Delicious Torture

I just returned from a quick visit to the Deli here at work, where my senses were assaulted and taunted by what I must say is one of my top five favorite smells in the whole world: bread baking in the oven.

There's something about that yeasty, doughy, rich, warm, fresh aroma that makes me smile, brings back memories (my mother is a kick-ass cook), and makes me want to tear off a chunk, slather it in butter, and devour it.

I'm a sucky baker, but I think I shall have to break out the bread maker tonight.

Fight On

If my grandad had still been alive yesterday, it would have been an interesting time in my grandparents' home. My Grandfather was a native Californian (of the Old School), and a lifelong, diehard USC fan. My grandmother is a dustbowl okie, born in Arkansas, raised in Oklahoma, moved to California during the depression. She is just as fervent an OU Sooners fan (My childhood nickname was "Boomer"). She also has a soft spot for teams from the southwestern US, and a mild contempt for teams from the west Coast. Over the 50-some years of their marriage, one fight was never resolved, and it was fought off and on the whole marriage: Who was a better football player, Doak Walker or Ambrose Schindler? So yesterday's game would have been a source of pride for my grandfather, who would now be quietly gloating but keeping a low profile. You'd think that I'd have mixed feelings about the outcome of the game, given that family background, and given that USC is a rival of mmy favorite team (The UO Ducks). But my mother is also a California native and a lifelong USC fan, my father had a soft spot for them, and so do I. So congratulations to the men of Troy on a mighty victory. It's about time the Pac-10 once again lived up to the title "Conference of Champions". And maybe the west will once again gain a little respect.

A Dubious Honor

While scanning my Sitemeter stats, and following referral links, I made this discovery:

I'm result # 18 if you Google the word "Moron".

Pablo Misses The Boat

Thanks for the Memory to Powerline and Darth Apathy.

Remember Pablo Paredes? He's the US Navy Petty Officer who refused to report for duty to his ship when it was due to sail from San Diego. At the time his ship, the aircraft carrier Bonhomme Richard, was bound for the gulf to support poerations in Iraq. Pablo opposes the war, and so he refused to help support that mission. He gave up his career, will probably spend time in prison, and be saddled with a criminal record for the rest of his life. He made hist statement.

And so the Bonhomme Richard sailed without him. It's currently fulfilling its mission. But the mission has changed.

The Bonhomme Richard is currently in the Indian Ocean.

Helping with tsunami relief efforts.

Congratulations, Pablo, you managed to do your little part to thwart this ignoble, imperialistic mission. I hope you feel good about that.

Update:

The Bonhomme Richard is not a carrier. Thanks for the correction, Vic.

A Boy's Life

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
by the men who moil for gold,
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
that would make your blood run cold.
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
but the queerest they ever did see
was the night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Few words can hearken me back to memories of my boyhood faster than those. It was one of my father's favorite poems, and it became one of mine as he would read it to me frequently (at my request).

Last night I read it again, along with others by service, as I took my bath. I had just returned home from a birthing class with The Feared Redhead, and so was in a mood to reflect on matters related to progeny, childhood, and heritage. With that in mind, I have decided to compile a list here of stories and authors that remind me of boyhood. And I do mean boyhood, not just childhood. I grew up a boy, and engaged in activities most usually associated with the male child. That's not to say girls CAN'T do them, but that they usually aren't INTERESTED in those activities. And, for the sake of safety and parental sanity, that's probably a good thing.

Some of these stories ARE universal, and any girl who takes an interest in ANY of them is welcome to them, but for me, when I remember being a boy, these are ther things I remember reading:

Rudyard Kipling
(Riki Tiki Tavi)
The Ransom of Red Chief
Louis L'Amour
Robert Service
(The Cremation of Sam McGee)
(The Quitter)
Homer
(The Odyssey -- I didn't read the Illiad till later in life)
C.S. Lewis
(The Chronicles of Narnia)
JRR Tolkien
(The Hobbit)
Jason and the Argonauts

Update:

I very much welcome comments by others as to their choices for such a list. Carin actually mentioned one that I agree with, and should have added:
Jules Verne

Others that spring to mind as the day goes by are:
Ray Bradbury
Robert Heinlein
Isaac Asimov

GMail

I have 10 Gmail invitations to pass out. If anyone would like one, let me know in the comments.

Pack Mentality

Thanks for the Memory Inspiration to this post at the Llama Butchers.

Robert the Llama Butcher has an interesting solution to the problem of unwanted behavior by his daughters, and I think it's an excellent one. OK, so I admit it, I'm a dog person and therefore biased. I've had four dogs in my life.

The first was Brutus, a Norwegian Elkhound. My family owned it before I was old enough to remember, but I'm told that one of the reasons we got rid of Brutus is because he was too friendly and powerful for me, and kept bowling my toddlerness over.

The second was Midget, a cockapoo, which we owned while living in Idaho. My sister and I neglected her, and my parents didn't have tome to care for her properly, so we put her up for adoption. She was scooped up immediately.

The third was Dandy, a purebred Cocker Spaniel, purchased my freshman year in high school. We didn't neglect him as badly, although we were forced to kennel him outside (because we could never train him to behave), where he got loose and was shot by a neighbor while I was away in college.

So my and my family's track record with the first three dogs was spotty at best. I don't think I'd be enthusiastic to recommend someone like that as a pet owner. My only defense is that my role in their care was limited, and I was a far less mature person as a child. After Dandy's death, I couldn't bear the thought of another dog for years, not because I didn't like them anymore (I love dogs), but because I didn't feel emotionally capable of risking losing another dog, or behaviorally capable of properly caring for one.

That changed after I met The Feared Redhead. She grew up with one dog her whole life, a family mutt named Brandy that died in its teens when TFR was in High School. From the beginning of the marriage she began telling me she wanted a dog, and didn't let up. I agreed, in theory, but there always seemed to be a good reason not to. Finally, after our Quantum Leap of Faith in moving back to Oregon, and the struggle to find jobs, when we finally moved in to an apartment, we set out from the beginning to find one that allowed dogs. After a few months living there, and when our finances allowed, The Feared Redhead began combing the paper and online ads for the perfect dog. Ironically, when she found it, I was the one who insisted we discuss the matter in depth before deciding, yet I was also the one to pull out the checkbook after one look. And ever since, the dog who is of a breed selected bt TFR, who was found by TFR, makes it clear she considers herself my dog. To borrow from Hank Hill, "Go with it, Bobby. We got the long end of the stick on this one." So now we have had Miko, a Lhasa Apso, for almost 3 years. And I'm not just a better master than I ever was with the other dogs, I'm a pushover. I must admit to spoiling this dog rotten -- I think I'm making atonement for all those years of breaking the other dogs' hearts.

One other thing. I know people who will tell you their dog thinks it's a human. Others will say their dog considers them fellow dogs. I disagree with both. My dog knows it's a dog. She also knows I'm a human. But a long time ago dogs figured out that this interspecies pack worked well, and they're perfectly fine with the arrangement. I just have to keep reminding her who's the alpha.

The Feared Redhead, of course.

UNmitigated Gall

Thanks for the Memory to Darth Apathy.

While no big fan of the United Nations, I have not been as outspoken a critic as many conservative bloggers. But events of the last few days have me singing another tune. In the recent tragedy of the Indian Ocean Tsunami, and the devastation it has wreaked,the response of the United Nations as contrasted with the response of nations and individual citizens has highlighted what a partisan, self-interested, corrupt, petty thing the UN has become.

First there was the comment by UN official Jan Egeland, criticizing the West for stinginess. Egeland has retracted his statement, and claims it was never directed at the US. But given how many people, both around the world and in the US, and of different political stripes, have inferred it as being anti-US, I find it hard to believe that it was not also implied, at least to some extend. Furthermore, even before he retracted it, the meme had been debunked, by the overwhelming amount of aid that has poured in, especially from private individuals. As I blogged, the criticism of the US ignores private giving and focuses on governmental.

But criticizing the amount of giving was not enough. Nooooo.... as soon as it became obvious that the amount of giving would be huge, UN officials began complaining because the aide wasn't being channeled through the UN:

Bush 'Undermining UN with Aid Coalition'

By Jamie Lyons, PA Political Correspondent

United States President George Bush was tonight accused of trying to undermine the United Nations by setting up a rival coalition to coordinate relief following the Asian tsunami disaster.

The president has announced that the US, Japan, India and Australia would coordinate the world’s response.

But former International Development Secretary Clare Short said that role should be left to the UN.

“I think this initiative from America to set up four countries claiming to coordinate sounds like yet another attempt to undermine the UN when it is the best system we have got and the one that needs building up,” she said.

“Only really the UN can do that job,” she told BBC Radio Four’s PM programme.

“It is the only body that has the moral authority. But it can only do it well if it is backed up by the authority of the great powers.”

Ms Short said the coalition countries did not have good records on responding to international disasters.

She said the US was “very bad at coordinating with anyone” and India had its own problems to deal with.

“I don’t know what that is about but it sounds very much, I am afraid, like the US trying to have a separate operation and not work with the rest of the world through the UN system,” she added.

First of all, I wasn't sure whether I should laugh or scream when a UN official used the phrase "Moral Authority" with a straight face. Are you kidding me? The Secretary General's own son, a UN official himself, is implicated in one of the biggest scandals in history. How man billions of dollars were misdirected, mishandfled, siphoned, or embezzled in the Oil for Food Scandal? Can you say Darfur? Rwanda? This is the organization that put Libya on the Human Rights Committee? And they speak of Moral Authority? Please.

Second of all, How DARE you complain about the US not backing up the UN, when the UN has done nothing to back up the US?

And you're right, Clare, we AREN'T using the UN system. We can get the aid there faster and more efficiently by doing it ourself. The contrast to the Food for Oil Program makes perfectly my earlier post's point about private reliefe organizations doing a better job of relief than a bureaucracy. And the bigger the bureaucracy, the worse the job.

Finally, an important question: If the relief gets to those who need it, WHY THE HELL DO YOU CARE HOW?????? By stamping your feet and pouting because you're not the center of the universe in this relief effort you just reveal yourself as petty and egocentric. I've got news for Clare Short and the UN:

It's not about you. Really, it's not. It's about the victims. Now get over it and lets get on with helping them.

UPDATE:

Thanks for the Memory to Sir George at The Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler.

See what I mean?

"With the death toll rising above 117,000, European governments were taking soundings on holding an international donors conference Jan. 7."

Taking soundings on holding a conference. Oh, that's compassion in action if I ever saw it.

I'm in the Wrong Line of Work

Thanks for the Memory to Ricky V at Ya Think So?

A recent study conducted by the Oregon Research Institute, based here in Eugene, in conjunction with the Prevention Research center of Berkeley, California, has reached the following Earth-shattering conclusion, and I quoute from the local ABC affiliate's report:

Alcohol use among minors is highest in communities where it is easy for them to buy it,

.... No, really! The easier it is to GET alchohol, the more often it's used?

INCONCEIVABLE!

That pains my brain so badly, I need a drink, if you'll pardon me for saying so. Really, how much money was spent to reach such a mind-numbingly OBVIOUS conclusion?

If I could just shed this pesky conscience, I'd be changing my line of work to become a researcher.

I Can Do It Myself

Thanks for the Memory to reader David at Ace of Spades HQ.

Ace is, to say the least, miffed at suggestions by a Norwegian UN official that the US is stingy.

This story has been big news on the Blogs today. Most of the conservative blogs have been busy mocking the following quote by Jan Egeland, the Norwegian in question:

"There are several donors who are less generous than before in a growing world economy," he said, adding that politicians in the United States and Europe "believe that they are really burdening the taxpayers too much, and the taxpayers want to give less. It's not true. They want to give more."

The tone of much of the derision has been along the lines of "How stupid, no we don't want to give more. We're AGAINST more taxes."

While I agree with those bloggers about being against more taxes, I have to say, egeland is right in one respect: We do want to give more. But what he fails to uderstand is this: What we don't want is our government taking from us and calling it giving. We'd rather be free to give, and to choose how we give and to whom. If we are granted that freedom, we will give.

And thanks to David, I have evidence that bears that out. The US government may not give as much in total foreign aid as some might want, but Americans as private citizens give threefold as much:

There is no comprehensive measure of how much Americans donate overseas, but a conservative estimate, based on surveys and voluntary reporting, puts annual private giving around $35 billion. Even this low-ball figure is more than three and a half times the amount of official development assistance (ODA) given out in a year by the U.S. government. In the third wave of foreign aid, it is private money that is making the difference.

That's been my point all along. And I believe that the same truth applies to domestic welfare as well as to foreign aid. That's why I linked to Samaritan's Purse earlier today. That's why I encourage giving to local and national and international charities, both religious and secular. That's why I'm such a huge fan of Extreme Makeover Home Edition, and why despite some issues with her politics and religious views, I admire Oprah Winfrey's Angel Network: PRIVATE ENDEAVORS ARE A MORE EFFICIENT CONDUIT FOR CHARITABLE WORK THAN GOVERNMENT AGENCIES.

Go and Do the Same

Those are the last five words in the Biblical passage known as the Parable of the Good Samaritan. They're also my way of encouraging us all to help the victims of the SE Asia Tsunami. And appropriately, I would suggest that the orgasnization you use as a conduit for that help be Samaritan's Purse. This excellent organization, most famous for its annual Operation Christmas Child, is a Christian aid organization run by Billy Graham's son Franklin. They have a good reputation for honesty, and it is my understanding that they undertake to keep overhead low, meaning as much of the donations they receive as possible go directly to aid and relief. For this reason, I would encourage anyone to give to them. If you have strong objections to the Christian message connected to their efforts, I understand, and encourage you to find a secular aid organization and give. But whatever you do, give.

Between Heaven and Mordor

Thanks for the Memory to A Youth Pastor.

I have been for all my life a fan of fantasy literature, particularly that of C.S. Lewis and JRR Tolkien. Part of this preference for those two authors in particular has to do with the sentimetal memories tied to when I first encountered them.

As a child, my mother would read the Chronicles of Narnia to myself and my sister. This wass usually on the frequent trips we took as a family, when there were long periods of time in the car with nothing to do. She was an expert at reading right up to a moment of crisis in the story, and then putting the book aside to be continued later. I suspect that this was in part a way of making us behave. But what she may not know is that it was also a hallmark of the master storyteller, or that it fired my lifelong passion for reading.

I "met" Tolkien much later in life. I began reading the Lord of the Rings during the Christmas holiday after I dropped out of college, before I'd found a job, and I devoured the entire trilogy in less than a week. For someone whose life was in complete chaos, with no sense of purpose and no plans for the future, who had just lost a fiance and any sense of accomplishment, the theme of perserverence beyond the end of hope embodied in Frodo's quest was a comfort and a challenge.

The other factor weighing in on why I love those two is, of course, the Christian faith in which I share with them. Even as a child, I could plainly see Christ reflected in Aslan. And in the corrupting power of the Ring I saw a clear warning against compromise (which I have sadly failed to heed at times). Good only triumphed by remaining good. "Do not repay evil for evil," as the Bible says.

And yet these two devout authors set me up for a conundrum, guided me on a path that led to moral dilemma. In one fell swoop they both strengthened my faith, and yet instilled in me a love of fantasy literature that eventually presented me with a crisis of faith: What should my attitude be towards magic in Fantasy literature? As a Christian, I believe formly in the Biblical prohibition against practising magic or witchcraft. But for some reason, I just couldn't work up as much of an aversion to it when I read about it in a fantasy story set in an imaginary world. At times I felt guilty about it. I took flak from other Christians because of it. But I never felt convicted.

Today The Youth Pastor's Blog pointed me to an article about this very topic that references the take Tolkien himself had on the issue. It's well written, and confirms much of what I've always thought about the issue, but could never articulate. Thank you, Mike Perschon, and amen.

A New Site to Bookmark

Mmmmm.... Islay....

The Beautiful Letdown

That's the name of a CD by Christian band Switchfoot that we gave our niece for Christmas. I confess to never having heard the CD or the song, and to being clueless as to the theme or meaning of the title, but the title itself seems like a perfect description of the last two months of blogging for me.

In the months, then weeks, and finally days leading up to the presidential elections, the primary focus of this Blog was political. It was very important to me, I believed passionately in my cause, and so I blogged on it. A lot. And it brought me traffic - especially when I was blogging on the Dan Rather Memo scandal, and also when I blogged about what became for me a burning issue -- documented cases of politically motivated violence and vandalism against conservatives. I was posting numerous entries a day, and getting traffic in the hundreds a day -- not Instapundit by any stretch, but it made me feel good.

But once the elections were over, my enthusiasm for mosting waned. I just couldn't come up with as many things to be passionate about. Furthermore, my new job ccurtailed the time I had to post. And my traffic suffered too. I dropped form hundreds of readers a day to less than 50. Ironically, the change occurred at least partially because things went the way I wanted them too in the presidential election -- talk about a beautiful letdown.

Recently, my writing has started to pick back up again, as has my traffic. Blog Explosion helps with the traffic, so I don't put as much stock in it, but the fact that I'm once again getting comments, well, that feels good. And the best part is, it's not all politics. I'm finding other passions, other topics. I'm starting to get to know myself again, something I haven't done in years. And apparently, I'm not the only one who finds myelf at least mildly interesting.

Now that's beautiful, without the letdown.

Some Assembly Required

Thanks for the Memory to Robert at The Llama Butchers, who has a great piece on the Whininess of "Some Assembly Required" angst.

Personally, I laugh at the prospect of assembling presents for the coming Spawn of Brian. I've been assembling stuff my whole life, and am a Kung Glue Master.

But nothing like my Nephew. The Feared Redhead is the youngest of three sisters. The middle one has a 7-year old who has some LD-related issues. He's a sweet kid, I love him dearly (he couldn't pronounce "Uncle Brian" as a toddler, so I was designated "Unkin", a contraction of the two of which I've become fond), but he definitely has issues with listening to adults, calming down, paying attention -- not just standard levels of issues for his age, but serious issues.

However, put a Legos kit in his hands and something wondrous happens. The kid is some sort of freaky genius when it comes to assembling those suckers. hundreds of pieces? He can find the right one in a heartbeat. Twenty pages of instructions? No problem. In less time than it takes Ted Kennedy to polish off a gin and tonic, the kid will have it assembled. With one glance at the instruction sheet per step. Not me. I have to look at the step, find the pieces, then look at them again to make sure how they go together. At the least. But the Neph, he just works his way through a kit like a machine.

It's kinda spooky, but in a proud way.

It's No Surprise

Thanks for the Memory to Naked Villainy.

Apparently, President and Mrs. Bush's gifts to each other were national news, and the Maximum Leader asks a good question: Why?

A very good question indeed. And it brings to my mind a question I've had about celebrity status, a question which, when I ask it, will leave you convinced that I think WAAAAAAAYYYYYY too much:

How in hell do celebrities surprise their loved ones? It's not like you can buy something and not have the intended know at LEAST where you bought it, thanks to the ever-present paparazzi. God forbid you try pulling off something even bigger without them knowing.

I suppose they have agents/personal assistants/professional sycophants hwo handle such details for them, and this allows some stealth. But personally, for me, hald the joy in giving a gift is in looking for, and finding, the perfectly appropriate gift for the person, relying on and showing off how well I know them. The presentation is the other half -- price and reciprocation received are incidental. For someone who gets photographed every time they stop at the supermarket for cheese, this is not an option.

It's this kind of topic that led me long ago to decide that while I wouldn't mind being rich, I'm not so sure I'd like being famous. Not that either is a looming threat.

Banned Camp

Thanks for the Memory to Chad, substitute blogger at The Jawa Report.

A school in Tampa Florida, trying to cut down on pranks in school, has banned rubber bands:

In a December newsletter, the Buffalo Bulletin, administrators warned parents and students.

"There have been recent incidences of students at our school using rubber bands as a method of projecting objects at other people. The students refer to some of the projectile objects as "wasps.' Occasionally, students are using their fingers to project the wasps. These activities have resulted in injured students.

"Rubber bands are not permitted at school. If students are in possession of rubber bands for any reason they will be subject to consequences that may include out of school suspension. When rubber bands are required for classroom use, they will be provided and collected."

Now, I understand the need to crack down on an activity that is harming students. But again, the answer is to address the behavior, not to remove anything that might possibly be used inappropriately. Otherwise, we'll be reduced to banning pencils from school, leaving the kids with nothing but crayons, and replacing the hard textbooks with those soft and washable "Bathtime Books" for infants.

I Shot a Man in Reno, Just to Watch Him Die

So other than the dog almost dying, again, Christmas was good. I didn't receive a lot, but I did get to watch my nephews tear in to their chaches, and we did get a few things for the impending Spawn of Brian. But I did receive a couple of things I had really wanted: An Oregon knit cap, some pilsner glasses and a pair of Thistle-style Single Malt Scotch nosing glasses. But from the title, I'm sure you've ascertained that the gift I'll be talking about today is this one:




Now, I'm not the biggest country music fan -- growing up in Southern Idaho and Southern Oregon, most of the country music fans my age were the kids who had no tolerance for anyone not exactly like them, and I got a lot of grief from them. So I had a built-in animosity towards the genre for a long time. That's changed a bit, but I'm still not an enthusiastic listener.

Except when it comes to Johnny Cash. I cannot get enough of the man's music, though up until now I didn't OWN any of it (not that I was buying other music instead -- it's just not high on the budgetary priority list). But this year The Feared Redhead arranged for Santa to leave this CD in my stocking.

So what is it about Johnny Cash that makes me love his music so much? Let's ignore for a moment (as difficult as it may be) the fact that he is the baddest, coolest man ever to sing on a stage. Let's set aside the fact that when he sings of suffering and the Blues, he knows of what he speaks, having grown up the poor son of a sharecropper. Let's even discount, for the sake of discussing deeper things, that gravelly, crack of doom voice, the self-deprecating humor, or the passionate love for June that made all his love songs work so well.

The thing about Johnny Cash that endears him and his music to me is the interplay of sin and grace that was the pattern of his life. This was a man who made some serious mistakes in his life, who struggled mightily with addiction, who was anythng BUT the quintessence of Godly living.

And yet, despite all that, he was, at his core, a man of faith. He believed deeply in God and in the power of His grace to forgive, and I honestly believe that is what kept Johnny going. I don't think he was proud of the things he did wrong, but he knew he was forgiven when he repented for them. And in the end, I honestly believe Johnny Cash went home to be with the Lord.

And that gives me hope. while I've not live a life a quarter as hard as Johnny's, my own Christian walk is less than exemplary. I make mistakes -- no, I sin. Frequently. Sometimes egegiously. But when I do, and am faced with what I've done, I honestly repent and sincerely rely on God's grace to not only forgive, but to help me avoid the same mistakes again. I think Johnny Cash would know what I mean.

And so, this Christmas, the season of Grace, I received a CD of music from a man who truly appreciated the meaning of Grace. Thanks for the Encouragement, Johnny. I walk the line too.

This Close to the Worst Christmas Ever

Christmas was pretty nice for me, we spent it in Portland with The Feared Redhead's sister and her family, and the in-laws flew in on Christmas Day. Quite a nice time. One event, however, almost runied it.

Christmas evening, we sat down to eat. Everyone was having a fun time with the findue, but the oil got a bit smokey, so we opened windows to let it air out. Well, someone (we're not sure who) opened the front door as well. Neither I nor TFR noticed. Suddenly, someone commented on it. TFR was out the door like a shot, screaming our dog's name. She says she heard a yelp, I didn't. So she ran out front convinced that we'd find our dog (a Lhasa Apso) lying dead in front of a car. I followed, just htinking she'd run outside. When I got out there, and didn't see the dog, I started to panic. Fortunately, I thought clearly for one brief moment when I sent TFR back in the house to check there as I began scouring the intersection to ascertain where she might be. A call from the house reassured me that she was there. She was wet, so she'd obviously been outside, and she was cowering badly, so somehting scared her, but shewas unhurt. I collapsed on the floor next to her and cried. I have no shame for that.

So if I'm this protective of the damned dog, what am I going to be like after the baby's born? By next christmas, I may be blogging from a mental ward.

Stocking Stuffer

Thanks for the Memory to Speed of Thought via Ace of Spades:

A Little Military Humor.