Gay Marriage

The self-righteous knuckle draggers in the Indiana State Legislature are at it again. They are wholly focussed on getting a state constitutional amendment passed outlawing gay/lesbian unions. They are obsessed with the one man-one woman thing. The bible thumpers rage on about the "sanctity of marriage" and how allowing the abomination of gay coupling free reign will undermine the moral fiber of our great, god fearing nation.

What a load of crap! These are by and large the same group of elected officials who spent uncounted hours a year or so ago while in session arguing in outrage against a heathen judge who ruled that they were not to utter prayers on state property that promulgated any specific religion, say, christianity. [Let's not hear any of that "in jesus' name" stuff.] Pretty much nothing got done in that particular session except ad nauseum bitching about not being able to evoke jesus name in prayer. Although, their getting nothing done is pretty much par for the course.

The sanctity of marriage, huh? A union which can be entered into while drunk on your ass in Las Vegas at 3AM at drive-thru nuptuals in a service performed by an Elvis impersonator is certainly something about which to be sanctimonious. How sacred is a union that ends in dissolution more than 50% of the time? Isn't divorce a threat to the sanctity of marriage? Isn't adultery? Adulterers, according to Leviticus 20:10, should be "put to death." How can pious christians remain mute about adultery, which not only involves out of wedlock fornication, but which also implies betrayal, obfuscation and deceit, while in the same breath demand a constitutional amendment against same sex unions? READ YOUR DAMN BIBLES! How is the sin of adultery any less heinous? Could it be that far too many of these hypocrites have been wetting their dip sticks in forbidden fruit as it were? (How's that for a mixed metaphor?) Do they tell themselves that, well, since they've prayed for forgiveness, that it's okeedokee? That they get a pass?

How is it that supposed "literal" christians can rationalize how they pick and choose what portions of the bible to revere and what they are free to ignore? Isn't the bible "inerrant." Isn't it all absolute historical truth? Isn't every word to be strictly obeyed? Who gives anyone the right to be selective? Shouldn't all devout christians who own up to their shortcomings, their lies, their deceits, their lusts immediatly run out and impale themselves on the nearest church spire?

It is so tiresome to hear these lame assed Neanderthalic legislators prattling on about marital sanctity. There is not one member of either Indiana house who has the guts to stand up and attack this proposed amendment directly on its merits. The few voices raised against it have spoken of how it might hurt business. Business for christ's sake! Large employers in the state including Eli Lilly, Wellpoint Insurance and Cummins Engine, among others are concerned regarding how such an amendment might adverselyaffect their recruiting efforts and the application of certain company benefits that currently are made available to employees in same sex relationships. Others raised concerns about the status of men and women who may co-habitate, but are not married, and how it might affect divorced couples. That's great.

But not one of those gutless bastards will even come close to dealing with the true issue at hand: The right of two people to form a legally recognized bond regardless of gender. I am acquainted with a few same sex couples. One of those couples has a 9 or 10 year old daughter. If passed, this amendment could possibly negate their parental rights. Should it become law, the government could perhaps snatch the girl right out of their house, no questions asked. (That'd show them peter puffin' faggots, by god!)

Again, I say that if you are going to outlaw same sex unions, you should also outlaw adultery, divorce and, yes, the loathsome and utterly disgusting intermingling of linen and wool (Leviticus 19:19.) Oh, the humanity!

"Ho, ho, ho" you good christians say. God was just a joshin' about that linen/wool thingy. Bullshit! If gays are an abomination, so too are all godless minglers who keep forbidden linsey-woolsey boxers squirreled away in their chests of drawers, perhaps hidden under their cotton/polyester blend Fruit of the Looms. You all shall be eternally damned to hell, I say, you mongrel garment wearers, you! Fie, I say! Fie on thee! The Minglers Bureau will root you out! (Hey, Budreau, they nabbed some o them minglers! Fill up yer pockets with some good throwin' rocks and hot foot it over't the fair grounds. It's stonin' time agin! Yeehaw!)

In the end, this amendment is not about marriage or its sanctity. It is about hate. It is an abuse of power.

TLS

Hey Kids! What season is it?

It's Spring, by golly! This is my forsythia. I haven't trimmed it back for nearly 10 years. It is one bush which is nearly 20 feet in diameter. This is the first time it has bloomed this gloriously for 4 or 5 years. Usually it gets frozen out before it fully blooms. It fairly glows in the midday sun. It's one big bush, no? I suppose there are bigger ones out there, but I haven't seen one yet.

Woohoo!

TLS

Just Not Feeling Good

It is, I suppose, not surprising that one's perspective regarding day to day life changes after discovering that you have a serious health problem. As I've related in earlier posts, I was told after testing that I have a blockage in one of my cardiac arteries. I am "managing" it with a beta blocker.

Up until this diagnosis I had always been more or less healthy. Not fit mind you, but healthy. That is, I had never been found to have anything life threatening or debilitating (except for my arthritic knees.) To date, I have never spent a night in a hospital except presumably at birth.

I had a number of the usual childhood illnesses - measles, mumps, various flus, colds and so on. I did my share of heaving chunks during my youth. But otherwise, I've lead a fairly charmed existence healthwise. Until now.

The doctor assured me that my situation was far from dire, that while significant, it could be much worse.

Still, one's perspective changes. Now I am hyper-sensitive to every little twitch, every little ache or pain, every flutter of my now suspect heart. While I am told that it is likely a side effect of the medicine, I now find that I tire easily. I oft times hit a wall of utter exhaustion at least once and sometimes twice almost every day. I can't wait to lie down, to zone out. For years I have taken short naps, usually sometime in the mid-afternoon - a benefit of working from a home office (kinda hard to do that in a cubicle.) But often I did so as much out of habit as out of a real need to rest. I have just thought of them as my daily meditations.

Now, the naps are generally longer and seem at least, more necessary. What I don't know at this juncture is just how much of my reaction is physical and how much mental or emotional. More often now I find myself thinking about things that I will likely never do. The future seems less definitive. I know that I could still rival my mother in longevity. She passed at 92. But I am also mindful that my eldest brother died at my age, 60; of a heart attack. That pretty much sucks. ( I wonder, if I wind up in a grave, or in an urn, if I could have something to that effect chiseled or etched on the surface. "This pretty much sucks." That might be good.)

I know in my initial post about this turn of events, I was all blustery. I was shook up, but the reality of it hadn't begun to sink in. I said then that I didn't feel any different, and I didn't. But now, I do. I presume that at least some depression is a natural response to one's initial tete-a-tete with mortality. I'm probably guilty of indulging myself too much. I've tried to avoid sitting on the pity pot. Perhaps that's what I'm doing here.

By current standards, sixty years is not a long life. Hell, the average life span in the US is something like 75 years. I recall some years ago it was announced that the average life span of an American male was around 72 years, while that of the average American female was 78 years. Some comedian taking note of that distinction announced his intention upon hitting 71 was to get a sex change operation. Good thinking.

I'm certainly not ready to cash in. I hope to see both of my sons get themselves established in life and take some pleasure in their accomplishments. I hope to get to a point wherein I will be able to hang up my clip board and tape measure and just live day to day without the concern for making a livelihood, and to be able to do that in relatively good health. But who knows? While I give no credence to any god, there are still things we just can't control. They ain't none of us gonna live forever, at least not yet.

TLS

You Can't Go Back. You Just Can't Go Back.

The old saying, "You can't go home again" was brought to bear for me earlier this evening. The results of browsing can rise up and bite you in the butt, if you're not careful.

I went on-line searching for an old acquaintance. Actually, I had searched for him a couple of times over the past few years to no avail, but this time I hit pay dirt.

Back in the late 1960s I worked for (the now defunct) Trans World Airlines at the Indianapolis Airport. A fellow TWAer suggested I go with him to see a vocal trio that was playing the lounge at a nearby hotel. A nite or two later we did.

The trio consisted of one guy I'll call Dain and two girls I'll refer to as Jane and let's say Carmen, yeah, Carmen is good. (Obviously, those aren't their real names. I'd rather not go plowing willy-nilly into their lives.) Jane and Dain were married, uh, to each other. The trio was good. They sang covers of current popular songs - old standards, a little jazz, a little rock & roll. Jane played piano and Carmen sometimes played guitar. They all three sang well individually and had a good harmonic blend when singing together. I believe Jane, who was classically trained, created most of their arrangements.

Over the course of the next several weeks I went to the hotel lounge several times and began hanging out with them after their final sets. Dain and I became friends. To understand our relationship, suffice it to say that Dain was very much an "A" type personality while I was then and remain a "B" kind of guy. Dain was dynamic, pretty much always the mover and shaker of whatever was going on. He ran the show. We followed and fed off of him. Was I a sycophant? I prefer to think not, but I was certainly caught up in his aura.

Dain, Jane and Carmen had been students at a fundamentalist college out here in the midwest where I believe they met. Not surprisingly, Dain had been well on his way to becoming an evangelist minister. But somewhere along the line Dain, and I would assume with Jane and Carmen following his lead, became disillusioned by their studies and religion in general, and together they left school and their religious lives behind them. All claimed to no longer believe in god. In so doing, Dain related that his father had essentially disowned him. Jane's parents though less harsh, still were mightily troubled by their daughter's rejection of the church. I don't recall hearing how Carmen's parents weighed in on all this.

Shortly thereafter the three of them pooled their musical talents, formed their little trio and began playing clubs in the midwest. Somewhere along the line Dain determined that his new found goal was to become an actor, and the only place to do that was New York City. After several months the three of them pulled up stakes and moved to the Big Apple. I followed along a few weeks later.

I was a pretty malleable pudgy hunk of clay back then. I quit my job at TWA, drove east dragging a U-Haul trailer loaded with my junk and moved in with the three of them at the Seville Hotel at 29th and Madison where we lived for several months. To be kind, the Seville had seen better days but was relatively cheap, at least by New York standards. Dain enrolled in acting classes at HB Studios, a professional theatrical school run by Herbert Berghoff and his wife, Uta Hagan, both well established broadway actors. Subsequently I too enrolled at HB and quickly became hooked. The atmosphere at HB was intoxicating, especially to a midwestern hick like myself. Suffice it to say that I proved to be no threat to anyone's theatrical career. But Dain seemed to be on the fast track. He managed to get into Berghoff's class from the get go.

I won't go into all the gory details, but as time went on things deteriorated between all of us and ultimately we drifted apart. Dain had a brief affair with Carmen. Jane discovered it. Dain and Jane split only to later reconcile. Carmen began seeing a fellow who was a heroin addict and soon, may have become one herself, although I am not certain of that. She and I shared an apartment for several months and she was at times chatty about this and that. She did tell me she had done some heroin but was not addicted. I'm not sure if you can "sample" that stuff and just walk away.

Just to do the confessional thingy, I smoked some grass, dropped some acid and mescaline a few times over the course of my stay in New York, but I never got involved with anything heavier. As I noted in an earlier post, I haven't imbibed anything of a dubious legal nature over the last 30 years or so, other than repeated heavy doses of trans fats. The LDL swat team is surrounding the house even as I type.

Carmen decided that it was up to her to intervene on behalf of her boyfriend by moving both of them back to her family home in Illinois in the notion that she would be able to get the two of them "straight." In what was perhaps the most surreal scene I have ever witnessed Carmen's middle aged, midwestern, fundamentalist parents came to New York to assist with the move. Mom and Dad rented a truck and began loading Carmen's worldly goods onto it. Carmen and a girl friend of hers decided the best way to handle all of this was to drop acid making pretty much the whole job of loading a truck the most hilarious and alternately the saddest thing they'd ever done. Of course, her parents were clueless. During all of this Carmen's boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps being a lifelong New Yorker, he was contemplating life in the heartland with some trepidation. I guess he showed up sometime or other, I don't remember.

Meanwhile I was trying to find a place or places to take my meager belongings. I was forced to give up the apartment as the rent was too high for me alone. So I moved back into the glorious Seville; just me and my little Dachshund, Doodle. Yeah, Doodle. Want to make something of it?!!

By late the following summer Carmen was long gone. Dain was doing summer stock in Massachusetts, if memory serves. I don't recall what Jane was doing at that point working somewhere, I presume, paying rent. In the meantime I had fallen rather too hard for a girl from Massapequa Park, but my ardor was unrequited. I was pretty much alone, and I must admit, rather a pathetic mess. It was time for me to get out of Dodge, or, er New York.

A couple of years later, shortly after Jo and I were married, we drove to New York as a kind of belated honeymoon and stayed with Dain and Jane at their apartment in Purchase, NY in tony Westchester County. Frankly, I can't remember specifically what Dain was doing at that juncture, but I'm pretty sure he was still clambering up Thespis' ladder. Jane had taken an accompanist job at a community college in Purchase. Jo and I stayed for a few days. As I recall the infamous Boris Spasky/Bobby Fisher chess match was ongoing.

That was the last time I saw Dain or Jane. We exchanged a few cards and letters over the next year or so, perhaps a phone call or two, but as so often happens, communications between us dwindled and ultimately ceased. I haven't seen or heard from any of them since. Until today I didn't know if any of them were still drawing breath.

I found Dain online today.

During our early days, first in Indy, then in New York, through any number of all night, sometimes drug enhanced gab fests with Dain, Jane, Carmen and others who occasionally came and went, my atheism took form. I remember one evening just as I was leaving their apartment, which overlooked Abbington Square in the West Village, I turned back and asked Jane if she believed in god. She thought for a minute, smiled, and quietly said no. I left, going back across town to my tiny rent controlled hovel in the East Village with the aforementioned and mighty Doodle in tow thinking about just where I stood godwise. I decided during that walk that I too, no longer believed. I felt as if a great weight had lifted off my shoulders.

Well, that was then. This is now. Dain, as it happens, is now a christian minister in Hollywood. In Hollywood for crap sake! He is a member of the "Pastoral Posse" (???) at his church. Talk about a slap upside the head?

How do I feel about this? Betrayed? Mmmm, that might be a bit strong. Sorely dissappointed? Yeah, I'd say so. I guess I always assumed Dain was my secret partner in crime.

Of course, Dain made his own choices as he had a perfect right to do. It was and is his life, after all. But as memory serves, he was so adamant, so sure of his sight back then. During that time in New York he reiterated time and again that to believe in god was ludicrous. Given what I've come to understand about people in the intervening years, while I am certainly chagrinned, I am not altogether surprised by Dain's reversion to religion. I think Dain always believed he was destined, if you will to be great at something. Perhaps things didn't go as he anticipated. Or, actually, maybe they did. I don't know.

Nor do I know if he now gets up and preaches the gospel. If he does, I'm sure he's very good. He has great stage presence. His voice, a mellifluous baritone, commands attention. His position with the church is noted as being related to spiritually inspired theatrical and film production. In a short bio on the church web site Dain states that his "occupation" is "actor, director, playwright," so he has apparently remained active in that world.

I'm still sorting this out. Dain certainly had no responsibility to me. He believed then, what he believed. Things change. Dain was (is) an intelligent guy; on the whole, much moreso than I. But he somehow thought his way back to the church. I can't account for that.

My atheism has remained steadfast and developed on its own over the last several years. The Dain/Jane/ Carmen trifecta started the ball rolling for me. But now I don't require them or anyone to validate what I believe today. Still, this revelation has shaken me to a degree. It is rather comically ironic, I guess. My wife thinks its hysterical.

I sent an email to Dain. I am curious to see if he remembers me, and if he will choose to respond. Perhaps he won't care to take a stroll down his long past secular byways.

I can take comfort in one thing, though. Dain's bio includes a photo. Dain is bald. I am not. Ha, ha. (Say it like the tough kids do who always beat up Bart on The Simpsons, you know, kinda nasally, but triumphant.)

TLS

Just thought I'd add a little postscript here. Dain does indeed preach the gospel. I found a podcast of a few of his recent sermons. He is indeed quite good. He uses his natural flare for the dramatic and his prodigious theatrical training coupled with his disarming charm to great effect in delivering his message.

Note that while I admire the delivery, I don't embrace the message. I suppose all this does reveal something about me, though. While I have actively sought him (among others) out from my deep dark past, I think it probable that I haven't so much as crossed his mind since Jo and I pulled out of his driveway in Purchase in the summer of 1972.

Another Mish Mash

A lot has been going on in the world over the last several days, and I have managed to pretty much ignore all of it. I've just let most of it go in one ear and out the other.

What did I take notice of?

People in positions of power keep saying stupid things. General Pace, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs put his boot in his mouth with his immoral gay comments. Now he regrets making the comments, but does not apologize for them.

We had a guy here in Indiana fly a single engine plane into his mother in-law's house killing himself and his young daughter who he took in the plane with him. No one on the ground was hurt, but apparently he did this deliberately as revenge against his ex-wife. Guess he showed her. These kind of events are so maddening. There is no way to gain retribution or justice against these assholes. How is it that anyone thinks that their lives, their agendas are of such great importance that the lives of others, often their own children or other supposed loved ones are of lesser value, that they are no more than pawns to be used for agendas not their own.

Just as I sit here, a local news item on the tube involved a man who stabbed his 11 month old infant, after an altercation with the child's mother.

Why are some men such assholes? Self important bastards. You only occasionally find women of this ilk. Susan Smith comes to mind. Andrea Yates. Amanda Hamm. Probably some others.

A girl my son went to high school with died in an auto wreck a few years ago. She was survived by her 2 year old daughter. Her live-in boy friend, who may or may not have been the biological father of the girl, fought for her custody against the deceased girl's parents. When it appeared that the court intended to award custody to the 2 year old's grandparents, the boy friend decided not to let that happen. He took his own life and that of the girl. Again, he showed them, by god! No justice is possible.

America's fatal flaw: The assumption that we are operating from a position of moral superiority in the world, and are, therefore, justified in waging pre-emptive war against those whom we determine to be morally inferior.

You know, Osama believes that his cause is right and just. He sees himself as a righteous muslim waging war against the infidel for the glory of allah. The young people who are lured into the war against the west, who become suicide bombers believe they are on the fast road to paradise.

Religious fundamentalists maintain total certainty that their particular god, their particular belief system is the one and only true faith. All others are, therefore, false. All followers of other belief systems are doomed to eternity in hell.

I know I have covered this ground before as have many others. But the situation remains more or less static. I recently watched the Jesus Camp movie. An entire generation of young people is being brain washed into becoming god's warriors. Those kids need an intervention. They need to be forced to look out of the tiny little god-shells the church has encapsulated them in, and be made aware of the world around them, warts and all.


This qualifies as one of my venting posts. Not particularly earth shaking, or even informative. Just venting.

TLS

Another Colts Note

It's interesting how during any sports' season and the lead up to the respective championship games or series that the fervor builds to a kind of fever pitch which, in the sports world at least, is all consuming. Who will make it to the playoffs? Who will win their conference championships? Who will advance to the finals? Then, and especially in the case of the Super Bowl, the hype and hoopla grow to huge proportions. A lot of money is being spent. A lot of money is being made. All the talking heads on the tube wile away hours analyzing each remaining team, breaking down the match ups, discussing who's healthy and who's not, attempting to determine how coaches are preparing their charges, making their predictions, etc.

Finally, the game is played. The gun sounds. It's over. Woohoo! So and so won! So and so are world champions! The winners walk around with helmets held high with huge smiles across their sweaty faces. The losers, with downcast miens, shake a few hands and melt away quietly to their locker rooms and off in their buses.

Afterwards there are game analyses, some interviews, a couple of appearances on Leno and Letterman, and then it's over. Aside from those connected to the winning team - as players, coaches, family, media and fans - nobody else much gives a crap.

The folks in Indy are patting each other on the back, basking in the glow of the Colts' Super Bowl win. It's all great fun. The folks in Chicago are licking their wounds, generally dissing the Colts - "Manning ain't all that good. We shoulda whupped 'em," and bitching about Rex Grossman and why Lovey Smith didn't pull him or call different plays or whatever.

The rest of the country could care less. As I said in the previous post, most people outside the Chicago and Indy regions by now may not even remember who played or who won. While Indy is pleased with itself, it should be understood that generally people don't care to watch someone else celebrate.

As this is the first major sports championship Indianapolis has ever won, I suppose we don't quite know how to conduct ourselves. Places like New York, Chicago or Boston, among others have "been there, done that" many times with many different championships. Not to say they don't celebrate. They have their parades and their speeches and their drunken parties just as we have. But, they probably aren't quite as giddy as we mid-western hicks have been about it. Their celebrations are seasoned with experience.

Nevertheless. I am happy that we won. While it's a source of boredom for some, it has put a bit of a spring in the step of a lot of people in and around Indy. If it never happens again, I guess that will be all right. We can in our boredom look askance upon those in future championship cities in the throes of their celebrations. We will no longer be suffering from trophy envy. We can say, perhaps with a knowing sigh: "Been there, done that."

TLS

Colts - Super Bowl Winners - Anybody Really Care?

If you look closely to the left of the guy in the "Addai" jersey you will see the "Lombardi Trophy." No, really. That's it. That is the symbol of what nearly 1700 burly guys knock heads (often literally) to achieve starting every year in mid-July at summer training camp and running through the end of January the following year culminating with the Super Bowl.

The Indianapolis Colts managed to acquire this little trifle this time around. Big wup, huh?

Well, yeah. I know it is all kind of silly. If you're not into sports, or specifically professional American football, it all seems superbly ridiculous.

In the particular instance recorded above a local Indianapolis Meijer store provided the venue for Colt fans' first opportunity to see up close and even touch the Super Bowl trophy. Something like four to five thousand people waited on line for up to five hours to take advantage of this. The trophy is still being toured in similar fashion over the next several weeks all over the state of Indiana, and even one stop in Danville, Illinois, probably just to piss off "da Bears."

I admit to making the trip to the Meijer store. However, upon seeing the crowd winding its way around aisle after aisle, my wife and I quickly determined that there was no way we would get in that line. The photo above is as close as I got to the trophy, perhaps 25 to 30 feet. I had to wait until people shifted around for a second or two revealing the trophy to my vantage point - then "click."

The NFL Super Bowl XLI DVD was released a few days ago and again thousands of people have lined up at area stores to buy it and get an autograph from one or more Colt players.

I imagine that, if you asked people at random (at least people not from Indianapolis or Chicago,) who played in the last Super Bowl and who won, you'd get a lot of blank stares. "Don't know, and don't give a shit." would be a likely response.

I will say though, that winning the Super Bowl is a good thing for Indianapolis. I heard someone on the tube just prior to the game claim that Chicago really needed a Super Bowl win to bolster the city's collective psyche. Well, I don't know about that. It seems that Chicago has had some fairly recent success in the realm of major league sports. If memory serves, the White Sox brought a World Series win to the Windy City in 2005. And the name Michael Jordan comes to mind. I think "da Bulls" managed a modicum of success in the NBA not so long ago. Correct me if I'm wrong.

Indy, on the other hand has had no claim to any kind of major league sports championship since the mid-1970s when the Pacers won a couple of playoff finals in the old ABA. Since the Detroit "brawl" the Pacers have become more of a punch line than a professional basketball team. Even the glory days of Bob Knight's IU basketball teams have become a rather dim and now bitter memory. Their last championship was 20 years ago.

Now Hoosiers can bask for a while. We can enjoy this at least until next December or January. Indianapolis is, vicariously at least, a winner. The Colts won the big one.

What does it all mean? In the end of course, not much. The supposed "glory" is over stated and ephemeral at best. In lite of what's going on around the world, competitive sports at any level pale in importance. Obviously, a lot of people could care less. I watch some football and basketball, but am far from being an avid fan. I wouldn't have waited on line for hours for much of anything short of free money.

A bit after 9/11 the Onion published a headline that read something like: "Americans need to get beyond 9/11 tragedy to return their attention to meaningless crap." It's true, of course. And by and large, we have. Sports are essentially meaningless. But compared to war, mass murder, genocide, pandemic disease and famine what isn't?

Regardless, now that I live in a winning Super Bowl city, I must admit, it's kinda neat. I'm not even that big a fan of Indianapolis. But perhaps people from elsewhere may be less apt to call it IndiaNoPlace. What the hell. I'll share in the fun, for a while at least.

TLS

Happy days are here again. The skies above are...

Just thought I'd post this great little poem as a pick-me-up for anyone going through difficult times.

HAPPINESS

by

Jane Kenyon

There's just no accounting for happiness,
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet
having squandered a fortune far away.

And how can you not forgive?
You make a feast in honor of what
was lost, and take from its place the finest
garment, which you saved for an occasion
you could not imagine, and you weep night and day
to know that you were not abandoned,
that happiness saved its most extreme form
for you alone.

No, happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto a grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep midafternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your dispair.

It comes to the monk in his cell.
It comes to the woman sweeping the street
with a birch broom, to the child
whose mother has passed out from drink.
It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing
a sock, to the pusher, to the basket maker,
and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots
in the night.

It even comes to the boulder
in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,
to rain falling on the open sea,
to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.

A note to Ms. Kenyon and her publishers: All proceeds from this posting will be donated to the "Hare" fund established on behalf of the emotionally traumatized bunny who unfairly lost the race of the century to that unscrupulous tortoise and his nefarious gang of shell bangers.

TLS

Just Jesus Land

Well, I read Jesus Land. I got it partly right. It does involve the heavy handed treatment of the author, Julia Scheeres and her adoptive Afro-American brother David, at a christian camp for supposedly troubled teenagers, the New Horizon Youth Ministry's camp, Escuela Caribe in the Dominican Republic. But their stay at Escuela Caribe was only part of the tale.

On the larger scale it is a story of abuse; physical, emotional, sexual abuse. It's also a story of racial prejudice and religious bigotry. It is a story of narrow minded stupidity. It is a story of hatred and self loathing. These elements come together in violence perpetrated against children; most pointedly Julia and David, whose childhood is stolen from them by a sadistic father, a self-involved religious automaton mother, another adoptive Afro-american brother who is also a sexual predator, racial hatred at their high school and the Lafayette, Indiana community, and the incredible stupidity and further sadism of those running the camp in the Dominican Republic.

Much of this is done in the name of old testament, fire and brimstone christianity.

While there is an air of predictability about Scheeres' narrative, it is that, perhaps, which makes it even sadder and all the more maddening. This story has been told before, many times. Every time we hear of this kind of abuse, we tend to believe, or at least hope that the act of airing these harrowing tales in books and other media will be useful in putting an end to it. But, of course, it doesn't. Demented, stupid people keep coming down the pike who use religion, among other weapons cruely against people, usually children, who haven't the wherewithal to defend themselves. The biblical concept of original sin is routinely used against children by supposedly pious adults as a justification for violence; all in the guise of turning troubled kids away from satan and toward abject supplication to god.

It should be said that Jesus Land is also a love story; the mutual love of Julia and David. The hell that the two of them lived through as societal and family outcasts served to create a bond between them. Each provided a small island of peace for the other. Julia and David were the only ones who had any understanding of what was happening to them. Each was the only person the other could trust.

I won't divulge the ending for anyone who hasn't but has an interest in reading Jesus Land. Not that it's some kind of mystery, but it doesn't end quite how you might think. Suffice it to say that Julia Scheeres is a survivor. Unfortunately, many others are not.

A couple of web sites of interest: http://www.nhym-alumni.org and www.nhym-alumni.org. The first was set up by a group of New Horizon alumnae who use the site as a tell all against the organization. The second is the New Horizon Youth Ministry's web site. They are still in business, and judging from the site, going great guns. That is great, indeed!

TLS

Evil is Afoot!

You just can't make this stuff up. Check out

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070214/india_nm/india287685

We Westerners are just a nasty, depraved bunch.

TLS

Jesus Land and Beyond

This post, in slightly different form, was originally written as a comment on Julia Scheeres' blog site in response to her post titled "Ghosts of My Brother." Ms. Scheeres is the author of Jesus Land, the story of the life and death of her adoptive brother and, at least in part the disastrous effect a "tough love" religious camp had on him. Jesus Land was listed on the NYT bestseller list for some time.

I haven't read Jesus Land as yet. I have been aware of it owing to its success, but just haven't gotten around to it. As some of you may know I have read Sam Harris' and Richard Dawkin's recent books, among others. I am also in hopes of viewing the Jesus Camp film which has made some news of late.

While Ms. Scheeres now resides in San Francisco, she originally hails from in or around Lafayette, Indiana. Her blog profile states that she "outgrew" Indiana. I can relate to that, but I guess I never did - outgrow it, that is. I still live in the Hoosier State. Ah, but that's another story.

Several years back there was a christian based group in Indy that was housing a number of mainly Russian orphans (and children effectively orphaned by the incarceration, and/or addictions of their parents) at a former Stouffers Inn Hotel on north Meridian St. and the former Julietta Home on the far eastern edge of Marion County.

Via a roundabout means we were contacted by the group at Julietta to inquire if their kids could come to our home to pick apples. At the time we had seven apple trees and no means to utilize the overwhelming crop they produced. So, one sunny September afternoon we hosted a group of around twenty to twenty five kids ranging in age from six or seven to around seventeen to pick our apples. It is interesting to note that these kids were not eligible for adoption. They were all conscripted to return to Russia at age eighteen to serve in the military.

They wound up hauling out perhaps fifty or more bushels of apples, and we also allowed them to pick the grapes from our small arbor. Few of the kids spoke any appreciable English, and ostensibly for that reason, we were requested to refrain from making any attempt to communicate directly with them. At the time we thought that a bit strange. But overall, it seemed to be a happy experience for all. Perhaps it was just the effect of being outside on a lovely late summer day.

However, a few weeks later news hit the airwaves regarding this group and its heavy handed tactics at disciplining their charges. The name of the group escapes me at this writing. Some of the kids were reported to have been isolated in lightless rooms, trussed up in blankets, sometimes for days. The kids were often harrangued for their transgressions - whatever they may have been - in interrogation sessions rather ironically reminiscent of Stalinist era KGB or East German Stasi tactics. A number of other accusations were leveled at the group. I don't recall if there was any other alleged physical abuse, nor do I remember there being any accusations of sexual mis-conduct on the part of the overseers.

The end result, though was that the Russian government quickly pulled the plug on the group and whisked all of the kids back to the motherland. This revelation put a damper on our enthusiasm. What had seemed so blissful on "apple day," turned to a sense that we had abetted forced child labor.

The puritan ethic which still holds fast in this country often leaves one dumbfounded. The misery that is brought to bear against people of all ages, but most painfully, against children in the name of religion is despicable. The supposedly protective umbrella of religion often provides, rather a font of guilt, self-loathing and hate that gives license to all manner of abuse and, as we are now witnessing, mass murder.

TLS

Thoughts on Yet Another Cold Night

It has been very cold here in Indy for several days. We had an entire week with lows dipping below zero and haven't even approached the freezing point since I can't remember when. Now those of you in more northern climes are no doubt unimpressed. But it's a matter of what you're used to. If it snows a half inch in Atlanta, everyone goes ape shit. Indiana normally gets a fair share of "winter" weather, but this stretch of cold coupled with some significant snow is not the norm.

I just read the latest report from upstate New York that some areas have as much as 110" of new snow. That's more than nine feet! Holy crap! They won't dig out of that till the end of July. What the hell do you do with nine feet of snow?

But still.

The local weather guys are predicting no significant break in our situation. There is even another snow storm in the works as an arctic low is set to combine with heavy moisture coming up from the gulf. The next "perfect storm" on the brew. What a crock.

Oddly, we had the warmest January on record. No snow. A good deal of rain. But February has come in like an early arriving lion who has apparently eaten all the damn lambs.

So much for the blasted weather.

I posted some of my articles I've written here at Blog Critics Magazine (http://blogcritics.org) over the last several days. Overall they have been reasonably well received. An older article titled "On Death" didn't get much in the way of comments, but was chosen one of the selected "articles of the week" by their editorial staff. Pretty good, huh?

What is rather funny, though is that an article titled "The Folly of the Iraq War" got what I initially thought was major response. I don't believe that any post I've written here has had more than a dozen or so comments. The great majority of them get none. (No, no, that's all right. I've learned to accept it. I understand. Really.) As of this writing a total of 350 comments have been written under my Iraq article.

When it began to take off, I was delighted and surprised. While some of the comments were rather scornfull of my offering in that they felt it amounted to nothing but old news, some seemed to like all or portions of it for varying reasons. However, it soon became clear that my little article was of no particular concern to anyone. My bubble burst. Of those 350 comments, perhaps a couple dozen are even remotely related to the article. Most are concerned with what I assume are ongoing disputes between a number of contributors, editors and commenters which began long before I came on the scene. Being a newby, it didn't occur to me that there was long established in-house squabbling. Mercy me!

Apparently, one of the commenters is also a heavy contributor and editor on the site, one Dave Nalle. He has made comments under at least two names which others consider a dastardly deed. I have no opinion one way or the other. It comes down to being a tempest in a teapot as far as I'm concerned.

When I went through the process of registering for the site, I read any number of admonishments against personal attacks. They would not be tolerated! Well, aparently that ship sailed long ago. Pretty much everyone ranted that their fellow ranters are lying scum who should go fuck themselves by whatever means available - hard and often.

I should note that this group seems to hover around the "Political" section of the site. It is divided up into various areas of interest. Of course, I posted my Iraq article and also my article about Bobby Kennedy under the "Politics" banner. A couple other articles were posted under "Culture" and one under "TV/Film." As noted, they went largely unnoticed, but at least they were not subjected to the maelstrom of accusation and name calling.

I may avoid the "Politics" section in the future. Although, some of it was rather entertaining. It's surprising how imaginative people can be through their invective. I recommend the site to any of you unfamiliar with it. There is in fact some good writing to be found there. Some of it, if I may say so, is mine. (I'm hot stuff!) By the way, I post at Blog Critics under the name "Baritone" just to keep homeland security off balance.

Hee, hee.

Keep up the good work you motherfuckers! (Sorry, Jazzy)

At least it's something to do on a cold winter's night.

TLS

Big day for Indy & Chi Town, disappointment at home

This is the big day for the citizens of the fair cities of Indianapolis and Chicago. By the time most anyone reads this, one of those cities will be the home of the Super Bowl champs. A great day.

However, disappointment hit home. My son in Germany was to board a plane in Berlin and arrive in Indy around 5:30PM today. He arose at around 6AM and soon after boarded a train for the 2 hour ride to Berlin, then made his way to the airport.

Upon checking in he couldn't find his passport. Then it dawned on him. His passport was left sitting on his desk back at his apartment. He had used it to do a pre-check-in on line. It never made it back into his travel pack.

It's the kind of thing that we all do at one time or another; the kind of thing that drives us to distraction and worse. My son was devastated. The plan, of course, was to get to Indy in time to take a seat and watch the Super Bowl at the old homestead. My wife and I were looking forward to having him home. We haven't seen him since last August. It would be great to share watching the game with him.

He called his brother who then called us to relay the news. It left me feeling hollow and feeling my son's pain. I know this doesn't measure up to what families are going through with their kids in war zones. But family is family.

Fortunately, the airline allowed my son to reschedule his flight without penalty. He will be coming in on Tuesday. Our other son is flying in Wednesday. We will all be together for a few days. That is great. We will just have to watch the game separately. Somehow, I think we will survive.

TLS

P.S. The Colts won! Woohoo!!

Blockage? You're Talking Blockage?

Yep. I went to see a cardiologist today, and that ugly word cropped up. I got BLOCKAGE. Well, that sucks! It's a bad thing, right?

What to do, what to do? Roto Rooter comes to mind. Liquid Plumber? Draino? The doctor forces a chuckle. "No, no, and no." Then the good doctor, who, I believe, hails from India or thereabouts, says: "You don hiv de bon don doo nu biddle da nob dib kondando, ha, ha, ha." What a guy. We all just laughed and laughed.

We pulled ourselves together and after a good deal of repetition I think I discerned that I have a posterior artery which is probably 70% to 80% blocked. Just the one, I guess. He pointed out rather jovially that it is not the "widow maker" artery, and it is not completely blocked. (This was determined via a stress test coupled with nuclear [or nucular if you're a republican,] injections and scans prior to and after my nine and a half minutes on the treadmill.)

Good.

I guess.

Well, now I am going from simply taking an aspirin and multi-vitamin in the morning to where I will soon be downing those plus Zocor for high cholesterol, and something to slow my heart rate, a beta blocker, the name of which I never quite understood, and - AND I am now supposed to carry nitroglycerin tablets with me in the event my chest explodes. I have always been under the impression that nitroglycerin possessed a tendancy to explode. But what do I know? Nitroglycerin for poop sakes!

Life moves on inexorably with changes that inevitably lead us to the happy hunting grounds.

Things changed for me today. I don't feel any different. I haven't been having any pain, sweating or shortness of breath, but nevertheless, things have changed. This is the first definitive chink in my immortal armor. By golly. I might not live forever. People have been telling me that is the case for some time, but I never really believed that it applied to me.

True, I've had some knee problems - a torn miniscus, a little arthritis - but that had little to do with continuing to draw breath. It just slowed me down a bit. A little pain. Mostly just a nuisance.

But a blockage? That's my heart, man! That's pretty basic.

Then the doctor tells me I'm fat. What's up with that? I point out that "I wouldn't be fat if it wasn't for my weight. Ha, ha." And, then: "My gelatinous gut here? Well, it used to be my chest but owing to the effects of gravity... Ha, ha, ha." He doesn't get it. "Yes, he says, you weigh a great deal, and so you are fat. You have the belly fat. Badinably kondeendi pundamakoli. Okay? We'll see you."

And he's gone.

I slip my shirt back over my ponderous bulk, and my wife and I make our way back to our car. We decide to trek up to Trader Joes grocery and look for low sodium food. I pointed out to her that sugar has no sodium (or fat for that matter.) But, alas, she's diabetic.

It has been determined that we humans are supposed to take in no more than something like 2000 milligrams of sodium per day. There are packaged foods at Joes that have nearly 1000 milligrams of sodium per serving. I think salt is the first ingredient listed on the package. Most have something in excess of 500 to 600 milligrams per serving. What can you do?

I once purchased a can of sodium free soup. No sodium. Nada. None. That was perhaps the worst tasting thing I've ever eaten, and I've eaten dirt! They could use that stuff on "Fear Factor." No one could eat that crap.

We are salt fiends. Even if we eschew adding it to our food at the table, salt, as they used to say about Prego: "It's in there." No wonder people died young before they discovered how to utilize salt. The hellish taste of their food destroyed their will to live. They wanted to go to the land of milk and honey.

What am I to eat? Low fat, low salt, low sugar, low calories. I can eat air. Or air "lite" would be preferable.

Well. Not to worry. This dastardly clogged artery will not get me down. I will lose weight. I will get in shape. I will eat air. To hell with my knees! I am aiming for the Ironman competition in Hawaii in say, 2008 or, better maybe 2009. Don't want to rush into anything. I will kick some "Big Kahuna" butt.

Of course, I've got to do this while I also go about learning everything so I can retake the damn Jeapordy on line test. I'll put the entire contents of the Encyclopedia Britannica on an IPod and listen while I bike, swim and run. No problem. Not only will I be one smart son of a bitch, I'll be a buff one, too. The girls (and maybe some guys) will swoon. Brains and brawn.

I just hope I can be understood answering the Jeapordy questions with a nitoglycerin pill under my tongue.

TLS

Humility, Thy Name is the Jeapordy On-Line Test

Yeah, I took the Jeapordy On-Line exam. You see, I'm a pretty smart cookie. I know a lot of stuff. I sit watching the show answering the questions left and right. Appalled at how the contestants can be so uninformed. "Who was Bilbo? not Frodo, you dummies!"

So. I signed up to take the exam. I was gonna nail that sucker. It'd just be a matter of time until I would be telling Alex Trebek about some dumb thing I did in college or on my honeymoon, or whatever after the first commercial break, no doubt with yours truly in control of the board. Look out Ken Jennings, I'm gonna play whoopass on Jeapordy.

Tuesday evening, 8:00PM rolls around. I'm a bit nervous, but confident. The clock counts down to zero and the fun begins. The first question pops up. Uh, well, I don't know that one, but hey, let's move on. There's fifty questions. Missing one can't hurt. The second question appears. Hmmm. Well, I uh - on to number three. Hey, I know that one - clack, clack, clack, clack, clack. Nailed it! Number four. Oh, that's uh, oh yeah, er no, uh oops, time's up. Well, crap! Number five. Got it. Number six. I got no idea. The Sargasso Sea? Where the hell is that? Screw it. Number seven. Oh, man. I know that, I know that. Ed Asner! No, no, he was the actor. Who was his character? Time's up, again. Damn! Lou Grant, dammit! Lou Grant for crying out loud. Oh, yeah - Number eight. Woohoo. I know that one. Number nine. That one, too. Now I'm rollin'. Number ten. Oh, boy. What was his name? No, I mean what did he write? "The Tell Tale Heart?" No, that was Poe. Damn, damn, damn! Number eleven - - - and so it goes.

Uh, don't look for me on Jeapordy any time soon. I can't even take the on-line exam again for two years. Talk about a come down. I'm a smart guy, darn it. I shoulda maxed that test. Of course, I am getting a bit long in the tooth. Not as quick as I used to be. Who am I kidding? No one ever mistook me for a bolt of lightning. But, hell, how hard can it be? By golly, I'm gonna bone up over the next couple of years. I'm gonna study - what? Everything. I'll study every damn thing there is. I gotta get on top of all those English kings and queens. The French ones, too. And the Italians, and the Germans, and the Russians, and the - oh, well, I'll get to all of them eventually. I also gotta know about all those "potent potables" - What the hell is a Shiraz?, and all of the vice presidential wives, and all of the Secretaries of State, and, oh yeah and lyrics of all Kurt Cobain's songs, and what phylum arachnids are in, or is arachnid the phylum? No, that's the class, or maybe the species. What was the name of the chimp on the first "Today" show? Fred J. Suggs er no, Muggs. Yeah, Fred J. Muggs. Right? Oh, man. I don't know. I mean, I know, but I don't know.

Hmmm.

Maybe I just oughta keep answering the questions over dinner. No pressure. Just keep the mac & cheese coming.

TLS

Woohoo!!!

3000 HITS!!!

Man, can you imagine? It only took 14 months. (Of course about 2/3 of those hits were me, but hey. So what.)

tls

Yeah, yeah, I'm back. I know I wasn't gone long, but...

An observation:

The closing item on the NBC Evening News tonite was the story of an elderly woman in Georgia who says good-bye to all the soldiers leaving for the middle east from an airbase outside Savannah. It has been estimated that she has bid adieu to around 56000 men and women as they boarded planes over the last three and a half years. She is a grand, somewhat blousy cracker of a woman. It's a great gesture on her part.

Over the last few years there have been a number of similar stories of extraordinary support of our troops and/or their families, like the various groups across the country that have provided properly insulated helmets to soldiers in need of them, that the government failed to provide.

Similar stories made the airwaves during the much briefer Gulf War in the 1990s and, of course, during the seemingly interminable Vietnam War in the 1960s and 70s. It is truly great when people come to the fore to help the young men and women placed in harm's way in service to their country. We often see that, while war can and does bring out the worst in us, the best instincts of humanity also tend to surface.

As great as all that is, one is left to ponder why all this is necessary in the first place. Our military is killing and being killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. Why? Ostensibly to stem the tide of terrorism. I won't go into all of that. We know the drill, the reasons Bush & company gave for the Iraq invasion. We also know that most of those "reasons" were not substantiated. No Al Qaida connection, no 9/11 connection, no WMDs. Let's see. What does that leave? Saddam Hussein was a murderous, eminently evil bastard, a despot of the first order, who killed thousands of his own people. Horribly true. Is there anything regretable about his fall and subsequent execution? No, nothing.

However, all of that does not meet a litmus test for our going to war. Does anyone believe that things are better in Iraq now? Iraqis are dying by the score daily. In the end does it really matter who is doing the killing? Saddam, Americans, or your neighbors? Not only is Iraq in a state of chaos, the entire region is becoming unsettled owing to the sectarian violence between Shiites and Sunnis. There are both Shiites and Sunnis in Iran, Syria and several other countries in the area. It is not that much of a stretch to see how the violence could spread. Additionally, terroist groups like Al Qaida and others have taken advantage of this situation by instigating violence in such a way as to cast blame on one sect or the other. If what is going on there presently does not qualify as civil war, it's the next thing to it. To argue the point is splitting hairs.

Bush's obsession with bringing down Saddam has cost us dearly. We are now mired in a conflict from which there is no graceful exit. This is reminiscent of our involvement in Vietnam which was nearly twenty times as costly in American lives, and probably dozens, perhaps hundreds of times more costly in the combined American, Vietnamese, Cambodian, Laotian, and other lives than all those lost in the Iraqi conflict to date.

The 57000+ American and countless other lives lost in the Vietnam conflict absolutely died in vain. The so called "domino" still fell, and to what effect? Now, Vietnam is a country that has largely rebuilt itself with an economy that is on the upswing and is generally well respected in the world community. And all of those people died for what, again?

The same can be said for our involvement in Iraq. At some point we will withdraw most or all of our troops from Iraq perhaps quietly, perhaps ignominiously as in Vietnam. What will be left behind? A unified country with a strong democratic government as Bush hopes? Perhaps. More likely Iraq will further devolve into total chaos and all out civil war. The entire middle east could be left a virtual powder keg.

George Bush may well be left with a legacy that he never imagined when he made his triumphal "mission accomplished" appearance on the carrier, USS Lincoln, or when he uttered his loathsome "bring 'em on" challenge to the Iraqi insurgents. The whole region could be engulfed (no pun intended) in sectarian war. Terrorist groups will be having a heyday. Israel will be rendered more vulnerable to attacks from all directions. The United States will have so much egg on its face that we will be indiscernable from a western omelet.

And all of the death will have been in vain. But, hey, maybe we can get cheaper gas.

TLS

There is an end to all things

I think I may put this baby to bed. It seems to have run its course. I know this will be a disappointment to my ardent readership, but I'm sure both of you will be able to find other sources for intellectual stimulation, razor-sharp wit, and downright fun.

I've sat here several times over the last few days without any inspiration. Perhaps I've had my say. In any event, I'm just going to let this be for a while.

TLS

No Global Warming?

Jazzy & Other Doubters,

Read this if the spirit moves you: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070103/ap_on_bi_ge/exxonmobil_global_warming

This doesn't prove anything one way or the other. But it certainly does raise questions regarding any information debunking global warming which has been disseminated over the last few years.

Hmm.

Pat Robertson: What a Guy!!!

Pat Robertson has made his predictions for 2007 after his tete-a-tete with the godster. The big guy related to good ole' Pat that a bunch of us are going to get greased this year via some type of terrorist attack on our soil. God, being the sly devil he is, wouldn't divulge anything further except to say that it will probably be later in the year. So, I guess we can relax through spring and into summer. The college crowd can still get stinko and screwed at their all important post winter rituals in Florida and the Caribbean. The rest of us should be able to get a handle on that pesky crab grass and perhaps get in a few rounds at the country club (thank god!,) But then, we'd better start raising the terrorist alert level toward the crimson end of the spectrum, and stock up on batteries, plastic sheeting, duct tape and turkey jerky. The lord of lords wouldn't even tell Patty Cake what kind of attack it will be. Nuclear? (or, uh nuculer?) Biological? Tribbles? He knows how to keep us on the edge of our proverbial seats, doesn't he?

Robertson is proud of his track record, but admits that "sometimes I miss." The fact that he's not batting a thousand tells us that either Patsy should invest in a hearing aid, or take better notes. Or perhaps the king of kings gets his jollies from messing with our heads. He feeds us a few red herrings just to keep things interesting. What a kidder.

Pat Robertson is an asshole. How he maintains an audience is beyond me. That he, in fact has a large following does not reflect well on the intelligence level of this country. He is such a mean spirited cretin. His adherents are idiots. Robertson's having a dais upon which to spew his drivel is, if anything is, a sin against humanity. He's not up there predicting the next schmuck "The Donald" will point to and say "You're fired!", or whether Brad and Angelina will break our hearts. The Rob lays claim to having one-on-one personal conversations with god, for god's sake! He predicts mass murder to bolster his ratings. The man is insane! Presumably, should his dire prediction come to pass, he will no doubt gleefully shout from the rafters "I told you so, I told you so. Nya na nya na nya!!!" I can envision Pat Man and the omniscient one giving each other "high fives," and maybe downing a couple of brewskies together in celebration.

Simply because some of the crap Robbie Baby supposedly regurgitates from the mouth of god comes to fruition does not serve as an affirmation of his predictions. It only means that if you throw enough shit against the wall, some of it will probably stick. Big wup!

Here is hoping that someone spirits the Reverend Mr. Robertson away, ties him securely to an uncomfortable chair, pins his eyes open ala A Clockwork Orange, restricts his head movement and forces him to watch Rob Schneider's entire body of work (or to the true aficionado - his oeuvre) - TV and film - in full Dolby, repeatedly for days - nay, nay -for eternity!

Pat Robertson is - well, I just have to say it - he's a poophead.

One other thing.

The supposed outrage of, among others, the Iraqi sunnis regarding the execution of Saddam and the video which is now circulating the net, is a crock. This coming from people, primarily muslims, who think nothing of stoning to death a young woman in the town square for besmirching her family's honor for say, being in the same town as some man not her father or brother, or as seen in Afghanistan under the taliban, public beheadings during period breaks in soccer games. Now that's entertainment!

Seeing Saddam being led to his death was not pleasant. I took no joy in watching it, though watch it I did. I am not a particular fan of capital punishment, but if anyone deserved to die for his actions, Saddam did. I don't mourn for the man. People who believe that Saddam Hussein was any kind of hero are at least as stupid as Robertson's admirers, maybe more so (if that's possible.)



TLS