And I'm not talking about Celine Dion. I'm officially concerned about my hearing. I still have tinnitus (which might even be getting worse) and sounds of certain pitches remain distorted (even if maybe not quite so bad as a few days ago). I'll give it another few days, but it seems more and more likely that I've done something irreversably bad to my fine little auricular friends. Crap. Such an idiot.
It's funny (in a way) that the main downfall that keeps coming to mind is that music hasn't been as enjoyable lately. Certainly there are more serious drawbacks than this...
11.30.2005
11.26.2005
Separation of Common Sense and State?
Welcome to Pluralism in America: the tyranny of the "holiday tree."
I don't rue the disappearance of prayer from the public schools or the Ten Commandments from the walls of our courtrooms. It is unfortunate, certainly, but what do you expect from our pluralistic, PC, give-no-offense-to-the-pagans culture? Neutrality becomes secular. Pluralism is amorphous, without definition, without color. Ashen and lifeless...but at least it is politically correct.
Symbols--words and images--are powerful things. Prayer, the Ten Commandments, "Christmas." The fact that our government, local and national, wants little to do with them in any official and representational manner does in no way diminish their potency. Rather, it is at once an endorsement of their vigor and a refusal to be yoked with that to which these symbols refer.
Separation of church and state is an odd thing, a cudgel wielded for purposes other than those for which it was made. The phrase (used by Thomas Jefferson in a letter to a religious group) originally meant that the government should not give official endorsement to any particular religion or denomination (some would argue it only referred to denominations and presupposed Christianity as the "official" religion)--no National Church of America kind of thing. It has by now morphed into the separation of anything that smells religious with anything that smacks of a public place. It has become a battle of symbols. 'Christmas' is a symbol for or represents those events surrounding Christ's birth and what His birth, life, death, and resurrection mean for mankind. For Boston to name its tree a "Christmas tree" is for it to endorse, at least to some extent and in some fashion, what 'Christmas' represents. The Ten Commandments refer to a standard of judgment and justice that finds its source in the revelation of the Christian God. The high court of our land does not want to be so narrow-minded as to endorse, to some extent and in some fashion, only one religious tradition.
Let them have their holiday trees. Let them take the nativity scenes out of the front lawns of public spaces. Let them have their Santa Claus. At least I know then what side they're on. But don't let them say that symbols don't matter. That would truly be a battle lost.
I don't rue the disappearance of prayer from the public schools or the Ten Commandments from the walls of our courtrooms. It is unfortunate, certainly, but what do you expect from our pluralistic, PC, give-no-offense-to-the-pagans culture? Neutrality becomes secular. Pluralism is amorphous, without definition, without color. Ashen and lifeless...but at least it is politically correct.
Symbols--words and images--are powerful things. Prayer, the Ten Commandments, "Christmas." The fact that our government, local and national, wants little to do with them in any official and representational manner does in no way diminish their potency. Rather, it is at once an endorsement of their vigor and a refusal to be yoked with that to which these symbols refer.
Separation of church and state is an odd thing, a cudgel wielded for purposes other than those for which it was made. The phrase (used by Thomas Jefferson in a letter to a religious group) originally meant that the government should not give official endorsement to any particular religion or denomination (some would argue it only referred to denominations and presupposed Christianity as the "official" religion)--no National Church of America kind of thing. It has by now morphed into the separation of anything that smells religious with anything that smacks of a public place. It has become a battle of symbols. 'Christmas' is a symbol for or represents those events surrounding Christ's birth and what His birth, life, death, and resurrection mean for mankind. For Boston to name its tree a "Christmas tree" is for it to endorse, at least to some extent and in some fashion, what 'Christmas' represents. The Ten Commandments refer to a standard of judgment and justice that finds its source in the revelation of the Christian God. The high court of our land does not want to be so narrow-minded as to endorse, to some extent and in some fashion, only one religious tradition.
Let them have their holiday trees. Let them take the nativity scenes out of the front lawns of public spaces. Let them have their Santa Claus. At least I know then what side they're on. But don't let them say that symbols don't matter. That would truly be a battle lost.
Where Does Your Money Go?
What items are you most likely to spend more money on (e.g., name brands instead of off-brands)? Given the low-quality make-do stuff around my house, not much is on my list. But here are a few things I thought of yesterday.
Coffee ($9-$10/lb range)
Plastic wrap
Bed sheets
Electronic equipment
Coffee ($9-$10/lb range)
Plastic wrap
Bed sheets
Electronic equipment
I had some chocolate pecan pie (which I made to take to Rob's house for the Thanksgiving meal) for breakfast this morning.
My ears are still ringing. Not as bad, but still ringing. Yesterday I couldn't hear the beeping noise that my microwave makes when the keys are punched and when it's done cooking. I mean when I was standing right in front of it. I guess that pitch was simply inaccessible to my temporarily (I hope) damaged ears. I heard it this morning (when I heated up my breakfast), which is good, but it sounded really weird, which is bad.
My ears are still ringing. Not as bad, but still ringing. Yesterday I couldn't hear the beeping noise that my microwave makes when the keys are punched and when it's done cooking. I mean when I was standing right in front of it. I guess that pitch was simply inaccessible to my temporarily (I hope) damaged ears. I heard it this morning (when I heated up my breakfast), which is good, but it sounded really weird, which is bad.
Lyin' On The Floor
I've been sleeping on the floor of my apartment in a sleeping bag ever since Daniel came for a visit a couple of weeks ago. For some reason, I'm getting to sleep a lot quicker than when I'm on my mattress, and I'm not really that interested in going back to the usual 30-90 minutes it takes me to drift off. Does this mean I'm an extra firm mattress guy? I wish I'd known this before I bought that stinkin' mattress this summer...
Black Friday
Welcome to Consumerism in America.
Michigan Wal-Mart
Florida Wal-Mart
Texas Wal-Mart
Another Florida store
Michigan Wal-Mart
Florida Wal-Mart
Texas Wal-Mart
Another Florida store
11.25.2005
Rob E. and I went squirrel hunting this morning/afternoon. I had my dad's old .410 shotgun, which bagged me one of those large grey rodents. Rob got one with his .22 rifle and blew the guts out of its side with the hollow points he was shooting. Nasty. Afterwards we shot our pistols (I had my .45, Rob had his .40). I forgot my earplugs and didn't have the mental acuity to borrow Rob's, so 8 hours later my ears are still ringing. Not as bad, but they're still ringing. That can't be good, can it? What an idiot am I.
My kill crept up on me (instead of me creeping up on it). We had been engaging in a walking, stopping, meandering, hunkering down pattern for a good bit of the morning. I had seen two squirrels hopping around in the dead leaves of the forest floor, but when I finally got to where they had been (and not having heard them scamper elsewhere) those suckers had simply disappeared up in the trees. There were plenty of nests aroud there for them to hide in.
So we footed it further south and came upon a wide, dry creek bed. I went down in it and walked a ways to an opening into a gulley. There he was. A big, fat black squirrel sitting on a tree branch. The shotgun had not been shot in decades. Would it fire? Would it discharge into my face, crack my glasses, and send shards into my eyeballs? How far away is too far? What's the range on this thing? At what distance will the shot pattern be tight enough? Not having any answers in the 3 seconds I considered these questions, I raised the gun to my shoulder, drew a bead on blackie, and shot. I still had my eyes. My glasses were in tact. The gun fired as it should. But that little bugger was still on the branch. I don't know how far away I was (distance judging is not really my thing), but it was obviously too far. He scurried a little bit down the tree. I walked quickly toward the tree, hoping to get a better shot, hoping he'd stay in the tree. I didn't and neither did he.
I get to the tree where he was and looked around. Nothing. I stalked up the side of the gulley to get a better view of the tree. Maybe he stayed up there or scurried into another nearby tree. I certainly didn't hear him hopping around the leaf cover. I'm scanning the trees, gun loaded and in hand, when I spot a grey squirrel in the tree right next to me. He's 20 feet away, on the side of the trunk, behind a clump of small new limbs jutting out of the trunk. I raise the gun, shoot, and he falls to his death at my feet. He moves. He twitches. He is no more. Not ten minutes later, Rob heads to the ridge on the other side of the gulley and gets his (which was bigger than mine).
Okay, time to skin them. Have I ever done this before? Nope. Do I know what I'm doing? Not really. And Rob's first attempt (last year) didn't meet with great success. I've seen a short video. I've read descriptions. But it was much harder than they made it look/sound. At least for me. I won't go into much detail, but you cut the skin around tail and side in such a way that you step on the squirrel's tail, grab its hind legs, and pull. It's like his skin is a shirt that your taking off. And it worked! It was so cool. I even pulled his little legs out of the arms of his skin-shirt. The gutting part was nasty at first, but once you get your hands bloody it ain't so bad. At least it wasn't as bad as gutting a deer. Anyway, it took us forever to clean the things.
I encouraged Rob to keep a squirrel foot to show his girls (5 and 7 years old, or somewhere close to that) so they could see how a squirrel is able to climb trees and what not. They loved it. A couple of girls (5 and 7 years old or so) from a family in our church who live close to Rob were there, too, and also loved it. They wanted to touch it and hold it and ask questions about it. They wanted to watch me while I cleaned the squirrel carcasses more thoroughly, intrigued that the skinless, headless, footless things used to be cute little squirrels. When I got done, loaded up the car, and went inside to wash my hands, two of the girls had gotten camo hats and pistols and were running around the backyard "hunting squirrel." Beautiful.
I put them in the oven this afternoon and pulled the meat of the bones. Tomorrow I'll make a squirrel etouffee and beer biscuits and take it over to Rob's for the Georgia/Georgia Tech game tomorrow. Mmm, mmm good!
My kill crept up on me (instead of me creeping up on it). We had been engaging in a walking, stopping, meandering, hunkering down pattern for a good bit of the morning. I had seen two squirrels hopping around in the dead leaves of the forest floor, but when I finally got to where they had been (and not having heard them scamper elsewhere) those suckers had simply disappeared up in the trees. There were plenty of nests aroud there for them to hide in.
So we footed it further south and came upon a wide, dry creek bed. I went down in it and walked a ways to an opening into a gulley. There he was. A big, fat black squirrel sitting on a tree branch. The shotgun had not been shot in decades. Would it fire? Would it discharge into my face, crack my glasses, and send shards into my eyeballs? How far away is too far? What's the range on this thing? At what distance will the shot pattern be tight enough? Not having any answers in the 3 seconds I considered these questions, I raised the gun to my shoulder, drew a bead on blackie, and shot. I still had my eyes. My glasses were in tact. The gun fired as it should. But that little bugger was still on the branch. I don't know how far away I was (distance judging is not really my thing), but it was obviously too far. He scurried a little bit down the tree. I walked quickly toward the tree, hoping to get a better shot, hoping he'd stay in the tree. I didn't and neither did he.
I get to the tree where he was and looked around. Nothing. I stalked up the side of the gulley to get a better view of the tree. Maybe he stayed up there or scurried into another nearby tree. I certainly didn't hear him hopping around the leaf cover. I'm scanning the trees, gun loaded and in hand, when I spot a grey squirrel in the tree right next to me. He's 20 feet away, on the side of the trunk, behind a clump of small new limbs jutting out of the trunk. I raise the gun, shoot, and he falls to his death at my feet. He moves. He twitches. He is no more. Not ten minutes later, Rob heads to the ridge on the other side of the gulley and gets his (which was bigger than mine).
Okay, time to skin them. Have I ever done this before? Nope. Do I know what I'm doing? Not really. And Rob's first attempt (last year) didn't meet with great success. I've seen a short video. I've read descriptions. But it was much harder than they made it look/sound. At least for me. I won't go into much detail, but you cut the skin around tail and side in such a way that you step on the squirrel's tail, grab its hind legs, and pull. It's like his skin is a shirt that your taking off. And it worked! It was so cool. I even pulled his little legs out of the arms of his skin-shirt. The gutting part was nasty at first, but once you get your hands bloody it ain't so bad. At least it wasn't as bad as gutting a deer. Anyway, it took us forever to clean the things.
I encouraged Rob to keep a squirrel foot to show his girls (5 and 7 years old, or somewhere close to that) so they could see how a squirrel is able to climb trees and what not. They loved it. A couple of girls (5 and 7 years old or so) from a family in our church who live close to Rob were there, too, and also loved it. They wanted to touch it and hold it and ask questions about it. They wanted to watch me while I cleaned the squirrel carcasses more thoroughly, intrigued that the skinless, headless, footless things used to be cute little squirrels. When I got done, loaded up the car, and went inside to wash my hands, two of the girls had gotten camo hats and pistols and were running around the backyard "hunting squirrel." Beautiful.
I put them in the oven this afternoon and pulled the meat of the bones. Tomorrow I'll make a squirrel etouffee and beer biscuits and take it over to Rob's for the Georgia/Georgia Tech game tomorrow. Mmm, mmm good!
Bauhaus was great. I'd never been to the Tabernacle (Atlanta) before, but it was a really great venue. Very cool.
Peter Murphy had this really hilarious mustache going on. Daniel Ash can still crank on that guitar and looked like he did in the 80s with his poofed hair (think Love and Rockets). Except that he's 48 years old. Talk is that they might do an album for next year. Twenty-two years after their breakup, and they might do an album?? I hope they don't turn out like the Stones and just shrivel up into mediocrity.
One thing to keep in mind about Bauhaus is that they have been credited with the first real "Goth" anthem: "Bela Lugosi's Dead." In fact, this song is supposed to have begun the whole Goth movement in rock music. (Some of the band members have kids, so I hear. I wonder what it would be like to be the son of someone credited with starting the goth movement in music history...) Goth music is riddled with dark themes of love and death, eerie minor chords with minimalist rhythms (no drum solos), and pale faces dressed in black clothes and black makeup. (Yes, I've worn black lipstick before, but it was only for the picture that was my previous blog profile photo.) There was plenty of that at the concert, but not everyone (including me) was dressed that way. Everyone on stage had on black, except for Murphy who had on some Brad-Pitt-in-Ocean's-Eleven blue shirt with shiny vertical stripes. So, most of the people were in character. Except for the two hispanic guys who were there. That was one demographic that I didn't expect to see there.
I was by myself, but somehow I ended up in a conversation with a man/woman couple and another guy (wearing a black three-piece suit with black necktie and black combat-type boots). Somehow it came out that I taught philosophy, so we started discussing that a bit. The man left to get more drinks and the woman asked me more about philosophy and just seemed to want to talk. Later when I was just scanning the room to see what there was to see, one of two other guys (dressed in black--one had on a t-shirt with this weird looking black poodle on it--but no white face make-up) who were near our conversation asked me about something he overheard me say. He was very soft-spoken and seemed the quiet type, but boy did he want to talk.
Turns out he considers himself Hindu. Eventually it came out that I was a Christian. We had an interesting conversation, but mostly I just listened. I didn't confront him when he noted commonalities among religions and say that they were all different paths up the same mountain. Wouldn't that have been the perfect time to gently say, "No, there's only one path up the mountain but many skirting it"? To give the gospel to this guy? Yes. Did I do any of that? No. Why not? Because I'm pathetic. After the show, he asked for any last reading suggestions (we'd talked a bit about books), but I couldn't think of anything on the spot. WHAT!? I COULDN'T THINK OF ANYTHING?? Man, how pathetic is that? Of course, during the ride back to Athens I thought of several and felt guilty for the entire drive. I still do.
Peter Murphy had this really hilarious mustache going on. Daniel Ash can still crank on that guitar and looked like he did in the 80s with his poofed hair (think Love and Rockets). Except that he's 48 years old. Talk is that they might do an album for next year. Twenty-two years after their breakup, and they might do an album?? I hope they don't turn out like the Stones and just shrivel up into mediocrity.
One thing to keep in mind about Bauhaus is that they have been credited with the first real "Goth" anthem: "Bela Lugosi's Dead." In fact, this song is supposed to have begun the whole Goth movement in rock music. (Some of the band members have kids, so I hear. I wonder what it would be like to be the son of someone credited with starting the goth movement in music history...) Goth music is riddled with dark themes of love and death, eerie minor chords with minimalist rhythms (no drum solos), and pale faces dressed in black clothes and black makeup. (Yes, I've worn black lipstick before, but it was only for the picture that was my previous blog profile photo.) There was plenty of that at the concert, but not everyone (including me) was dressed that way. Everyone on stage had on black, except for Murphy who had on some Brad-Pitt-in-Ocean's-Eleven blue shirt with shiny vertical stripes. So, most of the people were in character. Except for the two hispanic guys who were there. That was one demographic that I didn't expect to see there.
I was by myself, but somehow I ended up in a conversation with a man/woman couple and another guy (wearing a black three-piece suit with black necktie and black combat-type boots). Somehow it came out that I taught philosophy, so we started discussing that a bit. The man left to get more drinks and the woman asked me more about philosophy and just seemed to want to talk. Later when I was just scanning the room to see what there was to see, one of two other guys (dressed in black--one had on a t-shirt with this weird looking black poodle on it--but no white face make-up) who were near our conversation asked me about something he overheard me say. He was very soft-spoken and seemed the quiet type, but boy did he want to talk.
Turns out he considers himself Hindu. Eventually it came out that I was a Christian. We had an interesting conversation, but mostly I just listened. I didn't confront him when he noted commonalities among religions and say that they were all different paths up the same mountain. Wouldn't that have been the perfect time to gently say, "No, there's only one path up the mountain but many skirting it"? To give the gospel to this guy? Yes. Did I do any of that? No. Why not? Because I'm pathetic. After the show, he asked for any last reading suggestions (we'd talked a bit about books), but I couldn't think of anything on the spot. WHAT!? I COULDN'T THINK OF ANYTHING?? Man, how pathetic is that? Of course, during the ride back to Athens I thought of several and felt guilty for the entire drive. I still do.
11.14.2005
Georgia Loss to Auburn + Alcohol Abuse + Jackass =
a big fat stinkin' dent above the right front wheel well of my car. I can only imagine this is the correct equation. The conclusion is certainly true.
My best guess is that it happened Saturday night/Sunday morning after the very late game. I didn't find out about it until Sunday afternoon. I went over to Brent's to wash the car and see the kids. (The car was so dirty that the guy who took my info when I sold out for the oil change thought that it was purple. It's dark blue, for crying out loud.) I went inside for a visit. When I walked out, there it was staring back at me. The Dent. With a big, dirty footprint nestled right over it. And another footprint on the other side of the hood. What the heck? Somebody kicking in my car on purpose? Does someone have it out for me? Random act of vandalism? I'm both disappointed and glad that I didn't catch the idiot who did that. There would've been trouble.
I could pull a CSI on him. Give Grissom the pictures I took of the shoe print. Have him check for DNA traces, track down this chump, and let Brass give him the what-for. Maybe get Horatio to cock his head sideways and not look directly at him while he talks to him--that would be sure to put him off-guard and make him fess up.
The incident seems to be just some stupid random act. This morning I checked a few other cars that were parked near or next to me. Three others also had the same dirty shoeprint on the right and left side of the hood--two of the cars were dented similar to (but not as bad as) mine. Apparently, some jerk-head decided to play leap frog across the hoods of cars in the parking lot. Hilarious. Friggin' hilarious.
My best guess is that it happened Saturday night/Sunday morning after the very late game. I didn't find out about it until Sunday afternoon. I went over to Brent's to wash the car and see the kids. (The car was so dirty that the guy who took my info when I sold out for the oil change thought that it was purple. It's dark blue, for crying out loud.) I went inside for a visit. When I walked out, there it was staring back at me. The Dent. With a big, dirty footprint nestled right over it. And another footprint on the other side of the hood. What the heck? Somebody kicking in my car on purpose? Does someone have it out for me? Random act of vandalism? I'm both disappointed and glad that I didn't catch the idiot who did that. There would've been trouble.
I could pull a CSI on him. Give Grissom the pictures I took of the shoe print. Have him check for DNA traces, track down this chump, and let Brass give him the what-for. Maybe get Horatio to cock his head sideways and not look directly at him while he talks to him--that would be sure to put him off-guard and make him fess up.
The incident seems to be just some stupid random act. This morning I checked a few other cars that were parked near or next to me. Three others also had the same dirty shoeprint on the right and left side of the hood--two of the cars were dented similar to (but not as bad as) mine. Apparently, some jerk-head decided to play leap frog across the hoods of cars in the parking lot. Hilarious. Friggin' hilarious.
11.12.2005
Stars Fell On Alabama
is what Alabama license plates read. I've been itching to know where this phrase came from but never really did any research (or I'd know by now!). Well, in one of those fortuitous events, I stumbled over it while reading the local paper.
Stars Fell On Alabama is a book written in the 1930s (or so) of stories about the South. How do I know this? Because a professor from my alma mater, Mississippi State University, had his 2004 Flannery O'Connor award revoked because it was later found out that he "borrowed [too] heavily" from the book. One of his short stories was found to "contain uncredited material" from Stars Fell On Alabama. Why was this in the local Athens paper? Because the University of Georgia press is the one doing the revoking. Which Dawg do I root for, now?
Stars Fell On Alabama is a book written in the 1930s (or so) of stories about the South. How do I know this? Because a professor from my alma mater, Mississippi State University, had his 2004 Flannery O'Connor award revoked because it was later found out that he "borrowed [too] heavily" from the book. One of his short stories was found to "contain uncredited material" from Stars Fell On Alabama. Why was this in the local Athens paper? Because the University of Georgia press is the one doing the revoking. Which Dawg do I root for, now?
11.10.2005
11.08.2005
Presby Passy
True Story. I was at a church gathering the other week (the church will remain nameless) talking to a man (who will also remain nameless, particularly since I don't know his name) who had a cup of beer in one hand and a 12 to 18 month old (or so) boy with a pacifier in his mouth in the other. The little boy, eyeing the cup of Killian's and without missing a beat, and apparently without fear of reprimand by Dad, took out his pacifier, dunked it into the beer, and, as nonchalantly as you please, put the pacifier back into his mouth. Not being satisfied with such a paltry amount, he proceeded to dunk it again and place it purposefully back into his mouth. And again. And again. And again. I'm not sure if the little tyke was egged on more by the beer or by my being tickled at the display, but by the fifth dunk Dad figured he'd had enough, separating the boy and the cup--to the slight dismay of the boy.
11.04.2005
I finished Jordan's latest book a couple of nights ago.
I put up my porch swing yesterday. (Just in time for it to be too cold to sit out there.)
I'll be replacing two broken window panes tomorrow.
I am almost finished with editing my manuscript so I can send it off (again) to potential publishers/rejectors (or would it be "rejecters"?).
Speaking of rejection, I'll be starting a new round of sending out job applications next week.
Speaking of rejection, I didn't get invited (as I did last year) to go trick-or-treating with church families this year. (Although I was told that I was "thought of." Too little, too late, chumps.)
I put up my porch swing yesterday. (Just in time for it to be too cold to sit out there.)
I'll be replacing two broken window panes tomorrow.
I am almost finished with editing my manuscript so I can send it off (again) to potential publishers/rejectors (or would it be "rejecters"?).
Speaking of rejection, I'll be starting a new round of sending out job applications next week.
Speaking of rejection, I didn't get invited (as I did last year) to go trick-or-treating with church families this year. (Although I was told that I was "thought of." Too little, too late, chumps.)
11.01.2005
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