A Tale of Surprises

She left the office late one night, a good feeling of a job well done. On the way to the parking lot on a fairly dark path she had the distinct feeling she was being followed. She walked faster and the follower kept pace. She gathered the courage to look back, and in her own words: “ I was being followed, and it was my butt!!!”. She did have a notable butt (now much reduced by diet and exercise) and we all had a good laugh over her story. So today I was burning some dead branches, doing the manly thing of poking and rearranging the fire when a puff of smoke got in my eyes and I turned and walked away from the fire. The strange thing was that the smoke followed me, was sort of drafting along with me as I walked. Then another puff of dense smoke right in the eyes. I turned and saw…….no smoke from the fire at all!! Crap!!! My hat was on fire!!!!
I put it out and saved the hat and me from burns, but whoa! that was close. Might have lost what little hair I have left.
Image: Water Butt at http://www.hellenicgarden.co.uk/waterbuttoak-premium.html

Did you know Madieye Diallo?

Humans are capable of the most despicable and degraded behavior imaginable. Hate some ethnic group? Hate some religions? Hate some lifestyles? Hate some genetic disorders? Hate anybody for anything? Well, welcome to the human race. Hate away pal, hate away. You are in hated company. But beyond hatred is irrational and dangerous behavior it causes. The beautiful young man pictured died and was buried. Two hours later a mob dug up his body, spit on it and dumped if front of his parent’s house. Why? He was gay. That’s all. Just gay. What kind of depraved sick people would do something like that you ask? You don’t have to look very far to find them. Reflect back to Pogo and you will find the answer. This is nothing new in the world. In the late 1700’s gay men were stoned to death in London, and lesbians were hung.
An old friend of mine used to say “there are reasons, and then there are real reasons”. I think the real reason for homophobia is the fear of difference. I think that is why most hatred manifests. Someone is different and must be feared and eliminated.
Tolerance is a virtue preached by most or all religions in some ways. Mankind is not biologically a tolerant animal. The core drive and value of survival makes us suspicious of anyone that is different from us. So we hate, and by hating survive. But at what price? Who wants to be hated because they are different? My Mexican friends? My Jewish friends? My gay friends? My black friends? My short friends? My fat friends? My French friends? My, well, you get the point. Everybody is probably hated by someone for something.
See? A human imperative.
So don’t be surprised by the disgusting results of hatred. Rail against it when you can and stop it if you can. Vote it out and pass laws against it and stamp it down. But don’t expect it to go away. Do the right thing and try not to hate anybody for anything. Not easy is it?


Image: http://www.commercialappeal.com/photos/2010/apr/10/163251/

Siempre que te pregunto…

Those few words started something. A grad school buddy sang a few songs in Spanish and with these words began a quest to learn to play and sing “Quizas, Quizas, Quizas” How do you get to Carnegie Hall goes the old joke. And the answer (drum roll) - practice, practice, practice. So I practiced. And got somewhat better, but never as good as Kirsten. There were lots of Cuban chicks in Miami in those days and I figured if I could sing/say a few songs, low and sexy, I could maybe get to know one of them. Didn’t work. Never even had the chance to try. I dated Manuel’s sister, part of the first real wave of Cubans hitting the shores of Biscayne Bay, a few times, but she wanted to learn English. So I tried Russian. Learned a few songs in Russian but never found a Russian chick to try them on. So I tried English. That worked like a charm. Still married to her. See? Never give up, and always tell yourself “Quizas, Quizas, Quizas.”

( Spanish) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qd-uz6_WRtc
(Russian) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aw5L0IdKjps

Image: www.youtube.com/user/enr7que

Grandad Search in 1921 (or so)

In around 1920, Hal Search, my father, entered the Milwaukee School of Engineering and promptly joined the band. The third from the left, back row, with his sax. I found the photo last week by chance and decided to write something. By the time I came around and became sentient he had gotten rid of the sax and occasionally played at playing the piano (my mother's) and singing songs like "The Delaware-Lackawan" (1) and "Abdul Abulbul Amir". (2)
He was able to put away quite a bit of gin (martinis of course) and the more gin the louder and funnier the songs got. He and his sister had a poem they would recite on some occasions where lubrication was available about hunting a "stiped pole cat" (I hunt de cat, I hunt de rat, I hunt de striped polecat. )( couldn't find this one with Google's help). Very funny though. Anyone want to try to find it? They used a sort of Cajun accent. Not very politically correct I guess. But after all it was the times when that wasn't around much yet. He and my mother would join in with "The Cremation of Sam McGee" (3) just for fun, too. Anyway, I thought about him when I saw the band photo and though maybe the boys would enjoy a bit of silliness. Check the links and enjoy.

1.http://www.harrywarren.org/songs/0584.htm
2. http://www.contemplator.com/ireland/abdul.html
3, http://www.wordinfo.info/words/index/info/view_unit/2640/?letter=C&spage=26

Little angels

Have you ever seen such angelic young men? Did you notice the tiny smiles, like they know something nobody else knows? They did. They knew that the priest was a boozer that always filled the chalice just before the end of communion and, of course, drained it because consecrated wine could only be finished by a man standing in apostolic succession. He was a good old guy, though. My brother was an acolyte and I was in the choir. We got to stick out our tongues at each other up on the stage when nobody was looking, and us guys in the choir got to make snide comments about the hats that showed up at the rail on Easter Sunday. We loved going to church in those days. Smells and bells. High Episcopal. I could never figure out the bit in the Apostle’s Creed about believing in the “holy catholic Church”, though. My mother was a lapsed Catholic and very much against anything Catholic. I asked a few times and got the “you will understand this when you are older. Just say it for now.” line. There was always a candle hanging from a chain way above the stage. My mother told me that the candle was the Holy Spirit, and I took that to mean the Holy Ghost (never really got that either), and from then on I was very careful around the Ghost.
But, times change and so did Tom and I. Both lapsed into a kind of non-church mode, then into agnosticism.
I still love to go into churches and feel the spirit of history. Agnostic or not, there is something about an old cathedral or 12th century village church, complete with burials in the floors and walls or an ancient graveyard that gives me a great sense of peace and comfort. Temples too.

Image: Search brothers.