This is my forest...

I am Flint Sky. This is my forest. This is my forest. My father hunted in this forest before me, and my sons will hunt here after I am gone.

So says a character in Mel Gibson's Apocalypto. The next day he is dead.

My own father passed away almost two weeks ago, and in a strange way I resonate with Flint Sky's words. Or rather, I feel that I could resonate with them, except that my family shares no long-term relationship with a tropical rain forest. Nor any other kind of forest, for that matter. Not even a family farm, nor an ancestral house somewhere.

Dad and I hunted together in the desert, but all that land now belongs to a huge corporation who knows and cares nothing of our past. We fished together in the mountains, catching little trout out of little reservoirs. But the reservoirs are filled to the top with silt, the result of unusually severe winter storms many years ago. Other people own the cute little cabin where I spent many a summer. The house I grew up in was demolished a long time ago, and it was a company house anyway, not really much of an ancestral home. Mom and Dad bought a house "in town" (Douglas) when I was in college, so I never really lived there. And they sold it when they reluctantly moved to Tucson to be closer to family. We sold the Tucson house when Dad moved into an assisted living home.

Somehow, it seems that dealing with the loss of my dad would be easier if there were a family home somewhere. But America is no longer a land of family farms and ancestral homes. Homes are just houses that we invest in, and then hopefully sell for a profit.

Maybe this is a part of the reason that Americans worship youth and despise age. In the jungle, people grew old because they knew how to survive. This demonstrated to successive generations that older people possessed valuable knowledge. Even on the family farm or in the ancestral mansion, there was the sense that the older folks knew things the younger ones didn't. But the farm was perhaps easier to manage than a wild jungle, and a house required even less effort and knowledge than a farm, and so the progression has logically reached the point where real estate, a commodity, is best managed by the younger, more aggressive, business-minded professionals.

I love the house where Pam and I live, and I think we have made it an amazing place. But I have no illusions about any of my children moving into it when I no longer live there.

Another line from the movie: I am Jaguar Paw, son of Flint Sky. My Father hunted this forest before me. My name is Jaguar Paw. I am a hunter. This is my forest. And my sons will hunt it with their sons after I am gone.

I am Michael Edwin, son of Clarence Thomas. It feels very strange to belong to the oldest living generation of my immediate family. My family hunts no forest, farms no ground, retreats to no ancestral home. Where will I find my roots now that my parents are gone?

Fried-News-Day

In political news, Barack Obama really wants to be the first US president to have a laptop computer on his desk in the Oval Office. This would, of course, be in contrast to Bill Clinton, who wanted to be the first US president to have a lap dance at his desk in the Oval Office. I'm sure Leno will make a similar joke, if he hasn't already...
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In news about old stuff...

Archaeologists say they found witch doctor skeleton
Nov. 18, 2008 01:40 PM Associated Press
JERUSALEM - Archaeologists believe a 12,000-year-old skeleton found in a grave containing 50 tortoise shells, a leopard pelvis, a cow tail and part of an eagle wing is the remains of a witch doctor. The skeleton was covered by several large stones, which may have been placed there to keep the witch doctor's spirit entombed.

I don't know - if her own tribe buried her in such a way as to try and keep her soul entombed, is it really a good idea to turn her loose?
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In news about really old stuff...

Nov. 19, 2008 11:25 AM Associated Press
WASHINGTON - Scientists for the first time have unraveled much of the genetic code of an extinct animal, the ice age's woolly mammoth... Crucial to the mammoth mapping are about 20 hairballs.

Did they find the hairballs in the stomachs of fossilized sabertooth cats?
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And, finally, in evolutionary dead-end news...

Naked man targets women in suburban Philadelphia
Nov. 19, 2008 12:02 PM Associated Press
BUCKINGHAM, Pa. - Police in suburban Philadelphia are looking for a man who has been taking off his clothes and approaching women.
Police in Buckingham Township in Bucks County say the man grabbed a woman who was out jogging on Monday afternoon and held her in a bear hug.

The bizarre mating ritual of the male Homo Stultificatus is generally credited with this species' endangered status.

How to make a serving table in two short years or so...

Several years ago, Pam came up with the idea to build an outdoor serving table out of recycled materials. We bought the first of the necessary recycled items a bit over two years ago. Since then we have assembled the remaining ingredients and finally this weekend we finished the project. Here's a photo record of the project. As always, clicking on a photo will take you to a larger version.

The frame we constructed from two old window security grates from a salvage yard and a bed frame from a thrift store (also used for many years until replaced with a larger bed). After we put the top on it we decided it needed additional bracing, so I had to make a trip to Home Depot for the two crosspieces. This is actually my second welding project. I'll be very happy if it holds together... :-)

The table top is based upon a recycled door we found at our local Habitat for Humanity Home Store.

We sanded the door down to bare wood, routed out the panels a little bit, and stained the top level.


Finally, we covered the holes for the latch with some metal pieces recycled from the same window grates, and from some old metal shelving, and with an old belt buckle. And we filled in the panels with ceramic tile. Yeah, it was purchased new...

So, come on over and we'll try it out!

Fried-News-Day

In fossil news:

Fossil of female's pelvis found in Ethiopia
by Anne Ryman - Nov. 14, 2008 12:00 AM The Arizona Republic

The story contains this observation:

Because researchers lacked a female pelvis, they had to make certain assumptions about the female anatomy based on the Turkana boy fossil.

Apparently researchers with a female pelvis do a better job in paleoanthropolgy than those without. Clearly this is a job where possession of male anatomy is not advantageous. Is there corrective surgery to give men a female pelvis so they can compete?
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In martial arts news:

Samurai swordsman surrenders peacefully
by Parker Leavitt - Nov. 12, 2008 01:12 PM The Arizona Republic

Police arrested a 39-year-old man who reportedly used a samurai sword to assault another man Tuesday in a northwest Phoenix neighborhood. There were no injuries.

Middleage mutant ninjacompoop...
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From the wild side:

Man arrives at bar with pet alligator; cops called
Nov. 14, 2008 09:20 AM Associated Press
HUNTINGTON BEACH, Calif. - Heard the one about the guy who walked into a bar with an alligator?
At Johnny's Saloon in Orange County, it was more than a joke early Saturday when a man arrived with his 3-foot pet gator on a leash.

OK, OK, so this guy walks into a bar. Just about knocks himself out. His alligator, however, walks right under it, unscathed.

Moral of the story? I don't really know any funny alligator-in-bar jokes...
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And finally, new from Obamania and bad puns:

Nov. 12, 2008 03:55 PM Associated Press reports that a team of researchers has created carbon nanotube images of Obama that can be seen only through electron microscopes.

The article carried this headline:

'Nanobama' makes Obama's likeness microscopic

Now, if someone creates an image of him on a banana, we might see this headline:

'Bananobama' makes Obama's likeness appetizing when split in half and placed on either side of several scoops of ice cream.

What Color is America's Original Sin?

I often declare myself to be studiously apolitical, but perhaps I'm really more selectively political. I've certainly posted more political stuff on this blog than I ever thought I would. So why stop now?

In March, Barack Obama made this statement in a speech delivered at the Constitution Center in Philadelphia:

The document (The US Constitution) they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation's original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to continue for at least twenty more years, and to leave any final resolution to future generations.

In Abraham Lincoln's words, "... our forefathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal." Whatever his reasons for doing so, Lincoln certainly led the US away from legalized slavery. And in my mind, every step we take in that direction is a good one.

And now our president-elect seeks to bring about an America where slavery's extended family of descendants - racism, discrimination and marginalization directed toward blacks - become as much a thing of the past as their ancestral sin. I sincerely hope he can do so. It belongs to another discussion to talk about whether or not this is possible.

But, it seems to me that the descendants of those who lived on this continent prior to the establishment of "America" might have a different view of "America's original sin." The "old nations" that were on this continent prior to Lincoln's "new nation" might think that America's "original sin" is more along the lines of "culture-cide" and outright genocide. It began the moment Europeans first set foot in the "New World." And it includes Thomas Jefferson's (one of those "forefathers" Lincoln spoke of) deceitful and systematic (and chillingly successful) plan to conquer, subjugate, and if necessary, exterminate "the noble Red Man."

Makes me think our point of view (or the color of our skin) tints the lenses through which we view the world.

Even President-elect Obama...

Ann Coulter on the President - Elect

Ann Coulter sums up her thoughts on Obama's victory (and McCain's loss) thus : "For now, we have a new president-elect. In the spirit of reaching across the aisle, we owe it to the Democrats to show their president the exact same kind of respect and loyalty that they have shown our recent Republican president."

----The Reign of Lame Falls Mainly on McCain by Ann Coulter 11/05/2008 : http://www.humanevents.com/article.php?id=29385

I love reading Ann Coulter's commentaries. Her writing is funny, biting, intelligent, and insightful - much the way I like to fancy my own. But if we both were baseball players, her skills might take her to the World Series. On a really good day, with a little luck, and a sufficient monetary contribution, mine could get me into the bleachers. Where I might have a chance to catch a stray ball...

So I don't lightly take on the task of disagreeing with her conclusion. Certainly it would be easy, natural, expected, and even totally in-bounds-fair to follow her advice. To make fun of President-elect Obama's lips in the same way that so many have laughed at President Bush's ears, for instance. To mercilessly caricature his mannerisms. To blame him for everything from the economy to immigration issues to Misty May Treanor's injury in Dancing With The Stars. To wait expectantly in ambush, ready to fire mercilessly upon him at his first, inevitable misstep.

I'm not suggesting that everyone has to agree with Obama's policies and programs. I'm just saying that we can disagree in a respectful manner, and on points that matter.

So, to those who believe that Conservatism is somehow more "American" than Liberalism, I say, "Prove it." I say, treat Obama with the respect and loyalty you wish the Democrats had shown George W. Bush. I hope Conservatives can prove that America's strength and identity is not the sum of its elected leaders, but of the people who live, work, and die here. That Conservatives can take the high road they castigate the Liberals for avoiding.

But I'm not holding my breath.

When does baseball season start?

Fried-News-Day

It's been a good news week...

AP reports a new inductee into the Toy Hall of Fame in Rochester, New York. The stick. Yes, the lowly stick. Curators praised its all-purpose, all-natural, no-cost qualities, along with its ability to serve either as raw material or an appendage transformed by a child's imagination.

On the whole I applaud the recognition finally given to the stick, although I must wonder how the stone will feel. Not to mention mud.

On the downside, I can see Congress passing legislation taxing all sticks, and requiring a warning label to be affixed to each stick advising of the potential dangers of playing with the stick. Additional legislation might restrict stick play to children above a certain, as yet undetermined, age.

California, of course, will be the first state in the nation to ban all sticks because of the inordinate number of injuries sustained by children playing with them.

Cheap knock-offs of sticks will crop up at swap meets everywhere. They will bear such labels as "Stik," "Ztick," "tickS," and so on.

I see an ecological catastrophe of global proportions brewing. First, the US will run out of domestic sticks. Congress will prohibit the harvesting of sticks in national parks. We'll start importing sticks from every nation on earth. Rich families will demand sticks made of rare woods. Forests will be stripped bare of sticks.

Children in poor nations will have no sticks, while their American counterparts will have five or six sticks apiece. Charities nationwide will mobilize to collect used sticks for distribution to needy children overseas who have no sticks of their own.

Thanks a lot, Toy Hall of Fame...
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AP also published a story with this headline - International Tongue Twister contest held Saturday.

I don't know if this is a good idea. Playing Twister with your tongue sounds really dangerous. What if someone steps on it?
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Again from AP - one Colorado senate race ended with Democrat incumbent Bob Bacon defeating Republican challenger Matt Fries.

Based upon the election results, at least three fast-food chains have moved to substitute bacon in place of fries in combo meals at all their Colorado locations.
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And yet another AP story tells that Galen Winchell, of Coweta County, Georgia, set fire to his home while cleaning cobwebs from exterior eaves with a blowtorch.

I guess if the only tool you have is a blow-torch, you tend to see every problem as a crack-pipe...
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Rumor has it that the November 5th Pick-3 Lottery results in Barack Obama's home state of Illinois came up 666.

Coincidence?

Hell, yes!

At least, I think so. But, we'll have to wait for analysis by the theological heavyweights of the righter-than-right extreme...
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And finally, a jogger near Prescott, Arizona was attacked by a rabid fox. The critter bit into her arm, and she ran a mile to her car with its teeth buried in her flesh. Once she arrived at her vehicle, she was able to pry open its jaws, wrap it in a sweat shirt and toss it into the trunk.

As if the rabies vaccination weren't bad enough, PETA members deluged her with paint in protest of her treatment of the fox. Not the part about wrapping it in a sweatshirt and throwing it in her trunk. What really made them angry was her choice of wearing real fox-fur on her arm while jogging back to her car.

Campaign 2008

Campaign 2008 ended yesterday!

It's the morning after Election Day. I'm sure the blogosphere is thundering with the sound of frantic keyboard-tapping. Naturally I plan to add a few electrons to the storm.

The swooning extremes of Obama supporters would have us believe that once he takes office, he'll raise Muhammad from the dead and ask him to help smooth things over with Islamic nations. The very power of the Messiobamic Words will light and heat our homes and run our factories, with no need for coal, oil, nuclear, water, solar or wind sources. His mighty intellect will become the motivating force that will move mountains - not to mention cars, trains, boats and airplanes, eliminating the need for fossil fuels. His unprecedented coolness will put an end to global warming. The gold-encrusted gems of his boundless wisdom will become riches in all of our pockets, and fall like a rain of endless wealth upon the land.

Meanwhile, at the other rabid extreme, the Obama opposition will wail and tear their garments. Casting ashes upon their heads they will mourn the rise to power of the Antichrist. He will make bargains with Satan, and even with terrorists. He will gather all the nation's money by taxation and then spend it on studying how it should best be spent. He will outlaw guns, knives, camping equipment, white people and apple pie. Basketball will replace baseball as the "American pastime." We will descend into a pit of socialistic hell from which there will be no hope of redemption. They will continue to assert that everything was fine in America until "them Democrats took over Congress" and ran the economy into the ground. Serious students of conspiracy theory (OK, serious inventors of conspiracy theory!) will go so far as to hint that the Democrats deliberately sabotaged the economy so they could blame it on George W. Bush and give Obama a boost.

There will be (as there have already been) accusations that black voters chose Obama solely because of his race. Of course, had McCain won, the charges from the other side would have been that white voters refused to vote for a black man. I'm still waiting to hear someone assert that Irish Americans refused to vote for "that Scotsman, McCain," choosing instead "that good Irishman, O'Bama."

The fear of rampant socialism is many, many years too late. The "dirty little secret" (as Ed Chinn has called it) of American politics is that the bulk of the population votes for the candidate and/or Party they believe will hand them the most money. Thus, our great Republic is in many ways nothing more than a mechanism engineered to periodically allow either the wealthy socialists or the poor socialists to gain power.

I think the aftermath of this election will follow a path similar to every other election I can remember. The winners will find that things don't turn out as well as they had hoped, and the losers will discover that things turn out not as badly as they feared. In truth, Democrats will probably be overjoyed if Obama does nothing more than pull off the same trick that Bill Clinton achieved (the first Democratic President since FDR to do so), and win a second term.

I hope that Obama will be able to overcome the inevitable stumbles in his administration. The skeletons that come dancing out of his closet when the Republican pipers play. The bad decision that results in a negative outcome. The "contradiction" in which he gets caught. The realization by his voters that he has more than once promised mutually-exclusive courses of action to sub-groups in his Party, in order to garner votes. The outrageous statement made by an associate, maybe even the one he's married to.

In a way I'm happy that McCain lost the election. I think that at heart he is a brave man and a man of integrity. I would hate to see him reduced to repaying the influence that won him the election, instead of leading this country. I'm afraid that no matter how much a President may wish to shop at a farmer's market, he ends up owing his soul to the company store. I'm also glad that I don't have to spend the next four years with Sarah Palin one heartbeat away from the Oval Office. Disclaimer - I'm not suggesting that Barack Obama is any less of a man of truth and valor than John McCain (I don't know), nor do I want to see him forced into the same inevitable trap.

My candidate, the proponent of literal near-anarchy, did not win. I did not think he would. In fact, I'm not sure anyone will know how he fared, as I am not sure that anyone reports write-in votes. I simply voted my belief in the words spoken by Gerald Ford in 1974, and often (apparently without grounds) attributed to Thomas Jefferson - "A government big enough to give you everything you want, is strong enough to take everything you have."

But I have saved the worst political news for last. In my opinion, this is the most depressing reality of all:

Campaign 2012 begins today!

Odds and Ends of the Week

In political news, the AP reports that members of a Peruvian faith-healer group predicted the outcome of the U.S. presidential election by blowing incense over a sacred llama fetus perched on a bed of coca leaves next to posters of the leading candidates, and throwing flowers at their images. 9 out of 11 shamans predict an Obama win...
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This video has surfaced in a number of places. It is probably fake. Now, if it does happen to be real, I want him as my pilot any time I fly.



But I don't want his mechanic anywhere near any airplane I ever ride in.
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And these were just some interesting headlines I grabbed:

Toilet shortage feared in case of big Tokyo quake

Vietnam may ban small-chested from driving

Fishy

My grandfather was an avid angler as well as a gifted storyteller. This little story bears a certain resemblance to one of his tales that frequently enchanted me as a child. His version employed an elver (young eel), and only two fish - a largemouth bass and a chain pickerel. But, as it is well-known that fish often continue to grow long after they have been caught, cooked and eaten, I think it is to be expected that fish stories should grow long after their teller has departed this life. So I'm sure that as a man who was skilled at both catching fish and telling tales about them, Oompa would approve of how this story has blossomed in the 30-plus years since his death...

From the minutes of a regular meeting of the Lake Itcheeskippenjump Anglers' Resource Society (never known by its acronym), sworn to as truth by all 14 attendees, 3 of whom were present for the events described:

Call me Ishmael. OK, OK, my name is Dennis Bartle, but I always wanted to say that. My brother, Roger, and my best buddy, Buddy Cluff, and me all went out to the lake last Friday. Yeah, Bobby, I called in sick - it was a mental-health day. Like you never done it before.

Anyways, we stopped at the gas station on the way out of town to get some bait. Hank had a tub of pretty good looking waterdogs, so we had him grab us out a couple dozen. While he was counting them out for us, this funny-looking one hung onto the edge of the scoop. It was kinda small and its right front leg was missing. Hank said he'd throw it in for free if we wanted it. It didn't really look like great bass bait, but what the heck - it was free. We laughed and called him "Lefty."

So we hopped back in the truck and headed on out to the lake. Before long we was out on the water and baiting up our rods. We had some of them harnesses that keep the 'dogs alive longer and lets them move around on the bottom. Roger, he baited up and tossed his line out, and then Buddy did the same. But you all know how clumsy Buddy is...yes, you are - always have been. Hell, no, I didn't spill the damn bucket - that was you and we all know it. Yeah, Buddy got his 'dog on the line and kicked the bucket over, spilling all our bait overboard.

"Pretty expensive chum," someone piped up from the back of the room. Everybody laughed at that one.

"They didn't all fall out," Buddy protested weakly.

And he was right - when I picked up the bucket, why, that odd-looking little three-legged waterdog was hanging on the edge. I wasn't completely sure Lefty would stay in the harness, but I gave it a try and tossed him into the water.

Well, we sat there, waiting for the fish to move in for a meal. And then I got a solid strike. I missed him, but I could still feel a little movement on my line, so I figured Lefty was OK. Right away I got another bite, but I missed again. Buddy and Roger laughed at me. Like they had anything to laugh about - how many bites was they getting? But I gotta admit, after the third strike I missed, I was getting a little peeved at myself. Four, five, six...I just couldn't set the hook. If Roger and Buddy weren't so pissed about not getting any bites, they'd've really had a laugh on me.

I lost count of how many times I didn't set the hook. I ignored Buddy's offer to take over for me. And then my rod bent again and I hauled back for all I was worth. This time I didn't miss. I thought I musta hooked a world-record for sure. I never felt a fish fight like that. It was like it was pulling every direction at the same time. I fought that thing all day. Buddy wanted to go home, but I wasn't going to give up. On through the night I fought. Every time I gained a little, it just up and pulled my line right back out again.

The sun came up Saturday morning and I was still wrestling with that monster. Buddy and Roger each caught a little bass during the night...hell, no, they wasn't nothing like that big, you liars! Whatever was on my line had pulled the boat down the lake and clear across the county line and I wasn't sure just where we was gonna end up. But now Roger and Buddy was trolling lures while my fish pulled us around. And they caught a few bass and some bluegills, too, but I just kept on fighting whatever was on my line.

By sunset Saturday I was getting pretty tired. We was out of food and down to our last sixpack of beer. But I hung on. Just after daylight Sunday I finally turned things around and started gaining. It still took a couple more hours before a fish appeared at the end of my line. It was a big bass, all right, maybe ten pounds, and as I lifted it up I saw another one right behind it. A little bigger. And each fish I pulled out was followed by another, and each one was bigger than the last.

Well, I never seen anything like it. Each of them bigmouths musta swallowed ol' Lefty, and somehow he just sneaked on out their gills, leaving them strung on the line. After the tenth one - exactly my limit - the line was tied in a perfect knot.

"Improved clinch," Roger put in.

"Nope - Uni Knot," Buddy disagreed.

They wanted to argue the point, but it really don't matter. All that matters is that those ten bass, weighing ten to fifteen pounds, was all tied right up on my line by that smart little critter, Lefty. Now, Lefty, well...

Buddy interrupted at this point, "Lefty just slipped out of the harness, gave us a little salute with his good arm, and jumped overboard. We never seen him again."

"You're as crazy now as you was drunk then," Roger hollered. "Lefty was just done in by all them fish. He slipped out of the harness and fell dead, right into the boat. I buried him up on the hill by the dock when we took the boat out of the water."

And Roger and Buddy went at it, arguing like two kids. I just smiled, 'cause they was both wrong. Well, to give 'em credit, each of 'em had part of the story straight. Lefty slipped out of the harness and gave us sort of a salute, like he was thanking us for believing in him. Then he fell over dead, all right, poor brave critter. But we never buried him. Hell, everyone knows there ain't no better catfish bait than a dead waterdog. And believe me, that's just how Lefty would've wanted it.

Fried-News-Day

The news commentary today is a collaborative effort between many of the psycho-villagers. (If you're not familiar with them, check out the archives for my post on April 2nd, entitled "My Village." This will explain it all. And a lot more.)


Utah geologists say they have discovered prehistoric animal tracks so densely packed on a 3/4-acre rock site, they're calling it a "dinosaur dance floor."

Actually, they didn't start calling it a dance floor until they made a further, stunning discovery embedded in one of the footprints - a trampled and fossilized concert ticket from the Rolling Stones' first road trip. I'm sure that if Leno picks up this story he'll make a similar joke and add one about finding John McCain's footprints among the dinosaurs'.
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British billionaire Sir Richard Branson abandoned his try at a trans-Atlantic speed record when his ultra-modern racing yacht was hit with 40-foot waves in the Bermuda Triangle.

'E's mighty lucky 'e escaped that Bermudy Triangle, sez me. Many's the ship as can't say they done the same. Once't in the Triangle I see'd the Flyin' Dutchman a-comin' cross't the waves in a squall. And before we knowed what was happenin' nor could do nothin' to stop it, our ship, she went down by the stern and sank. All hands lost to Davey Jones Locker - ever' last Man Jack o' us...

Lucky fer me Davey has Internet access so I can foller the news and keep bloggin'...
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Quoted From the Associated Press: One of the Washington area's biggest malls is apologizing for firing their longtime Santa Claus. Tysons Corner Center in McLean, Va., recently told Michael Graham of Sevierville, Tenn., not to come back after 18 years.

Wait...you mean...they...hire people to pose as Santa? Th-th-th-that isn't really...S-S-Santa? I hope that doesn't mean...the Easter Bunny? The Great Pumpkin? Politicians that care about the common man? OH, NO - MY LIFE IS RUINED...

You know, I was fired from a job once, and they asked me not to come back after that same day. I think it's pretty generous of Tyson's Corner Center to give him 18 years' notice.

The saddest news, of course, is that they actually outsourced the Santa job to Sanjayta and his tiny Elvishnus.
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And finally:

If you peel the transparent adhesive tape off its roll in a vacuum chamber, it emits X-rays.

This came as no surprise to the (newly revealed as Republican - http://wcbstv.com/slideshows/Conservative.Celebrities.20.824701.html?rid=0 ) think-tank of Spears, Simpson and Spears, who issued this statement: "Duh - how else could you see through it?"

What do you know - three heads ARE blonder than one!

Scientists are now researching the effects of peeling double-sided tape from the roll. Preliminary results show that in some brands, the second sticky side traps all the X-rays emitted by the first sticky side. But there are certain kinds of double-sided tape which emit XX-rays, a finding which spurred 23 states and all Muslim countries to immediately ban triple-sided tape.
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New Personal Philosophy

Every now and again I change my personal philosophy statement. I always keep the statements simple so that I can easily remember them.

It doesn't always work - I think I have forgotten at least the last two.

At one time I lived by "I take my humor very seriously, thank you."

I know that was supplanted at least once and probably twice. Maybe even more.

But now I have chosen new words to live by:

"MPD means never having to say you're lonely."

And most, if not all, of my psycho-village concurs...

Bumper Crop of Oddities

This is a little something I wrote over a year ago, before I launched out into the blogosphere. I hope it's OK to recycle writings in a blog...

This is a little story about...well, it's maybe not so much a story as a humorous anecdote. It's about...OK, maybe it's not really an anecdote - more of a discussion of a topic that may be of some interest. Hmmmm...maybe "discussion" suggests a degree of organization that will be prominently absent here. Basically I hope you enjoy this rambling, mostly unsorted collection of thoughts about the things Americans display on the tail-ends of our cars.

I own exactly one bumper-sticker, and it is the only one I have ever owned. It says, "Sarcasm - just another service I offer," and it is not affixed to any portion of my vehicle. In fact, it currently resides in a box full of stuff I haven't unpacked from my last job-switch.

Let me also make it clear that my general impression of "Christian" bumper-stickers is that they exist merely to prove that Christians' cars go just as fast as anyone else's and that Christians possess no superior driving skills, no greater respect for traffic laws, and no better manners than their unchurched counterparts.

One morning as I drove to work I noticed one of those Ford SUVs - you know, the ones that are bigger than my first apartment. Attached to the vast tailgate was a single, understated, chrome outline of a simple fish, like an ichthus without the Greek letters inside. The license plate holder was made to resemble very thickly-stranded barbed-wire. And on either side of the rear window stood the nude silhouette of an impossibly-endowed woman. The one on the left sported horns and a pointed tail; the one on the right displayed a halo and wings. Some sort of statement about "good vs. evil," I guess. The truck was driven by a woman. I felt as though I had stumbled into some sort of meeting where everyone was bumper-sticking in tongues and there was no interpreter. It was as confusing as reading the Bible for the first time by grabbing up an old King James version and starting in the Book of Ecclesiastes.

Some years ago, as a thirty-something college student, I was a member of a choir which made a statewide tour in the spring. Some of the places we visited were most memorable for all the things there weren't to do. Kingman was one of those towns. My roommate and I crossed the highway in front of our motel to visit an all-night truck stop in the hopes of finding something at least marginally more entertaining than the pitiful TV lineup. We browsed around the little convenience store and finally discovered something that was good for several minutes of banter and not a few belly-laughs - a display rack full of those ubiquitous chrome silhouettes of a nude, kneeling woman. The label on the package included this claim, "100's of decorative uses!" My friend, "Fig," and I are both reasonably creativeindividuals, but not even the combined power of both our imaginations got us anywhere near the first hundred uses, much less multiples thereof. We had a lot of fun trying, though.

There is a small pickup that I occasionally used to see on the way to or from my work. Its rear window is completely covered with a decal that says, "Crawling Squid Tattoos," accompanied, of course, by a wildly colorful depiction of the sea-creature in question.

I regularly see vehicles sporting stickers with print so small they may as well say, "If you can read this, I guess your airbag must have already deflated." Maybe that IS what they say - I have surely never gotten close enough to find out.

I suppose Phoenix isn't the only place with those "My kid was student of the week at..." or "My kid's an honor student at..." And so I presume the riposte sticker is as well-known, "My kid beat up your honor student." All good fun, ha, ha. Now I see stickers bragging about people's dogs completing obedience school. I hope that's a joke. If not, I'm sure there must be plenty of dogs who would happily wear the slogan, "My owner's an idiot."

Do you remember the great "I FOUND IT" campaign? I recall seeing those stickers on cars that made me think, "If I'd found that, I'd throw it back."

If ever I were to place a bumper-sticker on my vehicle, I think it would say "BUMPER," with an arrow pointing to the fixture indicated, although I have occasionally been tempted by those Yosemite Sam mud-flaps commanding other drivers to "BACK OFF!" Lately I've been thinking I should market a yellow, warning-sign-shaped sticker that says "BEWARE OF GOD."

I must admit that I found the "Boyfriend in trunk" sign pretty funny when it was accompanied by a necktie hanging from the sealed lip of the vehicle's closed trunk.

In the final analysis, if that's what this is, I confess that I truly appreciate some of the messages plastered on vehicles. How many school buses have been saved from rear-ending just because they display the warning, "This vehicle stops at railroad crossings"? And certainly no one would argue against those "flammable" and "explosive" warning symbols displayed prominently on gasoline tankers and medical equipment transport vehicles, and...oh, yeah, on the rear end of an old Ford Pinto I passed one day.

TGI Fried-News-Day

This has been a week of news stories with eerie connections. Coincidence? You be the judge!

1) As Flowers by HP Papadopoulous was opening for business, a robber held up the shopkeeper, claiming that he needed to feed his family. During the robbery, he also politely greeted his victim with a friendly "hello" and wished him a "good morning."

2) In a separate incident, a robber sent his elderly victim a bouquet of flowers to apologize for frightening her when he broke into her house.

I don't know - how separate are these incidents, really?
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1) South Dakota officials have charged American Indian activist Russell Means with fishing without a license. Means, in turn, filed a federal lawsuit in Rapid City, asking for a preliminary injunction. He argues that the charge is a violation of the 1851 Fort Laramie Treaty. Means states that under the treaty, the Sioux did not surrender their hunting and fishing privileges in western South Dakota.

2) "Joe the Plumber," of presidential debate fame, says that he doesn't have a plumbing license and doesn't need one.

Is he saying that his ancestors made a treaty in which they did not surrender their plumbing privileges?
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In environmental news, Arizona Game and Fish Department officials say that endangered Mount Graham red squirrels have declined by about 12 percent in the past year. The Associated Press reports:

The annual fall count of the tiny 8-ounce squirrel shows that just 263 are alive this year, give or take 11 animals. Last year's count turned up 299 animals, plus or minus 11.

I wonder if they are "plus or minus" the same 11 squirrels every year?
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A recent study suggests that individuals performing CPR can maintain close to the ideal number of chest compressions while listening to the tune, Stayin' Alive. This is because the rhythm of the song moves at about 103 beats per minute, very close to the 100 compressions per minute that experts recommend for CPR.

I don't know - maybe it's just me, but if someone is playing Stayin' Alive while they're trying to resuscitate you, does that really give you any incentive to live?
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A Florida man is suing a local strip club because he claims a performer's shoe flew off during a pole dance, shattering the mirrored ceiling. He says he was struck by falling glass (and the shoe), causing a laceration to his eyebrow, along with ongoing headaches and nose bleeds. He is seeking at least $15,000 in damages.

Yeah - I can just hear the exchange in that courtroom:

"The laceration I understand, Mr. Privette, but how do you explain the headaches and nosebleeds?"

"My wife keeps telling me that if I want a woman to hit me in the head with a shoe, I don't have to go to a strip club to get it. She says she's happy to provide that for me at home. Then she proves it."

"I see. And how did you arrive at this figure of $15,000.00 for damages?"

"Well, Your Honor, that's what my lawyer figures it'll cost to represent me in my divorce case."
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And finally, in more environmental news, the federal government has declared that the beluga whale in Alaska's Cook Inlet is endangered and will require additional protection to survive. Recent surveys show about 300 of the white whales living in Cook Inlet.

No sign of the 11 Mount Graham red squirrels...

In the middle of the Atlantic Ocean...

...I think God may be calling me...

...to start a house church...

...in the Azores...

...

...

...(sigh)...

News and More

This story is remarkable. It actually scored in two departments.

First, from the remarkably-poorly-written sentence department:

10-year-old driver flips van in Tennessee
Oct. 7, 2008 10:08 AM Associated Press

A 10-year-old was driving up to 90 mph when he crashed a van carrying a man who told police he had drank at least 15 beers and a woman who was trying to swallow as many pills as she could when deputies arrived at the scene, Tennessee authorities said Tuesday.

Whoever had wrote this sentence must also have drank at least 15 beers and a pill-swallowing woman. Even if Tennessee authorities speak in run-on sentences, you'd think a reporter could clean it up a little better than this.

Second, from the remarkably-like-a-Jeff-Foxworthy-joke department:

The children - two 10-year-olds and a 6-year-old - were related to the adults, said authorities who declined to further detail the relationships.

If your family tree doesn't fork, "authorities" may decline to "further detail the relationships."

Just sayin'...
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While we're on the topic of less-than-stellar writing, consider this spam e-mail I received this week:

From: Internal Revenue Service notice@irs.gov
Dear Applicant:

After the last annual calculation your fiscal activity we have determined that you are eligible to receive a tax refound of $620.50.
Click on the link below to receive your refound:

http://newspuri.com/IRS-Refound/SECURE/mainpage/www.irs.com/portal/

Please submit the tax refound and allow 3-9 business days in order to precess it. If you don't receive your refound within 9 business days in from the original IRS mailing date shown on "Where's My Refound?", you can start a refound trace online.

Copyright (c) 2008 - Internal Revenue Service. All rights reserved.

You know, I didn't click the link to claim my "refound." I have the feeling that they would give me the opportunity to hand over information that would allow them to access my bank account. Then they could steal my money. Of course, if the quality of this trap is any indication of their intelligence, they would end up falling for a Nigerian scam and lose the money they stole from me. And I refuse to support a Nigerian scam.
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Oh, what the heck - let's stay on the poorly-written-sentence desk. This one is especially ironic as it comes from an article written about a classic literary work:

'Moby-Dick' chosen as Mass. 'epic novel'
Oct. 10, 2008 07:36 AM Associated Press

Melville wrote the book about a ship crew's confrontation with the elusive white whale in Pittsfield.

I've read Moby-Dick. I don't remember the whale or the ship leaving the ocean for a 150-mile journey inland to Pittsfield.
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DETROIT - Three seventh-grade girls at Trinity Lutheran School in Monroe were ordered to strip to their underwear while a teacher investigated the alleged theft of $42, their parents charge.

This could only happen at a private school. In public school, most seventh-grade girls don't have to disrobe in order for a teacher to see their underwear and anything they may be hiding therein.
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And finally, we have at last discovered why blondes are the collective butt of so many great jokes:

Blonde sues over brown dye
Oct. 8, 2008 07:24 AM Associated Press

BRIDGEPORT, Conn.- A Connecticut judge has given the brush-off to a blonde woman's lawsuit claiming L'Oreal Inc. ruined her social life when she accidentally dyed her hair brunette with one of its products.

Charlotte Feeney of Stratford says she can never return to her natural blonde hue, a shock that left her so traumatized she needed anti-depressants.

A Superior Court judge dismissed Feeney's 2005 lawsuit Monday, saying she never proved her allegation that L'Oreal put brown hair dye in a box labeled as blonde. The company also had disputed the claim.

Ummm ... if she was concerned about her "natural blonde hue," why was she dying her hair in the first place? And why can she "never return" to her natural color? Is there some unwritten code among blondes that says once you dye your hair brown, you're forbidden from ever again sporting blonde hair? Or has she simply never noticed that hair grows out in its original color, not the color it has been dyed? And don't even get me started on the whole anti-depressant thing!

A quiet word...

A quiet word is my proposition...(Duran Duran, Proposition)

Proposition 102, adding the following amendment to the Arizona Constitution:
"ONLY A UNION OF ONE MAN AND ONE WOMAN SHALL BE VALID OR RECOGNIZED AS A MARRIAGE IN THIS STATE."

Predictably, these words have proven to be anything but quiet.

So, let my words start with a sentence that will quite possibly disappoint, anger, or even infuriate some readers:
I do not plan to vote in favor of this proposition.

At this point I do not plan to vote against it, either, although that could change as I consider the ramifications of a "no" vote as opposed to "no vote." You see, I really don't care whether or not this proposition passes. It's not that I don't care about marriage. I do - very much. I've invested almost 30 years in my own marriage, and I wouldn't trade that for anything. I will happily invest it in the expectation of receiving a return of another year, or 10, or 30, or more, of marriage. So I am not casual about marriage. Just about this proposition.

Ask a supporter of the proposition why they plan on voting for it, and the common answer is, "to protect the sanctity of marriage." I'm all-for the sanctity of marriage. But I'm disappointed with this answer to the question of why vote for Prop 102. "To protect the sanctity of marriage" is a slogan, not an argument. And to me it makes little sense to vote for something on the strength of a slogan.

Let's think about how Prop 102 might "protect the sanctity of marriage." First, who sanctifies marriage? The Great State of Arizona? Mmmm, not so much. Any sanctity in marriage is a blessing and a boundary established by God, not by our state government. And to quote (or possibly paraphrase) my friend Glen Roachelle, "Do you really think you've got enough under the hood to upset the Ancient of Days?" I'd have to say, "no." In fact, if it isn't too odd a turn of phrase in this instance, I'd have to say, "HELL, NO!"

So, I think there is very little risk that God will be forced to disavow His sanction and sanctification of marriage in Arizona based upon the failure of our Constitution to contain these particular 20 words. If God does not now sanctify gay marriages, He will not be constrained to do so in the absence of Constitutional authority.

Another argument in favor of Proposition 102 is the possibility that Arizona's existing statutory ban on same-sex marriages, which has been tested in court, may someday be overturned by another judge. In this case, proponents argue, anyone who refuses to conduct a wedding ceremony for a gay couple may be open to civil or criminal action. I absolutely oppose civil or criminal penalties of this sort. If there is ever an attempt to enact or enforce such things in this state, I will happily rage against it. But at this point, Proposition 102 is fighting, at best, a windmill of an enemy.

Now let me suggest the real effects of Prop 102. Not the sloganized, nor the Quixotic, but the real effects.

First, I believe that the true reason most people support the proposition is that we, as Christians, prefer to live in a world where everyone acts according to our standards. We are uncomfortable when surrounded by people making life choices that we disagree with. So, the real purpose, and one of the only real effects of Prop 102, is to make Christians comfortable by taking away the "unpleasantness" of a society in which gays can legally marry. To truly "protect the sanctity of marriage," why not propose an amendment that would not allow marriage after a prior marriage ends in divorce? Because we're reasonably comfortable with divorce, for one thing, and because the huge number of divorced churchgoers would find good reason not to get behind such a proposal. If we can, by legislation, just erase the appearance of sin, then it's much easier for us to shirk our duty of spreading the good news of redemption.

But we cannot fight spiritual battles with earthly weapons! And make no mistake, opposing sin is a spiritual battle. The only weapon at our disposal is the work of Jesus Christ - nothing else can erase sin. If we are going to trust the government to enforce Christian behavior (and I'm not even going to discuss the marginal basis-in-truth of much that Christians attempt to make others do), then why not just go all the way? Let's pass an Amendment to the Arizona Constitution requiring that everyone must accept Jesus as their personal Savior on or before their 12th birthday. Problem solved.

The second effect of Proposition 102 has, unfortunately, already happened. People outside the church are asking why church folks can raise almost 7 million dollars to pass this proposition, instead of spending the money helping the homeless, hungry, poor, abused, and lost. And don't even compare that question to Judas' indignation at Jesus for allowing a woman to anoint Him with expensive perfume. This is a perfectly valid question. What if "the world" saw the church as a loving, giving, caring, self-sacrificing community? Then we would have something to offer when we share our good news. Instead, they see us - with good reason - as judgmental, hateful, uncaring, selfish and greedy. And the only thing they see us offering them is a list of "don'ts." H. L. Mencken, (A Mencken Chrestomathy) identified this fact in his definition of Puritanism - "The haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy. " This is exactly how we appear to outsiders.

So, Proposition 102, in my view, is a selfish waste of time, energy and money, that has already succeeded in making it more difficult than ever for us to spread the good news. And this won't be persecution, folks, it'll just be what we asked for.

Having said all that, I also have to say that because this is America, people have the right to vote for their own comfort if they so choose. Please vote your conscience, and if it differs from mine, that's cool. We're in this Christianity thing together, no matter how we might bang heads.

Where's the Line, Again?

Leonard Cohen's song, Hallelujah, defies a market flooded with thumping bass, orchestra backups, electronic loops, vocal gymnastics, and never-ending trivial variants on "You're great, I love you" lyrics.

Cohen gives us an almost minimalist combination of spare instrumentation, often a single guitar, playing simple broken chords under a solo voice. The bare texture grabs our ear as suddenly and irresistibly as an unexpected scream.

And then, in the silence following the quiet message, we're left to ponder his meaning.

I think the song defines a relationship won and lost. I hear a tale of passion fired and then cooled, told in a metaphor of sex as religious experience.

There was a time you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah.

And here I come at odds with myself. The language is not nearly as explicit as the images it conjures, but in conjuring those images, does the song cross a line between beauty and vulgarity? And maybe even more importantly, does Cohen's juxtaposition of religious and sexual imagery cross a line between sacred and profane? Let me ask the question with a somewhat less fine point.

For a Christ-follower, does this song lie within or without the guidelines in Philippians 4:8 - ...whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things?

I confess I don't know. But maybe this is what good (maybe even great) art is about - capturing our attention and then leaving troubling thoughts behind for us to sort out.

News!

In academic news, mathematicians at UCLA have found a 13 million-digit prime number.

Whew! That's a relief - I was wondering where I left it.
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In national news, Congress approved an unprecedented $700 billion government bailout of the battered financial industry. This version of the bill included a number of "sweeteners" to induce reluctant members to vote it into law. Here are some of those "sweeteners:"

A tax break for NASCAR racetracks and other motor-sports facilities.
A tax break for rum produced in Puerto Rico and the U.S. Virgin Islands.
Exempting from excise tax certain wooden arrow shafts for use by children.

Good thing I moved my 401K into NASCAR tickets, rum futures and wooden arrows.
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In news from across the pond, a court has suspended the license of a truck driver who careened down a highway while watching episodes of Battlestar Galactica on a laptop computer atop his dashboard.

Yeah, you know I just have to ask - there's a trucker who watches Battlestar Galactica?
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In meteorological, paleontological, and oddly enough, somewhat political news - a homeowner whose beachfront property in Texas was destroyed during Hurricane Ike has found a fossil Columbian mammoth tooth among the debris in her front yard. According to paleontologists, Columbian mammoths were common in North America until about 10,000 years ago.

I'm guessing the mammoth refused to evacuate its beachfront home in 15,473 BC and was killed by Hurricane Ug.

Maybe the other mammoths in its herd expected the government to step in and rebuild their ... whatever Columbian mammoths lived in. Trouble is, it took almost 20,000 years to raise taxes high enough to do it. Meanwhile, mammoths went extinct.
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And that's the news for this week. Tune in next week for further discussion of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, a little talk about a certain Proposition coming up in the November election, and with any luck, more fun news. And maybe some surprises as well. Of course, that would mean posting more than once or twice next week, which would be a surprise in and of itself.

So, congratulations, Neal E. Boyd, even though I was rooting for Nuttin But Stringz or Queen Emily. And Kenley, if you've always had to fight people to get through life, you might want to try and figure out the common denominator in your conflicts. Hint - it's a 3-letter word that can be abbreviated "U."

Where's The Line?

It isn't a new song, by any means, but it stops me in my tracks every time I hear it. It's been covered over and over again, and it's appeared in gobs of movies and TV shows. In fact, this little post was inspired by landing in the middle of Shrek while channel-surfing the other night.

Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing
Hallelujah

Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah...

(Leonard Cohen, Hallelujah)

If you want to hear it, there are lots of versions on YouTube - some of them really good. Be warned that the context becomes pretty sensual, although in poetic metaphor. If you choose to continue on, here are some clips that I like:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ckbdLVX736U (John Cale - I especially like the piano and strings arrangement. There are a lot of variant lyrics - Cohen himself has done several very different versions of the song.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T2NEU6Xf7lM&feature=related (4 guys and a guitar - this would easily be my favorite except I think Alejandro Fuentes' raspy voice doesn't suit the rest of the ensemble. Kurt Nilsen is just amazing - if the teeth don't distract you)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIMOdVXAPJ0&feature=related (Allison Crowe - this is my favorite so far. I wish the sound was a little louder on this clip, but I love the simplicity of the piano and the richness of her voice and her emotional expression. On the other hand, the song is written from a distinctly male perspective and loses some nuance when a woman sings it.)

Don't confuse Allison Crowe's clip with Sheryl Crow's version. Sheryl should be fined and enjoined from ever again ruining this song. I hesitate to even put up the link, but here it is, in all its disappointing failure to understand a whit of what the lyrics, harmony and melody were meant to accomplish together - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWDfH51gvc0

But I really want to talk about the lyrics, because they tread (and perhaps cross) some very fine lines. And that will be a topic for another post.

News Roundup

Wow - it's been two weeks since my last post. I guess time flies even when you aren't having all that much fun. Or maybe a torn rotator cuff, an MRI and physical therapy all qualify as fun.

Anyway, here's the news across the nation! I have got the information! In a way I hope will amuse...youse. Ladies and gents, here's my take on the news!
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We'll start with a story that covers both the food beat and the nutcase fringe, and even incorporates a quote from a classic movie:

PETA wants Ben & Jerry's to offer ice cream made from mothers' milk instead of cows' milk.

I'm not exactly sure why this is gross. It just is. And I really, really, really don't want to know what PETA would like for McDonalds to use instead of beef on their burgers. "It's people... Next thing they'll be breeding us like cattle for food..." --Charlton Heston as Detective Robert Thorn in that 1973 sci-fi movie - you know the one - or if not, check out #77 on this list of the American Film Institute's top 100 movie quotations in American cinema: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AFI
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From the realm of science and technology:

A Swiss adventurer using a jet-propelled wing has flown across the English Channel from France to Dover in less than 10 minutes.

Good thing Switzerland is a neutral country. Otherwise they could land a skilled soldier in England only 10 minutes after the fall of France.
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In the Politically Correct corner we have this story:

In London, Olympic organizers issued a mandate that at least some toilets in the 2012 Olympic park do not face the holy Islamic city of Mecca. Muslims face Mecca when they pray, but generally do not believe they should do the same when using the toilet.

Hey, I'll sell them a design for a toilet with a rotating seat, so people can face any direction they want to!
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And finally, in the closely-related fields of unpleasant bodily functions, disgusting bodily fluids, and college fraternity life:

Eight to 10 members of an Arizona State University fraternity are believed to have caused a car accident by vomiting milk onto traffic below an ASU footbridge on University Drive Tuesday night. It is unknown why the men were drinking and vomiting the milk.

Has anyone thought it just might have something to do with the phrase, "members of an Arizona State University fraternity?"
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"Good night, Chet."
"Good night, David. And good night for NBC News..."

Or, from a rather lower-brow perspective - "Mnee...Mnaaa...Mnaaa...Mnooo...Mn -n- That's all, folks!"

Or, to wrap it all up more or less the way it started - "Say good night, Dick."
"Good night, Dick."

Don't Mess with My Dragons...

George the Dragonslayer was not at all what I expected. He looked...well... not very knightly. In fact, he looked distinctly geeky. You'd think I would've known what to expect from a character living inside my head. (For the uninitiated, my psycho-village is described in some detail in my April 2nd post entitled "My Village.")

As he sat down at my table, George noticed my surprise at his remarkably unheroic appearance.

"You were expecting someone more like Saint George," he stated, rather than asked.

In point of fact, he struck me as no more saintly than knightly.

To the server who appeared as though from thin air (the only kind of air found inside my head), George added, "Diet Pepsi. Not Coke."

The young lady looked at me uncomfortably and uncertainly. Clearly she had expected a request for mead or ale. Something alcoholic, at least. The atmosphere in the little tavern lent itself nicely to those beverages, but showed little promise for a Diet Pepsi. Or even a Coke. The floor was bare earth, hardened by centuries of use so that the dust swept off it every morning came from outside, not in. The fieldstone walls were blackened with age and with the smoke that somehow escaped the chimney opening over a fire that almost never slept. Outside, the rocks were blanketed in green moss and lichens. Rough timbers spanned the overhead space, supporting a durable slate roof. It was the kind of place where travellers rested and swapped lies about their journeys. It was the kind of place where you met to chat with a great dragonslayer. It was not the kind of place where you ordered a Diet Pepsi. Or even a Coke.

George looked at me with a mixture of amusement and skepticism. Clearly he expected me to summon up a few urns of water and try to change them into cola. I could've done it, too - after all, this was my head we were meeting in. But I chose instead to simply advise the perplexed serving-girl, "Just ask Polly for a Diet Pepsi. She'll know. And I'll have a flagon of mead. But not the warm stuff with the spices. Polly will know about that, too."

I think she was grateful that I used the word, "flagon."

"So, you're probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you," George offered, sipping his ice-cold Diet Pepsi. He appeared strangely comfortable with the idea that, in this tavern, beverages sometimes materialized out of nowhere.

"OK, let's say I'm wondering why you wanted to talk to me."

George seemed to miss the delicate point of difference between his statement and my reply. Maybe because I had already decided that he would never know that our whole conversation was taking place inside my head. That the Bored Head Tavern, situated in the little hamlet of Unclear-on-Mostpoints, was merely an invention. A sort of interface I threw together to connect myself and the self-styled dragonslayer, George.

"Well, in so many words, here it is," my guest refused to beat around the bush, "You seem to be remarkably unclear on the true nature of dragons."

"Is that so?" I wondered mildly.

"Most definitely!" he assured me emphatically, "There are no dragons."

"Because the dragonslayers have killed them all?"

"Precisely! But as you've already noticed, dragonslayers are not knights in shining armor on great horses."

"Dragonslayers are geeks who drink diet soda?"

"Well," he replied, ignoring or missing my none-to-subtle prod, "Not exactly. But the real dragonslayers were the men of science. The men with instruments to measure and examine and record and preserve all kinds of data. Every time a warrior rode off into the hills, dragon myths gained new life. If he returned, he was a great hero who had slain a dragon. If not, the dragon was credited with greater cunning and strength."

"So, Saint George, for instance, was neither a saint nor a hero - just a liar?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," he waved away my objection, "I wasn't there. I don't know whether ol' George ever claimed to have killed a dragon. Perhaps he rode into the hills, and returned with the news, 'There is no dragon.' Well, the townsfolk could have taken that as a modest way of saying he had killed the beast. Saintly humility and knightly heroism all at once. And from there the legend was bound to grow."

"And why did the townsfolk believe they had a dragon problem in the first place?" I challenged him.

"Maybe someone found a fossil dinosaur tooth or claw, and, ignorant of fossilization processes, assumed it must have come from a living beast. Perhaps they even found a fossilized plate from some armored dinosaur and thought it to be a dragon's impermeable scale. But, even if all that were true, none of it is the real reason that people believed in dragons."

George paused and took a swig of soda. I did the same with my flagon of mead. He could see that I knew that he was about to spring his most elegant argument upon me.

"Surely," he almost laughed, "you don't for a moment believe that people needed dragonslayers because they believed in dragons!"

"Er, yes, that was the impression under which I have labored, lo, these many years."

Predictably, George leaned forward, his pale blue eyes nearly filled with what probably passed as fervor in his social circle - if he had one. "That's just silly! People invented dragons because they needed dragonslayers!"

He sat back, letting this triumphant shot sink home. "Primitive people felt a need for heroes. So they invented powerful foes that only a hero could dispatch. And then they looked for a chance to believe that some such hero was actually among them. An army of Saint Georges could never have done away with dragons. For every fictitious dragon slain by a great hero, three more were invented. No, no, my friend, it took scientists digging in the dragons' hills to kill them off for good. We took our tools into the beasts' very lairs and found iron and coal and precious metals. But no dragons."

George drained his soda as though he had done some truly thirsty work sharing his thoughts about dragons.

"Now," he finished as he scraped his rough chair backward and stood to his feet, "we no longer need dragons or the heroes who hunt them. The unknown is no longer a thing to be feared - it is simply a friend to become better acquainted with. We have science and knowledge and technology. We need no mythic beasts. So you see why your quaint views on dragons are outdated, misguided and unhelpful."

And he walked away, toward the massive old wooden door that stood open on its hinges. I suddenly knew this had been one of those arguments we all hate - the ones where we come up with just exactly the right thing to say, right after our opponent walks away.

I thought for a moment that I might just rewind the scene and add my comment at the end, effectively putting the little twerp in his place. I even considered sticking him with the bill. But instead I just smiled and watched him step out of the door and into the misty sunlight. I had much better plans for him. A sense of calm and peace settled over me as I watched George flattened under the careless foot of a passing dragon.

Oh, don't worry - inside my head, being crushed by a dragon only means that George will have to walk around like an accordion for a while. If you don't get that reference, you have clearly not watched enough Bugs Bunny or Roadrunner cartoons. And that, in turn, means you may not belong here. But I digress.

The best part of my revenge on George is that, while accordioning around my psycho-village, he will have no choice but to repeatedly reevaluate the data collected by all those men with their instruments, who diligently measured and examined and recorded.

And in the end he will perhaps come to the conclusion that I would have shouted at him as he walked away - we haven't done away with dragons and heroes. We've simply given them new form - scientists' machines and conclusions. Technology is at once our new dragon, and our dragonslayer.

I hope that realization drives George nuts! Serves him right for messing with my dragons...