Happy Birthday, Daddy: Thoughts on Fatherhood.

Dennis waxed poetic, so I thought I would indulge. These are my thoughts on someone who for me will always be larger than life.

Few of my friends' dads were both as feared and loved as ours--kind of like a drill sergeant. (They called him "Clint," after the Dirty Harry movies--and not just for the once - obvious physical resemblance.) None of the kids in the neighborhood liked to annoy him, but sometimes they would risk it to get his positive feedback.

I think they knew he took a genuine interest in them. He was no Mister Rogers, of course, not someone kids would flock to. He was just there, working in the yard or making something, or whatever, but available and always ready with encyclopedic knowledge on every subject any kid could come up with:

"What was it like when you were gassed in the Army and your mask didn't work?"
"Aw, it was somethin,' I tell you what . . . [eleven minutes later] now, the Germans first used chlorine gas during World War I, but you could smell it. But mustard gas is odorless...."

"What was it like jumping out of airplanes in the Army?"
"Aw, it was somethin'. . . [nine minutes later] now you see, the Bernouli Effect is what happens when air is forced around a curved object. And the wing of a plane is flat on the bottom but its curved on the top. Look at this radio-controlled model I just made out of balsa wood. See that curve? Now when the air is forced around that curve, it speeds up on the top side of the wing--but the air on the bottom doesn't speed up--and the difference creates lift... Now your balsa is one of your lightest woods..."

"What was it like riding a bull?"
"Aw, it was somethin' else, I tell you what . . . . [thirteen minutes later] now, Braimers' were never much for beef. But they've been bred to other breeds to help them resist disease. The Santa Gertrudis, for example, is three-eighths Braimer' and five-eighths shorthorn. And the Brangus is three-fourths Braimer' and one-fourth Angus. Then there's the Charbray, which is three-eighths Braimer' and five-eighths Charolais, if I remember correctly...."

But he saved the best lessons for his own children . . .

"Well, sound travels at a rate of 1100 feet per second. And there are 5,286 feet in a mile. Now light travels amazingly faster--do you remember the speed of light?"
"Ummm....one buhzillion miles an hour?"
Then he slaps his forehead and grimaces, nodding side to side slightly. "Well, now there's no such thing as 'buhzillion.' Light travels at a rate of a hundred and eighty-six thousand miles a second--or 700 million miles an hour. Now, that's fast, huh?"
"Maybe. But Han Solo has warp speed. That's way faster."
"Hun Who?"

"Now, I don't know a thing about music, junior. But middle C is the name musicians give to a sound with a wave amplitude that measures 256 Hertz. And the frequency doubles with each octave. So the next C up is 512 Hertz, and the one below middle C is half the frequency of middle C, or 128 Hertz. Now, if you could draw the wave pattern of the different Cs at the different frequencies or Hertz, the distance, you see, between the sign and the cosign would always operate on a ratio of 2:1, with the number of Hertz at the peak of the wave being...."
"Daddy, my rubber ducky makes waves when I throw him in the water. Watch."

"Come here, son. Stand right here. Listen to this song on the reel-to-reel."
"Okay."
"There. You hear that? That's the magic of stereophonic sound. The analog tape is magnetized in such a way that the signals for some instruments go to the left speaker, and some go to the right. The tape is polarized, see. Acoustics is just so interesting. Isn't it incredible?"
"Yes. Now can I go ride my bigwheel?"

"Well, now you've got to understand the difference between volts and watts. One measures current, the other is a unit of work. And it takes 1,000 watts to make a kilowatt. And a kilowatt hour, then, you see.... Now, when the power leaves the generating plant, they raise the voltage up thousands of times so that it can travel more efficiently. But then it has to be reduced at the transformer before it comes into the house. Can you imagine what would happen if your house ran on 50,000 volts?"
"Ummm. It would be like an atom bomb and blow up the whole state of Texas, maybe?"
"Well, no. It wouldn't be like an atom bomb. Now, son, stop pedaling the tricycle for a second. Listen. An atom bomb is not electrical. I mean, it works off an electrical switch, of course. But the bomb itself is based on nuclear fission. Think of it this way: you remember last week, we were talking about the nucleus of an atom, right? Remember, how there are electrons and protons and they float around the center? And some are positively charged, and some are negatively charged? Like the parts of the mobile above your crib?"
"Yeah, all the moving parts of the mobile, Daddy. I remember. I like my mobile."
"Right. Well, an atom bomb is like that."
"Daddy, if my crib blows up like an atom bomb, can I sleep with you and Mama?"

All kidding aside, never was a father's brain more tightly packed with sophisticated information about the way the world works--and never was a father any better at sharing it with his kids. I always liked his approach: share a little more than they are ready to absorb, and on a level a little higher than they are ready to hear. I'm sure I missed plenty, but I appreciated the fact that I was expected to understand, and spoken to as though I were just another grown-up.

On this subject, I think I learned more from him than I did in any school on the subjects of physics, history, politics, capitalism, education, media literacy (a term he'd never use!) and life in general. More importantly, the teaching of our parents prepared us to interpret the divergent worldviews we would encounter in college. Judging by the struggles of almost all of my peers at HBU--when faced with so-called 'higher criticism' of the Biblical text, for example, I think it was the confident and intelligent, thoughtful faith of my parents that made the difference.

But more important than all of that is the way he has lived his life. His integrity is unimpeachable. I don't think anything ever mattered more in our home than honesty. Complete honesty. And I recommend the same--it has an impact on so many other areas. (Teenagers, for example, will rebel. But teens who perceive their parents as dishonest or hypocrites will rebel in spades. No age group is more sensitive to a snowjob, and none more likely to sniff it out.)

But my parents are honest. And when hard (really hard) questions were raised in later years, whether they concerned society, or our local church, or whatever, it was my knowledge of my parents' integrity that kept me going, not their answers. Nineteen-year-old know-it-alls can dismiss pat answers. But when you have examined your parents and are certain of their complete trustworthiness--I'm talking about absolute, total honesty, not just the "mostly honest" of the guy down the street--then nothing they say can be dismissed as a 'pat' answer. If I brought them a question, I knew the answer was the truth, just as if Jesus had walked in and posed the question Himself. I honestly do not know another man about whom I can say that.

Finally, I admire my Dad for a number of reasons: He never cared about material things. He keeps the financial house in order. He's patient. He never oversleeps. Both he and my mom are never, ever late for anything. He has literally never spoken a cuss word in my hearing (nor I in his!). He reads the paper cover-to-cover every day, and reads the Bible through every year (and did both before retiring). He never stops reading books. He always had time for us. He could fix anything and make anything (including a working flint-lock rifle, a set of flint-lock pistols--or whatever they're called--and a huge Bowie knife. Boys love that stuff). He is shrewd but never cynical. He believes in swift justice and hanging murderers and pedofiles. But he knows God can change lives. He does his own taxes. He never drinks and never missed it. He remembers his whole life--and can repeat it in a thousand great stories, each of them seasoned with bits of historical and scientific trivia.

And he never backed down from a fight.

Following the oft-repeated 'Clint' reference, I spent years scanning movies for something more apt. My friend Scott compared him to Gary Cooper's iconoclastic character in The Fountainhead film. (Scott also said that given Daddy's Louisiana accent, listening to him talk was like listening to a very intellectual Foghorn Leghorn.)

Then when I saw Mel Gibson's The Patriot, I thought there is a movie that captures my dad. Here was an articulate, thoughtful man, willing to disagree with the leaders of the community. He loves his family and wants to protect them. But when the English capture his eldest son and take him away to be hanged, Dad grabs three rifles and sets up an ambush. He rescues his son by singledhandedly killing a dozen or more soldiers, in the end reduced to hacking at them with a tomahawk, finally so overcome with passion he just keeps hacking on the last one until his son stops him. When Dad looks up, he is covered in blood.

As he would say, "it's a safe bet" my dad's never gone that far. But there were threats leveled against me as a kid. Most were empty, perhaps. But when they weren't I can't tell you how great it felt to know I had a dad that would take on all comers. In this world of emasculated, passive men, where feminism and liberalism have left most too conflicted to be gentlemen and too selfish to defend their family against anything but physical harm, it is great to know those who coudn't care less about "that silly feminist hogwash."

He was absolutely undaunted for example, by the man who told me and Dennis (ages 6 and 4) that he was going to break both our legs. This man chose me for his pet scapegoat. If money was missing from a piggy bank, then that 8-year-old delinquent must have snuck in during the night and stolen it. (Yes, he literally accused me.) If something was broken, it must have been little Steven the devil-child. This grown man considered it his duty to constantly remind the second-grader next door that he would be spending his whole life behind bars and would never be president or an astronaut or a lawyer or doctor or anything else. Then there was the time he literally picked me up by the hair so he could look me in the eyes and tell me not to throw grass clippings. When it was appropriate, Daddy and the man "had words." I did my best to watch from the bushes. (I'd give anything for a tape of those conversations.) When a confrontation could be avoided, my parents taught me how to handle criticism. They taught me not to internalize it. They taught me that sometimes, it really was not my fault. They kept reminding me, convincing me that I was a good kid. As John Eldredge would say, they taught me that I "had what it takes." I would not trade those lessons for a nicer neighbor, not on your life.

And for a kid and his parents to do battle together against a common enemy, whether it's a neighbor, or math, or an illness or a learning disability, or whatever--what better way could there be to forge a powerful bond as allies, not adversaries? I suspect one of the reasons I so easily internalized so many of my parents' beliefs and values is that these struggles left me absolutely convinced we really were on the same team. Oh, I rebelled--in a thousand overt ways. But there were several lines I would not cross, lines many parents can only dream of. I also worked through my 'rebellious phase' much earlier than most. By high school graduation, I had decided my parents were wiser and better allies than most of my peers. And I think a part of it may have been the way they fought for me and alongside me during so many difficult childhood battles. It's easy to leave long division to the teacher, for example, and tell yourself they'll catch on soon enough, what difference does it make. But it does make a difference.

Still, as a child the constant criticism was hard sometimes, not because it had any basis in reality, but because I seemed to be in trouble all the time. At school, teachers complained about all sorts of things. The principal and I knew each other far too well. She wanted me on Ritalin. I ended up on a special diet. And I meant well, but seemed to always be doing the wrong things. There would be moments of brilliance--one great school project a year, maybe--then months of failures. But what stands out when I look back are not the struggles but the rescues. I will never forget the way I was defended.

My parents expected a lot from us. But sometimes when I explained what happened, Daddy would look at me--and he knew I would not lie to him--and I would see a twinkle in his eye. I never knew what that was. Did he understand? Had he been there, too? Could it be that deep down, even though what I did was bad, he understood why a boy would want to do it? Without ever really telling me, I always knew he understood. Even when he took the belt off. Somehow, I knew that he knew what it was like. (And I believed him when he said, "this is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.")

But when I was falsely accused, and falsely punished or unfairly treated in some significant way, it may have hurt. But for most of those occasions all I really remember is being defended. All I remember is my hero. And in a case like that, the pain is worth it because without it, you would have never seen the passion of your defender.

"The Glory of Sons is their fathers." Proverbs 17:6.
--Boy, am I blessed.

Happy 71st! You deserve it.

Would You Destroy US Law to Defeat Roe v. Wade?

South Dakota is busy passing a law making abortion a crime, and doctors convicted of performing an abortion can be punished by five years in prison and $5,000 fine. Five other states are racing to pass similar measures: Ohio, Indiana, Georgia, Tennessee and Kentucky. This calls for celebration! Doesn't it?

But wait--isn't abortion a protected right, under Roe v. Wade, no matter how illegitimate that decision?

Since when do states intentionally pass laws that are patently unconstitutional? Do long-term, unintended consequences no longer matter? Can we just say "chuck-it" to the whole system because one law is bad?

The play A Man for All Seasons documents the life of Sir Thomas More,
England’s Lord Chancellor. A key scene includes his debate with his son-in-law,
a righteous man who is frustrated by his father-in-law’s unwillingness to arrest
a man everyone knows to be bad. More won’t do it without proper grounds. His
son-in-law says in effect, forget the law. Tear down the law if you have to, but
get the bad man. More asks to what lengths his son-in-law would go to prosecute
the devil. The young man explains hotly that he would destroy the entire English
law to get at the devil. More then asks where the young man would turn for
protection when the devil turned on him.

Likewise, the question facing
conservatives is: to what length will we go to get at a bad case—to get Roe v.
Wade?Should conservatives destroy the institution of the law and the respect of
future generations by trampling stare decisis? The film’s Thomas More would
answer no. And did the movie romanticize its hero? Unlikely. More is known to
have once explained that were he sitting on the bench and asked to judge between
his father on one side and the devil on the other, “his cause being right, the
devil should have his due.”

The quoted passage above is from another post, here. I have also discussed the rule of law here but it keeps coming up.

These un-Constitutional laws are terrible. Consider the precedent. Do we want every state to do its own thing, no one following an accepted national standard? Can you imagine what this would do to our system?

Global Map of the Cartoon Wars.

There is an amazing interactive map of the recent rash of riots sparked by cartoons. (Yeah, cartoons. I couldn't believe it either.)

Do you still think it's a religion of peace? Can anyone still believe that? The whole world is on fire, burning in Islamic arson. It has its denominations, sure, but everywhere Islam is the majority religion, it is a religion of war and death and suicide and beheadings, a religion with no hope of forgiveness, and no hope for redemption, and no hope. Many of its followers raise their children to hate and to believe that all non-Muslims (or non-Shia Muslims) are evil and worthy of slaughter. It is easier to believe that the relative peacefulness of American Islam stems not from any inherent peacefulness of the religion, but from the fact that its followers remain so greatly outnumbered. Historically, Islam has always been a religion of peace--while it remained a minority.

The cartoons were published in September, but no one cared till now--because several fake cartoons were added. Still, the reaction to the cartoons is substantial evidence that we are dealing with a dangerous, unpredictable, evil enemy. (But how much proof do you need?) The fact that Europeans and American liberals want to appease and placate them is inexplicable. Do you think they will ever be appeased? Will they ever be happy? Even if we were to give them the one thing they want most, the entire land of Israel? Would they not simply find another way to blame all their problems on us?

The Islamo-Fascists are the most dangerous people on Earth today. They should be absolutely barred from entering our nation, and their attempts at nuclear programs should be stopped at any cost. If it were up to me, we would depose all the evil leaders as we did Saddam (but I'm not saying all Arab nations have evil leaders, though the difference is one of degree; I'm not sure any are particularly "good"), and we would import democracy. Not all of western culture--but freedom and democracy are essential.

What if it were up to you? What's your solution?

Documentary on Reagan and the Fall of Communism.

Ronald Reagan first encountered the spreading virus of Communism when he was a Democrat and union president. For the next forty years, he wrestled with a single enemy, a struggle documented in In the Face of Evil. The film airs tonight--watch it or tape it. As one friend wrote, "finally a reason to watch the Paul and Jan network."

(I also recommend Peggy Noonan's When Character Was King, and What I Saw at the Revolution--and anything else she writes.)

American Idol Wins Gold During Sweeps Month.

American Idol beat coverage of the Olympics almost two-to-one? How can that be?

American Idol is better television, that's how. I have friends who look down their noses at the show--friends who can't sing, of course, and have never auditioned for anything. But what they seem to be mocking is the show's tame, family-friendly nature. Of course, that a show lacks a shooting, a surgery, or an autopsy does not necessarily make it bad. In fact, American Idol is the absolute, bona fide king of television, a collossus no other show can touch. And though I've watched them all, Idol is the only reality television that I like (or consider anywhere near reality). Here's why:

1. The people are real and the focus of the show is the contestants (as opposed to coverage of the Olympics which has become a showcase for broadcasters and political speeches not unlike an awards show--however, with regard to this first point, the Olympics is a probably a close second.)
2. The show is about singing--and at some point during the show everyone who watches will hear at least one or two songs that they like. (And they'll be well done, now that the auditions are over.)
3. The audition shows are great because everyone loves to hear someone else sing flat--I mean, it makes you realize that you can at least tell when they're flat, right? And apparently they can't? Somehow, that just feels good to people. (Although it's painful at times.)
4. Everyone loves to hear someone sing well, too. Especially the people who have worked hard and who keep on working hard.
4. People love to try to predict the judges' comments.
5. Not everyone has skiied, or "curled," but we've all tried to sing. You can relate.
6. We know what we like in a singer, and what we don't--people who may know very little about music still know what they like. Similarly, we are no longer a nation of readers. We're watchers of tv, and increasingly, obsessive listeners. Music fills way too much of our time and attention--but we have developed a ravenous taste for it.
7. The show always has two or three surprises: people who have a sound that actually is unique (it is such a cliche). Idol has had many, but a few have been cut so early, I can't remember them. The best examples may be Fantasia Barrino, Clay Aiken (not just another Barry Manilow--the guy has pipes!--though no one has heard them since the season ended; all his recordings are dull compared to what he is capable of), and at least two unique voices this year that I am excited about, one an energetic rocker, the other Alabama's answer to the marriage of Joe Cocker and Ray Charles.







Given the quality and variety of singers this season, I would not expect the Idol to topple any time soon.

P.S. On Cheney Humor

The jokes are funny. But the allegedly serious comments are annoying. Reporters (I didn't get the name) who insist Cheney was drunk ("that's what hunting is all about, right?") are completely irresponsible. And Mrs. Slick Willie calls the White House "less than forthcoming." I guess she would know.

As hilarious as the jokes are, none would be funny if we didn't live with the constant din of radical-liberal babble in our ears every day. It's only the alternative universe with which we co-exist that makes all this funny. The following premises are all lies. But you hear them so often, they sound true, and they are "true" in a way--true within the fictional world of those who believe them.

To find any of this humorous, you must accept the following--but only as part of the fictional parallel universe of George Clooney, Michael Moore, et al.:

1. The Bush Administration is a posse of cowboys who love to play with guns.
2. The Administration hates lawyers (as opposed to frivolous lawsuits).
3. The Administration loves war, and loves to fight and slaughter its enemies.
4. The Administration does not care about innocent victims and believes American soldiers are expendable.
5. Cheney is a privileged fat cat who thinks he deserves special treatment.
6. Cheney is secretly on the payroll of Halliburton--in spite of his sale of all stock before the 2000 election.
7. No one but the Bush Administration believed Saddam had WMDs. They acted unilaterally--with no support from Democrats or any other nations. (How soon we forget that the majority of the Democratic party voted for the war and the whole world knew Saddam was flouting the UN weapons inspectors--who also believed he had WMDs.)

P.S.--

I'd rather hunt with Dick Cheney
Than ride with Ted Kennedy.

On Cheney: This Stuff's Comedy Gold!

In his book, How to Be Funny, Steve Allen wrote an equation:

Tragedy + Time = Comedy.

But you don't hear a lot of jokes about 9/11. Same with Columbine and Hurricane Katrina. Decent people refrain from making tasteless jokes in the face of horrible suffering.

But who's talking about decent people? I've got a theorem:

A sense of humor is often inversely proportional to a sense of decency.

I hope my theorem is wrong. Anyway, please allow me to apologize to the White House and all its occupants, to hunters, and to Bush supporters everywhere. But I'm sorry:

You just can't go around shooting people!!

To me, this is the funniest thing that's happened in years. I'm sorry. It just is. (Dear God, bless Mr. Whittington and don't let his health suffer further.)

That said, how can you not laugh at this? It is the most unbelievable, outrageous bungle since the Clintons moved out. (The material below was stolen from ABC.)

As you read, try to hum Aerosmith's latest: "Cheney's Got a Gun."

from Vice President Shoots Man, Hilarity Ensues

By JONANN BRADY

Feb. 14, 2006 — - W.W.J.S.D.?

This is the question the nation asks when a story of great political magnitude breaks, such as when our vice president accidentally shoots a 78-year-old lawyer in the face while quail hunting. It's not "What Would Jesus Do?" but "What Will Jon Stewart Do?"

Harry Whittington's injuries are certainly no laughing matter. The Texas lawyer was "peppered" with pellets in his cheek, neck and chest when Cheney fired his shotgun, but by all accounts, he's recovering nicely. * So comedians on the Internet and on late-night television are mining this political comedy gold.

Dan Kurtzman, the editor of About.com's political humor Web site, says this is the funniest thing to come out of the Bush administration since the president choked on a pretzel. [What do you mean? This is way funnier.]

"It has all the key ingredients for a great comic set-up: A gun-wielding, warmongering vice president who embodies the motto 'shoot first, ask questions later,' a bizarre case of mistaken identity, a dubious official narrative, and a lawyer riddled with birdshot. You can't make this stuff up," Kurtzman said.

Here Come the Lawyer Jokes

A few bloggers played on Cheney's well-documented disdain of trial lawyers.

Political Cortex's headline was "Cheney Accidentally Bags Lawyer Out Of Season," while Wonkette said, "Dick Cheney Finally Takes a Stand Against Trial Lawyers."

Jay Leno also pulled out a lawyer joke in his monologue Monday night: "Over the weekend, on a quail hunting trip, Vice President Dick Cheney accidentally shot a fellow hunter, a 78-year-old lawyer. When people found out he shot a lawyer, his job approval rating rose to 92 percent."

And Jim Brady, the former Ronald Reagan aide-turned-anti-gun-advocate quipped: "Now I understand why Dick Cheney keeps asking me to go hunting with him."

But We're at War

Web satirists had fun with Cheney's own (fake) spin on the shooting, and a few reminded the American people that the rules were different during wartime.

Jerry and Joe Long imagined this statement from the veep on huffingtonpost.com: "Since the days of Aaron Burr, under our constitution, the vice president has the implied authority to shoot whomever the hell he pleases. … In a time of war, it would be inappropriate to comment further on how and under what circumstances a 78-year-old man underwent a minor pellet infusion."

"I believed I had credible intelligence that al-Zawahiri had infiltrated my hunting party in disguise with the intent of spraying me with pellets," Mr. Cheney told reporters. "Only after I shot Harry in the face and he shouted 'Cheney, you bastard' did I realize that this intelligence was faulty."

A Man Unafraid of Guns, F-Bombs

But what does it all mean for the vice president's reputation? Cheney always had the air of the renegade about him -- frequently scowling, often disappearing to "undisclosed locations," and not afraid to drop the F-bomb right on the Senate floor.

Does this shooting make Cheney even cooler?

The Wonkette bloggers think so. Yesterday, they said on the Web site: "Dick Cheney is a badass, and we love him. He's like America's abusive father -- we're terrified of him, we hide under our beds when we smell whiskey on his breath, but we crave his attention."

I also stole these jokes from ABC. (Don't you love blogging?)

from Late Show with David Letterman, CBS:

"But here is the sad part before the trip Donald Rumsfeld had denied the guy's request for body armor."

"We can't get Bin Laden, but we nailed a 78-year-old attorney."

from "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno," NBC:

"I think Cheney is starting to lose it. After he shot the guy he screamed, 'Anyone else want to call domestic wire tapping illegal?'"

"Dick Cheney is capitalizing on this for Valentine's Day. It's the new Dick Cheney cologne. It's called Duck!"

from "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart," Comedy Central:

"Vice President Dick Cheney accidentally shot a man during a quail hunt … making 78-year-old Harry Whittington the first person shot by a sitting veep since Alexander Hamilton. Hamilton, of course, was shot in a duel with Aaron Burr over issues of honor, integrity and political maneuvering. Whittington? Mistaken for a bird."

*Okay, we know the victim suffered a heart attack. Not funny. Not comedy gold. Should he shuffle off this mortal coil, I'll delete this post with apologies to the grieving. But he's not the point. Cheney did the shooting. BTW, I'm sure Cheney's genuinely upset. All kidding aside, you don't shoot a man, by mistake, especially as a seasoned hunter, and not feel horribly. Given his health, I'm surprised Cheney hasn't had another heart attack. That would probably help his poll numbers at this point. And y'all know I want only the best for the Bush Administration. But this is a case where you just have to be able to laugh at yourselves. Oh, and no, I don't believe it was Cheney's fault. And I fully endorse legal hunting (get the proper stamps, too). And, yes, the rifle in the photo above is so completely unlike the shotgun he used Saturday, as to be incomparable. But accuracy doesn't matter when you're talking about comedy gold! (Or when dove hunting, for that matter. Isn't that the point of a scattergun, anyway?)

Now, I'm just looking forward to those Sunday editorial cartoons.... Poor Cheney.

TRO issued against local school

A local principal has achieved infamy here in Katy for her anti-religious zeal. (For those who can describe Ken Starr's White House investigation as nothing more than a Federal Judge's personal obsession with illicit sex, how would you describe this lady?)

For example, some schools issue uniforms to prevent kids from showing up in gang colors (the Bloods and the Cryps being well-documented criminal organizations with thousands of members across the nation and a history of violent crime). But at Pattison Elementary, the rule is no one can wear any red or green at any time during the entire month of December. Why? Because some impressionable (and apparently clairvoyant) child might interpret that as an endorsement of Christianity.

There's been a lawsuit in the works, but it was Principal Scrooge's Executive Orders regarding Valentine's Day that provoked the Court to issue the unusual measure of a Temporary Restraining Order. (And most of us don't consider Valentine's Day a religious holiday in the first place!)

(Yes, this is the same district that initially refused to let me sub because I had a speeding ticket.)

Let it Snow

I love snow. Sure, tort-reform has left me "under-employed." Sure, the Bush Administration hates lawyers. Sure, Dick Cheney has decided to start shooting Texas attorneys on sight. But hey, you can't beat snow. It's so peaceful, you know? Sort of makes it all better. Good old snow.

Whatever Happened to Stephan Kampf?

(Yes, this post keeps changing....)

Remember Stephan Kampf [sic--maybe he'll never find me]

Well, he's turned up on blogger.

But be warned.

A fair sampling of his style is his review of the Narnia movie. He claims to have liked it very much. He raises good points, and he accuses C.S. Lewis of heresy. It's an interesting discussion of the Ransom Theory--minor heresy if there is such a thing, particularly in a work of fiction.

But I still like his songs.

Well, I'd ululate too...

. . . if I failed to check my sources.

It seems the world of Islamo-fascists, always a tinder-box, may have been set aflame deliberately. Apparently, the radical Imams couldn't elicit much reaction with those dull Danish cartoons. So they added a few of their own. No one bothered to check the original source.

Not to change the subject, but I love footnotes. Do you? I love them. (They provide an excellent place to chase rabbits and dump those distracting tangents.) I don't always read every one, but seeing them there reassures me that the writer has done his homework. And if I want to read more, I can. If I want to verify, no problem. In law school I edited a journal. And I was surprised and saddened at the often sloppy work done with footnotes. Professors got the page numbers wrong, or even titles of cases or books. Law students occasionally copied footnotes from other sources verbatim (the same way they wrote much of the paper, it seems) and expected to get away with the obvious plagiarism. But most of us did it right. The editing team (a fascinating process, actually) changed not one of the 500 footnotes I wrote in my opus. (The process requires the author to recuse himself when his own paper is involved.)

They fouled up a lot of grammar, however, which I was allowed to change back, provided I could cite rules that trumped theirs. It was delicious. For example, one editor's zeal for the law caused him to butcher a common expression in a misguided attempt to prevent ending a sentence in a preposition. It came out: "A detailed report is a force with which to be reckoned." I let that one slide, but only to throw them a bone, after I had changed over 60 previous edits. But I missed one that still irks me. The same editor left me writing about the "Russian programs against Jews." He was evidently unfamiliar with the term I had used (in a direct quote, no less).

But should the Islamo-fascist world continue to be lied to and set on fire by its leaders, perhaps Pogram will be a word we'll become familiar with once again.

To Censor or Censure, That is the Question.

Do you believe in censorship?

Not the censorship of ideas or debate, but the censorship of the base, the vulgar, the most vile and disgusting and proposition-free. What do you think? Is it ever justifiable? Could censorship serve a purpose that would make it worth the surrender of a set of rights? Do we need such rights? More on that in a future post.

Human Events has an excellent article on the cartoons that have set ten thousand tongues to ululating. I could only find one cartoon that was funny, however--second row, second from the left.

Pet Peeve: "To continue in English, press one."

Can't that be assumed? Listening to the automated phrase wastes the time of the call center, of those who prefer English, and those who prefer Spanish. (I'll stipulate to the need for the invitation to continue in Spanish). And if they're adding on this English option because it's PC, how long before they tack it on the end, afterthe invitations to continue in any of five or six other languages?

Is English not the most flexible and widely known language in the world (not to mention the US), the established language of international relations and international trade and the one language every air traffic controller and pilot around the world is required to use for all radio contact? Remind me,

Why do we not have an official language?