Another Failed Camping Trip...

So, another 'this is definitely the one' end of the world prediction comes to nothing. I almost wish one of these folks would admit they only did it for the press, to turn people's attention towards something that actually will happen and actually is important, albeit which is something no man or woman can or will predict (if you believe the scriptures that they take the concept of the end of the world from, anyway). Sadly, I think that this whole thing was just another instance of an idiot with a god complex taking advantage of people who don't think too clearly for themselves. Who am I to judge anyone? I believe in God, and perhaps he puts people like Harold Camping in positions of influence for a purpose. I am grateful that I am not subject to their inexplicable manias, but I have been persuaded of things I later came to disagree with in the past. It's human nature to be led. We're sheep. Clay. Of that I'm certain. To say I'm made of thicker clay than someone else is just, well, thick.

Generation Gape...

I like to hear people's perspectives sometimes. Today I spoke with my grandmother. She definitely has a perspective. Apparently, Obama is an evil man, hellbent on ruining the country from the inside. Also, Camping, or whatever the guy who is predicting the Rapture tomorrow is named, should not necessarily be called a Christian, nor should his followers. Anyone can call themselves that, but it doesn't mean they really are. Those were the main points.

Honestly, I like hearing her input. This is a woman who has lived through more wars than anyone else I know. She was married faithfully and happily to one man for over 63 years. She raised two children and then pitched in and raised 1 grandchild when the father of the grandchild decided he wanted to be a child himself for a little while longer. Whether you like her politics, agree with the far right party line she subscribes to, or simply leave annoyed by her castrating stance against anything remotely democratic, you have to respect the fact that she has been there and seen that. This woman remembers the fireside chats. She witnessed Watergate. She was tuned in when the towers fell, the Arizona sank, the allies won and the bomb was dropped. There isn't a lot you can teach an old dog. Sometimes, I wonder if there is anything you really need to.

This has been brought to you under the influence of, most recently, a black IPA brewed by the winner of a Samuel Adams beer competition. I don't remember the name. I'm sure this is the beginning of a phenomenal amount of forgetfulness on my part. Such is life...

Joe Magnon Man...

I've always been someone who felt that by doing the same thing every day, one gets faster at it, the process, whatever it may involve, becomes simpler, more familiar, expedient. This is so with nearly everything I do on a regular basis. There is, however, one action that confounds me, a routine for which I never seem to develop that shortcut or time-saving tweak for: removing a coffee filter from the endless stack of snugly packaged coffee filters. Every day I go for one so that I can brew coffee for my wife. I don't even drink it anymore since I had my abdomen ravaged by greedy surgeons. Every day, I paw at the edges of the filters like a neanderthal, trying desperately to get a piece of the top one so that I can extract it and continue on with the morning.

I suppose, in thinking about it, I could spend an evening somehow separating them so that they are easy to grab in the morning. In the past I did this, particularly when grinding my own beans. At least then the one I need is ready for me when I am at my most groggy and uncoordinated. I think I shall have to return to this practice.

This has been brought to you by South Park, because you know, I learned something today.

Figures...

For the last couple of nights, Blogger was unavailable for posting upon. Of course, I tried both nights and had what I thought were clever and interesting things to say. Tonight, after ingesting probably more than a pound of meat from the local Brazilian steakhouse, I have little to say except 'help' to whatever nearby deity might hear and perform a cleansing upon my bowels. I haven't eaten this much red meat in total since my cholecystectomy, so, we'll see.

This has been brought to you under the influence of a thousand pastures of cows (or so it feels at the moment).

El Dia De Las Madres...

I've had 3 of 4 days off from the restaurant. It feels odd. Vacation-like. At home. A staycation. I suppose those are good. I was able to get a fair bit done around the house, organizing myself for the months to come. If I had anything interesting to say at some point today, I'm pretty sure it's gone. Nothing really to report. No news is good news, as my mother used to say. Would that we could all feel that way more often.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Southern Tier's 2xIPA (my new favorite) and some wisdom from my mother. Happy mother's day, you.

Sometimes There Is No Way To Say Something and Not Sound Like a Jerk...

Ran a race this morning. Got my best adult time.

Tried to make a baby with the wife. Something that doesn't happen enough. My fault entirely.

Had a list of things to do and got them all done, which, for whatever reason, is the thing that makes me the most content about today. Perhaps there really is something to my self-diagnosis of obsessive-compulsive personality disorder.

Thinko de Mayo...

Cinco de Mayo. In America, this is the day when whitebread middle-class families take their 2.6 children to play in tents and air fortresses which have been erected outside of Mexican chain restaurants while they gulp down pitchers of margaritas and queso laden chips. It really doesn't have anything to do with victory over the French, or Mexican pride or anything minor like that. But that's all right. After all, we do Christmas like nobodies business in this country, and Lord knows that those traditions have about as much to do with the baby Jesus as the instructions on a bag of microwave popcorn. I guess in the end it's about celebrating, verdad?

In other news, I played trivia tonight with two fellows who have both lost their mothers. Mother's Day is just around the corner, and so you learn these things. My immediate superior at work has also lost her mother, though not terribly recently. All of these people are under 50, mind you, two of them under 40. A bit early to be losing your mum, I reckon. Still, life goes on. New mothers are made every day. I just learned of one in my circle, so to speak. I'm still waiting to see if I can't make my own spouse be one. It doesn't seem to be in the cards just yet.

Holidays are tough. You either feel a need to celebrate or a need to grieve. There doesn't seem to be any middle ground. Ambivalence seems not to fit in to our two party system: party-er or party-pooper. For the record, I voted green once. Lot of good it did me, but still, I can't claim to have voted for anyone successful yet. Forever a friend to mediocrity, I guess. And so I take my leave of today.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Stella Artois, proudly brewed in Belgium since before this country was ever even a concept. How's that for some history?

When Can We Start Considering 'Tweeting' To Be a Natural Disaster...

Social Networking. The wave of the future. Well, the wave of the now. A tidal wave, really. A tsunami. Of stupidity, that is. There are some who have clever things to say. Some who don't have the benefit of a public outlet for it. You can find them, I'm sure, on the YouTubes, the Twitters, the Facebooks and whatever other ones are out there. Honestly, there aren't that many people who spontaneously have interesting things to say. I happen to be very clever, but more often than not, my gut reaction to things that I would actually be tempted to comment on in, say, the anonymity of a social online forum, almost always require a little more thought, revision, reflection. Twitter, for example, is the modern equivalent of a hastily written note in a freshmen algebra class. It's the thing mumbled from the drunk girls lips at the party. It's the slanderous nonsense that uninformed and uninvolved parties who are suddenly handed a cyber bullhorn feel entitled to spew. Now, in all fairness, I do write these posts with little or no forethought or editing. Hence 'dangerously', or at least that was my aim. But at least I have the comfort of knowing that no one reads it. Or, if they do, they move on amiably without reprisal. Which I appreciate. Keeps me feeling safe, secure, entitled.

This has been brought to you under the influence of good old fashioned Sweetwater IPA. Ask for it by name.

Bin Leaded?

Well, it appears our super secret military intel budget money has been well spent, at least in one case. Osama Bin Laden has been killed. Although I realize he was a monster, at least from what I gather from people who pay attention to such things, it seems a little odd to celebrate murder quite so openly. I thought vengeance was supposed to belong to the Lord. Many, I'm sure, would argue that he has exacted vengeance for the crimes of terror done nearly 10 years ago. That may be right. I just don't know. What I do know is that we humans are a bloodthirsty, vindictive bunch. We'll go to great lengths to protect what is ours, up to and including releasing cartridges from firearms in the direction of those who would threaten our liberties, possessions or overall way of life. We parade our victories where thousands of faceless foes have been felled, complete with ticker tape and rousing renditions of patriotic fanfares.

I'm not a sympathizer of terrorist behavior. I'm not disconnected from what happened to the US on 9/11. I was there, watching the towers fall. I took phone calls from family members who couldn't find their husbands and fathers, people who worked in the 'there was no hope' zones at the top of the towers. I spent several nights preparing and delivery food for the rescue workers at ground zero. And yet, hearing this current news, I feel something of the same thing--a pit in my stomach maybe, wrapped up in so many things I don't understand and so many things that I at the same time loathe. In the end, I say celebrate America. Get what satisfaction or healing you can from this. My only fear is that Osama has people surrounding him that still exist who are as intent on avenging his death as we were our own citizens. That, I fear, could be the recipe for some unprecedented ugliness.

This has been brought to you rather soberly.