Just Another Day

It is seductive to look at New Year's Eve as a time to reflect upon the events of the past year and take stock. I've always felt that if you only check your rearview mirror once a year, you're likely to get run over by traffic. Now that I've reached middle age (sure, I fully expect to live to see 90) I wake up every morning, take inventory of the parts that still work, and plan how I'll use them for the day. I've heard people say that tonight is amateur night in the bars, but it seems that it's also amateur night for those who get misty looking at the events of the past year, and make empty resolutions about the year to come. The fact that January 1st begins a new year is as arbitrary as the order of the alphabet, the fact that one person survives a disaster while thousands of others perish, or the amount of money that our government commits to humanitarian aid (roughly equivalent to offering to replace one of the life preservers on the Titanic). Of course, as the ball drops tonight I'll hug my children, kiss my wife, and be happy that I have another day to do the best that I can; but I try to do that every day.

Vampires and Village Gossips

The Village Gossip is back in town for the holidays. One of the great benefits of the internet, other than music piracy and pornography in the comfort of your own home, is the ability to stay in touch. As my kids IM their friends, there are days that I have the uncomfortable feeling that ozone is emanating from the computer, circling me, and sniffing my ass. That's when I know that they are chatting with the former neighbor, being subtly pumped for information from afar. It's amazing that someone can know more about my neighbors from hundreds of miles away than I know (or care to know) sitting in their living room having a beer. I'm convinced that the only difference between our Gosssip and a vampire is that you have to invite a vampire into your home before it can suck your blood. I've submitted her name to the Office of Homeland Security. Two days working for them, and she'll not only know who the terrorists are and where they plan their next attack, she'll also know who they had dinner with, how much they paid for their car, and who they have been sleeping with. What kind of emptiness motivates someone to spend all of their time collecting and distributing personal information about their friends? She does save me work at times; when I have information that I need to get to all of my neighbors, I just call our Gossip and tell her not to tell anyone.

Has the F-bomb become a dud?

It is curious that in our current conservative environment, we drop the F-bomb as if it was a gum wrapper. I listened today as a group of kids used it as a noun, verb, adjective, and maybe even a gerund. Don't get me wrong, I'm far from a prude, and my picture will never be next to genteel in the dictionary. I don't place a great deal of creedence in political correctness, and I am sure that there are times that no other word fits in the sentence. My point is, if you choose to use such a potent word as an opening salvo in a war of words, what do you have left when you really need a linguistic nuclear warhead? The word has been so trivialized that the F-bomb has become no more than a firecracker. Perhaps that this isn't such a bad thing, the word has been at the top for such a long time. Maybe it's time that we come up with a new triple-dog-dare of curse words. I nominate "politician".

You Can't Measure a Man With a Yardstick

My father was an alien. No, really. Not only was he born in Scotland, making him alien to the United States; but by the time of his death, his viewpoints were so alien to mine that we could only talk about sports and the weather. He struggled throughout his life to provide my family with what it needed to thrive. Although I often disagreed with his logic, I always appreciated that he did what he thought was necessary to push my brothers and sisters and I in the "right" direction. He instilled in me a feeling that some day, I would be "Important". It took years for me to understand what he meant.
When I entered college, I was sure that some day, I would be "Important". I pursued a course of study in a young profession that would allow me a chance to become a "Big Name". For the first five years of my professional career, I did everything that was necessary to climb the ladder. Working long hours, continuing my education, and schmoozing properly all factored into the equation. I saw my friends following the same path, and I was sure that I was moving in the right direction. At that time, I was sure that fame and fortune wasn't far away.
Luckily, my daughter was born and I woke up. I was so sure that I needed to be a "Big Name" in order to be happy, that I didn't even realize that I was living out my father's dream. A change of job and priorities left me with a smaller income, little chance of being "Important" with a capital "I", and a chance to be there to see my children grow ( a son came along four years later). Over the years, I have watched many of my friends continue to move up the ladder; acquiring houses, cars, and other toys along the way.
This situation would not be so poignant if my daughter hadn't reached her eighteenth birthday recently. I've always told her that my job as a parent was to help her to avoid deep scars until she was old enough to be charged as an adult. Well, she is now eligible to have her face on the Post Office wall. I've been able to be there to watch her grow, to cheer her victories and bandage her wounds (yeah, maybe the one on her knee really did need stitches). Although my opinion might be a bit biased, I think that she has become one of the most incredible people that I have ever known. Suddenly, I understand where the capital "I" comes from. Thanks dad.

The World Sublime

The loss of life caused by tsunamis in the Indian Ocean should heighten our awareness of our place in the world. What have we accomplished as individuals, as a country, as a human race? Will we be able to reach out to people in need, many of whom are very different from us, without expecting some sort of quid pro quo? It is difficult to imagine the horror occurring in Sri Lanka, India, Indonesia, and many other countries as a result of yesterday's unbelievable natural disaster. After the incredible pain that we have experienced in Afghanistan and Iraq in the past year, we have a chance to help people who need us. Let's hope that we can do that with humility and integrity.

The Ghost of Christmas Present

It seems that Donald Rumsfeld had a bit of bad pudding last night, and was visited by a series of ghosts in his dreams. Or was that his signature machine that they sent to Iraq to "raise holiday spirits and demonstrate compassion for soldiers' sacrifices"? http://apnews.myway.com/article/20041224/D875O0U84.html
Old St. Rummy flew in under the cover of darkness, as the soldiers were all tucked in their beds, while visions of body armor and reinforcements danced in their heads. It's a shame that the trip wasn't announced ahead of time, the troops would have welcomed him with open arms...right? Be aware, this trip was planned long before Rumsfeld got his latest stocking full of coal. THIS WAS NOT A PUBLICITY STUNT.

Just getting started!

From what I understand, a blog is a place to let your ego run rampant, issue important opinions about the human condition, and generally prove that your opinion is superior to all others. Or, at least all others that disagree with you. I knew that there was a reason to start one of these puppies.
I was intrigued by today's news that the first cloned cat was sold for $50,000.http://www.cnn.com/2004/TECH/science/12/23/gen.us.clonedcat.ap/index.html Sure, your first reaction might be awe over the power of science, indignation at the frivolous nature of spending that kind of cash to recreate an animal when thousands are euthanized daily, or generalized anger at driving up the prices at your favorite takeout restaurant. Give it a few minutes, think out all of the possibilities, and you realize that you should really be laughing heartily. A cloned tiger cat? An exact replica of an animal that would be difficult to pick out of a crowd unless you were able to bring several home to see which one sprays on your new couch. How does one verify that the spawn of Fluffy is truly Frankenfluffy, and not just a cheap imitation? Are they issued with their own electron microscope (for 50 G's they ought to be), or is Purina branching into the kitty DNA testing market? I can just see the new owner now, "It HAS to be Fluffy, she ignores me just like Fluffy did." Be careful what you accept as fact, before you know it they'll be trying to convince you that a glass of water is worth two bucks!