"Are you still there God?"

I am not getting married in a church. I guess that is fitting seeing that I have not practiced formalized religion in more than a decade.

I was raised attending a Lutheran Church. As a child I went through many of the rights of passage for an up and coming Christian. I was baptized almost immediately after I was born. I attended services weekly and special classes to “prepare” me for my First Communion. Sometime after my parents divorced I lost touch with the Lutheran faith. Apparently I was attending for the benefit of my parent’s peace of mind. I had no interest or means to attend services on my own. It is safe to say I lost touch at that time, however I feel comfortable saying that I had not lost my Faith in God.

A few years later I reconnected with the church. This time I was the invited guest of a friend. It was a non denominational church. The only title it claimed was “Christian.” It was a relaxed environment that emphasized forgiveness and acceptance. Ironically I severed ties with the church because one of its congregants was shunned for having a child out of wedlock. That congregant was the same friend whom invited me to join this belief in a “forgiving and accepting” God. Once again I found myself losing touch with religion and church.

Today, as my wedding approaches, my mind every now and again applies religion to the marital equation. After all, religion and marriage have a tendency to be paired together. Almost every faith ties religion into the civic union that is marriage. Weddings are commonly held in a church, mosque, or other appropriate religious facility. I guess it’s only natural that I would have to consider the religious implications that my own wedding holds, if there are any.

I contemplate “Where does God fit in to my marriage? Does God have a place at this table?” And most importantly, “Is God still there?”

But I don’t find myself questioning my own beliefs. I know that I have the ability to believe. I feel it is a matter of finding something that I can put my belief into.

As I look around today and see religious chicanery run amuck I question why put my belief back into a “house of God.” I see religion masking political agenda. I see war sponsored and condoned in the name of religion. I see scriptures twisted for the use of justifiable intolerance and persecution. I see religion corrupted by its leaders. I see religion soullessly used as a spring board to fame and ill-gotten fortune.

I ask myself, “How can I justify bringing these things into my life? How can I invite an infallible ideology into my heart and home knowing the misuse that it shields?”

Religion and God serve good purpose too. I do not deny that. I also admit that both the good and the evil cannot be as simple as the words I put onto this page. It just isn’t that simple.

So when I stand before my friends and family in mid-June on the shores of the Narragansett Bay just where will God be? Is this a moral dilemma? Am I torn between my willingness to believe in God and my skepticism of religious misallocation? Will I be labeled a sinner for questioning my own convictions? More importantly will I be labeled a sinner for merely suggesting that a particular church and religion currently have no place in my life? Is that blasphemy? Can I be a blasphemer if I don’t partake in religious practices?

Perhaps the question I need to ask is this, “If I do believe in God, is it necessary for me to out rightly proclaim that belief to a particular pulpit?”

Some people will undoubtedly point to me and proclaim that because I choose not to embrace a church of prayer that I also choose to refute the existence of God. But who are they to say? I think that concept is part of the reason I DO choose to not attend a church.

I choose to believe in something that does not require me to give a certain amount of money in order to acknowledge my belief in a higher being. I choose to believe in a higher being that accepts all believers…unconditionally…because who are we to say what is and is not acceptable?

On my wedding day I will be able to understand that God is there. And although I won’t be in a church, it won’t matter, because my faith is what tells me where God will be.

Teacher's Landing

Over the years I've been in a good number of classrooms at various levels. Some of them influenced me to do well in school. Some influenced my music and my extra curricular activity. Looking back I've had some wonderful experiences in school, as well as some not so wonderful.

Many of the teachers through the years knew my older sister, Wendy, before they knew me. It wasn't uncommon for me to hear, "You have big shoes to fill young man." As it came to pass, I never exactly filled those shoes. Instead I put on a pair of my own. In doing so, I never received a word of comparison when I chose my own directions. There is a lot to be said for that. Those teachers were very good to let me live outside of the shadow of my sister.

Many of the teachers only knew me, through music or sports. It was encouraging to know that I stood on my own. Many teachers gave up hope, but a few teachers did not. And one in particular did not.

Next week my first publication as a freelance journalist (if that's what you would call it) runs in the Reader. I want to extend some thanks to those educators and administrators that helped me to become a better person and encouraging me to be the person I am today regardless of my scholastic acheivement.

So here goes.

Thank you to Mrs. Ritchey for welcoming me to school and helping me to feel comfortable.
Thank you to Mr. Stockdell for recognizing me as a person and not just a student.
Thank you to Mr. Pemberton for teaching me music and why it is important to any one person.
Thank you to Mr. Bagan for teaching me that honesty is the best policy.
Thank you to Mr. Green for teaching me to "not write in the book" and that war is real even when we can't see it.
Thank you to Mr. Peters for prodding me and not judging me by word's my sister said.
Thank you to Mr. Dutton for never giving up on me...ever.
Thank you to Mrs. Young for letting me know that I would never need to be as good as my sister because I was my own person.
Thank you to Mr. Nay for igniting a fire under my ass. Underacheivement rests in the eye of the beholder.
Thank you to Mr. Galbraith for the best English class I ever had...and for talking about 5.0 litre Mustangs and Goldwing motorcycles.
Thank you to Mr. Hauan for giving me confidence in myself.
Thank you to Mr. Houston for more than I can bring myslef to write here and being fair enough to have done what you did.

Before I close, I must thank one last educator. You know that question that you hear every now and again?

"If you had to choose one teacher that influenced you the most...who would it be?"

Yeah that question. Well...here's the person I would name and why.

Thank you to Charles "Butch" Wade for teaching me that if you never quit you can accomplish every goal that you set before yourself. Mr. Wade was one of my middle school teachers. He was also Coach Wade. He taught me basketball and football. He rewarded me for not giving up on myself. I would not be where I am today without the influence he had on my as a student, athlete, and most importantly as a person.

Thanks Coach Wade...and thanks to all of the teachers and administrators listed here.

Dog and Pony Show

On an otherwise dreary Saturday with rain in the forecast and no where in particular to go Rhiana and I decided to practice some dancing for the wedding. I queued up the music files in the computer, spun the volume control up, and guided my mouse to the virtual “play key.”

“I think we should use this one.” I told Rhiana. “Let’s dance!”

I can’t imagine what our dogs must have thought of us. It must be alarming for them to see their masters with bodies flailing about, going back and forth towards each other, and interlocking arms. It was obvious that both dogs were in a tizzy over the situation. They did not approve.

Letting us know what he thought, Buca scurried off the couch, approached cautiously, and let out a scrappy growl. Enraged he spun around, tucked his tail down, and bolted to the other end of our basement living room. He found quickly that there was little room to run and he turned and raced back to us. The shiny black coat along his neck and back was standing on end. He furiously retrieved toys out of the bluish plastic tote that is his toy box. He flung fuzz-less tennis balls and decaying “indestructible” toys about in an attempt to draw our attention.

Rhiana reached out her hand to let him know everything was going to be “OK.”

It was too late; he had already spun around and was headed for another lap through the basement.

At first Kayla thought we were playing. A dog’s natural reaction to a playing situation is to get in the “puppy play stance.” (That’s when the dog crouches down with their front legs, but their hind legs remain standing. Basically it’s how puppies tell other puppies that it is time to play.) Kayla tried the “stance” three or four times to let us know she wanted to be involved too. When her attempts to play went unrequited she too became nervous like Buca had. She frantically turned sideways and attempted to separate us by squeezing in between. She burrowed between us with her nose and put all 65 or so pounds of her body into me first. Realizing that we were unfazed, she started “plan B” for getting our attention…jumping.

“Kayla!”...I barked, commanding her audience.

“No jumping!!!”

Immediately her front paws stuck to the floor and she ran over to Buca, barking objectionably.

“Should we stop?” I asked Rhiana.

Laughing she said back, “No, they’ll get over it.”

“I hope the reception isn’t this chaotic!”

By this time the dogs had joined forces and were side by side and barking in unison, alternately, and…could it be?...

“Are they barking to the music?” I joked.

Having enough of the situation, Buca scampered through another lap and upon return lurched into Kayla. Poor Kayla not only had been reprimanded for jumping, but now had been the target of a run-by-dogging. Confused and uncertain she went back to barking at us and started growling at Buca.

“They’re going to sleep well tonight, huh?” Rhiana pointed out to me.

I replied, “It would be hard for them not to. Maybe we should practice a few more songs?”

“Jesus, this song goes on forever.” Rhiana said after about the fourth or fifth chorus. “How long is it?”

I danced over to the glowing flat screen that was displaying a list of media files. “It says here about two and a half minutes.”

With her cheeks turning red Rhiana said back, “Two and a half minutes? It feels like we’ve been doing this forever. The dogs are losing their freaking minds!”

Clicking the virtual “pause” key I concluded the dance. “Yes, let’s stop.”

The dogs were still unsettled although the music stopped. Buca pranced back towards the couch to pick up a rubber ring. He continued moaning and whining the entire way to and from. With her tail spinning in circles like the blade of a helicopter, Kayla stopped barking, raised her head up, and moved forward cautiously towards Rhiana.

“OHHHH…its OK Kayla.” Rhiana said sitting down in one of our reading chairs. Kayla leaned in and continued wagging her tail as if she were cracking a whip.

“Buca, get over here!” I said corralling him into my lap while sitting in the creaky desk chair. He put his head down on my knee and let out a short grunt as if to voice his final statement of disapproval.

I looked over to Rhiana consoling Kayla back to the usual level of activity.

Rhiana smiled looking in my direction, “I guess they don’t like the chicken dance.”

I guess not.

Farewell to the Fishers

I didn’t sleep well last night. I tossed and turned most of the night. At 4 a.m. I was staring at the ceiling in the bedroom. It was too early to get up…even the dogs hadn’t been in for their first wake up call. And they weren’t going to be for quite some time. Rhiana was sound asleep. Occasionally she would turn or adjust, but I was awake on my own.

I know exactly why I couldn’t sleep. You see, Rhiana and I got these DVD’s through our mail service media rental club yesterday. Two plastic shiny discs. Yes, they were the reason I couldn’t sleep.

We’ve been watching the entire HBO series Six Feet Under in bottleneck fashion. We’ll get two or three discs at a time, each holding three or four hours of morbid story line. The show is about death and dying. It stories the life and times of the Fisher family. A family that owns and operates a funeral home. Typically each episode begins with a death. Yeah, I know what you are thinking…beginning with an ending…pretty deep right? I’ve come to see the symbolic openings as the trademark of the show. Anyway, the show is about the Fishers and their struggle to be real people among the living, while always surrounded by death. I won’t say too much more because you really should see it for yourself. The series is probably one of the best, if not THE best that HBO has ever produced. And don’t give me “The Sopranos” bullshit, because I’ve seen it too and it doesn’t even come close.

So how does Six Feet Under tie into my sleepless night? Yesterday, with the two discs we’d received, we put the series to rest. Five seasons, five years worth, of death and dying fed to us like it’s icing on the cake. The stories got to us. The plot lines, the lovable(and despicable) characters, the struggles, and the laughs. It all made the “whole death thing” a little prettier. But not in the end.

If the series made any clear statement during the tear jerking starkly alone finale, it was that all life comes to an end.

Ironically, Rhiana said to me this morning, “It really gave me a sense of closure.”

That’s just it. Death and dying are very difficult. The series painted death over. It was this pretty event and livelihood that the Fishers lived with. How paradoxical is that? Living for death.

I watched the ending twice again this morning. Once in normal format and the second time with the writer/producer, Alan Ball, commentating. It’s amazing to go back and see the show a second and third time. So many little details hidden in the nooks and crannies…it truly was a treat. It was also bittersweet of course because it was the end of the Fishers.
Just as in death, we will not see them anymore. “They won’t be on our T.V. ever again.” A thought that is eerily parallel to that of a person in mourning.

Death has come to Six Feet Under.

I’ve been obsessed with my own death since I was very young. I can remember being in the 4th or 5th grade and laying awake at night. I was scared…terrified. Not of monsters under the bed or noises at the window. I would call for my mother and ask her what it was like to be dead. “Forever dreamless sleep.” It isn’t normal I’m sure. I’ve talked to people about this feeling, both professional counselor and personal confidant. It is a troubling thought and feel. I guess that most people think about it from time to time. It is only natural…death…it’s part of life after all.

Six Feet Under and it’s thought evoking demise is what kept me awake last night. It resurrected those feelings within me regarding my own death.

Perhaps it is fitting that today is Easter. Because although Six Feet Under has been ceremoniously buried, today life moves on.

At The Queen's Table

My grandmother once told me, “Through 59 years of marriage, Jeremy, I never once considered leaving your grandfather.” She shrugged her shoulders, folded her hands, and added, “I did considered murder once or twice.”

She turned to look at me matter-of-factly. Her face told me that she was serious. My eyes had opened wide in disbelief. My lungs filled with shock. My grandfather was a great man. He was my hero. A wonderful father, grandfather, and husband…How could she possibly think that?

A smile slipped onto her 80 something year old face. “Oh come on…I’m joking.”

Relieved, I let out the air in my lungs and the young wrinkles on my forehead let loose.

She concluded, “But it wasn’t always easy you know. There were difficult times.”

In all honesty I really DIDN’T know much about the difficult times my grandparents had lived through.
By the time I was old enough to pedal my bike down the street to their townhouse they were both fully retired.

What I did know was this. I thought my Grandfather was the tallest man in the world. He grew shiny green tomatoes in a humble home made garden. He had a 7 iron in the garage, but no golf balls. He taught me how to cast a fishing line in a backyard that had no water. When he drove his Dodge Diplomat he would crack open the window, place his hand on the roof, and rest his elbow on the door molding. He would watch Bob Barker host “The Price is Right”, but staunchly referred to it as “Spin the Wheel.” He was always humming a tune. I knew Grandma had been a school teacher. She referred to my Grandfather as “D” (the nickname my mom had given him), but only when calling to him from another room. She traveled to far away places and returned with magical souvenirs. She insisted that her grandchildren use good manners at the table by asking them, “Would you act like that at the Queen’s table?” And she always kept baby powder stashed in the bathroom knowing full well I was going to get into it.

Indeed their life appeared to be grand. And what I knew of it was.

Looking back now it isn’t any easier for me to fill in blanks. I find myself contemplating just what Grandma meant when she said, “There were difficult times.” I never witnessed my grandparents arguing, although my instincts tell me they probably didn’t agree on everything. The closest vision that serves my memory is Grandpa’s constant battle to keep Grandma out of the kitchen while he cooked. Their life and marriage couldn’t possibly have been as perfect as it appeared in my memories could it?

The answer had clearly been stated but the details remain blurry.

Did she mean that the world itself had been difficult? Together they had lived through arguably some of the most difficult points in American history. The Great Depression, Grandpa’s service during World War II, the Cuban Missile Crisis, an assassinated President. War in Vietnam, Korea, the Middle East. September 11th.

Maybe she meant their personal life events had been difficult. Early on in their life together a catastrophic automobile accident forced them to recover apart from each other in separate bedrooms. They raised my mother in the remnants of a dying “Steel town” among economic uncertainty. They watched as my father and mother moved 300 miles from that town with my older sister, whom at the time was their only granddaughter. They constantly and collectively battled my grandfather’s addiction to cigarettes. When Grandpa’s body and mind were succumbing to Parkinson’s disease Grandma was his caretaker.

Or maybe she simply meant that 59 years of marriage to Grandpa was not always as perfect as it appeared to a young boy.

I know that Grandma’s revelation to me about “difficult times” was not a complaint. Nor was it intended to paint a negative reflection of her life with my grandfather. It was, in fact, advice. It was a hint. And today I look back on what was, in my mind’s eye, their perfect life together and I can understand. I understand that no matter how perfect two lives are as one, there will undoubtedly be “difficult times.”

I see now that they did have a perfect marriage. A marriage that persevered the “difficult times.” I know now that is what made it so perfect.

Random Musings

Musical Reconnect

My I-pod did it again this week. It brought me back together with some of my forgotten favorites. I broke out the massive leather book that is my CD wallet. It is the biggest one I could find at Target. 300 plus CD’s! Wow that’s a small fortune invested in a dying technology. One of my friends here at work asked to borrow my Miles Davis collection. Of course I told him the titles I have…or shall I say had. I committed to producing several titles that have managed to vanish from the clutches of my leather monster. Of those I gave my own personal ringing endorsement to Porgy and Bess which of course was one of the missing titles. It did however give me a chance to reconnect with “Dingo.” Man does that album jam.

The Dogs

Buca peed in the house again last night. I had to pull the stove out and scrub the tile. And what else? Rhiana went to the doctor and was given a new pink arm brace (it’s a long story). The brace isn’t covered under insurance so we have to pay cash for it. While we went to the grocery store, Buca jumped up on the counter and swiped it. He chewed it up. Damn dog. He’s lucky he’s cute and cuddly because otherwise he’d be dinner. Kayla of course was and will probably remain confused.

The Wedding

We are getting there slowly and surely. Actually not really slow anymore, it’s gonna be here soon. We (Rhiana, Patti, Uncle Ron, and I) met with the florist over the weekend. It’s a good thing Ron was there because he gave us an excellent perspective on what we should be looking for. I won’t go in to details for the sake of those coming to the wedding and as not to spoil the surprise. We’ve finally decided to honeymoon at Martha’s Vineyard. We’ve been looking at many options. We decided it was best to take a honeymoon that we could pay for in cash. Sure we could have gone to the Bahamas or Mexico, but not without “charging it.” We are also able to take the dogs, although we may have to tie Buca to a tree while we are there.

Rhiana

She was sick. She is finally getting better. She also finally went to the doctor after I had been prodding her for a whole week. Today she is back to work. She seems to have a ton of energy too. I’m glad she’s better.

The House

We painted the walls of the basement over the weekend. Well…we painted 1/3 of the walls. Most of the walls are a very nice oak finish plank board…the remainder was just white. Now it is dessert sand. Our landscaper still has not come back to us with an estimate to fix the grass. It’s been nearly two weeks. I think they just lost a sale.

TV

Rhiana claims to be growing closer to Criminal Intent. Lost is on tonight, but I gotta say…I think when the cast was on the way to the island this year…the boat they were in jumped a shark. “Thief” is getting huge reviews and am I surprised? Nope. I like just about every original series that FX Network puts out. My favorite being of course The Shield…but Lucky was charming…and we all know about the pins and needles that Nip/Tuck evokes.

Work

Work is work. Same cubicle different day.

The Fam

Dad called. He is close to finishing a wedding gift for Rhiana and me. He’s busy as usual in his wood shop. Wendy is buying a new car. Mom and Grandma are getting settled in Arizona…Zane doesn’t like peeing outside on rocks which is the only option in the middle of the desert. Lesley and Brad are doing well I’m sure. I really should call her.

Dreams

Last night I had a dream that I was working for a Volvo dealer in the middle of nowhere. I also got a phone call from my cousin Matt. He hung up on me because I told him that Rhiana and I couldn’t come to his wedding…which actually happens to be next month. Oh well, I’m sure he’s really fine with it…we sent him some glassware off of his registry.

Sports

After one week the Sox are 6-1. Schilling and Beckett have really been a delightful early surprise. Foulke needs to be traded (if anyone will take him.) Theo is probably kicking himself now that Bronson Arroyo leads the majors in that fun to follow category – Pitchers with home runs -. Other surprises include Mike Lowell and Coco Crisp (That IS his official name…Real name? Who knows?…Official…Yes.) The Colts are sold out for next season!...Which makes Jim Irsay an even richer man. I am disappointed with the Indiana Pacers organization as a whole. Jayson Whitlock has had two very well written articles recently over at ESPN.com. One regarding the ugliness down at Duke University. The other about the redemption taking place at Indiana Universtiy.

Writing

As usual I’m struggling to come up with a story from the heart to submit to the Reader. I think my self absorption with getting some publication is growing old with Rhiana. Two stories down and two to go. I really can’t wait to be free to write for myself again.

The World

George Bush has seen his approval ratings hit record lows. Believe you me, no one is surprised and no one cares. I sure have noticed oil prices going up. Must be GW’s cronies trying to make him feel better about those approval ratings. We are also all but surely going to invade Iran in the next month. It will be only the second time in the history of the United States that we have taken a preemptive course of military action against another country. The other occurrence? Iraq 2003. 200 plus years of harmonious freedom screwed in the rear by one administration. Yeah George Bush has big balls, but according to the latest polls nobody likes him or his balls.

The Best Men

Before I moved to Providence a friend quizzed me on the plan to move 1,000 miles.

“Well I guess it will be me, a U-haul, and a car trailer.”

“Do you want company?” He asked.

I was surprised and relieved.

Not letting me answer he added, “I talked to Alex, he wants to go too. We’re going to call Dave and see if he wants in.”

“If he wants in? Wants in on what?” I asked Josh, “You don’t have to do this…Do you really want to help me?”

“Of course…It’ll be a road trip.”

It was one last opportunity to spend good time with dear friends. They helped me pack my belongings. They drove me cross country, literally, I did not drive one mile. When we got to Providence in the middle of the night they willingly slept on a dingy apartment floor. They helped me unpack and carried my furniture up four flights of stairs. They continually tolerated my short and agitated temper. Two nights before leaving they insisted that we all have “one last drink” together. To this day, I emphasize that they should have disclosed what they really meant was “several last drinks.”

On top of all that, they paid for their own meals, hotel rooms, and flights back to Indianapolis. And I’d be negligent if I didn’t acknowledge Dave’s cell phone (the only one we had) and the bill I’m afraid to ask about.

The day they left was tense. I think they could sense I was feeling uneasy about my transition to a bigger life. Outside a hotel set on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean one by one they each shook my hand, hugged me, and wished me well.

They had done their part to make the transition as seamless as it could be. And even with all of their support I find myself struggling with one aspect of that trip, even to this day.

These three guys put their own life aside for five precious days to support me changing my own.

The thought of what they did…well it’s kind of like those commercials you see for MasterCard.

“One moving van rental…four hundred dollars…

“Gas, food, and snacks…two hundred dollars…

“Three friends, five days, and an open road…priceless…”

And it is priceless. So what exactly is it that I struggle with?

Simply put it’s this; How do you thank a friend who sets down his own life, picks up a piece of yours, and says, “Where do you want me to put this?”

“Thank you.” Is that good enough? I think that’s all they expected. I don’t have any brothers, but I’m pretty sure that if I did, this is what it would feel like.

A few years later I’ve asked them to stand by me again. Without hesitation, they all concurred to being groomsmen on my wedding day. A recognizable sense of relief filled me when they agreed to be here. The same relief that I felt before my life brought me to Providence accompanied by three steadfast friends. I’ve come to realize that the relief is not in what my friends have done and are going to do for me. The relief comes from the fact that I have friends of this character. It’s a blessing that I think many people take for granted.

Entrenched in my struggle to find yet another appropriate “thank you” I find my friends are lining up to be here for me again. In clean cut rank and file I have formed this mental picture in my head for my wedding day. As far as my friends go the image is a familiar setting and a comforting theme.

…Alex, Josh, and Dave on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean one by one each of them shaking my hand, giving me a hug, and wishing me well.

"Oh yeah, well we killed Darth Vader..."

Today there was a breaking story on Fox News.

A new sharper and deadlier barb has been added to the wire surrounding the Iranian war chest.

Allegedly Iran has been developing a new missle for underwater use. While reeling a video (released by the Iranians) for America to see, the news analyst went on to tell about the capability and threat that this missle poses to the United States.

The video showed a naval vessel that appears to be a destroyer of some sort launching a missle directly into the water. The missle then starts a "200 mile an hour" back stroke which the Iranians claim is the "fastest underwater weapon in the world." They concluded the 5 second clip...yes only 5 seconds...by quoting the Iranian media claim that the missle is capable of sinking "aircraft carriers and major war ships."

The news analysts were painting pictures of the doomsday and armagedon. Literally, they made it seem as if we needed to "duck and cover" because WW3 was impending within the hour. I actually think the background music on the telecast was that R.E.M song about feeling fine.

My first thought was, "Why the f&#k is that such a big deal? I'm pretty sure we know how to deal with a torpedo."

Next up I was itemizing the claims made by the Iranian media about the capabilities.

Let's break it down people.

1. Why would they claim to have a weapon that DIDN'T sink "aircraft carriers and major war ships"? I mean really...who makes a missle and says, "Hey look at this, it sinks catamarans and waverunners....you better watch your back."? Who says that? Of course they are going to say it blows shit up.

2. They claim it goes "200 miles per hour" and is the "fastest underwater weapon in the world." Again people, come on, who would spend 40 million dollars developing a weapon, create a film of the weapon, and then distribute that film and say, "Hey man, check out my new missle, it's not quite as fast as Flipper, but Nemo better watch his ass because we'll take that little bastard right out." Of course they are going to make you think that this weapon is unstoppable...would it be scary if it WAS stoppable?

3. They didn't blow anything up in the video. Ronald Reagan is laughing his dead ass off at the Iranians weak attempt at a Cold War era tactic. Let's be real people, until you show me a sinking aircraft carrier or a mushroom cloud, go back to your bathtub and keep playing with your toy missles. Of course they aren't going to let you see what happens to the missle in the end...because it probably just sank to the bottom of the ocean.

After running the same 5 second video about 15 times Fox News managed to get General Tommy Franks on to comment about this new weapon. I won't quote anything Franks said as it's probably a matter of national security, but let me say this to the Iranians...

"Dear Iran, The man who brought down Sadam Hussein just laughed at your new torpedo."

I hate this bullshit. I am not a proponent of war. However, I understand the need to answer when a threat is made.

My suggestion is this. If Iran insists on intimidating the U.S. with video of what is obviously just a torpedo, I suggest we send them a video right back.

A video of our new space station blowing up Mars.




If the Iranian government truly believes in the validity of "intimidation by video" let's send them a clean and clear message. Pack up a copy of Episode Four, label it "Top Secret: America's New Secret Weapon", send it directly to Al Jazeera, and let Iran's public proceed to shit itself.

After the initial airing on Al Jazeera the White House proceeds to call a press conference and issues this formal statement:

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the free world... The United States of America officially claims victory over Darth Vader and The Galactic Empire."

Game, set, match.

My guess is compliance would be a formality at that point. The Iranian government could not possibly deny that it is unable to compete with a Death Star, Star Destroyers, Rancor monsters, Ewoks, Yoda, Han Solo... and don't EVEN get me started dropping Mace Windu's name AKA Jules "MotherFuckin" Winnfield.So what's the point here? Is it that I am a horribly miseducated fan of Star Wars OR is it really that I'm not buying into video tapes and half ass new analysis?

P.S. One final note to the Iranian government: Luke Skywalker is an American, his light sabre is real...And he WILL cut you.

A Columbus Journey

A quick follow up to my last post "Cornfield Playgrounds." Here are some pics that Rhi and I were able to get while visiting Columbus.

Rhiana took this picture of the Irwin House and the sculpture that stands guard over the adjacent public library.

So that you have an idea of the scale the next photo was taken for reference sake. The guy in the photo is six feet tall.

Chaos I is another important piece of art that calls Columbus home. The picture below was taken standing approximately 75 feet from the brilliant sculpture.

The Crump is the very old theater on 3rd Street downtown. It has closed and opened several times and it's future remains in question. We didn't get any up close shots because of time contraints.

My grandfather used to take me to the confectionary pictured below. Zaharako's was a magical place during my childhood. The self playing organ was historic...was because it was sold recently. Another landmark of which the fate has yet to be determined.

Good friends and good memories. Kelly, Curt, Brian, Vicki, Sandy, Harmony, and Wendy. Nothing says, "Townie" more in Columbus when these people know your name at the 4th Street Bar and Grill.

Here are a few more photos.

Bartholomew County Courthouse

Columbus East High School

W.D. Richards Elementary School

First Lutheran Church

Par Three Golf Course Clubhouse

Here are some additional photos that tie my history in to Columbus.