New: Vigilance, eternal vigilance

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We may not be able to defend our borders, but one California courthouse is on guard for Dr. Evil’s Fembots:

Bra sets off metal detector in Calif.
Associated Press
YUBA CITY, Calif. – A taxpayer advocate has complained to Sutter County supervisors that metal detectors at county buildings are so sensitive they are being set off by underwire bras.

Sutter County Taxpayers Association member Roberta Fletcher said the male security guard seemed to enjoy waving the handheld metal detector over her chest.

“It is, at a minimum, for a woman, embarrassing. And at a maximum, it is sexual harassment to hold your arms outstretched while a male officer waves a wand in front of your breasts,” Fletcher told supervisors at their meeting Tuesday.

Sheriff Jim Denney said courthouse guards work for the court system, not the sheriff’s department, but defended use of the metal detectors.

“That’s the nature of the business – to maintain security,” Denney told Fletcher. “I’m not going to answer any more absurd questions.”

Fletcher also had little sympathy from board Chairman Larry Munger and other supervisors.

“I don’t think it’s harassment; it’s protection,” Munger said.

“Men just don’t get it,” Fletcher told the supervisors.

New: Vikings sack latest scrambler named Fran

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Much abuse is being heaped on the Vikings today for firing their just-hired VP of Player Personnel, Fran Foley, citing it as another example of an apparently clueless organization stumbling its way through a purple haze. Rumors are that the dismissal is due to Foley’s a) lying on his resume, b) his abrasive personality, c) his perceived failures (including wearing that ugly sweater) at the just-completed draft, or d) any and all of the above.

Personally, it was a decision I was hoping to see and I’m pleasantly surprised at the timing.

A little more than a week ago when Foley and the team had to announce not once, but twice, that there were discrepancies and clerical errors in his resume I rolled my eyes (my daughter showed me how). I thought then that if owner Zygi Wilf really meant it about running a first-class operation he’d fire Fran’s (it that’s his real name) butt, regardless of the short-term embarrassment it would cause. My next thought was that it wouldn’t happen because it was too close to the draft. The team wouldn’t want to create an extra level of chaos, and after the draft was over the issue would have dropped from consciousness (it was surprising how little was being made of the story) and the team and Foley would just continue on. In my mind, though, if that happened they could never be taken seriously when trying to hold up a higher standard of behavior for the players.

Maybe the dismissal was more about b, c and/or d above or something else we don’t know about, but as for me I’m encouraged that maybe, just maybe, Wilf means what he says about creating a high-character organization and is willing to take the short-term hit for the long-term benefit. Perhaps the off-season moves and kiss-offs to certain coaches and players do have more to them than just on-field performance issues. It will be an interesting to see if a these few reference points turn into an indentifiable trend in coming years.

One last point: whether Foley was hard to get along with was no concern of mine because it wasn’t my problem. I simply didn’t like his fabrications on his resume in the first place, or his later rationalizations and obfuscations. I definitely laughed at his sweater. As for the quality of the draft I have no opinion because it’s ridiculous at this stage to have one. We simply don’t know how good or bad it was until the players get onto the field (or not) in the next few seasons.

Everyone treats Mel Kiper’s opinions on players as if they were gospel, yet no one ever holds him accountable for his projections afterward. He’ll get paid just as much, or more, next year regardless of how guys turn out. On the other hand, the team executives who do the scouting, evaluating and selecting are putting their reputations and their jobs on the line. Of course they’re going to say they’re happy with their picks but I don’t think they’re any more self-serving than Kiper when they do, and I’m far more likely to trust their evaluations because they know that no amount of hair-gel will save them if they’re wrong.

Best of: Dad to the Bone

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My daughters are an important part of this blog, not only as sources of inspiration but also as writing sources themselves (check out the Mall Diva and Tiger Lilly categories on the right). They’ve changed a lot since the time the photo described below was taken, and even since I wrote this essay.

A lot of things are still the same, though.

Dad to the Bone
Every parent either knows – or feels – by heart the words to the “Sunrise, Sunset” song in “Fiddler on the Roof”:

Is this the little girl I carried,
is this the little boy at play?

When I hear this the memory that flashes in my mind is not that of carrying either of my two daughters up to bed, or of piggyback rides. Instead I think of a family photo a few years ago. In it my girls – then about 10 and 5 – and I have been wrestling. I am standing and in each hand I’ve got an ankle of one of the girls and I’m holding them both upside down and off the ground, not unlike a proud poulterer holding up a couple of prizewinners at the State Fair. Imagining the picture now I can still hear the shrieks and giggles.

At this point in their lives – and for this moment now permanently frozen on film – I am Dad the Undefeated and, in their eyes, larger than life. Meanwhile, in the moments that I write this, the next line from that song is passing through my mind: “I don’t remember getting older, when did they?” If asked to reenact the scene today my response would have to be, “One at a time.”

As I flip through my mental photo album the girls seem to grow suddenly in a series of jerks and jumps. Of course I know they are really changing everyday, judging by the continuous trips to the shoe store and cries of, “But I just bought you those pants!” I also can’t help noticing in this album that as they are getting bigger, I seem to be getting – perhaps ever-so-slightly – smaller.

Once when my oldest was very little and concerned that we might be imminently attacked by bears in our own front yard, she was greatly comforted when I assured her that if any bears came near her I’d grab them and twist their noses. Today the same promise still stands regarding boys, not bears, but it’s clear that my powers are coming more into perspective. While there are times when it may seem, in my daughters’ eyes, that I can still rise up and blot out the sun, I cannot stop it from moving across the sky. I am shade, however, standing between them and the heat of the world. I will continue to do so as long as I can stand.

Of course, brute force has always been of limited application. To be a proper protector my defenses have had to be – and must remain – more subtle. Jesus once told his disciples that it was better for them that he go away. His meaning was that his power both in their lives and in the world would ultimately be much greater by his living in them rather than with them. I don’t construe this to mean my girls are better off without me, but rather that I must devote my time with them to preparing them to live on fruitfully, just as Jesus did in his three years with the disciples. The time together already seems all too short.

When they were little, their well-being depended on instant obedience to my authority and that of their mother. It was not expected or accepted of them to ponder whether or not we meant what we said or whether our instructions supported their personhood or hurt their self-esteem. “No,” “stop” and “don’t” could keep them from a boiling pot, a busy street or a strange dog. As they get older they are still at risk from natural forces, careless strangers and unpredictable human animals interested only in their own gratification. “No,” “stop” and “don’t” might still have an effect, but it’s better to teach them the underlying reasons and standards for moral conduct so they can also work out the “Yeses,” “do’s” and “go-for-its.” In that way my influence can carry on a lot further than my authority will ever be able to.

For my influence to be effective, however, I have to keep learning and examining myself both for my own benefit as well as theirs. Like it or not, my life will be a standard that my daughters will use to judge men on in the future and I want to set the bar pretty high with no apologies to the young fellas coming along. Perfect or not, it is mine to carry. On one level my girls may see me as “Dad of Dads, Keeper of the Remote and King of Rude Noises,” but they should also know at a deeper level that I have laid and will lay down my life for them. As they grow older I hope that they will not settle for any man who will not do the same, even though the kind interested only in the “lay down” part may be all too common.

If you have daughters I think you know what I mean, and I hope you, too, are preparing yourself and them to live by your influence and that of Jesus while submitting to the authority of God. If you have sons, I pray that you are preparing them to a similar standard and helping them grow into their own responsibilities.

And if you have sons that may be hanging around my daughters, you might want to warn them about that nose thing.

New: 10 to remember

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Lists can be hard things to keep straight; the names of the seven dwarfs, each of the 12 days of Christmas (or all the 12 steps), eight wonders of the world without a catchy rhyme or jingle (I bet you can rattle off the seven ingredients of a Big Mac).



Here’s a handy rhyme in the public domain that appeared over the weekedn in The Writer’s Almanac:



The Ten Commandments



I. -Have thou no other gods but me,

II. -And to no image bow thy knee.

III. -Take not the name of God in vain:

IV. -The sabbath day do not profane.

V. -Honour thy father and mother too;

VI. -And see that thou no murder do.

VII. -Abstain from words and deeds unclean;

VIII. -Nor steal, though thou art poor and mean.

IX. -Bear not false witness, shun that blot;

X. -What is thy neighbor’s covet not.



-These laws, O Lord, write in my heart, that I,

-May in thy faithful service live and die.




Best of: Night Writer, the early nights

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I have an intense schedule the next 13 days, leading up to me “live-blogging” our European vacation. It’s going to be tough to post regularly before the trip, but I really appreciate the readers of this blog and the readership growth it has experienced (pretty meager by most standards, but still higher than I expected). I feel an obligation to try and have something interesting here for anyone who visits or just stumbles in, so while my nights and lunch-hours are being used for pressing, non-blogging things I’m offering a retrospective of some of my favorite posts from the past 15 months, especially early on. Granted, that might stretch the definition of “interesting” but if you’ve liked what you’ve seen here the past few months, perhaps you’ll like some of the older things as well.

Naturally, some of my first posts were about why I started blogging. Below is my first ever post comparing blogging and CB radio, followed by an excerpt from another post explaining why so many Minnesota bloggers are conservative.

10-4, good buddies — I mean, bloggers
I was in high school when the Citizens Band (CB) radio craze was at its peak. In the rural part of the country where I lived, it seemed as if everyone, including all my friends I rode with, had a CB radio except me.

For those too young to remember, folks would install CBs in their cars and drive around talking to their friends or anyone who happened to be listening in. Ostensibly (a word seldom used by CBers) drivers were on the lookout for “Smokies” (as in Smokey the Bear), which was code for the Highway Patrol – the sworn enemy of drivers and CB enthusiasts who liked to exceed the new 55 mph speed limit. Since sharing the location of Smokies was borderline illegal, and speeding definitely so, most radio users also came up with clever radio names, or “handles” for themselves to mask their true identities – or to project a certain image. An entire jargon of code words and numbers developed to further identify membership in the subculture.

In reality, though, folks just liked to talk and to feel like a part of a community – especially one that had a kind of renegade populist sensibility – and to revel in the semi-anonymity their radios gave them. Some spouted their colorful (in their minds, anyway) philosophies, others talked about the mundane, and some, well, were just adding to the noise.

Not to stretch things too far, but I see a lot of similarities between blogs and CB radios. Growing popularity, community, clever aliases, a unique jargon (MSM, trackbacks, pings, trolls, memes and much more) – and, regardless of political philosophy, that delicious sense of rebellion. I never did get a CB radio, but now I’ve got a blog – and my own chance to add to the noise.

Roger that.

Top 11 Reasons Why Conservative Minnesotans Blog

  1. Plagues. Minnesota is plagued by mosquitos and liberals. While slapping a mosquito brings some satisfaction, slapping a liberal gets you sent to Anger Management. Therefore we blog.
  2. The need for an outlet. The StarTribune and Pioneer Press only publish one of our letters to the editor for every 8 or 10 from the left.
  3. Familiarity breeds contempt. No one knows better that socialism doesn’t work than someone who has experienced it up close.
  4. Perspective. Transplants such as myself know that Republicans in Minnesota sound like Democrats in at least 46 other states.
  5. A target-rich environment. If you can’t find an example of mushy thinking or stubborn wrong-headedness every day, your body may have assumed room temperature (if it has, don’t worry, you can still vote in Washington State).
  6. Size of Audience. Each year you can be fairly certain that at least 50% of Minnesota high school graduates are able to read.
  7. Frustration. “Conservative” leaders here are often as elusive as our walleye – and put up about as much fight.
  8. Hope. Hubert Humphrey ran the Communists out of the Democratic Party here once; maybe it can happen again.
  9. Wildlife management. We love the sound of a loon calling across the lake, but not from the editorial offices of the Strib.
  10. Because ice fishing isn’t as exciting as you might think.
  11. Because it’s not Nice.

A Challenging Word of the Week Bonus!

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With my pending semi-seclusion (see previous post), I’ll hope to tide you over linguistically with not just one, but two Challenging Words of the Week. I’m up to the “Ls” in my book (for those paying attention, there simply wasn’t much of note to choose from in the “Ks”), and here are two words that might liven up your political discourse:

Lamia
(LAY mee uh)noun

The lamiae, in classical mythology, were a race of monsters with female heads and breasts and the bodies of serpents, who enticed young people and little children in order to devour them. The story went that the original lamia was a Queen of Libya with whom Jupiter fell in love. Juno became furiously jealous and stole the children of the queen, who went mad and vowed vengeance on all children. Lamia became a term for any vampire or she-demon. The literal meaning of lamia in Greek is “female man-eater.” In medieval times, witches were sometimes called lamiae. The English poet John Keats (1795-1821) wrote a poem entitled Lamia a short time before his untimely death. In it, a bride, recognized as a lamia by the philosopher Apollonius of Tyana (born shortly before the birth of Christ), vanishes instantaneously. Keats based his theme on an incident related in The Anatomy of Melancholy of the English churchman and writer Robert Burton (1577-1640), who took it from The Life of Apollonius by the Greek philosopher Flavius Philostratus (born c. 170). The enticement or devouring of the young has long been a theme in legend, all the way from the Minotaur of Crete to the Pied Piper of Hamelin. There were no Missing Persons Bureaus in those days to trace the Hamelin kiddies.

My example: There appears to be no shortage of women in both the conservative and liberal ranks who arouse strong feelings amongst their opposition. The next time you want to lambaste a child-devouring she-devil don’t reach for the b-word like some ‘Kos-kid imitating their Greek; go with the Greek and call her a lamia.

Lapidate
(LAP ih date) verb

To lapidate is to stone to death, an old Biblical penalty first suggested by the Lord to Moses, as set forth in Leviticus, for various crimes including adultery, incest, homosexuality, and other such naughty practices, and latterly instituted by the Ayatollah Khomeini of Iran for similar offenses. Jesus was gentler: “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” (John 8:7.) Whatever one’s views may be on the question of capital punishment, lapidation (lap ih DAY shun) is beyond the pale; and never, never associate it with those honest gem cutters and stone engravers discussed under lapidary, even though it comes from the same source, lapid-, the stem of the Latin noun lapis (stone). Further, lapidate has nothing to do with dilapidate or its more familiar form, dilapidated, which comes from Latin dilapidatus, past participle of dilapidare (to demolish), based on the prefix di- (asunder; variant of dis– before certain consonants) plus the same old lapid-. From “dismantled, stone by stone,” dilapidated has come to mean “fallen into decay,” through neglect or abuse, and can apply to things having no connection with stones, from wooden houses to clothing in rags to moldy furniture and books, to say nothing of ravaged bodies.

My example:Despite the Old Testament and Ayatollah references above, lapidation today appears to be largely a Liberal activity. Or maybe it’s desired by both sides, but Liberals are just so much better at it, as anyone who has observed the lapses and subsequent, yet opposite, reprisals suffered by Lawrence Summers and Ward Churchill. The lesson: watch your step around the lamia in academia.

A travel update and blogging lowdown

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Does anyone know the Greek word for “Bite me”?

I’ve spent the last three days trying to schedule a Greek sidetrip to Crete or Santorini into our upcoming family vacation, only to see my carefully balanced (and thoroughly analyzed) plans sink like Atlantis when the airfares literally jumped more than 500 budget-busting dollars right before my eyes. (I love the internet!)

We are now less than two weeks away from invading Europe and I’m about five minutes away from losing my grip. By the time you do all the work around your home and on your job (including a two-day business trip to New Jersey) that is necessary in order for you to go away for three weeks … well, you really need a long vacation. Part of my stress is in working out a suitable itinerary that allows us to see the things we want to see without rushing all over the place, all while staying within the budget. While you might think the “see Europe on $300 a day plan” doesn’t sound like much of a challenge, you should try it with four people at today’s prices and British exchange rate (not to mention the hotel rate, the BritRail rate, the cost of petrol, etc.).

Plans have been slipping through my fingers about as quickly as the remaining moments before our trip. This weekend, though, I was resolved to tie everything up in a dream itinerary: purposeful, yet flexible; affordable yet high in value. It seemed workable; the segments were broken down,: so many days in London and vicinity, off to Greece for four days, divvy up the remainder between Ireland and Scotland, while trying to make it to Normandy for Memorial Day. Not a particularly Herculean task, but right now I’m feeling about like the stuff that was washed out of the Aegean Stables.

I know, no one feels sorry for me. The major part — getting over there and back — has been handled and even if we picked our destinations by throwing pub darts once we got there we’re sure to have a good time and see lots of interesting things. Plus, in all my on-line investigating I discovered EasyJet and low, low airfares in the UK and from there to western Europe. Right now the leading candidate to replace Santorini is a flight to Turin (about $30 per person each way), followed by a little drive down the Tuscan coast from Genoa to Pisa. Once back in England we can fly to Cork (about $20 each), or to Edinburgh (about $30). Of course, if I wanted to see the country from on high I’d simply buy a map, but it’s nice to know rapid, affordable transit is available.

The weekend wasn’t a total waste, then. We didn’t get any of the spring yard work done because of the rain, but put a small but noticeable dent in the housecleaning in preparation for our house-sitting friends. The Reverend Mother has been known to get down on her hands and knees to scrub baseboards when people are just coming for dinner; you might imagine what it’s doing to her to think of people living unsupervised in her house for three weeks. (Personally, I’m thinking of stashing some unmentionables behind the sofa pillows just for fun). Well, I’ll admit to being interested in having everything in ship-shape around here as well; there’s no way I want these people to know I’ve got copies of Sports Illustrated lying around that are older than those in the Dentist’s office.

SO, thanks to a job list that isn’t getting any shorter while the time remaining is, I’m going cut back on posting new things to this blog for the next couple of weeks. I’m really looking forward to blogging from the road (I’m taking my laptop and lining up accomodations with wi-fi), but until we get away I’m only going to post quick things that occur to me rather than sitting down purposefully to compose each evening.

That doesn’t mean, however, that there won’t be something different here every day or so. Borrowing a page from our radio friends, I’m going to queue up (hey, that’s a British word!) a retrospective “Best of the Night Writer” from the last 15 months that I’ve been doing this, especially some of my favorites from the early months when I was getting maybe 15 visitors a day. While it might be “old” stuff, it could very well be new to you, or, if not, I hope you won’t mind seeing these again.

And I will see you again, very soon.

Friday Fundamentals in Film: Boys’ night out #2

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The boys and their dads reconvened for the second movie, drawn by the smell of the large pan of fried chicken I’d set out and my promise that this week’s movie would have a higher body count than the first movie we watched, High Noon. As we ate, however, I went back to the first movie to once again highlight how Marshall Kane’s sense of duty and honor led him to go back and deal with the trouble that was coming because here were similar elements in this week’s movie, Zulu.

With that I started the movie and used the handy DVD “skip to the next scene” feature to jump from the end of the first scene, where a Zulu warrior picks up a rifle from the British column they’ve just wiped out, to the beginning of the third scene where a Zulu runner interrupts a village wedding dance to bring word of the victory to the Zulu chief. This strategic use of the remote control meant we could skip the bit with the topless, dancing Zulu women without losing much of the pre-battle exposition. (I don’t know how much of this movie the boys will remember, but if they only remember one thing I didn’t want it to be dancing girls.)

The group appeared to enjoy the movie, especially the fighting scenes where I heard a few “whoa’s” and “ahh’s” at different times when the action was particularly intense. I also heard a couple of giggles from one young man when he found some deaths kind of funny. I may ask his father to check his son’s bedroom for carcasses of wingless flies. Anyway, it was later in the evening when the film finished and some of the guys were clearly tired so we tried to step through the discussion questions quickly.

This week there a lot fewer silly comments or attempts to veer off into side topics. Part of it may have been because of the hour, but it was also because the guys were more involved in this story. I found, however, that I got better responses and discussion if I made a statement about, for example, the value of discipline and training, rather than asking a leading question as a way to get the young men to reach the answer themselves. A high point, though, was when I asked why Lt. Bromhead had said he wished at that moment that he wasn’t “an officer and a gentleman.” A couple of the boys grasped right away it was because he would have liked to have run away but knew that he couldn’t because of his family history and sense of duty. This discussion gave me the chance to tie this concept back to High Noon and this time I think I saw a couple of light bulbs go on over some heads.

It was also gratifying that as we finished up the guys were asking what movie we were going to see next and not what we were going to have for dinner!

Music in the news

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So much music news lately. For one, everyone’s talking about the new version of our national anthem translated into Spanish with a lot of new lyrics. I guess it was inevitable as illegal workers and non-workers flood in from countries too poor to offer their own jobs, security and national anthem would come here seeking all those things.

Actually, Mexico has a fine national anthem, borrowed from New Jersey: “Born to Run”.

Changing our anthem around to suit their purposes is just downright disrespectful, and these folks wouldn’t like it if others did the same to them. What will the response be when Iran decides to adopt “Living la Vida Loca” as its anthem?

Also, the media seems awed by the artistic daring and originality of Neil Young’s “Impeach the President” song (those that aren’t obsessed with the fate of The Pickler, that is). I guess somebody has to pay attention to these things and the MSM is just irrelevant enough to do the job on both counts while waiting for someone to leak real news to them. In the meantime, Leo has taken the cue from the national anthem changers and come up with new lyrics to Young’s “Old Man” song:

Neil Young, look at your life, you’re a moonbat has-been!
Neil Young, look at your life, you’re a moonbat has-been!

Neil Young look at your life,
64 and and there’s just no more
Livin’ in a drunken stupor
Mind all full o’ goo…
Livin on half a brain
blew your mind out on cocaine
All your lyrics are inane
And your voice is too…

Looking at Neil’s photo, however, I think there’s an opportunity to rework another of his standards. How about “Forehead in Ohio”?

A trip to the filling station

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There’s nothing like being a night owl and having to get up earlier than usual to go to a 7:00 a.m. dentist appointment. The only way it gets any better is if the appointment is to get a tooth filled. So you might expect I was positively giddy with anticipation when I pulled up outside my dentist’s office this morning at 6:58 to see a man about a cavity.

The fact that I was unfed and uncaffienated also boosted my mood. I had deferred my breakfast and my coffee out of courtesy to the professional staff since even the best coffee smells foul second-hand and even with a good tooth and tongue scrubbing before leaving the house I didn’t want to run the risk of having breakfast remnants hanging off of my pearly whites. You’d like to think dentists and hygienists aren’t easily grossed out, but when you’re going to be on your back underneath them with your mouth pulled wide open, why take a chance?

I know a lot of people have made jokes about how the dentist insists on talking to you when you’ve got your mouth full of stuff. My dentist isn’t like that, preferring to chit-chat with his assistant. This morning both were all a-twitter about the latest American Idol developments and the ousting of someone called “The Pickler.” I don’t follow this show except for what I see on Bogus Gold so I don’t have any attachments to the contestants. My dentist, however, is a big fan of Katherine and told his assistant that he plans to vote for her 100 times. My eyebrows may have been knit closely together at that point, perhaps giving the false impression I was interested in the topic. “Who do you like?” he asked.

Ok, when a guy has needles as long as your arm, high-powered pointy objects and knows where all your nerves are you want to be darn sure you don’t poke one of his nerves accidentally. “Urrr, KAFF-FRYN,” I managed to get out.

Now that everyone was comfortably numb it was time to move to the drilling part of the show. I know, again, everyone hates this part and has their own horror stories. I don’t mind it, really, because I try to look on the bright side of things. In this case, it is an excellent opportunity for me to working on shaping and toning my butt cheeks.

Things went very well, however, and I was back in my car ahead of schedule. Of course, my mouth and lips were numb enough to kiss Hillary Clinton but I knew that would pass. I was still numb on one side by the time I got to work and discovered there were muffins to be had. I was pretty hungry, so I took one and tried to carefully push pieces of it where they needed to go without spilling crumbs or slobber down my shirt. It’s amazing how much you can take such a simple and common function for granted until you have to really think about what you’re doing. I apparently didn’t think quite hard enough, however, because at one point the muffin seemed to be a little too tough and chewy and I realized I had inadvertently (of course it was inadvertent) snagged a piece of my lower lip into the mashing works.

Therefore it is time to cut back on the sweets and brush longer and harder to take better care of my teeth. Events like today’s help remind me that I need another cavity like I need, well, another hole in my head.