Why is it so hard for people to say that somebody who has just died is dead? It's good manners to refer to the recently deceased as being something other than dead. As a result, dead people go a lot of places : He went to his reward...He went to heaven...She went to a better place. Sometimes where they went is left up to the imagination of the listener : He's left us or she's gone.

Wherever dead people go, they move really fast because they do a lot of passing. She passed away...He passed on...or simply, he passed--sounds like something a gallstone does.

There are humorous ways to say somebody died : kicked the bucket or bit the dust. Kicking the bucket makes no sense at all to me, but bitting the dust is not a bad euphemism for dying.

I think that people don't want to say "dead" because dead sounds so final. People talk about life after death, but that is a big contradition. If there were life after death, the dead would only be sort of sleeping.

The newly deceased also rest, and cross over--A near death experience must be a double cross. After someone has been dead a long time, it's OK to refer to them as dead. Is there some statute of limitations that has to expire before one can acknowledge that a dead person may not be in a temporary state? That attitude is kind of disrepectful to the dead. It's like walking up to a black person or a white person in the United States and calling them "colored".

Being dead probably isn't all that bad, and if being dead is all that bad, what are you going to do? I say accept death and call the deceased dead.




 

My Blogs are getting depressing. Therefore, I must be depressed. I'm amazed at how well my Blog reflects how I feel. I've been on a downward spiral for weeks now because I'm worried about some kids are getting mistreated. It saddens me to see kids whose parents don't want them. I can't help it.

Its sad how sadness has wormed its way into my life. I try to maintain a nice, neat, and upbeat existence. I try to maintain my distance from people who don't do the same. These are not my kids, but their situation rides me. My recent Blogs have been tinged with anger.

I'm hoping that writing them is theraputic.
 

I hear that Dick and Dubya are mad at The New York Times because The New York Times is doing what its supposed to do : tell the truth. The Times has made public another top secret government snooping program. This time The Feds are spying on financial transactions between The US and overseas. I don't have enough money to engage in financial transactions with anybody overseas, but if I did, I wouldn't want my government spying on me.

All this snooping and spying is done under the mantra of national security. Why then,am I so insecure? Since 911, we are all soldiers in the war on terror. Most Americans seem to be fighting against something : terrorism and brown-skinned people with beards and turbans. I'm fighting for something : my way of life. I don't like Al Quaeda any more than the next guy, but I'm not willing to emasculate The Constitution to thwart them.

Maybe we're not talking The Constitution, but rather the ideals and principles on which my way of life was founded. Perhaps my way of life is on its way out anyway. Most people understand the concept of property rights, but they start hemming and hawing when you mention privacy rights. To me, not having to put up with peeping tom government is one of the principles on which our country is founded. I'm willing to sacrifice your family, and mine to safeguard that principle. On the other hand, I'm not willing to eat lead or send my son to eat lead at the behest of people who think that only the government is entitled to privacy.

I applaud The New York Times. Government should be transparent and if mistakes are made, I would prefer that the mistakes be made on the side of transparency. Soldiers are expendable. Liberty is not. If some terrorist gets through and I get blown up the next time I get on a plane to go visit my mother, I prefer that to living under Big Brother.
 

I work for a call center that provides technical support for computer software. My employer has decided to transfer some jobs to India. Like I care. People in India gotta eat too. (Actually, I'm not knowledgeable enough of Indian culture to be absolutely sure about that. Do people in India really GOTTA eat?) Well, I'm just going to assume that they do.

I couldn't care less about the jobs transfered to India, until today that is. I had to come to work on a Saturday, my day off, for cultural awareness training. Why do I have to culturally aware? I'm not going to be amoung the people calling India for tech support. Our customers are the ones who will have to talk to India. They'll need the cultural awareness.

I'm totally America-centric. I don't need to know anything about any other countries because I'm never leaving the good ol US of A, where I was born and raised. (I don't count Canada, Mexico, Carribean Islands, or England as other countries, and you can fuss all you want to.) With a few fruitcakey exceptions, everybody who leaves America always comes back. Right there, that tells me everything I need to know about the rest of the world.

It seems to me that the only time most of my fellow Americans and I show any interest in other cultures is when we're shooting them. At that point, we have no choice except to be interested in foreign cultures, because we have to figure out why people are so upset at us for coming into their countries and shooting the place up; but it's too late then. I think we should become more culturally aware before we start shooting, or simply not start shooting in the first place.

Become more knowledgeable of other cultures? C'mon, nobody wants that! How about we go with option 2: just don't start shooting without a damn good reason in the first place.

Of course, if you want to get all touchy-feelie with people of other cultures, go ahead. What's to stop you? I just don't think it's worth screwing up my weekend for.


 

Back in my Vietnam Era young days, mini skirts and hot pants were all the rage, and life was good for admirers of the female form. As far as I'm concerned hot pants and mini skirts represented western design at it's high point. Form (The female butt cheek) follows function (Giving me an eyeful of the female butt cheek).

Eventually hot pants fell from grace. Why I'll never know, but what followed were decades of wandering in wilderness, at least for the wandering eyes of young heterosexual males interested in studying western architechture. During those decades I, like Moses, got old. But unlike Moses, I have made it to the promised land. And the equivalent of milk and honey is not butts, but belly buttons!

There are millions of women walking aroung looking like Calvin of "Calvin and Hobbs". They wear these little t-shirt blouses that don't quite make it to the tops of their skirs or pants. It's like a rainbow blizzard of belly buttons and they're wonderful. Who Knew! I was thinking about ending it all, but now I want to live. I want to live!

I was pretty disappointed with this generation of young people, but they finally got something right. Now if they can just do something about that awful music.
 

Over at "Garlic, Feta Cheese, Olive Oil & Brinjel" , I read a good round of conversation on censorship. My comment got to be pretty long, so I just made it a separate entry in my Blog...

A society has the right to set some common standards and values. Otherwise, what is the point in having a society? The mores of a society need to be maintained. The real question is about what your values are.

If you value the free and unencumbered exchange of ideas and you are willing to accept the social turmoil that invariably comes with the free and unencumbered exchange of ideas, then censorship is an abomination. Period.

If you value "the old ways" and want to preserve them above all else; or if you have an agenda to promote, such as getting taxpayers to ante up for more government spending on programs of dubious value, then censorship is not only acceptable, it is necessary. In the USA, lots of people say they don't like censorship because we're supposed to be all about freedom, but they really want censorship. Hence support for an amendment to The Constitution to ban burning the flag.

I support some censorship and in the areas where I support it, I think we need a lot more. Unfortunately, it is very difficult.

I think, for example, that there is too much ridiculous sex and violence on TV. I have nothing against explicit sex and violence, just gratuitous sex and violence. Same thing with profanity. Bleeping out the F word doesn't change the fact that everybody knows that the character just said "fuck", so why bother. If "fuck" is appropriate, it should be left in. If it is not appropriate, it should never have gotten past the CENSOR in the first place. And therein lies the problem. Who gets to define appropriate? We have to accept some definition of appropriate, or we can't call ourselves a country.

For me, the amount of discomfort, in the interactions that take place within a social unit, that one can tolerate before something becomes inappropriate is what in truth defines the difference between a Liberal and a Conservative. A liberal being willing to let a lot more pass than a conservative. In the privacy of my home, I am a staunch conservative. When it comes to public affairs, I am an unapolegetic liberal. That's why I have no problem with allowing flag burning and at the same time, I despise the parents of poorly disciplined and mannerless children. I see no conflict there.

Unless we're anarchists, we all want to censor, we just don't want to be censored. Whether in the home or the public arena, whoever is in power gets to define what is appropriate. The winners get to censor and gloat. The rest of us just have to say "Fuck!"--under our breaths of course--and wait our turn.
 

Every once in a while, just for giggles, I do something silly. Like last night : I attempted to watch a TV channel other than PBS. In my defense, I must say that I was just killing time while waiting for my sweetie to join me so that we could watch a movie together. Anyhow, some dorky-looking guy was interviewing Brit Knee Spears. I've never heard a Brittany Spears song, but I do know her as the bovine brained bimbo of "We should all just do what the President says" fame.

I don't know what kind of interview this was. I came in as Ms. Spears was finishing up the answer to a question. Then the screen cut to a music video of what must have been her evil twin, Tit'ney Spears, oiling a chair and the floor around it with her cleavage. I think she was also singing, but I couldn't swear to it.

The expression "dumber than a box of rocks" came to mind. I was thinking in reference to myself for being caught dead watching that garbage. Has TV truly come to this? (Well, there's a dumb question right there. It obviously has, because I saw it.) The remote control immediately ended my visual and aural agony, but I am still mentally disturbed. (Did that come out right?)

It bothers me that this is what millions of my fellow Americans want to see. An Asian friend of mine once described Americans as "dumber than a box of rocks". I'm not sure if he was referring to us collectively, which would make each of us dumber than a grain of sand, or individually, which when I think about it, is probably just about as bad. All I know is that I rose to our defense at the time, but if he uses what we're viewing on TV to support his argument, then I can only hang my head in shame.

Maybe we really are dumber than a box of rocks. That would explain why we discriminate against boxes of rocks. Can a box of rocks get a drivers license? Can a box of rocks get a social security number? Can a box of rocks rent an apartment? We don't treat anybody else like that except illegal Mexican immigrants. Are we afraid of them because they make us feel intellectually and culturally inferior? What would happen if we let illegal Mexican immigrants and boxes of rocks achieve their true potential in our country?

I can honestly say that I would have been more interested in an interview with a box of rocks than I was in an interview with Britt'ney. And why shouldn't a box of rocks become president if it wants to? Could it do any worse than the one we've got now?
 

Today is a sad day in ES land. I don't have many sad days, so I should probably enjoy it.

A few months ago, I was riding my trusty and faithful bicycle, a well worn, black Schwinn World that I call Ol Paint, when a car hit me from behind. I've spent most of the interim fixing me, but a couple of weeks ago, I took Ol Paint to the best bike shop in town and told them whatever it takes. Today they told me that Ol Paint's back is broken. You can fix almost anything on a bike except the frame. Even when the frame is straightened, it weakens the metal, especially in these old bikes. Once the metal is stressed, it may fail. Ol Paint would never want to fail.

I'm surprised at how sad I am about the loss of this THING. Normally, I have very little loyalty to my possessions. They have no feelings , so what sense does it make to have feelings for them. They merely serve a purpose. Somehow a bicycle is different. A bicycle is something you sweat on and perhaps into. I think about all the times I fought the elements on Ol Paint and seems like we were fighting them together.

I've already got a new bike, an expensive and trendy mountain bike set up for street riding. The new bike is easier on my ass than Ol Paint ever was, and it still sucks. I'm going to look for another 30 year old Schwinn street bike, preferably an old World or Continental. I'm going to pretend that it's the son of Ol Paint and that Ol Paint's spirit lives on.
 

Today, I went to dinner at a four star restaurant. I knew the place was fancy because the wait staff was fully dressed. By fully dressed, I mean they were wearing decent clothing and decent shoes. Sometimes you go into a restaurant and the staff is wearing clean uniforms only to bottom out in the grodiest shoes. The first thought that goes through my mind is that I wouldn't want the hands that pulled those shoes on handling my food.

This restaurant was so fancy that you couldn't see the kichen. When I can't see the kitchen, I always suspect that instead of cooking, they're sending runners to KFC or McDonald's or Arby's or somewhere like that. That's why, for a main course, I always order food that you can't get in a fast food restaurant, such as lamb or duck.

Today it was the duck--with vegetables of course. Or to be more specific, breast of duck. I was a little leery of ordering breast of duck; because I was hungry, and ducks are small animals. But when I thought about it, it occurred to me that duck is the Dolly Parton of feathered food. When you see them bobbing around in the water, they look like they're almost all breast. And at the prices I was paying, I figured the restaurant had to be buying some really full-figured ducks.

My meal came and it was only a few slices of breast meat, not even the whole breast. I was expecting Dolly Parton and I got Twiggy. I didn't dare say anything, because the waiter had that smug, ritzy-restaurant smirk as if to say, "You should kiss my butt for condescending to throw even these few scraps at you."

I decided to look upon the meal as a snack. I would stop at the first fast food place on the way home and order filler. And so I took my first bite. Twiggy was delicious! I was consumed with making that little meal last as long as possible and savoring every bite. Savoring every bite meant chewing instead of the old chomp and swallow. After I chewed and swallowed, I joined in conversation with the other members of the dinner party. I didn't talk while I was chewing, because with food that good, you don't want to open your mouth and let the air get to it.

I wasn't the only one enjoying their meal. Everyone found their tiny portion delicious. To stretch them out, we ate slowly and engaged in pleasant conversation rather than just cramming the next forkful into our mouths. The whole restaurant was like that. Instead of medieval battles sounds : the clang of metal against metal or the clank of metal aginst porcelain, the was only the murmur of subdued conversation.

The meal lasted longer than meals in restaurants where they brag about the giant portions they serve. Perhaps dining out should be about quality, not quantity. The smaller the portions, the more the chef can pay attention to detail. I arose from my dinner full, but not stuffed and very pleased with myself for choosing that establishment. There are times when size matters.


 

I don't know if we will ever win the War on Terror, but everyday I become more afraid that we're losing. I think the War on Terror is winnable, but what if I'm a casualty in the War on Ignorance? Maybe we already won or lost and I just don't know it.

World War I was the War to End All Wars - a war on war. I guess we all know who won that one. Judging from our willingness to start them, far too many of us are at peace with war.

We seem to be declaring wars that we can't win. President Clinton declared a War on Hate. I hate hate as much as the next guy, but I don't see how one wages war on it. If you say you hate hate, hate wins. If you say you love hate, hate wins.

We wage war on a lot of things that kill us : cancer, heart disease, AIDS, etc... I suggest that we just declare a War on Death. If we all kill ourselves, there will be no more death. We win easy! We expect people to give their lives in war anyway and... Uh, how's that war on ignorance going?