tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103982072011-07-28T16:13:33.811-07:00"Nobody tells you when you get born here how much you'll come to love it and how you'll never belong here."Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.comBlogger2011100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-74823281652874584482010-03-25T18:30:00.000-07:002010-03-25T18:54:08.303-07:00I thought I wanted to be on a jury. In retrospect, I didn't. It was relatively minor as criminal cases go, but I still had to hear several people tell of hurtful things. And finally, I helped send a man back to prison. So tonight the whole world seems broken and I'm anxious for the day when the One who made it will recreate it as it could have been.<br /><br />To eat, to breathe<br />to beget<br />Is this all there is<br />Chance configuration of atom against atom<br />of god against god<br />I cannot believe it.<br />Come, Christian Triune God who lives,<br />Here am I<br />Shake the world again.<br /><br />{Francis Schaeffer}<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-7482328165287458448?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-26797841133566304102008-10-11T10:25:00.000-07:002008-10-11T10:32:57.033-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SPDi_VtbmVI/AAAAAAAAAx0/CjFIFDq6bvo/s1600-h/MB_Paradox.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SPDi_VtbmVI/AAAAAAAAAx0/CjFIFDq6bvo/s320/MB_Paradox.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255950342928701778" border="0" /></a> <br /><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5COwner%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">File under: things my momma tried to tell me but I had to learn for myself.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> <br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the last week, a couple of male friends have made it perfectly clear by their actions that they’ve got absolutely no idea how to be happy. One of them has probably never known, and the other one has obviously forgotten. And because I care about both of them, I just want to shake them and make them understand. The endlessly frustrating thing about unhappy people is that they are usually convinced the one thing that actually will make them happy couldn’t possibly be the right answer.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> <br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I can’t say I blame them entirely, because it’s not obvious. In fact, it’s downright counterintuitive. If you’re unhappy, the most logical answer is to try and rearrange your environment such that it will make you happy. Don’t have enough stuff? Get more. Kids a pain in the butt? Leave ‘em for someone else to deal with. Wife doesn’t appreciate you? Manipulate her until she gives you what you want. If manipulating her doesn’t work, you can always find someone else (preferably someone younger). It’s a common sense and potentially pragmatic solution. Problem is – doesn’t work.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> <br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Turns out the new wife isn’t perfect either (shocker) and being in a relationship is just as hard as it was before. Or, alternately, it turns out being alone is, well, extremely lonely. The pain in the butt kids are still difficult every other weekend, and now you’ve got a whole lot less of the day to day joys you didn’t appreciate before. At least you’ve got an awesome LCD TV. The soft glow of Sportscenter on endless loop might even make that Hungry-man dinner look like the picture on the box, you pathetic jackalope.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> <br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Happiness is a funny thing. It’s one of the things in life you can’t get by going after it head-on. You can only get it by sneaking up on it. Maybe that’s why so many men can’t seem to catch it. We’re much better at attacking problems straight ahead than we are at coming around the corner at them. Happiness is elusive. For example, only very strong moments of happiness can withstand the question “Am I happy right now?” It’s as if happiness is shy and drawing attention to it makes it want to hide. You just can’t get happy by trying. So what’s a guy to do?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Into this impossible situation steps the Christian paradox: whoever tries to save his own life loses it, and whoever is willing to lose his life saves it. By attempting to arrange everything and everyone in your life so that they are what you want them to be, you alienate them and make yourself unlovable. Your happiness lies not in molding others to your self-serving vision of how things ought to be, but in giving yourself to others so completely that it scares you.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> <br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When he was around here a while back, Jesus said</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt;">“If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">To paraphrase: If you want maximum happiness, do what I say: love each other enough to put up with crying babies, crabby bosses, bankruptcies, lactose intolerance, cottage cheese thighs, receding hairlines, and an unfair division of household chores. Put somebody else’s desires before your own. In fact, love each other enough to <i style="">die</i> for each other. When you do <i style="">that</i>, happiness will find <i style="">you</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> <br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So here’s my message to all the genius guys out there bailing on their families: You. Right there. Yeah, you. You’re a pathetic Neanderthal who can’t figure out that attacking a wooly mammoth heads up with your big club might not be the best way to go. You might want to think about trying dig one of those spikey pits and covering it with leaves or something. Use your brain. You can’t build a life the same way you build a house. You want to build a house, you cut some boards and hammer ‘em together. You don’t like something about the house, you tear it down and do it again. You want to build a life, you’re gonna have to accept the fact that you’re not in charge the same way you are when you build a house. You don’t just make everything go where you want it to go. If something or someone doesn’t fit right, you can’t just bang on it harder. Relationships are messy and inefficient. You gotta let people be who they are, and you gotta decide that they’re valuable anyway. You’re gonna have to love somebody and you’re gonna have to accept that you’re not getting your way most of the time. That’s it. That’s life. Suck it up. Be a man. Figure it out.</p> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-2679784113356630410?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-60157962169922077022008-07-18T06:59:00.000-07:002008-07-18T07:00:03.291-07:00<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SICh4fcfNeI/AAAAAAAAAjw/Lr-yFpfZkek/s1600-h/July08+010.jpg"><img style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SICh4fcfNeI/AAAAAAAAAjw/Lr-yFpfZkek/s320/July08+010.jpg" border="0" /></a> <br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SICh4VCxgdI/AAAAAAAAAj4/icn5XbXiNLY/s1600-h/July08+011.jpg"><img style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SICh4VCxgdI/AAAAAAAAAj4/icn5XbXiNLY/s320/July08+011.jpg" border="0" /></a> <br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SICh4pn4X2I/AAAAAAAAAkA/QpWbIF6LO60/s1600-h/July08+012.jpg"><img style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SICh4pn4X2I/AAAAAAAAAkA/QpWbIF6LO60/s320/July08+012.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SICh4JLSzZI/AAAAAAAAAjo/J98xQsFpKI0/s1600-h/July08+023.jpg"><img style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SICh4JLSzZI/AAAAAAAAAjo/J98xQsFpKI0/s320/July08+023.jpg" border="0" /></a><div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-6015796216992207702?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-176480439774757492008-05-21T20:56:00.000-07:002008-05-21T21:07:44.812-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SDTvtEFBxEI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/E_wVcGIvQTQ/s1600-h/974-suspects.standalone.prod_affiliate.38.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SDTvtEFBxEI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/E_wVcGIvQTQ/s320/974-suspects.standalone.prod_affiliate.38.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203047026987746370" border="0" /></a><br /><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Owner/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" /><br />A couple of idiots broke into my office over the weekend. That's the door I go in and out of everyday. My cubicle is the closest one to this door. They rummaged around in my stuff, but didn't find anything worth taking. Some coworkers lost personal items. The action was captured by the poorly named "security" cameras.<br /><br />Come to think of it, bottom feeders actually perform a necessary function, so these two are somewhere well below bottom feeders.<br /><br />Watch the three-part video <a href="http://videos.theolympian.com/vmix_hosted_apps/p/media?id=1890526&amp;genre_id=00000560">here</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-17648043977475749?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-82271523236055238332008-04-18T17:07:00.000-07:002008-05-02T06:44:45.763-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SAqOOXlR8aI/AAAAAAAAAhc/9mzCsCa4u1U/s1600-h/plane+skid.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/SAqOOXlR8aI/AAAAAAAAAhc/9mzCsCa4u1U/s320/plane+skid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191117897997611426" border="0" /></a><br /><br />You know what worries me about flying? Okay, that's not really a fair question, because literally <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span> worries me about flying: the wheels-up noise, the turbulence, the cranky movie monitor, the fat guy walking to the back of the plane, <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span>.<br /><br />But you know what <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> worries me about flying? When you get close to your destination, and the pilot starts talking on the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. We're just about to begin our decent into Seattle. Local time is 7:43 PM, weather conditions are partly cloudy and 55 degrees, and winds are 10-15 knots out of the southwest. As I prepare to take your life in my hands and attempt to wrestle this lumbering hippopotamus back to the ground with anything resembling a controlled descent, I'd really appreciate your help with something. Your flight attendants will be coming through the cabin with credit card applications, and I'm really hoping that each and every one of you 112 passengers will think long and hard about filling one out. See, they pay us 10 bucks for every one of those bad boys. Now, I know what you're thinking, 'Don't pilots make pretty good money?' and yeah, I guess we do. But times are hard on everyone these days and booze and cheap women cost a lot more than they used to. Plus I'm in to Vinnie the thumb removal specialist for 10 large, and I wouldn't be real good at landing an airplane without my thumbs, now would I? If I don't at least think I've got a chance of paying this thing off, I might just decide that life isn't worth living. I know you good people wouldn't want to see that happen, so just take the application, put pen to paper, and let's all get home to our families, 'k'? Besides, the cards have a really cool picture of an airplane on them. So just sit back, relax, and enjoy the landing. We know you have many options when choosing an airline, and we appreciate you choosing ours."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-8227152323605523833?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-7542681833525171732008-03-19T18:29:00.000-07:002008-03-19T19:40:44.060-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/R-HAaw2nNsI/AAAAAAAAAhQ/Svn2hD48tFQ/s1600-h/old_clocks_3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/R-HAaw2nNsI/AAAAAAAAAhQ/Svn2hD48tFQ/s320/old_clocks_3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179632612475877058" border="0" /></a><br />Go ahead and call me a whiner, but I <a href="http://fiatveritas.blogspot.com/2005/11/death-to-dst.html">still</a> hate Daylight Saving(s) Time. There are two main arguments in favor of DST: it saves money and we get more summer light in the evening after work.<br /><br />A couple of UCSB researchers (maybe grad students?) put together <a href="http://www2.bren.ucsb.edu/%7Ekotchen/links/DSTpaper.pdf">this</a> little analysis of the first argument. They compared energy usage differences between parts of the great state of Indiana, some parts of which observe DST ("the stupid parts") and other parts don't ("the smart parts"). After doing some calculations slightly more complicated than my monthly budget they came to the <span style="font-style: italic;">shocking</span> conclusion that "contrary to the policy’s intent—DST results is an overall increase in residential electricity demand. Estimates of the overall increase in consumption range from 1 to 4 percent." Roughly translated that means, "DST is a crazed meth addict that has been stealing your kids' milk money and shooting it into his tourniquet-pinched arm." I, like all reasonable people, am against meth addicts stealing my kids milk money. I don't know who originally thought up this whole shenanigan, but whoever he is, he owes me some money.<br /><br />Okay, so DST doesn't save any money, but what about the increased daylight hours after work thing? I have to admit, I find the last hour of daylight kind of magical. If the whole rest of the country is really sold on this, then I say fine, let's do it. In fact, let's do it all the time. Let's not switch back in the winter. We could just embrace this DST thing year-round. We'll spring the clocks forward one year and collectively forget to switch 'em back. If we need more light after work in the summer, then why not in the winter too?<br /><br />War in Iraq, mortgage crisis, health insurance, blah, blah, blah. I haven't heard any of the presidential candidates addressing DST-gate yet, but its early so I'm hopeful. If I get the chance to ask a debate question via YouTube, this is <span style="font-style: italic;">so</span> going to be it. The time is now. People are looking for something different, a new direction. Can you smell it people? That's <span style="font-style: italic;">change</span> in the air.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-754268183352517173?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-11742141299681942152007-09-02T15:03:00.000-07:002007-09-02T15:04:19.579-07:00<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/RtszSNvRwrI/AAAAAAAAAVM/4tAhy7DJcGM/s1600-h/Sep07+025.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; clear: both; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/RtszSNvRwrI/AAAAAAAAAVM/4tAhy7DJcGM/s320/Sep07+025.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I really wanted to grow a few plants this summer. I started early. I bought little peat pellet seed starter thingys. I bought seeds. I planted seeds. I watered seeds. I tried to give them light, but it was still in short supply in April and May. I cleared bark off the soil. I amended the soil. I fertilized the soil. When the slugs appeared in mass to try and devour my seedlings, I defended my territory by means of chemical warfare.<br /><br />I have exactly one red tomato.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">I hope it's good.</span><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-1174214129968194215?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-90308908988860203382007-09-02T14:52:00.000-07:002007-09-02T14:54:06.595-07:00<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/Rtswv9vRwqI/AAAAAAAAAVE/wxzJGOTHjAs/s1600-h/Sep07+013.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; clear: both; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/Rtswv9vRwqI/AAAAAAAAAVE/wxzJGOTHjAs/s320/Sep07+013.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Look closely. These four socks came out of a single package - a brand new, unopened, plastic bag containing six sets of socks. Purchased at...<br /><br />Goodwill.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">They saw me coming.</span><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-9030890898886020338?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-35265067737220522992007-06-01T22:34:00.000-07:002007-06-01T22:37:11.357-07:00You know what <a href="http://fiatveritas.blogspot.com/2005/12/snake-oil.html">I think</a> about Mannatech. Now check out the <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/2020/story?id=3228488&amp;page=1">20/20 story</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-3526506773722052299?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-7828385597866289502007-06-01T15:56:00.000-07:002007-06-01T17:59:29.016-07:00<a href="http://roadtrip.typepad.com/ca2fl/">Doug</a> tagged me on this "top 5 eating places" thing. I've only lived in this area for 6 months, so there may be better places I haven't tried yet.<br /><br /><p>1. Add a direct link to your post below the name of the person who tagged you. Include the city/state and country you’re in.<br /><a href="http://chroniclesofnicole.blogspot.com/2007/03/who-else-knows-food-better-than-locals.html">Nicole </a>(Sydney, Australia)<br /><a href="http://www.velverse.com/?p=545">velverse</a> (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)<br /><a href="http://albiewong.com/index.php/?p=442">LB </a>(San Giovanni in Marignano, Italy)<br /><a href="http://www.selba.blogspot.com/">Selba</a> (Jakarta, Indonesia)<br /><a href="http://artmeliana.blogspot.com/">Olivia</a> (London, England)<br /><a href="http://zeesspace.blogspot.com/">ML</a> (Utah, USA)<br /><a href="http://lotusreads.blogspot.com/">Lotus</a> (Toronto, Canada)<br /><a href="http://estellasrevenge.blogspot.com/">Andi</a> (Dallas [ish], Texas, United States)<br /><a href="http://vivalasvegass.blogspot.com/">Todd</a> (Louisville, Kentucky, United States)<br /><a href="http://www.golden-state.blogspot.com/">miss kendra</a> (los angeles, california, u.s.a)<br /><a href="http://www.jiggscasey.com/2007/05/worship-japanese-satan.html"></a><a href="http://sniper-kitty.blogspot.com/">Kat</a> (Ontario, Canada)<br /><a href="http://ezycheezy.blogspot.com/2007/05/food-meme.html">Cheezy</a> (London, England)<br /><a href="http://paulalight.blogspot.com/2007/05/food-meme_13.html">Paula</a> (Orange County, California, U.S.)<br /><a href="http://blog.boileddinner.com/2007/05/food-travel-whats-better-than-that.html">Jeff</a> (Colorado, USA)<br /><a href="http://sarcasticfringe.com/">Fringes</a> (around Houston, US)<br /><a href="http://www.motormouth.com/monstro/">Monstro D. Whale</a> (New England, MA)<br /><a href="http://motormouth.blogharbor.com/blog">Motormouth</a> (New England, MA)<br /><a href="http://comtesselefty.blogspot.com/2007/05/youre-it.html">Julie</a> (San Jose, CA)<br /><a href="http://roadtrip.typepad.com/ca2fl/2007/05/tagging_up.html">Doug</a> (Orlando, FL)<br /><a href="http://www.fiatveritas.blogspot.com/">Steve</a> (around Seattle, WA)<br /></p> <p> 2. List your top five local eating places.</p> <blockquote><p><em></em><u>Chains</u><br />Ruth's Chris Steakhouse (home of the 500 degree plate)<br />Roy's (not local, but incredible)<br />Bahama Breeze (fake tropical theme, but not too cheesy)<br />Tahoe Joes (not local, try the onion straws and Joe's steak)<br />Old Spaghetti Factory (try the mizithra)<br /></p> <p><u>Independents/Local chains</u><br />Burgerville (better than In-N-Out [gasp])<br />Ranch House BBQ (where the huge waiter keeps saying, "Than-Q" and "Aw-SUM")<br />Lemongrass (terrific Thai)<br />Brewery City (bubbly, crusty Pizza)<br />Eagan's (extra goop, please)<br /></p></blockquote> <p>3. Tag five people and let them know they've been tagged:<br />I barely even know five people, let alone five people with blogs (who haven't already been tagged). Let's try <a href="http://theisaacfamily.blogspot.com/">Jason</a>, <a href="http://www.xanga.com/aaladd">Amy</a>, <a href="http://www.xanga.com/Panda6189">Nicole</a>, <a href="http://theshultzes.spaces.live.com/">Dawn</a>, and <a href="http://mountainmom.wordpress.com/">Laura.</a></p> <!-- technorati tags --> <span class="post-footers">Disclaimer: I haven't checked out all of the linked blogs in #1 above and I'm not endorsing their content. I deleted a couple of them just based on their names and quickly scanned content.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-782838559786628950?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-46750654141002880572007-05-06T05:25:00.000-07:002007-05-06T07:01:31.013-07:00I <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> scrambled eggs.<br /><br /> 3 eggs<br /> 1 Tablespoon cream<br /> 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt<br /> a smallish pat of butter (1/2 Tablespoon or so)<br /><br />Set up a double boiler. Like this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/Rj3bIYe3XBI/AAAAAAAAAH8/74O9geqJqPI/s1600-h/dubboil.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/Rj3bIYe3XBI/AAAAAAAAAH8/74O9geqJqPI/s320/dubboil.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061442493291650066" border="0" /></a><br /><br />NOT like this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/Rj3bUIe3XCI/AAAAAAAAAIE/szbzercsFWQ/s1600-h/shiny.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/Rj3bUIe3XCI/AAAAAAAAAIE/szbzercsFWQ/s320/shiny.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061442695155112994" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Gently simmer a couple inches of water in the double boiler. As the water comes to temperature, combine eggs, cream, and salt. Whisk it. Whisk it good.<br /><br />Put the butter in the metal bowl atop the double boiler. When it melts, pour in the egg mixture. As the portion touching the bowl begins to firm, fold it away from the bowl using a silicone scraper. Repeat until there is no more eggy liquid sitting around. Do not overcook. Plate the eggs just before you think they'll be done, since they'll continue to cook a little. When I was done, my eggs were plenty moist, and my <a href="http://www.hi-tm.com/Documents2007/therms-PDT300-flyer.pdf">quick-read thermometer</a> read about 155 degrees F. Eggs are safe at 145 F.<br /><br />Experiment with toppings of finely minced red onion, or your favorite sauce. I've even heard that truffle oil is good. But try the eggs before you put anything on them - they're pretty tasty straight.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.altonbrown.com/">Alton Brown</a>, you are my cooking guru.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-4675065414100288057?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-41401357663534641092007-04-05T18:35:00.000-07:002007-04-05T20:26:32.528-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/RhW93yGZo7I/AAAAAAAAAC4/FuSEwKBMD8Y/s1600-h/Apr07+004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/RhW93yGZo7I/AAAAAAAAAC4/FuSEwKBMD8Y/s320/Apr07+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050151323204953010" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It's a beautiful day in the Pacific Northwest. The frost is gone. The clouds have parted. The trees are budding and the grass smells sweet. The gray has given way to color, and with the most intensity I can remember, I <em>feel</em> Spring.<br /><br />Today, the capricious waste fairies left us a new recycling container. It's big, and in contrast to the three miniature bins we had before, it doesn't demand that I sort the recycling. I immediately <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">transferred</span> our precious detritus to its ample interior, and the semi-organized pile of junk on our garage floor has been replaced by clean bare concrete.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-4140135766353464109?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-45117537264317186012007-03-31T15:35:00.000-07:002007-03-31T15:39:43.613-07:00Thanks to a generous benefactor, as of this moment, I do not owe any money to anybody! School loan...PAID. Car loan...PAID.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Now where did I put that credit card?</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-4511753726431718601?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-48674280411623906112007-03-05T20:19:00.000-08:002007-03-05T20:26:20.329-08:00The moment one asks oneself "Do I believe?" all belief seems to go. I think this is because one is trying to turn around and look <span style="font-style: italic;">at</span> something which is there to be used and work <span style="font-style: italic;">from</span> - trying to take out one's eyes instead of keeping them in the right place and seeing <span style="font-style: italic;">with</span> them. I find it happens about other matters as well as faith. In my experience only very robust pleasures will stand the question, "Am I really enjoying this?" Or attention - the moment I begin thinking about my attention (to a book or lecture) I have <span style="font-style: italic;">ipso facto</span> ceased attending. St. Paul speaks of "Faith actualized in Love." And "the heart is deceitful.": you know better than I how very unreliable introspection is. I should be much more alarmed about your progress if you wrote claiming to be overflowing with Faith, Hope and Charity.<br /><br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">Letters of C. S. Lewis</span><br /> 27th September 1949<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-4867428041162390611?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-34660628232908562792007-02-06T11:09:00.000-08:002007-02-06T11:13:54.989-08:00It's ironic that the birthplace of Starbucks is also be the birthplace of <a href="http://www.terrabite.org/">Terra Bite</a>.<br /><br />There's an <a href="http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/businesstechnology/2003558690_terrabite06e.html">article</a> about the place and their voluntary payment system in today's Seattle Times.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-3466062823290856279?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-76685593134314814052007-01-24T19:21:00.000-08:002007-01-24T20:21:18.435-08:00“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; <i style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">if it were</i><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> not </span><i style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">so,</i><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> I would have told you</span>. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. And where I go you know, and the way you know.”<br />Thomas said to Him, “Lord, we do not know where You are going, and how can we know the way?”<br />Jesus said to him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me." [emphasis added]<br /><br />John 14:1-6<br /><br />Doubts about the claims of Jesus have plagued me on and off for the majority of my adult life. But I have come to believe that this is just the result of some spiritual genetic defect that I may have to live with for the rest of my life. Everybody has their deficiencies, and this is one of mine.<br /><br />At the dinner table the other night, I offered H, my daughter, some new food to try.<br /><br />"Is it spicy?" she asked, predictably. H hates spicy food.<br />"Would I give you something spicy?" I answered with a question of my own.<br />She nodded.<br />Annoyed at her lack of trust, I began probing.<br />"Don't you think I know you don't like spicy food?"<br />She shook her head and kept her lips sealed together tightly.<br />"I know you don't like spicy foods. This isn't spicy," I said.<br />No change in her posture.<br />"Do you think I'm lying to you?" I asked.<br />"Mmhm."<br />"Have I ever lied to you before?"<br />"Mmhm."<br />"What?! I have not. Oh, never mind."<br />And somewhere in the back of my mind, completely unprompted came the phrase, "<span style="font-style: italic;">if it were not so, I would have told you.</span>" I was almost startled, but not quite. "Why did I think of that?" I wondered to myself. It almost seemed to fit the situation, but not quite.<br /><br />So I've been thinking about it.<br /><br />It's almost the same question I was trying to ask H, but it's taken to the next level. I was asking her, "Do you think I would give you something bad without saying anything about it?" But Jesus is asking His students, "Do you think I would fail to give you something amazing without saying anything about it?" Jesus had - no - Jesus <span style="font-style: italic;">has</span> every expectation that our trust in Him will result in our anticipation of wonderful things ahead. If there were no wonderful things to be anticipated, THAT would have warranted an explanation. Lacking further instruction, we should expect divine goodness. This is no pie in the sky prosperity gospel. To the contrary, pain is also one of His promises. But there is a point to it all. He told the church at Ephesus, "To him who overcomes, I will give the right to eat from the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God."<br /><br />As I read it over in this new light, John 14 is fantastic. I can hear Jesus pleading with them to keep believing. It's like He knows that when He is gone, the doubts will begin to creep in. "No," He's telling their future doubting selves, "it wasn't all a fantastic illusion. It was real. I was really there with you. My promises were true, and we will be together again. Hold on. Just a little further. I know I am asking a hard thing. Hold on."<br /><br />And for now, the doubts begin to fade. They will come back. But when they do, it will be because <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> have changed - not because there is any less substance to the things hoped for.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-7668559313431481405?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-38027177062180111852007-01-06T06:58:00.000-08:002007-01-06T07:01:34.284-08:00Man, am I bummed that I missed out on <a href="http://www.neha.org/job_postings/listing0387.html">this</a> job offer. I've always wanted to try life on the <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/hi2/kwa/index.html">Kwajalein Atoll</a>. Oh well, I guess the Northwest is pretty cool too.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-3802717706218011185?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-91916933106476936282007-01-05T20:34:00.000-08:002007-01-05T20:36:46.154-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/RZ8nDrGEU3I/AAAAAAAAAAM/Cxlo4Ox4dKQ/s1600-h/collage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_HK7kGSv1YYw/RZ8nDrGEU3I/AAAAAAAAAAM/Cxlo4Ox4dKQ/s320/collage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5016771453975286642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />From our trip to the <a href="http://www.pacsci.org/">Pacific Science Center</a>, which was very cool.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-9191693310647693628?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-59167141794069969292006-12-30T17:13:00.000-08:002006-12-30T17:16:22.072-08:00Tonight I'm grilling the first of what I hope will be many tri-trips in the Great Northwest.<br /><br />As I'm grilling, my breath is getting all mixed up with the smoke.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-5916714179406996929?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-63742105178222469292006-11-27T08:52:00.000-08:002006-11-27T08:55:26.042-08:00<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tsHHOr8a0qI"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tsHHOr8a0qI" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="600" height="350"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />The first real snow in our new place.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-6374210517822246929?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-69237969618138044642006-10-19T09:02:00.000-07:002006-10-19T09:18:11.800-07:00I must temporarily come out of hiatus for this story...<br /><br />When we were on our way out of the house yesterday, Thing 1 asked, "Dad, can I go say hi to Ilene?" Ilene is the little girl that lives in the townhouse next to ours.<br /><br />"If you go quickly to the edge of our porch, you may look over and see if Ilene is there. If she is there, you may say hi to her."<br /><br />Maybe that sounds overly controlling, but if you don't keep a tight reign on these things, they quickly become ten-minute ordeals.<br /><br />Thing 1 walked to the edge of our porch, looked around the corner to Ilene's porch, and said, "Hi Ilene." I couldn't see Ilene's porch from where I was but something about the quiet way Thing 1 spoke made me wonder.<br /><br />"Was Ilene really there?"<br /><br />"Ummm... I think she was invisible."<br /><br />"Really? Do you even know what invisible means?"<br /><br />"When people go to heaven they're invisible."<br /><br />True enough, I guess, but I felt some additional explanation was necessary.<br /><br />"Invisible means you can't see someone," I said, not wanting to overly complicate the issue.<br /><br />"Right. Just like I couldn't see Ilene."<br /><br />I am in so much trouble.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-6923796961813804464?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-55178280346026421372006-10-17T19:52:00.000-07:002006-10-17T19:53:53.745-07:00Obviously this blog is in sort of a hiatus. Things are happening... If you really love me, you'll keep checking back until I'm good and ready to get going again.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-5517828034602642137?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-50709860682444046702006-10-05T14:44:00.000-07:002006-10-05T14:46:32.537-07:00And pretty funny too.<br /><br /><embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-8574515984097771637&hl=en"> </embed><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-5070986068244404670?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-82980334414667672102006-09-19T22:31:00.000-07:002006-09-19T22:33:24.869-07:00An elk mating call has the opposite effect on human females. Well, I guess I can only be certain that it doesn't work on my wife, but this seems like a good time to employ inductive reasoning.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-8298033441466767210?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-44259477763657993842006-09-15T09:29:00.000-07:002006-09-15T09:32:17.751-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2559/1269/1600/Spinach%20Frog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2559/1269/320/Spinach%20Frog.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Given the FDA's <a href="http://www.fda.gov/bbs/topics/NEWS/2006/NEW01450.html">recent warning</a> regarding fresh bagged spinach, this seems appropriate. Click the picture to make it bigger.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-4425947776365799384?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-51151355228843116422006-09-14T09:31:00.000-07:002006-09-14T09:34:36.774-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2559/1269/1600/Migrant%20Mother.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2559/1269/400/Migrant%20Mother.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-5115135522884311642?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1157491669266915792006-09-05T13:48:00.000-07:002006-09-05T14:30:00.480-07:00At least once every two weeks I see something that makes me wish I had a camera. I'm probably the last person in Southern California without one built into my mobile phone.<br /><br />For example, a year or more ago I saw an apparently homeless guy holding a sign that read simply, "hungry." He was also eating an apple.<br /><br />Another time I saw an industrial truck carrying a big roll-off waste container. On the door of the truck's cab were those little black-on-white pre-glued letters. They spelled out, "Chester's Rool-Off." I think it's hysterically funny that Chester went down to the hardware store, purchased a pack of those letters, took them out to his truck, and promptly misspelled the name of his business.<br /><br />Today, I was in my building's elevator with some co-workers. The elevator stopped at the loading dock level, and a short roundish gentlemen carrying a large box on his head entered. I immediately burst out laughing; I couldn't have stopped myself if I had tried. His work uniform bore two labels: one said, "Luis," and the other, "Marina Graphics." He walked in, squatted just a bit to push the B-level button, and faced me directly. His hands never approached the box; it was perfectly balanced. With such exquisite posture, Luis could have been walking the Miss America runway. But he wasn't. He was on my elevator.<br /><br />"Do you get extra for that service?" I asked.<br /><br />"No," he smiled, "same price." And as he said this, he wiggled ever so slightly to stay squarely under the box. It made me laugh even harder.<br /><br />I wish I had had a camera to take Luis' picture. It was all of thirty seconds, but I would like to remember exactly how Luis looked standing there with a box on his head; without a trace of self-consciousness. The world needs more people like that. I need to be more like that. You're all right, Luis. Good on ya.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115749166926691579?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1157170194263260642006-09-01T21:02:00.000-07:002006-09-01T21:13:28.523-07:00Tonight I sat at my computer and filled out an on-line resume builder at <a href="http://www.compassion.com/default.htm">Compassion.com</a>. At one point, they asked me to write a statement about my beliefs regarding God and significant spiritual experiences. If that's not a broad question, I'm not sure what is. I felt a bit like Ravi Zacharias when he sat down at one of his seminary final exams: the only harder question would have been, "Define God and give two examples."<br /><br />Anyway, here's the best I could do without spending the entire weekend at it:<br /><br /><blockquote style="font-style: italic;">I am hesitant to go into significant detail, since the more I write, the greater my chances of falling into some heresy or another. Please forgive my brevity.<br /><br />I believe that Jesus Christ is the only begotten Son of God. I am convinced that the historical fact of His resurrection represents the only hope for humanity. I believe that as I am drawn up into His life, my selfishness diminishes and my love of others grows. I believe that living a life of communion with Christ necessarily involves a life of communion with other believers, and that this social context, while often messy and inefficient, is vital to the success of any project intended to lift up another human being. They will know we are Christians by our love.</blockquote><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115717019426326064?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1156738870530017482006-08-27T20:38:00.000-07:002006-08-28T15:53:16.176-07:00It's a strange fellowship of friends that forms on my bus. We have nothing at all in common except that we happen to be going the same direction, once in the morning and again in the evening. We generally sit two-by-two, each with the realization that the other would really rather be sitting alone, but since there are a limited number of seats we might as well make the best of it. Most of us would actually prefer to be left alone to read our magazine or listen to our music. There have even been hypocritical days on which I would rather have been left alone to read my Bible. But sometimes, whether by accident or by grace, the self-imposed isolation is allowed to slip, we begin to talk, and quickly or slowly I have a friend with whom I have never conversed except that we were both on our way to somewhere else.<br /><br />Such was the case with Jon. We stood together at the homebound stop probably fifty times before I ever spoke to him. I already knew that he had trouble steadying himself on the bus's stairs and that the ballcap he wore every day was probably meant to cover a bald head. He was young, about my age, and I suspected he was sick. We saw each other almost every day, but we somehow agreed to pretended not to notice. I forget what I said when I finally spoke to him. It was probably some inane comment about traffic or the weather, but it was enough to break the cone of silence. He was a researcher at the university - something about global positioning systems and landing airplanes automatically. He was diagnosed with cancer three years ago. It started when he had trouble coordinating his movements. After a long series of tests, he was finally told that he had brain cancer which was itself a metastasis of esophageal cancer. But he cheerfully told me it's growth had been suspended - it wasn't shrinking, but it wasn't growing either.<br /><br />Over time I learned more about him. He loved swimming and hiking, never smoke or drank, he had enjoyed role-playing games in his younger days. I had to pry to find out that he had his PhD. I called him Dr. Jon once, but he laughed an uncomfortable laugh, so I never called him that again. He took the bus because he lost his driver's license when his coordination went south on him, but he hoped to get it back. We had a mini-celebration when he got permission to drive again. His parents paid to have one of their cars modified so he could drive it. He practiced in it a few times, but never worked up the courage to go out on the 405 on his own, so he kept taking the bus.<br /><br />A couple of months ago, I noticed he looked a bit down. "I found a lump on my chest," he said. "I'm going to see my doctor about it tomorrow." We both knew it was a new tumor. He had already undergone all the usual treatments, so in a last ditch effort he signed up for a clinical trial at USC. He seemed hopeful, but not unreservedly so. Once, when he looked especially tired, I found out that he had received his chemotherapy that same morning. I think he just really enjoyed his research.<br /><br />As the last few weeks passed, we both began to realize that this was probably it. There wasn't going to be any improvement. His nagging cough was never going away. It was then that I thought I should finally say something to him - something about the reality that awaits on the other side of the river. I thought I should at least check and see if he wanted to talk about the possibility. But how does a person who has every expectation of living begin to broach the subject with someone for whom death is an imminent reality? Isn't that a little like a childless man giving advice on fatherhood to an expectant first-time father? Or an unmarried priest doling out marital advice? But it's even worse - this is the biggest thing a person can face and its the one thing with which none of us has any experience. It felt terribly indecent, so I said nothing. He never asked, and I never offered. I tried to let him know I cared, but not so overtly as to presume upon our silly bus friendship.<br /><br />About six weeks ago, I stopped seeing Jon on the bus. One of the other riders called his home and found out that he had been placed in an induced coma to ease his suffering. The middle of last week, he died.<br /><br />I went to his funeral yesterday afternoon. I learned that Jon was Jewish. The rabbi skillfully gave a common voice to the suffering of Jon's loved ones, and had some very Christian-like things to say from Psalm 8. I learned some more things about Jon. He had a mother and father who are still married and loved him very much. He had a younger brother who regrets not spending more time with him. He looked better with hair.<br /><br />If there is one Christian doctrine I would change if I could, it would be the doctrine of hell. I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around the possibility that Jon is there. While it's possible that he was the perpetrator of horrible crimes, I kind of doubt it. The man I knew was intelligent, humble, and gracious. What were Jon's crimes - crimes so horrible that they cannot be forgiven? Violations so profound that the only justice is eternal suffering? Is this the work of the same God who sacrificed His only Son rather than see his creation die? Is this the work of the same God who said He was not willing that any should perish? I just don't get it today.<br /><br />Please don't worry. This is not a crisis of faith for me. I know the answer. It's not a real game if winning it is inevitable. People get to make their own choices - the freedom to make a real choice is something that God will not violate. What I'm asking God to do is ridiculous. For Him to simply forgive just won't do. It would be a violation of the entirety of human experience - all of our time spent here on earth would instantly cease to be meaningful. If God can just sit up in heaven and hand out "get out of jail free" cards, then nothing we do here really matters - and this is why it cannot be so. But that still leaves Jon's continual suffering a distinct possibility, and I'm not sure what to do with that. Maybe its just my own guilt talking.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115673887053001748?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1156197149362272642006-08-21T14:51:00.000-07:002006-08-21T14:52:29.376-07:00A second ago I thought I heard my son ("dude") crying from the other room. Then I realized it was just the sound of my breathing whistling though my nose.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115619714936227264?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1155770315748348882006-08-16T15:37:00.000-07:002006-08-16T16:18:35.996-07:00"You don't have a soul. You <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span> a soul. You have a body." - C. S. Lewis<br /><br />"You are not a soul. You have a soul" -Dallas Willard<br /><br />If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you'll know how big a fan of C. S. Lewis I am. His book Mere Christianity was extremely formative for my understanding of what it means to be a Christian.<br /><br />Recently, our Sunday morning class at church has been getting into Dallas Willard's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1576832961/002-0027458-3487274?v=glance&n=283155">Renovation of the Heart</a>. In it he presents his view of the makeup of a human being, and the way these pieces of ourselves, severally and jointly, can be brought into greater agreement with the character of Jesus Christ. For the first four or five weeks, I was dismissive. Then for four or five more weeks, I was skeptical (shocking to you, I'm sure). Now I think I'm beginning to be convinced.<br /><br />Notably among those things that have given me pause is Willard's conception of the soul. I have always taken Lewis' definition of the soul to be the simple and closed truth: that the soul ultimately <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> the person. The body is the container in which the soul resides; the will is the outworking of the soul; but in the most foundational sense, I am a soul. Willard sees it differently. He thinks of the soul as one component part of a person. In his view a person is made up of a soul, a spirit (thoughts and emotions), a will (the capacity to choose), a body, and a social context. The soul serves an integrating function that keeps the other parts of a person working together in a useful fashion. He sees the Apostle Paul's comments about not doing what he wants to do as an indication of a degree of disrepair within the soul. A fully functional soul keeps the other parts working together so that one does not make choices (with the will) that are incompatible with the person's own thoughts. In this way, alcoholism can be thought of as a breakdown of the soul. When any one portion of the person's component parts is allowed to act unchecked, it is an indication that the soul isn't working properly. The soul is also that part of a person that responds directly to God and is the channel through which His vitality flows to the Christian - the root system of the tree planted by still water.<br /><br />Willard describes it like this on his website:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><p><b><span style="color:#333399;"></span></b></p><blockquote><p><b><span style="color:#333399;">P:</span></b> Can you talk a little bit about the biblical teaching on the soul?</p> <p><b><span style="color:#333399;">D:</span></b> Well, yes, I can talk a little bit about that. The Bible, of course, is not a theology book. It is certainly not a philosophy book. So we have to derive the meaning of terms from the context in use.</p> <p>And that is what we see in the Scripture. It's a wonderful thing to do an inductive study with our concordance. We see that the soul is the deepest and the most vital part of the person as a whole. It is often treated as the person, and we actually do this when we talk about "saving our soul."” Well, you know, we don'’t save our soul and leave our emotions and our feelings and our body and all the rest of it out. That'’s just a way of talking that emphasizes the soul is so fundamental that we can, in some cases, treat it as the whole person because it actually is the thing that integrates all of these aspects of the self and makes them work together. Now, I don't think we can find a passage in the Bible that says that. We have to read and study how it addresses the soul, and we then see that it is the deepest, most vital part of the human self.</p> <p>It's important to distinguish the soul from the spirit, or will, because the will or the heart or the spirit is the executive center of the self. In other words, the spirit is the part that is supposed to consciously direct everything in the person, including the soul.</p> <p>Generally speaking we don'’t want to hear from the soul. We want it to just do its job. Unfortunately, in a broken world, it also is broken, and we'’re going to hear from it because many of the ordinary miseries and extraordinary glories of human life are expressions of the state of the soul.</p> <p>There is talk in the Scripture like, "“The law of the Lord is perfect, restoring the soul."” See, the "“law of the Lord"” draws the soul into the ways of God at a deep level that heals it. The soul's order is re-established in God through the law. Or the 23rd Psalm, "“He restoreth my soul."” These are extremely crucial passages.</p> <p>I do emphasize that we cannot just get out of the Bible a definition of the soul. The Bible defines almost nothing because it isn'’t a book for scholars and philosophers or free thinkers. It's a book for people who want help. It'’s primarily a book for pastors. They'’re the ones that can use it in a way so that it actually achieves its purpose.</p> <p><b><span style="color:#333399;">P:</span></b> Going back to the example you gave of the spirit being the executive center, if you use the analogy of an automobile, might the spirit be the steering wheel and the soul be the engine?</p> <p><b><span style="color:#333399;">D:</span></b> Well, I would say the soul would be more than the engine. The soul would be like the computer system that coordinates everything, from the smog device to the fuel injection system to the brakes. Now, of course, you have guidance devices and all sorts of things. The soul would be more like the way this is all hooked together, a system of coordination.</p> <p>The engine might be more like the body. In ourselves that is the source of our strength. As we reach out to God, we get another source of strength. But no matter how lost a person is, they still draw on their body. So the body would be more like the motor. Suppose we have a motor and our transmission doesn'’t work or our clutch or whatever. Then our body, our motor, just takes us down the road. Or our brakes don'’t work! We must have a coordination system.</p> <p>The different parts of the automobile like the ignition switch, the various buttons, the steering wheel, the interfaces between the driver and the machine, —are our spirit or heart. The different controls are the spirit.</p> <p>Then we have the issue of what'’s in control of the driver. And the driver had better be under some control! Hopefully, that will be God. And so the relation of redemption and sanctification would be the ongoing relationship between the driver and God who is directing her. Now, if God isn'’t directing him, he may go wild and do all sorts of things criminal and crazy.</p> <p>Think of the soul as the computer system that runs the whole thing. And then the spirit is the executive center. It'’s the faculty of choice. And then you want that faculty governed by the truth of God and the Spirit of God. We really do need analogies for all of this, because the only alternative is to write a long book of philosophy that no one would understand.</p></blockquote><p></p></span>There is much more to <a href="http://www.dwillard.org/articles/artview.asp?artID=86">the interview</a>, if you're interested.<br /><br />You've got to cast a beady eye at this sort of thing, because it isn't biblical exactly. And yet, after doing a search on the word "soul" at <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/">biblegateway.com</a>, I'm beginning to think that he just might be right. So I may be approaching a moment when I decide that C. S. Lewis was wrong about something, and that has happened very few times. I guess he was human after all.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115577031574834888?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1155611780578828632006-08-14T20:13:00.000-07:002006-08-14T20:16:20.596-07:00Someone sent me an email with these pictures. The email's subject line read, "Looks like chicken!"<br /><br /><div style="text-align:center; width:194px; font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:83%;"><div style="height:194px;background:url(http://picasaweb.google.com/f/img/album_background.gif) no-repeat left;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/safuller/LooksLikeChicken"><img src="http://lh3.google.com/safuller/ROE5nPBuABE/AAAAAAAAADI/ClxkM1HXVTU/LooksLikeChicken.jpg?crop=1&amp;imgmax=160" width="160" height="160" style="border:none;padding-top:16px;" /></a></div><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/safuller/LooksLikeChicken"><div style="color:#4D4D4D;font-weight:bold;text-decoration:none;">looks like chicken</div></a><div style="color:#808080">Aug 14, 2006 - 9 Photos</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115561178057882863?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1154986581768847942006-08-07T13:51:00.000-07:002006-08-07T14:36:21.903-07:00As I approached my home-bound bus's stop last Friday, there was a young Asian woman camped out in the shade of the little booth. She was fairly dirty and seemed out of it, maybe sleeping. I found a shady spot under a nearby tree and waited for my bus. There was a pleasant breeze, and all seemed well. A few uneventful minutes went by before sleepy homeless girl began to move. She stood up and began fiddling with the waistband of her oversized, soiled jeans. I started to get nervous. The pants started to get looser. I was frozen by fear. The next thing I knew, her pants were around her ankles and she was squatting over the public sidewalk. I bolted. I had to be close enough to see the approaching bus, but I was able to maneuver to where her modesty (or rather, mine) was protected by her belongings.<br /><br />It took me a minute to recover, but I had my cell phone out shortly and dialed the University Police Department's business line. Public health emergency aside, I didn't think this justified a call to 911.<br /><br />"Police Department."<br /><br />"Yes, I'm standing at the corner of [xxxxxx] and [xxxxxx]. There's a young homeless woman here who seems to have just relieved herself on the public sidewalk. I didn't know if that's the sort of thing you're interested in hearing about or not"<br /><br />"I see. Anything else?"<br /><br />"No, just the urine."<br /><br />"Well, the penal code on that has changed. It's no longer illegal for someone to urinate in public."<br /><br />"Really? That's surprising."<br /><br />"Is she being belligerent or causing any other problems?"<br /><br />"No, she seems peaceful enough."<br /><br />"Well, if the situation changes, be sure to give us a call back."<br /><br />"Alright, thanks."<br /><br />And that was that. The homeless girl robed. My bus came and I got on it.<br /><br />There are a zillion public restrooms within easy walking distance of the bus stop. I guess the part that sticks with me is the complete loss of any self-respect that must have occurred at some point in this woman's past. She was once a baby, and someone cared enough to at least provide the necessities that infants are helpless to provide for themselves. Now she's dropping her pants in public and expelling her warm wastes without the slightest concern that someone might be watching.<br /><br />So now you know. It's no longer illegal to humiliate yourself on a public sidewalk and expose the rest of the world to your waste - in case you were wondering. Just watch your step.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115498658176884794?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1154710232335882072006-08-04T09:40:00.000-07:002006-08-04T09:51:49.530-07:00Well, the <a href="http://googleblog.blogspot.com/2006/08/its-all-about-photoson-mac.html#links">Official Google Blog</a> called it famous, but I'd never heard it. It's a great story, and well worth the read: <a href="http://www.pacifict.com/Story/">The Graphing Calculator Story</a>.<br /><br />One of the things I like about <a href="http://willhuntforfood.blogspot.com/">Paul</a> is that he's the sort of guy who do exactly that kind of thing, whereas I'm the sort of guy that would have turned in my badge without even conceiving of any other possibility. Paul doesn't know the first thing about computers, as evidenced by his company's <a href="http://www.averyandgreig.com/">horrific website</a>, but you know what I mean.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115471023233588207?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1154535057468392472006-08-02T09:00:00.000-07:002006-08-02T09:12:14.260-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/meatcake01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/meatcake01.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I'm a meat lover, through and through: ribs, porterhouse, pork loin, hamburger, rotisserie chicken, lamb chops, carnitas, and quail. I like it all. I also enjoy cake, as long as it's moist and the frosting isn't too sweet. But I'm just not sure about this: <a href="http://www.blackwidowbakery.com/demo/meatcake/">MEAT CAKE!</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115453505746839247?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1154387732903011652006-07-31T15:36:00.000-07:002006-07-31T16:16:18.443-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/Home072106_02.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/Home072106_02.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />This week is our church's Vacation Bible School <a href="http://www.groupvbs.com/2006/Fiesta/">Fiesta</a>! My wife is running the preschool program, and I'm playing the part of her trusty sidekick - a self-created lovable simpleton named Siesta Steve. Because Siesta Steve is consistently confused about the theme of this year's VBS, he is constantly taking a siesta at inappropriate times. Siesta Steve's personality is closer to my real personality than I care to admit, so playing him has not been difficult. ("Ohhhh, you said <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">F</span>iesta. I thought you said <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">S</span>iesta." and "Escuse me, could you keep it down? Some people are trying to have a siesta.")<br /><br />So far I like my position as clown/sidekick/audio-visual repairman/bathroom buddy/songleader/handholder much better than my past positions as games leader and storyteller. There's plenty to do, but less specific responsibility.<br /><br />Uniquely, our VBS is in the evening rather than during the day. We probably get some extra helpers this way, but it also means that my kids, who are used to being in bed by 8 PM, aren't getting to bed until 9:30 PM or later. Last night was the first night, and I'll bet they're cranky today. I don't envy my wife at home with them. Only four more nights to go.<br /><br />Someone should really tell the kids in the advertisement above that not only are donkeys completing unloving creatures, but they're also filthy animals whose germ-laden feces ends up all over their bodies. Wash your hands kids, or there'll be an E. coli fiesta in your colon. Hey, I know, I could dumb down a Bible verse until it reinforced that sage bit of advice. (That's satire people; satire.)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115438773290301165?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1153864318377166602006-07-25T14:26:00.000-07:002006-07-26T10:41:37.706-07:00Thing 1 and Thing 2 earned a couple of rewards for doing their chores, being helpful, etc. So we got up on Saturday morning and took them to Griffith Park for pony rides (Thing 1's favorite) and a short train ride (Thing 2's favorite). I won't describe all the details, because I suspect it would bore you as much to read it as it would me to write it. Suffice it to say; however, that watching your kids being happy never gets old. Riding a leisurely open-top train while your daughter waves at every passing lawn gnome and relishes going over the bridge is a simple, pure, and enduring pleasure.<br /><br />After the park, I finally had a chance to go to <a href="http://www.originaltommys.com/">Tommy's</a> (<a href="http://fiatveritas.blogspot.com/2006/06/silliness-at-mall.html">not to be confused with Tommie's</a>). Eating at Tommy's is a little bit hard to believe. Their menu is a chili-grease-laden cornucopia of delights. The coupons Paul gave me were for any burger on the menu, any order of fries on the menu, and any drink on the menu - including shakes. This, my friends, is a dangerous level of freedom for a man with my weaknesses. I <strike>ate</strike> ordered a double cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla shake. Everything on their menu, except the drinks, comes topped with cheese and chili. Now that I think of it, maybe even the drinks could be improved by adding a dollop of chili. Vanilla-chili shake, anyone? I only actually finished the fries, and even at that, I felt like I probably shouldn't eat anything else for roughly six weeks. But that feeling passed soon enough. I took the burger home and ate it Sunday night, which required deconstructing it and handling each ingredient individually in order to come to an approximation of the original. Needless to say, everything tasted wonderfully, but there was sort of an underlying obscenity about the whole thing. I don't think I can go back again right away; I may need to give it a month or more. Then again, if Paul were to call and suggest it, I'm not sure I could refuse.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115386431837716660?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1153422428404832362006-07-20T11:56:00.000-07:002006-07-20T12:09:16.086-07:00A few days ago, I had this email exchange with my co-worker Mike:<br /><br /><blockquote>Him: FYI…My cell phone is on the fritz and is not working. Hopefully it will be fixed by today. You may have to contact me by my office line or through someone else if you need me.<br /><br />Me: So, let me get this straight: Your cell phone is on the fritz AND is not working? Wow, that is bad. If it was just on the fritz or it was just not working, that would be bad enough, but both of those?! Wow.<br /><br />Him: To clarify…it has been on the fritz for the last couple of weeks and NOW it is not working. It is bad enough that my phone is sick but now I have to explain myself to you.<br /><br />Me: "On the fritz" is generally understood to mean "not working." I'm surprised you didn't know that.<br /><br />Him: Actually, on the fritz means out of order or not working properly. In this case it is the latter.<br /><br />Me: Actually, if you say to someone "my phone is on the fritz" the person to whom you are speaking will understand that your phone is not working. He or she will not be thinking "Something about Mike's phone isn't right, but I can still call him on it."<br /><br />Him: Please look up the meaning of on the fritz. It can clearly be used to mean either.<br /></blockquote><br /><br />I dropped it there, because fun is fun, but there IS such a thing as taking a joke too far. Well, today, it continued like this:<br /><br /><blockquote>Him: FYI…I got a new cell phone so I am reachable again (same number).<br /><br />Me: yes, but is it still on the fritz?<br /><br />Him: Obviously not, it is a new phone. You are very confused about this, aren't you?<br /><br />Me: Only because your story keeps changing. It was your original point that a phone could be working for the purpose of making and receiving phone calls and still be "on the fritz" in some other way. Your email said your phone was working again, but it didn't say anything about the other functionality of the phone.<br /><br />Him: Since it is a new phone, all problems have been resolved. Here is a number to a good shrink...800-4D-CRAZY.<br /><br />Me: Mike, I called the number you gave me, but it didn't go through. I think my phone might be on the fritz.<br /><br />Him: Your brain is on the fritz!</blockquote>I love my job.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115342242840483236?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1152809896023963632006-07-19T18:25:00.000-07:002006-07-19T22:54:58.736-07:00<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%2026:26-29;&version=31;">Matthew 26:26-29</a><br /><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=john+6:32-58">John 6:32-58</a><br /><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Colossians+3:12-17">Colossians 3:12-17</a><br /><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%205:23-24;&version=31;">Matthew 5:23-24</a><br /><br />My Christian circle is in a state of unrest. I'm mostly choosing to be uninvolved because I don't have anything very helpful to contribute and the last thing the situation needs is another player with a second-hand opinion.<br /><br />I want to see peace — not a short-lived lack of conflict won by soothing frayed nerves with soft words — but a profound and respectful state of graciousness based on humility and courageous vulnerability; a condition of communion.<br /><br />Notice the shared root of the words "communion" and "community." A community is a circle of people living in communion. When the communion ceases, so does the community. It's for that reason I avoided the word in the first sentence of this post. In the Christian habit (sacrament?) of celebrating communion, we rightly first think of our communion with God: by our actions we had made ourselves His enemies, but by the redemptive work of His Son our communion with God is restored. But it doesn't end there. The life we share within our circle of believers is inextricably caught up in our common relationships with God and in the celebration of communion. We are taught in Scripture that we ought not to approach the alter of God without first being reconciled to our brother. For this reason, I would like nothing better than to sit down with my brothers and sisters and, while the elements are on the table, be led into the meaning of the event, culminating in an invitation to first reconcile and then partake.<br /><br />Every day for the last couple of weeks, I've listened to Rich Mullins singing a communion blessing. He titled it "Peace" and it served as the inspiration for this post.<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;"><u>Peace</u></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(A Communion Blessing from St. Joseph's Square)</span><br /><br />Though we're strangers, still I love you<br />I love you more than your mask<br />And you know you have to trust this to be true<br />And I know that's much to ask<br />But lay down your fears, come and join this feast<br />He has called us here, you and me<br /><br />And may peace rain down from Heaven<br />Like little pieces of the sky<br />Little keepers of the promise<br />Falling on these souls<br />This drought has dried<br />In His Blood and in His Body<br />In the Bread and in this Wine<br />Peace to you<br />Peace of Christ to you<br /><br />And though I love you, still we're strangers<br />Prisoners in these lonely hearts<br />And though our blindness separates us<br />Still His light shines in the dark<br /><br />And His outstretched arms are still strong enough to reach<br />Behind these prison bars to set us free<br /><br />So may peace rain down from Heaven<br />Like little pieces of the sky<br />Little keepers of the promise<br />Falling on these souls the drought has dried<br />In His Blood and in His Body<br />In this Bread and in this Wine<br />Peace to you<br />Peace of Christ to you<br /><br />And may peace rain down from Heaven<br />Like little pieces of the sky<br />Like those little keepers of the promise<br />Falling on these souls the drought has dried<br />In His Blood and in His Body<br />In the Bread and in this Wine<br />Peace to you<br />Peace of Christ to you<br />Peace to you<br />Peace of Christ to you</blockquote><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115280989602396363?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1153333679874334402006-07-19T11:21:00.000-07:002006-07-19T11:28:03.826-07:00One of the benefits of working at a major university is having access to a world-class library. I just checked out <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1573832529/104-9868362-6454321?v=glance&amp;n=283155">this</a> book. On my way out the door, I looked at the little "due date" slip of paper inside. The last person who checked out this book was required to return it in January of 1999. That means nobody with access to this library has read this book in over seven years.<br /><br />It's kind of a strange feeling being an anachronism.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115333367987433440?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1153244649093896822006-07-18T09:21:00.001-07:002006-07-18T10:44:09.116-07:00<TABLE border="1"><br /><CAPTION><EM>Work Shoes I Own</EM></CAPTION><br /><TR><TH rowspan="2"><br /><TR><TH>durable<TH>not durable<br /><TR><TH>comfortable<TD>0<TD>1<br /><TR><TH>not comfortable<TD>1<TD>0<br /></TABLE><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115324464909389682?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1152922435912739842006-07-14T17:06:00.000-07:002006-07-14T17:13:55.930-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/lrg_sleep_pattern.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/lrg_sleep_pattern.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />I saw this on the <a href="http://www.makezine.com/blog/">MAKE:Blog</a> a few minutes ago, and seeing how Nathan and Paul are always posting to their blogs in the wee hours of the morning, I thought I'd pass it along.<br /><br />It's from a 1930's article in the publication Modern Mechanix. It claims to be a design of Indian origin that, when traced five or ten times with the eyes, induces sleep.<br /><br />You're welcome.<br /><br />I'm posting this while performing the incredibly boring job of proctoring an exam for restaurant managers. Maybe I should try it ou...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115292243591273984?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1152831022593012372006-07-13T15:17:00.000-07:002006-07-13T20:03:29.540-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/cabin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/cabin.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />It looks like my family's cabin in the desert north of Yucca Valley might be in danger of going up in smoke. We'll have to wait a few days to get a look at it, but if the fire moves any further northwest, there won't be much hope. My dad helped build the place, and even though it's very roughly finished and doesn't have any running water, I'd be sad to see it go. I've got some good memories of going out there as a kid. Among the cabin's features are an old 55 gallon barrel that I used to shoot BBs at, the remnants of bench seat tiled with pieces left over from my Grandfather's tile business, and a nightly bat show. Who knows, maybe the asbestos siding will see her through.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/58530456_ec8de78f2e.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/58530456_ec8de78f2e.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/20060713_125612_sawtoothmap2.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/20060713_125612_sawtoothmap2.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>The young handsome guy is my dad, cleaning up at the desert cabin the only way a person can. I got the map of the fire's current location <a href="http://www.sbsun.com/news/ci_4044577">here</a>.<br /><br />Man, I can't figure out how to get blogger to put pictures together in a nice layout.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Update:</span> My dad heard from a neighbor a few minutes ago that the fire burned right up to the edge of a small clearing around our cabin that my mom and dad put there for fire protection and it stopped. We still have a funny little cabin with lots of memories in it. Yeah!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115283102259301237?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1152680155015085872006-07-11T21:44:00.000-07:002006-07-11T21:55:55.026-07:00...comes around.<br /><br />Someone dinged up my wife's van in a parking lot earlier today. The "culprit" left a note that said he was sorry and that we should call to get his insurance information. I called his number a few minutes ago, and he was very pleasant. In the time between the fender bender and now, he's wisely decided to pay for the damages himself rather than turn it over to the insurance company. Now all I have to do is get a couple of estimates and hope he is still feeling honest when I get back to him. It'll be kind of a pain, but it could be a whole lot worse.<br /><br />I'm really glad I ultimately did the right thing when <a href="http://fiatveritas.blogspot.com/2005/10/coming-around.html">I broke someone's mirror</a> in a parking lot almost a year ago. How big a jerk would I feel like right now if I hadn't gone back and left my contact info? Hopefully next time I'll just do the right thing without thinking it over for an hour first. Actually, I hope there isn't a next time.<br /><br />A clear conscience is priceless.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115268015501508587?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1152558495794996632006-07-10T12:06:00.000-07:002006-07-10T12:08:15.820-07:00Not moving to Billings. They must have had some fantastic applicants.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115255849579499663?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1152498478609726982006-07-09T19:25:00.000-07:002006-07-09T19:27:58.636-07:00"You do not have a soul. You <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span> a soul. You have a body." -C. S. Lewis<br /><br />"Everybody's heart needs love and sprinkles." -Thing 1<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115249847860972698?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1152314319167522042006-07-07T16:16:00.000-07:002006-07-07T16:18:39.186-07:00Surely I can't be the only person in America who thinks its fishy that Ken Lay died right before he was supposed to be sentenced to life in prison. I think a small island nation just got a very rich and very reclusive resident.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115231431916752204?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1152278385429333502006-07-07T06:09:00.000-07:002006-07-07T09:20:57.630-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/5157200.stm?ls">BBC</a> says this is an 1840 German photograph of Mozart's widow. I've labeled her with the number 1. She was 29 when he died, but she's 78 in the picture. Is it just me, or does "she" look extremely masculine? If Dan Brown can get away with suggesting that Jesus was married by (in part) pointing to a feminine-looking figure in DaVinci's Last Supper, painted hundreds of years after the events depicted, then surely this is rock-solid photographic evidence that Mozart had some sugar in his tank. I can play the revisionist history game too, and I say Mozart was "married" to a man.<br /><br />I'm also pretty sure that person #2 was the photographer. This is probably the first recorded instance of a photographer trying to use the camera's 10-second shutter delay to be in his own photograph. Right before this picture was taken, he was reportedly saying, "Just hold still, it's blinking... Any second now... Keep frowning... Well... Let me go look... Oh! Dag Nabbit!"<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115227838542933350?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1151720489864259932006-06-30T19:19:00.000-07:002006-06-30T19:21:29.886-07:00I'll be out of town for a few days, so there might not be any posts in the very near future. Then again, if I get a little time to do some light study, I might have a post regarding the use of alcohol. I can feel that one working its way to the surface of my brain.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115172048986425993?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1151608511707704342006-06-29T11:48:00.000-07:002006-06-29T12:16:45.300-07:00I'm a sometimes reader of <a href="http://www.scienceblogs.com/effectmeasure/">Effect Measure</a>, a "progressive" public health blog. While I disagree with it's anonymous author(s) ("revere") on most matters of politics and morality, it often provides good information on public health issues and I find pleasure in what are usually reasonable and cordial discussions of God, morality, etc.<br /><br />Revere likes to post his thoughts on God, and his disbelief in God, in a regular series of posts called "Freethinker Sunday Sermonettes." I don't usually do much internet cruising on Sundays, so I often come late into the lively comment discussions. Revere's <a href="http://scienceblogs.com/effectmeasure/2006/06/freethinker_sunday_sermonette_3.php">most recent</a> Sunday Sermonette is a good example of one of his favorite arguments against the existence of God: If there was a good and all-powerful God in the universe, there would not also be great evil, because such a God would put a stop to it. This time, Revere points out that God allowed Hitler to slaughter a huge number of innocent Jews. And, indeed, we Christians must somehow come to terms with the fact that God allowed such a horrific thing to happen when He could have prevented it. Revere and I have discussed this question head-on in the past, and while neither of us changed our positions, the discussion was friendly and informative. This time, I chose a slightly more oblique approach, and tried to show that without an absolute standard of morality one cannot even begin to have a discussion about good and evil, because if the words "good" and "evil" are only defined by one's own opinions then I can interchange their meanings simply by changing my mind. Of course, I believe this absolute standard of morality is God himself, but that point comes a bit later in the discussion.<br /><br />You can follow along with my part of the discussion <a href="http://scienceblogs.com/effectmeasure/2006/06/freethinker_sunday_sermonette_3.php#comment-120754">here</a>, if you're interested.<br /><br />To clear up any confusion for those of you who might want to follow along with the discussion, let me say that while the mechanism by which God caused the universe to come into being is something of an open question for me, I have no problem overlooking an assumption of Darwinian Evolution when having a discussion with an evolutionist.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115160851170770434?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1151529289211345702006-06-28T14:08:00.000-07:002006-06-28T14:14:49.230-07:00I'm testing out Google's new picture sharing service. <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/safuller/StarredPhotos">Here's</a> a link to a few of my favorite pictures of the chilrens (children).<br /><br />Also, please feel free to skip the post immediately below this one. It's probably the most disjointed thing I've written here and I'm tempted to delete it. But this blog is a reflection of me, good and bad, so I'm leaving it.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115152928921134570?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1151515738273410142006-06-28T09:36:00.000-07:002006-06-28T10:29:39.116-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/thanks10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/thanks10.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />My family moved from Southern California to Northern California when I was five. Around the age of twelve I started to get really interested in baseball. And as my interest grew, I realized that it isn't enough to be a fan of baseball in general, one must have a specific team to root for. So I'm the only person I know who consciously set about to become the fan of a baseball team.<br /><br />First, I decided that my team ought to be relatively close by. This is necessary because to be a fan one needs to go to some games (or at least see them on TV) and own a t-shirt. Those things are much easier to accomplish when the team you're a fan of isn't 3000 miles away most of the time. There were (and still are) two major-league baseball teams in the Bay Area - The Oakland Athletics and the San Francisco Giants. In the mid-to-late 80's the Oakland A's were a very good baseball team. The had Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco ("The Bash Brothers"), and a couple of really good pitchers named Eckersley and Stewart. They won lots of games and they had lots of fans. The San Francisco Giants, on the other hand, didn't have a very good baseball team. In 1985, they lost 100 out of 162 games. If there was one thing I was determined not to be, it was a front-runner. I wasn't just gonna hitch my rope to the A's rocket and enjoy the ride. I was gonna be a Giants fan - a fan of the worst team around - and I was gonna be a fan through thick and thin, knowing full well that there would probably be more thin than thick. Plus the Giants had a much richer baseball history, and that appealed to me.<br /><br />My dad; however, was a Dodgers fan. This was only natural since he grew up in Southern California. I didn't realize until later what a mortal crime I must have been committing by becoming a fan of the Dodger's arch enemies, but to my dad's credit, he never discouraged me.<br /><br />I am not a football fan. I do; however, love to play fantasy football, and because of that I enjoy watching football on TV. But I'm not really a football fan; I'm a <span style="font-style: italic;">fantasy</span> football fan. I know much more about which players are performing well than I do about which teams are performing well. If I ever become a football fan, I'll need a specific team to root for. That's just how it works. Unless you only want to watch from the sidelines in a very detached way, as is the case with me and football, you've got to have a team. Because, as it has been said, you can't eat pie in general. If you want to be involved in any meaningful way, you've got to pick a team; make a commitment. Sometimes your team will do things you're proud of, and sometimes it won't. But if they're your team, you'll stick with them. I guess you can be a front-runner if you want to, always dropping your poor-performing team and jumping to a faster-rising star, but at the end of the day, nobody really respects a front-runner. A fair-weather friend is really no friend at all.<br /><br />Right now, one of my teams is probably going in two directions, and it's painful to watch. At some point, I'll have to decide which of the two new teams I'm on, or perhaps I'll have to join an entirely different team. In this particular case, I hate having to pick a team, because picking a team will mean adding my little pebble to somebody's emotional rock-pile. But you can't serve God in general - you've got to have a team.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115151573827341014?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1151428573212963182006-06-27T10:08:00.000-07:002006-06-27T10:16:13.233-07:00This morning I shared a bus seat and a love of hymns with a 50-year-old black lesbian.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Note:</span> for any over-zealous Christians out there in the blogosphere, being friends with someone does not mean approving of every aspect of their personality.<br /><br />That is all.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115142857321296318?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1151341703850814912006-06-26T09:32:00.000-07:002006-06-26T10:26:39.526-07:00We went to the mall after church yesterday. Here are some interesting tidbits from the trip:<br /><ol><li><a href="http://www.originaltommys.com/">Tommy's World Famous Hamburgers</a> makes some really good chili-laden food. My buddy Paul gave me some coupons for Tommy's a while back, and I was excited to finally use them. One little problem: the mall doesn't have a Tommy's. It has a Tommie's. Tommie's has the same menu, same font, same employee uniforms, and same color scheme as Tommy's, but it isn't Tommy's. It's Tommie's. This was all explained by the twelve-year old manager of Tommie's, who rejected my coupons. "Sorry, that coupon is no good here," he said. My wife read him the text on top of the coupon, "Good at all Tommy's locations." "But we spell our name differently. See?" the tween said, pointing at the sign, "that's why we do that." Arrgh. Here's a tip for the corporate schmucks at Tommy's/Tommie's: try not being intentionally vague. People appreciate honesty. Tommie's doesn't even have a website.<br /></li><li>Upon seeing a hyper-masculine life-size doll wearing nothing but low-rise jeans outside a sexually-charged teen clothing store, Thing 2 said, "He forgot his shirt, right dad? That's silly. He should go home and get his shirt." Busted me up. I love that kid.</li><li>Little girls in Sunday dresses are absolutely adorable. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I credit my wife's good genes and God's good grace with giving me such beautiful children. I could hardly be happier if I was the good-looking one.</li></ol><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Update:</span> I just called Tommy's corporate offices, and it turns out that Tommie's isn't related to Tommy's at all! Tommie's is just a bunch of posers trying to make us all think they're Tommy's. Scandelous! At least now I can rest secure in my love of the <a href="http://www.originaltommys.com">Original Tommy's World Famous Hamburgers</a>. And as for you, Tommie's, you're a no-good, websiteless, hack. You are now on my list of companies upon which I wish a slow and painful death. Pthhzzk.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115134170385081491?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1151165167811844782006-06-24T08:53:00.000-07:002006-06-24T09:06:07.830-07:00While the political expediency of AlGore's ecological doomsday movie, An Inconvenient Truth, certainly gives me a good reason to look at its claims skeptically, it would be a logical falacy to dismiss it for that reason. It's shaky scientific foundation, on the other hand, is a perfectly appropriate reason to dismiss it. See <a href="http://www.canada.com/nationalpost/financialpost/story.html?id=d0235a70-33f1-45b3-803b-829b1b3542ef&&amp;p=1">this article</a> for a summary of some of the movie's major problems.<br /><br />There is pretty decent evidence that we're doing something to the planet (the oceans have probably warmed by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Global_warming">three-quarters of a degree</a> in the last 100 years), but sensationalistic doomsday movies don't help anything.<br /><br />Thanks for the link, <a href="http://roadtrip.typepad.com/ca2fl/2006/06/thursday_wrapup.html">Doug</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115116516781184478?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1150690595162881212006-06-18T21:11:00.000-07:002006-06-18T21:16:35.176-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/dsc_0151.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/dsc_0151.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The title of the post links to a small set of pictures from my graduation last Friday.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115069059516288121?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1150432114418854512006-06-15T21:10:00.000-07:002006-06-15T21:34:55.270-07:00Dear CEO of SBC/AT&amp;T,<br /><br />Your company is the incorporation of all that is evil. You should not be charging me for two months of service on some bills and not charging me at all on others. It is not my job to keep track of that stuff. It's yours. How 'bout this: Why don't you charge me every month for exactly one month's service and I'll pay it and we'll both be happy? How 'bout that?! I don't care if my phone and internet billing cycles ARE only one day apart. You're a huge freaking company. Figure it out.<br /><br />I should not have to wait on hold for ten minutes to learn that you'd be happy to charge me $6.50 to change my phone billing cycle to fix a problem you created. I should not then have to call a different number and wait on hold for another thirty minutes with a different department because your representative can't transfer me. CAN'T TRANSFER ME!? You're a PHONE company!<br /><br />I am completely sick of you. If I never deal with you again, it will be too soon. I promise you that if I wake up tomorrow and some random guy named Chester offers to let me hold an empty soup can while he runs around the city with another empty soup can connected to mine by a very long piece of string, I will cancel my phone service and give your money to him. If this world were a just place, you would be forced to spend the rest of your life with a phone stuck to your ear while a recorded message offers you nothing but platitudes.<br /><br />I hope your company dies a slow and painful death.<br /><br />Love,<br />Steve<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115043211441885451?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1150303927348821642006-06-14T09:15:00.000-07:002006-06-14T09:53:32.616-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/E.%20Beef%20Photos_Hamburger%20-%20Color.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/E.%20Beef%20Photos_Hamburger%20-%20Color.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Most people know that a medium-rare hamburger is not the safest thing in the world. But, man, do they taste good.<br /><br />Beef muscle is generally pretty clean stuff. The problem is that when a cow is slaughtered, some of the contents of its dirt chute can get on the outside of various cuts of meat. This is why its okay to eat a rare steak - once the wee beasties on the outside have been burned to death, the interior can be any temperature you'd like because it's still clean. But in the case of hamburger, if you start with a raw piece of meat and grind it up, any contamination on the outside gets uniformly distributed throughout the meat and the whole thing has to be cooked to 157 degrees F to kill the vicious bacteria.<br /><br />But what if you didn't start your hamburger with a rare piece of beef? What if you started with a seared piece of beef? You'd already have killed the dangerous bacteria on the surface of the meat. Then you could grind hamburger to your heart's content, and as long as you're using a clean grinder, you'd end up with a nice - mostly rare - hamburger patty that was essentially free of any nasty germs.<br /><br />So here's my recipe for a safe, medium-rare, tasty, though relatively expensive, hamburger:<br /><ol><li>Get yourself a nice piece of whole beef muscle - top sirloin or something</li><li>Sear the outside quickly over very high heat. The idea is to quickly raise the surface temperature to at least 157 degrees without cooking much of the interior of the meat.</li><li>Grind the seared beef in a clean grinder.</li><li>Form a hamburger patty.</li><li>Cook to medium-rare as normal (internal temperature 135-140, a few degrees more than that after resting)</li><li>Garnish as you like (good artisan bread is critical)<br /></li><li>Enjoy your E. coli free burger</li></ol>I realize that you will end up with some cooked bits in the middle of your burger, but - who knows - it could be really good that way.<br /><br />Better yet, irradiating the whole beef muscle would kill the bacteria on the surface without cooking it at all, but I haven't got an irradiator in my kitchen at home.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><u>Disclaimer:</u></span> I've thought this one over for a couple of weeks, and while it makes perfect sense conceptually, I still haven't tried it. I can't get past the deep-seated fear of rare ground beef that has been drilled into me by giving countless training sessions where I admonish employees to cook those burgers. I would feel better if someone in a lab would give this theory a good analytical challenge. The above recipe really <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> work, but I'm not making any promises. Even if I try it myself a couple of times and I don't get sick, a couple of times doesn't mean much. I could eat handfuls of raw ground beef from the supermarket a couple of times and not get sick. The question is, can I do it a couple of <span style="font-style: italic;">hundred</span> times and not get sick?<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(I got the picture <a href="http://www.iabeef.org/May/Default.aspx">here</a>.)</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-115030392734882164?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1149895128007676402006-06-09T16:10:00.000-07:002006-06-09T16:18:48.026-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/22663720.1101002_img_std.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/22663720.1101002_img_std.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/82175994_15e4e1afd0.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/82175994_15e4e1afd0.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></div> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/43946598.IMG_3632copyNG.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/43946598.IMG_3632copyNG.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/26074033_19756e3721.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/26074033_19756e3721.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/155072223_7b5f6f2414.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/155072223_7b5f6f2414.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/10232349.Img_1851.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/10232349.Img_1851.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> <br /><br />Billings Montana seems like it might be a nice place to live<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114989512800767640?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1149737700607077602006-06-07T18:46:00.000-07:002006-06-07T20:35:00.780-07:00Obviously the posts have gotten a bit more sparse (sparser?) lately. That's gonna happen around here. I go through phases. And while I haven't really learned to smooth the frequency curve, I have learned to accept that such a curve exists and not to get too freaked out by it. I've also learned that if I try to keep up a peak frequency when the curve would otherwise be turning downward, the quality of the work will suffer and a deeper corresponding trough will be required to balance the equation. So in that respect, maybe I actually have learned to smooth the curve a little bit.<br /><br />I'm on something of a spiritual downswing too. I haven't been very interested in reading the Bible and I haven't been spending much time thinking about God and my life in relationship to Him. This happens to me from time to time. It used to really freak me out: "Why don't I feel like doing spiritually healthy things? Is it because there's something wrong with my feeler? Is it because there really isn't a God and all this spiritual mumbo jumbo is just a sham?" That last one has really been the big question. For me, it comes down to Christianity or atheism. Either there is a God, and Jesus is Him, or there is no God. I've never had much interest in Mormanism, Buddhism, Islam, Taoism, or any of that other bunk. And the first dozen times I went through a spiritual downswing, my old nemesis atheism would rear its ugly head and everything I don't understand about God would become a reason to believe that there is no God. And while I still have that feeling from time to time, I'm old enough to know that not every feeling has its basis in reality. I think everybody has certain "genetic" spiritual defects, or emotional/spiritual flaws that make knowing God sometimes difficult. And this is one of mine.<br /><br />C. S. Lewis said that while he was an atheist, there were days that the idea of God seemed to be the most realistic thing in the world, and after he became a Christian there were days that the idea of God seemed like the most ridiculous thing in the world. Part of faith is holding on to what you've already decided is true, even when it feels otherwise.<br /><br />You can address the question of the reality of God on a couple of different levels. The first is the rigorous philosophical level. Honest people believe the truth regardless of the consequences. So if something can be determined to be true or false on the level of formal logic, honest people have to accept it regardless of where it takes them. But I have come to believe that the question of the existence of God can not be definitively answered on this level. I have heard lots of very smart people go back and forth on this question, with neither side able to deal the other a fatal blow. I do think that at the very highest levels of these heavy philosophical exchanges, among people who engage in them continuously over the course of two or three decades, more of them are "converting" from atheism to theism than the other way around. See the story of <a href="http://www.biola.edu/antonyflew/">Antony Flew's acceptance of theism</a> for an example, if you need one.<br /><br />Since most of us, me included, aren't really capable of dealing with the big questions on that formal, rigorous level, and since we wouldn't get all that far anytime soon even if we could, the decision of whether or not to believe in God generally has to be made at a much more pragmatic level. What does it mean for the world and for me if there is no God? If there is no God, then there is no eternal soul. If there is no eternal soul, there is nothing to live for but this body. If there is no God, there is no objective standard of morality, and anything goes. There is nothing to rule human beings other than pain and pleasure. And those people capable of delivering the most pain or the most pleasure would come to rule the world - Hitler or Hefner - take your pick. There would be no reason for even the slightest act of altruism. The world would be a simple game of survival of the fittest, and anything that costs you without benefiting you is ridiculous in the extreme. If there is no God, being alive doesn't <span style="font-style: italic;">mean</span> anything. You are only here because the unthinking universe accidentally burped your particular configuration of matter. I can't accept that all of that is the actual world. I can't live in that world. That car doesn't go anywhere - turn the key all you like, it will never start. <span style="font-style: italic;">I don't want to live in a world like that.<br /><br /></span>So, sure, I'm in a bit of a spiritual funk at the moment, but now I know enough to know that the curve will go up again. The only other choice would be to fall into the nonsensical and unloving arms of atheism, and that just ain't gonna happen. I imagine that I feel like the apostle Peter felt when Jesus asked him if he was going away. Peter's simple answer: "Where would I go?"<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114973770060707760?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1149133564767431052006-05-31T20:09:00.000-07:002006-05-31T20:47:36.896-07:00I'm interupting the series about my jobs to bring you this:<br /><br />We got a new toaster at my office. It's new, with some new gadgets on it. It has a bagel setting that only toasts one side of a bagel. But it looks old-fashioned. It's almost all chrome with some art-deco-like heavily rounded corners. It looks like the toaster we had when I was a kid. But it's new. Hence the term "new old school." You can put "new school" and "old school" together in exactly four ways:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Old School:</span> These things are just old. My mom's Plymouth sport fury with original everything was old school. Old school stuff has been around a while, and if it's been around long enough, it just might be cool again. When the original Ray-Ban sunglasses come back in style, I'm all set. I have some original Wayfarers in my closet. Old school could be called "Old-Old School," but that would be kind of silly.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Old-New School:</span> These things used to be New School (see below), but that was a while back and almost nobody thinks these things are cool anymore. <a href="http://www.store-laf.org/wristbands.html">Livestrong bracelets</a>, The Prayer of Jabez, and <a href="http://crystalpepsi.captainmike.org/">Crystal Pepsi</a> are all old-new school.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">New School: </span>These things are the latest and coolest things. I would list some examples for you, but I am over 30 and I have no idea what the kids are into these days. Again, new school could be called "New-New School," for consistency's sake, but that would be dumb.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">New-Old School:</span> These things are new, but are meant to evoke the feeling of old-school. Examples include the new toaster in my office, <a href="http://www.ballparks.com/baseball/national/pacbel.htm">AT&amp;T Park</a>, and the <a href="http://www.theautochannel.com/news/2005/10/24/146300.html">2006 Ford Mustang</a>.<br /><br />So there you have it - the four ways to combine the words Old School and New School. I was tempted to draw a <a href="http://www.uwsp.edu/education/wkirby/resample/2x2.htm">2x2 table</a>, but that would have been way too geeky.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.theautochannel.com/news/2005/10/24/146300.html"></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114913356476743105?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1148598910127694722006-05-25T15:23:00.000-07:002006-05-25T16:15:10.146-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/truck-26.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/200/truck-26.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Okay, this isn't actually the job I landed because of my prior money-handling experience, but it's close. I actually applied for the money-handling job first, but this one hired me first. I'll get to the money-handling job next (and this time I mean it).<br /><br />In the summer between my junior and senior years of high school, I got a call from Mr. E. This was completely out of the ordinary. Being a relatively good kid, I think this might have been the only time my parents or I got a call from a teacher at home. I know it was the only time we got a call from a teacher over the summer. He said he knew the manager of a U-Haul place in Hayward, California. The manager called him once in a while and asked him to refer a good hard-working kid for a job. The last he guy Mr. E had referred to the manager was a guy named Ben Ellis, who I thought was a pretty cool guy. He was several years older than me, and he had gone to our church for a while. Ben had worked there for several years, but had recently moved to the east coast or something. I have no idea why Mr. E thought of me; he obviously wasn't familiar with my aversion to actual labor. I was kind of hoping for the money-handling gig to come through, but it had been a couple of weeks and I hadn't heard from them, so I decided to give the U-Haul place a try.<br /><br />I drove down to the U-Haul yard and met the manager. He was a nice enough guy, but he was rougher around the edges than I, a sheltered white kid from a good family, was used to. My job would be to move trucks and equipment around the lot, clean them up after people rented them, perform minor maintenance on the tools, run errands, etc. I was to work 10 hour days, Wednesday through Saturday. The manager asked me if I could drive a manual transmission, and I truthfully said that my own car was a manual. He asked me to tell him a little about myself, and I honestly had no idea what to say. I told him I was a hard worker, which was a lie, but I wanted a job and I told him what I thought he wanted to hear. "Good," he said, "you will."<br /><br />I showed up for my first day, and he gave me a quick tour around the lot. Most of the trucks were parked behind the building and had to be backed up a narrow driveway whenever they were ready to rent. I was a little nervous the first time I did it, but it wasn't too bad. As long as I got close to the building one side, the other side would always clear the fence. I moved a couple of trucks, parking them in spaces so small that the side mirrors had to folded in so the trucks would fit. I kind of liked this part of the job once I got the hang of it. I was busy running around the lot all day. I don't remember there being any actual customers, but I'm sure there must have been some. I'm a pretty uni-focus guy, so I was probably just thinking about my job. It was a long day, but it wasn't too bad.<br /><br />When I showed up the second day, the manager gave me a hand-held orbital sander, a stack of replacement sandpaper, and showed me a line of about 10 box trailers that all needed to be prepped for painting. "You better get to work," he said. Doh. This was gonna be harder than I thought. I got a couple of them done, but by 10 AM my arms were shot and my lilly-white nose was sun burned. That's when the call came for me to move one of the big trucks. Glad for a little relief from sanding, I jumped behind the wheel of a truck and cranked the A/C. I successfully negotiated the narrow driveway in reverse, but when I attempted a three-point-type maneuver to line up for a run at narrow parking spot in reverse, I misjudged the length of the truck and I plowed the chain-link fence on the north side of the lot. I saw the fence bend in the rear-view mirror, and I quickly pulled forward, hoping that no one had seen my mistake. The fence seemed to spring back into shape pretty well and I thought I had gotten away with it. I quickly went back to sanding the trailers, but I was flustered for a good half-hour.<br /><br />When we took our lunch break, the manager was counting the money in the register. Without looking up he said, "Cletus [or whatever my old redneck coworker's name was] says you backed into the fence. Is that right?" "Yeah," I said dejectedly, half expecting to be fired on the spot. "That's okay. We've all done it. Just make sure you tell me whenever you do something dumb like that again." And that was that.<br /><br />But I wasn't a real confident kid, and backing into that fence got me all stressed out. I worried that if I kept backing up those big trucks, eventually I would hit something expensive. Combined with my sore arms from 10 trailers worth of sanding and a sunburn, it was enough to make me want to quit. And when the money-handling place called that night and offered me a job, I took it. Standing around not hardly moving all summer in an air-conditioned building sounded much better than hitting some poor sap's car with the back end of a U-Haul.<br /><br />And that's how I got started in retail...<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(I got the picture <a href="http://www.uhaul.com/guide/?equipment=truck26">here</a>.)</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114859891012769472?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1148509933518477142006-05-24T13:57:00.000-07:002006-05-24T15:38:58.680-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/15-Vendor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/200/15-Vendor.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Well, it wasn't really an official job, but that didn't stop me from listing it as prior experience on a later job application.<br /><br />I went to a really small high school. Some of you might be thinking, "How small is small? 200? Less?! No way. 100?" Keep going... Okay, as fun as this imaginary game is, I'll just tell you. There were around 50 people in my high school. I was one of five in my graduating class. So when I tell you that I started on the basketball team and the baseball team, try to scale down the mental image of my athletic prowess accordingly.<br /><br />My school didn't really have the money to buy the extravagant athletic equipment that normal-sized schools can afford: things like batting helmets, a catcher's mask, or even a new basketball now and again. So to raise money for sports, they employed the time-honored tradition of servitude. Every sports participant was required to attend a certain number of local college football games and hawk sodas up and down the aisle without pay so that our high school could get a small percentage of the sales. These events were administered by a slightly creepy guy who I will refer to as Mr. E. Mr. E was always asking certain girls if they wanted to ride to the football games in his truck instead of on the bus with the rest of us. Once, I was the third person in his compact pick-up, and some poor gal had to sit between us. Mr. E kept shifting his manual pick-up and "absent-mindedly" resting his arm on the girl's knee in between shifts. I felt really bad for her, but she just laughed about it later and said he was harmless.<br /><br />So we'd get to the football game and sit around for an hour while Mr. E conducted his "high-level meetings" with the people from Western Sports Enterprises (or something like that). Then we'd be led to a dank, dark room under the stands where we'd be issued an apron and a seed amount of change for the patrons who wanted to give you a hundred dollar bill for a $1.75 soda. Then we'd go to the soda stand where they'd give you a big metal grid with a neck strap to hold the sodas and load you up. I'm 6'4" and in high school I weighed 165 pounds. There were 20 sodas in a load, and each was probably 20 ounces, so that fully-loaded metal rack was closing in on 30 pounds. That was almost an additional 20% of my body weight - and I was one of the bigger kids. I felt bad for the little ones. I'd take my rack of sodas and start trudging up and down the stadium steps, dodging kids, old ladies, and drunks. Then some guy in the middle of a row would shout, "Six Sodas!" Okay, six sodas at $1.75 per soda, that's ummm... hold on... $9.50. No, wait. $10.50. Right? And then the guy in the aisle seat uphill from you would start jawin' at you. "Move kid, I paid to see this game." "Yeah, sure thing, lemme just... ummm... you gave me $15, right? no, that's not your change, you didn't give me any money, pass it down... yeah, I'll move in just a second... PASS IT DOWN! What? You didn't give me $20, you gave me $15." Arrgh. Who charges $1.75 for a soda anyway? How 'bout we just make everybody's lives easier and charge either $1.50 or two bucks?<br /><br />They'd keep track of how many sodas you took from the stand, and at the end of the day you had to have all the money for the sodas plus your original seed money. Being the obsessive person I was (am?), I was constantly counting my money to make sure it was all there. I always had it all. Except once. Around the third quarter of the football game, I counted my money and I was $20 short. I counted it again. $20 bucks short. I counted it again. !!20 bucks short!! I had no idea what they were gonna do to me, but I was sure it was bad. Maybe Mr. E would make ME ride in the middle seat of his truck on the way back {shudder}. To this day I have no idea how I lost that $20. Maybe somebody took it from my apron, or maybe it fell out as I was making change. I have no idea. But I decided I had to make that money back somehow. So I went to the nose-bleed seats in the end zone where no hawkers ever went and I started charging $2.50 for a soda. Most people just looked at me sideways and paid it. But the occasional person cursed at me and accused me of pocketing the difference. And who could blame them? I was cheating them. Not so I could profit from it directly, but so I could avoid whatever punishment I might incur. Obviously, I should have just kept selling sodas at regular price and taken my lumps like a man, but I was young and stupid. As opposed to old and stupid. I only sold about 10 sodas at the inflated price, so I was still $12.50 short at the end of the day. Nothing really happened to me. Mr. E made sure everybody knew about it, especially the girl I had a crush on, but it wasn't like he could take it out of my pay or something - I wasn't getting paid.<br /><br />Some kids claimed to get paid. One kid always claimed that he was getting tips. He'd have $50 bucks and claim he got it all from tips. I have no idea if this was true, but I suspect it wasn't. I was always trying to think of ways to get tips, but I could never think of any. I did get a tip once. Some rich guy on the 50-yard line gave me $5 at the beginning of a game with the instruction that I should visit him and his friends frequently during the game. "Yes sir," I said. And I meant to do it. But one thing led to another and I only ended up visiting him once more during the game. Maybe there was a reason I never got tips after all.<br /><br />Mr. E wasn't always such a creep. He gave me some good advice once, but that's a story for another day.<br /><br />This valuable money-handling experience helped me land my next sweet gig...<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(I got the picture <a href="http://www.dr4b.org/pictures/Baseball/Mariners/040905/15-Vendor.JPG">here</a>)</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114850993351847714?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1148249650526382712006-05-21T14:53:00.000-07:002006-05-22T09:22:17.206-07:00Wow. I had almost stopped believing it was possible, but there is a government program that seems to actually meet a need and do it in a pleasant and efficient manner.<br /><br />My kids have been known do dump whole bottles of hair care products and other personal care items into the bathtub, toilet, or just out on the floor. So when Thing 1 offered to take a new bottle of Suave Kid's Conditioner upstairs to the kid's bathroom, I was a little worried but I decided to give her a chance. And when I didn't hear any yelling in the first few minutes, I thought everything might be okay. Nope.<br /><br />When I went upstairs a while later, Thing 2 was on the toilet - holding an open bottle of Suave Kid's Conditioner; it's creamy contents smeared all around her mouth. "I ate it," she said. Why do they make non-edible kid's products smell like grape and put pictures of grapes on the front of the bottle? I suppose a wet dog scent wouldn't sell as well, but I'm guessing the kids would also be less likely to eat it.<br /><br />I scanned the back of the bottle and didn't see any dire warnings, but I also didn't see any statements about its safety, either. I decided to call poison control just in case. A pleasant woman answered the phone in no time flat. I gave her two sentences on what happened. She asked me the name of the product, and I gave it to her. It took her all of three seconds to look it up and give me some information. "It's not going to cause any real trouble," she said, "maybe some diarrhea or possibly vomiting, but nothing she won't get over." Then she had me give my first name, Thing 2's first name, and our zip code. She gave me her name and told me to call back if Thing 2 actually did start vomiting. And that was that. Fears relieved.<br /><br />The vomiting and diarrhea never came. I don't think Thing 2 actually ate all that much - the bottle was still almost full. But the folks at the <a href="http://www.calpoison.org/home.html">California Poison Control System</a> were fantastic. The UC system should really be telling us that they're behind this thing. They could use some positive press these days.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114824965052638271?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1147835898802452922006-05-16T19:56:00.000-07:002006-05-16T20:18:18.823-07:00[caution: rant]<br /><br />When I told my doctor that my heart only functions slightly more frequently than a French automobile, the first thing he did was order some blood tests. Like the vast majority of all the blood tests I've ever had, these require that I fast for at least 12 hours. I'm sure there must be some perfectly reasonable physiological explanation for this, but I gotta tell ya, it just don't seem right. Does eating a bowl of frosted mini wheats really throw my blood chemistry so out of whack that blood tests are no longer useful in any way? And if it does, isn't that something we should find out about? I mean, who cares if everything looks good when I'm not eating? I'm never not eating. I eat regularly - three squares a day and usually some snacks just for kicks. So if that's makin' my blood all nuts, we'll then let's test it like that since that's how it is most of the time anyway.<br /><br />So now I've got to go without breakfast on a Saturday morning so I can go down to Kaiser and let the phlebotomist make like a leach on my left forearm. Going without breakfast makes me kick-the-dog grumpy. And since I don't have a dog, Thing 2 better watch out.<br /><br />I'm just sayin'.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114783589880245292?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1147489907193174442006-05-12T19:42:00.000-07:002006-05-15T15:09:01.330-07:00I've been at a conference for the last several days. Here are a few of the things I (re)learned:<br /><br /><ol><li>In case you haven't been sick in while - it's still horrible.</li><li>That job that I had four interviews for? Oh, they hired the husband of one of the people who interviewed me. No wonder they didn't even give me a "Thanks, but no thanks."</li><li>A lot of health inspectors are sloppy drunks.</li><li>Public health practicioners have had a greater impact on humanity's physical well-being than doctors.<br /></li><li>All of us need all of us. Seriously.</li><li>An English guy named Thomas Crapper was really successful at selling his own line of toilets. He put his name on all his products, and its been associated with human feces ever since. <span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 51);font-size:85%;" ></span><a href="http://www.thomas-crapper.com/Default.htm">Thomas Crapper & Co. Ltd.</a> is still producing fine "sanitaryware".<span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 51);font-size:85%;" ><br /></span></li></ol>And for the first time I can remember, I'm leaving one of these conferences with some concrete ideas about ways I can do my job better.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114748990719317444?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1147129099247732652006-05-08T15:42:00.000-07:002006-05-08T15:58:19.276-07:00It's your lucky day. I'm gonna share my family's super secret brownie recipe with you:<br /><br /><ol><li>Buy a box of brownie mix. I like the kind with chocolate chunks the best.</li><li>Mix with a couple of other items as directed on the box - egg(s), water, oil, whatever.</li><li>Cook according to directions on box</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">This is the critical part</span> - wait for the brownies to cool! Otherwise, you will burn yourself. I know.</li><li>Consume the entire 8x8 pan in one sitting</li></ol>I mean, seriously, why does anyone make these things from scratch anymore? It's, like, two bucks a box or less and they are awesome! I like them so much that we cleaned out the quickie mart across the street in one week. I bought a box on Monday, two on Saturday for a luncheon thing, and one on Sunday because I was craving them at the luncheon but didn't get any.<br /><br />When I bought the box on Sunday, I had this short conversation with the clerk:<br /><br />Me: "You're gonna need some more brownies. I think I bought every box."<br />Him: "Yeah, you did. You should lay off the brownies."<br />Me: "Thanks for the advice. Can't you ring me up any faster?"<br /><br />Okay, I didn't actually say that last part. But I was thinking it.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114712909924773265?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1146795007618156592006-05-04T18:39:00.000-07:002006-05-04T19:14:38.396-07:00When my wife and I were college students, we were part of a fantastic community of Christians in Fresno. So, yes, there was at least one good thing in Fresno. It was the kind of group where a person could relax into the warmth of genuine friendship and shared struggles; where people would put their arms around you when your dog died and celebrate with you when a beautiful woman said she would marry you. But about a year after we were married, we took off to live at the beach. We were young, in love, and relatively care free. To a certain degree, we've been looking for that kind of a place to belong ever since.<br /><br />Several months ago, we even considered moving back to Fresno. It would have been very easy to slip back into the old circle of friends. I went for a job interview, Sarah called the old crowd, and for a little while we thought everything was going to work out. But ultimately we decided for other reasons that Fresno wasn't where we wanted to live. It wasn't long after that we heard the old church was having problems, and a few months later it broke up entirely. And although we had already decided not to move back, there was a definite sense of finality with that. The one huge reason we had ever considered moving back was now gone, and with it the fantasy of going home again.<br /><br />In his sermon, <a href="http://www.doxaweb.com/assets/doxa.pdf">The Weight of Glory</a>, C. S. Lewis said something about trying to relive the fond memories of the past. As it turns out, the desire to recapture a lost joy might just turn out to be the hope of something yet to come:<br /><br /><blockquote>In speaking of this desire for our own faroff country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you; —the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence; the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that when, in very intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves; the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell, though we desire to do both. We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name. Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that had settled the matter. Wordsworth's expedient was to identify it with certain moments in his own past. But all this is a cheat. If Wordsworth had gone back to those moments in the past, he would not have found the thing itself, but only the reminder of it; what he remembered would turn out to be itself a remembering. The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things — the beauty, the memory of our own past - are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.</blockquote><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114679500761815659?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1146678645109677592006-05-03T10:10:00.000-07:002006-05-03T10:52:57.483-07:00I had a thought a couple of weeks back, but in contrast to most of my ideas, this one seems like it might actually hold water.<br /><br />In case you haven't heard, this bird flu thing has a good number of people in a tizzy. A lot of professionals are doing a lot of worrying. The biggest question mark is whether this particular wee beasty will develop the ability to pass smoothly from one person to another. Right now the few people around the world who are getting it are mostly people who work closely with birds. It seems to move around pretty freely amoung our fine feathered friends. Having started its global trek in southeast Asia, the little bugger is now into Europe. That's to be expected since there are lots of birds that migrate around the Eurasian continent. There aren't as many birds that migrate east-to-west over the Pacific Ocean, so it will probably take a bit longer to get into north american birds, but in all likelihood, its coming. And that means that whether or not this particular flu bug becomes transmissible person-to-person, we just might have a poultry panic right here in the good ol' United States.<br /><br />You don't have to worry about getting bird flu from cooked chicken. Like all viruses, cooking it to at least 165 degrees F will kill enough of them (something like 1 in 10,000 individual viral proteins will still escape unharmed) to prevent illness. The problem is that somebody has to prepare the raw chicken, and if we start finding H5N1 viruses in domestic chickens, people just might freak out and not want to purchase it at Ralph's. Preparing raw chicken might not be an intimate enough exposure to make people sick, mind you, but most intelligent adults won't want to be the test cases. Long story short, the poultry industry in this country might be in for a rough ride in a few years.<br /><br />All that has got me thinking about sous vide food again. See, if people stop wanting raw chicken in their homes (and who could blame them - it's pretty gross as it is) they might start looking to buy pre-cooked chicken. But traditionally prepared and packaged pre-cooked chicken doesn't taste all that great. It's usually either barely-recognizable as chicken (chicken nuggets) or it's dry and tasteless. But what if there was a way to buy pre-cooked chicken that was simple to reheat and retained almost all the flavor and moisture of the original? Shoot, what if the end product was actually better than anything the average home cook could make themselves? That's where sous vide comes in. I can see it there in the refrigerated display case at Ralph's: hanging in neat sturdy plastic bags, all the flavor and juiciness locked in, garnished with a slice of lemon and some herbs, and 99.9999% H5N1 free. It's just waiting for someone to buy it, gently warm it in a pot of water on the stove, slice open the bag, plate it, and serve it to an expectant family.<br /><br />The big problem with it now is that it's really expensive, but if it catches on the price will come down due to "economies of scale," (right Paul?).<br /><br />You heard it here first.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114667864510967759?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1146616567266681142006-05-02T17:34:00.000-07:002006-05-02T17:36:07.286-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/5-2-06%20007.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/400/5-2-06%20007.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114661656726668114?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1146611294800565542006-05-02T13:39:00.000-07:002006-05-02T16:12:03.693-07:00My lovely bride and I went to the <a href="http://www.saddlepeaklodge.com/">Saddle Peak Lodge</a> a few nights back to celebrate my birthday. It's located between Calabasas and Malibu in the Santa Monica Mountains. People sometimes make a big deal out of it's rustic setting. It really wasn't far enough out of town to give me the mountain feel, but it was a pretty enough place.<br /><br />We didn't go there for the setting, though. We went for the food. Saddle Peak specializes in serving game animals, as demonstrated by the many heads of dead animals adorning the walls. It's not a place for PETA members. I; however, am not a PETA member. I was looking forward to trying a few non-standard pieces of meat.<br /><br />After we ordered, we were brought two complimentary morsels to sample. I love the idea of this. I get to feel like I'm getting something for free, even though I'm really not. And I get to try a couple of little bites of something the chef thinks people will like. The first was a sweet carrot soup in a mini-cup from which we were to sip directly. It was mild, warm and sweet. I liked it; my companion did not. The second was a bit of creme fraiche topped with smoked salmon. I didn't care for this one much. It was salty and too pungent for my taste. But I didn't let it worry me - I wasn't directly paying for it.<br /><br />We had two appetizers. One was lobster. Lobster always sounds exotic and fantastic to me, but it usually disappoints in the end. This occasion was no exception: it was just an oddly textured rather tasteless piece of white meat. The other appetizer was foie gras. As you may know, foie gras is goose liver that has been artificially enlarged by force feeding, and is the subject of significant controversy. Like most controversies, this one has two sides. I'll add nothing to it here, but New York magazine has what seems like an even-handed treatment <a href="http://newyorkmetro.com/nymetro/food/features/12071/index.html">here</a>. Ethical disagreements aside, let me tell you that the taste is fantastic. It was a bit like meat, but more like a refined piece of butter. It was momentarily firm on the tongue, and it tempted me to bite it, but that quickly gave way to a rich vaguery and then melted into a sweet nothingness. It was like nothing I've had before, and I may choose not to have it again, but it was a deliciously unique experience.<br /><br />The main course satisfied my curiosity and little else. I had three different game meats: elk, antelope, and buffalo. There is a reason we consume a good deal of beef, my friends. The elk and antelope tasted a bit like they had been living on twigs and dirt for most of their lives. Their unaccompanied taste was somewhat like the scent of an unwashed human underarm. If it hadn't been for the sauces with which they were paired, I don't know that I could have finished them. The buffalo was the most beef-like, and therefore my favorite of the three. But even then, it mostly reminded me that I wasn't having one of the succulent-looking pieces of cow I saw on other plates.<br /><br />Because it was my birthday, the restaurant treated me to a miniscule scoop of Bryer's-like vanilla ice cream. It was nice enough, I suppose, but I could have gotten the same thing at my local Ralph's grocery.<br /><br />Don't get my wrong, I still enjoyed myself. It was a culinary adventure. It just wasn't one that left me wishing I could afford such extravagances more than once a year. I'm sure the beef would have been quite nice, but that would have left me wondering about the game. Next year, I'll be back at one of our favorite special occasion places, like <a href="http://www.ruthschris.com/">Ruth's Chris</a> or <a href="http://www.roysrestaurant.com/">Roy's</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114661129480056554?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1146518754381890122006-05-01T14:16:00.000-07:002006-05-01T14:26:18.716-07:00The New Zealanders are a bit more direct about these things than are we Americans, at least with respect to reminding people to wash their hands.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/Picture%201.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/Picture%201.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I saw it <a href="http://hygieneaficionado.blogspot.com/2006/05/source-new-zealand-food-safety.html">here</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114651875438189012?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1146246325809462642006-04-28T09:47:00.000-07:002006-04-28T10:52:29.510-07:00I'm obviously feeling numeric this morning. Day 11,680 was a pretty good day. Here's how it went:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5:30 AM</span> - woke up to an annoying beeping noise (so far, not the best day ever)<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5:35 AM</span> - stumbled into shower and let warm water wash over me<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5:50 AM</span> - remove self from shower; notice pudgy middle; hear funny tape dispenser noises<blockquote>This is part of a family tradition that started with my wife's family. The birthday boy/girl gets his/her bedroom door taped over with newspaper and has to burst out. I was a little slow picking it up, but now I really like it.</blockquote><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/4_25_06_001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/4_25_06_001.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><blockquote>Here are the kids waiting for me to burst out. Notice J's expression. Definitely my son.</blockquote><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6:00 AM</span> - burst out of my newspaper restraints and give the family my best Jim Carey smile while they sing Happy Birthday<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/4_25_06_002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/4_25_06_002.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><blockquote>Oh, yeah. Did I forget to mention the birthday hat? There's a birthday hat.</blockquote><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7:00 AM</span> - Leave for work.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8:00 AM</span> - Arrive at work. Fourteen mile trip takes an hour. Nothing new there.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8:15 AM</span> - Co-worker sings Happy Birthday and gives me a "pinch to grow an inch." I have a bruise to prove it.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8:20 AM</span> - Another co-worker gives me a box of these cookies:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/4_25_06_006.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/4_25_06_006.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>They're imported Italian cookies. They're really not that good, but they have cool wrappers. When you light them on fire they burn gently until almost out, then they start to float gracefully up into the air and extinguish themselves a few feet up. It seems like a pretty smooth way to end a romantic dinner at an Italian restaurant. I actually saw it in a movie once, but I can't remember which one.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8:30 AM</span> - begin work; check on fantasy baseball team - thanks to another couple of Vernon Wells taters, I'm doing pretty well.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Noon</span> - Lunch! I know that's a big jump, but I'm not skipping over anything terribly interesting. Just saving lives and the same old same old. Several co-workers treated me to Mr. Noodle, a nice Thai place nearby. I had the mint leaf beef - mmmm. They also gave me a nice gift card to <a href="http://www.thegreatsteakhouse.com/">Dakota's</a>, a swanky steak joint. It will be my first trip, and I'm really looking forward to it - maybe next weekend. The gift card came in a home-made Napoleon Dynamite birthday card that teased me about my love of cookies. My co-workers are fantastic.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3:30 PM</span> - Everybody in the office got a $75 gift card for winning the company's safety football game.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5:30 PM</span> - arrive home; kids yell "Happy Birthday Daddy!" and run to me, jump on me, and smother me with kisses; I feel completely great. They also gave me a couple of home-made birthday cards. My wife made taco salad, which I love, and lemon cake, which I love.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/4_25_06_004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/4_25_06_004.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><blockquote>That one part fell in when she poured the glaze on, but that just made it denser and more moist. My wife has a great talent for baking, and this was no exception.</blockquote><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6:15 PM</span> - Took Thing 1 to Awana at nearby church<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7:00 PM</span> - Went to a church deacon/elder meeting at our church (I'm technically a deacon, but I don't appear to have any actual function)<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7:45 PM</span> - Snuck out of deacon/elder meeting early to pick up Thing 1<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8:10 PM</span> - Picked up Thing 1; had a great conversation with her about ponies in the car on the way home<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8:30 PM</span> - Carried already passed-out Thing 2 to bed. Tucked in Thing 1.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">9:00 PM</span> - Got work-out clothes ready for the next morning (in an attempt to get rid of the aforementioned pudgy middle)<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">9:30 PM</span> - Got in bed. Kissed the beautiful woman next to me (yowzahs!) and turned out the lights.<br /><br />All in all a pretty great day.<br /><br />I also got a couple of nice e-cards and my parents sent me a check and some fancy hot sauces from their part of the state. Thanks!<br /><br />The celebration continues tonight with a dinner at the <a href="http://www.saddlepeaklodge.com/">Saddle Peak Lodge</a>. I'm planning on having elk, buffalo, and antelope. Hmmm... I'm noticing a food theme and a pudgy middle theme. I wonder if they're related?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114624632580946264?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1146242794928613592006-04-28T09:34:00.000-07:002006-04-28T09:46:34.970-07:00It was my birthday a few days ago. I'm 32 now. Kids and older adults really embrace their age. When we're young, we all want to be older so we start to add in the halves and three-quarters (I'm not 7, I'm 7 1/2!). And some older adults start doing it too, only this time its because they're proud of having made it the extra half a year (I'm 90 1/2!). So I've decided to forgo the dull middle years where we're embarrassed about our age, and I'm embracing the fractions (I'm 32 3/4!). I'll probably have to use decimals at first because 3/365 doesn't reduce nicely.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114624279492861359?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1146195927150054102006-04-27T20:34:00.000-07:002006-04-27T20:55:04.160-07:00Doug at the Back Home blog was nice enough to add me to his blog roll, and now he's on mine. I've been a fan of his blog for a while now, but I wasn't sure of the etiquette for these things. It's my first link exchange.<br /><br />My buddy Nate and his <a href="http://xlmuscles.blogspot.com/">Gourmet Ketchup</a> blog would be on there, but he never posts anything.<br /><br />Plus, I changed the font (it's verdana!). I thought the old one was looking a bit stodgy.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114619592715005410?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1146076227505800472006-04-26T11:29:00.000-07:002006-04-26T18:06:49.966-07:00In case you're in need of a romantic but not too cheesy song for wooing your woman, try <a href="http://www.signaturesounds.com/ulf/multimedia/7/Josh%20Ritter%20-%20Track%2001.mp3">Kathleen</a> by a guy named <a href="http://www.joshritter.com/music.shtml">Josh Ritter</a>. It's a free and legal download. Musically, I liked a few of his other free songs too, but I've got some disagreements with his ideas.<br /><br />I used to be embarrassed to say the word "woo," but now I've decided to think of it as some sort of kung fu mind trick. I just imagine myself as a poorly-synced B-movie actor with amorous intentions toward my wife: "I know you had to pick up my underwear <span style="font-style: italic;">again</span>, but you can not resist the power of my WOO!" Then I point all my fingers at her and she swoons.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114607622750580047?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1146070380959936532006-04-26T09:30:00.000-07:002006-04-26T10:37:40.246-07:00<i>For purposes of this post, and possibly future posts, my daughter H, age 4, will be referred to as Thing 1 and my daughter G, age 2, will be called Thing 2. This is a reference to <a href="http://www.seussville.com/catinthehat/">The Cat in the Hat</a>. J, age <1, does not yet have a code name. Feel free to submit suggestions.</i><br />-----------------------------------<br /><br />Just after 6 AM this morning:<br /><br />Thing 2: "Daddy, can we watch T.V. ?"<br />Me: "No honey, you know you're not allowed to watch T.V. this early."<br />[pause]<br />Thing 1: "Can we watch a commercial then?"<br /><br />Hmmm... This post could have been a whole lot better if I had started asking some questions, but I really couldn't think of anything at the time. I was just dumbfounded.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114607038095993653?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1145903625028699552006-04-24T11:16:00.000-07:002006-04-24T13:40:54.416-07:00According to the research firm, eSolutions Data, I am the world's most respected man. I know, I found it hard to believe too. I was up against some very respectable guys, but the data are all there. <a href="http://www.esolutionsdata.com/statistic/3749">See for yourself</a>. They have the numbers and, as we all know, numbers don't lie.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114590362502869955?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1145417903742278262006-04-18T20:24:00.000-07:002006-04-18T20:42:16.483-07:00With regular unleaded gas now over $3 a gallon where I live, every penny counts. So here's a tip I heard from my buddy at work, Mike. Mike is just about the cheapest son of a gun I know. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.<br /><br />When staying at a hotel, especially one that has a mini-fridge stocked with over-priced snacks, it's still possible to get an ice-cold glass of filtered water absolutely free. Just fill the complimentary coffee pot with free ice from the ice machine, and use the coffee maker's hot plate to melt it. When most of the ice is melted (ten or fifteen minutes later) you'll have a glass pitcher mostly full of 32 degree filtered water. It sure beats $3 for a bottle from the mini-fridge.<br /><br />Of course, you might want to run a cycle of hot water through the coffee maker first. You gotta wonder what previous guests have done with those pitchers. Don't make me say chamber pot.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114541790374227826?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1145329976060293902006-04-17T20:07:00.000-07:002006-04-17T20:12:56.076-07:00Two things overheard today:<br /><br />Co-worker #1: "Oh, I'd love to go to a rave - if only they started at a more reasonable hour."<br /><br />-----------------------<br /><br />Co-worker #2: "You shouldn't eat the yolk of a Cadbury Cream Egg. That's where all the diabetes is."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114532997606029390?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1144894976378382212006-04-12T19:18:00.000-07:002006-04-12T19:22:56.393-07:00With part of this year's tax return, I got to upgrade from 256 MB of RAM to 1 GB. I just put it in, and, wow, it makes all the difference in the world! Now my computer can do this cool new thing called "running programs." I haven't had much time to try it out yet, but so far it's fantastic!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114489497637838221?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1144688634141931002006-04-10T09:42:00.000-07:002006-04-10T10:50:16.006-07:00This morning, the Newsboys' <span style="font-style: italic;">Lost the Plot</span> followed Ravi Zacharias on the ol' mp3 player. It was like an eight punch combination (ala <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0105159/?fr=c2l0ZT1kZnx0dD0xfGZiPXV8cG49MHxrdz0xfHE9cG93ZXIgb2Ygb25lfGZ0PTF8bXg9MjB8bG09NTAwfGNvPTF8aHRtbD0xfG5tPTE_;fc=1;ft=23;fm=1">The Power of One</a> - if you haven't seen it, please stop reading this post and go rent it immediately) to the spiritual <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solar_plexus">solar plexus</a>.<br /><br />Mr. Zacharias (that sounds stiff, but I'm not on a first-name basis with him) gave four necessary pillars for the viability of a culture. Parts one and two of <span style="font-style: italic;">If the Foundations be Destroyed</span> can be freely downloaded <a href="http://www.rzim.org/radio/archives.php?p=LMPT&v=detail&amp;id=643">here</a> and <a href="http://www.rzim.org/radio/archives.php?p=LMPT&v=detail&amp;id=649">here</a>. Throughout his instruction, I found myself mentally assenting: yes, ummhmm, yes, you tell 'em Mr. Zacharias, right again Mr. Zacharias.<br /><br />And then the Newsboys came on. Suddenly the experience stopped being outwardly focused on the ills of the culture around me and started being inwardly focused on my own faithlessness. It is so frightfully easy for me to condemn cultural shortcomings in the abstract and so dreadfully difficult to turn the accusatory finger inward. This is the continual calling of Jesus, again and again cutting through the escapist arguments I dish out, prompting me to leave all other people (even the ones I love) and their faults to Him, and wooing me to personal surrender.<br /><br /><blockquote>Lost the Plot<br /><br />When you come back again<br />would you bring me something from the fridge?<br />Heard a rumor that the end is near<br />but I just got comfortable here.<br />sigh.<br />Let's be blunt.<br />I'm a little distracted.<br />What do you want?<br /><br />Headaches and bad faith<br />are all that I've got.<br />First I misplaced the ending<br />then I lost the plot.<br /><br />Out among the free-range sheep<br />while the big birds sharpen their claws.<br />For a time we stuck with the shepherd<br />but you wouldn't play Santa Claus.<br /><br />sigh.<br />Let's be blunt.<br />We're a little distracted.<br />What do you want?<br /><br />Once we could follow,<br />now we cannot.<br />You would not fit our image,<br />so we lost the plot.<br /><br />Once we could hear you,<br />now our senses are shot.<br />We've forgotten our first love.<br />We have lost the plot.<br /><br />When I saw you for the first time<br />you were hanging with a thief<br />And I knew my hands were dirty,<br />and I dropped my gaze.<br />Then you said I was forgiven<br />and you welcomed me with laughter.<br />I was happy ever after.<br />I was counting the days<br />when you'd come back again.<br />we'll be waiting for you<br />When you comin' back again?<br />we'll be ready for you<br />Maybe we'll wake up when...<br />maybe we'll wake up when<br />you come back again.<br /><br />lies.<br />Let's be blunt.<br />We're a little unfaithful.<br />What do you want?<br /><br />Are you still listening?<br />`Cause we're obviously not<br />We've forgotten our first love<br />We have lost the plot.<br /><br />And why are you still calling?<br />You forgave, we forgot.<br />We're such experts at stalling<br />that we've lost the plot.<br />lost the plot<br /><br />When you come back again<br />would you bring me something from the fridge?<br />Heard a rumor that the end is near<br />but I just got comfortable here. </blockquote><br /><br />I can't find a free listen anywhere, but some Newsboys songs can be heard on <a href="http://www.newsboys.com/_splash/">their website</a>. Some of their music will be sonically abrasive to some of you. The lyrics are courtesy of <a href="http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Lost-The-Plot-lyrics-Newsboys/9B788E5EAAEA6B9B48256DEA002F5E78">sing365.com</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114468863414193100?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1144527256075374202006-04-08T13:08:00.000-07:002006-04-08T13:42:46.476-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/materva.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/materva.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thanks to a recommendation from Doug at the <a href="http://roadtrip.typepad.com/ca2fl/">Back Home</a> blog, I recently placed an order on the Interwebs for a soda made in Miami, but that allegedly traces its roots to Cuba. My six-pack of Materva came in a big cardboard box full of packing peanuts, along with a complimentary sample of Cuban coffee. Twelve dollars doesn't buy much Cuban soda when you have to pay for shipping.<br /><br />As you can see from the picture of the cans in my fridge, Materva advertises itself as a yerba mate soda. According to Wikipedia, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yerba_Mate">yerba mate</a> is a stimulant with similar effects to caffeine. The ingredients list for Materva lists BOTH yerba mate AND caffeine.<br /><br />I let it chill in the refrigerator for a full 24 hours before popping one open. After all, one doesn't spend $12 on six sodas and then waste one by hastily drinking it warm.<br /><br />The taste was a lot like ginger ale, but with a bit more fruitiness and spice. If Dr. Pepper and Cherry 7-Up ever got hitched, I think they might make beautiful Materva together.<br /><br />I really don't tolerate caffeine all that well. One full-strength Pepsi a day is about all I can take. So the multiple stimulants in Materva took about 3.5 seconds to start working. My ears got hot, I felt flush, and my heart started beating with about as much rhythm as a chimpanzee on drums.<br /><br />Needless to say, I've got a few cans of Materva I won't be needing. So, if you tolerate caffeine well, you're someone I already know, and you're interested in trying a can, let me know. First come, first served until they're gone.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114452725607537420?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1144253119910786322006-04-05T08:40:00.000-07:002006-04-06T14:02:45.996-07:00Un-stinking-believable.<br /><br />I remember the first time I ever tied my own shoes. I was five. We lived on Uppingham Drive in Thousand Oaks, and we were having a garage sale in preparation for the big family move to Northern California. I was sitting on the floor on the threshold between the living room and the dining room. I had always preferred having my mother tie my shoes, because she just did it without trying to teach me anything. My father always tried to make me do it myself, and I just didn't have time for all that. I had puddles to jump, or dog biscuits to eat or some other pressing concern. But for whatever reason, I up and tried to do it myself that day, and whaddya know!? I did it. Woo Hoo! I ran outside and told my dad. He was totally unimpressed. I sat down outside and untied them and retied them and untied them and retied them and... you get the idea. I'm sure I've been tying them the same way ever since.<br /><br />But today, I found out I've been tying them WRONG this whole time. You can not believe how revolutionary I find what I am about to show you.<br /><br />My shoelaces usually look like this:<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/SlipKnot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/SlipKnot.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />But today I found out that one simple change can make them look like this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/ReefKnot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/ReefKnot.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And, supposedly, this "new" knot is also more secure. I can't verify this yet, since I've only just tried it about 5 minutes ago, but I have no reason to doubt the claim. All I had to do was reverse the direction of my initial over-under step of shoe-tying, and voila!<br /><br />And to think that I had a 50-50 chance of tying my shoes this way on that first day when I was five. I've had crooked shoelaces for 27 years as a result of making that first ill-fated decision to go left-under-right. Doh!<br /><br />All the details are at <a href="http://www.fieggen.com/shoelace/slipping.htm">Ian's Shoelace Site</a>. If you cruise around, you'll also find other wonderful ways to tie your shoes.<br /><br />For me, this justifies the entire existence of the Interwebs.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Update (3/6/06):</span> I wear standard brown leather casual shoes to work. They have round, thin, waxy laces. They usually come untied five or six times a day. Today, with the new tying method, they have not come undone even a single time. I have a new way of tying my shoes, and I'm never going back.<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114425311991078632?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1144192502197977222006-04-04T14:40:00.000-07:002006-04-04T18:50:25.163-07:00Baseball season started a couple of days ago. I love baseball. It's a leisurely game. I love leisurely.<br /><br />But leisurely will not describe Barry bonds' life for the next six or seven months. It's going to be a grind. Barry is sitting on 708 career home runs. The only people who have ever hit more are Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron. That's fairly solid company. But Bonds has been plagued throughout his career by his own surly attitude, and now, when you'd think he'd get to bask in the glow of his decades of hard work, he's made his job even tougher by using steroids.<br /><br />Last night in San Diego, all manner of insults and <a href="http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/chronicle/archive/2006/04/04/SPGFKI33FL1.DTL">steroid paraphernalia</a>, were hurled at his giant frame. If this is any indication of things to come, it will be a long season to say the least. Even a man with a body disciplined by training (and 'roids) and a mind/will hardened by a self-imposed isolation will be worn down by days and weeks of abuse. I doubt he would put up with this for money or fame alone - he's got enough of those. He's probably not doing it for the home run record, either. Winning it won't silence his critics - if anything, they'll probably grow more shrill. If Barry continues to play through this, it will be for one reason only: he chooses to. I wouldn't fault him for choosing otherwise, but it would be a shame. 'Roids or no 'roids, he's earned it.<br /><br />I'm the last one to condone steroid use. It's harmful to the body in the long run, and it's illegal. But interestingly enough, until a couple of season ago, it wasn't against the rules of baseball. Isn't that curious? People have been talking about steroid use in baseball for years and years, and anybody with two eyes in his head could see that Barry's physique underwent a more than natural expansion from his days as a wiry leadoff hitter for Pittsburgh. But all that time, baseball's ownership and administration turned a blind eye. Why would that be? Is it possible that it was because baseball was a game in need of stars? Baseball had done a poor job of marketing itself, and in the competition to be America's game, it was losing out to the NBA and the NFL. Then came the horrific lockout that led to a mass exodus of fans, and baseball needed some starpower in the worst way. The Mark McGwire-Sammy Sosa home run chase of 1998 came like a gift from heaven, and nobody said boo about steroids. In all likelihood, McGwire and Sosa were both steroid users. When McGwire was called to answer questions before congress about steroid use in baseball, he infamously refused to answer direct questions about his own use of controlled substances. But when Barry hit 73 home runs in 2001, passing McGwire's single-season record, the rumor mill began to churn and public opposition started to swell. Major-league baseball dragged it's feet on banning steroids, and indirectly profited from the players' use of steroids. But now that John Q. Public is worried about it, the PR machine is working overtime to put makeup on a pig.<br /><br />And don't imagine that Bonds' was the only one involved with the stuff. Palmeiro, Giambi, Canseco, Sheffield, Caminiti, and a plethora of other stars, both current and former, have been on the juice. But like some sort of twisted atonement, their collective punishments now seem to be foisted upon Bonds' back. What I can't entirely figure out is why. Is it because he's the one "chasing" the all-time home run record? Is it because of his own tendency to hurl insults? Hank Aaron dealt with overt racism during his chase of Ruth's record. Could there be a more subtle form at play here as a contributing factor? It's a difficult question, but for whatever reason, Bonds is getting the brunt of the criticism, while the others get off relatively unscathed.<br /><br />And don't talk to me about any sort of asterisk in the record books. It's a ridiculous notion. It's not at all clear that Bonds has ever broken the rules of the game. And if you want to put an asterisk next to Bonds record, you're going to have to open up every other record in the books and judge them with the same scrutiny. Ruth didn't have to play against black players at all, because they were excluded from the league. Ruth didn't have to try and hit Satchel Page, whom Joe DiMaggio called "the best pitcher...I've ever faced," because Page was black. Should there be an asterisk next to Ruth's records? No. Every player should be judged by the context in which they played. How can we ask for anything else? Lot's of other players have used the juice. Are any of them chasing the home-run record? No. Why? Because juice dosen't hit home runs. Barry hits home runs. I have no doubt that he has hit more home runs on steroids than he would have hit without steroids, but it doesn't really matter. If he breaks the record despite to constant harassment and despite the unwillingness of opposing pitchers to throw anything in the general vicinity of the plate when he is batting, it will be for one reason only: he's the greatest home run hitter of all time. His surly attitude and his bad decision to use steroids can't change that.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114419250219797722?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1144106149972994312006-04-03T15:56:00.000-07:002006-04-03T16:15:49.990-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0792844866/002-9873530-8015243?v=glance&n=130"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/mrmom.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />My wife, who is normally quite lovely, was rather green for 4.5 days starting on Wednesday evening last week. As she was confined to her bed by this horrific illness, I was responsible for her care and the care of our three children - all of them under age five.<br /><br />Highlights included a family trip to urgent care so my wife could have lost fluids pumped into her bloodstream, and a lecture to my oldest daughter about not craning her neck to try and see a stranger's private parts in a McDonald's bathroom. I plan on telling that second story at my sweet little girl's engagement party.<br /><br />There were some other incidents of note, but rather than tell you about them all, I decided to have them made into a movie. It's called Mr. Mom, and Michael Keaton plays the part of me. If you've never seen it, rent it and laugh at my pathetic attempts to keep a household running. Keeds need moms. 'nuff said.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114410614997299431?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1143219197149367072006-03-24T08:37:00.000-08:002006-03-24T08:54:32.260-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/arthur.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/400/arthur.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I was on the interwebs (I'm stealing that word from my brother-in-law Jack) today looking for information on a bus pass, when I ran across <a href="http://www.mta.net/news_info/press/metro_042.htm#TopOfPage">this</a>. It seems the Los Angeles Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) has lost its most reliable employee. Arthur Wilson retired a few days ago. He is 100 years old. He has worked for the MTA continuously for the last 72 years.<br /><br />As if that weren't remarkable enough, guess how many days of work he has missed in that time? Exactly one.<br /><br />I suppose he can be forgiven, though. The one missed day was a bereavement day. His wife died in 1988. Shoot, I'll take a sick day if my cat has the sniffles. And I don't even have a cat.<br /><br />There is video of him <a href="http://www.nbc4.tv/news/8004938/detail.html">here</a>.<br /><br />Carry on, Mr. Wilson.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114321919714936707?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1142883012492738142006-03-20T11:28:00.000-08:002006-03-20T14:31:52.736-08:00I subscribe to the daily RSS feed from the <a href="http://www.dilbert.com/comics/dilbert/archive/dilbert-20060318.html">Dilbert Comic Strip Archive</a>. Last Saturday's entry made me laugh:<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/dilbert1.7.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/400/dilbert1.6.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I also sometimes hang around the <a href="http://www.effectmeasure.blogspot.com/">Effect Measure</a> blog. It's an informative public health blog, apparently written by one or more epidemiologists. It contains good updates on the bird flu situation and other items of public health interest. It's also a politically liberal blog, and the main writer is very opposed to any form of organized religion. Most Sundays he writes a religion-mocking editorial. Last Sunday he advanced the classic "A good and benevolent God would not allow suffering" premise. I jumped into the fray a couple of days late, but he and I had a generally well-mannered exchange. You can read the whole thing by clicking <a href="http://effectmeasure.blogspot.com/2006/03/freethinker-sunday-sermonette-praying.html">here</a> and then on "comments," but let me excerpt the part that struck me as similar to Scott Adams' cartoon above:<br /><br /><blockquote><p>Him: ...Now as to your solution, yes, what you describe is consistent with the world as we see it. But so is atheism or a hundred other propositions. What is there about your solution that argues for its own truth?<br /><br />Me: ...You asked why these answers are any better than those proposed by atheism. I can only answer by pointing out that atheism does not attempt to provide any answers to the possible meaning of suffering. Atheism only says we are the products of the mindless machinations of the universe. There can be no meaning in suffering because there is no meaning in any of life. We are just here. Pain is just pain. That is all there is. And, yet, almost universally, we want it all to mean something. Why should this be so? I want things to be different. I long for a time of peace and rest and freedom, I long to be in full and meaningful relationships with those around me. Why should I have all these longings if I am just a biological machine, nothing more than an accidental confluence of atoms? I believe that the presence of these longings are more consistent with the truth that I was made for something else, something higher, something bigger. *<br /></p></blockquote><br />If atheism is really true; if we are just the random product of an unregulated mechanism, then we might as well think of ourselves as coffee transport devices. It would make as much sense as anything else.<br /><br />----------------<br />*<span style="font-size:85%;">In the interest of honesty, let me say that these ideas did not come from my own pea brain. I read them in C. S. Lewis and Ravi Zacharias. Before that, they came from the Bible. Yes, the actual Bible, not the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000AP326E/qid=1142892854/sr=8-21/ref=sr_1_21/102-8703650-5388136?%5Fencoding=UTF8&v=glance&amp;n=15684181">Mercedes-Benz Owner's Bible</a>, or the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00014D1ZQ/qid=1142892854/sr=8-30/ref=sr_1_30/102-8703650-5388136?%5Fencoding=UTF8&v=glance&amp;n=3760901">New Herb Bible</a>, in case you were confused. </span><br /><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114288301249273814?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1142279558136526822006-03-13T10:44:00.000-08:002006-03-13T11:52:38.206-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/14pressu.184.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/14pressu.184.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Sous Vide (say "sue veed") is French for "under vacuum." It's a method of preparing and/or cooking food that involves vacuum sealing it in plastic. Thus sealed, the food can then be cooked in hot water, retaining almost all of its natural juices. As a further refinement, chefs have begun using scientific-style water baths as a replacement for boiling water on a stovetop. These baths have the ability to very precisely maintain a constant and consistent temperature.<br /><br />This carefully controlled, foods can be cooked at lower temperatures for longer periods of time and still achieve the necessary degree of pasteurization required for safety. The advantage is that, on the cellular level, much less damage is done to the food. I'm told that the combination of the vacuum-infusion of flavorings and the gentle cooking method produce foods that taste better by an order of magnitude.<br /><br />There is a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2005/08/14/magazine/14CRYOVAC.html?pagewanted=1&ei=5090&amp;amp;amp;en=3d5db17005368139&ex=1281672000&amp;partner=rssuserland&emc=rss">long article</a> about sous vide cooking over at the NY Times, if you're interested. The descriptions of foods cooked via this method are very interesting. For instance, this description of an egg cooked at 148 degrees for 45 minutes:<br /><br /><blockquote>I had never seen an egg like this: the whites and yolk, cooked to precisely the same consistency, spilled out like a wobbly custard, and Goussault, using a spoon, began pulling the whites from the yolk. The yolk was bright and creamy and stood up like a marshmallow. ''You see, you see!'' Goussault said. ''It's all about the temperature.''</blockquote>and this description of beef:<br /><br /><blockquote>If you go to Cru and order Gallante's Wagyu beef, it will be unlike any piece of beef from a saute pan or broiler. Instead of a brownish rim and increasing redness toward the center, it will be evenly rare from the outer edge all the way through.</blockquote>That one doesn't really appeal to me all that much, because I like the charred smoky exterior of a steak, but techniques can be combined. The steak can first be seared over a flame, cooled, vacuum sealed, and cooked. That intermediate cooling step is necessary because the vacuum sealing can partially cook the food. (Remember high school physics? At the end of vacuum sealing, the food is under the pressure of the plastic constricting around it. As pressure increases, so does temperature.)<br /><br />Of course, a chef really has to know what he or she is doing. Using this cooking method, it would be quite easy to under-pasteurize food and make some customers curse the day you were born. But done properly, it is safe. And the potential benefit to make food even tastier has me interested.<br /><br />I find it really interesting that here we see the best results achieved by combining a chef's artistry with an engineer's plodding precision. I've often thought that the best scientist would be one with an appreciation for artistic expression - imagine a PhD physicist with an undergraduate degree in literature or some other combination. But here we see that the reverse may be true as well: the best sculptor may be one with an appreciation for mathematics. It makes me wonder if da Vinci would have been the first one in line for sous vide eggs.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The picture is from the NY Times article linked above.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br />-----------------------------------<br />Warning:</span> if you vacuum-pack food this way at home, you really shouldn't keep it around for more than ten days unless you freeze it. Removing the oxygen from the package makes it possible for botulism to grow. Almost all the cases of botulism in this country are from home-canned foods where the cook didn't strictly adhere to the process. Haphazardly vacuum-sealing stuff and then keeping it around for too long can kill you.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114227955813652682?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1142033035112107692006-03-10T14:52:00.000-08:002006-03-10T15:26:23.283-08:00There is a little pizza joint almost directly across the street from our new place. A couple of nights ago, we decided to give it a whirl. With the two ambulatory munchkins in tow, I ambled across the street, and plunked down a cool $18.50 for two medium pies (one cheese and one pepperoni) and some garlic bread. I'm obviously not on the Atkins diet. The guy behind the counter said it would be 12 minutes until the pies were ready, so I asked him if he would mind having someone "deliver" them across the street when they were ready. He agreed, and the girls and I sauntered back home.<br /><br />About 30 minutes later the door bell rang. When I opened the door, the pizza guy was there with the typical red insulated bag. I quickly handed him the $1.50 tip I had remembered just a minute before. Of course, if I had been thinking, I would have gone back to pick up the pizza myself rather than pay some fully-capable adult to walk it the 50 steps to my door. But even so, I wanted to get in good with the staff of the place, because if it's any good at all, it sure is convenient. In that light, I was a little worried that $1.50 would make me look like a cheap-skate. So I was all set with a warm smile and a big thank-you to go along with the Washington-and-a-half. But the delivery guy hardly seemed to notice. He just kept staring at me. As he handed me the pizza and bread, he said, "Are you the subway guy?"<br /><br />"The subway guy?" I asked. My mind started thinking of mass transit systems. But then, "Oh, am I the <span style="font-style: italic;">Subway</span> guy?" I started to laugh.<br /><br />"Yeah," the pizza guy deadpanned, still staring at me without any hint of a smile.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/art2a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/art2a.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />"No, but I've gotten that before." I wait for the pizza guy to smile. He doesn't. "If I were the Subway guy, I'd be living in a nicer place than this." A guy at work really has joked that I look like Jared Fogel of Subway sandwich fame.<br /><br />"Oh, alright." I think he was disappointed that his pizza place wasn't going to be able to advertise that theirs was the pizza that turned Jared. Imagine that ad campaign: "Sure, Jared lost all that weight at Subway, but he gained it all back right here at Bob's Pizza." The pizza place wasn't really named Bob's, I just don't want to give away any free advertising. You've got to be careful when you've got as many readers as I do. But that'd be a great ad. I'd eat there.<br /><br />So here's to you, Jared Fogel. You're a handsome devil.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I found the picture <a href="http://starbulletin.com/2003/08/06/business/">here</a>.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114203303511210769?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1141773029212703722006-03-07T15:02:00.000-08:002006-03-09T15:44:22.556-08:00Here's a stumper:<br /><br />What country insists that it must have a nuclear program to meet its energy needs even though it owns roughly 10% of the world's total oil and its citizens pay about 40 cents for a gallon of gas?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Update</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">3/9/06</span>: Using a super-sneaky white-on-white technique, I've written the answer between the brackets. Highlight the area with your mouse to see it. [<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Iran -- which must also be super sneaky if they can get the world to buy their story</span>]<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114177302921270372?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1141673958971819092006-03-06T11:19:00.000-08:002006-03-06T11:39:18.996-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/equal.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/200/equal.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />...it's gonna be a bumpy ride.<br /><br /><a href="http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=514&amp;u=/ap/20060306/ap_on_re_us/abortion_south_dakota_4">South Dakota bans most abortions</a><br /><br />You gotta think this has been on hold until S.D. thought the composition of the Supreme Court was right. We'll see. So far, the two new justices haven't been predictable. It will take this a few years to get to them. Alito and Roberts had to know this was coming, but knowing you have a date with destiny and seeing its actual approach are two different things.<br /><br />I've posted my thoughts <a href="http://fiatveritas.blogspot.com/2005/03/public-health.html">before</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The picture is from <a href="http://bensguide.gpo.gov/3-5/symbols/print/equaljustice.html">this</a> website. It's the entrance to the Supreme Court. Note the inscription.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114167395897181909?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1141325972701810912006-03-02T10:46:00.000-08:002006-03-02T11:00:52.756-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/seesnet.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/seesnet.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The title of this post links to a slideshow my buddy Nate just made. I got chills watching it. He's the proud papa of a new baby girl. I love Nate and seeing beautiful things happen for him brings an all-day smile to my face. I wish I was there to celebrate with him.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114132597270181091?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1141257393290834542006-03-01T15:32:00.000-08:002006-03-01T15:56:33.310-08:00So far, I've downloaded four free audiobooks. Here they are with my patent-pending ultra-brief review:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0066211735/002-4617352-3740801?v=glance&n=283155">Over the Edge of the World</a>: A historical account of Magellin's circumnavigation of the globe. Not at all dry. Who knew people used to be so crazy about cloves? Really good.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0786809957/qid=1141257129/sr=2-1/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_1/002-4617352-3740801?s=books&amp;v=glance&n=283155">Be More Chill</a>: Teen angst story about an un-cool kid who has a computer implanted in his brain that gives him advice on being cool. Didn't finish it. Not so good.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/031298250X/qid=1141257203/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/002-4617352-3740801?s=books&amp;v=glance&n=283155">America</a>: Political thriller about the theft of a next-generation U.S. submarine. Made me want to ask my Uncle Bert some questions about his days as a submariner. Pretty good.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1414303432/qid=1141257249/sr=2-1/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_1/002-4617352-3740801?s=books&amp;v=glance&n=283155">The Ezekiel Option</a>: Christian political thriller with a plausible look at biblical prophecies in light of current events. <span style="font-style: italic;">Caveat</span>: I really don't know much about biblical prophecy. A little slow-going at the beginning, but worth the wait. Really good.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114125739329083454?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1141255677203687402006-03-01T14:41:00.000-08:002006-03-01T15:30:25.860-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/sansae130fs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/200/sansae130fs.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />For Christmas, some nice people I know gave me an mp3 player. I really didn't want an iPod -- iPods are expensive and they only work with iTunes. Plus, when I see all the students around campus plugged into these things, they strike me as a little pretentious. Are their musical tastes really so eclectic that they simply must have instant access to the entire musical collection of the Library of Congress? C'mon, I know you've got 5 megabytes of Kanye West on repeat.<br /><br />Anyway, I've had it for a few months now, and I'm really happy with my little <a href="http://www.sandisk.com/Products/Item%281207%29-SDMX2-512-Sansa_e130_Digital_Audio_Player_512MB.aspx">SanDisk Sansa e130</a>. It's conveniently small, but not so small that I have trouble finding or pushing the buttons. It's got enough built-in memory for just about anything I'd ever want to have on there at one time. Plus, it's got a Secure Digital (SD) memory expansion slot, so if I ever do get a hankerin' to have everything Van Morrison ever recorded riding around in my shirt pocket, I'm all set.<br /><br />It's compatible with Microsoft's digital rights management (DRM) software. That was kind of a turn-off at first, since the "digital rights" the name refers to aren't yours. They're somebody else's, and that means I might not be able to do what I want, when I want (WIWWIW). And if I had the option between buying something with DRM built-in or WIWWIW built-in, I'd generally prefer WIWWIW. But, as it turns out, the DRM in this case actually does get me something I wouldn't otherwise have - free and legal audiobooks.<br /><br />The <a href="http://www.lapl.org/">Los Angeles Public Library</a> recently started providing free audiobook downloads to people who have an account with them. They have a limited number of free downloads, just like they have a limited number of paper-and-ink books. So for the popular titles, you have to get on a waiting list. When your turn comes, you simply download it to your computer. To get the files onto your mp3 player, you have to use some free proprietary software to transfer the files to Windows Media Player (WMP), and WMP will copy them to your mp3 player - <span style="font-weight: bold;">if</span> your mp3 player is compatible with Microsoft's DRM. Fortunately, mine is, so I'm all set. After a given period of time (currently three weeks), the audiobook automatically stops working and the book is considered "checked back in." Strangely enough, while the audiobook stored on my computer quits playing when the loan period expires, the copy stored on my mp3 player doesn't. It just keeps right on playing. So I'm not actually sure why the player has to be DRM-compatible, since the copy stored therein plays well past the loan period.<br /><br />Anyway, I'm really happy with this little thing. The only problem has been that the headphone jack has a little problem that makes me have to fiddle with the headphone plug to get sound out of both earpieces. I've tried different headphones - same problem. I've tried the same headphones in other equipment - no problem. The issue definitely lies in the jack. I've gotten permission from SanDisk to send it to them. They say they'll exchange it for a new one. I hope it all works out.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The picture is from <a href="http://www.laaudiofile.com/sansae130.html">this</a> website, which has another review of the player.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114125567720368740?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1141078731305708372006-02-27T13:38:00.000-08:002006-02-27T14:19:27.990-08:00Just a quick FYI:<br /><br />I think you might actually mean, "I could<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">n't</span> care less." You see, if you <span style="font-style: italic;">could</span> care less, then the amount you care now is something more than the least possible care. I think that's the opposite of what you're trying to say.<br /><br />This ranks near the top of my list of most annoying abuses of grammar. It's right up there with the misuse of the word "literally."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114107873130570837?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1140723704078256152006-02-23T11:17:00.000-08:002006-02-24T19:45:08.430-08:00A very cool person, whom I like a lot, sent me an email today. You'll find its text below, with my comments in italics. I'm sorry about the formatting - somewhere between the email editor and the Blogger interface a bunch of nonsense html got added, and it would probably take me a good hour to get it cleaned up.<br /><br /><span class="q"> <div><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></div></span><blockquote><span class="q"><div><span style="font-size:100%;">TO ALL THE KIDS WHO SURVIVED<wbr> the 1930's 40's, 50's, 60's<wbr> and 70's !!<br /></span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">First, we survived being born<wbr> to mothers who </span><span style="font-size:100%;">took aspirin, ate blue cheese </span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">dressing, tuna from a can, and<wbr> didn't get </span><span style="font-size:100%;">tested for diabetes while they <span style="font-size:100%;">were pregnant.</span><br /></span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">Then after that trauma, we<wbr> were put to sleep on our<wbr> tummies in baby cribs </span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">covered with bright colored<wbr> lead-based paints.<br /></span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">We had no childproof lids on<wbr> medicine bottles, doors or<wbr> cabinets and when </span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">we rode our bikes, we had no<wbr> helmets, not to mention, the<wbr> risks we took </span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">hitchhiking.<br /></span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">As infants & children, we<wbr> would ride in cars with no<wbr> car seats, booster<br />seats, seat belts or air bags.<br /></span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">Riding in the back of a pick<wbr> up on a warm day was always a<wbr> special treat.</span></div> <p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:courier new,monospace;"><em>These statements are true, but not meaningful. <em><span style="font-family:Courier New;">Obviously, none of the readers of this email died from any of these things. </span></em>Is the point here that these things were safe? Actually, lots of people died from these things. The "back to sleep" campaign, childproof medicine packaging, helmets, and seatbelts have saved many many lives.</em> </span></span></p></span> <span class="q"> <div><br /></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">We drank water from the garden<wbr> hose and NOT from a bottle.<br /></span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">We shared one soft drink with<wbr> four friends, from one bottle<wbr> and NO ONE<br />actually died from this.</span></div> <p> </p></span> <p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:courier new,monospace;"><em>Okay, this is a pretty low-risk activity, but viral diseases spread somehow. To say that no one died from this is premature. Don't make me say "polio."</em> </span></span></p><span class="q"> <div><br /></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">We ate cupcakes, white bread<wbr> and real butter and drank<wbr> koolade made with<br />sugar, but we weren't overweigh<wbr>t because ... WE WERE ALWAYS<wbr> OUTSIDE<br />PLAYING!</span></div> <p> </p></span> <p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:courier new,monospace;"><em>This is probably true. People are getting more slothful, and partially as a result, we are seeing more overweight and the problems that come with it (diabetes, etc.). </em></span></span></p><span class="q"> <div><br /></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">We would leave home in the<wbr> morning and play all day, as<wbr> long as we were<br />back when the streetlights<wbr> came on.<br /></span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">No one was able to reach us<wbr> all day.<br /></span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">And we were O.K.<br /></span></div> <div><span style="font-size:100%;">We would spend hours building<wbr> our go-carts out of scraps<font></span></span><font><font><font><font><font><font> and then ride<br />down the hill, only to find<wbr> out we forgot the brakes.<wbr> After running into<br />the bushes a few times, we learned<wbr> to solve the problem. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:courier new,monospace;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><em>I wish the world were still like this. It sounds nice. According to the State of California there is a 50-something convicted child molester who lives about three blocks from me. </em></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><span class="q"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>We did not have Playstations,<wbr> Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video<wbr> games at all,<br />no 150 channels on cable, no<wbr> video movies or DVD's, no<wbr> surround-sound or<br />CD's, no cell phones, no<wbr> personal computers, no<wbr> Internet or chat rooms.... </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:courier new,monospace;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><em>I can almost hear the curmudgeon who wrote this saying "and we LIKED it that way."</em></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><span class="q"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>WE HAD FRIENDS and we went<wbr> outside and found them!<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>We fell out of trees, got cut,<wbr> broke bones and teeth and<wbr> there were no</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>lawsuits from these accidents.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>We ate worms and mud pies made<wbr> from dirt, and the worms did<wbr> not live in<br />us forever.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:courier new,monospace;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><em>Sometimes they did, but its okay for some mildly bad stuff to happen. A completely sanitized world wouldn't be much fun.<br /></em></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><span class="q"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>We were given BB guns for our<wbr> 10th birthdays, made up games<wbr> with sticks<br />and tennis balls and, although<wbr> we were told it would happen,<wbr> we did not<br />put out very many eyes.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:courier new,monospace;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><em>Just a few?</em></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><span class="q"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>We rode bikes or walked to a<wbr> friend's house and knocked on<wbr> the door or<br />rang the bell, or just walked<wbr> in and talked to them!<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>Little League had tryouts and<wbr> not everyone made the team.<wbr> Those who<br />didn't had to learn to deal<wbr> with disappointment. Imagine<wbr> that!!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:courier new,monospace;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><em>Somehow the world will be better if we tell some seven-year-olds that they aren't good enough to play with us? "Sorry kid, you're just not good enough. It's better that you accept it now." </em></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><span class="q"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>The idea of a parent bailing<wbr> us out if we broke the law<wbr> was unheard of.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>They actually sided with the<wbr> law!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>These generations have produced<wbr> some of the best risk-takers,<wbr> problem<br />solvers and inventors ever!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:courier new,monospace;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><em>You ain't seen nothin' yet.</em></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><span class="q"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>The past 50 years have been an<wbr> explosion of innovation and<wbr> new ideas.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>We had freedom, failure,<wbr> success and responsibility,<font></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> and we learned HOW<br />TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:courier new,monospace;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><em>So who should we thank for creating the current environment that you think is so bad? Or did your kids just all simultaneously decide to be a bunch of screw-ups? I know that people are responsible for their own choices, but societal patterns come from somewhere.</em> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><span class="q"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>If YOU are one of them . . .<wbr> CONGRATULATIONS!<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>Kind of makes you want to run<wbr> through the house with<wbr> scissors, doesn't it?!<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><span style=";font-family:courier new,monospace;font-size:100%;" ><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><em>No. That seems foolish. What is it about getting old that turns so many of us into sour-faced jerks? There must be a reason, because it happens to lots of people. I'm really going to have to watch out for that. </em></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span class="sg"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><em></em> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></blockquote><span class="sg"><span style="font-style: italic;"><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><font>Please don't misunderstand. I'm not saying that the younger generations are better, or that the older generations should be held responsible for all the bad stuff that happened on their watch. We are all human beings and we all make mistakes. My parents didn't buckle up some of my older brothers and sisters. It was a different world, and people didn't think much about it. They thought accidents were just accidents and there was nothing to be done. Cars weren't made with seatbelts. What were they gonna do? Strap the little tikes down with bungie cords? Did they even have bungie cords? They did the best they could with what they had and what they knew. I sure hope none of today's two year olds come along in thirty years and start blaming me for whatever stupid stuff I'm ignorantly doing. We're all doing the best we can with what we've got and what we know. But when I get to be fifty, sixty, or seventy (if God extends His grace that long), if I start seriously spouting off about how, "Mine was the golden age," and, "kids these days," and so on and so forth you have my permission to punch me in the face. Not too hard, but just hard enough to make me remember that I was gonna try not to be like that. It must be pretty easy to fall into, because a lot of good folk I know end up doing it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Update:</span> The nice person who sent me this email thought from my response that I was offended in a personal way. I'm really not. Maybe I should censor myself a bit more. I knew it was humor. Maybe I'm the big jerk.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114072370407825615?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1140639766986926752006-02-22T11:35:00.000-08:002006-02-22T14:10:39.136-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/1600/AKheaderMain.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6268/802/320/AKheaderMain.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Normally I take the bus to work, but yesterday I had a reason to drive. On my drive, I listened to our local pseudo-Christian radio station, KKLA (more on that later). I got to listen to two half-hour programs on my way to work, and another on my way home. In the morning I heard John MacArthur and Chuck Swindoll. Interestingly enough, both have upcoming cruises to Alaska. On these cruises you can look at the beauty of God's creation, indulge your gluttonous tendencies, and listen to the pastor of your preference. If doctrinal clarity is your thing, MacArthur is the obvious choice. If you're looking for a speaker with a fire in his belly and passion in his voice, I'd go with Swindoll, who will be speaking about grace. I thought it was kind of funny that they both were cruisin' the inland passage, but whatever.<br /><br />On the way home, I listened to a couple of psychologists whose names I don't know. After they told me all about how God loves my inner child, they also encouraged me to sign up for their upcoming Alaska cruise! Now I knew that something was up. Maybe John and Chuck could have the same idea at the same time, but super psycho-friends too? This could no longer be a coincidence.<br /><br />It's not. Whatever your spiritual pleasure, <a href="http://www.inspirationcruises.com/html/alaska_cruises.html">Inspiration Cruises</a> has an Alaskan cruise for you. There is the New Life Ministries Alaskan cruise, the Chuck Swindoll Alaskan cruise, the John MacArthur Alaskan cruise, Biola University, David Jeremiah, the Worship Network, D. James Kennedy, Awana Clubs, KCIS, Gaither Homecoming, and Moody Bible - they ALL have Alaskan cruises in 2006.<br /><br />That gave me an idea. So, I'm proud to invite you to the <span style="font-size:130%;">Steve Alaskan Cruise</span>. There will be space for all, and each day will be punctuated by a unique time of me sharing my opinion about any topic you bring up. Don't be worried that your special interest is too obscure. I have opinions about everything - psychology, doctrine, politics, epidemiology, America's heritage, homeschooling, worship styles, Latvian poetry, the mating habits of the duckbill platypus, or recipes for asparagus - nothing is off limits. No need to pick a special cruise for just one of your interests, now you can indulge them all in just one place. Whoever you are, the 2006 Steve Alaskan Cruise is the one for you. Don't wait to book your reservation. If I had had a cruise last year, I'm sure people who tried to book late would have been turned away. Don't miss out. Reserve your place on this once-in-a-lifetime Alaskan Cruise today!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114063976698692675?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1140030529162780682006-02-15T10:51:00.000-08:002006-02-15T16:05:38.853-08:00In the movie <span style="font-style: italic;">Shadowlands</span>, C. S. Lewis says, "We read to know we are not alone." This is my experience with the hymn <span style="font-style: italic;">Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing</span> - especially the third stanza. It's very comforting to know I'm not the first one to feel the way I do. It's almost as though hearing it gives me permission to be who I am. Not that it's necessarily best to feel that way, mind you, but knowing that I share it in common with some guy named Robert Robinson from 1758 at least provides a footing of acceptance from which I can grow.<br /><br /><blockquote>Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,<br />Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;<br />Streams of mercy, never ceasing,<br />Call for songs of loudest praise.<br />Teach me some melodious sonnet,<br />Sung by flaming tongues above.<br />Praise the mount! I'm fixed upon it,<br />Mount of Thy redeeming love.<br /><br />Here I raise my Ebenezer;<br />Here by Thy great help I've come;<br />And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,<br />Safely to arrive at home.<br />Jesus sought me when a stranger,<br />Wandering from the fold of God;<br />He, to rescue me from danger,<br />Interposed His precious blood.<br /><br />O to grace how great a debtor<br />Daily I'm constrained to be!<br />Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,<br />Bind my wandering heart to Thee.<br />Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,<br />Prone to leave the God I love;<br />Here's my heart, O take and seal it,<br />Seal it for Thy courts above.<br /><br />O that day when freed from sinning,<br />I shall see Thy lovely face;<br />Clothed then in blood washed linen<br />How I'll sing Thy sovereign grace;<br />Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,<br />Take my ransomed soul away;<br />Send thine angels now to carry<br />Me to realms of endless day. </blockquote><br />By the way, I believe "Ebenezer" is a reference to Samuel's stone of remembrance.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-114003052916278068?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10398207.post-1139889069403888942006-02-13T19:42:00.000-08:002006-02-13T19:51:09.420-08:00Things my kids said during our bedtime routine tonight:<br /><br />"And then there was not nothing." GKF, age 2, after being told that on day one God created light. If I'm not mistaken, this demonstrates an understanding that two negatives make a positive. Genius.<br /><br />"Dad, you know where penguins live? The South <span style="font-style: italic;">Cold</span>." HRF, age 4.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10398207-113988906940388894?l=fiatveritas.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04989872618079389630noreply@blogger.com0