Tagged: love
On The Immigrant
In the past, freely pursued immigration seems to have occurred for the singular purpose of “a better life.” Part of this purpose is discerned because of the sacrifices made and risks assumed for the travel from one location of Earth to another. As an American, I cannot shake the terribly, if not necessarily regular, dangerous ocean crossing from my conception of my ancestors and their desire for “a better life.” (Other parts of the world have similar barriers.) Seamen live risky lives for cash. Immigrants did not.
The immigrant of today, however, does not come to America (or Europe) for “a better life”. Rather, it must be assumed that the immigrants of today must prove in short order that they have made the move for “a better life.” If they don’t prove it, then we know they are here for destruction.
Why? What’s the difference? Put simply, the near risk-less and sacrifice-less transportation technology has, unfortunately, weakened the immigrant.
You get on a plane. You arrive. If you don’t like it, you get back on the plane, and you are home. No risk. No sacrifice. No bravery. No display of uncommon character qualities. Worse, the immigrant presents a full display of ignorance, a full display of greed, a full display of unwillingness to adapt to foreign cultures. Why do they come? Hollywood, fantasy, grass is greener, cash, exceedingly limited notions of cultural disparities that they don’t wish upon their children. I could list others. My claim is this, mind you: no reasons on the list would fall into “help America” or “help Americans” type categories, the likes of which “a better life” would necessarily entail.
The immigrant came because it was easy for them. Whether they want a better life remains to be determined.
Why does this updated assessment matter? Because the truth matters.
Why should you believe the ol’ Captain? Because you don’t have an immigrant in your life and I have one in my house.
My Sister Said We Should Sacrifice Everything to Marriage—and That This Is Biblical
My sister said we should “sacrifice everything to marriage—and that this is Biblical.”
Do you agree?
Sounds like a woman’s perspective to me.
She also said, relating to perspective during troubling times, “I think about when I yell at the kids and then imagine, god forbid, if someone dies soon after, and how would I feel? Was it necessary or just nitpicking?”
As an EMS pilot and former combat pilot, I promise that I have thought more about death and regrets than any non-pilot.
Here’s what I think.
I want to live a life that demonstrates to any who knew me—family, friends, co-workers—that they knew a (Pinocchio voice) real boy. I am not a sheep, I am not a drone, I am not a robot.
Did you get offended by me?
-That’s not my problem.
Did you disagree with me?
-You would, because you’ve never even considered the issue.
Did my personality rub you wrong?
-Well, what did you expect from a person? And where did you ever get the idea that people “get along”?
On the topic of marriage, no. No to both. The Bible never says sacrifice all (here read the practical parts of life: financial stability, children’s care, friendships, truth, fact-based systematic reasoning) for marriage. But more, and I know the full scope of what I am suggesting here, the Bible never even gives a portrait of a desirable marriage.
Exhibit A: No woman on Earth in 2025 wants to be ruled by her husband, as scripture suggests is the design of the hierarchy.
Exhibit B: Adam and Eve
Exhibit C: Moses’ marriages. Abraham’s marriage. In fact, all OT marriages.
Exhibit D: Jesus was single. Paul was single. And there is really no part of any NT letter or Gospel which highlights some marriage.
(I am suggesting my sister’s understanding is untenable, not that the Bible is invalid or uninspired etc.)
What to do?
For starters, finish the post. Then file the advice away in the archives under “probably not worth contemplating further” and get on with life.
Why I Want the Department of Education Gone
I want the government to dismantle the Department of Education because I love debating “happiness” or “flourishing” or “eudaimonia”.
There is a thing called “learning”. There is a status called “educated”. Most of the literate people (and some illiterate people) of the planet believe learning and education promote this happiness in the fullness of the word.
But the question remains.
Does education lead to happiness?
So dismantle the Department of Education. I’d even go so far as to support the end of formal schooling for a year or two.
What would “we” do? No school? Ahhh! How would life go on? Our precious daycares! Who would watch the kids screw around all day? Who would not teach them? Where would they eat? What would they wear?
Big questions, folks. And I don’t think for a second that any of them are anywhere near settled. So, Federal Government, proceed, sir!
Two Similar Dreams Last Night
The first dream was solely and plainly focused on mountain lions (and black panthers). In essence, everyone was comfortable with young and old wild mountain lions and black panthers walking around their kids. Everyone, that is, except yours truly. I can’t remember if I successfully killed any or not, but I was in the “they need to be killed” camp for certain.
The second dream was similar, except the animal was snakes. And the setting was work. And this time I did kill two of them. There were four in the dream total, but even in the dream I could not account for where the other two went. And the last one I killed was essentially encased in a pickle jar the size of the large orange puff snack jars. But when I cut through the jar (and also the snake), the pickle juice type liquid got everywhere and this was the sticking point between my co-workers and I. They didn’t want me making such a mess.
As far as the first dream, a couple days ago I had been talking mountain lions and watching videos on them. So that is easy and plain. I also listened to a podcast on prison gangs yesterday. This naturally and necessarily includes the phrase “black panthers”. So their addition to the scene is easy to account for.
The second dream makes sense given I have, also recently, told of my exploit to kill a snake that was on the seminary campus years ago—a snake that no one else thought needed termination. Add the biology room scenes from any of the Alien films or comics that I have been immersed in and you can easily see both the pickle jar/suspension fluid and “missing snakes” aspect.
Whew! Almost done.
The striking thing, however, is not easily addressed. And it is the most interesting part of trying to see if there is any meaning in these dreams. Both dreams, and many, many other dreams of mine, include a threat that only I recognize as such. Also, I usually am not successful at “ending the threat”, to speak generally.
Years ago I assessed this powerlessness as the Biblical God showing me that “it’s not my fight”. Essentially, “Relax!”
Whether or not that is true, this morning it was the “only one who recognizes the threat” part that stands out. This is probably because, firstly, I don’t feel unnecessarily ate up, like I felt when I was in seminary learning how ridiculously lay-Christians interpret the Bible—God bless ‘em. Secondly, I have relaxed since then; in other words, I took the advice and have relaxed. So why have the same message?
No. There’s something else to be learned.
I can’t help but mention that in the movie Heat the thief has a recurring dream. And the meaning. But this recurrence doesn’t stop the dream nor meaningfully take effect.
Attention Black Faith Leaders: We Need Black Preachers
I just read about how you’re trying to boycott Target.
In the comments, I read, “…Thank you.” As a white man, I take this to mean, “Thank you because, as you know, I would prefer to shop with Whites only anyhow.”
So let’s get this straight.
Segregation was real. And you (Black Preachers) got it to end.
Now you (Black Faith Leaders) advocate for segregation?
Seriously, you need to become Preachers again (Gospel Preachers, if you want my honest opinion). Something was lost in the generalization.
The Biggest Lie You Believe Today
I’m a Baptist. If the Baptist denomination could be summarized in one pithy sentence, it would be, “Baptists believe there are no more priests.”
Naturally this conjures up images of bloody sacrifice and robes, but that is not the sense I mean.
By “priest”, I don’t mean “leader”. I simply mean “humans with special access to knowledge.”
Moses was a priest. David was a priest. Adam was a priest. Cain was a priest. Jesus was a priest. Peter was a priest. John was a priest.
In the past, a very select few men and women were priests. But that time is long gone.
With me?
Augustine wasn’t a priest. Nor Aquinas. Nor any pope. Nor any pastor or bishop or, laughably, prophet of today. These men and women who entitle themselves as such DO NOT have special access to knowledge.
What is the aforementioned “biggest lie”? You believe that the experts of today are “priests” in the sense that I have outlined above.
Fauci. Biden. Harris. Hawking. Tyson. Dawkins. Hitchens. JRE. Trump. Peterson. Winfrey. Obama. You believe these people have special access to knowledge. They do not.
****
Some anecdotes to further persuade you:
After dropping a patient at the receiving hospital, I usually head to the EMS lounge. Inside you’ll find snacks and a place to sit. Often, there are policemen typing up their reports on their indestructible laptops. I have reminisced with these guys about how, when measured by time, more time is spent writing than being a “cop”. Everyone chuckles and agrees and then they fervently resume typing.
The same goes for the clinicians. Half an hour with a patient results in at least twice as much time on paperwork and documentation.
I went to a locksmith proper the other day and while there asked him, “What do you actually do all day?” His answer? “Drive around. All I do is drive to people who are locked out.”
I am certain that you can add to this list of apparent vs. real work yourself.
Do you see how it applies?
****
We give away so much power to others because we believe the lie that they have special access to knowledge.
The policeman isn’t super-powered. He does what his boss tells him, and also can read and write. The nurse does what her boss tells her, and reads and writes. The locksmith opens locks and drives around—not much reading and writing. The physicist looks at light through prisms or their equivalents and reads and writes. The mathematician rearranges ink on paper or characters on screens until he is pleased and reads and writes.
There is no such thing as a general scientist anymore. But if there was, they would admit that they spend the most of their time reading what others have written—which is likewise available to you and me.
I implore you, faithful reader. Stop believing the lie. Convert to Baptist. Life is far more beautiful and meaningful when you keep the power. You’re not stupid. They’re not smart. Instead, they have been lying to you. And you have been believing the lie.
It Sounds Like My Wife and I
As the family listened to Zelensky and Trump last night at dinner, though I knew my wife (Dark MAGA) could tell Trump(/Vance) won, I also had to chuckle because the argument Trump/Vance made was almost precisely the one I often find myself making.
“Recognize the facts!” we say in unison to the weak.
Unlike all the hypsters and hucksters, I am not worried about the future on the world or family scale. But I do confess that in both situations I am not sure what happens next. In my marriage, all I see is predictable error after predictable error. Will this end in tragedy? Probably not. But maybe.
What will happen on the world stage? I don’t know. But I like the historian (can’t recall his name, Stephen Kotkin?) who said, “War is always a miscalculation.”
Quit Complaining About the Eggs
Quit complaining about the price of eggs.
How, you ask? Easy. Eat steak.
Now that the prices are comparable, I have been eating 1/2 petite sirloin steaks—perfecting a cast iron pan fry—for breakfast as the rest of the country questions themselves into lunacy.
And I like it! Who wants eggs, when you can eat steak?
Urge is Returning
I haven’t felt like writing much of late. It wasn’t writer’s block that stopped me. I always have plenty to say. It was the fact that you’re not supposed/allowed to share patient data and so I couldn’t say much more than I did about my last work week. And then, while I often like myself better because I indulge in providing the forever internet precise examples of the terrible realities of marriage, sometimes I just can’t keep sharing them, which, yes, implies last week was doubly rough. So those two things kept me quiet.
But.
I just clicked on a video of Kamala stumping to some thespians and the way she gets to her point is to say, “Nature abhors a vacuum.”
I mentioned in earlier posts that I would someday give my reasons for reading the Great Books of the Western World (and classics in general). Immediately, then, fulfilling my vow came to mind. After all, Pascal is the “great” who singlehandedly took down this claim that “nature abhors a vacuum.” How? By treating it earnestly. He merely asked, “How can nature have a feeling?” (It is totally appropriate to think, “That’s it?” Yes. That’s it. We, all of us, have a duty to call out confusing assertions—though giving the benefit of the doubt to the author is always the best until you are certain they mean what you initially thought.)
See how that works?
But then (getting back to me and my desire to make a small contribution to this world) I thought, “So what are you trying to say? That the Great Books are necessary to know she is a moron?” To which I answered, “Good point.”
I don’t know how any knowledge of Pascal is needed to recognize how stupid Kamala Harris is. However, if pressed, I could admit that knowing Pascal and how that particular phrase really did motivate him to end one strain of stupidity may be valuable when talking to an educated (at least a proper Bachelor’s) Harris supporter. The tactic being, “You know Pascal destroyed that notion which was previously holding science back, right? Nature doesn’t love or hate. It doesn’t emote or have purpose. You do know that, right?”
But on the whole, I can admit I just get excited when I see morons more clearly than before. It’s like the clarity is exciting, not the ugly picture.
Anyhow. The urge to write is returning. Not quite back. But this is feeling good.
As a parting gift, here is some Pascal.
Rougher Work Week
In Heat, the cop played by Pacino returns late to the ritzy bar his wife lingered at and she starts in with, “And I bought into sharing. But this isn’t sharing. This is leftovers.” (Or what is the same.)
Pacino responds, “Oh I get it. You want me to come home and tell you that some junkie just put his baby in the microwave because it was crying too much. And somehow this will…” and on and on. (Or similar.)
Later in the movie while desperately trying to keep someone he knows alive, he says, “Not you, baby.”
Suffice it to say, these scenes, not the particulars but the emotions and complications, come straight from real life—which I would say is exactly why I love that movie and have always loved that movie.
In real life, as I have written before, my own reaction is a sudden and unaccounted for need to cry. I didn’t this time. But all the necessary variables were in play.
There is a great desire to ask, “What can fix the scene(s)?” Or “How can we help people?”
But I have come to believe, “This is the scene. You don’t fix it. You don’t help. You just play your role. And you hope that your society has good roles.”
From the earliest age I knew my role was “anonymous, systematized, called-in relief”.
It’s mostly rewarding.
Captain’s Log 