Movies , Books, Photos, Quotes, and Stories

10 Things about Me.

2009-08-19T06:15:00.001-05:00

10 Things about Me.
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 & Mr. Johnson

The National Zoo

2009-08-04T11:50:00.001-05:00

Roosevelt Island - The Memorial

2009-07-28T13:07:00.001-05:00

Roosevelt Island - The Memorial

2009-07-28T13:06:00.002-05:00

2009-07-27T09:37:00.001-05:00

2009-07-25T13:38:00.001-05:00

Blue Tin Man's Hand

2009-07-24T08:28:00.001-05:00

Baltimore's Inner Harbor

2009-07-22T07:23:00.001-05:00

Lily

2009-07-20T07:03:00.002-05:00

This photo was taken of Lily at the Otakon 2009 Baltimore Conference. What made me time so wonderful, besides all the people running around in costumes, was the fact that I didnt even know something like this was going on.

Marathon Motor Works

2009-07-14T18:35:00.001-05:00

Marathon Motor Works
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 & Mr. Johnson

Harborside Park - Old Town Alexandria

2009-07-13T14:28:00.001-05:00

Harborside Park - Old Town Alexandria
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 & Mr. Johnson

Crazy Bastard

2009-07-08T21:54:00.001-05:00

Crazy Bastard
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 & Mr. Johnson

The guy in the photo is my wife's uncle. The kids - none of has a clue.

No children were harmed during the shooting of this photo.

She'll be Coming Around the Mountain When She Comes...

2009-06-25T18:50:00.001-05:00

She'll be Coming Around the Mountain When She Comes...
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 (AKA Mr. Johnson)

This photo was taken on the train tracks with our Urban exploration buddies last Friday night. This shot was a fifteen second exposure and I was able to capture the train before it reared it's head around the corner. I think it has an "Invasion from Mars" feeling to it.

Hell House Stairs

2009-06-25T08:36:00.001-05:00

Hell House Stairs
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 (AKA Mr. Johnson)

Urban Exploration in Maryland

The Fam

2009-06-22T08:46:00.001-05:00

The Fam
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 (AKA Mr. Johnson)

Sacrilegious in the Name of Art

2009-06-18T06:01:00.003-05:00

Sacrilegious in the Name of Art
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 (AKA Mr. Johnson)

Walking around to the back side of the Marathon Motor Works, following the train tracks, past the stench of something dead, Fallingwater123 pointed out a collection of books. A dozen tomes hung, tied up and gently swinging under the eve of the building still awaiting renovation. It is a creepy site just because it is just so conspicuous. There is no indication of where the books came from, there is no reason to hang them under an eve, and apparently, they have been there for more than a few weeks. It's an odd site.

The artist’s knots seem built to last. None of them have fallen; however, one or two of them have begun to shed some pages. It’s a shame. I felt as if the scene was a drawn out version of a book burning event.

Gretchen's Grind - Working at Getting you Up and Keeping you Up.

2009-06-18T06:01:00.001-05:00

Gretchen's Grind - Working at Getting you Up and Keeping you Up.
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 (AKA Mr. Johnson)

I looked for "Gretchen's Grind" on Google and the closest hit I came up with was a blog dedicated to the memory of Kacie New. Her parents created the blog to share their memory of her. I left the site after two minutes because it was so hard to read. The entries and photos hit too close for comfort; feeling so sad like this at work is the last thing I thought I would feel like today. It makes me think of how my father dealt with the death of his children. It makes me think about my 2-year-old daughter and the thought of ever losing her brings me too close to the edge.

This was meant to be an informative blurb about a quaint coffee house in Ellicott City, where the clever owners have used the name to connote duel meaning - sexy strippers and coffee, but all I can think about is Kacie's blog.

kacieinourdreams.blogspot.com/2008/12/12112008.html

The Lincoln Memorial - A Wonder of the World in my Back Yard

2009-06-16T21:24:00.003-05:00

The Lincoln Memorial - A Wonder of the World in my Back Yard
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 (AKA Mr. Johnson)

I have been to the Lincoln Memorial several times, but not since I bought my SLR. Going back and looking at the monument again and seeing the photos I was able to take away, I need to visit more often, preferably when all the tourists are in their hotels, sleeping with sunburn and bug bites. What an awesome feeling to be there in that monument. I bet this is what others feel like in iconic cities across the world. I am referring to those cities that have some of the world's greatest wonders in their backyard. I have yet to visit Rome or Italy where so many photos and paintings have carried away these images for others to experience, but I also have DC here to share the different photos. I feel blessed to be able to experience these sights. How many of us live around here and have never gone to some the places DC has to offer? How many years have passed since they have been back?

Heaven and Hell in the District of Columbia

2009-06-16T21:24:00.001-05:00

Heaven and Hell in the District of Columbia
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 (AKA Mr. Johnson)

Kasia and I went out the other night into DC to capture the color of light. Our primary site was a construction site right off of Constitution. Our Photography instructor, Aya, told us that there are some amazing shots to be had at these locations due to the high powered flood lights they use to continue working. Since Monday was the last night for posting, we made an impromptu excursion.

As the sun dipped over the horizon, we walked to our site from her parking space on the side of Constitution. Two blocks in, we passed a Buddhist Monk on the sidewalk. “I just need to stop,” Kasia squeaked. I obliged. Kasia set up her tripod from a respectable distance and I watched her work. This is where the magic began to happen.

I watched Kasia, half illuminated by a nearby street lamp, I turned my head to see another monk glide past me, his orange robes flowing from the shadows. He didn’t speak or nod, but walked on. After seeing him, I knew we were going to be here a while and since I didn’t have a snickers to munch on, I also broke out my tripod.

I watched the monk pass Kasia and make his way down the sidewalk towards his brother. I watched everyone as they passed us. Even if they didn’t speak or look at me, they all still made sounds…except for these monks, and the next one that passed and the next one. They came out of nowhere gradually and stood there by the side of the street. The convergence may have took 10 minutes while Kasia and I snapped photos of the mystics to capture them in the night lights.

I would like to say that we had a calm equanimity about our work, but it was completely the exact opposite. We were being eaten alive by every fucking bug within a two mile radius of Washington DC. I slapped at my legs, my arms and head. I flailed around in the dark like I was having a seizure and in between grunts of satisfaction and cries of frustration, I froze long enough to hit the shutter on my camera and tripod. I felt as if I were in hell looking up into heaven.

For every mosquito I killed with my meaty paws, 30 others got their fill of my plasma and platelets. Those dirty buggers almost made me pass out from their feasting and gluttony. In fact, I still feel a bit woozy two days later and I have the welts to prove it.

I continue to itch as I remember the irritation and frustration I felt in the dark watching these peaceful ambassadors. Not once did I see them move suddenly to swat at a biting insect. I watched them as they stood there. I heard nothing when I watched them. Except for the whining sound of an incoming bloodsucker, the rest of the night sounds faded. I don’t remember hearing the buses, the horns, or the meandering tourists with children in tow.

I think the other night is the closest I am going to come to experience an amalgam of heaven and hell, at least until the music stops for me. Only in the Nation’s Capital can we find such chaos and inspiration to do great things.

One more Marker

2009-06-16T12:17:00.001-05:00

One more Marker
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 (AKA Mr. Johnson)

By the time, I took this shot, Don and I were on our third hour in the cemetery. The light caught my eye and I thought this would make a nice photo of the tree roots and that one marker near the tree.

Many times throughout the time in the cemetery, a movie (made for television -- I cannot remember the name) I saw years ago came to mind. It was about a haunted house where a new family moved in. It is the same typical haunted house story everyone tends to remember. The house was built on a cemetery with unmarked graves and the bodies were never removed from the property before the builder came in for construction. The story's supposedly true, the family is tormented by spirits, weird things happen and cannot be explained, etc. Only one aspect was different in the story that always stuck with me - the perspective that the souls of the dead inherited the lives of foliage and trees because their bodies provided sustanance as the tree's roots grew into the dead. The movie suggested that these souls now watch us and are able to live as part of the tree. This thought never left me the whole time. Interesting thought though.

True or not. So I wonder if this tree was watching me. I wonder if they retain their names afterward. "Hi, I am Bobby Lee, the Rosebush."

Flickr Friend - Fallingwater123

2009-06-16T07:43:00.003-05:00

Flickr Friend - Fallingwater123
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 (AKA Mr. Johnson)

Fallingwater123 - A true Southern Gentleman, knowledgable among the dead, and great company.

I met Don over Flickr about a month after I joined the website. Don does wonders in a cemetery and he truly brings those buried there back to life through the photos he takes of their tombs and grave markers. During a visit to Nashville this past weekend, I had the pleasure of meeting Don in the dark before sunrise, in an area I have never been, and let alone, in a Cemetery (parking lot)! He greeted me with a shovel, pick, and crow bar, wait no, it was cold bottle of water for the drive. Nevermind.

Along the way, Don set the tone with one of the creepest scores I have ever heard. Dark, heavy organ music played (Franz Listz) as we ascended into the graveyard; like I said on his posting of Mount Olivet, it is a moment I will not forget.

This particular photo was taken at the Marathon Motor Works in Nashville and each place that he took me turned out to be a true treasure.

Don, it was a pleasure meeting you and I look forward to our next photoshoot. Remember, lunch is on me next time -- guest or no guest. Thank you very much for sharing your time, city sites, and knowledge with me.

For those of you that are interested in his work, please check him out at:
www.flickr.com/photos/fallingwater123/. You will not regret it.

Love me for my Flaws

2009-06-16T07:43:00.001-05:00

Love me for my Flaws
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 (AKA Mr. Johnson)

This glass was found on the window ledge of the abandoned admin building on the premises of Mount Olivet.

As Fallingwater123 and I left the building to go around the other side, I heard her whisper, "take my photo. Love me for my flaws." So I did and here she is.

Flickr Friend - Katarzyna Swierczek

2009-06-16T07:42:00.001-05:00

Flickr Friend - Katarzyna Swierczek
Originally uploaded by JLK1979 (AKA Mr. Johnson)

Kasia and I have become fast friends through friends and neighbors, but most notably, through photography and Flickr. Though this website provides ample subject matter for our discussions, we talk about everything under the sun. She is my Photography companion during the early morning weekends when we seek out another abandoned site or interesting photo opportunity.

To me, Kasia, as a good friend and photo buddy, she comprises a plethora of knowledge on so many topics. She is driven, creative, and a sense of humor that always makes me smile when I see her. My Polish friend has the ability to use vulgarity just enough to make you smile and laugh.

She possesses an evil eye that, in times of duress, may threaten to burst and squirt eyeball fluid all over. She calls it allergies; I call her “allergies” an event that has the ability to make me do the exorcist vomit exercise if anything threatens to land on me. I have photos to prove her eye can get huge and ominous.

Already, in the short span of a few months, we have gone on over a dozen excursions, had our blood sucked by packs of ticks the size of dinner plates, and we were almost arrested by a “pretend cop.” (Go figure.) Together, we have logged hundreds of miles on the roads and many hours behind the lens of a camera.

She is a Canon girl and I am a Nikon guy. This is my Flickr Friend, Kasia.

You can view her work here: www.flickr.com/photos/kswierczek/

Waiting for the Family

2009-06-04T06:33:00.001-05:00

Waiting for the Family
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

Elmwood Historic Cemetery

Henryton - Abandoned

2009-06-03T08:28:00.001-05:00

Henryton
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

The House that Jack Built and thousands destroyed.

Keep out or I'll cut you to Pieces

2009-06-02T12:44:00.001-05:00

Keep out or I'll cut you to Pieces
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

Detroit.

Mother Mary Duplicate

2009-05-27T19:57:00.001-05:00

Mother Mary Duplicate
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

Baltimore's Inner Harbor

2009-05-27T05:45:00.001-05:00

Baltimore's Inner Harbor
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

My daughter at the Baltimore Aquarium.

Clyde

2009-05-26T19:59:00.001-05:00

Clyde
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

Clyde, the perfect portrait of a pissed off horse I knew while in Caisson.

Mr. Johnson, Clyde's friend

2009-05-25T06:47:00.001-05:00

Mr. Johnson, Clyde's friend
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

He's out.

Are you okay? I am trained in First Aid. Do you need help?

2009-05-22T05:35:00.001-05:00

Are you okay? I am trained in First Aid. Do you need help?
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

Kasia and I are in the same photography class at NVCC. Though it looks like she has fallen in the corner of my shot, she is really just working her magic.

Reedsburg Dam

2009-05-19T13:00:00.001-05:00

Reedsburg Dam
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

The Floodwaters.

Lamp Posts and Sun Dials

2009-05-18T07:35:00.001-05:00

Lamp Posts and Sun Dials
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

Old Town Alexandria, Virginia

Candlelight Vigil for Fallen Police Officers

2009-05-14T05:46:00.001-05:00

Candlelight Vigil
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

Henryton Sanatorium

2009-05-07T21:17:00.001-05:00

Henryton Sanatorium
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

This was taken in the spring during an urban exploration trip to Maryland.

Star

2009-05-06T16:45:00.001-05:00

Star
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

This is a capture taken from Pentagon City Mall.

Where's the Coffee?

2009-05-06T16:42:00.002-05:00

Where's the Coffee?
Originally uploaded by JLK1979

This photo was taken last week at Forrest Hills Mental Asylum. It was the second time I have been to this place and the halls take on a different feeling when you go alone.

2009-05-05T19:44:00.000-05:00

http://linuxinside.org/flickr/)" />

Spit and Polish - Essay

2009-04-14T12:37:00.003-05:00

Robert Hendrickson defines the origin and definition of the phrase spit and polish as:
"Military in origin, this term goes back to Victorian times, probably to the middle of the 19th century, although it isn’t recorded before 1895. Meticulous cleaning and smartness of appearance were demanded of sailors in the British navy, which became known as the ‘Spit and Polish Navy.’ Enlisted men liked it then no more than they do now and spit and polish- the application of one’s spittle as a polishing agent and much elbow grease to make an object shine – came to be a pejorative term for finicky, wasteful work in general."

I can’t argue with anything the man says until he addresses the thoughts of enlisted men. While Hendrickson’s statement may be true of many veterans, regardless of time, for me polish and shine became one of my favorite obligations to fulfill.

The time I spent conducting "wasteful work" showed me exactly how subjective the word "Perfect" truly is. The dictionary describes perfect as "a state of undiminished or highest excellence; without defect; flawless." "Perfection," represents a very broad, subjective scope, and often remains the goal against which we define standards. The purpose of the act determines the range of what passes for perfect. Pride exists in the effort of one’s work. Ask the question for any professional: What needs to be perfect in your work? Why? Ask a teacher that question. A student. A firefighter. A surgeon. A soldier. A politician? What does perfect mean to them? How important are their efforts? At what point does their standard reach its pinnacle? As a soldier, the worth in my work became apparent in my abilities to shine brass and leather.

My first lesson in shining leather was a primitive experience. That January evening, the night our drill sergeant began chucking boots, I had been in basic training for a week. Sand Hill, Ft. Benning Georgia, the weather was a heat wave compared to the wet, freezing air of Detroit. We came from all over the country to learn how to kill and how to survive. Disappointment and despair quickly became routine with every new task – each one not even remotely related to the art of war. That night we had a 10-minute block of instruction: How to shine boots.

We bought polishing kits earlier in the day as we slinked through the PX under the malevolent eyes of the drill sergeants hovering at the edge of our peripheral vision. Each kit contained two small cans of Kiwi black shoe polish, a brush applicator, a piece of cloth, and a boot brush. The kit came in a soft plastic pouch, black on the back and clear plastic front. The shoe kit was a novelty, but as the days wore on, I grew to hate the smell, the mess it made, and even the thought of shining.
Our boots were two days old, but they looked as if they had experienced years of abuse. Each toe and heel was scraped and raw from push-ups and Hello Dollies. Drill Sergeant called it exercise; we called it pain. "You jokers keep it up," Drill Sergeant would announce as he walked through our ranks as we grunted in effort. "I can play this game a lot longer than you all. Keep it up. Please." Fortunately, the leather in our boots held up much better than our bodies. That evening, Drill Sergeant used a boot from Private Hale as an example of the proper way to shine a boot.

Drill Sergeant’s instruction and delivery is concise, his words breaking the silence in the evening air. "Cover your boot with polish," Drill Sergeant instructed our platoon. "Use the applicator in your kit." We watched him as he worked, his eyes hidden shadows under the bill of his brown round. "Make sure the polish fills the divots. It will cure the damage in the fibers. The oil will keep em in good condition." His brush strokes seemed minimal in effort. We watched as he slightly repositioned the boot in his hands as he worked. His words never faltered, he never hesitated with his movements. We were quickly learning that he never made mistakes, though his ability to find them amongst our newly formed platoon was already uncanny. He looked down at us with steely glances as he continued to work his magic.

"Keep your boots in good shape. If you don’t give them proper maintenance, they won’t protect your feet. If your feet are not protected, they will not allow you to move effectively. It will behoove you all to make sure your shoes are polished and well kept at all times of the day. If I see you are not doing so… I can fix that for you."

He presents the boot to us. In a minute’s worth of effort, the entire boot is gleaming. The finish reflects the miniature versions of the fluorescent rods above our heads. It was amazing. "Ya’ll have an hour to shine your boots to this standard. I will be back down to inspect your progress at that time. If your boots don’t look like this," displaying the boot, "you won’t enter my barracks until they do."

He holds out the boot to Private Hale. Private Hale reaches for his gleaming boot, but just before the prize makes it into Private Hale’s eager hands, Drill Sergeant tosses it out into the darkness. We hear the thud as it strikes the rocks and gravel.

"Get to Work." Drill Sergeant walks off into the barracks. The disheartened private scampers out to salvage what is left of the polish on the boot.

The first 15 minutes started out with a lot of chatter and good humor. This was going to be an easy night, we all thought to ourselves. Drill Sergeant was going to leave us alone for the entire hour. A few jokes here, a moment’s pause between brush strokes to laugh and comment; we passed the next 15 minutes taking our time.

While the remaining minutes sped away, our comments gave way to anxious inquiries and short commentary on how Drill Sergeant made the shine. Before long, we gathered around the boot Drill Sergeant had touched. Even Private Hale was frustrated. When comparing his boot to the example, his success was just as good as the rest of ours – nonexistent. The illusion of an easy night quickly deteriorated. Instead of the symbolic black mirror polish, one would expect on a military combat boot, our boots remained dull and perpetually dusty even with all the effort we put forth.

The hour came and went. We spent next two hours standing in line for inspection. One after another, Drill Sergeant dashed the hope in our boots passing inspection. Hope of sleep and rest vanished every time our boots sailed over his shoulder and into the rocks and darkness. Drill Sergeant kept silent except for his occasional and caustic reminders, "Ya’ll are on your own time now," he would say between tosses. He made no comments about the quality of our boots. It was enough to hear the sound of the boots smacking the mud and rocks. Standing next in line, I kept thinking, please God, let this be good enough. I handed over my boots for the third time. I search his face for the slightest sign of approval. Nothing. No indication of approval. I think I see something. I did, I know I did. Yess, I am going to pass. He throws my boot.

Shit.

Throughout basic training, we had countless hours to refine our techniques on polishing boots, which always took place during our "own time," - roughly one hour a night. During that time, we would conduct uniform and boot maintenance for the next day and throw in a prayer that our efforts succeed. As we got better, it allowed us time to write letters with black knuckles and sore fingers, leaving our pages stained with black boot kiwi.

My life after basic training took place at Ft. Myer, Virginia – home to the Old Guard. The public knows the unit for the soldiers serving at the "Tomb of the Unknown Soldier" in Arlington National Cemetery. In my new family, leadership again labeled my spit shining efforts inadequate. For starters, every solider reporting to The Old Guard, officer and enlisted, must go through an additional three weeks of training, Regimental Orientation Program or ROP.

ROP ensures drill and ceremony movements are crisp and precise, including perfect uniforms and appearance. We worked with the same boots and uniform in basic training, but again, new challenges pushed my development and growth towards greater degrees of precision and refinement. Twice daily, the instructors would measure the progress of our class by measuring our buttons and brass with a ruler. If my boots resembled my best efforts in basic training, they were pathetic for The Old Guard. Negative reinforcement can be a powerful tool for motivation. Like the drill sergeants, our ROP instructors were also aware of this. Instead of rigorous exercise as punishment, standing at the position of attention for long periods became the routine.

In attempts to save me some grief and hours of time, my new squad started instructing me on the nuances of conducting boot and uniform maintenance at Ft. Myer outside of ROP. I spent the evenings watching and mimicking my roommate when he shined his own boots. I began to learn new techniques and tips that would help with day-to-day uniform activities. Over the months of constant shining, my mediocre efforts slowly improved. I tried new methods and discovered new degrees of gleam in my leather and brass. I tried new methods and developed my own style and routine.

Six months later, I volunteered for duty at the Caisson platoon. Caisson soldiers are known as the hardest workers in the regiment for their excessive hours and farm-like chores involved with keep a stable in good shape. Every soldier works more than 80 hours a week. Duties include our uniform and additional time and care for horses and related equipment. The caisson platoon is responsible for participation in all funerals for officers and the most senior enlisted soldiers being buried in Arlington Cemetery for all branches of the military. My responsibilities went beyond just my two pairs of military boots.

Once accepted into the Caisson platoon, the Supply Sergeant issued me two additional sets of riding boots that required even more time to polish due to the acres of surface area. Our riding boots suffered even more abuse than I could ever recall during basic training and these boots extended to just below the knee, instead of lower mid-calf. The brunt of our efforts in polish focused the tack each horse had to wear in order to pull the caisson, or "the wagon" to civilians.

My first job as a caisson soldier was to start shining the leather and the brass components that attached the horses to the caisson. The remaining tack for our horses consisted of seven individual sets. Every set contained a saddle, bridle, and a croupier. A seasoned rider could polish his set of tack within a four-hour timeframe; a beginner, maybe six hours. A beginner with an antagonistic Sergeant – two weeks.
Monday thru Friday, we had funerals in Arlington Cemetery. If we had a funeral at 9:00 a.m., we were at the barn and well into the morning at 4 a.m.

Most days ended at 6:00 p.m. The day’s last task before fighting the traffic home was to clean the tack for scrote. Cleaning scrote was always the worst part of the job. The constant irritation appeared as a white, filmy, residue covering the interior straps of leather. As the horses meander throughout the cemetery and set in the elements, their sweat and dead skin produce this unsavory residue throughout the day. If it rained that day, it wasn’t the scrote we had to clean; it was the hair we had to remove from the sticky leather. Cleaning is never an easy job, nor is it ever fun. My first year of Caisson consisted of polishing, and cleaning, then polishing and more cleaning, re-cleaning, getting yelled at, and more cleaning. Then we polished. Through hard work and endurance, I was promoted to the most coveted position the Caisson platoon offered – the Cap Walker.

My final job was to walk the riderless horse during high-ranking military funerals. The riderless horse, also known as the Caparisoned Horse, or "Cap horse" for short, is dressed with all the required tack for riding a horse. An Officer’s saber adorns the horse, along with riding boots positioned backwards into the accompanying stirrups. The riderless horse and backward boots symbolizes the fallen soldier looking back on his troops one last time. The horse is presented for officers ranked as Colonels or above for the Marine Corps and Army, two branches with a mounted cavalry units in their past. The riderless horse also represents presidents and other distinguished civilian, at their funerals. During my time, no civilian was issued the order for a riderless horse.

Starting out as a Cap Walker is daunting and qualifying is harder. Being a walker demands even more time beyond the typical 80-hour workweek. The Chain-of-Command offers the Cap Walker position to soldiers proven to have higher than average standards. However, the appointment to such a position removes all room for error. Peers and superiors alike scrutinize every move a walker makes.

My pride in the recognition of being a Cap Walker soon gave way to the realization of exactly how demanding my job would become. Maintaining the special artifacts for the Cap Horse would extend my nights far beyond a sixteen-hour day. During a funeral, awkward movements from the horse, or even leaves and twigs falling from trees in the cemetery, would damage mirror-like gleam on the tack. The level of care and polish that goes into the tack seems almost ludicrous to those outside of the unit. During my walks in the funeral, I would keep a mental tally of any movement or incident that would make my evening longer when repairing damages. Sometimes rain or too much sun would be enough to keep me long through the night.

Days with more than one mission or extreme weather conditions made my nights seem twice as long as any workday. Sometimes, it wasn’t worth going home to bed. Those nights, I stayed in the barn and slept on the couch upstairs for a few hours before reporting for formation the next morning.

No matter the damage, the only acceptable end state for the tack is always a mirror made of black leather, wax, and oil. No exceptions. You’re on your own time now, I would hear my drill sergeant’s voice echoing in my mind. Just the radio, a bare bulb overhead, and me in a red room the size of a closet, I would stand there, my thoughts wandering as I hunched over polishing.

Spending hour after hour with a small can of shoe polish and a pile of cotton balls, what started as a chore soon made shining my obsession. If he only knew where I would end up, smiling to myself, I thought of what my drill sergeant would say to me if he saw me now. By the time I finished, a stroke from a boot brush like that from basic training would have done more damage to the saddle than what I could fix in an hour.

For every Cap mission, the rule-of-thumb called for a minimum of eight hours of work– four hours of prep time and four for maintenance. Shining brass and polishing leather consumes ¾ of every hour. Beyond that rule-of-thumb, the guidelines stop and new standards of perfection emerge. I had to teach myself what was acceptable and what was not.

As my experience grew, so did my ability to repair the mirror-like reflection. My skill became surgical in nature. Learning when to use more water rather than polish, whether to use the silk or continue my strokes with the cotton balls always came into play. Guidelines gave way to an art form. Too much attention in one area and not enough in another ruined the whole finish. Eighty percent of all I know about spit and polish I learned through trial and error.

To represent that soldier who had served his country, a man or woman who often times; served through more than one war – how much of my effort and time earns the right to represent that soldier on their last trip? Though I knew my skill in shining was admirable among the soldiers I worked with, there were times that I could see the failure in my work when they couldn’t. I was never admonished for my preparation or performance, but I quickly learned the bite of guilt and remorse when I presented less than my personal best. Those times, I wished it were just my boot being thrown back into the mud.

When I hear "Enlisted men liked it then no more than they do now," I shake my head and disagree. It isn’t wasteful work. Beyond the skill of polishing leather, the act in itself opened my eyes to other tasks I would perform in the future. Be it a skill for work, a hobby, a pastime, the time, the effort, and the care that you put forth does more than develop that skill. It influences your character. Almost as if in tandem, skill and character seem to march in step, sometimes with the help of direction and pain. In my case, it started with a plastic pouch of brushes and polish and ended with cold fingers and lost hours of sleep. What needs to be perfect in your work? Why?

2009-03-20T19:45:00.001-05:00

Dividing Wealth

2009-03-20T19:04:00.000-05:00

"You cannot legislate the poor into freedom by legislating the wealthy out of freedom. What one person receives without working for, another person must work for without receiving. The government cannot give to anybody anything that the government does not first take from somebody else. When half of the people get the idea that they do not have to work because the other half is going to take care of them, and when the other half gets the idea that it does no good to work because somebody else is going to get what they work for, that my dear friend, is about the end of any nation.. You cannot multiply wealth by dividing it."

~~~~~ Dr. Adrian Rogers, 1931 - 2005

Globe Trading Co. - Racks

2009-02-23T20:55:00.003-05:00

On the literary merit of a book…

2008-12-03T16:09:00.000-05:00

One sign that a book has literary value is that it can be read in a number of different ways. Vice versa, the proof that pornography has no literary value is that, if one attempts to read it in any other way than as a sexual stimulus, to read it, say, as a psychological case-history of the author’s sexual fantasies, one is bored to tears.

Though a work of literature can be read in a number of different ways, this number is finite and can be arranged in a hierarchical order; some readings are obviously “truer” than others, some doubtful, some obviously false, and some , like reading a novel backwards, absurd. That is why, for a desert island, one would choose a good dictionary than the greatest literary masterpiece imaginable, for, in relation to its readers, a dictionary is absolutely passive and may legitimately be read in an infinite number of ways.

Reading – An Essay by W.H. Auden

Section Quotes from Christopher Moore's "Practical Demonkeeping"

2008-11-23T15:26:00.002-05:00

Like one that on that lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And no more turns his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

All mystical experience is coincidence;
and vice versa, of course.

Tom Stoppard, Jumpers

Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth.
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep.

John Milton

Listening - David Mura

2008-11-13T20:50:00.000-05:00

Listening – David mura

And from that village, steaming with mist, riddled with rain,
from the fisherman in the bay hauling up nets of silver flecks;
from the droning of the Buddhist priest in the morning,

incense thickening his voice, a bit other-worldly, almost sickly;
from the oysters ripped from the sea bottom by half-naked women,
their skin darker than the bark in the woods, their lungs

as endless as some cave where a demon dwells
(soon their harvest will be split open by a blade, moist
meaty flesh, drenched in the smell of sea bracken, the tidal winds);

from the torrii[1] halfway up the mountain
and the steps to the temple where the gong shimmers
with echoes of bright metallic sound;

from the waterfall streaming, hovering in the eye, and in illusion, rising;
from the cedars that have nothing to do with time;
from the small mud-cramped streets of rice shops and fish mongers;

from the pebbles on the riverbed, the aquamarine stream
floating pine-trunks, felled upstream
by men with hachimaki2 tied round their forehead

and grunts of o-sha3 I remember from my father in childhood;
from this mythical land of the empty sign and a thousand-thousand
manners,
on the tip of this peninsula, far from Kyoto, the Shogun’s palace,

in a house of shoji4 and clean cut pine, crawling onto a straw futon,
one of my ancestors lay his head as I do now on a woman’s belly
and felt an imperceptible bump like the bow of a boat hitting a swell

and wondered how anything could cause such rocking unbroken
joy.

[1] Gate of a Shinto shrine.
2 Headband.
3 Ruler or monarch.
4 Paper screen.

Haroun and the Sea of Stories

2008-11-13T20:49:00.000-05:00

…the Water Genie told Haroun about the Ocean of the Streams of Story, and even though he was full of a sense of hopelessness and failure the magic of the Ocean began to have an effect on Haroun. He looked into the water and saw that it was made up of a thousand thousand thousand and one different currents, each one different currents, each one a different color, weaving in and out of one another like a liquid tapestry of breathtaking complexity: and [the Water Genie] explained that these were the Streams of Story, that each colored strand represented and contained a single tale. Different parts of the Ocean contained different sorts of stories, and as all the stories that had ever been told and many that were still in the process of being invented could be found here, the Ocean of the Streams of Story was in fact the biggest library in the universe. And because the stories were held here in fluid form, they retained the ability to change, to become new versions of themselves, to join up with other stories and so become yet other stories…

Salman Rushdie, Haroun and the Sea of Stories (London, 1990), 71-72.

Blood Meridian, Cormac McCarthy, p. 146

2008-10-09T14:53:00.000-05:00

“What is true of one man, said the judge, is true of many. The people who once lived here are called the Anasazi. The old ones. They quit these parts, routed by drought or disease or by wandering bands of marauders, quit these parts ages since and of them there is no memory. They are rumors and ghosts in this land and they are much revered. The tools, the art, the building- these things stand in judgment on the latter races. Yet there is nothing for them to grapple with. The old ones are gone like phantoms and the savages wander these canyons to the sound of ancient laughter. In their crude huts they crouch in darkness and listen to the fear seeping out of the rock. All progressions from a higher to a lower order are marked by ruins and mystery and a residue of nameless rage. So. Here are the dead fathers. Their spirit is entombed in the stone. It lies upon the land with the same weight and the same ubiquity. For whoever makes a shelter of reeds and hides has joined his spirit to the common destiny of creatures and he will subside back into the primal mud with scarcely a cry. But who builds in stone seeks to alter the structure of the universe and so it was with these masons however primitive their works may seem to us.”

Exotic Cuisines from a Living Room Rug

2008-08-16T20:01:00.000-05:00

Children possess an uncanny ability to find the most disgusting things in the course of their development. What is even worst, a child will use their mouth to perform most of their examination of what they find. The other night, my wife and I had the television on, watching a movie we enjoy as well as watching our soon-to-one year old playing on the living room rug at our feet. At this time in our daughter’s life, it is hard to do anything else now that she is mobile and determined to touch and fondle every artifact likely to break. Even when I wave a plastic hanger in her face to deter her, she laughs at me and looks at me as if to say, “Oh that thing? Sheeiit. You are going to have to do better than that, dad. I already got that scar and the bloody tee shirt. ”
I stand reluctantly in the middle of the living room as a guard against anything she should not have. The television distracts me; her sounds and movements battle for my attention. Every five minutes we take turns to chase after her, refill her sippy cup, or change her dirty diaper. “What happened?” is always the first question from us once we return.
Harmless baby toys are strewn about the floor. She crawls and rolls around the brightly colored blocks, battery-operated toy cell phone, and various stuffed animals like a ninja avoiding a lethal training course. She pauses for a short moment and my subconscious speaks out, good, she isn’t moving and making noise, watch the TV, something good is going to happen any second. Out of my peripheral vision, I think I see Cori find an insect carcass. I cannot tear my eyes away from the plasma, mounted above the fireplace. The guy on TV has just found the wedding ring encased in a dog turd.
Our daughter sits up from her crawl and performs a victory wave with the desiccated corpse secured between her thumb and forefinger. She holds it high above her head just before she pops it into her mouth and begins to chew. Is she chewing on a bug? I think to myself as she looks up at me and begins to chew with a slobbery grin. I look at Sara. She is also watching Cori and instantly snatches her up off the rug, using her finger to fish for whatever is in her mouth. When she realizes it is a bug her daughter was chewing like bubble gum, the only emotion overcoming the heat of her anger, directed at me, is her revulsion of the slimy bug still sticking to her finger.
“Ah… Gross! An earwig.” She glares up at me as Cori slips back down from her lap and back onto the rug for more.
“I thought it was a piece of fuzz,” is my singular defense.
“Just get rid of it,” she growls.
“Okay, no problem.”
I skitter off happy to oblige her demand, thinking random thoughts about Cori’s momentary success. Well, that was fucking gross. I wonder if Cori has an aftertaste. At least she wouldn’t choke on it. Sara didn’t wash her finger. I flick the dead bug, which now looks like a wet coco rice crispy into the toilet and flush, eager to wash my hands.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He ate it.”
“Oh.” I stand there in the room, blocking Cori’s path into the hallway as I watch the lady on T.V. “Gross.”

Bald and Bug-eyed

2008-01-09T13:26:00.000-05:00

Bald and Bug-Eyed

During our ten week training course, giving hair cuts to the horses was a skill we had to practice. As instructed in our training class, for each horse we had to clip its whiskers, mane, ear hair, and hooves. Our training NCO chose me to be the first to start clipping.

“You’re first. Go and get Bud from his stall and bring him over. We are going to clip the horses in this barn,” he said. “Everyone will have 30 minutes to clip their horses from head to toe. You all have seen it done earlier this week so there should be no problems. “

“Ok. No problem,” I replied and trotted off to the other barn, delighted it was Bud and not Reggie.

Bud was the oldest horse in the barn. At almost 25 years old, his skin looked like it was ready to slide off his boney frame. His skinny face made his eyes look fat and bulging. I always secretly thought that Bud’s face would resemble what a cantankerous alien would look like in a hairy brown suit.

While I went through the motions of preparing Bud for his walk over to the other barn, I started thinking about what the instructor said. Thirty minutes sounds like a pretty long time to clip a horse. Maybe he really meant “head to toe”. The damn horse is nothing but hair, a bit of skin and bones. I need to ask him again to be sure.

I tied Bud to a post in the second barn and collected the clipping kit.

“I just want to make sure, but you want me to cut everything,” I asked.

“Head to toe. Everything. You have 25 minutes now. Suggest you get going,” he responded.

“Okay,” I said.

That answer solved it and I trotted off trying to save time getting back to the horse. I was getting nervous. My time was ticking and I had the whole horse to clip. I started on Bud’s flank. I knew not to go too close to the skin, but it was hard to make measured strokes with the clippers. Bud would dance back and forth in the barn. His shoes would echo throughout the barn with every evading step he made.

The situation was getting stressful. I had sweat dripping down my face even though the interior of the barn was shaded. The industrial sized fans creating a breeze in the barn didn’t help lower the temperature outside. Clumps of Bud’s hair started to jam the clippers, which were already slightly dull. When the clippers pulled, the old horse would start maneuvering once again. What I thought to be an easy task, turned out to be a dancing nightmare. “Stay still,” I would grunt, jerking the harness attached to his head.

By the time the NCO came to see my progress, I couldn’t control much of anything with the horse. We were both exhausted. I stood there and turned off the clippers as he approached us. We stood there surrounded by a halo of Bud’s hair. Almost one whole rib cage was exposed and nearly hairless in some patches. It looked as if I took turns cutting his hair with shaving razor in some areas and a spoon in others. Not only did Bud look like a starved alien with bug eyes, he also looked retarded now.

Thirty minutes my ass. There is no way anyone can trim a whole horse up in thirty minutes, I thought to myself. I wasn’t too worried about missing my time. It would be like telling someone to make the whole day while only breathing once in a while.

“What the fuck are you doing,” cried the NCO. “What is all this. You were only supposed to trim the horse. I can’t believe this.”

“He kept moving I had no way to keep him steady. I tried some of the clipper guards, but they didn’t help,” I said.

The NCOs mouth was held ajar as he ran a hand over the area I cut. He turned to me and said, “Didn’t you watch what we cut the other day. Did you see that we only cut the hooves, mane, and the face? Where have you seen anyone cut the coat,” he asked.

I was starting to get a little frustrated. “Hey, I came back and even asked you what I had to cut in thirty minute. You told me twice, ‘head to toe’. I would have asked again for the third time, but I don’t think your answer would have changed”. By this time, Adams and Cooley had walked out of the classroom to see what was going on. They stood back, not saying much of anything, but they didn’t need to. They couldn’t contain their look of astonishment. Fuck ups like these only came around once in a while. Even though we were all still pretty green to the ways Caisson worked, they, me included at this point, knew this was bad.

“Hold on a second,” said the NCO. “I need to get someone.”

The training NCO was actually a specialist and didn’t truly have any authority outside of the three of us. He wasn’t too young, but we could all tell he got off on his authority for all of us to always address him as “Specialist”. In this case, he needed backup. What I had done needed a stronger assessment of exactly how bad I screwed up.

As soon as our training specialist left the barn, Cooley immediately rushed to my side, giving me a lopsided grin. “Kubicki, what did you do?”

Getting even more agitated by the second, all I could choke out was, “the bastard said head to toe about ten times. Both of you heard me in there ask him.”

Cooley empathized with me, where the two of us were cool with each other, Adams, was the outcast in our class. “Wow,” was all he could muster through his grin while he petted the horse I just finished abusing. I think his smile came more from the relief that it wasn’t him who screwed the horse up. He was already on the wire for being late for formation.

We didn’t say much as we watched one of the squad leaders make his way through the exercise lot with the training specialist in tow. It was one of those moments, where you know it can’t get much worse. I didn’t think I was going to get kicked out of the class, but I didn’t want to get my ass chewed either.

SSG Hildebrandt came into the barn looking for the damage I created. He slapped Bud on the his flank to get the horse to expose his other side. “Holy shit,” he laughed. “You did this,” he said. While he looked at me with a slight grin of disbelief.

“Yes Sergeant,” I replied. My anxiety began to subside.

“Good thing the specialist didn’t give you anymore time than thirty minutes,” he said.
The specialist hung back in the wings while SSG Hildebrandt counseled me on only what we trimmed on the horse. “Never cut anything else again. Do you hear me Kubicki,” he asked with a smile.

“Yes Sergeant,” I responded.

Word got around the barn quicker than a fire in a saw mill. Guys were making jokes even before the day was out. Soldiers who had been in the cemetery all day doing missions had known about my screw up even before they made it back to the barn. They were eager to check out Bud’s new haircut as soon as they cared of their horses. It was about four months before anyone could even ride Bud after his haircut. Any saddle would have caused a gall on his shaved side. It worked out well for the poor bastard in the end. I always thought he was too old to be ridden anyway.

Third-Grade Accusations

2008-01-05T08:51:00.000-05:00

One of the many vignettes I have created - some stand on their own, however, most don't. If you are looking for storyline and plot, you'll likely click away disappointed. Commentary, on the other hand, you might like it.

Third Grade Accusations

When I was in third-grade, I had my first experience with that particular humiliation that only seems to come from encounters with the opposite sex. We had a new girl from Wisconsin join our class. My friend Steve and I had an instant crush on her from the first day. We would share our daydreams of rescuing Jessica from whatever disaster our capricious minds could drum up while we walked home from school together.

Weeks later, as luck had it, when our teacher Mrs. Alanson made the seating roster, she sat Jessica directly behind me. I looked back at Steve with a smile, knowing that fortune and true love had fallen into my lap by a seating assignment. “Mrs. Alanson must know that Jessica likes me, else she wouldn’t sit her right next to me in class,” I taunted Steve on the way home.

“Whatever,” he would respond in a truculent fashion. My enthusiasm for the subject never wavered, even with his fierce attempts to change the subject. I never expected he had plans to retaliate.

Days later, I came down with chicken pox and missed a week of school. Any time when an ill classmate was going to be out for more a few days, Mrs. Alanson,- who looked very much like Ralphie’s teacher from the movie A Christmas Story- would have us all draw get-well cards for the lucky brat missing class. I still remember the cards my classmates drew for me.

Of the thirty cards delivered to me in a paper grocery bag, I tossed all but two aside. One was from my buddy Steve and the other was from Jessica- these were the only ones that mattered. Jessica’s card had a drawing of an eagle with a get-well message. In his card, Steve sent me news that Jessica said she missed me and liked me. I was ecstatic. For the first time, I couldn’t wait to go back to school. She’s going to be my girlfriend was all I could think about while I sat at home, my body crusty with pink Calamine lotion.

I was about to find out that Jessica wasn’t quite the angel I initially thought. The day I returned from school, I approached Jessica about her comments about missing me while I was gone. “Ha ha, Steve was playing with you. I never said that,” she snickered.

“Oh,” was all I could muster before I slinked away, red from embarrassment.

Later that afternoon, our class was making trees decked with autumn leaves made of construction paper. We collected our materials and went to work. I put a large, black hole in the center of the tree, imagining a squirrel nesting there. I was proud of my idea. I even drew the squirrel into the tree branches above. No one else thought about something like that.

When I turned around to show Jessica my idea, she gave me an evil look. Instantly, as if waiting for me, she sneered, “You copied off me.”

“No, I didn’t,” I retorted, shocked by her accusation.

My jaw dropped, and before I could muster anything else to say, the words, “I’m telling Teacher” echoed in my ears, sounding slurred and surreal. She bolted to the back of the class, where the teacher sat. I watched from my desk with a pale face, mortified at the little wretch’s exaggerated gestures and counted the severe glances my teacher sent in my direction. I was about to piss my pants. My world was over. In seconds, the girl of my dreams became a vicious and vindictive snake.

Jessica skipped back to her seat with a satisfied smirk on her face. The teacher stalked to the front of the class and demanded our attention.

“Children. I want to make sure you all understand that these art projects are to be your own ideas.” Mrs. Alanson was addressing the whole class, however, her eyes never left me. “There is someone who has been cheating. Let’s all do our own work from now on.” I sat there in shock while her intimidating eyes kept me silent. The class knew that Mrs. Alanson had just branded me with the scarlet letter. I was red with injustice. I could still hear the glee Jessica’s voice as she leaned forward and whispered, “ha ha” into my ear.

The Pentagon's New Map - Thomas Barnett

2007-03-01T19:44:00.000-05:00

P.22-23
I obsess instead about “rules,” or all the procedures, laws, treaties, rules of thumb, and conventional wisdom that seem to guide the actions of individuals, corporations, governments, and the international community at large. I focus on rules because wherever I find them in healthy abundance (read quality, not quantity), I know the U.S. Military’s role in enforcing them will be small, because once you have rules, you typically have rule enforcers built into the system (e.g., our very robust and distributed U.S. law enforcement network of federal, state, and local police). Likewise, wherever rules are clear because most players in that system agree they’re good, there’s not as much enforcement required, because most participants simply decide on their own that playing by the rules is the best course of action. But where you don’t find generally agreed-upon rules, or where rules are out of whack or misaligned across social sectors, then you’re talking about the future of instability, the potential for misperceptions leading to conflicts, and the clash of competing rule sets.

P.26
Simply put, when we see countries moving toward the acceptance of globalization’s economic rule sets, we should expect to see commensurate acceptance of an emerging global security rule set- in effect, agreement on why, and under what conditions, war makes sense.

P.29
…for I’m a huge believer in the free flow of mass media, ideas, capital, goods, technology, and people. Rather, we didn’t construct sufficient political and security rule sets to keep pace with all this growing connectivity. In some ways, we got lazy, counted a little too much on the market to sort it all out, and then woke up shocked and amazed on 9/11 to find ourselves apparently invited to a global war.

P.43
“It is an enduring conflict between those who want to see disconnected societies like Saddam’s Iraq join the global community defined by globalization’s Functioning Core and others societies from being – in their minds- assimilated into a “sacrilegious global economic empire” lorded over by the United States.”

Barnett, Thomas P.M. 2004. The Pentagon’s New Map: War and Peace in the Twenty-First Century. Berkley Books: New York.

On Creativity

2007-03-01T19:20:00.000-05:00

One man’s creative leap can be the same for another, so long as the next man was unaware of the last man’s actions. As Nozick put it:

“It is trite to say that everything is like everything else in some respects, perhaps highly artificial ones, and different in others. Whether we call something new and different will depend in part on what pigeonholes of classification we actually have. Does it fall into the same category as previously known things or require a new category of its own?”

On Terrorists

2007-03-01T19:18:00.000-05:00

“We have seen their kind before. They are the heirs of all the murderous ideologies of the 20th century. By sacrificing human life to serve their radical visions—be abandoning every value except the will to power—they follow in the path of fascism, and Nazism, and Totalitarianism. And they will follow that path all the way, to where it ends: in history’s unmarked grave of discarded lies.”

-George W. Bush

9.20.2001 Address to a Joint Session of Congress and the American People

Three Minute Management Course

2007-02-10T08:54:00.000-05:00

Lesson 1:
A man is getting into the shower just as his wife is finishing up her shower, when the doorbell rings. The wife quickly wraps herself in a towel and runs downstairs. When she opens the door, there stands Bob, the next-door neighbor.
Before she says a word, Bob says, "I'll give you $800 to drop that towel." After thinking for a moment, the woman drops her towel and stands naked in front of Bob. After a few seconds, Bob hands her $800 and leaves.
The woman wraps back up in the towel and goes back upstairs. When shegets to the bathroom, her husband asks, "Who was that?"
"It was Bob the next door neighbor," she replies.
"Great!" the husband says, "did he say anything about the $800 he owes me?"
Moral of the story : If you share critical information pertaining to credit and risk with your shareholders in time, you may be in a position to preventavoidable exposure.

Lesson 2:
A priest offered a Nun a lift. She got in and crossed her legs, forcing hergown to reveal a leg. The priest nearly had an accident. After controlling the car, he stealthily slid his hand up her leg. The nun said, "Father, remember Psalm 129?"
The priest removed his hand. But, changing gears, he let his hand slide up her leg again. The nun once again said, "Father, remember Psalm 129?" The priest apologized "Sorry sister but the flesh is weak." Arriving at the convent, the nun sighed heavily and went on her way .
On his arrival at the church, the priest rushed to look up Psalm 129. It said, "Go forth and seek, further up, you will find glory."
Moral of the story: If you are not well informed in your job, you might miss a great opportunity.

Lesson 3:
A sales rep, an administration clerk, and the manager are walking to lunch when they find an antique oil lamp. They rub it and a Genie comes out. The Genie says, "I'll give each of you just one wish."
"Me first! Me first!" says the admin clerk. "I want to be in the Bahamas , driving a speedboat, without a care in the world." Puff! She's gone.
"Me next! Me next!" says the sales rep. "I want to be in Hawaii , relaxing on the beach with my personal masseuse, an endless supply of Pina Coladas and the love of my life." Puff! He's gone.
"OK, you're up," the Genie says to the manager. The manager says, "I want those two back in the office after lunch."
Moral of the story: Always let your boss have the first say.

Lesson 4:
An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing. A small rabbit sawthe eagle and asked him, "Can I also sit like you and do nothing?" The eagle answered: "Sure, why not." So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.
Moral of the story: To be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up.

Lesson 5:
A turkey was chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree," sighed the turkey, "but I haven't got the energy."
"Well, why don't you nibble on some of my droppings?" replied the bull. "They're packed with nutrients."
The turkey pecked at a lump of dung, and found it actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree. The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch. Finally after a fourth night, the turkey was proudly perched at the top of the tree. He was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot him out of the tree."
Moral of the story: Bull shit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.

Lesson 6:
A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground into a large field. While he was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on him. As the frozen bird lay there in the pile of cow dung, he began to realize how warm he was. The dung was actually thawing him out! He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate Followingthe sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and ate him.
Moral of the story:
(1) Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.
(2) Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.
(3) When you're warm & happy in deep shit, it's best to keep your mouth shut!

How to Live on 24 Hours a Day - Arnold Bennett Quotes

2007-02-07T17:32:00.000-05:00

“The chances are that you have already come to believe that happiness in unattainable. But men have attained it. And they have attained it by realizing that happiness does not spring from the procuring of physical or mental pleasure, but from the development of reason and the adjustment of conduct to principles.”

“My contention is that the full use of those seven-and-a-half hours will quicken the whole life of the week, add zest to it, and increase the interest which you feel in even themost banal occupations. You practise physical exercises for a mere ten minutes morning and evening, and yet you are not astonished when your physical health and strength are beneficially affected every hour of the day, and your whole physical outlook changed. Why should you be astonished that an average of over an hour a day given to the mind should permanently and completely enliven the whole activity of the mind?”

“Art is a great thing. But it is not the greatest. The most important of all perceptions is the continual perception of cause and effect--in other words, the perception of the continuous development of the universe--in still other words, the perception of the course of evolution.
When one has thoroughly got imbued into one's head the leading truth that nothing happens without a cause, one grows not only large-minded, but large-hearted.”

“I suggest no particular work as a start. The attempt would be futile in the space of my command. But I have two general suggestions of a certain importance. The first is to define the direction and scope of your efforts. Choose a limited period, or a limited subject, or a single author. Say to yourself: "I will know something about the French Revolution, or the rise of railways, or the works of John Keats." And during a given period, to be settled beforehand, confine yourself to your choice. There is much pleasure to be derived from being a specialist.”

“Unless you give at least forty-five minutes to careful, fatiguing reflection (it is an awful bore at first) upon what you are reading, your ninety minutes of a night are chiefly wasted. This means that your pace will be slow.”

Endurance

2007-02-07T17:21:00.000-05:00

Viii
The timing of this later voyage could not have been worse. The world was plunged into war at midnight on August 8, 1914, the same day the Endurance sailed from Plymouth.

P. 13
Fortitudine vincimus – “By endurance we conquer”

P. 17
*Though Shackleton bought the Endurance for $67,000, the Framnaes shipyard today (1959) would not undertake to build a similar vessel for less than $700,000 – and the cost might well run to $ 1 million, they estimate.

P. 51
Late in the evening, the men on deck saw a band of about ten emperor penguins; they waddled slowly up toward the ship, then stopped a short distance away. Emperors, singly or in pairs, were a common sight, but nobody had ever seen so large a group before. The penguins stood for a moment watching the tortured ship, then raised their heads and uttered a series of weird, mournful, dirgelike cries. It was all the more eerie because none of the men – not even the Antarctic veterans among them – had ever before heard penguins voice anything except the most elemental, croaking sorts of noises.
The sailors stopped what they were doing, and old Ton McLeod turned to Macklin. “Do you hear that?” he asked. “We’ll none of us get back to our homes again.”

P. 55
May the Lord help you to do your duty and guide you through all the dangers by land and sea.
May you see the works of the Lord and all His wonders in the deep.

P. 56
Nevertheless, there was a remarkable absence of discouragement. All the men were in a dazed state of fatigue, and nobody paused to reflect on the terrible consequences of losing their ship. Nor were they upset by the fact that they were now camped on a piece of ice perhaps six feet thick. It was a haven compared with the nightmare of labor and uncertainty of the last days on the Endurance. It was quite enough to be alive – and they were merely doing what they had to do to stay that way.
There was even a trace of mild exhilaration in their attitude. At least they had a clear-cut task ahead of them. The nine months of indecision, of speculation about what might happen, of aimless drifting with the pack over. Now they simply had to get themselves out, however appallingly difficult that might be.

P. 57
After he had spoken, he reached under his parka and took out a gold cigarette case and several gold sovereigns and threw them into the snow at his feet.
Then he opened the Bible Queen Alexandra had given them and ripped out the flyleaf and the page containing the Twenty-third Psalm. He also tore out the page from the book of Job with this verse on it:

Out of whose womb came the ice?
And the hoary frost of Heaven, who hath gendered it?
The waters are hid as with a stone.
And the face of the deep is frozen.

And he laid the Bible in the snow and walked away.
It was a dramatic gesture, but that was the way Shackleton wanted it. From studying the outcome of past expeditions, he believed that those who burdened themselves with equipment to meet every contingency had fared much worse than those who had sacrificed total preparedness for speed.

P. 64
Though he was virtually fearless in the physical sense, he suffered an almost pathological dread of losing control of the situation. In part, this attitude grew out of a consuming sense of responsibility. He felt he had gotten them into their situation, and it was his responsibility to get them out. As a consequence, he was intensely watchful for potential trouble-makers who might nibble away at the unity of the group. Shackleton felt that if dissention arose, the party as a whole might not put forth that added ounce of energy which could mean, at a time of crisis, the difference between survival and defeat. Thus, he was prepared to go to almost any length to keep the party close-knit and under his control.

P. 65
Hudson was just as had always been, simple and a little irritating. His attempts at humor were often more foolish than funny because he lacked perception. He was a young dandy, a little impressed with his own good looks but really not too sure of himself. As a result of this fundamental insecurity, he was quite self-centered and a poor listener. He could be counted on to interrupt any conversation to inject something about himself—even though what he said bore no relation to the subject being discussed. And his self-centeredness made it difficult for him to tell when his leg was being pulled, as was the case in the practical joke from which he got his nickname, Buddha. Strangely, he seemed to enjoy a joke on himself—at least it gave him the chance to occupy center stage. Shackleton was not fond at all of Hudson, but he preferred putting up with him to inflicting him on others.

P.104
A sense of mounting desperation began to infect them. James wrote on the following day: “Something decisive must occur soon, and whatever it may be will be preferable to continued inactivity. This is our fifth month since our shipwreck. When we left, we were going to be ashore in a month! ‘Man proposes—‘ * applies here with a vengeance.”

* For some reason, James omitted the last portion of the quotation: “Man proposes, God disposes.”

P.106
There were some intrepid attempts to make jokes about cannibalism. “Greenstreet and I,” wrote Worsley, “amuse ourselves at Marston’s expense. Marston is the plumpest man in the camp, and we become very solicitous about his welfare and condition, making a great show of generosity by offering him old penguin bones that we have gnawed till there is nothing left. We implore him not to get too thin and even go as far as to select chops, etc., off him and quarrel about who shall have the tenderest part. Finally, he gets so disgusted with us that whenever he sees us approaching he turns and walks away.”

P.118
Throughout the night, the hoarse croaking of the penguins, punctuated by the explosive sound of schools of whales blowing, created almost a din. When dawn finally came, the weather was clear and bright, with a moderate westerly wind blowing. Once again the men could see Clarence Island, and to the left of it, very faintly, the chain of peaks on Elephant Island. Worsley counted ten of them.

P. 123
The James Caird was in the lead with Shackleton at the tiller. So far as the ice permitted he set a course for the northwest. Next came Worsley steering the Dudley Docker, then Hudson in the Stancomb Wills. The sound of their voices chanting, “stroke…stroke…stroke…”mingled with the cries of the birds overhead and the surge of the swell through the pack. With each stroke, the oarsman fell more into the rhythm of their task.

P. 150
“Blackboro,” he shouted in the darkness.
“Here, sir,” Blackboro replied.
“We shall be on Elephant Island tomorrow,” Shackleton yelled. “no one has ever landed there before, and you will be the first ashore.”
Blackboro did not answer.

P. 200
Then, too, there were the reindeer hairs. They moulted from the insides of the sleeping bags, and at first they had been only a petty annoyance. But no matter how much hair was shed, the supply seemed inexhaustible. And they were everywhere—the sides of the boat, the seats, the ballast. They clung set in clumps to faces and hands. The men breathed them as they slept and occasionally woke up choking on them. The hairs ran down in the bottom and clogged the pump, and little clusters of them were turning up more and more frequently in the food.

Part of the Afterword:

On the earth, nations will be in anguish and perplexity at the roaring and tossing of the sea. Men will faint from terror, apprehensive of what is coming on the world, for the heavenly bodies will be shaken. At that time they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. When these things begin to take place, stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near. Luke 21:25-28, NIV

Lansing, Alfred. 1959. Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage. First Tyndale House edition (1999). United States.

Quotes from a Wise man - Jack Handey

2007-02-07T16:51:00.000-05:00

If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is "God is crying." and if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is "probably because of something you did".

If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason.

To me, clowns aren't funny. In fact, they're kinda scary. I've wondered where this started, and I think it goes back to the time I went to the circus and a clown killed my dad.

As I bit into the nectarine, it had a crisp, juiciness about it that was very pleasurable -- until I realized it wasn't a nectarine at all, but a HUMAN HEAD!!

If you're in a war, instead of throwing a hand grenade at the enemy, throw one of those small pumpkins. Maybe it'll make everyone think how stupid war is, and while they are thinking, you can throw a real grenade at them.

It's true that every time you hear a bell, an angel gets its wings. But what they don't tell you is that every time you hear a mouse trap snap, an Angel gets set on fire.

Contrary to popular belief, the most dangerous animal in the world is not the lion or the tiger or even the elephant. The most dangerous animal is a shark riding on an elephant, just trampling and eating everything they see.

Quotes from Robert Nozick's - The Examined Life

2007-02-07T16:45:00.000-05:00

A Portrait vs. a Photograph

Why is it that no photograph of a person has a depth a painted portrait can have? The two embody different quantities of time. A photograph is a “snapshot,” whether or not it was posed; it shows one particular moment of time and what the person looked like right then, what his surface showed. During the extended hours a painting is sat for, though, its subject shows a range of traits, emotions, and thoughts, all revealed in differing lights. P.13

Focus

Still, when all other things are equal, the more concentrated thought goes into making something, the more it is shaped, enriched, and laden with significance. So too with living a life. P.14

The Purpose of Behaving Ethically

The philosophical tradition since Plato has sought to ground ethics by showing that our own well-being is served or enhanced by behaving ethically. P.16

What is our Purpose?

Does the desire somehow to survive physical death stem from the desire to have a larger purpose than we can find for ourselves on earth, another task we are to perform in another realm? We might think we each have the task here of making a soul for ourselves – souls might not be things we are born with – a task made more difficult by not knowing exactly what that soul is for. Perhaps it is more than our own individual souls we are to make, more even than a mosaic of souls together. P.25

Nozick, Robert. The Examined Life: Philosophical Meditations. 1989. First Simon & Schuster Paperbacks: United States.

My Mission Statement

2007-02-07T15:51:00.000-05:00

My mission is to improve and enhance the abilities, relationships, welfare, and well-being of myself and others around me, while providing service to my country and those in need.

What Makes a Leader

2007-02-07T15:50:00.000-05:00

From the article, “What Makes a Leader?”, Daniel Goleman reveals particular qualities associated with what he calls “self-regulation” (Goleman, 1998.). Qualities such as: trustworthiness and integrity, comfort with ambiguity, and openness to change” (Goleman, 1998), all stem from having a system or set of standards to rely upon. Having the confidence in making decisions come almost naturally once the results are established. The faith in this system allows one to exhibit behavior associated with leaders without having to think about them. Of the last two qualities mentioned above, both have the common anxiety many feel with change and ambiguity; it is the fear of the unknown. In each case, this new situation can lead to the thought that one may not be able to handle and overcome the obstacle. By keeping one’s set of principles at heart offers a stable platform and handrail to follow and assist: thus, the confidence in a new situation next time is present from the knowledge that the same method will work again.

Write a personal Mission Statement

2007-02-07T15:49:00.000-05:00

Write a mission statement for yourself. Typically, businesses use a mission statement to determine what their goals are as a business entity. A good mission statement receives input from company employees that comprise the organization. Try doing one for yourself; seriously try to articulate a defined goal for what you want to do with your life. It is a bit more intensive than what you would initially think. I had to do one for one of my graduate courses and it was worth the effort. Compare it to your actions after you have defined your statement and see if it still rings true. It’s a way to get a better look at who you are. I have learned a few things from the one I created a few years back.

Terrorist Hunter

2007-02-07T15:39:00.000-05:00

I was introduced to this book through a seminar I attended a few years ago. I have only just recently gotten around to reading it. It deals with a woman telling her story of being an Iraqi born Jew living in the United States. She discovers a huge discrepancy in a number of Islamic non-profit and religious pamphlets. Each pamphlet asking for donations are written in English and Arabic, but there are significant differences in the messages being said between each language. True information about the organization’s affiliation and purpose are omitted in the English version, but is clearly expressed in the Arabic side. From living in the Middle East, she instantly knows the organizations the leaflet lists are all huge supporters of Hamas and al-Qaeda.
This book tells her story of going under cover to conferences that these groups sponsor for fundraising here in the United States. I have found very interesting, but at the same time equally revolting. It makes me sick with anger that these groups operate freely in the U.S. to support acts of terrorism that continue to kill our soldiers abroad.
My intent for this entry is to increase awareness of these activities that continue to operate in our country. Google some of the names on the list below. You might be surprised on what you may find with them. These names represent the same cowards that are responsible for 9/11 and the suicide bombings all over the world for the last 10 years. When I first started this book, I thought it would be a good way to learn more about how the terrorist networks operate, but unlike the pleasure I get from learning in other subjects, this book has become a painful chore to me. I hope that my effort in making this blog entry contributes (however in small measure) to ending terrorist fund raising in our country.

The following organizations listed below are affiliated with Islamic Extremism (terrorism). Of the organizations listed, the book supports every group listed by an overwhelming pile of evidence showing ties to people known for terrorist activities and giving speeches promoting the killing of Americans and Jews. These are just a few organizations from Terrorist Hunter.

Islamic American University (Southfield MI)
Dar al-Hijra Mosque (Falls Church VA) – Nike Corp. also donated $70,000. for the church’s playground
Islamic Committee for Palestine (ICP)
World and Islam Studies Enterprise (WISE)
Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ)

Anonymous. 2003. Terrorist Hunter. New York: HarperCollins Publishers.

Excerpt from NIETZSCHE - Reading and Writing

2007-01-19T15:35:00.000-05:00

It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but because we
are wont to love.

There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also, some
method in madness.

And to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, and soap-bubbles, and
whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoy happiness.

To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit about--that
moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs.

I should only believe in a God that would know how to dance.

And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound, solemn:
he was the spirit of gravity--through him all things fall.

Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay the spirit of
gravity!

I learned to walk; since then have I let myself run. I learned to fly;
since then I do not need pushing in order to move from a spot.

Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself. Now there
danceth a God in me.--

Thus spake Zarathustra.

Thus Spoke Zarathustra – FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

More than 100% Effort

2007-01-19T15:33:00.000-05:00

If: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Zis represented as:1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26.

Then:

H-A-R-D-W-O-R- K is 8+1+18+4+23+15+18+11 = 98%

K-N-O-W-L-E-D-G-E is11+14+15+23+12+5+4+7+5 = 96%

But, A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E is 1+20+20+9+20+21+4+5 = 100%

And, B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T is 2+21+12+12+19+8+9+20 = 103%

AND, look how far ass kissing will take you.

A-S-S-K-I-S-S-I-N-G 1+19+19+11+9+19+19+9+14+7 = 118%

So, one can conclude with mathematical certainty that, while Hard Work and Knowledge will get you close, and Attitude will get you there, it's the Bullshit and Ass kissing that will put you over the top.

Chuck Palahniuk's - Survivor

2006-10-09T19:57:00.000-05:00

Not a bad book so far....

“To stand here and try to fix her life is just a big waste of time. People don’t want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. Their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messes cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown.”
- Chuck Palahniuk P. 282

“The idea came by accident when a newspaper did a feature about a new crisis hotline. The phone number in the paper was mine by mistake. It was a typo. Nobody read the correction they ran the next day, and people just started calling me day and night with their problems.”
- Chuck Palahniuk P. 280

“Call me a sexual predator, but when I think of predators I think of lions, tigers, big cats, sharks. This isn’t so much a predator versus prey relationship. This isn’t a scavenger, a vulture, or a laughing hyena versus a carcass. This isn’t a parasite versus a host.
We’re all miserable together.”
- Chuck Palahniuk P. 278

“Just concentrate on the stain until your memory is completely erased. Practice really does make perfect. If you could call it that.
Ignore how it feels when the only real talent you have is for hiding the truth. You have a God-given knack for committing a terrible sin. It’s your calling. You have a natural gift for denial. A blessing. If you could call it that.”
- Chuck Palahniuk P.268

“Ask me how to repair stab holes in nightgowns, tuxedos, and hats. My secret is a little clear nail polish on the inside of the puncture.”
- Chuck Palahniuk P.265

“Whether you clean a stain, a fish, a house, you want to think you’re making the world a better place, but you’re really just letting things get worse. You think maybe if you just work harder and faster, you can hold off the chaos, but then one day you’re changing a patio light bulb with a five-year life span and you realize how you’ll only be changing this light maybe ten more times before you’ll be dead.”
- Chuck Palahniuk P.263

“After working in these rich houses, I know the best way to get blood out of the trunk of a car is not to ask questions.”
- Chuck Palahniuk P.263

“And maybe this is just a trick of the light, but I’ve eaten most of the lobster before I notice the heart beat.”
- Chuck Palahniuk P. 260

The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit

2006-10-02T18:31:00.000-05:00

“It’s Funny, Tom thought – it’s funny, the way the world goes. You take your children and with all honesty you teach them, “Thou Shalt Not Kill.” You give them dancing lessons. You teach them Latin, and how to dress properly. You teach them self-respect, if you can. All these things my father must have learned when he was young, and all these things I learned, and if I can, I will teach all these things to my son. And if I can, I will also teach him to defend his country. If he has to, I hope he’ll be a tough bastard too.”

Tom Rath - P. 97

““I want justice,” he had said. I wonder how many murders have been committed, and how many wars have been fought with that as a slogan, Bernstein thought. When the say that want justice, they always want someone else to get the sharp end of it. Justice is a thing that is better to give than to receive, but I am sick of giving it, he thought. I think it should be a prerogative of the gods.”

Judge Bernstein - P. 136

Wilson, Sloan. 1983. The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit. Four Walls Eight Windows: Canada

Narcotization

2006-09-29T15:05:00.000-05:00

Narcotization - When something is shown as being too large to handle; the studied effect usually makes a person unresponsive to a problem and simply does nothing from the perceived hopelessness of the situation.

Chuck Palahniuk - (Stranger than Fiction)

The Tendency to Value Our Own Form

2006-08-26T14:40:00.000-05:00

“The tendency to value our own form of civilization as higher, not as dearer to our hearts, than that of the whole rest of mankind is the same as that which prompts the actions of primitive man who considers every stranger his enemy, and who is not satisfied until the enemy is killed.”
- Franz Boas

Wright, Robert. 2000. Nonzero – The Logic of Human Destiny . Vintage Books: New York.

Beerfest (2006)

2006-08-26T14:14:00.000-05:00

Hoffman AMC Theater - Alexandria, VA 22307

Rating: 6 out of 10
The R rating is from the language used and nudity.

Broken Lizard always entertains, but in this movie, I was let down. I didn’t enjoy Beerfest nearly as much as I did Super Troopers. The comedy troop did add a lot of funny ideas and scenes throughout the film, but if you believed the previews showed you how funny this movie would be, you are going to be as disappointed as I was walking out. Of the three movies Broken Lizard made, Super Troopers was the funniest by far, Club Dread ranking as an entertaining no.2, but Beerfest is dismal compared the other two.
The movie is still worth seeing, but don’t get your hopes up. Perhaps I am being so hard on this film, because I think they could have done much better with the movie. The plot and characters were great, but as a whole, it just didn’t deliver as I hoped it would have.

Accepted (2006)

2006-08-26T14:01:00.000-05:00

Hoffman AMC Theater - Alexandria, VA 22307

Rating: 7 ½ out of 10
The PG-13 rating is from the language used.

The movie was generally entertaining. The story had a lot of possibilities, as with must movies in the past centered around college dorm life. The main character played by Justin Long (the kid who gets eaten in Jeepers Creepers), was similar to a mediocre Van Wilder. His friend, (Jonah Hill) who also played a small part in The Forty Year Old Virgin, really made the movie pretty funny. If you have seen the previews, “Ask me about my wiener” coming from a fat kid in a Oscar Meyer Weiner suit, his lines were just as great throughout the movie. I think he’s going to be in more comedies later on. The dean, played by Lewis Black, added a lot of laughs to the movie as well. The role of the moronic friend (Adam Herschman) didn’t deliver as well as a person in that role should have.
In summary, it was worth the money and I had a good time watching it. I will most likely buy the DVD when it comes out. If you are looking for the typical college T&A, you’re not going to find it here.

Either Make Love or Fight

2006-08-23T16:27:00.000-05:00

“An authority on human behavior once remarked that if two people stare at each other for more than a few seconds, it means they are about to either make love or fight. Something similar might be said about human societies. If two nearby societies are in contact for any length of time, they will either trade or fight. The first is non-zero-sum social interaction, and the second ultimately brings it.”

Robert Wright

Wright, Robert. 2000. Nonzero – The Logic of Human Destiny . Vintage Books: New York.

Little Miss Sunshine (2006)

2006-08-22T17:14:00.000-05:00

Little Miss Sunshine

Hoffman Center Alexandria VA 22307 AMC Theater

Rating: 7 ½ out of 10

The R rating is from the language used.

The movie encompasses the dysfunction of six family members on a road trip from New Mexico to California. The story puts a suicidal gay, a teen who chooses not to speak, a heroin using grandfather, a self-promoting jerk of a father, little girl obsessed with a beauty pageant, and a mother struggling with everything going on into a yellow VW bus for the duration of the film.
The film stays relatively in touch with reality for the most part, adding humor where there should be humor and more humor where there shouldn’t be. Steve Carell, Greg Kinnear, and Toni Collette are just two of the stars in the movie. Everyone appeared to work well with each other. I didn’t hear any reviews through the media to compare my thoughts with other reviews.
I’m a big fan of Steve Carell; just about everything he says in the movie amuses me. His style of humor is much more subtle than his previous performances, but still retains the effectiveness in the delivery and timing of his lines.
I love Alan Arkin’s (the Grandfather) role the most out of everyone’s character in the movie. Most of my laughs came from his obscene outbursts and behavior towards everything going on around him.
The finale at the end contained a number of funny elements, but it could have ended better. It was funny, but not hilarious. I probably wouldn’t watch this movie again unless I knew someone who was also a fan of Steve Carell that wanted to watch it. Carell was the main reason why I wanted to see this and I was not disappointed.
Some people may be a little confused by some of my comments about the movie and it boils down to this: I like it, but it wasn’t great. The movie retains my appreciation, but it just isn’t my ideal genre. If you like independent films like The Tenebaums and The Life Aquatic, this movie was a lot like it and I am sure you will think it’s great. I was half-expecting Bill Murray to make an appearance. The scenes and props had the same resonance as the above mentioned.

TV Violence and the Hays Code

2006-08-19T22:00:00.000-05:00

The Hays Code shows the intended path for Hollywood from the 30’s. This was brought to my attention from On Combat. Lt. Col. Dave Grossman discusses the impact that movies have on society, especially the area concern violence and our youth. When I first came across this information, I didn’t realize how much influence movies have in our lives. From his book, he states the correlation between violence on television and a significant increase in assaults among teenagers 17-20 years old 15 years later. The reason why that delay is fifteen years in duration- that’s how long it takes for children exposed to tv violence to grow up and act out with what they have seen through tv. Studies taken from societies around the world compared the time television was introduced in an area and the number of assaults.
Another interesting point Grossman makes deals with the violence in our society today. Many areas, especially big cities, tout the fact that murders per capita have dropped over the years, thus being a safer city. The flaw in this statement comes from the assumption that the murder per capita is the correct statistic to use when addressing the level of violence in a community. Assaults should be the standard where community violence is judged; the reasons why murders have not spiked year after year come from the advances in medical technology.
The Hays Code speaks at length on the reasoning it gives for it’s principles and recognizes the impact that films and stories have on people. Just from the movies in my lifetime, I have seen them become more violent and explicit. The Hays Code has a few other interesting statements concerning the views of 1930.
Getting to the point here, for anyone who wants to have a little more insight to the violence we see in today’s society, take a look at his book, whether it be On Killing or On Combat, each book offers an extremely interesting read on the subjects of psychology in stressful environments through history and in today’s world.

The Hays Code is found here:

http://www.artsreformation.com/a001/hays-code.html

Snakes on a Plane (2006)

2006-08-19T16:45:00.000-05:00

Snakes on a Plane (2006) Opened in theaters Friday August 18, 2006

Rating: 6 /10

The key word to this movie is PREDICTABLE.

The movie kept me entertained for the 1 hour and 45 minutes it was on. Was it worth the $5.00 matinee charge? Just barely. My thoughts are, Sam Jackson didn’t add value to the film, nor did his name make me want to see. Producers could have saved some money there. Concerning his line everyone is publicizing, it only made the delivery sound worse than what it would have otherwise.
Synopsis:
· Obviously a lot of people died
· One typical 30 second sex/nudity scene
· Nothing remotely different in this movie was truly impressive.
· Special effects on the snakes was really good
· Plot was plausible for a action/horror movie

Snakes on a Plane made me jump 3 or 4 times and it made me chuckle about 2 times. If you liked Executive Decision or Anaconda, then you would probably like this movie, because you could combine the two and you would come up with , you guessed it- Snakes on a Plane. If you didn’t like Anaconda, then you wouldn’t like this, because Anaconda actually had better acting.

This is my first posted review; I am open to positive criticism, please give me some suggestions of what other information you would like to see in this critique, and what did you like about my posting. The main purpose for me to start writing these reviews is to find others who share the same taste and feel the same about the reviews that are out there; the published reviews from better known critics are inaccurate to what I think of a movie. Most cases it boggles my mind on what they use for judgement basis.

Conflict

2006-08-19T08:32:00.000-05:00

“In Italy for thirty years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love; they had five hundred years of democracy and peace and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.”

- Orson Wells

Trouble with most of the beautiful women

2006-08-19T06:52:00.000-05:00

“George was attracted to beautiful women, but he tended to avoid the beautiful ones. They were too aware of their own good looks, and that awareness often made them moody and difficult.”

(P. 138)
Jakes, John. North and South. 1982. Penguin Putnam: New York.

How Can I best Respond

2006-08-15T19:54:00.000-05:00

“One simple practice can propel you forward in your long-term quest for excellence and in your struggle for true maturity (courage balanced with consideration) and for integrity. It is this: Before every test of your new habit or desired behavior, stop and get control. Plumb and rally your resources. Set your mind and heart. Choose your mood. Proactively choose your response. Ask, “How can I best respond to this situation?” Choose to be your best self and that choice will arrest your ambivalence and renew your determination”

-Stephen Covey
Principle-Centered Leadership

First Official blog entry - The Fall of the Athenian Republic

2006-08-15T19:02:00.000-05:00

The Fall of the Athenian Republic

“A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the voters discover that they can vote themselves largesse (generous gifts) from the public treasury. From that moment on the majority always votes for the candidates promising the most benefits from the public treasury, with the result that a democracy always collapses over loose fiscal policy, (which is) always followed by a dictatorship.”

-Alexander Tyler

“The average age of the world’s greatest civilization has been two hundred years. These nations have progressed through this sequence. From bondage to spiritual faith; from spiritual faith to great courage; from courage to liberty; from liberty to abundance, from abundance to complacency; from complacency to apathy, from apathy to dependence, from dependence back into bondage.”

-Alexander Tyler

Alexander Tyler was listed as a Scotts Historian Professor 1787 re: The Fall of the Athenian Republic.