The powerful and destructive nature of the written word...
In an earlier post, I had noted how Blog Sensei was ruing damage inadvertently and innocently caused by comments she posted on her blog. It brought to mind, various discussions I have had over the previous two plus years with certain individuals regarding the risk associated with blogging in particular. These discussions centered basically around two things:
First, the hazard of writing an entry considered offensive and subsequently alienating a person or persons by it (of course strangers aren’t the issue here as much as friends and family).
Second, inadvertently disclosing something which would cause me embarrassment and shame.
In my conversations regarding these topics, I confessed each issue being something of a non starter for me. Mainly, I work from the presumptive view at any given time I easily manage to annoy, provoke or alienate a majority of people within my sphere because of the sheer outrageousness of my opinions or the totally ill mannered way that I voice same. I started the blog just to get into the regular habit of writing and thereby build up those muscles (so to speak). It’s the first small step on a journey to find my own unique voice by way of the written word. I feel any creative endeavor embodies a level of intimacy on the part of the creator - whether it be writing, art or some other media. Maybe it is a bit vainglorious on my part to consider myself somehow creative by publishing my inanities but, there is no question that for me the blog is an outlet.
Also, while unnerving at the level of intimacy required (for there is always the occasion to questions oneself), I have discovered as I make my way down the path of life, there is a trait I must fight to overcome. Simply put it’s the tendency to ‘play it safe.’ Compromise is an inevitable consequence of being successful in a politically correct society but, it is stifling.
How much time during the course of the day am I afraid?
Afraid of saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing or not even by necessity doing anything ‘wrong’ per say but having my motivations or intentions misconstrued and leading to conflict. Offending someone who I would never dream of offending and in doing so lose the great treasure of their respect and friendship. It’s not a good thing to go through life afraid and truthfully I don’t think anybody who played it safe ever made a difference in this world. They just maintained the status quo.
So, words are pretty dangerous things I guess.
The reason this little diatribe issues forth is that fortunately, Blog Sensei seems to have gotten in the habit of posting regularly again and it is through one of her posts I came to read this tidbit about someone whose employer not only read her blog but choose to write an article about it in the New York Times. Both provide interesting reading.
Maybe it’s a bit of a cautionary tale on the power of the written word. I don’t know but, I do figure if I’m going to get any better at the whole writing thing, I’ll have to keep pushing myself forward even though blogging may be akin to walking a tightrope. Seems all good things in life involve some kind of risk, no?
Jul 19, 2005
Let the lawsuits begin...
The cover of this week’s New York magazine was shocking to say the least. When I first saw it, I thought to myself, “They couldn’t really be stupid enough to pose for this, could they?” Considering the news lately, it wouldn’t have surprised me. Then upon closer examination I saw the small disclaimer copy to the bottom left of the image. It’s a great cover. Another example of fun with Photoshop and it underscores how you can’t really buy into everything you see these days. Boy, I’ve got to figure though the wunderkind of the Hubbard set isn’t going to let this one slide.
The cover of this week’s New York magazine was shocking to say the least. When I first saw it, I thought to myself, “They couldn’t really be stupid enough to pose for this, could they?” Considering the news lately, it wouldn’t have surprised me. Then upon closer examination I saw the small disclaimer copy to the bottom left of the image. It’s a great cover. Another example of fun with Photoshop and it underscores how you can’t really buy into everything you see these days. Boy, I’ve got to figure though the wunderkind of the Hubbard set isn’t going to let this one slide.
Jul 13, 2005
Richard Cohen’s column about an unlikely candidate to fill a vacancy on the Supreme Court...
The upshot is that even the plenty conservative Alberto Gonzales, now the attorney general and once the White House counsel, is being pummeled by religiously based right-wing groups. Based on some of his decisions when he was on the Texas Supreme Court and, more pertinent, his lack of fulsome anti-abortion rhetoric, he has been deemed unacceptable by the true leaders of this very Christian nation. It is, really, an absurdity. If he is not acceptable, then Strom Thurmond will have to be exhumed.
Funny thing is, I have to say it’s something that might be worth considering.
The upshot is that even the plenty conservative Alberto Gonzales, now the attorney general and once the White House counsel, is being pummeled by religiously based right-wing groups. Based on some of his decisions when he was on the Texas Supreme Court and, more pertinent, his lack of fulsome anti-abortion rhetoric, he has been deemed unacceptable by the true leaders of this very Christian nation. It is, really, an absurdity. If he is not acceptable, then Strom Thurmond will have to be exhumed.
Funny thing is, I have to say it’s something that might be worth considering.
Jul 11, 2005
Fun with wordplay...
Last week I caught Mr and Mrs Smith which was somewhat passable. I enjoyed it (more so than my companion), mainly because it had something that’s been missing from movies in recent years. The thing I liked quite a bit about it was the smart, snappy dialog between Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. The plot got lost about halfway through the movie but, they’re both so damn pretty to watch. All the back and forth between them harkened back to a time when movies were better scripted. I was writing a friend about it and referenced the classic dialog below - if you click through you’ll get a quicktime version of the exchange but, bonus points if you can name the stars and the movie:
Hey, you remind me of a man.
What man?
Man with the power.
What power?
Power of hoodoo.
Hoodoo?
You do.
Do what?
Remind me of a man...
Last week I caught Mr and Mrs Smith which was somewhat passable. I enjoyed it (more so than my companion), mainly because it had something that’s been missing from movies in recent years. The thing I liked quite a bit about it was the smart, snappy dialog between Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. The plot got lost about halfway through the movie but, they’re both so damn pretty to watch. All the back and forth between them harkened back to a time when movies were better scripted. I was writing a friend about it and referenced the classic dialog below - if you click through you’ll get a quicktime version of the exchange but, bonus points if you can name the stars and the movie:
What man?
Man with the power.
What power?
Power of hoodoo.
Hoodoo?
You do.
Do what?
Remind me of a man...
Speaking of USA Network...
It’s very rare that TV ever gets it right. If anything, it usually gets it wrong (and in a big way). However, over the last few days I’ve been seeing these spots (ads). They’re quiet, funny and underplayed. They manage to showcase talent and at the same time build a unique brand image. It’s the antithesis of what advertising seems to have become (fast cuts, loud and garish) but, it proves how effective a campaign can be if it’s well thought out and executed properly.
Hopefully, it’ll start a trend.
“Characters Welcome,” underscores the strength of the characters that populate the network’s programming, as well as the people tuning in to watch.
A series of spots that will run beginning July 8 presents some of USA’s more popular characters in all their idiosyncratic glory. One clip trails Monk’s obsessive-compulsive detective (Tony Shalhoub) as he monomaniacally removes every expired foodstuff from the shelves of a supermarket, while another sees The Dead Zone’s reluctant psychic (Anthony Michael Hall) foresee the loss of all nine of his cat’s lives.
and...
USA will ditch its longtime logo, which incorporates a waving United States flag — but not because of any unpatriotic feelings. McCumber says viewers thought it was a “cold” symbol. It contradicted all the things that were human about our characters."
It’s very rare that TV ever gets it right. If anything, it usually gets it wrong (and in a big way). However, over the last few days I’ve been seeing these spots (ads). They’re quiet, funny and underplayed. They manage to showcase talent and at the same time build a unique brand image. It’s the antithesis of what advertising seems to have become (fast cuts, loud and garish) but, it proves how effective a campaign can be if it’s well thought out and executed properly.
Hopefully, it’ll start a trend.
“Characters Welcome,” underscores the strength of the characters that populate the network’s programming, as well as the people tuning in to watch.
A series of spots that will run beginning July 8 presents some of USA’s more popular characters in all their idiosyncratic glory. One clip trails Monk’s obsessive-compulsive detective (Tony Shalhoub) as he monomaniacally removes every expired foodstuff from the shelves of a supermarket, while another sees The Dead Zone’s reluctant psychic (Anthony Michael Hall) foresee the loss of all nine of his cat’s lives.
and...
USA will ditch its longtime logo, which incorporates a waving United States flag — but not because of any unpatriotic feelings. McCumber says viewers thought it was a “cold” symbol. It contradicted all the things that were human about our characters."
Jul 9, 2005
I’m always commenting on how girls are different today from when I was a lad. I feel often that guys my age are the unlucky caught-in-between fellows, we were too young for women raised to embrace traditional gender roles and too old for a newer generation that left those clichés behind.
Ours was the generation of the sexual revolution - hold the door or not hold the door, which is polite, which offensive? Girls didn’t play sports so much when I was younger, they were cheerleaders. If they did play sports, it was non-contact sports like gymnastics or track and field. During my years in school, if someone said you threw like a girl it wasn’t a compliment.
Today, things are different. I regularly drive by the park located next to our house to see the girls softball teams slugging it out with each new summer season. We have the WNBA and you can’t help but see all types of muscular women pushing themselves to the limits of their endurance...
“It was pretty killer,” the teenager from Hawaii said. “Even though I finished below par, it still feels (bad) because I played so well the first nine and then I just totally messed up the back nine.'”
She now goes to the men’s U.S. Amateur Public Links next week at Shaker Run in Lebanon, Ohio. The winner has traditionally gotten a spot in the Masters.
Wie had played beyond her years all week, hitting it straight and showing a better-than-expected touch around the greens. But all of that disappeared at the most inopportune time.
What I’m doing is just getting around to saying how cool I think Michelle Wie is. 15 years old, think about that for a second. She’s fifteen and she’s competing with pros and not only are they pros but, she’s given the guys a run for their money. She didn’t make the cut this week but, she’s only fifteen which means over the next five years she’ll probably only get better.
I am confident you’ll be hearing lots more of her in the years to come.
Jul 8, 2005
The empty seat at the table...
I don’t try to mark time so much presently. Days go by, running together, passing at a faster and faster rate. I succumb to the denial all manage as we grow older, the point where you’re not anticipating another birthday, just trying to ignore it. Oddly though, much as life may inevitably change - much as you try to resist change, constants are still in every person’s life to contrast that change. One such constant for me has been and remains seeing family at the holidays.
I’m not the baby of the family anymore, graduating to the ‘grown ups’ table long ago but unquestionably, comfort is still derived in being around ‘your people.’ People you know and love. People connected by the ties of blood or marriage who accompany you for the better part of your ride through life. People you see each and every year at certain times. Those who can recall a time when you weren’t marked by the bumps and bruises accumulated during your time here on earth.
Family is important. I find as I get older, it becomes even more important to me. I never thought of myself as having much in the way of family so, I am thankful for what little family I possess. Ironically, as I grow to enjoy being around my family more, there is less time left to me enjoy their company.
Each family has its own traditions. One of ours is the post meal card game. I couldn’t tell you when the game really started but, I do remember joining in somewhere during my late teens or early twenties. Being able to play in the game was a special privelege, a great boon if you would, a rite of passage from the recesses of childhood into the adult world. Accepted into the pantheon that was the core of players. Over the years some came, others went but, a select few of our number wound up sitting down after dinner and before coffee year in - year out. Admittedly as the number of games mounted, I found myself increasingly looking forward to each game. Our tradition, the menfolk sitting down, pretending to be big shots among one and other in our high stakes game of quarters.
Play cards with the same people through the years and you come to recognize the kind of player a person is. You get surprised every now and again but it doesn’t matter because the game itself, the banter, the company, just being there is what’s fun. Also, age becomes less of a barrier as you rack up time on the planet. A gap of ten or twenty years doesn’t mean as much as it did when you were younger. You start seeing people as they are rather than what you imagine them to be.
Well, we lost a player last week.
I’m not good enough to be able to do a man justice and sum up his life in a few sentences. What I can say is our last card game was at Christmas. Christmas was at Bob and Linda’s house. Bob broke out the new tabletop he had gotten for a gift from his son-in-law. He beamed with pride over the big holiday score, along with the nice set of chips, it wound up being a treat for all of us, a step closer to legimitizing our game. We played, we joked, we did all the same good natured ribbing of each other we all enjoyed.
I may be mistaken but, I’m thinking Bob was the big winner that day. Now, six short months later he is gone.
We went to visit him at the hospital last week - appropriately enough on the day where the sky opened up with rain. Bob had been asleep since Saturday and my cousin had been at his side standing vigil. It was tough on her, she had hardly been away from his side since he was admitted to the hospital almost two weeks prior but, you spend thirty years with someone I imagine you don’t ever want to ponder a day when they won’t be with you anymore.
Bob didn’t look at all like the smiling man who gleefully piled his chips before him. There was an ever increasing wall as his winnings mounted. The happy, vivacious charlatan has been spirited away and replaced by a small frail figure. Occasionally, his slight frame evidenced a great shudder showing the incredible weight of his illness. Sitting in the small room it was hard to reconcile the man I knew with the ravaged figure before me.
There wasn’t a shortage of people though, well-wishers, friends, family. People whose lives had been affected by Bob, by his energy, his joy of life. It is at these moments bearing witness to a person stirring the last embers of a precious fire before it dims, you confront mortality, you wonder what the measure of a person truly is. How can success or failure be measured? What is the legacy a person leaves behind?
Sitting in his hospital room and over the subsequent days after Bob’s passing I came to realize the measure of life’s wealth and simply put it is in the lives we touch. As the fates would have it, Bob turned out to be one of the wealthiest men I have ever had the privelege to know and he will be sorely missed.
I don’t try to mark time so much presently. Days go by, running together, passing at a faster and faster rate. I succumb to the denial all manage as we grow older, the point where you’re not anticipating another birthday, just trying to ignore it. Oddly though, much as life may inevitably change - much as you try to resist change, constants are still in every person’s life to contrast that change. One such constant for me has been and remains seeing family at the holidays.
I’m not the baby of the family anymore, graduating to the ‘grown ups’ table long ago but unquestionably, comfort is still derived in being around ‘your people.’ People you know and love. People connected by the ties of blood or marriage who accompany you for the better part of your ride through life. People you see each and every year at certain times. Those who can recall a time when you weren’t marked by the bumps and bruises accumulated during your time here on earth.
Family is important. I find as I get older, it becomes even more important to me. I never thought of myself as having much in the way of family so, I am thankful for what little family I possess. Ironically, as I grow to enjoy being around my family more, there is less time left to me enjoy their company.
Each family has its own traditions. One of ours is the post meal card game. I couldn’t tell you when the game really started but, I do remember joining in somewhere during my late teens or early twenties. Being able to play in the game was a special privelege, a great boon if you would, a rite of passage from the recesses of childhood into the adult world. Accepted into the pantheon that was the core of players. Over the years some came, others went but, a select few of our number wound up sitting down after dinner and before coffee year in - year out. Admittedly as the number of games mounted, I found myself increasingly looking forward to each game. Our tradition, the menfolk sitting down, pretending to be big shots among one and other in our high stakes game of quarters.
Play cards with the same people through the years and you come to recognize the kind of player a person is. You get surprised every now and again but it doesn’t matter because the game itself, the banter, the company, just being there is what’s fun. Also, age becomes less of a barrier as you rack up time on the planet. A gap of ten or twenty years doesn’t mean as much as it did when you were younger. You start seeing people as they are rather than what you imagine them to be.
Well, we lost a player last week.
I’m not good enough to be able to do a man justice and sum up his life in a few sentences. What I can say is our last card game was at Christmas. Christmas was at Bob and Linda’s house. Bob broke out the new tabletop he had gotten for a gift from his son-in-law. He beamed with pride over the big holiday score, along with the nice set of chips, it wound up being a treat for all of us, a step closer to legimitizing our game. We played, we joked, we did all the same good natured ribbing of each other we all enjoyed.
I may be mistaken but, I’m thinking Bob was the big winner that day. Now, six short months later he is gone.
We went to visit him at the hospital last week - appropriately enough on the day where the sky opened up with rain. Bob had been asleep since Saturday and my cousin had been at his side standing vigil. It was tough on her, she had hardly been away from his side since he was admitted to the hospital almost two weeks prior but, you spend thirty years with someone I imagine you don’t ever want to ponder a day when they won’t be with you anymore.
Bob didn’t look at all like the smiling man who gleefully piled his chips before him. There was an ever increasing wall as his winnings mounted. The happy, vivacious charlatan has been spirited away and replaced by a small frail figure. Occasionally, his slight frame evidenced a great shudder showing the incredible weight of his illness. Sitting in the small room it was hard to reconcile the man I knew with the ravaged figure before me.
There wasn’t a shortage of people though, well-wishers, friends, family. People whose lives had been affected by Bob, by his energy, his joy of life. It is at these moments bearing witness to a person stirring the last embers of a precious fire before it dims, you confront mortality, you wonder what the measure of a person truly is. How can success or failure be measured? What is the legacy a person leaves behind?
Sitting in his hospital room and over the subsequent days after Bob’s passing I came to realize the measure of life’s wealth and simply put it is in the lives we touch. As the fates would have it, Bob turned out to be one of the wealthiest men I have ever had the privelege to know and he will be sorely missed.
Jul 7, 2005
Meanwhile...
How stupid are these guys to actually believe this is going to serve any purpose other than to get people madder and united in their resolve to obliterate these morons - these fanatics?
I was trying to track down something regarding terrorism throughout history and it ineffectiveness as a means of achieving political aims. I remember hearing something about it not being a terrible useful tool (I am chagrined to admit is was during some dialog from the West Wing) when contrasted against non violence.
Then I came across this which I found interesting:
Suicide attack is an ancient practice with a modern history. Its use by the Jewish sects of Zealots and Sicarii (“daggers”) in Roman-occupied Judea [1] and by the Islamic Order of Assassins (hashashin) during the early Crusader times are legendary examples.[2] The concept of “terror” as systematic use of violence to attain political ends was first codified by Maximilien Robespierre during the French Revolution. He deemed it an “emanation of virtue” that delivers “prompt, severe, and inflexible” justice, as “a consequence of the general principle of democracy applied to our country’s most pressing needs”. [3]The Reign of Terror, during which the ruling Jacobin faction exterminated thousands of potential enemies, of whatever sex, age, or condition, lasted until Robespierre’s fall ( July 1794). Similar justification for state-sponsored terror was common to 20th-century revolutions, as in Russia (Lenin), Cambodia (Pol Pot), and Iran (Khomeini).
How stupid are these guys to actually believe this is going to serve any purpose other than to get people madder and united in their resolve to obliterate these morons - these fanatics?
I was trying to track down something regarding terrorism throughout history and it ineffectiveness as a means of achieving political aims. I remember hearing something about it not being a terrible useful tool (I am chagrined to admit is was during some dialog from the West Wing) when contrasted against non violence.
Then I came across this which I found interesting:
Suicide attack is an ancient practice with a modern history. Its use by the Jewish sects of Zealots and Sicarii (“daggers”) in Roman-occupied Judea [1] and by the Islamic Order of Assassins (hashashin) during the early Crusader times are legendary examples.[2] The concept of “terror” as systematic use of violence to attain political ends was first codified by Maximilien Robespierre during the French Revolution. He deemed it an “emanation of virtue” that delivers “prompt, severe, and inflexible” justice, as “a consequence of the general principle of democracy applied to our country’s most pressing needs”. [3]The Reign of Terror, during which the ruling Jacobin faction exterminated thousands of potential enemies, of whatever sex, age, or condition, lasted until Robespierre’s fall ( July 1794). Similar justification for state-sponsored terror was common to 20th-century revolutions, as in Russia (Lenin), Cambodia (Pol Pot), and Iran (Khomeini).
Don’t be surprised if it turns out the London bombings were carried out by a single person.
Why?
A single person carrying out such a plot is less likely to have things go wrong in terms of choreographing the event. A lone bomber would be harder to guard against and catch. Look at the spacing of the bombings. The time between each explosion is relatively short and the three tube bombings all occur on trains running along parallell or intersecting lines suggesting one means of executing the attack could simply be a matter of leaving an unattended package aboard a very crowded train and setting it off via means of a timer or cell phone detonator. The person would just be catching another train and merely looking like a passenger who, in a rush, overlooked their parcel. The direction the trains were proceeding at the time of the blasts will determine whether or not this theory has any credence.
Now, that’s not to say they (the lone bomber) wouldn’t have had the support and cooperation of a larger group of people (co-conspirators) but, with the forethought the person charged with the actual placement of the devices would be committing suicide by blowing themselves up (making identification difficult) it would make the task of linking the bombing to co-conspirators all the more difficult. Three bombs are set off in the tubes, followed by a bus bombing which obliterates the physical remains of the bomber, scattering his body parts over a wide area. Bearing in mind, this kind of a ‘sacrifice’ on the part of the bomber, would be considered heroic on his part (as evidenced by prior attacks), the theory is not entirely implausible.
Why?
A single person carrying out such a plot is less likely to have things go wrong in terms of choreographing the event. A lone bomber would be harder to guard against and catch. Look at the spacing of the bombings. The time between each explosion is relatively short and the three tube bombings all occur on trains running along parallell or intersecting lines suggesting one means of executing the attack could simply be a matter of leaving an unattended package aboard a very crowded train and setting it off via means of a timer or cell phone detonator. The person would just be catching another train and merely looking like a passenger who, in a rush, overlooked their parcel. The direction the trains were proceeding at the time of the blasts will determine whether or not this theory has any credence.
Now, that’s not to say they (the lone bomber) wouldn’t have had the support and cooperation of a larger group of people (co-conspirators) but, with the forethought the person charged with the actual placement of the devices would be committing suicide by blowing themselves up (making identification difficult) it would make the task of linking the bombing to co-conspirators all the more difficult. Three bombs are set off in the tubes, followed by a bus bombing which obliterates the physical remains of the bomber, scattering his body parts over a wide area. Bearing in mind, this kind of a ‘sacrifice’ on the part of the bomber, would be considered heroic on his part (as evidenced by prior attacks), the theory is not entirely implausible.
Jul 4, 2005
You’d think I was making this stuff up...
During a simulated Chemical attack, Brian and few other soldiers were tasked to complete their mission, while wearing Chemical protective clothing. While wearing the clothing he released gas and noticed that he couldn’t smell any odor nor could anyone else. But it wasn’t until one morning when Brian’s wife had an episode of gas did Brian make the connection
...but wait it gets better, for those who blame the poor dog:
DOGGIE DIAPER MODEL AND A THONG MODEL
Many things may cause a dogs system to create excessive malodorous gas (farts or flatus) such as their diet, digestive problems, medications, or old age. Your dog may have gastrointestinal problems, just like a human. Age can also affect the digestive tract of your dog. Your best friend deserves to eat the food he wants. You should enjoy his close company and not be disturbed by his gaseous emissions. Flat-D Innovations has tested and developed two models of Canine gas odor control- No more stinky or smelly dogs! Pet and dog odor from flatulence are a thing of the past.
Oh, and the dog looks so happy now too!
During a simulated Chemical attack, Brian and few other soldiers were tasked to complete their mission, while wearing Chemical protective clothing. While wearing the clothing he released gas and noticed that he couldn’t smell any odor nor could anyone else. But it wasn’t until one morning when Brian’s wife had an episode of gas did Brian make the connection
...but wait it gets better, for those who blame the poor dog:
DOGGIE DIAPER MODEL AND A THONG MODEL
Many things may cause a dogs system to create excessive malodorous gas (farts or flatus) such as their diet, digestive problems, medications, or old age. Your dog may have gastrointestinal problems, just like a human. Age can also affect the digestive tract of your dog. Your best friend deserves to eat the food he wants. You should enjoy his close company and not be disturbed by his gaseous emissions. Flat-D Innovations has tested and developed two models of Canine gas odor control- No more stinky or smelly dogs! Pet and dog odor from flatulence are a thing of the past.
Oh, and the dog looks so happy now too!
Jun 30, 2005
You can’t make stuff like this up...
If you think Tom jumping up and down on Oprah’s couch was strange, take a look at this...
Xenu was about to be deposed from power, so he devised a plot to eliminate the excess population from his dominions. With the assistance of “renegades,” he defeated the populace and the “Loyal Officers,” a force for good that was opposed to Xenu. Then, with the assistance of psychiatrists, he summoned billions of people to paralyse them with injections of alcohol and glycol, under the pretense that they were being called for “income tax inspections.” The kidnapped populace was loaded into space planes for transport to the site of extermination, the planet of Teegeeack (Earth). The space planes were exact copies of Douglas DC-8s, “except the DC-8 had fans, propellers on it and the space plane didn’t.” DC-8s have jet engines, not propellers, although Hubbard may have meant the turbine fans.
When the space planes had reached Teegeeack, the paralysed people were unloaded and stacked around the bases of volcanoes across the planet. Hydrogen bombs were lowered into the volcanoes, and all were detonated simultaneously. Only a few people’s physical bodies survived.
The now-disembodied victims' souls, which Hubbard called thetans, were blown into the air by the blast. They were captured by Xenu's forces using an "electronic ribbon" ("which also was a type of standing wave") and sucked into "vacuum zones" around the world. The hundreds of billions of captured thetans were taken to a type of cinema, where they were forced to watch a “three-D, super colossal motion picture” for 36 days.
Now the rant with Matt Lauer about psychiatrists takes on a new light.
If you think Tom jumping up and down on Oprah’s couch was strange, take a look at this...
Xenu was about to be deposed from power, so he devised a plot to eliminate the excess population from his dominions. With the assistance of “renegades,” he defeated the populace and the “Loyal Officers,” a force for good that was opposed to Xenu. Then, with the assistance of psychiatrists, he summoned billions of people to paralyse them with injections of alcohol and glycol, under the pretense that they were being called for “income tax inspections.” The kidnapped populace was loaded into space planes for transport to the site of extermination, the planet of Teegeeack (Earth). The space planes were exact copies of Douglas DC-8s, “except the DC-8 had fans, propellers on it and the space plane didn’t.” DC-8s have jet engines, not propellers, although Hubbard may have meant the turbine fans.
When the space planes had reached Teegeeack, the paralysed people were unloaded and stacked around the bases of volcanoes across the planet. Hydrogen bombs were lowered into the volcanoes, and all were detonated simultaneously. Only a few people’s physical bodies survived.
The now-disembodied victims' souls, which Hubbard called thetans, were blown into the air by the blast. They were captured by Xenu's forces using an "electronic ribbon" ("which also was a type of standing wave") and sucked into "vacuum zones" around the world. The hundreds of billions of captured thetans were taken to a type of cinema, where they were forced to watch a “three-D, super colossal motion picture” for 36 days.
Now the rant with Matt Lauer about psychiatrists takes on a new light.
Ah, you’ve got to feel sorry for the ladies...
...the average self-flagellating female, swimsuit shopping is as pleasurable as paying taxes and getting a root canal. Most styles are designed for porn stars or nymphets...
...the average self-flagellating female, swimsuit shopping is as pleasurable as paying taxes and getting a root canal. Most styles are designed for porn stars or nymphets...
I’m indulging myself today (so please your pardons). I have finally installed Tiger on the two main machines - after much procrastination. Now, I am enjoying playing around with Safari and finally getting a chance to use all those cool things previously denied me because of my stubborn reliance on old software.
Now just to get all the other software installed and running properly!
Now just to get all the other software installed and running properly!
My life as furniture...
I was at a function over the weekend where I was asked ‘what I was doing,’ to which I replied, ‘nothing.’ That’s not entirely true when I pause and give it some thought. I’ve found a new career as furniture for the cat - it would appear there’s nothing better than using me as a warm place to sleep.
I was at a function over the weekend where I was asked ‘what I was doing,’ to which I replied, ‘nothing.’ That’s not entirely true when I pause and give it some thought. I’ve found a new career as furniture for the cat - it would appear there’s nothing better than using me as a warm place to sleep.
Jun 29, 2005
Finally there is proof!
...or is there?
Came across this today and the first thing which struck me was maybe it’s not so much the drug as the condition that results from taking it:
Last month, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration said it had 38 reports of blindness caused by a a condition called NAION or non-arteritic anterior ischemic optic neuropathy among users of Viagra.
...or is there?
Came across this today and the first thing which struck me was maybe it’s not so much the drug as the condition that results from taking it:
Last month, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration said it had 38 reports of blindness caused by a a condition called NAION or non-arteritic anterior ischemic optic neuropathy among users of Viagra.
Jun 27, 2005
Memories of another childhood hero...
Passed along to me by The Beck was the sad news regarding the passing of Paul Winchell:
At 82 Paul was still active and was working on streaming video that would showcase full half hour children shows from the 50’s and 60’s. Not just his shows, but as many performers as he could get that had wholesome children's programming. He wanted it all to be free to the public.
Clicking on the link or image above will take you to the man’s site - he lead an amazing life.
In 1963, he patented an artificial heart that he said was a collaboration with Henry J. Heimlich, inventor of the maneuver for choking victims. Mr. Winchell’s device was considered the prototype for the one designed by Robert K. Jarvik that was successfully implanted in a human in 1982.
Heimlich later said: “I saw the heart, I saw the patent and I saw the letters. The basic principle used in Winchell’s heart and Jarvik’s heart is exactly the same.”
Passed along to me by The Beck was the sad news regarding the passing of Paul Winchell:
At 82 Paul was still active and was working on streaming video that would showcase full half hour children shows from the 50’s and 60’s. Not just his shows, but as many performers as he could get that had wholesome children's programming. He wanted it all to be free to the public.
Clicking on the link or image above will take you to the man’s site - he lead an amazing life.
In 1963, he patented an artificial heart that he said was a collaboration with Henry J. Heimlich, inventor of the maneuver for choking victims. Mr. Winchell’s device was considered the prototype for the one designed by Robert K. Jarvik that was successfully implanted in a human in 1982.
Heimlich later said: “I saw the heart, I saw the patent and I saw the letters. The basic principle used in Winchell’s heart and Jarvik’s heart is exactly the same.”
Jun 23, 2005
Picking up speed...
So, it’s official - I’m over the hill. Along the road of life, I climbed, crested and now am on the downward slope. I don’t feel that way personally but, I have heard from someone recently I was ‘too old.’
It was shocking really.
After having been ‘too young’ for things, I never realized I had progressed into that age bracket where I was ‘just right.’ I guess I blinked and I missed it.
Now, I’m too old.
I don’t think you’re ever too old myself. I don’t feel any different mind you. I don’t feel as if some bridge has been crossed. Certainly there are ways in which my body reminds me of the passage of time.
- Things don’t heal quite as fast as they might have years ago.
- My energy level (which was never something to brag about to begin with) hasn’t noticeably diminished but, I do notice a fatigue on those days after I’ve done something like walked a few miles around the city on a hot day lugging around the city with the always too heavy bag full of stuff (people wonder what’s in that bag, wouldn’t you all like to know).
- And of course, there’s the seemingly growing array of various noises and aches my body subjects me to over the course of the day.
These are the only ways I would have acknowledged that the years have gone by.
Oh, and of course whenever I see one of those ‘candid’ pictures someone snaps of you (when you really don’t want them to take your picture). I see a person who I almost don’t recognize. Some lines on the face, some gray in the hair, a bit of paunchiness and some bags under the eyes - who is that person anyway?!?! Yes, it’s the person masquerading as me.
Like I said, inside the house that hosts my consciousness - nothing feels like it’s changed - only the image staring back from the mirror each day is different.
So, I was told I’m ‘too old,’ what to do, what to do?
Of course, the person who told me this is someone who is considerably my junior. This is something which I found a little ironic. Over a decade separates me from the arbiter of my fate. Strangely enough, these kinds of judgments are never made by someone who is older than you, only by someone who is younger.
I know our society emphasizes youth but, as I lap years I can’t help but look back on the past with a certain wry appreciation of my own naivety. I imagine each generation suffers from the same plight - that certainty they’ve seen it all, done it all and are that much more tuned in to the world than those who have come before.
So, after my initial indignation, my next thought was: hee, hee, hee... boy, if you aren’t in for a surprise.
So, my youthful judge you’ll have excuse me if I don’t go out and buy the plot just yet.
So, it’s official - I’m over the hill. Along the road of life, I climbed, crested and now am on the downward slope. I don’t feel that way personally but, I have heard from someone recently I was ‘too old.’
It was shocking really.
After having been ‘too young’ for things, I never realized I had progressed into that age bracket where I was ‘just right.’ I guess I blinked and I missed it.
Now, I’m too old.
I don’t think you’re ever too old myself. I don’t feel any different mind you. I don’t feel as if some bridge has been crossed. Certainly there are ways in which my body reminds me of the passage of time.
- Things don’t heal quite as fast as they might have years ago.
- My energy level (which was never something to brag about to begin with) hasn’t noticeably diminished but, I do notice a fatigue on those days after I’ve done something like walked a few miles around the city on a hot day lugging around the city with the always too heavy bag full of stuff (people wonder what’s in that bag, wouldn’t you all like to know).
- And of course, there’s the seemingly growing array of various noises and aches my body subjects me to over the course of the day.
These are the only ways I would have acknowledged that the years have gone by.
Oh, and of course whenever I see one of those ‘candid’ pictures someone snaps of you (when you really don’t want them to take your picture). I see a person who I almost don’t recognize. Some lines on the face, some gray in the hair, a bit of paunchiness and some bags under the eyes - who is that person anyway?!?! Yes, it’s the person masquerading as me.
Like I said, inside the house that hosts my consciousness - nothing feels like it’s changed - only the image staring back from the mirror each day is different.
So, I was told I’m ‘too old,’ what to do, what to do?
Of course, the person who told me this is someone who is considerably my junior. This is something which I found a little ironic. Over a decade separates me from the arbiter of my fate. Strangely enough, these kinds of judgments are never made by someone who is older than you, only by someone who is younger.
I know our society emphasizes youth but, as I lap years I can’t help but look back on the past with a certain wry appreciation of my own naivety. I imagine each generation suffers from the same plight - that certainty they’ve seen it all, done it all and are that much more tuned in to the world than those who have come before.
So, after my initial indignation, my next thought was: hee, hee, hee... boy, if you aren’t in for a surprise.
So, my youthful judge you’ll have excuse me if I don’t go out and buy the plot just yet.
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