Oils Well That Ends Well

With gas nearing the four dollar a gallon mark, here in the hinterlands of Illinois, a small cul-du-sac off the main drag in the bitter heartland of this great nation, kinda thought it time to get a few thoughts together regarding same, so here goes.

But first, a joke:

There was an old man sitting on his porch listening to his radio while watching the rain fall. Over the radio came a loud warning siren and the announcer said ... "Evacuate the area! A Flood is coming!" Right after the warning the water started coming over the porch and into the house.

The old man moved to the second floor looking out the window, when a rescue boat came and the people on board said,"You can't stay here the flood is here!" Please come with us."

The old man replied, "No, God will save me." So the boat left. A little while later the water was up to the second floor, so the man climbed up onto the roof. This time a helicopter flew over head and through a loud speaker said "You are going to drown if you stay here! Please come with us!"

The old man again replied,"God will save me." So they flew off to get others stranded.

An hour later the water was up over the roof and sweeps the man into the flooding water, where he drowns and goes to heaven. When he awakens, he is extremely mad and disappointed. When he sees God he asks him, "Why didn't you save me?"

God replied, "You arrogant man! I sent you a warning, then a boat, then a helicopter!! Yet you willingly refused my help so obviously offered, then have the gall to say I ignored your pleas."

There are ever increasing demands placed on our countries need for all types of energy. The nations industries need for (natural) resources to produce products for other companies and the general public. And an ever increasing desire to become truly independent of foreign sources.

The increase in power to meet the needs of families as they find more ways to improve their lifestyle with bigger televisions/entertainment systems/computers. More labor saving devices, larger refrigerators, deep freezers for the bulk buying from Costco, Sam's Club, or even buying meat/poultry in bulk from the local butcher (thus getting it at a cheaper per pound rate). Lawn and garden equipment to keep the homestead looking sharp. Then there is the cost of keeping the family wheels on the road.

Keeping our industrial engine running (with power) and, as noted above, resources to produce the products we need and want. Cheap enough energy (read fuel) to transport produce, products, and people from points "A" to points "B".

There has been a mad and not very well thought out rush to turn to bio-fuels as, if not "the answer", an answer to at least part of this concern. Sadly, it is now being realized this is at the very least a short sighted foolish "solution". The physical demands, land requirements, resulting drastic changes in commodity prices, threaten to not only weaken an already shaky economy, but will end up causing more instability in parts of the world which can ill afford it, due to people already lacking for the minimal basics in foodstuffs seeing the trickle offered now to come to a complete stop.

Add to this, the dirty little secret that bio-fuel is in the end no more friendly to the environment, due to energy(s) used in the manufacture of same, as well as the waste produced, and in the loss of efficiency in mpg (meaning more will be needed to meet the same miles driven by good ol regular gas), as to make it a loss all the way 'round.

But what are we to do cry the people?

Returning to the "joke" at the beginning of this post. We have been given the answer (at least for the next 100-500 years). That we have through our arrogance refused to take advantage of it, means we only have ourselves to blame for where we are now.

Yes, the progressives/liberals/tree huggers actions, along with the media doing their thing to muddy the waters (and sell papers and air time at the best prices possible), are instrumental in why we are where we are. But we of the more conservative/adult/responsible side of the street are at fault as well.

Folks, we are enablers! When we should have told the kids to shut up and leave the management of our energy needs to the adults. Instead, we gave in to their cries of "nuclear power is evil" (cause it might go "melty" or "boom"). So we gave up on that by regulating it to the point of near extinction.

Then there was the move to remove the poisons exiting the exhausts of the hundreds of thousands of happy motorists in this country. First is was lead. Then, lead by the eco-wienies out in la la land ... err California, a new environment friendly fad came to the fore. Cafe blends. Yes, now we had to have different blends of petrol for not only different times of the year (winter and summer) but for different areas of the country as well. The fly in this ointment was at the same time as these demands were being placed in effect, there were fewer and fewer refineries to produce same. Thus, the cost for production went up as demand began to exceed production. (And of course the evil oil companies were prevented from economically building new refineries, that would not be environmentally friendly .... or should that be in a more politically incorrect (but far more honest light) manner, stated as "Yes, we sure do need more refineries, preferably built close to the raw material (oil), but not in my back yard!!"

Last but not least there was the push to prevent new drilling for oil. Wither it was on land, or off shore, it was deemed verboten. Every reason in the environmental bible was given, from harming plant and animal life, to raping Mother Gia. And we, gave in.

We, like the fictional pastor above, have asked for help. To be delivered from our energy dependent bonds.
And our prayers have been answered in more way then one.

People, the water is up to our necks. We have been tossed a life preserver. Let us take hold and use what has been given to the best of our abilities. Lest we face our own final judgment, as our civilization crumbles upon the dust heap of history. And when, in some future time and place the truth is unearthed, that we in fact had the means to continue on, but willfully chose to ignore what was given. Said "Thanks , but no thanks." Then we will be judged, much like the fictional old man as being arrogant willful fools, most deserving of our fate.

Spring Has Spung ... The Muse is Snoozing

It has been slow round these parts. The winter of our discontent has (finally) past, and spring is firmly entrenched. The Cubs appear to have started their yearly slide into the middle part of the division, after perhaps their best start in the last 50 years. This either proves male Chicagoland baseball fans (of the northsiders) are hopeless romantics/optimists ... or that we are in the end forever branded as someone who succumbs to "Cub-teasers". Well, the season is still young, and if they bounce back anything is possible. *sigh*.

More to follow, as I gather what little wits I have, and a few stray thoughts.

"Wrigley to be sold to Mars for $23 billion"

Well, they said it couldn't be done ... but the word is out Wrigley is going to Mars!! Yes, it was thought the "friendly confines" would be sold to someone who would perhaps update the park a bit, or worst case scenario, bring in the wrecking ball and start anew. But take it (and one would assume the surprisingly strong Cubs as well) to the fourth planet from the sun? Sheesh, we finally have a chance at getting to the World Series, and it takes aliens or the God of War (the tribune headline wasn't clear which "Mars") to prevent the long suffering Northsiders from getting a pennant. However, knowing the way the Cubs have a knack of "snatching defeat from the jaws of victory", one wonders if, after reading the above, it would be typically followed by "Well, we'll have to find a way to get them back for next season ... there's always next year!!"

Yes, my tongue was firmly planted in cheek. Though the Headline for this article (as it appears in total, on top of this post as well) at first blush, could appear to be describing the venerable home of the Cubbies. In fact it is referring to the Wrigley Co. home of "Wrigley's Spearmint", "Juicyfruit", "Doublemint", and "Big Red" gums.

Although William Wrigley Jr, states Wrigley gum will not be lost in the shuffle, nor will they be moving out of the Chicagoland area. Indeed, there appears to be a very good chance more jobs will be added as parts of the Mars candy company will be produced alongside the world famous Wrigley gum. Still, it is kinda sad to see another Chicagoland icon absorbed into a larger corporate (and even larger icon) entity.

Here is the Chicago Trib's article on same. Or here , in case the Tribune article requires a subscription.

Truth in Advertizing ...

... is a good thing to have. And is in (very) short supply regardless of which political side of the fence you are on. But in an effort to help a terrorist loving, race baiting, piss-poor excuse for a human being ... err "fellow Illinoisan who wants to do good on a massive scale, by implementing change" ™ , I have developed a straight forward no holds barred campaign button.

Yes, that is a mushroom cloud. And yes, I am willing to bet if Obama-lama-dingdong gets the Presidential nod, there will be one or more of those in our future. Though not the change I think he has in mind, it will be major change indeed.

H/T to both the amazing SondraK and the always engaging commentary and photo work provided by "Rodger, the Real King of France" for their posting about and pointing me to this bit of logo fun.

Goalpost Fixing 101

For those of you who happen to drop by here from time to time (I know you're out there, cause I keep hearing the back door to the 'puter slamming in the middle of the night.) You probably have noticed the many fine people who have their home on the net listed on the left hand side of this bit of fluff.

A lady who has always been a most welcome read, and rich source of food for (well reasoned) thought Kim's "real wife", the charming Connie DuToit, has turned her keen mind towards something which has been glaringly apparent (and none the less, ignored). We (across the board, but particularly more so on the "progressive" side of the street) have quite forgotten either how to, or perhaps closer to the truth, what constitutes a proper "debate".

Back in "the olden days" ™ when civics was at least passingly taught in school, the ground rules for (a) debate were rather clear and concise. One debates by presenting some selected thought or idea, usually given as a (declarative) statement. At this point some one or some group will provide factual evidence in backing (or not) said statement. Assuming there is an opposing view(s). persons supporting said view will, in turn, provide a counter point, again backed by factual evidence. This continues on until further evidence to support (and/or disprove) is exhausted, or the body of evidence is so great on one side as to provide a decisive conclusion one way or the other.

Be it a radio or tv "talk show", the travesty currently foisted upon us otherwise known as "Political Debates", or discourse across the interweb, there has been frightfully little honest debating, and far more goal post moving (and the majority of said moving being done by agenda driven useful progressive idiots of all stripes) then should ever have been put up with in a so called civil (and or well educated/informed) society.

However, Connie in her comment section to the above linked post, provides the best answer to "Goalposts on coasters".

"WE have to call them on it. If they move the goal posts after our last point is made, then we have to refuse to answer until they concede they lost the last point. If they don’t, then they aren’t arguing in good faith, and that should be pointed out to the peanut gallery.

Be bold and judicious in the use of “Until you concede that you lost the last point and your data was wrong, I refuse to consider additional issues. Do you concede the last point?” "

And say that until they agree or give up. You can add “...and if you don’t concede that you lost the point or bring new evidence so your point can be reconsidered, then I can only assume that you are arguing in bad faith and are engaging in propaganda.”
Source: Connie Du Toit

In short, turn out the lights, the party's over!!! Well said, madam, well said!

Am I Blue

As noted in a recent post at Dustbury, James Lileks has a home, once again, on the print side of things at the Minneapolis Star Tribune. Being the curious sort I am, took a look over there to see what was on his mind for his re-entry into “ye olde byline mode”, and was pleasantly surprised.

The column itself was framed around the remnants of Blue Laws. Those bits of codified custom, which at one time prohibited the sale of darn near everything on Sunday. It was, at least according to no less an authority then GOD, that we were to “keep the sabbath holy”. We were to give that day and (all) our energies and efforts over to Him which created us, in giving thanks and praise, and NOT by increasing our paycheck or helping some corporate entity to increase their's.

But that, in and of itself, was not the picture James was painting that day. Or at least not the complete owner of his canvas. He went on to opine about a quieter, gentler time. One of visiting grandparents, of shared simple joys. Hu boy, did he bring back memories.

I have to agree with him. Sunday in our neck of the woods, was not as effected by blue laws (the Chicago metro area, and it's sophisticated ways, beating back much of the Illinois blue laws, well before I was able to recall such things). To be sure, depending on where you lived, some bars would be closed, and (even to this day) automobile salesmen were not to be found. Still, you could go to Sears, or (pre-Sears) K-Mart. But for the most part, shopping was done on Saturday. Sunday was for finishing yard work (if needed), and for going to grandmas.

The day almost always started with the obligatory Sunday Mass. The family was always trying to make the 10:30, but most often that had left the station by time we were ready, and we would inevitably end up at the 12:00. Then it was a quick trip home to change out of our Sunday best, and into more comfortable attire. And off to grandmas we went.

If the weather was warm (read that as anything above freezing, with no major rain going on), the kids were sent outside. If inclement, we would find ourselves in the basement, watching the old black and white tv, or playing old 78's on the old record player. Meanwhile, our parents, grandparents, and assorted aunts and uncles would be upstairs. And they could be found talking about the local dirt, any current family drama, or whatever it was adults talked about. This would be augmented with the sounds of the Cubs (back when WGN carried ALL the games) the Bears, golf, or bowling, depending what was in season or on the air at the time. Of course it was all “in living color” as the grandparents had 25 inches of television goodness. As we grew a bit older, we would be allowed to watch (in silence) Though seen and not heard wasn't something done 100% of the time, adult conversations were just that, adult. Grandma would always spend some time with us, and we could always ask questions when there was a break in conversation. We were not ignored, but we did know our place, and our pecking order.

And much like Lileks, when “The Wonderful World of Color” blazed across the set, we knew it was nearing time to head back home. Though I seem to recall the end of Bonanza was usually when coats and kids were gathered up, good byes tossed about like grandma's Hersey kisses, and we drove the two lane highways back to our little bit of suburban heaven.

That, my friends, was Sunday. A day of prayer. A gathering of family. Rest and relaxation, good food, hugs. For the most part, no worries, no pressures (at least none which couldn't wait until tomorrow). A day in which to recharge.

And yes, I miss that. In this “every day is like every other day” world, one (even if they worked the day 9-5 shift) often has very little time to recharge. We are always on the go. Trying to make ends meet, with the ends pulling further apart despite all our best efforts. Sunday, just doesn't seem to be the same.

Do (or did) the blue laws in and of themselves really make a difference? In my mind that is a yes or no kinda thing. The laws in and of themselves ... no they didn't. Ahhhh but the intent and spirit behind them, that's another thing entirely. Being older (the “and wiser” part is still up for debate), I wonder if the intent wasn't as much to control as to prevent human nature from sinking to the lowest point possible before reaching an equilibrium of sorts. The “equilibrium being turning Sunday in to “just another day of the week”, rather then a “day of rest”. After all, God being God, doesn't need one ... He's God, fer cryin out loud. I would like to believe He did that for us, because he, better then anyone, knows our limitations. And, in so doing, sought to make life a bit easier for us. But humans being human, we went and botched it up.

Perhaps in this regard, the old way(s) of doing things were not all that bad after all. And I can live with out going shopping on Sunday. Heaven knows my paycheck doesn't go that far into the week as it is.

Forcast: 4"-6" of Glow Bull Warming Overnight

"Oh the weather outside is frightful ... " Sheesh, we have the second snowiest winter on record locked already, and it looks like it ain't over yet. The following pictures are a good job by my wife Deb (aka, "The Admiral") at showing the white stuff coming down. But these have to be the biggest flakes we have seen in quite some time.

This one is ONE FLAKE on my hand

And here is the driveway just outside of the garage. A lot of what you see are individual flakes. The larger clumps are of 3-4 together.

It took a bit to get this post finished, what with dinner and all. There is now about 2 inches of the white stuff on the ground (that is on top of the *old* snow). The latest forecast is for 4"-7" here in the hinterlands of northern Illinois, through tomorrow.

Can we have that glow bull warming stuff now?????

Remember When ...

The good readers and commenters over at the Rott, started waxing nostalgic today. I was no exception, contributing as much as my five active brain cells would allow. Sitting here in the snow covered bunker, at Snugg Harbor central, the memories were reluctant to fade away in to the cobwebbed recesses of my mind (such as it is). And so let's return to those days of yesteryear ... when men were men an women were all the happier for it!! (And kids were told to "shuddup and eat, before your dinner gets cold, then you can talk.").

Remember when:

Paychecks were a LOT smaller, but they seemed to go alot further.
Yes, they have gone up, ostensively due to inflation, but have they realistically kept pace to the increased cost of "basics", such as gas (auto), utilities, basic food items - meats, dairy, produce, bread? The cost of a new home, car, appliances (not even speaking about *top of the line*, just good quality for the dollar spent items)?

The price you paid for a night out did not require you to get a second (or third) mortgage on your house.
A *nice* dinner for two might set you back 10-20 bucks (including tips and a before dinner drink). A movie (with a popcorn and sodas) between 5-10 dollars more. And that was back in the 70's, go back a tad bit further, to the 60's, and a ten spot could get you through the whole night. As for kids, well a Saturday matinee was all of a dollar. That included two movies, a couple of cartoons, a newsreel, coming attractions, the national anthem, and of course, a soda and popcorn. Plus, if you were sneaky, you could get into the *other* show after yours was over, and see that too.

There were no "Soccer Moms".
Our (summer time) days were, for the most part, our own. Yes, there were swimming lessons at the park district, and for a couple of years "day camp" (again, via the park district). But, we were expected to get to and from them on our own. It was only a mile or so to the public pool, and or pick up point for the day camp. We were around 10 years of age, so off we went. As a rule, there were no mom taxi services. Dad had the only car. It wasn't the responsibility of the parents to jam pack your day with activities, you were left to your own devices. If you elected to get into trouble, and happened to get caught, you paid the penalty(s) for same. Which ranged from parents assuming the role of drill instructor, and burning your ears off. Or you faced "The Wrath of Dad" ™ , You did NOT want to face the wrath of dad because your bottom was the prime focus of his wrath, and this was long before ANY parent needed to worry about things like Child Protective Services. Needless to say, we found plenty enough forms of "satisfactory" entertainment to keep us busy during the summer months.

Bagging the Grass
Meant you had to go and retrieve all the lawn trimmings after cutting the grass, and place same into paper or plastic trash bags ... and not dividing up a pile of "natures own" in to sandwich baggies?

Going to the "Five & Dime Store"
Where you could still get stuff (in my case, penny candy that still cost a penny) for five or ten cents? Comic books were 10 and then 12 cents each for the longest time. The special annuals were a quarter and maybe came out once or twice a year. Soda was in cans, but the way to get it out of the machine was by bottle. If you were smart you went around with your wagon, and collected as many as you could to turn in to the grocery store to collect the deposit. Then took that money to the five and dime. Ahhhhh capitalism in action!!!

Having a paper route.
Be it a daily or weekly paper, you were given a stack by the route manager, and expected to fold/roll em up, rubber band em, and deliver each to the subscribers on your route. You were also expected to get the subscription money when it came due. This was done rain or shine. There was no car. There was maybe a bike if you were lucky. That was how you made money before getting a "real job".

The floor is now open. Anyone else care to wonder down memory lane?? Come on down, it's nice down here!

The Plane Truth

Being a retired Navy Aviation Tech, when I came across this, I had to see which one was *the real me*.

H/T to Kat at Cathouse Chat for taking the quiz first and having the results on her page.

Conservative Compassion

Compassionate Conservative. Two words some might consider to be an oxymoron. A catch phrase produced by a GOP pundit designed to shed a "kinder gentler light" on (at that time) an aspiring presidential hopeful. As most of us know, the media picked up on it, and it has been used time and again. But what does it really say ... about the media (and the liberal/progressives et all) ... and more importantly, about those of us who espouse a more conservative view of the world.

Mark Levin, the no holds barred conservative voice (and author extraordinaire), brought this up yesterday (or last night if you listen to him via WLS). And he makes a very interesting point. By creating a subset of conservatives as being exclusively Compassionate, isn't that implying Conservatives (and by default, conservatism at large) are either incapable of being compassionate, or those who embrace the conservative philosophy are rendered less compassionate (or devoid/stripped of this trait altogether) then all other mortals who wonder the planet?

He is right on the money. By marginalizing conservatives it perpetuates the myth we are all heartless. That we would, if given the chance, eat our young ... or our pets (for those out there without children). Or perhaps, we would bring back the rack, tar & feathers, public stocks, and or mass conformity to a Judaeo-Christian ethos with the blessing (literally) of the State. Maybe it is feared that woman, once married, would be shackled to the kitchen, the laundry, and the kids ... with no hope of developing a life outside (or along with) same. And all the other myths purposefully perpetrated at every chance by those on the left and their media lap dogs.

The real truth is ... conservatives do have a heart by the very nature of what they believe in, they have to! (And no, I am not necessarily talking about the Republican party here ... though there are conservatives who belong to it. With each passing election cycle it becomes less and less conservative in its make up and membership ... can anyone say RHINO ???) Conservatives believe in the individual and are in full support of their (God given) rights and freedoms as innumerated by the Constitution. They believe in small government, which means less intrusion in both your personal and professional (business) lives. They believe in taking responsibility for ones actions, being held accountable for same (for good or ill). If allowing for ones fellow man to be as unhindered in their opportunities to become what ever they want or to realize their dreams (whatever they may be) unfettered and unrestricted as much as possible isn't an applicable definition for compassion (toward their fellow man) then I don't know what is.

So perhaps we should send a word to the powers that be. We are not "Compassionate Conservatives". This beast doesn't exist. We of the conservative stripe, are first and foremost human beings. Who by our very nature are, when the need arises, compassionate, passionate, rational, logical, illogical, temperate, intemperate, forgiving, unforgiving, loving, boorish, honest, the full gamut of traits and emotions inherent in all human beings. To say we, as a group, are incapable of compassion is as disingenuous as saying there is no such thing as a liberal who believes in the Islamic threat to our way of life as being a clear and present danger. (They may be few in number, but they do exist. Sen Lieberman as a case in point.)

Cross posted at the CIA cause M. Jack, and the gang, need a break now and again.

Bloody But Unbowed

Sometimes things take a tad longer then originally planned. What was supposed to be no more then a month or so away from blogging and things puter-ish in general, turned out to last over a year.

Now it is almost mid July of '07 and once again I can be found banging on the keyboard wondering what is happening to this country of mine. Or if an ol' left handed Squid can master the art of "The Perfect BBQ/Smoked Ribs" ™ .

For those who are interested, my better half Deb, and I still reside in the hinterland of Northern Illinois. After a two and one half years of no job, I have been working for almost that past year now and that is a good thing. Quiets the nerves.

So, what will be going on here? Mostly the same things as before. Expect to see commentary on:

The WOT- Being retired from the Navy, I have a strong bond towards those who freely elect to join any of the armed services, knowing they may be placing themselves in harms way. And the more sources either reporting from "the sandbox" or repeating/linking to stories/articles from the frontlines of the world, the better counter we will have in getting the truth out.

"The Religion Of Peace" ™ Submission- This will be a major topic until either Islam becomes nothing more then a bad memory, or a major reformation takes place. Though considering Islam is NOT a religion, but something closer to a philosophy ... but that is a topic for future posts. In any case, as it stands now, this "thing" called Islam is a malignancy, a cancer to all liberty loving peoples everywhere. It needs to be stomped out. Expect to see more of "Letters to a Mythical Moderate Muslim" at sometime in the near future.

The Media- A recent poll found approximately 90% of reporters/journalists vote Democrat. And there are still folks who wonder why there is bias (recognised or unrecognized) in all flavors of media? I have no problem with a paper or radio/tv station leaning left or right on their editorial/op-ed pages or stated on-air commentary. That is a big part of what the first amendment is all about. But to have "the news" slanted, or miss-reported, or just out and out fabricated, is (or should be) nothing short of irresponsible (at best) and treason (at worst). And for the record, accuracy in reporting seems to bite FOX news in the butt from time to time. You folks are supposed to be professionals, isn't it time to start acting like it (hint: solid sources are a "good thing" ™ ).

I'm With Fred!!- He isn't perfect. He isn't Regan. He IS a straight talker, much closer to original GOP values of small government and a strong defense. He is not a uniter for the sake of uniting alone. He has a temper and will not suffer fools gladly. And until hard facts state other wise appears to be the best hope for the GOP and this country. Run Fred Run!!! (with Mike Huckabee or Condi Rice as vp????)

Liberals/Statists/Progressives/Useful Idiots-Meat for the grinder here! Some are truly insane. Some are young and idealistic (the only forgivable sub group of this bunch). Some are out and out power hungry control freaks who want nothing more then to bring down this great country and turn it into an American Gulag. Thanks to their friends in media (see above), and PT Barnum's maxim, it seems they get closer to this goal with each passing year.

Politics-What doesn't get covered by the two above, will get it here. This would include, but is not limited to; "Stupid President Tricks" ™ -Or how can a man who seems to (for the most part) get it right in the WOT, be so far off in his domestic side of the house. "RINOS"-These are in reality, the true bastard children of politics. They are loyal to none but themselves, and as soon as the voting public wakes up and realizes this, the better off we will be. "Celebrity Drive-by Spewings" ™ -Yes, there are some who are truly middle ground or even right leaning in their personal political views. But isn't it amazing that most of these folks don't mix their entertainment with their politics? (There are exceptions, Ted Nugent comes to mind ... but for the most part on the right, it is the exception to the rule.) The majority of actors/singers/artists are left of center, indeed they are far left if anything. I think most folks would not care what their personal politics are. They would rather be entertained and leave it at that. Sadly, this is not the case. The only plus side is most of our entertainers are nothing more then useful idiots with hardly an original thought of their own in their heads, just talking points for what ever cause/political hack they are supporting.

The Constitution-It is NOT A LIVING DOCUMENT!! I expect to do some posting on each of the amendments constituting the bill of rights. This will be amplified with references to notes/letters/writings of the authors of same. It really is a well thought out and visionary document. Unfortunately, it has been under serious attack since the Civil War (especially in the last 100 years). Many of the "revisionist interpretations" were done with good intentions, but we all know where that road leads don't we?

The Cubs and Bears-I know when you look up humility in the dictionary the picture next to it is of a Cubs fan, but I have been a loyal follower of the "northsiders" for the past 40 some odd years, and am not going to stop now. As for the Bears, someday we will get a talented QB ... probably about the time the Cubs win the World Series. Still, at least if you place the word "fudge" in front of our football teams name, it sounds like a candy. (take THAT Packer fans!)

Odds and Ends-Anything else which strikes my fancy. Or items about home/family/fellow travelers in the blogging world.

And that about covers it.

For those out there who have been faithful readers in the past, if I haven't said so before, thank you! I hope you come back to see what foolishness I start to post here again. For all (any??) new readers, welcome aboard. Make yourself comfortable, and enjoy the ride.

A Brief Note

I have become increasingly concerned with the lack of a Muslim voice or voices coming forward which would condom the excesses of violence and intolerance professed by others claiming to be of the Islamic faith. If this "religion" is (if the figures are correct) being embraced by approximately 1 billion people around the world, surely a large portion of same would rise up to condemn the actions of their more rabid brethren. Sadly (with few exceptions, Dr Wafa Sultan comes to mind) there are no voices of influence coming to the front lines. And so I wonder. And in wondering, the following post, was born.

The post immediately following this was to be a one shot deal. Upon researching information for said post, it became clear to me it was just the tip of the iceberg. As it stands right now it is just "part one" there will be many more to follow.

I feel I am obligated to make clear I do not advocate any acts of violence be taken against any Muslim or follower of Islam in this country. Unless it is known (or suspected) they are singularly or as a group (actively) pursuing the willful destruction of persons or property in this country, then all bets are off. However you would be well advised in alerting local law enforcement or such federal agencies (FBI, Homeland Security) as applicable. Let them do their jobs.

Blame This On Chris ...

he started it. So I took the dag nab quiz and wahda ya know ... this is what I came up with.

You are SPIKE - You're just plain cool. There are

a few things that bother you, but you don't

let anyone else in on it. You approach every

situation with a devil-may-care attitude that

borders on self-destructive. However, you

always seem to come out on top, and look damn

cool while doing it. You go, space cowboy.


What anime gun-toting hooligan are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

What is really interesting here is my better half has the complete set of Cowboy Be Bop (Spikes anime home) on DVD. We both enjoyed it, and not just for the anime, the music used through out the series is above par, with some selections solidly in the "just plain damn good" column.

Now if I can get Deb to look in here she's gonna get a giggle outta this.

Future Tense...The Beginnings

We have been able to reconstruct more information from the blog "Future Tense". What is significant here, was information found about the author, and what appears to be his next entry. It should be noted the "About Me" information was typically found as a separate entry/area of any given blog, and not within what would be considered the body of same. We may also be posting entries out of sequence depending on our ability to reconstruct them. This is why we will include the date of each post whenever possible.

[editors: The Virtual World Encyclopedia 2105 edition]

About Me

Name: Nick (Nicholas) Zachary Wilson

Location Somewhere in Maryland

Occupation Student

Interests Football, Baseball, High School Wrestling, Computers, Science Fiction, OTR(thanks Great Granddad!), Eighty-Eight string guitars, Girls, Guns, US History.

Bio Yes, my first name is Nicholas...but I answer to Nick. My middle name is in honor of my great grandfather, who is responsible for my (growing) interest in US History-especially the US Constitution. Great Grandfather was a history professor after he came back from World War II. And believe it or not he is still alive and kicking at the age of 85.

My dad is an officer in the Navy...so I guess that makes me a Navy brat ™ . We live in southern Maryland, while dad is out on deployment. So yes, the war is very important and personal to me.

Mom is pretty cool....she is a writer, and has a regular column in the local paper....but really wants to write the "Great American Novel". I have no brothers or sisters.....and kind of like it that way. When ever we transfer to another command, I always get my own room...and seem to make friends easily enough...so there is always someone to bum around with.

I have no real steady girlfriend....they take up too much time and effort and MONEY. Though I guess my best friend just happens to be a girl. Her name is Cathy, and we met years ago at dads second duty station (she's a Navy Brat ™ too). We have kept in touch via e-mail and letters over the years, and when dad got orders out here, she found out her dad was going to be stationed on the same base. Cath is a computer geek (she says goddess), where I just want to get on and play games or use various programs...she is into all the nuts and bolts, especially when it comes to software.

I am on the Varsity Wrestling squad. It's a pain to make weight sometimes, but I like the workouts....and it is a great way to blow off steam. The High School out here is ok. Most of the local kids get along with us Navy types even more so since the war "got real" (as the liberals always seem to say....like it wasn't before??).

When I have the time I like to read science fiction. Grandpa Ed (dad's dad), got me started on Ray Bradbury, and the Heinlein "juveniles". I guess the bug bit hard 'cause I have been reading all the Heinlein books I can find, along with Asimov, Clark, Weber (Honor Harrington rocks!), and Turtledove. Lately I have started on WEB Griffith's Army and Marine Corps series....it seems dad, grandpa, and great granddad all swear by them. And now I am hooked too.

My politics are (as great granddad would say) a work in progress....which is one of the reasons I am starting this blog. To try and get my thoughts straight. Sometimes getting things on "paper" helps clarify things. For right now you could say i believe in the Constitution as it was written...and the more I read about it (especially from the Federalist Papers) the more I believe this to be true. Guess great granddad IS right after all.

This is all I have for my "bio" right now. There will probably be more in future blog entries.

March 8

I have been "talking" with my dad via e-mail. He is currently on board the re-commissioned USS Missouri, stationed on or about the Persian Gulf region. He is in charge of a UAV detachment assigned to the ship. What exactly they do/observe is to the best of my knowledge, classified. As the President says, there's a war on....like were not fully aware of this just before last Christmas.

(Actually, many Americans did not act as if they were...at least before December 21st, what many are calling "Black Thursday", the day Minnesota was nuked.)

Dad says to "go ahead and blog", but remember I am putting myself on the line , and there are still a number of people out there who will want to make negative comments, argue, or generally make an ass of themselves, in my home on the net.

I say screw em! If they don't like what I am saying they can piss off. I am not writing so much for them, as I am for myself...and for trying to put down on here what is going on in my life, my (local) world, and my country, as I see it.
Comments have been left open, and I welcome those who wish to intelligently discuss or add to the conversation.

Anyhow, that's the way it is gonna be here. If I think you are making a fool of yourself in MY COMMENTS, you will be deleted, try it a second time, you will be banned. As dad would say...."That is all. Now turn to and carry out the Plan of the Day!"

Future Tense...A Blog Story

The following is from a blog, a web log, of an American male, during what has come to be called the fourth world war (WWIV). The third, now generally considered to be the unofficial, world wide battle between nation states considered "Communist", and those who were not.

As more can be reconstructed it will be presented here, as it is understood to be a faithful representation of what life was like during this period of time in America.

[the editors: "The World Virtual Encyclopedia" 2105 edition]

March 4, 2007

Although I have been blogging for sometime...it has been mostly rants and raves...and the usual bs. So this is going to be more focused, and if I piss off a few people, then that's just the way it has to be I guess.

As you may have read in the "about me" link, Dad went back in the Navy almost before he was recalled. He e-mails whenever he gets a free minute, or the chance to do so. Mom works in town and also helps at the local American Legion with fund drives and support the troops efforts. I am still in school but expect to enlist when I am able....still not sure of which branch....but leaning towards the Marines.

From here on out, this is my journal about the War. The net has been busier then ever since it started. And I thought it would be a good way for me to collect my thoughts and highlight some of the events which were important to me (and perhaps to you as well).

March 6, 2007

"Archie" moved with what outwardly appeared as a relaxed pace through the crowd at the Mall of America. His short hair, clean shaven face, along with the appropriate clothes, marked him as "a typical college age middle class hip-hop looking kid" to shoppers and more importantly, to mall security. Even with oversized backpack and what should pass as a lap top travel case, as long as he kept his leisurely pace, should allow him to reach his goal, the men's room directly across from "Helzberg Diamonds", on the first floor of the mall.

Archie was his nick name, his real first name was Akmed. His college "friends" and fellow classmates, the damned infidels, kept adding an "r" where none existed. They pronounced it Ark-med. This, over more then a few drinking sprees, (It was most important he fit in, he was lectured again and again, by his mentors.) morphed into Arkie. Then someone decided Arkie must be short for Archie. He played along...if the fools wanted to think him easy going...and wanting to seemingly become "more Americanized" or even a bit of a fool, so much the better.

Akmed kept the charade up....along with always being seen with the over sized backpack and what appeared to be obligatory lap top case. He was majoring in computer science at the University (on a student visa) so the lap top was easy enough to justify. The oversized backpack was seen as just another idiosyncratic geek trade mark and accepted as such.

Akmed Abdul Mohammed made a quick scan of the restroom, and headed to the end stall closest to the wall. There was a large grill covering a vent, conveniently at almost floor level, on the wall. He entered, placed his backpack directly in front of him, and sat down on the toilet. Even in this position he was able to unscrew the cover on the vent, insuring he was alone, opened and entered the area just inside the opening.

The backpack was heavy....about the same size and weight as the one already inside the shaft he dropped off the day before. He knew no one would look....no one cared what one kid carried into the bathroom...as long as he wasn't scruffy looking, rude, or what the American idiots thought a "terrorist" looked like....he stood every chance of success.

His established routine, attitude, and time, as his mentors had assured him, paid off.

Akmed was a bomber. Oh not your typical uneducated zealot recruited almost daily to see their life spent in a burst of blood, guts, and shrapnel, in some meeting place of westerners in Arab lands. He was different. Akmed, with a degree in physics, trained in skills needed to assemble electronic devices of all sort, was not going to see his life on this earth cut short. But he would, Allah willing, see death come to the heartland of America. And in this largest of all Malls, the Mall of America, see hundreds perhaps thousands, die as the end result of his combining the contents of his two backpacks and the interface in his laptop case. No Akmed was not just a bomber...he was positively nuclear.

It took something less then an hour to get all the equipment in place and the timer set, then exit the washroom after securing the grate on the wall. The only thing left to do was make a very special "one time only" call on a cell phone given him for just this purpose. He dialed, left a message, then hung up, discarding the phone in route back to his apartment. Akmed smiled, the message short but clear enough for his bosses to understand; "Boom".

[reprinted from "The Atomic Bomber- A Study of Akemd "Archie" Abdul Mohammed" Harcourt Press. 2007]

Fear

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself -- nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance." -Franklin D Roosevelt

Today President Bush has appointed John Bolton as the newest ambassador to the UN. And as expected, the liberals and their lap dog, the liberal media have their knickers in a knot. No big surprise here. About time we had someone in that cesspool who was rock solid...haven't had a person of that caliber since Dr. Kirkpatrick.

Senate Dems along with their congressional cronies, continue in attempts to torpedo the current administration's proposed programs, agenda's, and appointments.

Terror groups continue to ply their deadly trade across the globe....many allied with Islam (or at least the Wahhabi's sect of same), though militant factions of any state, ideology, or particular cause, will gravitate toward this kind of violence, if their logic is flawed and their passion is high enough.

The continent of Africa continues to be embroiled in civil war after civil war, as either corrupt leaders seek to tighten their reigns at the expense of their peoples...or once again, Islam seeks to gain control of yet another country or peoples.

Third rate nations attempt to develop nuclear capabilities, for their own use in gaining a larger portion of regional control, or exporting this technology to others...or both.

Minority groups who seek greater levels of acceptance by society...looking to become part of the status quo.

What is the one thing all the above have in common? Look at the quote at beginning of this entry. It's fear.

Now fear is an honest emotion....and can, when reacted to properly, indeed save ones life. But we have gone far beyond the fight or flight response in our actions and reactions to fear.

Couples

Christina, kindly asked if I could produce something for this weeks 1k tale. Who am I to say no. So here was the setup for said story, and what follows is my five active braincell's rendition of the 1k story polka.

Two people are seated at a diner in the early hours of the morning. One passes the other an object under the table. Without touching their coffee, first one leaves, then the other. After the parties part ways, the recipient of the object is struck by a vehicle. Someone else retrieves the object...

Here we go....some fireworks for our upcoming Independence day

Couples

Samantha giggled. Tom looked so earnest sitting across from her at
their booth in the little dinner, she'd flashed back to an old black
and white movie from last. In it the ingenue had fallen for the
mysterious stranger, ending up transporting state secrets, in her bra,
across the border. Looking again at her lover, given the chance, she
would do the same thing too.

Tom, on the other hand, was not nearly as cool, calm, or collected as
Sam's celluloid hero had been. His palms shook under the table, and
he could swear the tiny dinner was reverberating with the sound of his
heart. His thoughts, unlike Sam's, had nothing to do
with microfilm and secret agents...

Sitting in the pickup, even in the early morning hours, caused a small
rivulet of sweat to run down Beth's neck. She dabbed at it with a
Kleenex, thinking, "Why can't this good for nothing get his damn air
conditioning fixed?" Glancing at Greg, Beth rolled her window down
hoping the cross ventilation would help....this hot and humid, this
early, perhaps they would get some much needed rain later that day.

Greg grabbing a smoke out of his shirt pocket, asked if she wanted
one. Taking the proffered cigarette, the dark haired, dark eyed
beauty took a deep drag, mumbled "thanks", and brooded...

Tom, a widower, had done the best he could in raising his two kids.
They were out of the house now. The boy was attending the local
junior college. His daughter looked as good as her mother at her age.
"She'll have a ring on her finger soon enough", he thought.

Tom had begun to focus on his own needs. It had been a long time
since he even allowed the thought of another women enter into his
mind. Tom couldn't imagine being able to divide his loyalties between
them and someone they would only view (to his mind) as a replacement
mother. Once they had reached their teens, especially his little
girl, the chores in and outside the house had been taken over with
little or no resistance by the kids.

Last year he had met Samantha. Tom edited/owned the local paper,
placing all his time, energy, and emotion into it after his wife had
died. She was the new graphics designer he had hired when they had
gone whole hog into the computer age. What started out as a "proper"
office relationship, one day, crossed over the line to the beginnings
of something more. Funny thing was, Tom could not remember what
caused them to cross that line. Perhaps it was the realization, with
the kids grown and leaving the nest, this old bird needed to spread
his wings ....Sam had proven to be as far as he needed to fly.

They pulled into a gas station. While Greg tanked up, with as much as
15 dollars would give him, Beth went inside grabbed a couple of sodas,
and paid the clerk. Back in the truck they continued toward town.
"You can drop me off here," said Beth, "You know what to do. I'll meet
up with you back home." Greg nodded, and stopped to let Beth off,
watching her disappear around a corner, he lit another cigarette, and
waited.

Samantha felt Tom's knees brushing against hers under the table. Then
his hand was on her knee. Sam suppressed a look of surprise, this
early in the day and especially in public, Tom was hardly this open
with his affections. But she thought it felt delightful. Reaching
under the table Sam's hand found his...and as she smiled at him...felt
his other hand and something more...it felt like a small box.

Tom turned her hand over and placed the little...why it felt like
velvet...box into her hand. Sam let out a gasp. They had looked at
rings just the other day. Looking into Tom's eyes, "Tom, if this is
what I think it is....." "Just say yes", replied Tom.

"Oh...yes, YES! Let's get out of here, darling. I want to spend the
day with you, away from work. Let me run home and grab a couple of
things, and I'll meet you at the office. Say you'll take the rest of
the day off?" Tom smiled, "Of course. I'll see you back at the office
in, say 15 minutes?" Through glistening eyes, all Samantha could say
was, "Yes."

The couple didn't even stay for their coffee. Exiting the dinner, Tom
headed toward the office. Sam headed in the opposite direction, toward
her apartment, three short blocks beyond. Samantha, in her own world,
looked up only a second before the truck hit her. It was the last
thing she would ever see. With the small amount of traffic on the
road at that time of day, it was out of sight before most folks
realized there was death at the crosswalk.

Beth stepped out from the ally, adjacent to the dinner, and gave
Samantha's a quick once over. She noticed and grabbed the small box
still in the dead girls hand, then returned to the shadows of the
alley before anyone saw her.

Beth didn't call a cab like she'd told her brother Greg. Nor did she
head to her father's office at the newspaper. She went out the back
of the alley, heading toward her father's house. She had changed her
mind. After all, daddy was going to have to eat something, and in
need of a shoulder to cry on. He would be very distrait but she would
take care of him. Hadn't she always done that since her mother died,
so many years ago? Beth knew she was all her daddy ever needed. She
was daddies little girl...and NO ONE was ever going to take her place.

Tadpole

Christina was kind enough to offer a chance to participate in one of her marvelous flights of imagination, in which words are the fuel and your mind, the vehicle of choice. This excersise is called "Take Two". To find out who else was challanged as well as what the guidelines are, go here. As for my bit of fluff, read on...

I told Mike: "Don't pitch to the outside of the plate!", when Steve was at bat. Had he listened, none of this would have happened.

We were playing at the rundown baseball diamond in what was once known as McPherson Park. All the neighborhood kids called it "Camp Swampy. It's formerly close cropped left field, was shrinking in size each passing year, due to the marshland bordering it. The old McPherson house, was just past right field. Where once a 30 foot tall combination wooden fence and scoreboard, kept balls in the park, and the McPherson home from harm, (and kids a generation ago safe from the wrath of "Old Mr. McPherson"...now "the late Mr. McPherson") now, was air and opportunity. Steve's hit, took advantage of both. The sound of second story glass shattering, told us where the ball's adventure in flight ended, and where ours began.

Our group consisted of Tom, Bob, Mike, Steve, Brad, Eric, myself (Doug), and the youngest of our group, Bob's brother, Tad, who we all called "Tadpole". Steve and I have been together the longest, due more to being the oldest (and largest), then anything else, and were considered the final arbiters in our groups actions. So, the question on who would go in and reclaim our ball ended up in our lap.

Tom, Bob, and Tadpole did not want to go in at all...they wanted to call it a night, and find something else to do. The rest of the gang wanted "their ball" back now. Steve and I saw the obvious answer, send in one of the three "dissenters". Tom and Bob, realizing the direction things were going, backed up and regrouped. Tadpole, being 2 years younger then the rest of us, and no so quick on the uptake, suddenly found himself a "majority of one". Brad offered Tadpole, the use of his flashlight (one of the many items residing in his ever present backpack). This, along with twin pressures of wanting to be (an "official") part of the gang, and appearing to be tough as his older brother (and his friends), was enough to send him on his way.

The house, partially boarded up on the lower level, looked formidable. The upper windows left to the elements, the accuracy of teen aged boys throwing arms ( in our case-well hit balls), pockmarked as they may be, were unreachable from the ground. So Tad tried the front door. Amazingly enough it was unlocked. Turning his flashlight on, Tad entered the rundown Victorian.

The light cast its beam on a dust covered floor. There were no noticeable signs anyone had ever been inside, even though it seemed easy enough to gain access. With a quick shrug, he continued in, to the back of the foyer, and headed up the stairs to the second floor..

At the top of the stairs, Tad could still hear the gang outside. With each passing step, down the upper hallway, sounds of the outside world seemed to all but fade away. Even though there were plenty open windows for sounds to travel through, and the gang was anything but quiet, their cheers of encouragement were lost, replaced with an almost oppressive silence. Tad started to wonder about the wisdom of agreeing to retrieve the errant ball.

He approached the end of the hallway. There were three doors here. The one on his right was quickly discounted, the ball had entered the second story toward the side of the house on his left. Squaring his shoulders, taking a deep breath, Tad tried the door on his left. It opened on to a small bedroom. A bed was against one wall, dresser against the other, with a chair in the corner. Dust covered everything, but again, it looked as it might have back when the original owner(s) were alive. The one window to this room was cracked but in one piece. The ball had not landed in here. He quickly closed the door, and went to try the other.

This was a large bedroom. A canopy bed occupied one side,with a nightstand next to it. A dresser with mirror, was up against the far wall, a small desk and chair was in front of the window where the ball had entered the house. It was covered with bits of glass. The room was markedly cooler then the outside, to the point of being cold. Even with what appeared to be enough light coming in through the windows, it seemed noticeably darker. The flashlight beam seemed stunted, as if a filter had been placed in front of it. With shaking hands, Tad directed the beam under the desk, in hopes the ball might be there. At the same time he was fighting the mounting feeling something wasn't right about the house, and this room in particular.

"You looking for this, boy?" boomed from a malevolent voice directly behind him, and were the last words he ever heard.

"Tadpole! Tadpole! Wake up!" Bob had his brother's head on his lap, while Steve was applying a compress made from an old rag soaked with water, over the knot on Tad's head. "Man"; noted Steve, "that line drive hit you square. Why didn't you get your glove up quicker?"

"I don't know"; replied Tad, "It just happened, that's all." "Give me a minute I'll be alright. You guys aren't going to believe this, but I had the strangest dream just now."

"I wondered if you were alright"; sighed Bob, "but if you want to sound goofy, and talk about dreams, that's tadpole for ya'."

It was still early, the knot appeared to be no longer a concern to Tad, so it was decided to play for one more inning. We took our positions, I was behind the plate, Tad in right field.

I told Mike: "Don't pitch to the outside of the plate!", when Steve was at bat...