Thoughts on Heroism

The other day, I saw an news segment about a nice, former football player (I don’t remember his name and I’m not going to look it up) who is walking long distances to raise money for NYC firefighters who have health problems associated with their rescue work on 9/11. Not surprisingly pulverized concrete does nasty stuff to lungs.

The nice fellow made the comment, “I’m not a hero.” I think he also said something like the real heroes were the police officers and firefighters who risked their lives to save citizens.

People who do good deeds are often called “heroes” but the man on the news was right. He’s not a hero --- at least by my definition of the word.

I don’t mean to denigrate his good works. His efforts are immensely admirable. To emulate his act of care and compassion would be a good thing for all of us. But it doesn’t rise to level of hero.

To be a hero requires taking a significant risk, with potentially catastrophic consequences, in order serve a noble sentiment. While I would allow the odds to come out in favor of a potential hero, I’d arbitrarily set them at there being a one in four chance (at best) of being much worse off from doing something heroic. Fictional “super heroes” would never be real heroes in my mind. There’s not much risk involved when bullets bounce off your chest and “you’re more powerful than a locomotive.”

Heroes are also unexpected. In other words, you can’t be a hero if it’s in your job description. That’s why I would disagree that firefighters are themselves heroes. They are, instead, members of a heroic profession — as are soldiers, police officers, missionaries in dangerous countries, or even teachers in many inner city schools. (That’s not an all inclusive list.) They also deserve our thanks and admiration.

Professional athletes are sometimes called heroes — ridiculous. Not only are they just doing their jobs (often because they lack the discipline, intelligence or skills to hold any other kind of work) they are also exceedingly well paid to be idolized by the masses. I suspect true heroes would do what they do even if no one but themselves knew about it.

A few years back, during the Bosnia War, an American pilot was shot down but managed to evade capture until he made his way back to safety. (I’m not looking up his name either.) Some people called him a hero. I’d say he was resourceful, and like the firefighters, in a heroic profession, but serving one’s survival instinct isn’t heroism.

When I think of heroes, I often think of a specific person. His name was Arland D. Williams Jr. January 13, will be the 26th anniversary of his death, the day that Air Florida Flight 90 crashed into the ice-crusted Potomac. The Washington Post wrote this:

“He was about 50 years old, one of half a dozen survivors clinging to twisted wreckage bobbing in the icy Potomac when the first helicopter arrived. To the copter's two-man Park Police crew he seemed the most alert. Life vests were dropped, then a flotation ball. The man passed them to the others. On two occasions, the crew recalled last night, he handed away a life line from the hovering machine that could have dragged him to safety. The helicopter crew - who rescued five people, the only persons who survived from the jetliner - lifted a woman to the riverbank, then dragged three more persons across the ice to safety. Then the life line saved a woman who was trying to swim away from the sinking wreckage, and the helicopter pilot, Donald W. Usher, returned to the scene, but the man was gone.”

That was a hero.

Team Allegiance

Auburn (7-4) plays Alabama (6-5) this week. Winning this year's game will go a long way toward salvaging disappointing football seasons. I know I will feel a thousand percent better about the losses if the Tigers notch the victory against the Crimson Tide.

About a week ago, Auburn did lose their second biggest rivalry game to Georgia, by a score of 45-20. It was twice in a row that my alma mater has been embarrassed by the Bulldogs. But that's football ... and there's always next year.

Last night, I was watching a movie called Facing the Giants. It was purely a Christian message movie, enscounced in the tale of an underdog high school football team determining to play and live for God's glory. It was highly predictable in it's unlikely outcome, poorly acted, smaltzy, and obviously low-budget. (You could tell it was low budget because the southern accents weren't fake.)

I loved it.

Georgia's heach coach, Mark Richt, had what amounted to a bit more than a cameo role in the film playing himself. Prior to the big game where "our" team --- the Eagles --- meets the Giants, Richt tells the Eagles coach, "You won the big one when you accepted Christ."

You don't generally expect big-time college coaches to make such an unequivocal statement of faith.

The loss to Georgia was put in a whole new perspective. It turns out that Mark Richt is a coach for my team after all.

You Can’t Teach an Old Dog to Bark at the Moon

I knew a fellow who said he looked forward to getting old and yelling at kids to get off his lawn. As I get older (or “old” as compared to a couple of my friends) I find there’s not quite as much to look forward to as when I was in my teens or early 20s. That leaves becoming an unapologetic curmudgeon pretty near the top of my "things to do list."

(Already, I sometimes find myself yelling at some television talking head, asking "Who are you and why are you on my TV?!?")

In my twilight years — if I have the energy (doubtful) and the money (even more doubtful) — I would like to take my cantankerousness and enroll in the most politically correct, leftist university in the country. I think I’d major in “Women’s Studies” or something like that — any of those ridiculous social “sciences” courses that exist only to provide paychecks for frustrated Stalinists who missed out on Amerikan Politiburo jobs when the Soviet Empire collapsed.

Recently the University of Delaware backed off of an attempt to “re-educate” its freshmen, thanks in large part to the wonderful Foundation of Individual Rights in Education (http://www.thefire.org/). Seems the university’s thought police felt classroom indoctrination wasn’t sufficient for turning all the students into the bleating sheep described in George Orwell’s Animal Farm, so they were going to force the freshmen to attend dorm meetings for proper instruction on such topics as politics, race, sexuality, sociology, moral philosophy, and environmentalism. Don’t be misled, this re-education was no more a forum for open-minded discussion any more than was Pol Pot’s.

Here’s some of the crap these poor kids would have been forced to endure:
"Have you ever heard a well-meaning white person say, 'I'm not a member of any race except the human race?’ What she usually means by this statement is that she doesn't want to perpetuate racial categories by acknowledging that she is white. This is an evasion of responsibility for her participation in a system based on supremacy for white people."

Of course, the University of Delaware isn’t alone in advocating student brain-washing (though they don’t call it that). In a Nov. 12 article in the Weekly Standard, David Horowitz tells us how the American Association of University Professors are trying to legitimize student indoctrination. Horowitz reports the AAUP as saying, “It is not indoctrination for professors to expect students to comprehend ideas and apply knowledge that is accepted as true within a relevant discipline.”

What ever happened to “the scientific method” of rigorously and continuously testing hypotheses?

The AAUP stance is probably much like the argument the Catholic Church made in prosecuting Galileo for heresy. After all, it’s clear that Galileo failed to “comprehend ideas and apply knowledge that (was) accepted as true” by the Church.

Two things strike me about all this. First, why is it that a public school teacher can’t wear a tiny crucifix in class without the ACLU screaming bloody murder, but leftist loons are free to proselytize all they want … to the point of literally persecuting students who don’t want to drink the Kool-Aid?

And the second point: This is the standard modus operandi of weird religious cults who target young people — especially those on their own for the first time.

And that’s why I hope to go back to a PC college in the winter of my life. I doubt those bullies would get very far trying to “re-educate” this cranky old man.

What do I know?

I often find myself wishing that major issues of the day could be presented like a jury trial where both sides have the best possible representation. Let everyone present their evidence and have witnesses face cross examination. Then maybe I could be a lot more positive about some of the views I hold, or maybe I’d occasionally change my mind altogether.

As it is now, I realize I rely a lot on environmental conditioning, biases, philosophy and imperfect sources to help me reach conclusions. But unless I’m going to make researching issues a full-time job, any other approach is impractical.

Plus, in a one-person-one-vote democracy, the thoughtful expert’s ballot counts no more than that of the delusional or ignorant yahoo. Why bother to be well-informed?

I have competing interests at work here. I love being right, but I don’t want to put the time and energy into making sure I always am. Along with discerning a few facts from all the non sequiturs and nonsense, the best I can do is examine those non scientific factors that influence me. For instance, environmental conditioning as in what makes a white male from Alabama feel so differently about so many issues than a white male who was raised in Boston?

Then there are the biases. For instance, I think the vast majority of people who comprise MoveOn.org are morons. (Maybe I’ll start referring to them as MorOn.org, heh, heh). Put Rosie O'Donnell on one side of an issue, and I'll reflexively take the other side. I feel I have valid reasons for this, but as the saying goes, “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.” (And when some of those people talk, you can just see the flashing digital 12:00 in their eyes.)

My philosophical views were beginning to gel in my mid-teens. By 11th grade in a class discussion of current events, I was questioning why there should be price supports for farmers and not storekeepers? (I said --- and still say --- there should be no price supports for either.) But for the past 30 years, most of my effort has gone into defending and asserting my libertarian-free market philosophy. I’ve made my choice and I’m staying loyal to my “team.”

Then there is the issue of sources. The media IS biased, but the response as been to combat that with more media sources that are biased in the other direction. I really can’t trust anyone to give me the “truth.” It’s probably not even anyone’s fault. Reporters, documentary makers, bloggers, talk show hosts … they are like me --- operating with the same baggage. Hopefully they have a few more facts but how can I be sure? Besides, knowing some of the facts can be worse than knowing none.

All of this is why I like the adversarial approach. You have expert versus expert and trial court witnesses can’t spin their answers without being challenged by the other side’s attorney. If you’re sitting on the jury, there is no media filter telling you what you just heard or what you should think is important. There is no Michael Moore or Rush Limbaugh. Even “mom and dad” are out of the picture. It’s all just facts and testimony to be evaluated under tight scrutiny.

That would let me reach some conclusions without a reasonable doubt.

I understand you feel strongly, and I want you to know I don't care

I have never had any patience with politically correct terms. For the life of me, I can’t understand why “people of color” is a preferred designation but saying “colored people” will get you sentenced to six months of sensitivity training. And I will die and go to hell before I seriously refer to a short person as “vertically challenged.”

By the way, I also refuse to call American Indians “native Americans.” A person is a native by virtue of where he or she is born and continues to live. I’m as native to this country as any Cherokee or Apache out there.

But “oppressed” minorities and other officially recognized victim groups don’t have a monopoly on this silliness. (Believe me, I have a whole different rant lined up for “victims.”) We can add small business owners to the list of hyper-sensitive goofballs.

In a couple of jobs I’ve had, I’ve been told that small business owners object to the word “small.” C’mon people, get a grip. It’s merely a comparative term — a simple and useful designation to differentiate the business owner with five employees from the fellow with a staff of 100. I promise; no one is making a subtle inference about your penis size.

(I once worked for a company that had its franchise owners categorized by market as micro, small, midsized and large. I wonder how the poor micros ever got a date.)

I’m a professional copywriter. I need to be concise and clear in written communications for my clients. If I write “physically handicapped” my reader has a general idea of what I mean. If I write, “differently enabled” however, the average person will be left scratching his head, possible muttering, “What the f …?”

Writing to a specific audience is also critical to what I do for a living. I have to know what sets that group apart from any others, and let my target audience know my message is specifically for them. The last thing I need to do is blur the lines by invoking some idiotic new euphemism for a term that’s not derogatory in the first place. No way should I write, “As the owner of a midsized company that’s not as large as some businesses that have been traditionally regarded as such, you probably …”.

One of the best things about being a conservative-libertarian is that no one expects us to go along with all the stupid crap that others (mostly liberals) take seriously. But if my attitude still bothers you, don’t think of me as rude; think of me as “alternatively sensitived.”

The Multicultural Trap

There is saying — probably dating back to the early part of the 20th Century — that goes something like this: Heaven would be French cuisine, German engineering and English law. Hell would be French engineering, German law and English cuisine.

I doubt I told it exactly right, but I think that old joke will still help make my point. Different cultures do some things much better than others; each with relative strengths and weaknesses. Ridiculously, multiculturalism demands that we accept all aspects of all cultures as equal.

Fortunately most of us know enough to pass on the spotted dick and opt instead for a nice French pastry. (Admission: I have no idea what “spotted dick” is, but how can any food that sounds like a late-stage venereal disease possibly taste good?) We might be politically correct enough to pay lip service to the merits of strange, illogical, or even disgusting practices from alien cultures, but given the freedom of choice, we’ll go with what we find more appealing.

On the other hand, if we keep an open mind, we may try something that’s completely novel. Then, making an assessment on how well a culturally different approach meets the objective, we might adopt it as our own for the future. By maintaining key values and setting certain standards we become cultural eclectics, and that is a very good thing. The infusion of new ideas leads to widespread progress and personal growth

It’s the values and standards though, that multiculturalists disdain. They recognize that if a certain culture's approach consistently comes in second, third … or even dead last when compared to some other society’s way of doing things, that culture would — and should — be deemed inferior. And since it’s usually a distinct race, ethnic group or religion that is most closely associated with any particular culture, multiculturalists fear that the members of that classification of humans will also be judged inferior by association. It’s a legitimate concern, but it does the individuals within an inferior culture no favor to have their second-rate choices propped up by politically correct platitudes. All people should be encouraged to grow by becoming more eclectic.

There is also a trap for people who are made to feel comfortable with their inferior culture when an aspect comes into conflict with one of the few standards that are almost universally required by the larger majority. I propose that Michael Vick’s condemnation for his grotesque dog-fighting exploits is an example of this trap in action.

The “rap or hip-hop’” culture is routinely celebrated and promoted by the popular media despite being virtually without objective merit. (Really, what are the chances that a child who is submerged in the hip-hop lifestyle will grow up to be doctor, lawyer, teacher, scientist or engineer?) Members of this community become effectively crippled from operating outside a very constricted and dysfunctional world. And so Michael Vick, despite his great athletic talent, was brought down.

Our society never did Vick the favor of saying, “Your culture sucks and if you don’t break away from it, it will destroy your chances for the kind of future you could enjoy.” No instead, he was fed a steady diet of Snoop Dogg and Ludacris ... et al as role models because they celebrate the very culture he came from. Any young person might think, “If just rapping about a lifestyle can make a person rich and famous, then living that lifestyle must be even more fulfilling.”

Michael Vick grew up in an inferior culture which the multiculturalists kept telling him was just as good as anyone else’s. I can understand why he must feel blind-sided. He could have been a great individual, but instead he was encouraged and pressured to subjugate his individual potential to a group identity. Now Michael Vick the individual is paying a price, while the culture that produced him remains sacrosanct.

Motivation Matters

Recently inspired by a friend’s blog, I took a little personality test based on Myers-Briggs. It turns out that I’m an INFJ. My profile — according to one write-up — includes this statement:
“Accurately suspicious about others' motives, INFJs are not easily led. These are the people that you can rarely fool any of the time.”

As this is rather flattering, I’ll accept the comment as true (perhaps thereby disproving its validity?). But whether or not I’m more attuned to motivations than most people, I do consider them to be very important.

There was an episode of South Park in which Kenny was brain-dead and in the hospital. Kyle and Stan wanted to keep their friend hooked up to life support. Eric (Cartman) wanted life support turned off so he could inherit Kenny’s video game. Meanwhile Kenny was needed in Heaven to help fight off an army of demons. (Hey, this IS South Park after all.)

In Stan’s “I think I’ve learned something today” moment, he realizes Eric wanted to do the right thing for the wrong reason, while he and Kyle wanted to the wrong thing for the right reason.

LOOKING PRESIDENTIAL

Is Eric Cartman the candidate for you?

From a practical standpoint, I suppose it's usually better to do the right thing for the wrong reason. But the disconnection between motivation and outcome demonstrated in the South Park episode points to an inherent flaw in representative democracy.

If you’re forced to vote for Eric (bad motivation, good outcome) or Kyle (good motivation, bad outcome) who do you choose? As an elected representative, Kyle may get it “wrong” on a single issue, but his heart is in the right place. Cartman is only out for Cartman. God only knows (and He's busy fighting the Devil Army) what Cartman would do when another problem needs to be resolved!

On the other hand, how important is this particular issue? And maybe your motivations are every bit as pure as Kyle’s. (F’rinstance, you happen to KNOW Kenny is needed in Heaven.) In the critical situation, do you vote for good-guy Kyle and risk destruction of the entire Spiritual Plane?

Politicians today are occasionally driven by ideology themselves, but more often, they are beholding to groups that are completely wedded to a specific agenda — most no better than Cartman’s. That means we might get what we want on one particular issue … say withdrawal from Iraq. But the representatives who’ll withdraw won’t stop there, and soon we’ve been transformed into “cheese-eating surrender monkeys.” (Feel free to substitute your own example — leftist or rightwing — I just like the Bart Simpson phrase “cheese-eating surrender monkey.”)

I don’t think there's an easy answer, but I’m pretty sure that unless Heaven is about to fall, it’s a good idea to skeptically appraise the motivations of the people who most stridently support a particular candidate ... or oppose the other one.

Who really, really wants Rudy or Fred and who really, really wants Hillary or Barack? Go beyond today. Do you think you’ll want the same thing those folks want tomorrow?

Freddy Kruger, where are you?

I love horror movies. I liked Aliens and all the Night/Dawn/Day of the Living Dead movies. I even have an affinity for the outrageous cult flicks like The Devil's Rejects or The Hills Have Eyes.

I appreciate a good disemboweling, torsos in the freezer, or the ubiquitous man-eating monster in the closet. I'm also quite the critic of cinematic (fake) blood. (It's usually too bright, and too watery.)

But I can only last about 15 minutes with the dramas on Lifetime. Incest, child abuse, spouse beating ... I can't take it.

Maybe it has something to do with it being a "channel for women." There's no doubt in my mind that females are tougher than males. (That's why God put them in charge of child birth. Men wouldn't be able to handle it.)

SPACE

Scary stuff.

I was flipping channels this evening and stopped ever so briefly on a Lifetime movie. I was soon "treated" to seeing a psycho mom spraying oven cleaner on a kid's back and then scrubbing with a scouring pad.

That was it ... I quickly had my channel clicker in high gear. Comparatively speaking, Saw III is good family entertainment.

Suddenly Paris and Lindsey don't seem so bad

Imagine being young, good-looking, adored by tens of thousands of people (if not hundreds of thousands) and fabulously wealthy.

Who hasn't fantasized about such a thing?

Some of us might put our fame and fortune to good use --- maybe take up a philanthropic cause. Others might go a less admirable route by buying mansions, fancy cars, throwing lavish parties ... carpe diem all the way. And perhaps a few of us might succumb to self-indulgent vices like drug or alcohol abuse and end up destroying our own lives.

And each of those outcomes to having, well, everything, would seem to be in the realm of possibilities for almost anyone.

What is unfathomable to me, however, is that anyone with a world of options before him, would choose to promote ... dog fighting.

I don't care for Michael Vick. I think he is an outstanding athlete but only a mediocre quarterback. And I've long had questions about his character. I was also put-off by the inevitable hype that accompanied his every game appearance. (It was like sportscasters thought they were being paid a nickel each time they mentioned his name and yet were determined to earn seven figure incomes.) So when the allegations against him first arose, I was quick to assume the worst.

But damn ... running a sideline business where dogs fight each other almost to death? And then finding the the most cruelly inventive ways to ultimately dispatch the loser? Why on earth would anyone do that?

It's so incredibly incomprehensible to me, I almost think Vick might be innocent.

Almost.

Words Off a Blue Tongue

I went to the dentist today — fourth visit in the past two months. That’s what happens when you wait four years between check ups.

Before going, I brushed my teeth (for the second time in two hours) and swished Listerine around in my mouth long enough to give my tongue a nice blue tint ("It burnses us, it burnses!"). My thinking was, “If I were going to be poking around in some stranger’s mouth, I would appreciate any effort on his part to make his breath “minty fresh.”

Thus I can claim to be motivated by the Golden Rule.

The problem with the Golden Rule though, is how do you treat someone who doesn’t share your attitudes about a particular situation. The easiest analogical question might be, do you spank a masochistic lover even though you find hitting anathema to the act of making love?

While you’re working that out, It hink Jesus meant something kind of different with the whole “do unto others” thing. I doubt he was actually talking about specific acts of intended kindness. As my example demonstrates, that can be a tricky proposition.

Also motivations might not be pure, even when we do something nice that is also appreciated. For instance, it’s true I didn’t want to subject my dentist and her assistant to any lingering cigarette odor on my breath. But ego was involved as well. I would be embarrassed to be thought of as “the guy with stinky breath.” That’s basically a self-centered consideration.
The Golden Rule is a proactive hedge against self-centeredness or in the extreme, narcissism. Rather than trying to guess what will make another person “happy” (whether you think it’s your Christian duty or whether you're looking to be someone’s Man-of-the-Year) at the core is an admonition to understand that another person’s life — their hopes, dreams, and aspirations — is every bit as important to them as yours is to you.

That’s really a hard thing for me to remember, and even harder to incorporate in how I deal with other people. Most days, I’d rather just smack somebody, and stop at feeling proud of myself for doing it.

For One Thin Dime

I owe my sister a dime.

In truth, I owe her a lot more than that, but there’s really no adequate monetary compensation for betraying a loved one. Given the circumstances, the 10-cent piece I pulled out of my pocket the other day is about the only thing that comes close to being appropriate.

This particular dime was in change from the four dollars I paid for a pack of cigarettes at a seedy U Save convenience store. It’s a wonder I even noticed it before dropping it in my coin jar at home. But I did hold it apart, and examination led me to remember 1970. I was eight years old.

Pleasant Hill Baptist Church has having an Easter egg hunt for the children. We all contributed dyed eggs which the menfolk hid in the little wooded area behind the cementary. Before we began our search, we were told there was a prize egg --- an uniquely marked yellow one --- and who ever found that particular egg would get a very special reward.

There were probably about 20 -- 25 kids there, and I wasn't a child who ever had much luck when it came to winning prizes. Plus. I never seemed to be as good as other kids at any kind of contest. I couldn't imagine coming away with anything more than a few less eggs than I originally brought. I just hoped not to embarrass myself with an empty basket.

Fortunately there were so many eggs --- spread out, but in relatively plain sight --- that soon after we got the start signal, I had gathered three or four. If worse came to worse, that would have been good enough for me. I kept looking though, and found a few more. Then my little sister found me.

She had spied an egg in a space between the ground and a boulder, but her five-year old arm was to too short to reach it. She asked me for help, so I pulled it out for her. It was the prize yellow egg.

I was overwhelmed by greed and a chance to finally be the child who won. I kept it for myself.

She protested, obviously, but really not that much --- probably so stunned that her big brother could flagrantly cheat her that she didn't make much of a fuss. But the look on her face as I turned away remains an ugly brand on my soul.

Nevertheless, when the hunt concluded I presented the special egg to collect my grand prize.

Sometimes we are most blessed by God when He lets us be disappointed. Had I been given a Hot Wheels race set, a G.I Joe action figure or a non-gender-specific $5 bill, I might have taken the wrong lesson from thievery. Instead, (with no fanfare) I has handed one of those little plastic eggs and told to open it. I found it stuffed with a bit of green plastic grass that lines Easter baskets, and under that I found one shiny new ... dime.

Even back in 1970, a dime wasn't much money. Still, I respectfully thanked the elderly lady who give me my prize and I said nothing more. Eight-year olds can recognize justice too.

Growing up, my sister and I fought a lot --- mostly out of boredom, I believe. We lived in a rural area, far from playmates, and a good fuss was one way to break the monotony. Sometimes she "started it" and sometimes I did, though in explaining it to our parents, it was always the other one's fault. Looking back though, if I added up every "bad" thing she ever did to me, it would amount to less than ten cent's worth of transgression.

Well anyway, I've found the dime I've set aside to acknowlege my long-ago betrayal at Easter. By the way, it isn't stamped 1970. It’s several decades older than that --- a piece of silver.

Hurry Up With That Virgin!

Okay, I'm skeptical about global warming.

Best I can tell from what I've read, people are responsible for producing about 2.5 percent (.025) of the so-called greenhouse gases going into the atmosphere.

Also best I can tell, the earth's temperature (how the heck do you even measure such a thing?) has risen 0.6 degrees Celsius since about 1880. That would be about less than 1 degree Fahrenheit--- if I remember my conversions correctly, and I don't feel like looking it up.

Also it appears that most of that warming took place prior to 1950 --- long before George W. Bush became president. (That doesn't account for Dick Cheney who is the devil and everyone knows Satan is really, really old.)

That means people (and Dick Cheney) are responsible for the earth heating up by a sizzling 0.025 degrees Fahrenheit in 127 years.

The global warming folks must be used to much more finely attuned thermostats than me, because they sure get very worked up about the whole thing. So much so that they propose wrecking our economy, changing our whole way of life and "getting right with nature."

Get "right with nature?" Fine, I don't like making old Indians cry, and "waste not want not" as the saying goes. But it's that sacrificing the economy and turning our backs on technological and industrial development that bothers me. (I like air conditioning, and iPods and living beyond the age of 40.) Besides, there's a darn good chance global warming (and cooling) is normal. (Remember the Ice Age? Oh wait, forgot, Cheney=devil.)

It reminds me of island natives, as stereotyped in old movies, sacrificing a virgin to a volcano to keep it from erupting. And if any rational person tries to stop them, they want to kill him too. Environmentalism is a take-no-prisoners kind of religion.

Think about it. The vast majority of Bible-thumping, Christian fundamentalists reacted a lot less strongly to a picture of the Madonna made out of elephant dung or a crucifix dunked in urine than the way the Earth First folks respond to anyone not towing the global warming line. The Christians simply don't want their tax dollars spent on sacrilegious displays. The Earth Firsters push for real censorship (here's an interesting article, Up against the Global Warming Zealots) and we have Robert Kennedy Jr. wanting the skeptics convicted of treason.

Since we’re talking about “theories,” I have one of my own. I think the real thinkers behind the global warming movement know there are reasons to be skeptical. It’s about seizing power. Just like the wise old witch doctor who knows the volcano rumbles every few years without going off, they know that the Earth isn’t really going to be destroyed if we don’t give up our sinful (Western) ways.

It’s all a big Voodoo show to keep the natives scared and in the thrall of charlatans. Throw in the girl, the volcano goes quiet, and the medicine man gets to stay topknot on the totem pole.

But if the villagers don’t hurry up and sacrifice the virgin before the volcano goes quiet, then the witch doctor is up the creek without a paddle and folks are likely to find a new medicine man.

The shamen pushing global warming know they have a limited amount of time to remake the world to their liking before we realize it’s all a big hoax. And that’s why they are so adamant we do something NOW!

Stoic? Now That's Science Fiction!

If you can’t suspend disbelief, you can’t watch science fiction. So I was okay with a 35-foot gator being cloned from a 100-million year old fossil. Afterall, there’s something about turning into rock that makes DNA amazingly resilient. (Imagine all the crimes in closed-case files that could be solved if the FBI hired a few Medusas!)

And sure, regular bullets striking lizard skin can explode like little firecrackers.

And prehistoric species all had an insatiable hunger for human flesh --- especially swim suit models in T-back bikinis. Though apparently they’re not very filling. Maybe it has something to do with the low nutritional value of breast implants. I guess it makes sense that an oversized reptile would soon run down to the nearest resort and eat three times it weight in tourists.

And in a country where you can’t water your lawn on the wrong day without getting a citation, it’s no trouble at all to conduct outrageous experiments that put civilization at risk.

All those are acceptable fictions. But when a father finds the partially devoured corpse of his son, you expect a little more reaction than a single exclamation of, “Ohmygod!”

It wasn’t even a gut-wrenching “ohmygod.” It was more of an “I left my fork in the bowl of chili I’m trying to warm in the microwave” kind of utterance.

At that point, the Sci Fi Channel’s original motion picture, Supergator!, lost me.

Science fiction and fantasy are appealing because it’s the realm of the strange and unfamiliar. I’ve never stayed at a Holiday Inn Express so I know next to nothing about cloning, the dietary habits of dinosaurs, or government oversight of mad scientists. But I do know that people tend to react strongly --- even, perhaps, emotionally --- when other people die in a horrible manner, especially when the victim is a close family member. (Even sensitivity-challenged men typically don't hit on the pretty girl 15 minutes later. Or if they do, she probably isn’t finding them very attractive.)

On the other hand, I could certainly do with fewer histrionics. Remember Meryl Streep’s “Think of the children!” when the nation was gripped in mortal fear by Alar on a few apples?” (What the heck was Alar, anyway?)

A peeved Brad Johnson, star of Supergator! hasn't locked his keys in his car. No, his son has just been eaten by a dinosaur.

Mourning is practically a profession in a nation of aspiring victims. A person may be the worst kind of cold-hearted SOB (e.g. hitting on a girl half his age before the indigestible gristle of his loins is even cold), but any American nowadays would still manage to squeeze out a few tears for the news cameras. It’s considered one’s duty as a responsible citizen. There always need to be new government agencies to deal with every “crisis.” If you don’t scare people half to death they might not realize there’s even a problem --- like that one-degree rise in global temperature during the past 100 years that may or not be part of a normal cycle.

Of course if the producers of Supergator! did try to inject more realism into their film, our cad of a hero would never have won the day, the monster would have gone on killing, and the movie would have lasted until 2009 when the Democrats take complete control of the government and set up an ineffective bureaucracy that ultimately declares Supergator an endangered species.

On second thought, who want's reality? Damn fine movie, that Supergator!

Blog, Thy Name is Wilson

A few months ago, I left my steady “8 – 5” job to work at home as a freelance writer. Probably the thing I miss most is talking to co-workers during the day. I have observations on a lot of things, and I’m not particularly reticent in keeping my opinions to myself. It’s a testament to her human kindness, that my former cube-mate didn’t try to strangle me with an Ethernet cable in a last ditch effort to make me shut up about any of an enormous assortment of topics.

So now I have this blog thing, which is effectively not much better than talking to myself or my cat, and much more complicated. Yet because it’s being posted on the Internet, I can enjoy the illusion of a engaging in conversation. And the fantasy made me feel better.

But I’m remembering Wilson.

Wilson, in case you’ve forgotten (or didn’t see the movie) was Tom Hank's “companion” on the desert island in Castaway. Most significantly, Wilson was also volleyball with a face drawn on it. And though Wilson couldn’t talk back, Tom Hanks talked to Wilson all the time. They became best of friends, until that tragic moment when Wilson fell off the raft and was lost at sea. Maybe you think Terms of Endearment was a tear jerker, but Debra Winger had nothing on that half-inflated ball of rubber.



Is it crazy to talk to yourself, a cat or an inanimate object? Probably no --- strictly speaking --- but typically we still try to steer clear of those people, especially if they are standing on a street corner and are talking really, really loudly.

Yet here are bloggers, frequently typing furious rants to essentially no one but themselves, and they (I) get a pass in the sanity department because our “Wilsons” are high tech.

Maybe I should get a mynah bird.