Tagged: Writing

On the Obvious

I want to start with, “Well, I’ve officially learned…” But the information is so patently obvious that it is more like, “Well, I have to admit you were right.”

Two cultures just cannot mix.

Don’t hear me say that a man and woman can’t fall in love and decide to marry etc. But don’t for a second let that man already have a child and that woman already have a child. Or, more pointedly, don’t let the non-dominant culture’s representative bring in a child. Does this sound mean? Or even tough? It’s not. Or maybe it is. But that assessment puts it squarely in the realm of truth. Truth, it seems, by popular definition is painful.

Truth is painful. Just look at what people don’t want to say. Just list a few things people don’t want to believe. Here’s maybe the deepest, darkest secret we keep in our land of self-delusion: “My kid is a moron.”

Nobody wants to concede this one. And when it becomes known to the parent(s), they do some magic act of retreating socially and investing their time otherwise. “My hands are clean.” “What can I do?”

But when the kids turn out to be contributing members of society, it’s all rainbows and unicorns. Everyone wants to know all about it in as precise detail as possible and the parents beam, “This was all Bobby (or Susie). At most we pointed them in the right direction. Ha. We. It was their mother, I was hardly around truth be told. We are truly blessed.”

So what are my demands? What do I want out of this life?

Agreement from the adult population of earth that lying is wrong. Notice I am not asking for everyone to stop lying. I couldn’t even comply with that demand. I just want everyone of age to agree that lying is wrong.

All my life I have thought it was obvious. (Thanks, mom and dad.) It is not.

An anecdote for your consideration.

I was in line at the grocery store in the small town where I work. Long story, short, I informed my bro-looking adult male line-mate that I had a wife who did not instinctively believe lying was wrong*. In a perfect display of active listening he stopped in his tracks and paused until responding, “How would you even communicate?” I said, “That is exactly the point. Thank you.”

How would you even communicate?

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*How can someone believe lying is not wrong? It’s shockingly simple. They insert some other moral good which trumps it. Like “I just want peace.” But it could be many other ideas. That’s just the one I hear and see on the regular.

(Please keep in mind that even this peace is not defined as the only real peace that comes with virtue and morality. What these people really mean is obvious. “I just want to remain a neglected child.”)

On Culture

I used to think that culture was “you use chopsticks, I use silverware,” and a myriad of other inconsequential and oftentimes interesting differences. And in this thinking, the important, unifying fact was that the food still made it to the mouth.

This is not culture.

By analogy, culture is, “We made it one trillion years on this planet before seeing silverware! Don’t lecture me on Henry Ford or freedom!”

In short, if the people from two supposedly different cultures aren’t engaged in contentious pride fighting, they aren’t from two different cultures.

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Why does this matter to me? Because I get tired of people who have only engaged with other people from the same culture acting like they have any idea which way is up. These uni-culture people may prove the smartest on Earth, but that doesn’t mean they know which way is up.

Teachers Receive Stricter Judgment

Do not, many of you, become teachers, my brothers, knowing that we will receive a stricter judgment.

For all the experimentally-derived information not found in the books of the Bible, it sure does contain many easily deduced sentiments.

For my part, I have been elbow deep in Natural Science essays of late, essays whose subject matter has ranged from stars to candles, from chalk to mountains, and from monkeys to conservation of energy. Essays, I say. Maybe 20 total. About 450 pages worth. And these by the actual discoverers of the subject. I have not been reading a textbook written by some no-account hack with bought-and-paid-for letters after their name, just essays written by the men whose genius advanced material life on this planet so rapidly in the last 400+ years.

After the last two essays which covered such basic topics as the “law of periodicity” and the “law of conservation of force”, of which such simple words like “period” and “foot-pound” were defined—words which none of you (or I) could define upon request, but which we employ at our leisure—I started to get angry.

I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself—I am certain that I have now read more than most ever have or will on from the field of Natural Science. And that thrills me. Instead, I was thinking of my kids and all other kids. They are sitting in schools right now, staring at the periodic table and completely unaware why it is so-named. They are, if lucky, in an auto-tech class turning wrenches, and applying torque, without being able to define what it means that the limit for that bolt is 120 foot-pounds—or from where the expended 120 foot-pounds of energy get replenished.

Before you get all “Well, Pete, you’re forgetting that not everyone…” on me, I want to re-iterate these are kids who are in school! What else are they doing if not learning? And, keep in mind I have already suggested a mere 500 pages would advance their knowledge to within reach of the current peaks of human knowledge of natural science.

Also to be clear, I am suggesting these essays would be the course. Have a teacher lead the kids through them and then see what the kids want to do. I cannot be persuaded that they would choose to stop there. It is a sure bet that their curiosity would be piqued and each would willingly follow the most interesting path they saw available to continue down.

As it stands, “hydrogen will bond with…” inspires hardly anyone and we act little different than the uneducated nations and “emerging” cultures which leave a child to himself as we declare, “Oh look at that! He’s gonna be a football player for sure!”

Since obtaining a step-son from another culture, worlds away, I have seen nothing but the distribution of participation trophies which the adults and kids assign as symbolic displays of new expertise in subjects of which they both are ignorant and of abilities of which they are both wanting.

My step-son’s skin is dark, so this was to be expected as the whites in education are utterly brainwashed into thinking BIPOC folks are genetically inferior.

But I have unfortunately watched this occur all across the spectrum. The entire field of education is one big gold star for trying. The underlying sentiment has become, “You are too stupid to understand the hard stuff, so let’s just stay in the shallow end.” The obvious trouble with this idea is the people doing the hard stuff disagree.

Education, hear me clearly, is directly opposed to the priesthood. If you believe there is some special class of human that children cannot generally achieve, you cannot also believe in education. You might as well burn books. This is no different than how you cannot believe both in a geocentric and heliocentric model of the universe, or girls can become boys and boys can become girls.

In the end, in all my “this is wrong”, I found myself reminded of the scripture I opened with. Most Christians would limit James’ warning to spiritual matters. I disagree. Teachers will be more strictly judged. Teachers are being judged. We are all being judged by their failure.

Three Pointed Feelings On Political Violence in the USA, 2028 POTUS and Nuclear Bombs

Still riding the high of having correctly *felt* Trump was the clear winner long before election night, I want to share three more *feelings*.

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First, I have already mentioned that the next bout of political violence will be at the public funeral of a certain folk savior. Nothing new to say; I am just collecting it in one post.

Second, in the exact same manner and for the exact same reason as America loved itself for electing Obama (both shameless fantasy), in 2028, America will once again engage in a shameless fantasy act of self-love as it elects a woman to the office of President of the United States. I have long chuckled that the most bluntly misogynistic man defeated the first two legitimate female candidates. But fate can only laugh for so long. The mood is changing and the next president will be a woman.

Third, you, me, our children—everyone—needs to be ready for the news cycle to breeze past the first use of nuclear weapons. The “breaking news” will move on to “developing story” and finally be replaced by celebrity gossip or palace intrigue in precisely the same manner with which it breezes past every story. To be clear, someone is going to use a nuke. The fact will be hyped beyond belief with a fever pitch rarely able to be achieved, but there will be no actual mutually assured destruction or end of nations or shift in power balance. And, again, the proof in the pudding of my *feeling* (the way you know you heard it hear first) will be when the news cycle drops the story within the same time period as Oct 7, or the invasion of Ukraine etc. Nuclear war is here to stay and the idea that it was a “one off” or “we learned from the first use” is childish.

American Wives Are Humanity’s Low Pressure Systems. What Happens If Equilibrium Is Withheld?

If I was teaching meteorology to pilots, then my first lesson would include a tub of water, with a movable divider holding an amount of water at bay from filling the tub entirely. (Picture a tub half full, with an actual divider keeping the water to the left half. The right half is dry.)

I would then ask, “If we define high pressure as where the water is, then how would we label the area where the water isn’t?”

The motivated and slightly piqued students would answer, “Low pressure.”

“Good,” I would rejoin.

Then I would call the room’s attention to the tub and, with comedic flare, withdraw the divider. All would see the high pressure water rush towards the area of previously low pressure, crashing against the walls before quickly calming to a standstill.

“If you can admit that that just happened, and trust that it isn’t limited to the apparent lateral movement as this tub seemed to indicate, but vertical as well (which, if you consider what you witnessed fully, then you will be forced to conclude that water did move in the available three dimensions entirely), then you can understand every other concept of meteorology—and make sound weather calls throughout your life as a pilot.”

The high pressure seeks balance. It must find the balance it seeks. This is meteorology.

What about relationships?

“Feeling low” is probably the simplest description of “depression” (itself still in the same semantic domain as “low”). We all have experience, whether first or second-hand, with people feeling low.

What happens if the “high pressure” doesn’t rush in?

More often than not, people who demonstrate the need for help receive help. But what happens if they do not receive it?

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I refuse to believe that life on earth is about high pressure rushing to lows. I just refuse. It especially bothers me when the lows self-declare. Contrary to the smut pushed by “mental health crisis” hypsters, there are objective markers that life is not only “okay”, but that life is so good that you have actually not one damn thing to complain about.

I feel like I can distinguish this refusal from the “Am I my brother’s keeper?” domain. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe anyone riding high owes their entire existence to coming down. “Misery loves company” is my counter. “Don’t bring me down”. “Look at the lilies of the goddamned field.”

“A Plan For What?” She Said.

“You need to tell A- that the next time he calls his dad, they need to make a plan!”

“A plan? A plan for what?”

I calmly, though unable to hide irritation, say, “My wife. His dad wants to talk to him. Well, the boy is 14, not 8. So A- can tell his dad all about how he is in school and then has basketball, and then dinner, except on days when basketball is later, and then A- and his dad can figure out when a good time to schedule phone conversations would be. This is not complicated.”

“My husband. You know all about this. Don’t you want to talk to H- and she won’t talk to you?”

“What? This is nothing like that at all. We don’t care and have never stopped or tried to stop A- from talking to his dad. And no one is trying to stop them from talking now. Again, you and I have no business being involved anymore at all. The boy is 14! Tell him to explain his schedule to his dad so they can come up with a plan. Why do you and I need to go back-and-forth about this? There is nothing complicated about it.”

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Dear reader, can you guess what is at issue here? Can you imagine the underlying rub?

You got it. The dad, and apparently every physical and spiritual force—nearly power itself—wants my step-son to have his own phone. The dad wants to be able to text him and have him respond right away. The dad wants to be able to call him as he pleases with his son answering promptly.

It makes no difference that the dad is in a foreign land. It makes no difference that the dad has taken zero interest in the boy for pretty much his entire life, even though he had him to himself for the first eight years of that life. Nope, none of these things matter. When you’re dealing with humans, you are dealing with children or children-grown-older.

I need to be clear—mostly to my maker—the smart phone does not solve any problems!! And the smart phone creates innumerable problems for all it touches!! I would honestly rather give kids hard drug samples rather than smart phones on the off chance the kid just doesn’t like the effects. I don’t think I could be persuaded that, for example, crack hooks every human that has sampled it. But the smart phone? 100% addiction rate. No one can resist. We’re junkies one and all. It’s astounding.

Well, when it comes to kids in my “sphere of influence”, they have to wait before their first high. Step-children from the dark continent as well.

At face value the situation is so laughable it isn’t funny. It’s almost a joke with a punchline.

So, ha ha ha, here’s one. There’s this 14 yr old boy and his dad—impeded by no one—who can’t figure out how to call each other in 2024. The dad says, “Ring ring.” And the boy doesn’t answer because he’s at school. The boy says, “Ring ring.” And the dad doesn’t answer because he’s at work.”

Here’s the punchline I like best: “I guess ‘colored people time’ transcends time-zones!”

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“A plan? A plan for what?” she said.

One last note. While hanging out at an airport the other day, a few of the super rich came strolling through, just off their private jet. The dad—keep on mind we are talking very wealthy people flying on private jets for leisure trips—the dad, I overhear, is complaining that his teenager won’t answer texts. He goes on to say it is easier to get a response if he posts in snapchat or instagram or whatever other app the kid is known to be absorbed in day-in-and-day-out.

So, no, this has nothing to do with anything but morons being morons. The international factor is irrelevant. The family history and dynamics are irrelevant. If people want to talk to each other, they can. If people aren’t talking to each other, it is because they don’t prioritize it.

Case closed.

Another Conversational Strategy Tip For Utterly Silencing Flat Earth Lunatics

As I’ve mentioned, these guys bug me so much because they often are very similar to me in other ways—and yet the earth is a sphere.

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You: “Yeah, that’s bullshyat. Let’s back up a little bit. Can I ask you a simple question?”

(As most of the time all they do is interrupt and spew their dump truck evidence, with this move you’ll have them irresistibly tee’d up.)

FEL: “Sure.”

You: “Have you ever looked through a telescope at the night sky?”

(Crushing. On the off chance they have, simply continue with…)

You: “Would you mind taking the time to teach me how to distinguish planets from stars the next clear night? I don’t have a telescope, but surely you do. I am available any night.”

Knowledge Is Irresistible; It Defies Rebellion

Come close, ya stiff-necked supercargo. This one is important. This is a story about laundry. It is a story about power. It is the story of knowledge.

It may come as a surprise that pilots, especially military pilots or their veteran counterparts like me, spend many nights of each year in sleeping bags. As an Eagle Scout who knows the true value of a quality sleeping bag, I remember being very proud when I heard that our deployed commander used one instead of sheets while in Iraq. You see, I was no longer alone. To this day, I spend about 1/4 of the year’s nights in a sleeping bag—not including camping trips.

Naturally, this level of commitment leads to the need to wash a sleeping bag, and wash it with more regularity than your own sleeping bag laundering habits have ever included. In fact, you’re likely thinking this very moment, “Where is my sleeping bag?”

Washing a sleeping bag is an adventure of its own. Not just the washing, but the drying as well. For any ground-pounding, civilian pukes who never have spent a night under the stars (let’s not forget the boldly illiterate hippie camping community), there is a tag right on the bag that says, “Only dry in commercial dryers” or some similar wording that forbids the pilot from his perfect dream of living as an island.

(I have laundered my sleeping bag(s) many times at home and never had a problem. This post is not about rule-following.)

So the other day, despite both cars revealing mechanical issues almost simultaneously, I learned at night that the dryer stopped heating. (LORD? You watchin’?) It made the same noises and tumbled as surely as any other day—even longer when on the “automatic” setting; but the clothes wouldn’t dry. I tracked down that they weren’t getting warm either.

Enter YouTube.

There were two probable issues. One was that a thermal fuse on the heating element had tripped/blown. The other was the heating element itself had broken.

I tracked down an appliance parts guru in town who loved to chat on the phone and he assured me it was the fuse. But I forced him to concede it was worth ordering both just in case his foresight proved dim. During this back-and-forth, he said something like, “It’s all about airflow. The air has to blow the heat from the heating element into the dryer and then that air has to find its way past the clothes, past the lint trap, and through the vent all the way to the outside world. If any part of that path is blocked, the heat will remain and eventually blow the fuse. You may never know why the path got blocked. Could be stray article of clothes got caught in the wrong spot or maybe someone washed too big a comforter. But it’s all about the air.”

Fasten your seatbelts.

“Only dry in a commercial dryer,” the tag reads. Any warm-blooded human says, “Huh?” And we proceed to rebel and possibly damage the dryer.

But…

“It’s all about airflow. If the sleeping bag blocks the incoming heat, the fuse will blow—which is annoying. If the fuse doesn’t blow, the heating element could potentially overheat and cause a fire—lots of variables in that one,” the facts are. And any warm-blooded human says, “Okay.” And then assesses the risks and gets on with their decision.

The passive, uninformed warning fosters rebellion, and well it should. Instinct informs us to demand respect! “Don’t boss me! You have my attention. Now treat me like a man!”

But the knowledge is irresistible and fosters sound judgment and good decision making. “Hmm. Good to know. I’ve dried many things of similar size in this machine and so I’ll risk it.” Or whatever.

What is knowledge? Knowledge is irresistible. It defies rebellion.

Go get some.

PS – It was the heating element. And Speed Queen dryers are super easy to work on—should they not live up to their name.

PPS – Yes, I have gone back to the original name of my blog. I do want to use the fact that I stare down death for a living to get your attention. Whether I can keep it is the thrill.

Some Outstanding Quotes From Recent Reads

A book I have always dreaded is, “Up From Slavery” by Booker T. Washington. I viewed it like the pet shop snakes Pee Wee didn’t want to rescue from the fire. I could not have been more wrong. It is astonishing. (For the uninitiated, it was written around 1900; Washington was a former slave turned champion of education and recognized leader of the Negro people in the times that followed their big day.)

“The white man who begins by cheating a Negro usually ends by cheating a white man. The white man who begins to break the law by lynching a Negro soon yields to the temptation to lynch a white man. All this, it seems to me, makes it important that the whole Nation lend a hand in trying to lift the burden of ignorance from the South.”

(Pause here to consider the fullness of love captured by those words.)

“Nor should we permit our grievances to overshadow our opportunities.”

And I add this next one with a special eye affixed on Black Jesus himself. (Please recall this was spoken by a former slave. No bed, no bathing, no shoes, no toothbrush, no mealtimes. Scratchy shirts, no education. Etc etc.)

“The wisest among my race understand that the agitation of questions of social equality is the extremest folly, and that progress in the enjoyment of all the privileges that will come to us must be the result of severe and constant struggle rather than artificial forcing.”

That begs repeating.

“The wisest among my race understand that the agitation of questions of social equality is the extremest folly, and that progress in the enjoyment of all the privileges that will come to us must be the result of severe and constant struggle rather than artificial forcing.”

(It’s only natural to take a quick break before continuing to the next quote.)

Long ago I bought Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologica, partly out of interest, partly to impress a girl. I never opened it that paperback copy. But a beautiful hardbound copy was in my Great Books set and the guided reading propelled me to taste and see. So I finally had a chance to discover what it’s all about. Couple to this that back in Seminary (Evangelical, not Catholic) the phrase “intellectual assent” was thrown around like “please and thank you”, usually in a smug, “Faith isn’t just intellectual assent”. (This was said in conversations about apologetics and sharing the Gospel in general.)

“Now the act of believing is an act of the intellect assenting to the Divine truth at the command of the will moved by the grace of God…”

For the thousandth time then, say it with me, “We’re all just little repeaters”. It’s depressing in a way. But it’s also fun to track down the true creators among us.

Next and last for today is Jack London’s White Fang. I can’t recall if I ever read it. I know I watched a movie from the 90s by the same name, but to suggest it was based on the book I am reading would be criminal.

(Keep in mind this quote is about a wolf *wink*.)

“But there were other forces at work in the cub, the greatest of which was growth. Instinct and law demanded of him obedience. But growth demanded disobedience.”

(Another long pause for contemplation is only natural here.)

I write these posts for me. But I confess to you that today I write with the hope of spurring someone, anyone on to the delight of reading Up From Slavery and White Fang. (Aquinas is too much for anyone not professionally interested.)

It Makes Me Want to Teach

[SPOILER] Good sermons make me want to preach, and good movies make me want to teach.

Gladiator II is good. As I said yesterday, it isn’t that good, but it is good. Here are some areas it missed the mark and which hold it back from ever becoming a “classic”. The areas are remarkable because they are so easy to identify. (High notes will be listed at the end.)

  1. You must know what your movie is about. Gladiator was not about Rome or Maximus’ wishes for Rome. Gladiator was about the penultimate gladiator—Maximus. (Insert infamous “husband to a…” quote.)
  2. Never, never, never, never believe you can fool an audience. We’re just too smart. No red-blooded American believes you should give up. Ever. Never give up. The idea that it is noble to peacefully and without resistance enter the after-life is un-American. Do not try to show how it contains value of some sort. “Rage, rage!”
  3. I saw a clip where Ridley Scott answered a question with, “I just know.” The question was about the leading man. This was way too arrogant. Hollywood and entertainment is far more complex than that. Sure, the leading man—unremarkable as he was and will prove to be—was definitely not a let down. But the whole movie wasn’t as good as it could have been and this is obviously because it rested on “I can’t make a bad movie” reasoning, instead of a good story and good storytelling. We’re not paying to see Ridley Scott. We’re paying to see a good story told well.
  4. While the movie wasn’t “woke”, it could’ve entered the always available ranks of “timeless” by avoiding some obviously “woke” ideology. Again, this did not have to be the case. Specifically the movie had way too many irrelevant BIPOC characters (and close-ups) that contributed nothing but shades of brown to the screen. To repeat: in great movies everything in the movie must have a purpose and that purpose is to tell the story. In Gladiator, the Black and German slaves were there to make us like Maximus even more. It wasn’t about DEI. It was about Maximus—the gladiator. This leads to the next point.
  5. We never cared about Lucius. This is because we were forbidden to by the first Gladiator. He had been introduced to us as little more than a spoiled rich kid. I think it would have been possible to care about him if we were shown how. I’m thinking that the story would have had to include some highly skilled and discerning followers or servants of young Lucius accompany him to wherever he goes to hide and resent him for their having to give up court life etc. Then over time they come to respect him and are willing to die for him etc. But there are a lot of difficulties with that concept too, so I’d have to give it more thought. The point is we absolutely cared about Maximus every single second of the film. Seriously, what wasn’t or isn’t there to like?
  6. The villain was too diffuse. Great movies have one villain and he or she or it is identifiable immediately. Surprises work for thrillers, but Gladiator II did not aim to be a thriller. “Temet Nosce” (know thyself).
  7. Just like life-making love-making, there can only be one climax in a movie. What is weird about this movie is that it has events which in and of themselves didn’t have to be “climaxes”, but were shot/told/scored as if they were the climax. So you feel spent only to now be disappointed that there was more action coming. Again, it’s a simple mistake that hurt the project.
  8. The final area I want to mention is something which probably has an industry term—I just don’t know it. It’s best exemplified by Expendables 3. There were all these individual scenes dedicated to each action hero on the squad. But the scenes had no “tie that binds.” Gladiator II similarly introduced many characters with scenes that were well-acted and almost interesting, but their presence diminished the movie, instead of augmenting it. Bluntly, by contrast, I cannot think of a character or scene in Gladiator that didn’t make me like Maximus more than I previously did. Characters offered contrast to Maximus, and scenes fulfilled the role that time does in increasing our desire to see new love, in this case Maximus, again. Gladiator II’s non-Lucius scenes merely confused me while creating an atmosphere wherein I did not want to give myself completely to what I thought the story was. And all this because, say it with me, the director didn’t know what the story was.

To conclude, and to balance, here are the obvious positives.

The opening scenes and battle are evidence of Scott’s greatness. Does anyone do epic better? No. He is without peer. They are masterful. He is the master.

No scene taken by itself is low quality—more evidence of greatness.

The acting is top tier.

And despite it being CGI, the CGI is almost transparent. Pointedly—it is probably the best CGI to date. Good job.