*Runs in at full tilt, Guido Jr chasing him with a fine Italian Salame.  Panting.*

 

Okay.  Okay.  Guido Jr. has convinced me to update.  I told him I didn’t want to.  I was feeling sorry for myself because I only had 8 people comment on my little de-lurking experiment.  I suppose Sam is right and that I could update more often, that would probably help.  BTW, the good book I use is sometimes THE Good Book (in different versions and paraphrases) and sometimes it is just the book of Herb.  A big thanks to you guys that did/do comment.

 

Anyhow, Guido has shown me the error of my blogging ways and I have seen the light.  One of these entries will be about how the Blog Police and the Blog mafia are all in cahoots.  But not this entry.  I don’t like getting smacked with a Salame, no matter how high quality and tasty it is.  And I don’t want my wittle hobby horse to have anything happen to him, either.

 

Anyway, we had enough of a break for lunch yesterday that we were able to go and sit down to eat.  Usually it is fast food or 7-11 specials, but every once in a while we get a chance like this.  Now a lot of times, due to where we are in town, we wind going to one of the big chain restaurants, and their food is just fine.  Predictable from franchise to franchise, you can order what you know you like and it is fairly similar.  But that is not my favorite experience.

 

I love Mom & Pop diners.  They are truly the finest eating in the land as a general rule of thumb.  If they have a meatloaf special, you know you are going to get a treat, even though the meatloaf is different at each place.  Same with open-faced sandwiches.  Roast beef on white bread with mashed potatoes smothered in dark brown gravy.  There are a number of both chains and Mom & Pops here in Colorado Springs and, as with everything else, some are better than others and a lot of times it just depends on who is working.

 

We were downtown near the old courthouse, which is now the Pioneer’s Museum, by the CSHP doctor’s office.  The name of the place is Detz Café and it is at 211 E Cucharras.  We were there at a busy time of the day, but the service was still adequate.  The thing that caught our attention, however, was a menu item.  After you have looked at all different menus from all over, items kind of run into a sort of sameness, so I was surprised when Margaret said, “I think I’ll try this Grilled Swiss & Black Olive sandwich.”  Yeah, really, a grilled Swiss & black olive sandwich; I had never heard of that before and I have been a few places in my time.

 

She ordered that on wheat with a cup of soup and I ordered the more standard, typical-greasy-spoon-fare, grilled ham & Swiss on rye.  When the food came we quartered the sandwiches as we are often wont to do for sharing and cross-tasting (a process quite unlike cross-dressing), and sure enough, piled in the center of the sandwich and throughout was a copious amount of sliced black olives melted into the Swiss cheese.  It looked like about a third of a can or so, maybe a little more, I’m not a real good judge of measurements like that; I just know that there appeared to be approximately one boatload full.  The real test was about to take place now.  Neither of us ever having seen or heard of such a sandwich, but yet it sounding at least intriguing, we both took a bite at the same time.

 

Well, let me tell you fellers and gals that it was great.  Fantastic.  Wonderful.  I have never had anything quite like it.  If you want to try something new and unusual, try that, except I would have had it on rye instead.

 

Now, before you make travel plans, even those who live in the Springs, let alone in other states and countries, I would not say to make a special trip to go to this diner unless you really, really, really like trying new places and want to have this sandwich and can’t make it at home.  While I do plan to go to this place again, maybe on an off-time when I can see the true quality of service they offer (Not that it was bad, it just…was, that’s all) and I will absolutely order this sandwich again from there.  It was great.  The coffee was good and fresh and strong as well.  The restaurant that had been there before, actually it was two restaurants ago, had really great breakfasts, but the coffee tasted like poorly brewed, weak tea, strained through a tube sock, and a good cup of coffee is essential to diner dining in my book.  Anyway, the coffee was good when we could get some (they were busy) but one thing lacked.

 

People who eat out a lot may have noticed a trend toward the retro fashion, restaurants wanting to make you feel like you are getting that 50’s – 60’s dining experience.  I can tell you how to figure out how good they really are at it.  Besides the coffee and refillings of the coffee there is another item that is essential to an authentic diner experience.  Soda fountains, diners and the ice cream shop that Carter and I used to hang out at all had one thing in common: the malt.  Properly called a malted milk, it’s NOT a shake, which is mere ice cream and milk.  A malt is made with generous amounts of malt powder added to the milk and ice cream.  It is properly made in a stainless steel cup that attaches to a special blender.  Scoop a bunch of ice cream in, pour in some milk and spoon heaping amounts of malt powder in.  Then it is blended and the stainless steel becomes cold to the touch.  The waitress bring the frozen cup along with a glass (or two, if you are sharing with someone), a straw (or two) and pours the drink into the glass, LEAVING THE STAINLESS STEEL MIXING CUP BEHIND so you can clean out every last drop.  If your “malt” is not made and served in this way, then you have not had the real soda fountain/malt shop/ice cream shop/diner experience.  The restaurant either doesn’t have anyone there who is old enough to remember how to do it or they are trying to cut corners, taking advantage of the retro fashion.

 

I’m not sure what it was in this case.  I asked the gal if they served real malts or just shakes, and she told me malts.  Having had the amazing sandwich and good coffee, if somewhat mediocre service, I thought I would give it a try.  What a bummer.  I should have left a good experience alone.  The malt came (I order vanilla malts so I can taste the malt) in a regular sized glass, topped with whipped cream, which was a nice touch, and a straw.  Not even a “here ya go, hon.” Bland.  Like a shake with a little malt sprinkled in.  No malt texture and almost no malt taste.  Icky.  When we checked out she said, “How was that malt?” I actually said, “I’ve had better, but it wasn’t the worst I ever had.”  I left the requisite (In America) 15% tip and we left.  Since it was so busy and since I have never seen a grilled swiss & black olive sandwich anywhere else, I will probably go back and give them another try, but I won’t recommend anyone go out of their way, unless they absolutely have to try this sandwich and I certainly will not EVER order a Vanilla malted there again.

 

The Good Book says, “Feed me with food convenient for me”

First, thanks FTS, for adding me to your blogroll.  In my opinion it is always an honor to be added to someone's but to be added to a writer's is the bigtime for me.

I have added a blogroll.  There are 33 entries there so far and I know I missed a couple.  If I did, I am sorry, and this would be a great time to segue into my birthday request.  Yes, I am 46 today and there is a present each one of you can give me, if you will.  I saw Scott at http://husbands.blogdrive.com/ do this one time before the old computer crashed and I thought it was a cool idea and know others have done it since.

We read people's blogs and websites for a wide variety of reasons and don't feel the need, every single time, to make a comment and oftentimes just sort of lurk in the shadows and never comment for one reason or another.  For my birthday present, I would like to know how many people actually do stop by here, so I would like to ask everyone that reads this to leave a comment.  Put your name and website in the appropriate boxes so everyone can see your link, too.

Thanks a lot, this will be the greatest B-day present ever!

Oh, and the good book says, "Thou shalt make Herb's birthday happy by leaving a comment."  Well, I didn't say WHICH good book...

Being added to someone's blogroll or having your name linked on their site is, to me, a great honor and a humbling pirvilege. And it makes me feel guilty when I neglect to update. Since I have met so many new people and have just recently been added to an Apostolic Pentecostal blogroll and since I can't really think of anything too unique, I have decided to reiterate a summary about me and this blog.

It all started with a couple of friends telling me that if I had a blog I could keep family and friends up-to-date on all the goings on and I could practice writing. That sounded good, I thought, and I had a friend here on Blogdrive that had been blogging for a while and wahoo, this blog was born. I had already written a website in HTML (which I have since taken down. The free server I used kept adding so many pop-ups and banners and click-heres that it was getting ridiculous. Sure, I was getting the server space for free but they were making good money off of me. I was proud of it, though because I wrote it in Notepad and Word. People here at Blogdrive that whine about having one little banner on their site should be glad that that's all. Well, now there is always some "dating" one on the comments page which are often nothing like what I would choose to allow, but that's another parenthetical comment for a different entry. Anyway, I pay $5.00 a month and have no banner and an unlimited photo gallery.) so this blogging thing seemed a natural progression.

Since that initial entry, there have been some changes in my thoughts about what this blog should be and what it should contain, so let me introduce to you, My Blog.

The Cast of Characters:

Savannah Melody, Grandbaby as beautiful as a rare flower.

Ben, my son, Savannah's daddy

Isabel, Ben's wife

Elizabeth, or Lizzy, my daughter

Troy, her husband

Douglas Bartholomew, their baby-to-be

Tabitha, sometimes known as "Tab-the-Bad-Cat." teenage daughter and former Vet Assistant extraordinaire.

Abigail, other teenage daughter and straight A high school student

Margaret, my tolerant wife, Home Health Care CNA who does not like to be in the spotlight or put on the spot

Grandma Pike, Margaret's mother, who lives with us

Janet or Aunt Janet, Margaret's sister who also lives with us

Carter, an old (I mean OOOOOLllddd) High School buddy who is a Cav warhorse supreme

Snoopy, the dog, part Border Collie, part whatever-jumped-the-fence, maybe Chow. All black, sometimes 50 pounds of super dog and sometimes 50 pounds of stupid dog.

Four mighty and heroic hunters, commonly called cats:

Fee-foe, the gentle giant, who is the smallest of them all, but definitely the top cat

Fraidy Cat, her brother

Bagheera, a sleek, all black cat that we inherited from friends who is the only one that not only hates Snoopy but is just as willing to fight with her as run away from her.

And Cookie, a full-blooded "La Perm" which has tightly curled hair all over, even its whiskers are curly and is by far the most intelligent of them all since she not only likes me, but loves me. We inherited her also.

Professor Whiz and Professor Clearwater, parakeets

and

Roo Boom-Boom Thiel, the giant white rabbit. Not "Harvey" giant white rabbit, just a really heavy, really big rabbit. He was given to Abigail when she was a little girl and I, under duress, agreed and now have the weekly chore of cleaning his cage.

Another character (not really a pet) that comes around sometimes now but used to be a more regular part of the furniture is Ashley, who comes around and plays games with Janet and has been sort of a fixture for a long time. It is directly because of her father's Christian attitude that we are all still in church today.

I announced early on when I started blogging that I did not want to stick to just one subject or theme. Since it is my blog, it is about me and whatever strikes my fancy to write about. I told my church friends that I did not plan to write only about church related things, I told my other friends I would not be only writing about secular things. It is my blog and I write what I feel inspired to write. At Christmas time I wrote several pieces about the one true God coming to Earth as well as a couple about Santa. I have written a couple of political pieces as well. I guess I am conservative, although there are certain points of the libertarian agenda I find appealing. I think that there are even things I can agree with more moderate liberals on. I just write because I like to write.

I had originally stated that I planned to write at least 350 words every single day as a writing exercise, but then was told it should be 1000 words a day. One contest I plan to enter this year has a 1500 word limit. That seems to be about the right word count for me and I generally try not to stray too far from that.

And last, but not least, I end every entry with a remark, 'The Good Book says." This is in honor of Reb Tevye, from "Fiddler on the Roof." Sometimes it is a direct quote from the King James Version of the Bible, sometimes a quote from some other version and sometimes just some nonsense that I thought was relevant or hysterically funny at the moment.

Remember, The good book says, "Verily, Verily I say unto thee, whosoever readeth Herb's blogs shall be counted wise."

I'd been thinking about a lot of different things to write about and then I heard it was Edgar Alan Poe's(1809 – 1849) 197th birthday today (1/19/06).  I am a big fan of Poe.  A lot of people only know what they were forced to read in High School English class.  They think that all there is to him is The Raven, The Cask of the Amontillado, The Bells, The Pit and the Pendulum and The Tell-Tale Heart.  Few people know that he wrote comedy, humorous satire of the writing of the period, himself included, adventure and detective stories or that he owned and edited magazines or much else about him.  A strange man, who led a strange life, an alcoholic womanizer, to be sure, but he was a genius.  It is said that he died in an alcoholic stupor, but if you read the book "Midnight Dreary: The Mysterious Death of Edgar Allan Poe" by John Evangelist Walsh, Michael Flamini (Editor), you will see, that it is possible he was murdered.  Not that any of that matters now of course.

 

>>>>>

 

As always, my apologies to Daveman, who is a good sport and harbinger of nice wishes to people, to all of the readers who know the real poem and the real beauty of it and especially to my hero, E.A. Poe, who accomplished more in 40 years than I ever started and is likely, from all the ripoffs of him over the years, rolling over in his grave, evermore.  May he roll there Nevermore.

 

>>>>>

 

I also reprinted a favorite of mine on the humor blog.  "The End of the Raven" by Poe's Cat...

 

>>>>>

 

The Craven

 

Once upon old blogdrive dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

O'er the topic I should choose to blog on as I'd done before.

While I dozed off, plainly napping, quite suddenly there came a tapping

As of someone gently rapping, rapping on my monitor.

"'Tis some strange bird", I did mutter, as I drooled and I snored,

"Probably some fowl raven, only this and nothing more."

 

Ah, I think now it was kind of scary, being cold in January

Crisp and cold that January night that I didst snooze and snore.

I had no excuse of fog; I simply had not updated my blog.

I could blame it on the dog if I updated nevermore.

Then again I heard the tapping as of some loud caveman rapping

Breaking down my monitor, leaving me alone no more.

 

Would my writing ever make it?  Did people read me or just fake it

I didn't think that I could take it, I could not write anymore.

Why, I thought now, should I bother, blogging about father mother

And sometimes my younger brothers both of whom I did adore?

Writing was hard work and who read it?  And then even as I said it

I heard that sound and began to dread it, that tapping on my monitor.

 

Then from somewhere came a hobbling, as of some old fart a-toddling,

One who might need mollycoddling, it was the Daveman to be sure.

There bedraggled, bearded, sporting, he sat upon my davenport and

Took my laptop and started sorting my messy desktop, messier than days of yore.

"You've been too slack about updating and I've come to do some berating

Besides I can't get any dating so I came to see this mess of lore."

 

"Leave my messy desk aside and tell me where you had been hiding

Who now come to me chiding, chiding me to update more.

Writing I am going to give up, I have tried it from a young pup

I was looking synonyms up and I don't not want to write nevermore."

Confused he sat there staring, staring, little children he'd be scaring,

If they saw how he was glaring, trying my double-negative to sort.

 

"You'll be writing evermore?"  Quoted Daveman, "Evermore?

How can you type as you snore?"  Quoth I, "I shall blog on nevermore."

Soon then Daveman toddled closer and the smell grew gross and grosser

Grosser than anything I had smelled before.  He smelled like Carter evermore.

This was worse than Ashley's sneakers, the picture growing bleaker, bleaker,

Till my story to a corner bore.  I wrote myself into a corner evermore.

 

Then the Daveman stood there, chuckling, chortling, and laughing until he was snorting

At my dilemma he was cavorting, jocularity evermore.

"Be gone!" I cried out to the Daveman, "If'n you all don't behave man

I'll borrow Abby Normal's frying pan, the one whereon she hath written Daveman

That she chaseth you off with evermore."  "Ya'll try it once you won't try it never more!"

Quoth the Daveman, "nevermore!"

 

And upon my once clean couch sat the being whose chewing gum he spat

If you can imagine that he spat his gum out on my floor!

"Begone!" again cried I as I tried him up to pry

If Margaret found that gum we'd both die, chewing gum spat on the floor.

Had he been invaded by alien spore?  Had the true Daveman gone forevermore?

"Daveman, Daveman are you in there?  Are you in there anymore?"

Quoth the Daveman, "Evermore.  I am Daveman evermore."

 

"I have had this pain in my foot and the drugs that I got were good

And I've took more than I ever would just to be your harbinger"

"My harbinger"?  Questioned I, wondering what sort of message that he bore

"Yes a message give you I must before I explode or I bust

And the message, I think, goes thus, Thou must blog on evermore!"

Only this and nothing more.  Quoth the Daveman, "evermore!"

 

I stammered and I stuttered, "but how?"  He just said, "I have to go now

The drugs are beginning to take effect now, I just heard a purple cow now."

So the Daveman tapped upon the monitor and there was a rapping, the tapping as before and I awoke with keyboard-face evermore

 

So even though I am quite groggy I Know I must keep up all things bloggy Bloggier than e'er was blogged before I knew that I must update evermore.

 

Instead of something from the good book, here is the first paragraph of "The Fall of the House of Usher":

 

DURING the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country ;  and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher.  I know not how it was — but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit.  I say insufferable ;  for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible.  I looked upon the scene before me — upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain — upon the bleak walls — upon the vacant eye-like windows — upon a few rank sedges — and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees — with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium — the bitter lapse into everyday life — the hideous dropping off of the veil.  There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart — an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime.  What was it — I paused to think — what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher ?  It was a mystery all insoluble ;  nor could I grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I pondered.  I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there are combinations of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among considerations beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful impression ;  and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed down — but with a shudder even more thrilling than before — upon the remodelled and inverted images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows.

 

    Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to myself a sojourn of some weeks.  Its proprietor, Roderick Usher, had been one of my boon companions in boyhood;

Since Tabitha “fixed” the laptop by checking to see if the power cord was plugged in all the way, I guess I have no excuse not to update.  Well, I still have the usual one, procrastination.  That’s a topic that can wait, however.

 

Congratulations to my daughter, Abigail, who got her report card back with all A’s!  That’s pretty wonderful.  We didn’t push her to get all A’s, but I did tell her that I expected she would do the best job she could and work her hardest in all of her subjects.  She did, too!  She earned those grades.  There were a couple of her classes that the teachers told the kids “don’t expect to get an ‘A’ in my class.  I don’t give ‘A’s.’”  Well, well, well.  I am very proud of her diligence and hard work.

 

I listed “love a liberal” in my resolutions this year.  One of the radio stations I listen to frequently, KCMN, 1530 AM, which broadcasts in HD AM stereo and plays mostly big band and standards, has a frequent editorial from their owner, Don Crawford, every once in a while.  Generally a conservative, he made a good sounding recommendation for a New Year’s resolution.  “If you’re a liberal, love a conservative, if you’re a conservative, love a liberal.”  His idea was that if people will actually talk to each other about their ideologies, there will be more intelligent dialogue and not just a bunch of mudslinging and name-calling.  Our country will be a better place if we can have conscientious, thoughtful discussion and understand where each other comes from.

 

This sounded like a really good idea, but I ran into a snag.

 

Real people, not TV or Radio personalities don’t fit into boxes.  Why anyone would care that a 78 yr old one-hit wonder praised the socialist revolution in Venezuela or why anyone would be interested in a TV preacher calling for a “hit” on the same president is a mystery.  Who cares what they think?  A washed-up has-been is a washed up has been whether it’s Harry Belafonte or Pat Robertson.  I am no lover of TV preachers; I think they detract from what hard-working local pastors have accomplished.  If you need a church, find a local church that you believe in and get involved in it.  As for the Hollyweird crowd (I lump the entirety of the entertainment industry, TV, Movies, Music, the models of Mad Ave, etc. into that pot), what makes them any kind of expert?  Barbara Streisand and her friends said they would leave the country if President Bush won the 2000 election, but where are they?  Still out there in the Granola (What isn’t fruits and nuts is flakes) Belt.  Why?  Because they live a good life in this country.  There is not anywhere else that they could make the kind of money they make and talk like they talk. 

 

Anyway, I said all of that to say that most people in real life are not that easy to box up.  Most people are not completely fanatical right-wingers or totally far-out lefty looneys (except maybe in Seattle).

 

I call myself a Conservative but really, I wonder if I am?  After thinking it over I wonder if I am not a Moderate Liberal Conservative Republican Democrat Libertarian Prohibitionist with stinky feet.  Seriously, after looking at my views on a lot of things, I think it depends on the issue and I think that is true for most people.  I may be a prohibitionist in the idea that all alcoholic beverages should be treated as controlled substances and only given out on prescription, but, since it is not likely that that will ever happen and we are not likely to outlaw cigarettes or booze anytime soon, then why not legalize Marijuana?  Tax it the way cigs and booze are taxed, regulate it and make it readily available to anyone over the legal age.

 

I know one person that I met when I worked at the bookstore (which at a high-up level promoted a liberal agenda) who is a pro-life enviro-vegan.  Is she liberal or conservative?  I don’t know.  There are a lot of people who are like that.  I read a book by a woman named Tammy Bruce http://www.tammybruce.com/  called, “The New Thought Police.”  This woman was head of NOW and decided that she wanted to fight pornography so she enlisted the aid of several conservative Christian men’s groups.  That got her in trouble and eventually fired, not because she chose to fight porn, but because of who she had helping her do it.  Read her book.  I haven’t read any of her other ones, but that one is a real eye-opener.

 

I still recommend 1984 and Fahrenheit 451 if you haven’t read them yet.  Make them your resolution this year.  1984 gave me goose bumps when I read the last sentence and still gives me the screaming heebie-jeebies to think about how real it could be.  The second, Fahrenheit 451, (not to be confused with a lying, blathering fool’s movie of a similar title) is a book whose message has stayed with me since High School and again, when you read it and look around at our “civilization” you can easily envision it happening.

 

Now I have found it’s so easy to rile people that don’t know what they believe in or why that I try not to purposely do it.  It’s like shooting sitting ducks.  I could walk up to a gaggle of libs when I worked in the bookstore and get them all worked into a nigh-murderous frenzy by simply saying, “George W. Bush is my hero.”  After the fiery tirades ensued it turned out that they didn’t have such strongly held beliefs as they did a hatred for the man.  This is not thought-provoking or challenging.

 

“George Bush this about the environment!  George Bush that about the environment!”

 

“Why do you drive that big car 20 miles across town at a high rate of speed alone instead of using mass transit or carpooling?”

 

“Sputter-sputter, it’s not about that.”

 

“You’re going to preach to me about the environment when you could take simple steps on your own to help and you don’t?  I drive the speed limit, at least.”

 

“Sputter-sputter.”

 

Anyway, I may have to modify my resolution to, “Find someone who doesn’t agree with me and figure out why they’re stupid listen to what they have to say.”

 

Remember, the good book says, “If you cross your eyes like that they could stick and you could get eyecrosserosis.”  What?  Well, “Hank the Cowdog” is a good book.

This is an old piece, but I am having trouble with the little dingus that sticks into the laptop to charge it up, so by the time I read everyone's blog's this morning I didn't have any time to update.  So, we will sea how well Blogdrive's spell chequer does.

Eye Halve A Spelling Chequer

Eye halve a spelling chequer
It came with my pea sea
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.

Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong oar write
It shows me strait a weigh.

As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long
And eye can put the error rite
Its rare lea ever wrong.

Eye have run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased two no
Its letter perfect awl the weigh
My chequer tolled me sew.

Sauce Unknown

Here is the "fixed-up" version:

This is an old piece, but I am having trouble with the little dingus that sticks into the laptop to charge it up, so by the time I read everyone's bloc's this morning I didn't have any time to update.  So, we will sea how well Baldric's spell checker does.

Eye Halve A Spelling Checker

Eye halve a spelling checker
It came with my pea sea
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.

Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong oar write
It shows me strait a weigh.

As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long
And eye can put the error rite
Its rare lea ever wrong.

Eye have run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased two no
Its letter perfect awl the weigh
My checker tolled me sew.

Sauce Unknown

Let’s don’t forget to pray for Carter and all the boys in the catbox.  Got e-mail from him,

 

“had to shepard a convoy through the other night.3 hour convoy took 11 hours.sent a terorist to meet allah(not me personally),and took some fire and IEDs.gotta go out again tonight”

 

“…mebbe.Winston Churchill once opined that there is nothing as exhilarating as being fired upon by the enemy with absolutely no effect.he was right.”

 

“…and yer ugly”

 

I’m sure he meant me to forward that last remark to Daveman.  No, it’s actually just to show he’s still his old self.

 

IED is “Improvised Explosive Devices.”  Roadside bombs.

 

At some other point I will discuss my personal thoughts on the war, but this entry is not about that.  It is about my friend, who, even though his feet stink and he’s uglier than sin (Fortunately his pretty little daughters didn’t get their looks from him) is a good soldier and a good man.   Not perfect by any stretch of anyone’s imagination, except maybe his kids', but a good guy.

 

Remember, The Good Book says, “Shall your brethren go to war, and shall ye sit here?”

Before I start this, I just want to say "thanks" to everyone that comes here.  You guys are really the best.  I appreciate EVERY comment and thank you for taking your time to share them.  If you are a blogger yourself you probably know how much it means have comments.  I don't always have time to respond to them and some don't seem to need a response, but I read every one with great interest.  I am honored when people feel they can comment, even though they don't echo my thoughts and feelings.  That is really awesome to me.  Thanks to all of you.

 

J

 

The custom of making New Years resolutions started 4000 years ago in Babylon and people have been breaking them ever since.  Okay, here they come:

 

1. I Resolve NEVER to pet-sit again as long as I live.
2. I Resolve to read the Bible all the way through.  Our church gives out BREAD (Bible Reading Enriches Any Day) charts that go between the Old and New Testaments.  I have read it through a couple of times before but what usually happens is I get sidetracked on studying something out and forget about where I was at, get discouraged and give up.
3. I Resolve to try to update these blogs at least once or twice a week, even if I have nothing to say.  (Oh, yeah Herb, how is that any different?)
4. I Resolve to update my blogroll and links and keep them that way.
5. I Resolve to finish a story and submit it somewhere.
6. I Resolve to find a place to join like http://www.fictionpress.com/ or http://www.fanfiction.net/ or http://www.fanstory.com/.  It may be the last one because that is the on that Writer's Digest suggests.
7. I Resolve to try to love a liberal.
8. I Resolve to try to get my weight down to "overweight."
9. I Resolve to enter something in some writing contest somewhere.
10. I Resolve to make more long-distance calls to friends and family.
11. Since you are reading this on the 2nd you can tell I need to put "Stop Procrastinating" on this list, and maybe I will add it next year.

 

I think that's plenty to try to accomplish in one year.

 

Remember, The Good Book says:  "For if any be a hearer of the word, and not a doer, he is like unto a man beholding his natural face in a glass: For he beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he was."

I had started this entry on 12/9 when our town was supposed to be visited by Fred Phelps and I listened to a radio station reporter who had interviewed him and his followers.  I wonder how many will bother to read past the first paragraph though?  Oh well.  I have re-written it until my fingers bleed and now you can read it.

 

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Preachers of “tolerance” amaze me.  They expect me to be tolerant of their views and lifestyle, but when does it ever become their responsibility to extend the same courtesy to me?  One blog I read all the time made reference to a new movie about a couple of gay cowboys and when someone made a comment that this was wrong, another person immediately responded that this person was a homophobe because they said this.  Heterophobic comments like that annoy me.  I weary of the presumptuous nature of the same people who preach we should accept everyone not accepting me because I think homosexuality is a sin against God and Nature.  It is a sin of lust and has become a cause célèbre that is driven by lust and greed and power.  I suppose that classifies me as a homophobe.  “Who are you to judge my lifestyle?” they say.  Well, who are you to judge mine?  I don’t have to judge you and I don’t intend on judging you.  There is an almighty God that will judge you according to the 66 books he left us.  He will judge me, also.

 

From the people I know and have talked to about the issue, it is small, vocal, extremist groups that are behind much of what we see as the “Gay Rights Movement.”  They are on the extreme left. I have read newspaper accounts and seen photographs of groups that marched in the halls of Congress while they were ratifying the Boy Scouts charter chanting, “Over 8 is too late!” with pictures on their signs that I will not describe here.  Should I accept that these people speak for gay men everywhere or should I think that this is some sort of lunatic fringe with crazy, harmful, ideals that include child abuse?

 

I mention this radical movement for a reason, a reason which ends up giving me great pride to live in a country where I can say these things freely.  You can say what you want, as well.  We can have a thoughtful, well-reasoned debate or a name-calling shouting match.  I love America.  I love this country and its constitution and even though I do not agree with you, you can love this country as much as I do.  And that puts us both in the same category.

 

According to a preacher from Kansas we are both going to burn in hell for eternity along with every veteran that ever fought in any war since WWII.  This is because, according to this man, God hates America.  You see, our town was going to be graced once again by the presence of the REVEREND (you have to imagine my saying the word “reverend” with pompous-sounding sarcasm.) Fred Phelps.  But he didn’t show up this time.  He was going to protest the formation of a gay club in a local public high school.  How this is his business escapes me since he is from the Westborough Baptist Church in Kansas, but he was going to be here to protest, just the same, but at the last minute he found something he’d rather be doing, which I will explain in a moment.

 

Perhaps you are not familiar with the work of the rabid REVEREND Phelps and his group.  They are a rabid anti-homosexual group.  The GOOD REVEREND and his followers are the folks that protested at the funeral of the young man that was murdered in Wyoming.  The REVEREND Phelps and company went to the young man’s funeral, and held up signs saying, “Your son was a faggot and now he’s burning.”  For those who may not have heard of this incident, a young man was beaten to death in Wyoming because he was gay.  The REVEREND and his CHURCH went to the funeral to tell the boy’s mother that her son was in hell and it was her fault.

 

The REVEREND Phelps is past and beyond the extreme right, just as the “North American Man Boy Love Association,” with the slogan “Over 8 is too late,” AKA, NAMBLA, is past and beyond the furthest left of the left-wing.  He does not represent the majority of right-wingers and Christians any more than the other group does gay people.  Anyway, he and his entourage did not show up here this time.  Rather than come here and protest the school and school district, they decided to focus on their newer and more important mission.

 

According to the spokesperson that a local radio reporter talked to, their new mission is to go to the funerals and memorial services of soldiers who have died in Iraq (or any war from WWII forward), not soldiers who were known to be gay mind you, just any funeral of any soldier they hear about and can get to, and picket it.  It isn’t really a protest as much as they want their message to be heard.

 

Carter, James (If you guys are somewhere where you can read this), any veteran including me, according to the REVEREND Phelps, if you or one of your soldiers gets killed in Iraq, or anywhere else, you have an automatic place in Hell because you were defending a nation that has allowed the gay movement.  Not only do you have a hot-seat reserved, they will come to your funeral and march with picket signs telling everyone, including your grieving relatives.

 

I guess the fact that you were unseating a tyrant possibly as evil as Hitler and fighting for Democracy and the rights of people to speak openly, even people like them, extreme extremists, is lost on them.  The fact that their ability to criticize the government or anyone else, has been preserved by our strong military people is, apparently, not important.  Strong military people like those who served in WWII are, according to the GOOD REVEREND, evil, because “they allowed all this to start on their watch.”  The generation that is commonly known as “The Greatest Generation,” who defeated and defended us against one of the most hateful murderers of all time, was bad and should have been defeated.

 

A 19 year old girl from the Westborough Baptist Church, standing on an American flag while her fellow protester wiped his nose on another flag, told the radio reporter all of this the last time they were here to protest.  Hmm, didn’t they wonder why they didn’t have to wear their brown shirts and “Nazi Youth” pins?  How could they be allowed to treat the national flag so disrespectfully and speak out against the government that way?  Oh, because the good guys won.  At least I thought it was the good guys.

 

Yes, the Greatest Generation, the veterans of WWII are all burning in hell before us.

 

I guess I have my place there too because I think the REVEREND Phelps and his lot are despicable and hateful.  Their number one priority is picketing funerals.  You know, I am afraid that if one of these bums ever showed up at a funeral I was at, I probably wouldn’t be a very good example of a Christian and Santy might not bring me nuttin’ fer Christmas.

 

I don’t have the time or energy to go into the ideals of compassion and love, healing and forgiveness, of righteousness, peace and Joy in the Holy Ghost and how the kingdom of God is supposed to be spread, in this entry.  The fact is I probably don’t know all that I should about it.  But I do know that if the GOOD REVEREND really is doing things that are pleasing to God, I have to re-think a lot of things.  I do not think the GOOD REVEREND is pleasing God by his antics.  I do not think he is fulfilling the Great Commission that Christ left for his church because he is not converting anyone by his self-aggrandizement (which is really all it turns out to be, in my opinion).  He is doing the opposite.

 

I am proud of Colorado Springs and the CSPD however, because whenever these people come here, they always ensure, even if they personally find their teachings distasteful, that their rights are protected, as well as the rights of the protestors that in turn come out to protest them.  They work hard to protect the rights of everyone and are, in my unlearned opinion, one of the finest police forces in the country.  Not only is Colorado Springs one of the most generous communities, we are, by far and away, one of the most intelligent and tolerant.  And we are smart enough to figure out for ourselves what we believe when we hear the GOOD REVEREND preach.  We realize he has the right to preach what he believes in his supposed heart.

 

The Good Book says, “Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.” And “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.”

I haven't been around the blogsphere visiting because I didn't even get on the computer on Sunday...I should say I didn't get on the Internet.  Since I got the game I wanted, Civilization IV (link might be a long load for dial-ups, I am not sure) I have been playing it and playing it and playing it.  They are almost ready to send me to Civanon already.  Hahaha.  But, I am going to trule the world!!!!!  Buahahahahaha!  Civ IV is what's called a turn-based strategy game and I have loved playing it from the beginning.  Troy spent way too much money on me for it, but it is so cool.  It doesn't play one the laptop, unfortunately, so I guess I will still blog.  (Joke there, a joke.  Did you think you oculd be rid of me that easily?)

Christmas was pretty wonderful.  I didn't get a lot of pics of Savannah since we were all too busy watching her figure out what the paper was for.  I might have a few to post, though.

Anyway, Hope everyone's everything went good and not every which way.

Remember, the Good Book says, "Give thanks in all things..."