Tagged: life
Point/Counterpoint: Will the Influx of Africans to the West Work? (3)
No.
The influx will not work, at least not for the first few generations (and deeper, the longer they segregate).
There has been too much “foreign aid” to their homelands, and not the requisite amount of humble (which is inherently also wise), “Say, how do you get to a place where your ‘cup runneth over’?” for the Africans to ever get out of the mindset of thinking manna falls from heaven and transition to contributing.
The Look of the Debate
For posterity sake, I want to tell you what stuck me most about the debate. I have seen many other reactions to the debate that discussed some of what I am going to say, but none have centered on it.
During the infamous 15 seconds, the camera showed Trump look over at Biden. He seems to have been in thought, likely preparing whatever he would say next (but who knows?) when he then genuinely noticed a pause and uncontrollably turned to see what was going on. Trump’s expression made him look human. Made him look likable. Made him look normal. Made him look like we all think he really is—a man who will do anything to win (and many other things too), but a man who is very aware that he is putting on a show. Perhaps he is a horse in a department store, as I once read him described, but more than that too.
Biden, on the other hand, did not ever have a redeemable moment.
Oh, and I still can’t stand teachers. (See EdD Jill’s ridiculous encouragement clip.) These people are a joke. Yes, yes. I know she meant “answered every question” as opposed to “dodged”-every-question-in-favor-of-repeating-rehearsed-talking-points, and she did not mean “competition award”. But the man failed with every breath and certainly didn’t need anyone lying to him, let alone in such pandering fashion.
Reaction to a Couple Obituaries, to Include the First Ever (for this blog) Mildly Approved Sentiment
“(Person) loved his family and he spent his life in service of their welfare and happiness. Most recently, he found great joy in being a grandfather, investing an enormous amount of time and love doting on his dearest (two named grandsons). He also cared deeply for the larger community around him.”
– What is being hidden here? A “lifetime in service of their welfare and happiness”? That kind of lie can only mean bitter, bitter relationships and it also evinces a total misunderstanding of language. Sorry, it was rough being in his family folks, but a few words in the Sunday paper after he’s dead is not going to “manifest” anything pretty, let alone reach back into the past and fix the issues. And why is it wrong to pick out one or two people (from the billions) to love? Ever since whites learned the power of the phrase “black community”, they feel guilty if they don’t use part or all of it during supposedly momentous occasions. Just stop. We don’t live as members of some group which needs fancy and false descriptors any different than T-Rex or George Washington did.
****
Onto the first ever approved, if mildly, obituary assertion.
“He got a black lab puppy last year in April named Oslo. She was the best thing that had happen to him in quite some time. He never went anywhere without her, and they spent hours every day playing fetch with the tennis ball. He loved telling jokes and always had a smile on his face, despite away being described as grumpy ass sometimes.”
– What makes these sentiments worthy is they are fearless. Do you see? This dude lived a kinda shitty life (if a dog is the best thing to happen to you, then you’re having a “sour go”). I love the use of “tennis” to describe the ball—like anyone really cares what kind of ball it was. So quaint. I could do without the “ass”, and I wonder why no “air quotes” around “grumpy ass”, but the beauty is that whoever wrote this had some respect for the dead. I repeat: whoever wrote this respected this man. And the dead man obviously had threatened, or lived in a way which threatened, haunting whoever lied about him after his death.
So good work. This pairing of deceased and writer can teach us all a thing or two.
Reaction to Kiefer’s Sentiment About His Father’s Passing
Kiefer Sutherland said, “He loved what he did, and did what he loved. And one can never ask for more than that.”
I disagree. I can ask for far more than that.
I have felt bliss. I want instant bliss.
I want more time than I’m slated for, and when my body was twenty-one.
I want sane women.
I want a job that requires no concern about “pleasing people” or making people “happy”.
I want my daughter.
I want every human on earth to have discernment.
I want every human on earth to acknowledge and live according to their strength of memory and speed of thought.
I want pizza on a rotating schedule from all my favorite restaurants served at a place of my choosing as I feel, and new types coming out according to a timeline of my fancy.
I want to be adored.
I want to be listened to.
Back to the time thing; I want time enough to flesh out this post and have my afternoon coffee stay hot until I say so.
In short, Mr. Kiefer Sutherland, you’re wrong. No. Doing what you love or loving what you do, or both, is not all anyone can ask.
Instead of failing at sounding wise, please just tell us how you feel at the news that your father died. Or don’t.
People: we must do better at this death thing.
Point/Counterpoint: Will the Influx of Africans to the West Work? (2)
Counterpoint: Yes.
Recall that by work we mean “rule of law” is retained. And by fail we mean “might makes right” resumes.
In response to the naysayers who think that the cultures are just too different, that it’s a bridge too far, I say, “But I am part of the welcoming committee.”
The reason this fact (my participation) gives me hope is that my number one American quality (important as America is leader of the West) is laughing while calling out BS, no matter the consequences.
And the only way forward is within the realm of the “Truth”. And one key element of “truth” (I’m teaching here—pay attention Africans) is you gotta be able to laugh at your own mistakes.
At least all you Pente have heard that love does not brag?
Was that meant only for the White Devil?
No, the answer is, “No, it was not.”
So it’s time to get over yourselves.
Are you unsure how to admit weakness and save face at the same time?
The West knows the fix. Laugh about it. Then hit the books.
Hotness
I mentioned that I have a little thing I say to the toddlers every night before bed. I want to use that fact to expand on a larger concept—perhaps the largest concept of them all—understanding.
My estranged daughter, H- (now 14), from the old days of mostly happy-go-lucky blogging, asked if I could have her half-siblings say something different before bed than the routine we had. I agreed—you know, ‘cuz children are so gentle. After all, as a divorced dad with limited parenting time because I have a job unlike her worthless mother, I wouldn’t want to do anything would’ve caused H- to stop talking to me.
Anyhow, here’s what I came up with instead of the Boy Scout Law and Apostle’s Creed. It’s far simpler and more focused. I simply started saying, “Everyone goes to sleep the same way. Big people and little people. Tall people and short people. Fat people and skinny people. Old people and young people. Beautiful people and ugly people. They all go to sleep the same way. They lay down and close their eyes.”
Pretty great, eh?
Of course I have developed little flourishes here and there—because I can’t help but want the kids to laugh.
Here’s the kicker. At some point I started asking, “Do you wanna know something?” And then A- would excitedly answer in kind. And soon she knew it wasn’t some new fact or whatever she had imagined the first few times, but just the intro to the thing.
Well, that got old quickly, so recently, and because I judged she could handle it after seeing how she seems to understand certain types of humor, I started connecting the litany to some earlier part of the concluding day. Maybe, “Did I tell you want I saw on a sign today?” Or, “Do you remember that funny looking man? Do you known what he told me today?”
And you know what? She understands. I know she understands because she no longer is parroting anything, but considers context and then chuckles—and get this—even though she knows the event mentioned never happened, she knows what is next.
In contradistinction to this (I’ve written about this before) I have witnessed—been horrified to learn—that it is possible to simply parrot. Folks acquire some sort of skill to get what they want, but they have no understanding. In a sense, they simply bully their way through life.
How does it work, Pete?
Good question.
Just like the bird. The person repeats whatever phrase they have noticed through trial and error achieves the goal. But try to talk to the person or ask them a question, and, as I think Thoreau or Emerson said of the Injuns, “It’s like catechizing rabbits.”
Where does “hotness” fit in? I am hot today. Every Sunday home I am hot.
Why Sundays? Because on Sundays, church day, the fullness of the lack of understanding comes to a point.
Blended families are terribly difficult—maybe completely impossible. But ones in which there are members who constantly illustrate their absolute lack of understanding may just be the dumbest idea mankind has ever allowed.
One family going to separate churches Sunday mornings not only breaks every understanding of “family” to pieces, but everything that family is responsible for—which is everything.
Scan and Go is for Walmart+ Only!!
Who would’ve thunk it?
But I can unhappily report that when at Walmart, and the lines are long—except green lit “Scan and Go” registers which are shockingly unused—the nothing-special-plain-language Walmart+ member’s only line is simply named “Scan and Go”. There is no plus (+) sign, no indication at all (unless emptiness counts) that anything special is required to check out at that register.
So don’t fall for the trap. Just let the open register remain empty. And then sit back and enjoy the show as everyone else gets stopped and redirected because, unlike us, they didn’t read my blog.
Analysis of the Golfer’s Parent’s Note
The note:
“We have so many questions that have no answers. But one. Was Grayson loved? The answer is yes. By us, his brother Cameron, his sister Erica, all of his extended family, by his friends, by his fellow players and – it seems – by many of you who are reading this. He was loved and he will be missed. Life wasn’t always easy for Grayson, and although he took his own life, we know he rests peacefully now.”
My analysis:
What’s the rush? I have been saying for years now that nearly all post-death comments are ridiculous and unsatisfactory and insufficient. And yet(!) everyone always feels the heat and thinks that they need to say something—and quick!
So he committed suicide. Share that, no problem. But share only that.
But if you are going to be poetic, then commit.
“…that have no answers.” Oooo. So well-written.
“…but one…” Oooo. So provocative.
Are you dying to know what that one question is? Isn’t their rhetorical tool-bag just brimming? And don’t you know that they could’ve used other devices here too? Eh, eh, eh?
Umm, no. Fail on both accounts.
I would’ve never thought, “Was Grayson loved?” was the one question that we can know the answer to. Never. His eternal resting place is more provable and tenable and defensible than whether he was loved.
The remaining words before the second thing they “know” (I forget; was it one or two answerable questions?) are so self-serving I will roll over in my grave when I get there, in support of poor Grayson.
Using the spotlight to rattle off the names of everyone who couldn’t possibly have had a hand in creating the darkness? It’s sickening.
Maybe I am wrong. Maybe that wasn’t their point. Maybe they just wanted to use the occasion to introduce themselves to the world. (Wwwwwhich would be worse, of course.)
Then the second (if unnumbered) known. “He rests peacefully.”
Hmm. Sure. Tell yourself that. And then repeat it to us. And then use our well-bred social tact, which prevents us from arguing the point, to confirm its truth. In fact, I think that is the exact recipe for knowing a lie about the afterlife from a truth about the afterlife. Or at least Paul of Tarsus indicates as much, doesn’t he?
Or not.
For me, I had a sociology class in high school which required us to write our own obituary. That was probably my first introduction to the concept. Second was flight training. Third was combat. Fourth was reading the Columbine things. Fifth and most impactful was when the University of Utah student was murdered during the #MeToo heyday and her professor parents described her in the most embarrassing manner available to people with such enormous vocabularies.
After that one I wrote what I wanted any note about me to say and sent it to my mom. (Probably should send to others as well. She’s no spring chicken these days.)
Do I expect her to actually use the words? Hell, yes! If she knows what is good for her she will.
But even if she doesn’t, it has led to some good conversations and I like conversations.
As someone who has worked around death for most of his adult life, I want to share a little secret with you, dear reader. Death is no accident. It is not a mistake. It is not correctable. It is not a glitch in the matrix. We die. All of us. One by one by one by one.
What is an accident, what is a mistake, what is correctable, and what is a glitch is lying. Furthermore, I would go so far as to say “not speaking from the heart” in the time of death counts as lying too.
Was Grayson loved? Hard to say. We seem to think love is stronger than everything, and is the very light that keeps the darkness away. But of course no one would admit they don’t participate in love. Why didn’t the light work, then?
Is Grayson at peace? Well, that depends on many variables—even if we have direct evidence of his belief in Jesus Christ as the Son of the Living God. While not en vogue, I still put my money on the idea that most people think the after-effects of suicide on the soul are not pleasant. But maybe that’s just me.
To be clear: if you’re a parent or spouse or child of someone who dies, and if you want to say something, take your time. There is no rush. But know that you can screw it up. And you should want to avoid screwing it up. You pretty much only get one chance at it.
For all you naysayers out there, after a mere three more days than his parents had, here is what I came up.
****
Grayson killed himself. No one knows what that feels like—don’t be fooled.
We are sad. And we are confused.
One One-Liner Heard Inside Mardel’s and Why Seminary Costs Money—and Should
Here in Colorado Springs, the “Sierra” store is in the same spot as a “Mardel Christian and Education” store. I needed Mother’s Day gear, so after perusing Sierra to price compare “Expert Voice” “deals”, I took the kids across the lot to Mardel. (Sierra seems to be winning on every level, if curious.)
While perusing the Bibles (specifically interested to learn the LSB has made it to retailers yet), I passed by a couple of ladies (the types which strike everyone as just as permanently affixed to the spot as the bookshelves behind them) who were putting on a show of “enjoying” some restful repose inside a great store.
I made eye-contact with the elder and listener as I heard the other one say, “I am done reading theology. I tried for a while but, honestly, just give me Jesus.”
It’s a fairly trite and common assertion among under-achieving wives and over-achieving baptist ministers, so I cannot say for sure whether she was the echo chamber or in earnest. But it called to mind a conversation I had with my mom the other day about church.
Sunday School was the topic, or the setting of the topic. The real topic was the morons who lob terribly uninformed opinions about terribly vague and uninteresting parts of scripture at all comers.
I told my mom, “Remember when Charlie Sheen was in all that drama and his show fell apart? At one point he said, ‘You don’t pay prostitutes for sex, you pay them to leave.’”
“Oh, yeah. I remember. Ugh.”
“Well, with that nature of flip-sided perspective in mind, as I get farther and farther from my time at Seminary, I believe that is how the money part works. If churches aren’t doing it for ya, you finally decide to pay money to try to find meaning in silence. The nicest way of putting this perspective being that seminary students want to be around other people as serious as themselves (calling or no), but the truth (and cynical perspective) is that seminary students want to be around people who are able to keep their mouth shut when they don’t know what they are talking about. And the money has something to do with segregating those two groups.”
I Am SOAD Toxicity, A Review of Toxicity (Full Album), by System of a Down.
Wired (not “wide”) were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilot, one that smiled when he flew over a bay
My voice can sound most like Serj’s out of all Rock front men, if I do say so myself. Even at the age of 42. What can I say?
In seminary I used to put music on while writing and editing my papers, but I have recently fell away from the habit. Yesterday, however, I was feeling good (been lifting weights again for the first time in 5 years) and while the post-workout euphoria was in effect, I decided to put on music as I resumed some editing. I hadn’t heard Toxicity in a while, but I remembered loving that album and so searched it up.
One thing that I will never forget about the album is how seamless the entire thing is. One song flows right into the next. Whatever the actual production process felt like to the band, the Muse was clearly running the show. With my adult brain, I am very aware that these things are completely controllable, but in my child brain, I am to this day awestruck by how even the changing track on a CD, on every CD and every player, can happen at the right moment and in the correct and desired tempo. If you haven’t listened in a while, take the required 11 minutes to feel the special delight from the effect of the transitions from “Needles” to “Deer Dance” to “Jet Pilot” to “X”. Is it really four songs, guys? Be honest.
Whatever it is, it is perfectly sublime rock.
I remember being so enraptured by this album when I first heard it that I tried to have my dad listen to part of the album on our cool Bose speakers (like how I said “our”?) as a college kid, still living at home between semesters. But as is normal with spontaneous listening parties, he was not immediately impressed.
Over two decades later, the impression I gladly couldn’t shake at the completion of the album was how formative that album was for my current perspectives. One example should suffice.
In “Prison Song”, one lyric states, “All research and successful drug policy show that treatment should be increased/And law enforcement decreased while abolishing mandatory minimum sentences.”
Now, I can imagine that some folks might want to take this as a prescription. IE, some folks might say that, “the band is using its platform to call attention to the need for prison reform” blah, blah, blah.
No! I say again, H to the E-L-L’s No!
What they are saying is, “Burn it all!!”
The fact that the lyrics seem to make an argument is not to be interpreted as the band’s own intent to make that argument, no! The correct interpretation is to add the music and voice and realize they are calling out the entire system’s evident incongruence. Put another, less effective way, they could have sung, “You know it’s broken. You, yes you, know it’s broken! And you still are impotent. Even your supposed self-correcting design doesn’t work. It’s time to go!”
In a word, they “rock.”
And by giving us definitive boundaries to the meaning of Rock music, they help us fans understand that life doesn’t have to be a dog, which we train to stop eating our shoes by replacing them with a chew toy—no. Life can just simply be messed up. And the proper response sometimes is to call it out for what it is—period. Those in charge of the prisons, most immediately, and the rest of us in the society eventually, are forced by SOAD’s work (among others) to be uncomfortable at the least. And at the most, we find our calling and do something with our indignation. (Admittedly, this hasn’t yet happened for me, but after yesterday, I feel like it could any day now.)
In a glass-is-half-empty way, SOAD manifests the adage, “misery loves company,” but only if you also think any agent who forces you to consider that you are not almighty god does.
For the rest of us, SOAD’s contribution Toxicity extends life. Well done.
Captain’s Log 