Blogging While Famous

Being famous carries with it much responsibility. As a celebrity of dubious influence, it is incumbent upon me to examine closely the state of affairs of this world and make public my observations, as seen through the eyes of one who sees things sometimes just a tad differently than most. If my observations seem obvious to you, then go to the head of the line and collect your prize. If not, then think a moment, evaluate what I have said against all available evidence, and go from there, secure in the knowledge that you have been exposed to a possible epiphany. Am I right all the time? Is my outlook gospel? Of course not. That would be incredibly boring, if for no other reason than I know everything and have nothing left to do and might as well off myself. Besides, you soaking up what I have to offer and providing your own interpretations help me to fine-tune my wisdom so that the truth I do claim to know is somewhat closer to the ACTUAL truth. I already know that 4 plus 4 equals 8, but 4 of what, and what effect does the nature of the 4 things I added to the other 4 things have on the actual sum of the 2 sets? Ya never know..........

Now that I have that peculiar disclaimer out of the way, I can proceed to illuminate the dark corners of todays' occurrences, the state of matters as they exist, and how all these things might kill us all in some unknown future.

One thing I'd like to mention with a bit of smug hilarity is the fact that if I get pulled over for a DUI, not many people will know about it. So, Paris, you go girl! Be FAMOUS! Me, I'll just rest in the comfort of my second rate infamy. And drive my vehicle sober.

The space shuttle FINALLY got off the ground today. I personally do not mind if a launch is delayed, because I'm in no big hurry to see another group of brave astronauts get fried because someone was in a hurry to get things going. We still have a long way to go before we come up with a way to get from here to there as easily and carefree as we here down on the ground do with our automobiles, and even vehicles stuck to the ground have a sad habit of killing us, so safety first, I say.

We are coming up on the 5th anniversary of the 9/11 tragedy, and Osama Bin Laden is still safely hidden away in some decked-out cave in Northern Pakistan. The man who claims to be president is still trumpeting how safe he and his cronies have kept us since that horrible day, despite the fact that we have now lost more lives in Iraq than we did on 9/11. Tell me, don't you normally lose more lives fighting a war than you do cleaning up the mess afterwards? Is Dubya reading the "how to fight a war" manual backwards or something? He did say, "Mission Accomplished", didn't he? Well, didn't he? I was asked how history would look back upon these days and describe them. Well, you have to remember that history is written by the victors. Only when you go back and dig up private memoirs and hidden accounts of events are you able to truly assemble an account of events untainted by political distortions. I remember the pap I was fed in school back in the 60's, history that left out the trail of tears, the oppression of segregation, the radiation that drifted throughout the country from the nuclear tests. Even now, if you tune to talk radio with a clear partisan bent, you will hear such a twisted and one-sided description of current events you might be tempted to wonder what planet these people are on. When you listen to the news my friends, please remember that there are always two sides to every story, and you usually have to blend the two accounts together to arrive at any semblance of the truth. One day, white haired old veterans of Iraq are going to tell stories of what happened there to their grandkids. I suspect those stories are not going to be pretty. But they will be the truth.

The man who claims to be president actually came out and admitted that there are "secret prisons" scattered about, places where we can interrogate terror suspects without having to worry about all those inconvenient rules against torture, circumvention of due process, etc. I suspect he must have been convinced that smoking gun evidence was about to be leaked and so he beat them to the punch, acting like it was no big deal. This man is pissing me off. Bill Clinton was impeached because he got a blow-job. Dubya is making a mockery of everything this country has stood for. Am I the ONLY goddamn American who thinks this son-of-a-bitch ought to be charged with treason? Sigh, I must be fucking mad if that's truly the case.......

With all this acrimony over terror suspect detentions in places like Guantanimo, I would like to bring up an observation which threatens the complexity of the whole process. Look, since time immemorial, it has been understood that the only people who have any carte-blanch to carry weapons and attack other people are those sanctioned as warriors or policemen by an established government of a sovereign state. Any one else who acts to kill people, be it by machine gun or bomb, is outside this definition, and are simply criminals, or more precisely, murderers. Terrorists fall easily into this category, whether or not they are supported covertly by some state or are harbored within them. If the guy you capture shooting at you or setting off bombs in market places does not have a military ID, then you haul his ass to jail, you put him on trial, you find him guilty based on the evidence, and then you put him away forever or fry his sorry ass. It's that simple. Just because he's crazier than your home grown gang banger, has access to heavy weaponry, whatever the case, he is still outside the code of military justice, but falls under civil law, and can be dealt with just as easily. You don't have to torture him to get a confession, you don't have to hide the evidence that proves him guilty, you don't have to keep him hidden away incognito without access to a lawyer. The only reason you would want to go to such extremes to deal with such people is some kind of desire not to have to abide by the rule of law, which is the only thing which separates people like us from people like them. By acting this way, you BECOME them. And we don't want THEM running this country of ours.

I hear alot of people are upset that Pluto has been downgraded from planetary status to mere planetoid. Well, it makes perfect sense that a celestial body barely the size of a moon should not be considered a planet in the truest sense of the word. There are plenty of objects that orbit this star that are just as worthy as pluto if you want such things considered as planets, and there are just to many of them to invite them all in for no good reason. I suppose the scientific department of naming things should have thought about all that before they allowed Pluto to be considered a planet to begin with. Well, I say let's just keep cute little Pluto in our hearts as a favored celestial body and leave it at that. I'm sure it's not going to effect the astrologers all that much.

I'm already late with this post so I might as well shut up now and get it published. Thank Bob I'm not being paid for this, having to meet deadlines and having my content picked over by lawyers and bean-counters. That would REALLY derail my train of thought, and believe me, you wouldn't want a train loaded down with what's in MY brain running off the tracks! Till next post, merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again.

Epic announcements and other such nonesense......

Well, let's see, what can I come up with tonight? The news was pretty interesting. Pakistan has announced a deal with the Taliban, Al Quida, and any other terrorist miscreant who can agree to behave themselves, by resting comfortably in a remote and so-far unsuppressed mountainous region between Government controlled Pakistan and Afghanistan. It's a sort of "we'll quit coming after you and getting killed doing so if you'll agree not to keep killing us for trying to bring you to justice and establish the rule of law in our own sovereign territory", kind of understanding. Wow, is that a deal or what? I'm sure Dubya will come up with some good-old-boy euphemisms to explain to us, the victims of the worst terrorist attack in history, why our partners in the war on terror really know how to fight terrorism. No, folks, I'm not kidding, this was on the news tonight. Really. I swear to Bob.

In other news, NASA has introduced the winner of the new, state of the art manned mission vehicle that will take us to the moon, and who knows, maybe even back again. Utilizing everything we've learned since the Apollo moon missions, shuttle technology, and advanced materials and electronics advances, we have...........Apollo. Yep. The exact, in most respects, same vehicle. One big cone-shaped capsule on top of big tanks of rocket fuel. Only THIS time (get this, it's good), the capsule will land not in the ocean, but on DRY LAND! That's right, folks, having watched the Russians land their spheres on the tundra with the assistance of air bags and/or thruster brakes, NASA has decided to forego the expense and relative softer landing in the ocean in favor of just dropping them right back where they started, saving all that jet fuel from out West hauling the craft on a 747. And, apparently instead of making it out of aluminum foil, only good for one shot, they will make it out of HEAVY DUTY aluminum foil, good for at least several more hauls back to the moon. Don't you just love advanced research and development? The Starship Enterprise is JUST around the corner folks! Just try finding that corner.....Oh, but there WILL be significant advances on the moon buggy we'll use to scoot around the moon. Same go-cart, except THIS baby will have air-bags, anti-lock brakes, and cup holders, not to mention an iPod adaptor on the dash board.

We watched Mad Max, Beyond Thunderdome, last night. My take on that movie requires a whole post, so stay tuned.










My friend HE just had an excellent post concerning everybody's chance to be a star, thanks to the blogoverse. Which segways me into my announcement.......





Ladies and Gentlemen, I am now famous. Yes, I, THE Michael, have embraced my fame and am running full-tilt boogie with it! WHAT, might you ask, makes me think I am in any shape or form worthy of fame? Hell, that one's easy! I said so. Just like someone somewhere, it might even have been her, hell, I don't know, declared that Paris Hilton was famous. Without even mentioning why, exactly. Because she was rich? An heiress? Skinny? And downright dimwitted? Who knows; it doesn't seem to matter. There she is. Well, so am I! Here, that is. Only I am introducing a kinder, gentler sort of fame, much more energy efficient and far less arrogant. Nope, I will not be making the rounds of all the talk shows, jumping up and down on couches like a monkey, having my mug plastered on the sides of billboards or buses, or even starring in an action packed special effects extravaganza concerning aliens or penguins. All I'm going to do is rest here on my laurels, comfortable in the knowledge that for no logical reason whatsoever, the word of my sudden fame will sweep the net like wildfire, as one blogger passes on the exciting news to the next, then the next, and so on. But, relax, my fans, this will be an easy idolatry. You won't have to rush out to buy a "THE Michael" action figure for the kids, or a lunch box or backpack with my picture on it, nor will you have to suffer the embarrassment of sneaking peeks thru the National Enquirer or other gossip rag while in the supermarket check-out counter to find out what fatal disease I am suffering from at the moment. You won't have to download my custom ring-tone, buy an autographed "The Michael" iPod or Razor cell phone, nor will you have to vote for me by text messaging BLOGSTAR SUPERDANCES. All you'll have to do, and you don't even HAVE to do it, it will just occur naturally like a stupid song that gets stuck in your head, is know THE Michael as someone who is famous for something or another, without having to explain why (just like Paris). Now, wasn't that easy? Never let it be said that THE Michael asked more of his fans than they were willing to give! In return for you love, loyalty, and support, I will do what I have always done, which is nothing more than being "THE Michael", whatever that might happen to mean to you.

P.S. I already have you covered, guys! Please send all hate-mail to theoprawinfreyshow@harpo.com. As my newfound publicist, she'd LOVE to hear from you!

Sins..........Part IV

Presley had everybody crowded into the Officer's mess, and was standing at the head of the table trying very hard to calm down before he unleashed his frustrations upon the contact team, all of whom were standing at attention and staring straight ahead, perhaps hoping that the most rigid amongst them might not get singled out by the Captain for blame.

Finally, Presley spoke calmly and evenly.........."Fuck it, just sit down, except for you, Owens."

No one dared issue a sigh of relief as they all sat down and glanced sideways at the hapless Flight Officer who had been chosen to be raked over the coals first. The lander pilot remained at attention and stared straight ahead, his face as blank as he could possibly make it, not daring to express any emotion.

"Owens, first off, both you and your copilot were in charge of the base camp while we were away, and I distinctly remember saying out loud before we headed out to keep an eye on that fucking Chaplain! Second, I know damn well that a head count is called for, if nothing else than for weight and fuel management. Did you honestly expect us to do your God Damned checklist FOR YOU?!"

The Flight Officer stared straight ahead, and simply replied "No Sir!" as any good officer not looking to volunteer his faults would do. However, this particular pilot, whatever screw-ups he was responsible for, was damn lucky to have Presley for his Judge, jury, and executioner.

"Sit down Owens. Look, guys, I am responsible for the outcome of any mission under my command, and it's MY ass that's on the line if we lose the Padre. You know as well as I do, and it was aptly demonstrated down there on the planet, that the first thing that happens to any well thought out plan is that it falls apart as soon as you implement it, but that does NOT mean that we lose sight of the basic details, and that includes being responsible for one another. Not ONE of you looked around and noticed that the Chaplain was not with us when we lifted off, but neither did I, but even though you might think that means we're even, we are NOT! I know that each of you have specific responsibilities during this mission, but for Christ's sake people, let's not overlook the fucking OBVIOUS! Do you understand me!?"

A loud chorus of "Yes SIRS!" issued from the sullen ranks, and Presley moved on to the problem at hand. "OK, let's see if we can salvage this situation. "Townsend, did the drone catch any video of the camp that's of any use to us?"
The surveillance officer cleared his throat. "Ah, 'fraid not, Captain. We had it orbiting you guys while you were conducting the contact, and then we parked it at a higher altitude until and if we needed it again. We studied the archives and there's no record of what was going on back at base camp before you lifted off. Sorry, Cap."

"Shit", thought Presley to himself. That left them with two choices, either going back to the landing sight and tracking the Chaplain from there, if it was possible, or simply trying to contact the natives directly and inquiring about the human's whereabouts, which Presley was loath to do considering the natives' allergy to their presence altogether. "OK, then, I guess the best thing to do is program the drone to scan that road and see if we can either pick up some tracks or if we're lucky, the Padre himself. In the meantime, I want you, Gunny, to assemble a rescue team, only this time just forget about the optic camo, since it doesn't seem to work. We'll assemble in the dock in one hour. Townsend, I want every sensor you have locked on us at all times. And be sure to let me know immediately if the natives make any contact; I want to avoid any misunderstandings they might infer from us returning to the planet. I just want to get the Padre back in one piece and get the hell away from this side of the planet. We can worry about a second attempt at negotiations once we fix THIS mess we got ourselves into."

Presley dismissed them and headed for his stateroom to make a log entry concerning the day's activities, as was required by regulations. He didn't try to dress up the fiasco or try and place blame on any person under his command; he knew that if heads were going to roll it was going to be his, so he reported the facts, dry and without any window dressing. Hopefully, the next entry would negate the effects this one was sure to have on his career.

The Captain showed up at the dock precisely an hour later, and the Marine had his team assembled next to the lander as ordered, this time made up of a squad of 12 marines, all wearing the standard digital camo common to any land based grunt. Instead of the standard light weaponry, most were equipped with medium range stun weapons, and several of his best snipers were included. They were not out to start a war, just recover a man. Marines NEVER left a man behind, not even one who couldn't preach and chew gum at the same time. The Flight Officer, still chaffing from being chewed out by the Captain, gingerly briefed Presley on his flight plan, which would bring them down much further from the landing zone, in hopes of not alerting the locals of the town to their return, which would be much more visible in a night sky. He would fly them in low over the tree tops to the meadow and set down only several hours before sunrise. The Captain nodded his agreement, for lack of any better ideas.

As the hatch on the frigate opened and dropped the lander a second time, the object of their wasteful fuel expenditure was sleeping in a nice bed in the company of an alien race, having just enjoyed a strange and wonderful dinner served to him by his native hosts, instead of being shackled in some dungeon as he might have expected. As he slept, he dreamed of bringing Jesus to a world that didn't seem to know him. He slept the sleep of ignorance.

Mindflow

All hath dominion over all beneath it, yet all above toters on foundation, and you and I and every blade of grass and every wisp of fog is foundation, and thus is it's own dominion. As a solar flare might sear a moon, as an earthquake might turn to dust a pyramid, as a drop of water might bore a hole thru a mountain, thus will your spirit and those of all those who have passed and those yet to come, witness it all in all it's glory. Time is past, is now, and will be, thus is one thing known to the watchers. Life is unseen all about us, or is mammoth and imposing, yet it is all the same. A tree that knew your ancestors, an insect that lives, breeds, and dies in a mere moment, both have lived. Death knew drunks in gutters, sick babies in the helpless arms of poor mothers, and Pharaohs, for all have, and will, die. And the vacuum and darkness of space knows only things unseen, yet they are there.

Do not presume to know thyself, for you only know the moment and that kept in memory, but not what came before, nor that which comes afterwards. It is a precious puzzle given you to solve. Do not presume to know others, for what you see of them, hear of them, and suffer of them are mere illusion, for they are only passing whims in a greater show. Do not presume to want, for you can barely grasp what you have, or what it means to have. Having is fleeting, and will only become wanting once again. It is amazing simply to be.

Far beneath is a world grander than all the sky above you. Further beneath even that, the laws we live by are laughed at, twisted, ignored or altered altogether, and yet it all works just fine. There a language remains to be spoken, and here we strive to learn it. It is a all glorious gibberish.

If you think this wisdom, think again. And again. For wisdom comes to those who gather it from their own labors. I stand upon the world. Beneath my feet is the sand. I do not know this for having been told. I know things you cannot, for they are born of my own perspective. You know things which are meaningless to me, for you gathered it to yourself via your own perception. A wise man wills the nail into the wood. A smart man uses a hammer. Are we asleep yet?

These words were not crafted in the great beyond. No prophet delivered them from the lips of the divine. No bush combusted and introduced the art of stone tablet calligraphy. And no one proclaimed these words as anything but words, strung together in a fashion designed to entertain more than enlighten, for what is enlightenment other than coming across a series of ideas that may or may not speak to you for some reason only known to your outer cortex?

Thank you for your endurance. A better man or woman or curious child would have dismissed such drivel halfway thru act one. An even better man, or woman, or child which should not even be reading this, will leave a comment, hopefully a kind one.










Bob, is that you?

Assimilation Damnation

People love, nay, I dare suggest they need, to gather beneath banners, to wear labels, to identify with a group, a tribe, a nationality, a religion. Going one's own way, content in their private beliefs, satisfied with their personal identity independent of of any one institution or political entity, seems to be difficult for a human being to live with. It seems we just simply have to belong. No man is an island, it is said.

Being an integral part of the collective can have it's advantages, as well as disadvantages, both for the individual, and the collective. The effects of this on the individual can range from the mildly bothersome to the downright oppressive, depending on the form of government the particular collective has found itself governed by. I say "found itself", because in most cases you are born into an established society that was formed long before you came along, in which you as an individual have little impact on, save for your individual vote, if you are fortunate enough to enjoy the relative joys of living in a democracy. However, your comfort level, being a part of this collective, is largely dependent upon how strongly the rule of law is obeyed, for selective enforcement of the will of the collective can have a disproportionate effect on you if you have chosen or have otherwise unwittingly found yourself belonging to the wrong subset within that collective. I think Jews, African Americans, homosexuals, and other distinct groups can testify to this fact.

So why in the hell would any one individual want to risk being identified with any one group within a collective, if the risk of being in the wrong one can cause you to have a somewhat difficult life, if not a downright short one? Well, it's a form of gambling, actually, that you have identified the right group to belong to, thus enjoying the power, prestige, or whatever protection belonging to this group can afford you. Now, this only applies to those who have the good fortune to have the credentials necessary to belong to these groups, such as skin color, socioeconomic status (most often times passed down to you by ancestry), or religious affiliation. If you don't have these basics, you are shit out of luck. However, presently, in this country at least, being white, rich, republican, and Baptist, you hold the keys to the kingdom. This will not always be the magic recipe, of course, for eventually the manner in which you handled your ownership of those keys is going to effect you, or your offspring, in ways that are proportional to the pain and suffering your stewardship caused others. Kenneth Lay, I believe, might be able to shed some light on this particular side effect of stewardship gone wrong. If he were alive, that is. The stress of an impending relationship with a cell mate named Bruce was probably to much for his heart to bear. So much for belonging to the right club.

So, what is the point of all this fanciful illumination? I have a suggestion. Exercise the power of ONE. Believe whatever you wish to believe, live your life according to any set of laws that float your boat, or at least keeps you out of trouble, but if you really want to enjoy the fruits of your own good sense of direction, avoid rock solid affiliation with any established group whatsoever. Oh, you can support a cause, talk up the good points of whatever philosophy makes most sense to you, but other than that, burn any card you might be carrying in your wallet, disincline to answer any question designed to pigeonhole you group wise, and keep your own counsel. When the lynch mob makes it's rounds, you won't have a big red target painted on your chest. When the trials begin, you won't have to attempt to parley that age old excuse, "I was only following orders." And last, but not least, you'll cut down on alot of junk mail, since no group will know you exist.

Till next time, this is THE Michael, brother to all, related to none..........

Sins..........Part III

The Right Reverend Mossuca was not used to being chastised and humiliated, especially in front of enlisted men, and he was not happy. He had jumped at the chance to see to the spiritual health of these brave explorers, and to possibly bring the love of Jesus Christ to a whole new world, providing, of course, that Christ hadn't gotten there first. The Grand Christian Council of 2035 had agreed, once it was established that Earth was not the only inhabited world in the universe, that as God had created ALL the heavens as well as the Earth, that it was their holy duty to spread the good word wherever mankind might tread. As was true with the savages of the Amazon jungle, then so true must it be that all must be saved, regardless of their species. If they could think, they could know God.

Well, so much for that. Presley had ordered him to remain at the camp while they ventured out of the meadow to make contact with the natives, so afraid was the Captain that Mossuca would run at the natives with a crucifix, starting a galactic war or something. He would make a point of reporting the Captain's crude behavior and robbing him of the chance to do his job, so help him.

The chaplain glanced over at the lander and saw that the flight crew was pretty much ignoring him, doing their preflight check-ups and monitoring the video feeds from the contact party. Good. Mossuca's mind raced as he tried to figure out how to spend this unexpected free time. Perhaps a nice walk down that road in the opposite direction....perhaps he'd find a road sign or something he could study. He hated the prospect of returning to Earth with absolutely nothing to show for it. The pilot and copilot of the lander didn't notice the chaplain walk briskly out of the meadow, a new testament in one hand, a video camera in the other. There would be hell to pay for them assuming the padre was capable of following orders.

Mossuca came out on the dirt road and saw the tire tracks left by the runabout going East, so he headed West. He figured he had a good hour before the contact team would be heading back this way, so he set the alarm on his watch for half an hour and started walking. It felt good, a nice comfortable walk on a clean, new world, the sounds of the nature, although hidden, was quite pleasant. My, if only Man had been as gentle with the Earth as these people seemed to have been, he thought to himself. As he walked, he glanced from one side of the road to the other, looking for evidence of the people who lived here, and saw nothing but the strangely smooth road he walked upon. He made it perhaps a mile before he was almost scared out of his skin by the seemingly sudden appearance of the strange conveyance in front of him, hovering silently about six inches off the dirt road, it's occupants equally surprised by HIS appearance. So intent had he been studying the sides of the road that he had almost run right into it. As he stood stock still staring at this strange contraption, which looked like the top of an old wooden wagon, sans the wheels, yet supported by SOMEthing, the two people sitting on the bench in front stared back at him, as though wondering what this strange man was doing in the middle of the road. They seemed to be a pair, one appearing more masculine than the other, yet both wore basically the same kind of clothing, and the one that appeared to be female was slightly smaller with a thicker covering of the fuzz-like hair on her head, as well as having a more delicate structure to her face. Not knowing what else to do, the Chaplain put on his best smile, raised his bible, and spoke softly, "Greetings, my friends, I bring greetings from the God fearing people of the planet Earth!"

The two natives stared at him, then glanced at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and one spoke back with a melodic, but totally strange dialect. It sounded like a question, but he could not be sure, so he stepped to the side of the road and continued, "I'm afraid I don't speak your language, friends, but perhaps we have something in common." He reached inside his tunic and pulled out his silver crucifix on a chain, and held it up to show the two strangers. The only reaction could best be translated as "Yes? Your point?"

Mossuca sighed, knowing that without the help of a translator, he wasn't going to accomplish much, especially since these two did not seem to recognize the cross of Jesus. However, his curiosity concerning the craft they were riding on took over, and he knelt down on the ground to look beneath it, trying to get an idea of what was supporting it. Perhaps it was some sort of maglev device, the opposing magnets hidden beneath the road. All he saw underneath was a flat, metallic appearing bottom, with nothing like wires or coils visible. Hmmmm, backwards these folks weren't, he thought, if they could come up with something like this. He stood back up next to the craft, and looked up just as the woman, if that's what he/she was, reached down, took his hand, and pulled him up onto the "wagon" as though he was a child. My GOD these people are strong, he thought, as he was lifted up and sat down on the flat back of the conveyance. He started to protest, but held his tongue, thinking they just wanted to give him a lift. However, they did not continue down the road in the direction he had just came, but by bending a simple joystick control, made the craft rotate 180 degrees on it's axis, and then by gently pushing forward, they were gliding back in the direction they had come. Mossuca was so amazed by the ease of this method of transportation that he forgot to think that maybe he was being kidnapped. Besides, these two seemed so nonchalant about the whole thing, as if they were used to picking up strange looking people in the middle of the road. Mossuca smiled at the possibility that he might be able to redeem himself after all, perhaps making a more favorable contact with these aliens than even the so-called experts with the contact team. True to his nature, the Chaplain had no idea how much he was going to complicate things in the days to follow.

My Life without Paper

I was once smarter, and by association, a better person, than I am now. This statement is based on the societal declaration that "educated" people, that is, people taught things in institutions of higher learning, are more valuable. So, for awhile, while I was laboring through algebra, learning that pi squared by the hypotenuse of the tangent of the integer closest to infinity at 5 p.m. on a wednesday enabled you to create the cutest doilies, I was quite intelligent. I also was illuminated as to the latin names of all the bones that make up the skull, and even what goes in most of them (skulls, that is), even if they are republican. I was taught who said what about whatever several centuries ago, in ways that haven't been used in centuries, but sound cool nonetheless. I was taught what group of people killed which group of people and why, or at least why the victors of those unfortunate incidents said was the reason. Yes, I was one intelligent son of a bitch, at least for awhile. I forgot about 75% of everything I "learned" shortly afterwards. I know I learned it because I passed all the tests. Everything except algebra, that is.

It has been eons since I earned my GED in order to join the Navy since I didn't have any parents to keep me fed through my senior year. Since I didn't get that diploma and wear that funny gown and hat, I suppose I am somewhat dumber than those of my class that did. I don't think, even to this day, that they realize how lucky they were to have had a home during their senior year. I had a barracks, but at least I got to skip the finals. The Navy didn't hold it against me, though. They put me through a battery of tests and decided I could handle "A" school, which turned me into a Personnelman, and submarine school, which turned me into a squid. Much later, when I was one lonely Petty Officer in a reserve unit with any active duty experience, the officers didn't think it was too much to ask for me to run the whole admin department, such that it was. It WAS to much, however, for me to do it for over six months without getting a paycheck. I might have only had a GED, but I was no dummy.

When I became a machinist trainee, my pathetic ability with algebra didn't prevent me from acing the basic math tests, prevent me from utilizing algebraic formula reference manuals for machinists, or embarrass the "instructor" in machine blueprint reading by pointing out the numerous errors he was committing trying to teach the class. I think they put him with us to keep him off the machines.

When they offered to send me to nursing school after being laid off from a government job (as a machinist), I knew I wasn't "smart" enough to try college, but I gave it a shot, because, hell, I could continue to collect unemployment. Breezing through everything (except algebra, of course) kinda opened my eyes to the truth of "higher" education. The way I see it, there are a whole bunch of "educated" people who are so smart they can only function making other people smart, thus you have all these institutions of higher learning. It doesn't really matter whether or not you are going to actually learn anything of real value; the idea here is to put in your time, employing these "smart" people, and in return you are handed a piece of paper which informs the world that you have joined the ranks of the properly educated, and thus, better people. Oh yea, sure, you might spend most of your time drinking obscene amounts of alcohol, having lots of sex, and learning how to cheat on tests, but that's the price you pay if you want to be handed lots of money for knowing things. Oh, and it helps to join a fraternity and meet the right people so that the alumni of that fraternity will hand you a cushy job when you graduate, because you ARE a much better person. Now, since I was pursuing my degree in a "lower" tier of these institutions of "higher" learning (community college), I didn't have a fraternity to join, so I didn't get to meet the right people to get drunk with. Alas, I coulda been a contender......I coulda been George Bush.

Now I have graduated to the AARP mailing list. I didn't make it through nursing school, having run into the wrong instructor, and being the wrong kind of person to run into that instructor. So, without that piece of paper, I have settled for being an aid to people who have the piece of paper. They are much smarter than me, and they certainly are better. Now, I am left with learning worthless things on my own by reading and watching television. Televisions and books do not have a slot on them that dispense pieces of paper that inform the world that you know something. And, if you have been reading this blog for any length of time, it is quite evident by my writing style that I am truly lacking in the knowledge necessary to impart anything of value. However, in my own defense, I would like to say, proudly, that this column is not ghost written, does not rely on Cliff's notes, and was not plagiarized in any manner, even though doing so certainly would have greatly enhanced the quality of this humble little rant. I drink alone while doing this, since I don't have fraternity brothers to keep me properly inebriated. I will not go to spring break this year, and I think that makes my wife fairly happy.

I was once very angst ridden about having a GED, not having earned a college degree, and having an allergy to algebra. Yep, I was truly one humiliated individual, that is, until I was asked by a manufacturer of model rockets to give a seminar to a room full of high school science teachers. People with PAPER. Well.............Since that fateful day, I have come to happy terms with my lack of all that paper. If you had witnessed the behaviors these learned individuals displayed in that class that day, I think you would understand why I, THE Michael, mostly self-taught and happily ignorant, am happy not to be a member of that club.

I have witnessed better behaviors in hamster cages then I did in that room. You can HAVE your paper. I'll take what knowledge I gathered my way any day.

The Storm that wasn't, and things that were.......

Oh well, so I gave Ernesto more credit than he deserved, but hey, masculine storms have only been around for a few years, they haven't quite got the hang of this "wide swath of destruction" thing yet. Give them a few more seasons, and the guys will show those girls what barometric reconstruction is all about.

This hurricane season is really starting off weird. By this time last year the whole SouthEast was getting rearranged, but we're off to a slow, and somewhat anemic start this year. I think I heard someone saying something about Saharan dust storms covering the Atlantic and possibly cutting down on the heat engine these storms depend on for food. Who knows. However, before you "Ain't no such thing as global warming" dimwits start chiming in about how last year was just a "cycle", I would like to suggest that you put your money where you brains should be (should be plenty of room in there to stash some cash) and buy up some nice beach-front property down here in sunny Florida, if you can find insurance. There's a storm forming out there somewhere with your name on it. It wants to meet you. I LIKES you. You two were made for each other. Me, I'm gonna hold my breath up here in the sweet spot and ask Mother Gaia to save her wrath for the likes of you.

As irritated as I've become with the genre, I have to admit that they put on one kick-ass concert on Rock Star Super Nova last night. After the first few performances, I was thinking that my personal favorite, Dilana, really had her work cut out for her for the first time in the competition. These guys were ROCKIN! Well, true to her history of kicking ass and taking names, Dilana kicked ass, and took names! The only thing keeping her from fronting Super Nova is going to be the public, who in the past have at times proven that good taste is not a given. Not that in the grand scheme of things I really give a rats ass who gets to get rich living a life of rock and roll debauchery with a manufactured rock band, but I think she's truly talented, as are all these survivors, and I wish her the best.

I would like to thank the two, maybe three people who have been keeping up with my short story. I am so thankful, in fact, that anyone noticed it was there, that If someone steals the idea and publishes it, winning the Nebula Award for Science Fiction in the process, that I will personally shoplift a few copies of the book, sign them, and send them to you. I am nothing without my loyal fans. Knowing my luck, it'll be Stephen King, in which case I'll really feel guilty for having done it. Stolen the books, that is.

The wife's finger is beginning to resemble an appendage again. It's slightly shorter and still kinda weird looking, but it could pass as a finger on just about any hand. We are hoping like hell that the bone in there is fusing like it's supposed to, because we really don't want to go thru that "cut it open and install some more hardware" fiasco again. I'm considering telling her to just let them cut it off and making a nice charm out of it, but I'm not sure she'll consider it a very charming idea. Me so bad.

The politicians are back to their mudslinging again. You see, when you personally don't have a leg to stand on when it comes to convincing voters that you should be elected, the only thing left to do is make your opponent seem to be satan incarnate, or at least a liberal. What I think is hilarious is how many of our conservative wannabe's are invoking the name of Ronald Reagan rather than "that guy who's president". "No folks, we had nothing to do with whatever has what's-his-name so down in the polls, but rest assured, we are gonna keep doing what we've been doing these past eight years, only BETTER!" Oh, really. Thanks.

Meanwhile, DUBYA is down in what's left of the Gulf Coast area promising to help them folks rebuild......one of these days. He's so proud of those folks who put their noses to the grindstone and stayed the course and.............God bless America! Please explain to me why this man wasn't lynched?

Continuing on, average Americans continue to put up with gas they can't afford, insurance they can't get, and low-low wages at Walmart. What was it, two hundred odd years ago, a bunch of lowly colonists got so pissed off about taxes on tea (Juan Valdez hadn't made the big time yet), they threw a party and caffeinated Boston harbor? The fish were said to be rather feisty for weeks afterwards, Oh, and a bloody revolution occurred shortly thereafter. What's happened to us since those halcyon days when people just didn't put up with shit? When did we get so lazy that the idea of having a King again rather than having to do the work of democracy become so attractive? How is it so many so-called citizens don't seem to have a clue as to what is in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights? I don't know about you, but the country I grew up in seems to have gone missing. So, if come election time, you're not to busy polishing your SUV and firing some more employees to get the stock price up, go out and vote conservative again, and let's just put this once-great nation out of it's misery.

Last night there was another farewell post from Shandi. Me, I'm hoping it's just another in a long series of farewell tours, the kind that aging rock bands like to conduct, having discovered they can't get what they've done most of their lives out of their systems. Shandi helped set the standard in amateur blogging, whether or not she believes it or not. Her fans know. She may think that the 15 odd minutes every other day that she devoted to blogging was stealing time from her life, but eventually she's going to understand that those 15 minutes were as fulfilling a part of that life as all those other things she wants to pursue. The withdrawal pains will creep in, the shakes, the night-sweats, the foaming at the mouth, and she'll persevere, stealing herself against the pain, telling herself over and over again that blogging was just a silly fling she needs to get over. She will start having a strange aversion to computers, and will seek counseling. Then one day, she'll find herself tied in four-point restraints on the psych ward of her local hospital, repeating over and over again, "Tim, The Michael, Lights, oh, the LIghts!!!!!!!"

Oh, the humanity...............

Till next time, this is THE Michael, wasting another fifteen minutes of your time and mine. Peace!

Blowjob Anyone?

Well, after getting off to a slow start, the hurricane season is out the gate and headed down the straight-away, straight at guess who. Yep, you got it, the National "We think it might rain" Agency has predicted that Ernesto will pass right through the Jacksonville area, give or take a state or two. Over the past several seasons, it has seemed that Jacksonville has enjoyed the status of being a "sweet spot", able to dodge repeated storms while all around us the state has been torn up pretty badly. They've brushed past us to the west, breezed on by to the East, but the worst we have suffered so far are some fairly stiff breezes, and maybe a spun-off tornado or two, but relatively unscathed as severe weather goes. I've been knocking on wood till my knuckles have bled, especially since I live in a stout and sturdy manufactured home, a kind moniker for "hurricane bait", or as our brethren in the MidWest like to refer to them, "tornado bait".

My prediction is this, and you can poke fun at me later for being wrong, for all the good it will do you since I won't have a computer, or a home to get on line from, if I AM wrong; If Ernesto follows the predicted path, it will make landfall just south of Tampa, barely a category three after passing over Cuba and sucking up some heat from the brief passage between there and Florida. Once it makes contact with the sunshine state, it will immediately begin to degrade as it spends it's fury upon our lucky neighbors to the south. By the time it has eaten it's share of mobile home parks between Tampa and Gainesville, it will arrive as nothing but a robust tropical storm, or even a depression (how depressing!), and our plants will get one hell of a healthy watering, and the dead limbs in our trees will get blown down. Then the remnants of the storm will proceed to dump unimaginable amounts of rain on Georgia and flood it out, since they have mountains which make for great mudslides and other wonders of nature when it's being bad.

Now, I am not actually tempting fate here, because since we HAVE avoided a major hit by a powerful storm all these years, chances are very good that another storm will be following Ernesto closely behind to show him how it's done. Probably some bitch named Freda.

Sins of the Fathers (Part II)

Faced with the absurdity of the situation, Presley still had the presence of mind to deal with possibilities, and reacted accordingly. "Marines, mind the perimeter, this could be a distraction! Report ANY hostile movements, but do not, I repeat, do not use your weapons unless we are attacked." He spoke softly, confident the com-link would convey his command without having to shout to the four scouts in their optic camo who were guarding their outer flanks. As he studied the strange greeting party in front of them, he reached over and tapped the exo-biologist on the arm. "Flanders, this reminds me of an old twen-cen television show my grandfather told me about. It was called "The Twilight Zone", and this is just the sort of strange shit that would make a perfect screenplay for that show. Explain to me how this is possible."

Flanders was apparently taking this all in much better than the rest of them, for his comeback was measured, with more academic interest than fear. "Well, Cap, it's kinda obvious. Apparently they have access to more tech than we give them credit for. The first transmissions we made via television back in the 1940's was made by Germany, and I think they picked it up and think this is the standard by which to communicate with us. If that's the case, they're gonna have a really screwed up idea of what we are all about."

It made perfect sense to Presley, but it also meant their jobs were going to be that much harder. But at least they had a basis to start with as far as making contact. But that idea started dying a slow death when he turned around and looked at Williams, the team linguist. Williams was swallowing hard, and had a not-so-good look on his face. Oh crap.

"Williams, please don't tell me that German is the one Goddamn language you don't know!" The linguist looked at him helplessly. "Mr Presley, I'm sorry, but I really am not all that fluent in many languages........my expertise is in establishing commonalities in communication methods that we've hypothesized we might find in an alien culture. Why in the fuck would aliens be speaking German, anyway?" He dug thru his satchel and pulled out a little blue electronic tablet and seemed to be visibly relieved. "I DO have an English to multi-language translator, tho, so all is not lost!"

Presley shook his head, not the least bit surprised that things were already going wrong. The best laid plans of mice and men, indeed. He turned back to watch the performance which their welcoming party was putting on with seemingly genuine enthusiasm. On closer examination, it was apparent that these WERE aliens, though they did seem to fit the role of a brass band quite nicely. Their bare limbs displayed the sheen of a fine layer of fuzzy hair, their eyes were a bit larger and set further apart than a human's. and their head covering was uniformly close cropped and similar to the hair on the rest of their bodies, and their average height seemed to be around five feet, give or take several inches. Other than that, they didn't seem to differ that much from your average human.

Finally, the last bars of the polka were played out, and the conductor turned around and bowed gracefully towards the contact team, before strolling over, stopping right in front of Presley, and spearing his arm straight up and out, a very good and downright disturbing copy of a nazi salute, minus the "Heil Hitler!"

Presley groaned under his breath and poked the linguists arm. "OK, repeat after me, OK?" "Yes, Sir, fire away." replied the interpreter as he readied his little ersatz translator.

Presley stepped forward, and bowed slightly towards the native who had greeted them. "Greetings, my name is Captain Presley, and I represent the people of the Planet Earth, and would like to establish relations with your people." He kept his eyes locked on the little man in front of him as Williams fumbled with his gizmo and read from the screen. The little man glanced at the linguist in puzzlement and replied rapidly in German. " Du sprichst nicht Deutsches?"

Williams rapidly pressed some more buttons and rattled off another sentence in German. "Captain, he asked why you didn't reply in German and I'm about to tell him you speak a different language."

"OK, tell him we speak a language called English and we apologize for any confusion, and ask him if they can speak it."

Williams translated, and the native representative glanced back and forth between Williams and the Captain before abruptly turning around and walking back to the gathering behind him, who gathered around while he explained to them the snafu. There were some giggles, some groans, and some discussion, then the man returned to stand in front of Williams and spoke to him, still in German.

Williams listened intently, fiddled with his translator, then turned to Presley. "Captain, the guy says he is sorry that they made a mistake with the language, and asks that we make ourselves comfortable while he sends away for someone who might can talk with us. Seems to me they are trying very hard to accommodate us."

It was about this time that Presley noticed what appeared to be a native child standing over in front of where he thought one of the camouflaged guards was positioned, staring at the slight disturbance and laughing, as well as pointing. Shit, they can see our damn security", thought Presley, and keyed his com-link to the Marine Captain. "Gunny, I think we've been made. That kid over there seems to be able to see your trooper. Tell him to move slowly to his right, I want to see if this kid can track him."

Presley could just make out the distortion field of the guard as he slowly moved to the left, and sure enough, the kid laughed and followed him, thinking it was a fun game or something. He turned back to the gathering and noticed with curiosity that the welcoming party was ignoring the child and the trooper altogether, so he ordered the guard to stay put and keep the optic camo charged just in case.

The Captain sighed and told the contact team to chill and make themselves comfortable around the runner while they waited for their welcoming committee to come up with another speaker. He leaned against the front fender of the runner and took a draw from his water bottle as the exo-biologist joined him, staring intently at the natives. "You know, Cap, this kinda screws things up for us when you think about it. If they are advanced enough to receive and display television signals, then everything we assumed about them could be wrong. They could have their OWN version of cloaked security surrounding us right now and we wouldn't have a clue. We might even be lucky to get back to the ship alive if they perceive us to be the threat that you and I damn well know we could be."

"Well, sure, this ought to put an end to any ideas the Company might have had about exploiting this planet, but it doesn't mean we can't come to some trade agreement. I mean, look around, these folks don't seem to be putting alot of their metal and mineral resources to use, and Lord knows we are in dire need of it. Just because they figured out video transmission doesn't necessarily mean they are all that advanced in other areas, so there could be lots of things we could offer up in trade. What I don't understand, though, is why we didn't pick up any radiation of ANY kind of bandwidth if they have the capability to pick up video transmissions as they seem to be. How do they communicate? Maybe strictly by land line?"

"Possibly, Captain", replied Flanders, "but the surveys didn't note any power or telephone lines, at least above ground. I think we should shelve the speculation until they get back with an interpreter and just ask them."

It was much later in the afternoon before another group of natives joined the original party and huddled around in discussion, the original representative gesturing towards the contact team and speaking in what seemed to be their native tongue, which actually was quite pleasant to the ear. After about ten minutes of heated discussion, the group parted and two new natives came to stand in front of Presley and the team. These two appeared to be somewhat older in appearance, and were dressed in apparel that could be best described as colorful casual. The apparent boss of the two bowed towards Presley, and then started speaking, after which the other person immediately translated.

"Greetings, strangers, I am known as Asper, and I welcome your visit. The elder local to this area did not have the resources to study the language that you are using, and had to send for someone who did. I am also in a position to make decisions for our people, so I function as "the leader", whom I assume you wish to speak with. May I ask what brings you to our world?"

Well, thought Presley, so much for ignorant savages. They fully understood the concept of other species from other planets.

"Greetings to you, Asper", replied the Captain. "We are explorers from the planet known as Earth, and we seek out new worlds to colonize or conduct peaceful trade with. We would like very much to establish trade relations with your people, as well as exchange technology and knowledge that might benefit both of us."

The translator finished what Presley had said, and the leader listened, then studied Presley for a moment, and he wasn't exactly smiling, if you could read these alien's expressions correctly. "Captain Presley, we appreciate your stated desires to open up relations with us, but frankly, we feel there's nothing you would have to offer that would appeal to us in that regard. Also, if you came here in peace like you said you have, perhaps you could explain why you have armed men attempting to hide behind visual distortion fields? I'm sure your surveys did not detect anything down here that might be of a threat to your safety, at least from us. And, you can see that we have no weapons trained on you, either. Based on what we know of you, and we have had lots of your transmissions to study over the years, you are not a species that tends to behave in a peaceful manner. So, perhaps it would be best for both of our peoples if you were to return to your authorities and inform them that we do not wish to form a relationship, at least not at this time."

Presley, for the first time in his career, was left speechless, for there was not one thing this person had said to him that he could argue against. But, he had to at least try and salvage something out of this mission.

"Asper, it would seem that you know us well, and I can fully understand your reluctance to engage us. But I would like to at least mention that we have established strict codes of conduct as regards to contact with other species, and I can assure you that we pose no threat whatsoever to your people. There are plenty enough empty planets throughout this sector that we have no need to conquer territory in order to survive. Surely there are some medical technologies or something that we might could offer you that would enhance your quality of living? All we would seek in return are some needed mineral resources or drugs that you might have developed. And we are fully willing to abide by any conditions you deem necessary to conduct trade in a manner that does not infringe upon your sovereignty or your customs. Could we at least agree to further discussions between ambassadors of our respected societies?"

The leader did not ponder Presleys plea for very long before he spoke one final time, via his translator. "Captain, please do not think us rude, but we are well versed in your technological abilities, and we know there is nothing you have that would be worth the price of having it. Matter of fact, Captain, we have been where you are now centuries ago, and we were lucky to have survived it. No, Captain, please believe me when I say there are more reasons for us to remain unaffiliated with your species than there are to establish relations with you. Please return and tell your authorities not to send any more vessels. Have a pleasant trip home."

And with that, the leader, his translator, and the rest of the natives turned and headed back down the road towards the town, leaving the contact team in the middle of the road, staring at each other with that "what the fuck just happened?" look upon their faces. With a tone of exasperation, the Marine Officer ordered the security team to switch off the optic camo, which wasn't worth a crap anyway, apparently. "Well, Mr. Presley, I guess he told us, didn't he?" smirked the exo-biologist. "Short of gunboat diplomacy, I don't think there will be any more humans walking these roads again."

"Yea, but how are we to know that this guy was the sole authority when it comes to government on this planet? We might have just been told to go fuck ourselves by some low-level governor of just one of any number of states. Hell, we don't have one world government back on Earth; no reason to think this one would either. If I take us back to Earth without trying again at some other location, the Company, who really pays for these trips, will sure as hell have my stripes! Let's head on back and get out of here; maybe we can find another area under different management that might be more open to negotiations."

Flanders shook his head as he climbed back aboard the runner. "OK, Captain, but based on what I've seen so far, I think it's going to be a waste of rocket fuel. The surveys didn't seem to indicate any one area differing all that much in architecture or layout that would suggest differing cultures. I think this guy was serious when he said they finally got their shit together and settled down into a way of living that works for them. Who are we to go messing with that?"

Presley ignored him, even though he suspected the expert to be entirely correct. But he DID have higher authority to answer to, and he couldn't simply blow off the several billion dollar cost of this expedition without at least trying to get something positive accomplished. If the Free World Federation wanted to push the issue, they could return with a bit more persuasive manpower later; the frigate he commanded was not designed to attempt gunboat diplomacy with. Besides, there were other worlds without pesky populations on them to deal with.

The lander lifted off the surface of the serene planet as the sun was going down on the spot they had landed. Only this time there was no one with fire extinguishers in the meadow to put out the grass fires the lift jets set off. Or maybe there was. It wasn't until after the lander rendezvoused with the frigate and the airlock door had sealed shut did anybody notice that the chaplain wasn't onboard.

Sudden Impact

"To be a witness to a man's deliverance upon his destiny, tis an imprint that does not fade, but is burnt forever into your knowing."

I said that. THE Michael.

I came to me about 38 seconds before I wrote it just now. But it was borne of the accident I witnessed yesterday driving the wife to work. I glanced up into my rear view mirror just in time to see an idiot, on a rice rocket, without a helmet, streaking down the opposite lane at about 85 mph into the side of a mini-van. It reminded me of those film clips you see of a missile impacting a tank. It was just about the most violent split second I ever witnessed. The rider, who was driving this bike like he'd stolen it and wanted to die real bad, did. REAL bad. The driver of the mini-van, an older lady, was a patient in my unit when I went to work this morning. She suffered badly enough, but was fortunate to be on the opposite side of the impact, as a passenger in that seat would have been lucky to survive at all. Fortunately, there was no passenger on that side, which was mangled and cratered as if it had encountered an IED on the streets of Baghdad. A sight like that is all it takes to remind you that shit came come out of nowhere and change your life forever, or end it altogether. So party. Party HARD.

In other news............well....fuck other news. I'm still thinking about yesterday.

A break from reality; Sins of the Fathers (Part I)

Presley was amazed the corporation was even bothering with the first contact team. The robotic survey had made it clear that the limited sentient population of the new planet was no more advanced technologically than perhaps middle-ages Europe. There were no transmissions being picked up on any radio spectrum, the air was pretty much clear of any industrial age pollution, and the biggest settlements seemed to be no larger than a large township. Agriculture was evident, but scattered, and there was no evidence of massive engineering on any scale, such as would have been revealed of the Egyptians and Maya. Although optics revealed hominids, whether or not they were even mammalian in nature was not established as of yet. Another-words, this world was ripe for the picking, and mankind had a habit of taking things rather than just getting along. The colonization protocols of 2187 was supposed to prevent any behaviors compared to the concept of "manifest destiny" practiced by the colonial Americans, but corporations had a way to get around the spirit of the law, if not the technicalities.

A suitable landing site had been established not far from what seemed to be a good candidate for a governmental seat. The city, barely large enough to be referred to as one, seemed to be the oldest, with lots of architecture that seemed to speak to culture and authority. The landing craft didn't require a length of clear, flat land that a shuttle called for, so a remote clearing that could at least delay the onset of detection thanks to the surrounding forest was chosen. A clearing out of the landing site that allowed egress of the light recon vehicle made the site perfect.

The contact team was made up of five marines with optic camo and light weapons, an exo-biologist, a geologist, a resources evaluation tech from the company, a linguist, a government chaplain (whom he had argued forcibly against, but was overridden) and himself, the Captain of the contact frigate UNSS Columbus. Since the last great war that pitted Christianity against Islam, the church had insinuated itself so deeply into the Free World Federation that it threatened to do to secular government what the Islamic fundamentalists had done to the Middle East, which was ultimately to turn most of it into a radioactive desert with scattered plates of black glass here and there. It was a constant battle to keep the right wing of the government from gaining enough control to get the FWF into it with the East Asian Republic, that collection of asian nations pretty happy to remain relatively agnostic, if not downright atheistic. So far neither side had infringed on each other's colonies, which was fine with Presley, who was in no hurry to test out his ships actual deep space combat capabilities, which so far was more theoretical than demonstratively practical.

Presley patiently waited for the chaplain to finish up his impromptu prayer session with the Marines, who were always superstitiously happy to receive divine blessing before they embarked into the unknown. At least he knew their Commander to be more of the intellectual than your usual Marine, and no where near as trigger happy. Presley would not be a happy camper if one of the soldiers ended up actually shooting something simply because it moved. He prayed in his own way that their training was as good as he'd been led to believe. The chaplain, well, maybe they'd get lucky and he'd trip over something before he riled up the natives.

At last he was able to order the team to mount up and everybody secured themselves in the lander. The two pilots were not considered part of the survey team, and would remain in the lander at all times, ready to lift off at a moment's notice. Already an electric drone outfitted with an optic cloak was orbiting the landing site, ready to record the landing in case something went wrong or signals had to be amplified back to the orbiting ship. fifteen minutes later the preflight was finished, the airlock secured, and the egress doors opened beneath the lander, which would drop thru the opening and start it's descent burn. This was the part that Presley hated the most; the descent thru the atmosphere which would heat up the exterior of the craft and turn them into a fireball for a short while, since the engines were not efficient enough to provide for a drop slow enough to avoid the friction of the air. Still, it was no where near as hot a trip as that taken by a shuttle, which dropped like a brick at many times the speed of sound.

When the light show was over and he could see the topography below, Presley marveled at how clear the air was and how green and verdant the forests were below them as the craft descended on it's hover jets. He was equally impressed with how relatively quiet these new engines were considering how much thrust they produced, quiet enough he hoped not to herald their arrival to the locals, if there were any living in the immediate vicinity. It was always better to be able to scout the lay of the land before it was decided to walk up to some hapless "person" who wasn't going to be able to understand you and somehow convince them to "take you to their leader". Presley laughed at the irony of it, considering mankind had always assumed it would be aliens asking THEM.

As the lander approached the level of the treetops around the clearing, the copilot turned to Presley and keyed his intercom. "Captain, Sir, I HIGHLY recommend a couple of troopers egress with some fire extinquisers as soon as we kill the jets
, because it looks like were gonna light off a nice grass fire, which is gonna give us away right off the bat if anyone looks in this direction." Presley winced at not having thought of this during the mission planning, and relayed the order to the Marine officer in charge, who was already out of his harness and gathering his squad near the rear door. As his knees felt the pressure of the gentle landing, he shouted the order to exit the craft and secure the landing sight, while making a visual sweep of the field with the exterior camera, switching thru various spectrums to insure he didn't miss anything. Sure enough, he heard the swish of fire extinguishers being deployed as the rear ramp dropped and the Marines immediately tackled the burning grass all around the lander. By the time he'd made his visual sweep and headed back to the exit ramp, they had gotten the fire under control with barely a few wisps of black smoke to betray their landing.

All of them had on full facemasks with rebreathers, just in case, but the onboard air sampler buzzed the all clear and they thankfully removed them and sucked in lungfulls of crisp, clean, virgin air. They were just a handful of humans who had the pleasure of breathing air untainted by centuries of man-made pollution, and it's effect was more invigorating than any of them could have imagined. As the troopers surrounded the craft and swept the treeline for any movement, the pilots of the lander were getting the craft into quiet standby mode, and everybody just listened, to hear what the sounds of a new and alien world sounded like.

It was the most beautiful, gentle symphony of muted, natural sound he had ever heard. Birds, if that was what they were, twittered, tweeted and called all around them, the grasses rustled in the breeze, and raw, wonderful odors assaulted their noses, so different than those they had to endure in the confines of the frigate. The sun was now rising above the treeline, and one could not have seen the difference between this star and the one Earth orbited save for the clarity of the air which made everything seem more vibrant, even the dullest colors to vivid to dismiss. Just experiencing the beauty of this simple open meadow on this "clean" world suddenly made Presley want to get back on the lander and get them the hell off this world before they made any more impact on it. The natives certainly didn't seem to have ruined it, if they were ever going to. Presley knew in his heart what humans would do to it given half the chance. A shot at the mineral resources alone would scar the land and spread it's share of poisons all around.

A good half hour's worth of scanning, listening, plus reports from the drone overhead assured them that if their descent had been detected, the residents were apparently in no hurry to investigate. Either that, or they had been frightened half to death and were staying put in their town. Convinced the landing site was secure so far, Presley ordered the crew to set up the tents and equipment, while the Marine Commander and his motley crew got the runner out and ready to roll.

The planet's rotation was calculated to be twenty hours, 37 minutes, and the programmable watches were approaching 1000 hours, three hours after sunrise. Suddenly, it occurred to Presley that he had no idea what had happened to the Chaplain, whom he assumed must have remained inside the lander all this time. He walked back up the ramp and gazed into the interior, which was not brightly lit to conserve power. He keyed his communicator. "Hey, Franks, the Padre up there with you guys?" "No Sir, Captain, I thought he was out there with you."

"Oh shit", thought Presley as he ran back down the ramp and started looking around for the "extra baggage" he hadn't wanted to bring along to begin with. "All hands, report! I don't see the Chaplain. Where are you, Mossuca?" Silence for a moment, then a voice came back. "Captain, to your two o'clock! Over by the treeline!" The Captain's head whipped around and he scanned the perimeter in the direction directed. The sun was bright and still low, forcing him to squint, but he eventually made out the lone figure kneeling near the treeline, apparently in prayer.....Jesus Allah Christ! "Why in the hell isn't his comlink on? Gunny, get over there and drag his ass back to camp before he gets bit by something!"

The Marine motioned for two of his guys to follow him and they high-tailed it over to the kneeling figure. Presley tried not to laugh as they unceremoniously grabbed him by the arms and legs and carried him back in a run, the Padre kicking and shouting by the rough handling. They brought the angry Chaplain right to Presley and propped him up on his feet and went back to their activities without a word, leaving the fuming officer/baptist preacher shaking and red in the face.

"What in the HELL were you doing off by by yourself without your comlink on, MISTER Mossuca? Are you trying to ruin my perfectly good record at keeping my people alive and in one piece? There's no telling WHAT could have come out of that tree line and killed you! So help me, if you don't have the common sense necessary to keep yourself out of trouble, I WILL keep your ass locked up in the lander until we finish this mission! I might catch some hell for yelling at you back at CENCOM, but at least I won't lose my commission for letting you get bushwhacked, you got that?"

Mossuca's face said outrage and indignity at being dressed down by mere Captain, an atheist no less if his conduct was any indication, but he had been briefed before the mission and it was made clear that Presley was God as far as the chain of command was concerned, at least during the mission. And Presley's reputation and record would mute any complaints the Padre might be tempted to lodge against him, so he simply nodded and mumbled his apologies. There was more than one way to put a heathen in his place, back in the real world. Mossuca could bide his time till then.

Presley accepted the nod and left the Chaplain standing where he was, hoping the man of God would not provide him with any more distractions. The Marine Captain informed him when he got back to the tent that the runner was ready to go and the security team had tested the optic cammo with no problems encountered. Presley gathered up the other three team members, went over the contact procedure with them, and ordered everybody to mount up in the runner. The five Marines plus their Commander would walk ahead and around the runner with their optic cammo engaged, providing the element of surprise should they encounter a hostile response as they approached the town. One by one, the marines shimmered and faded from direct view as their cloaks were activated, which relied on some kind of fancy light bending technologies to make them blend in with whatever background they were viewed against. You could pick them out only if you knew what to look for. Presley was sure that the locals would consider this to be some sort of magic, if they understood the concept as ancient humans had.

With the runner loaded up and the escort deployed, they made their way quietly out of the clearing and through the wide path between the trees which would lead them to a simple dirt road at roughly a quarter mile in distance. Once on the road, the distance was about five miles to the town limits. Presley took out his remote and programmed the drone above them to orbit the contact party, to give him a heads-up on any encounter with a native on the road. Traveling at a leisurely 3 miles an hour, they made their way down the road, which as dirt roads went, was remarkably smooth and lacking in ruts or potholes. There was no sign of horse traffic or evidence of anything more advanced than perhaps a wagon.

The trip down the road was aggravatingly uneventful, for Presley had reasoned that they should have encountered SOME traffic on the way. Perhaps the town HAD been alerted to their presence and was expecting some sort of assault. He reminded the rest to keep alert in case they were walking into some sort of ambush, although the drone above was finding nothing on any spectrum that would indicate that to be in the works. It was about a quarter mile away from the edge of the settlement and just before a bend in the road that things really got surreal.

The surveillance drone buzzed him on the remote console and displayed a view of what seemed to be a small gathering on the road ahead, just out of sight around the bend. He ordered the party to stop and hold position as he zoomed in with the camera and studied the beings which seemed to be waiting for them. The thing that bothered him the most was what seemed to be several of the people (and yes, they pretty much looked like PEOPLE) looking up at the camera as though they could see the drone circling above them. Unless these people could see wavelengths of light that humans couldn't, they shouldn't be able to see the drone.
Powered by solar energy and a fuel cell, the drone was whisper quiet, but these beings might also be able to hear well enough to pick it up. He hoped it was an acoustic giveaway and not optical, if that was the case, for if they could see right thru the optic camo, the security team had lost a valuable advantage.

He shared his concerns with the rest of the team and it was decided that it would be a good idea to send one of the Marines ahead to reconnoiter the group before they came into sight around the bend. The order was barked, and an unseen marine kicked up some dust from the road as he jogged ahead of them. Presley waited for a painful eternity before the comlink crackled. "Captain, Sir, I don't think they see me, but.....well......you might as well come on, I don't know how to explain this......this is so fucking weird....."

"Stay put, Marine; we'll catch up to you. You see any sign of hostile intent, or fear perhaps?"

"No Sir......really, you have to see this for yourself. If I wasn't so weirded out I'd be laughing my ass off."

The runner made it around the bend, and everybody aboard could see what had the scout so flummoxed. Still, it was just about the last thing they could ever had expected to be greeting them on a dirt road on an alien planet...........

It looked alot like an old German Ompah band, complete with tuba's, assorted brass instruments, and people dressed up in short pants and suspenders, complete with the funny hats. The runner stopped, the contact team staring open mouthed at the sight, as the man in front of the welcoming committee turned around and began to conduct the group belting out a not-half-bad rendition of "The Beer Barrel Polka".

Aftermath of Weird, and another Plug

The wife has healed sufficiently enough to return to work, and so have I, so it's back to real life. This has been truly a weird week, losing a good friend, suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fingers, and other assorted aggravations. It has truly been a blessing having such an outlet as this blog to help me deal with my minor misfortunes, and I really appreciate the kind words of encouragement and empathy that all of my readers have so graciously given me and the wife.

Most of us at one time or another have given into the frustration of thinking they have been reduced to unheeded voices in the wilderness, based on the number of comments they have received on their blogs. I recently encountered one blogger who seems to have discovered that magic formula which leads to comment heaven, because his blog scores something like 30 to 40 comments each post. Now, aside from the fact that he deserves each and every one he has generated, I must also say that he is no more talented than Tim or Shandi when it comes to overall blogworthyness. Yet he scores BIG time.

I will not attempt in this post to dissect his style and substance and try to reason out the secret of his success, but I will say one thing. I am not the least bit intimidated. Yea, I know, if I get ten comments on any one post I'm doing damn good, but then again, I count these as quality comments, received from fine and genuine folks who have discovered, then stuck with me almost from the very beginning. I fully realize that the nature of my blog, with it's mixed bag of social comment and biographical reporting, is hard to pigeonhole into something that appeals on a consistent basis to a cross section of blog aficionados, but it does seem to provide something to those who seem to have bookmarked me that makes it worth keeping tabs on. I guess what I'm trying to say here is that what we have here is family, rather than mass market, and we all know that family puts up with alot of less than stellar pedigree, simply because you have become something familiar in a way that breeds loyalty, something that goes beyond glitz and glamor.

Getting back to mega-comment man, I love the way his mind works, and he has returned the favor by engaging me with great comments. He is not one of these inane bloggers who just needs to just go away, as Tim has lamented in recent posts. Yes, I might sometimes envy him his relative success, but he truly has earned each and every accolade his has received for the concepts he explores. OK, OK, I know, you are just DYING to know who the hell I'm talking about.

I refer to him as HE in my replies in my comments section. Figure it out, and go see him. You won't regret it, I promise you.

Requiem for a Friend

You were a promise
kept with the help of a friend
for years the wife had wanted a goat
and along came you
We jokingly named you Ozzy
You were such a tiny thing
half pygmy, half big bad billy
slight in size, gentle as a lamb
but you went your own way
and never once backed down
then we got you two more friends
to help you eat the yard
bigger than you
and stronger too
but you never once backed down
You were happy to let Mysty take the lead
he was the calm collected boss without horns
while Billy was the obnoxious wanna-be
who followed Mysty all around
but you, you grazed where it suited you
and went where you damn well pleased
and never once backed down
Then came that tragic day
that Mysty met his end
Both of you knew well as I
that we had lost a friend
We gave him back to Mother Earth
and miss him to this day
and now you get to join him
to frolic, jump, and play
A sickness came upon you
and took you day by day
but you were always a tough little fuck
you never once backed down
but the cycle of life has purpose
and has a place for you
you lost your fight late in the night
but not for backing down
Tonight we say goodbye to you
our gentle little friend
We'll give you back to Mother Earth
and send you on your way
where pastures are much greener
the water sweet and pure
the hay is piled up nice and soft
no leash to hold you back
you'll eat to your little heart's content
your belly always full
and no matter how big, or strong
your brothers be
If I know you

You'll never,

ever

Back down

Vigil

Yesterday after I tied the herd out to browse, I went to check on them and found Ozzy passed out on the ground. He roused easily enough, so I thought perhaps in his less-than-stellar health he had simply passed out from the heat. I took him back to the barn and fed him his own trough full of feed and left the others to scrounge.

This morning I found him down. He was conscious, but far to weak to stand. I'm afraid that whatever ailment has been haunting the little fella has come to claim him. He has been resting as comfortable as I could make him in the barn, but he is passing on, I'm afraid. I knew something was wrong when I went out this morning and the usual "let's go eat everything" greeting from the herd was muted and sad; don't tell me that animals don't sense when something is wrong with one of their own. Sure enough, he was back in the pen down on his side.

Those of you who have been with us for some time know that Ozzy was one of the original three goats that I got for my wife, who always wanted one. Mysty was attacked by a vicious dog and died awhile back, and that was a sad time for us. Now it's Ozzy's time to leave us and it's no easier. They have been a joyful part of our family and have more than earned their keep both in the love we've shared and their industrious consumption of the wild growth on our land. I know, it's hard to think of mere goats as more than livestock, and many people eat these creatures, but we have bonded with these guys and simply have not thought of them as food creatures. We get our meat at the supermarket. Under different circumstances it might not have turned out so heart-warming, but rest assured in OUR circumstances, they are people too, just as our dog, our cats, and even the lizard is.

We are on vigil tonight. Ozzy will soon draw his last breath, and we will return him to the Earth the same way we did Mysty, by cremation. Then, with our thanks and blessings, he will find green, verdant pastures chock full of every tasty green thing he favors, until BOB decides where he goes next. I think he's earned an upgrade.

Thirteen Years

The flame burned so much brighter, hotter, in those early, fresh, uncertain days, when love was an infection, a fever, a state of delirium that ruined your calm collected existence. With such intensity comes ultimately the burnout, leaving you spent, lost, crushed and damaged. You survive, lick your wounds, and seek it out once again, all the while in denial you could ever expose yourself to such delicious pain again. But you are human, and the choice has and never will be yours.

Then, she touches you, the one, and instead of thunder and lightening and the great destroyer come to claim your heart once again..........you simply accept the gentle grasp and never, ever, can you let go. You'll love her, need her, from first hot and heavy and often rut, to sharing a couch knowing only the nearness you've come to need, for that is ALL you need. She'll wonder to where you've gone, when detachment takes you to your safe place, but she'll welcome you back when safe seems so empty, for there is never an empty place in her arms. She will question ever having known you, and somehow you'll remind her, and her smile welcomes back reasons that slip away sometimes.

You smolder now, allowing for flare-ups to surprise and belt you about the head and heart, and there is no bad habit, ill-chosen word, repeated innocent insult, or monumental tantrum which can break your need of her. And she'll suffer you, and suffer you, and love you. This is a creature, two hearts beating in one chest, two minds thinking the same thought, one entity swallowing up two souls, blending them into a most unlikely chimera. The only cure is death; till then it knows loyalty only to it's whole, the parts long since dead.

She glances over at me and I know the question in there...."Does he still love me, want me; how could he still?" When she's not looking I glance back, my answer so pathetic, "How could I not? I do it so poorly, I know, but I do it still. It's all I know,"



Thirteen years. It smolders still.

BAM!

Well, what sounded like an artillery shell landed right behind our house and wiped out what I was almost ready to finish up and post. That was from the thunderstorm that I was telling you about before the near miss knocked out the power to my neighbors behind me. All we got was a split second of surge, but boy was that close! So, because I like you, I will attempt to retrieve from memory what I was about to post before Mother Nature tried hinting that maybe I shouldn't post tonight. I never was good at taking hints.

Now, I feel qualified to soldier on and get this posted against all odds, because despite the fact that I do not have a degree in Novella, I feel I am nonetheless quite able in my own limited fashion to duplicate the efforts of infinite monkeys playing metaphoric symbols, even if compared to the likes of Kurt Vonegut or Truman Capote, it comes across as gibberish. I am even able to accomplish this while listening over my shoulder to "Coyote Ugly", the sounds of driving rain on my roof, and the hyperventilated stylings of my canine defender cowering at my feet, so convinced is he that the Gods of Thunder are coming for him personally. I will even enhance the depth of this composition by carefully administered doses of distilled spirits and orange juice, otherwise known as "Nectar of the Bob".

Today I was treated to the usual dearth of weekend blog posts, a phenomenon that occurs when people take two days to concern themselves with activities having nothing to do with blogging. (THIS JUST IN: Wife says, "Honey, my hand hurts!" I say, "Well, if it hurts enough, take a pill." She says, "But I don't WANT to take any more pills!" I say, "Then, hun, you'll have to grin and bare it." To which she smiles and says, "OK, you bare it, and I'll grin!") I remember those days in my youth when I would take those two traditionally off days to commit my share of debauchery and excessive enjoyment of alcohol, but like I said, those were the days of my youth. Nowadays, my "weekends" occur just about any two days of the week, and debauchery? Well..........such memories...........

I'm saving this....hold on.........

Like, I was saying, it was a dark and stormy night...........

I worry about Ozzy. Despite the fact that he had seemed to be on the rebound, and his appetite seems as ravenous as the other goats, he is becoming nothing more than a pot belly attached to a framework of skin and bones, has gotten listless and slow, and rarely makes a sound, in contrast to the cacophony of "What you got to eat, anything to eat, when do we eat it, c'mon, there are things needing to be eaten out there!!!!!!" provided by his herd mates. Ozzy is such a sweet little soul, and has always been my favorite, and I will truly mourn his passing should his time prove to be near at hand. All I can say is that there better be endless fields of lots of green stuff to eat in his afterlife, or I swear to Bob I will track down the cosmic bureaucrat responsible for such an injustice and kill him a SECOND time.

THIS JUST IN; suicide bomber shows up in a soup diner instead of heaven, and the Soup Nazi points at him and shouts "NO virgins for YOU!" (Ok, it's a Seinfield thing)

It's our 13th wedding anniversary coming up on the 14th. Yep, the lucky 13! Despite the fact that we got married during a raging thunderstorm with lightening forking down all around us, we have survived all these years for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health (ok, poorer and sick, but hey, can't have everything!) and just might get thru to till death does me part.

So there you have it, Saturday night at Pendragon Hold. It won't win anything a Cannes this year, but that's OK. I hate caviar anyway.

Deal

One of the most effective training methods employed by sports coaches and drill instructors is the "group responsibility" concept, where as every one in the group is held responsible for the failings of any one member. Once the group discovers that every one of them will suffer for an individuals lack of commitment, they will take it upon themselves to see to it that the individual responsible for their collective misery will be "encouraged" to get his shit together. Wether or not those who do their best to succeed think having to pay for the lowest common denominator of the whole group is fair is beside the point. It works. Ask any Marine.

I think the time has come to apply this method on a universal basis. Even now the Lebanese people are discovering what happens when those who share their territory take it upon themselves to invite the retribution that is guaranteed to follow their acts of aggression upon the state of Israel. I cannot say that countless individuals and cultures do not have a legitimate bone to pick with the State of Israel. However, there are also numerous communities within the State of Lebanon who do not deserve to have the ire of a persecuted and reactive people such as the Jews visited upon them at no fault of their own. It's bad enough that Hezballah was created almost entirely as a satellite puppet of Syria and Iran, manipulated by those two enemies of Israel as puppet fodder to cause "remote-control" pressure on the Jewish state without having to suffer direct responsibility for their actions. Well, maybe it's time to call a spade a spade and hold them directly responsible for every katusha rocket that has been lobbed into Israel from the middle of civilian neighborhoods, the "human shield" tactic favored most by cowardly terrorists who have no morals to boast of.

I imagine how nice these representatives of Allah himself must have seemed as they set up social services, health clinics, educational facilities and the like in the south of Lebanon in order to endear themselves to the locals. Along with such charity I'm sure came a good dose of propaganda and dogma, ensuring that those that would someday find themselves in harms way would think it was all worth it. How cheap such loyalty seems to be these days. Slowly but surely the spotlight had been focusing on the overkill that Israelis were bringing down upon the palestinians in response to their bad behaviors prompted by such horrible treatment as an occupied people. Given the time and patience already demonstrated as the ultimate weapon against injustice as practiced by Martin Luther King, the Palestinians would eventually have won their homeland, in much the same fashion that the Jews had eventually won their own homeland in the midsts of a harsh and unwelcome land where they now thrive. But Islamic fundamentalism could not allow that to happen, at the risk of making moot their desire to wipe out the Jews altogether and forever, just one step along their path to world domination, no different than that of the Soviets.

I fear that sane civilizations' only answer to this cancer is as I stated above, the collective responsibility doctrine. Only when the world body politic enforces an understanding that you as a culture, a nation, a people, are responsible for the actions of those within your midsts whom you allow to operate and further their causes within your sphere of influence, can you find value in ridding yourselves of these threats to your own peace and security. The United States even now is not facing up to the harsh reality that Iran is enforcing it's own will by proxy via such Shiite entities as the Marde Army and other Shiite dominated institutions within Iraq. If bomb for bomb, rocket for rocket, was visited upon Iran for every one that was detonated in Southern Lebanon and Iraq, I think perhaps fewer rockets and IED's would be exported from that place with such impunity. There are enough people in that country who are thirsting for good jobs, the ability to support their families, and plain, ordinary peace and security, to put a stop to this hatred-by-proxy that the Iranian Mullahs enjoy today.

Pakistan is a country claiming to support democracy and the war on terror, when in reality a good portion of it's populace is actively engaged in this war, and protected by various institutions within this declared Islamic republic. Like I said before, a spade is a spade, and only when this government is told in no uncertain terms that it has a choice to make will it ever make the hard choices. If the Pakistani armed forces truly cannot handle the job of enforcing the rule of law in all it's territory, I am sure NATO and other interested parties would have no difficulty helping out in that regard. If remote villages can be persuaded by demonstrations of force AND reward that turning over terrorists is actually in their best interest, I think they will fall all over themselves seeing who can do it first, rather than having their whole village wiped out because they harbored an Al-Quida cell that crossed over into Afghanistan to attack coalition forces. It works in basketball teams and marine boot camps, no reason it can't work on the world stage.

The idea of civilian casualties has always been one thing that civilized societies have trouble stomaching, quite understandably. The idea of the warrior throughout history was one in which the person willing to take up arms against an enemy did so openly, proudly, wearing the uniform of the state he wished to defend. There has always been a certain honor attached to the sacrifice of the warrior. However, with this recent advent of Islamic fundamentalism, the portrait of the warrior has been sullied, with persons who under any rational set of rules would be considered nothing but a common criminal now claiming to be a warrior furthering a cause. They have even included such cowardly and despicable tactics as dressing like civilians, hiding amongst civilian gatherings, and even hiding behind a shield of women and children. Then there is the remote and suicide bomb attack, which usually kills mostly innocents in large numbers. I'm sorry, but the definition of self defense dictates that one defends against attack by ANY method, and if the only way to defend against attack is to take out an attacker who cowardly hides in the midsts of innocents thinking some moral code they don't even respect will protect them from retaliation, then so be it. The fact that some of these "shields" fully realize the danger they expose themselves to by allowing themselves to be used in such a fashion is all the more reason to hold them responsible for the consequences. A civilized society that hopes to survive cannot allow it's own moral codes to be manipulated and used against it.

You might get the idea that I am an apologist for Israel, but I am not. I am rather pissed at the idea of my tax dollars being sent to Israel to fund it's oppression of the Palestinian people. However, the State of Israel exists, and is not going away. These people have a wholly reasonable fear of persecution and attack, as history has demonstrated, and thus it is reasonable to expect them to reply strongly to any attack against them by people who wish them all dead. Al Quida wants US dead, and no one is concerned that we hunt them down wherever we can find them and kill them on the spot when we can. So, I think it is necessary to take a balanced view and understand why the Lebanese are suffering so. They are expendable as far as Hezbollah and their Masters in Iran are concerned.

Personally, I would solve this problem once and for all by selling Israel the state of Utah, and moving the Jewish state lock, stock and barrel out of the middle east, thus guaranteeing their security once and for all and giving the Palestinians their home back. Then I would withdraw from the area altogether, and let them at each other, with the promise that if one terrorist, one missile, ever makes it's way across the ocean, a major middle Eastern city ceases to exist. We need to wean ourselves off that oil once and for all, relying on our own and other supplies to get by while switching over to alternative energy sources, which we are fully capable of doing,

Then, one day, when the dust settles, and a plaintive voice pleads over the radio for an exchange of diplomats (what, you think Fundamentalist Islam would survive any longer than Soviet communism? People put up with such shit only for so long), THEN we can talk, rationally. Till then, a spade is a spade and it's time those cards were dealt accordingly.