken wire between us and the depths below, "If the wire can hold a chicken, it can hold a duck." Years later, when my wife and I went on a Duck ride, the driver told the same joke. It is, apparently, a tradition.

But I digress away from the foul stench of manure on a hot summer day. When one drives in Wisconsin one will pass dairy farms. Dairy farms often smell like manure. This is the aroma, the smell of the dairy air entering through the window of a speeding car on a summer day, that transports me to my youth. It does so whenever we drive somewhere in Wisconsin in the summer and I smell that smell. (I also remember the smell of my father's unfiltered Chesterfields, but the smell of cigarette smoke holds no sway with me; I just find it annoying.)

So there you have it. It is nostalgia for my youth spurred by a warm summer malodorousness that lures me to Wisconsin every year. That and the beer, cheese and fudge.

Dowd, but not dowdy

There is nothing sexier than a redhead with a sarcastic and superior intellect. In this opinion piece, Maureen Dowd of the New York Times is right on target about the least qualified Supreme Court justice.

I Did Do It by Maureen Dowd, New York Times

The Clusterf%&#ers: Rudy Giuliani

With all apologies to "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart" and their segment entitled "Clusterf%&# to the White House," here is the first of what will be many installments of my thoughts on the plethora of presidential candidates. First up, America's Mayor, Rudolph Giuliani:

Yeah, well, America's Mayor, my rear end. America's Mayor has an Irish surname, as, really, any good politician should, and was born in Bridgeport on Chicago's South Side.

Giuliani is an interesting character. On his website, he speaks of deporting all the illegal aliens. Ok, not a bad idea. They're not supposed to be here, let's send 'em back to where they came from. Last count though, there were about 12 millions illegals in this country and Rudy doesn't give any specifics as to how you round up 12 million people and send them home, not to mention how one would deal will the children of illegals who were born in the US, thereby making them American citizens. What kind of humongous outlay of resources is this going to take? Will Giuliani do what Bush did and create another useless governmental body like the Department of Homeland Security in order to deal with the illegal alien deportations?

Giuliani does strike a Reagan-esqe note when he speaks of fiscal responsibility on the part of the government. He sounds downright thoughtful when he speaks about things like keeping government spending in check, but he goes off the rails a bit when he gets all worked up about 9/11 and the days afterward, when he kept the city of New York from descending into chaos. He did a good job by many accounts, but he was not "one of them" as he put it recently, not one of the first responders he speaks of so often on the campaign trail, to the dismay of some. Giuliani was not digging through rubble, pulling out remains of fire fighters and police officers and office workers and inhaling who knows what kind of toxins. He was not truly "one of them."

Ultimately, Giuliani is self-obsessed and self-absorbed. You think Bill Clinton loved the limelight as president (and after)? If this guy gets elected he'll try to have a nightly show, on Fox of course, broadcast from the Oval Office. And his personal life? Again, if you think Clinton was bad, just wait for the Giuliani Show to begin. When he was mayor, he announced to the press he was divorcing his second wife, Donna Hanover. Unfortunately, he hadn't yet told her. Giuliani's two children with Hanover are not on speaking terms with him and he no longer seems to play an active part in their lives, or any part at all really. These things happen when divorces get ugly, but I don't think any of this bodes well for a Republican candidate, the GOP being the party that constantly speaks of "family values."

Sometimes you get a vibe where you look at a person and sometimes you just don't like that person. Giuliani is one of those guys for me. He gives me the creeps. I don't want him to be president, and I don't think he will be. Mitt Romney, the Ken doll of American politics, will be the Republican candidate. And Giuliani will have to find some other ways to get attention.

Wait until next year

Well, the Cubs went a very disappointing and surprising 3-and-out, so my prediction of a Cubs-Red Sox World Series will not come to pass this year. There is still hope for Boston to get in though, as they are 2 up on the California or Anaheim or Los Angeles or whatever Angels.

A Gent With No Land

"As a gentleman, he was supposed to eschew working for a living," reads a passage from Thomas Jefferson: A Life, by William Sterne Randall. Now, eschewing working for a living sounds pretty much the way I've been living my life lo these last 43 years. However, eschewing working for a living does unfortunately make for a poor cash-flow situation.

Jefferson, though, was one of the landed gentry. Randall quotes Daniel Defoe's definition of the gentry as " 'such who live on estates and without the mechanism of employment.' " Ah, there's the rub. While I meet the definition for lacking the mechanism of employment I also lack the estate.

Jefferson, and others of his place and time, were born into a certain amount of wealth and lived on large Virginia plantations. These estates allowed men like Jefferson to earn income while cultivating a love of literature and culture in general. There was expected to do something with their lives; they were expected to become "men of letters, such as clergy, lawyers, and physicians," but these were supposed to be more avocations than jobs, done without the idea of making money at them. That's what the estate was for and that's what I need. An estate. Others can till the land while I spend my days reading and enriching myself, occasionally leaving the house to make sure everybody is doing what they're supposed to be doing.

Let's face facts though: it's not going to happen. It's way too late for me to be born into a higher income class and, to be honest, the days of the estate may be long gone, at least the kind where the master of the house was inclined to spend his days intellectually improving himself. Texas ranches are akin in size to the estates of old, and similarly, have ranch hands to do the everyday labor while the master does whatever it is he does. Sometimes, what the master does is "public service," and when he comes home from his public service position at the White House for an extended period of rest (how does one survive without a six week vacation?), the master will roll up his sleeves and clear some brush, just as any man's man would do, for about as long as it takes to photograph him doing that, and then he will drive his air-conditioned SUV back to his air-conditioned luxury ranch house. But I digress.

Fire lookouts, people who sit in a high tower in the middle of a forest keeping an eye peeled for smoke (because where there's smoke there's fire) are not exactly members of the landed gentry class. But they do oversee a vast domain of land, something I've always wanted to do. And they have a lot of time to read and think, as long as they are able to spot a fire when they need to. The scenery is most likely beautiful and you even get paid to do it, although not that much. All this appeals to me, but alas, I am again a little late to the party. Lookouts are increasingly being replaced by technology; where there are only 800 manned lookouts now, in the 1930s there were 8,000. Just as I missed being among Jefferson's peers by a few centuries, I kind of missed the glory years of looking out by a few decades.