Fried-News-Day

In archaeological news:

Mar. 23, 2009 12:08 PM
Associated Press

ATHENS, Greece - A Greek fisherman cast his net in the Aegean Sea, and instead of a load of fish, he hauled up a section of a 2,200-year-old bronze statue of a horseman.


"See, Agamemnon, if we take all the junk in your attic, and dump it right here, we can raise the level of the ocean."

"OK, Archimedes, let's start with this gods-awful statue of a guy on a horse. Are you sure we can raise the sea level and give our houses beachfront views?"

"Well, it worked in my bath tub..."

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In astronomical and interstellar relational news:

Mar. 24, 2009 12:00 AM
The Arizona Republic

A meteorite stolen in 1968 from Meteor Crater east of Flagstaff, Arizona has been returned unharmed. Just who took it and where it has been for the past 41 years remains a mystery.


The rulers of Glx!!clm**chlakh^^X immediately issued this statement:

We agree to cancel our planned destruction of your worthless little world now that you have found our missing citizen. However, until the kidnappers are apprehended, we will continue to blacklist Earth as an undesirable vacation destination. There are plenty of other planets where we can spend our hard-earned xnixdixth!!mnrkles...
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And in herpetological news:

Mar. 20, 2009 08:54 AM
Lisa Halverstadt - The Arizona Republic


A pet African spurred tortoise, weighing 75 pounds, escaped from its owners' yard and was found obstructing traffic in Surprise, Arizona.

The owners believe Hercules may have jumped their fence, or possibly rushed out a side gate that was left open for only a day or two...

What-the-pedia? And some Fried-News-Day!

Wikipedia is a great concept. And, by and large, it's a great resource as well. There are, however, certain drawbacks to user-supported media.

Take the Wikipedia article on the City of El Mirage, Arizona. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/El_Mirage,_Arizona

Along with helpful information from the US Census, and the Latitude and Longitude of the City, there is this comment which seems more editorial than coldly factual:

El Mirage SUCKS

If you need to see it in context to truly appreciate the humor, you'd better hurry and take a look. Because, unless El Mirage truly "SUCKS," some merciful user will delete this bit of information. And therein lies the strength of user-supported media.
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Meanwhile, in the news...

Gastronomy:
(Mar. 12, 2009 09:58 AM Associated Press)

Britain's most famous restaurant (Fat Duck) reopened more than two weeks after it shut due to a mysterious outbreak of sickness that left 400 people reporting bouts of vomiting and diarrhea.

Menu items include snail porridge, jelly of quail, mustard ice cream, and bacon-and-egg ice cream. And yet, somehow, it's unusual for patrons to suffer bouts of vomiting and diarrhea?


Geography:
(Mar. 17, 2009 01:06 PM Associated Press)

A new Brazilian geography text book for sixth-grade students doesn't include Ecuador on the map. In fact, the book distributed by the education ministry in Brazil's most populous state botches the location of most of Brazil's neighbors. Paraguay is switched with Uruguay, and a second "new" Paraguay is shown with a coastline at the southern tip of Brazil. Bolivia is fortunate enough to appear on the map, but the book misses its border with Paraguay - the Paraguay that sits where Uruguay should be, that is.

All is not lost, however. Publishers of the book were quick to point out that every map correctly depicts the location of Waldo.


And in something oddly akin to Geography:
(Mar. 12, 2009 10:50 AM Associated Press)

EASTON, Pa. - A man accused of driving drunk said Pennsylvania courts have no jurisdiction over him because he's his own country.

I have no problem with this man wanting to be his own country. However, when his country gets drunk and invades our country, he needs to be stopped.


And speaking of people who are not closely associated with their own rockers:
(Mar. 19, 2009 03:47 PM Associated Press)

HART TOWNSHIP, Mich. - Police say a naked 14-year-old boy taking a walk with a large white poodle assaulted a woman in Oceana County. Sheriff's Lt. Craig Mast tells the Ludington Daily News the boy walked away from a behavioral treatment facility Monday. He was strolling unclothed in Hart Township with the dog when he encountered a 53-year-old woman in her yard. Mast says, "The young naked man approached her with this poodle, and she immediately realized something peculiar."

I'm not sure this article requires any commentary. But I do have to wonder where he got the poodle...

On Knowing and Understanding

In his new book, Footprints in the Sea (buy it here - http://www.coolriverpub.net - do it now - you can come back to my blog later - I won't be offended) Ed Chinn writes:

We just don't seem to know (Jesus) well enough to have intelligent or even interesting conversations about him. In one sense, we only have a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of him. So, we just end up saying what others have said others have said others have said others have said about him.

I read these words today while munching my tequila/lemon/serrano pepper - marinated tilapia left over from yesterday's lunch. Ed's thoughts connected with something that I was chewing on this morning. Not my breakfast.

I'm not sure that contemporary America really wants to know God. I think that in our rational, technological, one-plus-one-equals-two, industrialized American mindset, our definition of "knowing" God is really "understanding" Him. We have been taught that "knowing" something is not enough - we must understand whatever it is that we are studying.

In and of itself, this is not necessarily a bad thing. However, over time this approach to learning has blinded us to the possibility that there is anything beyond our understanding. And by His very nature, God is simply just that - beyond our understanding. To know Him is to recognize how little we truly understand Him. But we have been taught that when we apply proper analytical tools to a question, we will reach understanding.

I'm not trying to say that there is nothing we can understand about God; I'm just saying there is a limit to what we can truly grasp. We say that God is a person, and He is. But often His "person-hood" becomes, for us, a notion that misleads us into believing that He is psychologically the same as we are. That we can psychoanalyze the God of the universe to understand His motivations. That human-derived analytical tools can deliver the full truth about He Who is the Way, the Truth and the Light. They cannot.

This is not a new challenge. It is the very foundation of demonic nationalism (or denominationalism, if you prefer). It is the reason that seminaries, whose stated purpose is to train "godly servants" and "students of the Bible," really churn out marching ranks of apologist drones adept at defending denominational distinctives.

And in the final analysis, it is why, as possibly-my-best-friend-in-the-whole-world-to-whom-I-am-not-spouse-or-parent, Ed Chinn, continues, "No wonder we'd rather talk about ourselves." Because the only god we can truly understand is the one who looks an awful lot like us. And we have been carefully taught that conversation about things we don't understand is nonsense.
Sometimes it is. But when it comes to God, the only conversations that matter are the ones that verge upon, indeed that even cross into, the realm we do not and cannot understand. Some of those conversations will contain a large dose of nonsense - but when we analyze that nonsense we will find that more often it springs from lack of accurate knowledge than from lack of understanding. What we think we know is often really nothing more than a reflection of who god would be if we were he.

Why did God warn Joseph and Mary to take His Son out of harm's way by fleeing Bethlehem, but allowed every other father (and mother, for that matter) to suffer the loss of their sons? I know He did it. I know He could have saved all those children from death and spare their parents from grief, and even deliver Herod from that added measure of guilt. I know He didn't do that. I just don't understand why.

But I'm talking about more than simply finding facts that seem to go against the nature of God as we ... as we ... as we ... ummm ... understand it ... humph! I'm talking about giving up on human analytical tools to figure out Divine nature. And the analytical, skeptical, industrialized minds will surely claim that it is nonsense to talk about the sort of God Whose nature defies measurement and analysis.

But Paul had something to say about this -

Do not deceive yourselves. If any one of you thinks he is wise by the standards of this age, he should become a "fool" so that he may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God's sight. As it is written: "He catches the wise in their craftiness"; and again, "The Lord knows that the thoughts of the wise are futile." (I Cor. 3:18-20)

There are, of course, many who, in an attempt to achieve wisdom by appearing foolish, simply become idiots as well as fools, but that's a topic for another post. Actually, it's probably the topic of many posts, old and new. Let me just end this one with Paul's further words (verse 21), "So then, no more boasting about men!"

Oh, and one more thing...

You really need to get the book!

Church in the Village

Yesterday I wandered into Psychovillage (more details in April 2, 2008 post) and decided to check out a service at Fifth Megachurch Wannabe. I recently heard rumblings that they had revamped their "worship time," and I was interested to see these changes for myself.

Last time I dropped in, the service started with a single song, followed by the pastor welcoming everyone, "especially our visitors," and then an endless droning of announcements. Next came two fast songs. Since we had all been "invited" to stand for these songs, it was easy to slide right into the superficial and, for any visitors, excruciatingly uncomfortable "meet and greet time." We were then allowed to sit so we could sing two slow songs in preparation for the message.

The new format, as I observed yesterday, involves singing two fast songs and two slow songs all in a row with no breaks. Perhaps the intent was to allow a more connected span of time so that people can have the chance to actually focus on God and maybe even to hear from Him.

More likely it was an attempt to move in a more "relevant" or "slick-worship" direction. Or maybe the plan was to shave some length off the service's time-span.

Personally, I think it would have been much more effective if the worship leader had not, in his best imitation Casey Kasem voice, opened the service with the unfortunate words, "Please stand up and join us in our new, uninterrupted four-play."

Fascinating Amazing Grace

An example of "throat singing," a traditional technique of Mongolian and related tribes wherein the singer produces a low drone note, and then manipulates harmonics above it to create a melody that sounds like a whistle. It's often accompanied on a bowed instrument, but this guy is using a guitar instead.



And this more traditional:

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

My life was going along smoothly until the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Not the ship, mind you - that was a real tragedy that touched many lives, and I don't mean to make light of it. Actually, my life was going along smoothly until the radio suddenly erupted with these words:

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy.

(Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald; Music and lyrics ©1976 by Gordon Lightfoot)

I listened. For longer than it probably took for the ship to sink, Gordon's voice intoned the same melody line, over, and over, and over, and o-o-o...wait! I'm awake! Actually, I really like most of Gordon Lightfoot's music.

So did one of my cousins, and a few years before the Fitz, my mother took me to the Phelps Dodge Mercantile Store ("PD") to buy her a record for some occasion. Mom was hilariously unable to either completely remember or totally forget a proper noun, and so she boldly asked the young clerk for a "Peter Hotfoot Record."

Today, we have Peter Green's Hot Foot Powder, but back in those days there was no musical connection between the words "Peter" and "Hotfoot." Unless you happened to really know the works of Robert Johnson (Hellhound on my Trail), which the young man at PD did not.

Some years earlier in my young life I used to sing Here Comes Peter Cottontail. I frequently offered this performance while walking through the desert behind my dad and my older brother. They were hunting rabbits. I think the song spoiled it for them, although that was not my intent. I was quite comfortable with the near-polar opposites of "Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny-trail..." and "BOOM! There's dinner." Unfortunately for their sport, my companions were not as able to separate the two. Perhaps the village in my head helped me out.

I hunted with my dad and my brother for many years before being allowed to carry my own gun. I was the retriever. Once, while hunting dove at a favorite spot, we ran into a neighbor who had his dog with him. When Mr. Paul dropped a dove over a clump of mesquite, I started up after it, but he waved me back and sent the dog. I don't know if the dog couldn't locate the bird, or if he was just smart enough to not try and retrieve it, but in the end I climbed into a dense mesquite bush and brought back the trophy. It was not at all unusual for me to have to scrounge through the thorns, leaving bits of clothing, skin, and blood behind, when fetching fallen doves.

To this day, even though I haven't hunted dove in over 30 years, every time I hear the wind-whistle of a mourning dove's wings, it is followed by the phantom boom of a remembered scattergun and a solid punch against my right shoulder. These days I feed a flock of doves haunting my back yard. They are safe from the possibility of becoming my next meal.

The soft sound of their distinctive call has the power to send me back to Arizona summer mornings waking up with the knowledge of an upcoming hike into the desert. I'm sure those countless hours I spent hiking, usually alone, played a large part in shaping my personality.

Perhaps that is the explanation for why I would make such a good hermit. I have many of the qualifications already. I freely talk amongst myself. I hate haircuts, although I submit to them as a way to somewhat ameliorate my bad-hair-life for the benefit of others. And although I like people well enough as a concept, I find the reality is often a bit harder to take. Real people want you to talk to them and do stuff with them. This is not always easy for me, though many of my acquaintances might be surprised to hear it.

I hiked solo because there were only a few families near ours, and none of their children were especially interested in rocks and plants and wildlife like I was (and still am). So I got used to spending a lot of time discussing things with myself. I still struggle sometimes over discussing things with someone else.

Rabbits were a frequent sight on my journeys - cute little cottontails and great-big jackrabbits alike. I don't think I ever actually shot a rabbit. I did own a large New Zealand white rabbit for a few years, until I got tired of caring for him and gave him away. I called him Runny Babbit. Whenever he heard a dog barking, Runny Babbit would make a huffing sound as though he were trying to bark right back at them. My dad could whistle for him, and the rabbit would come and lay down at his feet. But I was more interested in exploring the desert than feeding and cleaning up after a rabbit.

My own kids grew up in suburban neighborhoods with lots of other kids around. But they couldn't walk 200 yards from the house and disappear into mostly untouched desert like I could. Still, we occasionally took trips into the desert or the forest. Sometimes we fished, sometimes we shot at targets, sometimes we sat and just played.

The last time I went target-shooting with my son was right after he completed his training in the US Navy. He had leave before reporting to his ship, and Pam and I enjoyed thoroughly his long, but not long-enough, visit. Before that stay, the last time we had seen him was the day after he graduated from boot camp at Naval Station Great Lakes, north of Chicago. We spent the day exploring Chicago a little - poked around Navy Pier, ate pizza, saw a movie, and then returned Brandon to base.

Before leaving Chicago, we took a quick trip to the beach at Lake Michigan, which is the only one of the Great Lakes entirely within the United States. However, as some believe that Lake Huron and Lake Michigan are actually one lake, hydrologically speaking, then Lake Michigan-Huron shares a border with Canada, as do the other Great Lakes.

Lake Michigan took its name from an Ojibwa word meaning "great water". The Ojibwa name for nearby (nearer as the crow flies than as the walleye swims) Lake Superior means "big water." Lake Superior, of course, is generally regarded as the largest of the Great Lakes, but if Lakes Michigan and Huron were to be considered one, that lake would out-size Lake Superior. It would also place the walleye and the crow on equal footing.

I'm not sure which the Ojibwa would consider the larger-sounding name - "great water" (mishigami) or "big water" (gichigami). Gichigami is sometimes spelled "Gitche Gumee." And Lake Superior, Gichigami, Gitche Gumee, as we are all well aware, "never gives up her dead when the skies of November turn gloomy." At least so say the Chippewa (aka Ojibwa), according to Gordon Lightfoot (not to mention Newsweek Magazine - Great Lakes: The Cruelest Month, James R. Gaines with Jon Lowell in Detroit, ©1975 Newsweek Magazine).

Yep, my life was going along smoothly until the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald...