At Home With Ernie and Bert

On Enough Said

2007-08-20T21:17:00.000-07:00

Harrison Ford.
Karen Allen.
Steven Speilberg.
George Lucas.

Nuff' Said.

On Thoughtlessness: My Children's Sadness

2007-08-20T05:54:00.000-07:00

When Marissa died, sunflowers that we had planted were blooming. There were a few neat stories about those sunflowers. This is, unfortunately not one of them.

We saved the seeds from last years batch of sunflowers, and on Mother's day this year, we planted those we harvested. The sunflowers did not all grow. We had about a third of what we planted come up, but one of them--the largest one--was dubbed the "Marissa Sunflower" and we have watched them grow. A few weeks ago, they finally grew heads. Due to the drought this summer, their growth was stunted, and we were concerned that they would not flower before Marissa's birthday this year.

Last night we discovered that someone had come and either broken off the plants at the stalk, or snapped the newly formed buds off of the plants.

Someone thought it was funny. My children were crushed.
It was an ongoing memorial to their sister. Its like sitting on or knocking over gravestones. There were many tears.

My six year old son wanted the persons responsible to have their heads cut off. My seven year old kept asking "How would they feel if it happened to them?"

To process this, I had the kids draw pictures of how the event made them feel. This is the result.

The first image is from my six year old son.

On Perseverence: Still Standing

2007-08-17T09:55:00.000-07:00

My apologies for this lengthy absence.

"I wish you here tonight with me to see the northern lights,
I wish you were here tonight with me.
I wish I could have you by my side tonight when the sky is burning.
I wish I could have you by my side...
...Conscience clear, I'm still standing here."
--Still Standing, The Rasmus

"And did you think this fool could never win?
Well look at me, Im coming back again."
--Still Standing, Elton John

You know what it feels like when you just step out of the pool on a hot summer day? The air around you is scorching but you can still feel the chill of the breeze on your wet skin? Imagine for me, if you can, that same chill right through the middle of you. Like someone has taken an enormous paper punch, and removed a perfectly round section of your torso, and the wind is now gently blowing against the wetness that rims what is left.

Now think of the last good case of the flu that you had; the tired bones and the aching joints? Remember how each breath seemed an effort? Every single movement is like running a marathon isn’t it? A week-long spell of continuous exhaustion and dull aching.

And how about that last trip you had to the dentist to get that cavity filled? Yeah! That’s a good one. I’m talking about after the annoying pinch of the needle in the roof of your mouth or under your tongue. I mean when that Novocain has really settled in and is working hard. Complete and total numbness. The only way you can tell anyone is doing anything inside your mouth is by the earthquake vibrating your skull every time that drill touches your tooth. Now, take all these experiences and lets put them into context.

For a father, the death of a child is an exquisite pain, unlike any other. It is a physical pain. The hole is not an imaginary one. Even now a year later, I can feel the breeze pass through my chest when I step outside. My legs feel like they are made from lead, and my joints still ache perpetually. The numbness has subsided some, but I still have yet to regain the feeling I once had. It isn’t imaginary. It isn’t “all in my head.” My first-born child, my beautiful daughter died in my arms, leaving wounds in me that should have been fatal. Yet somehow were not.

But the physical pain is just the beginning. There is much more that comes in the wake of loss. The nightmare can only be experienced, not explained. My efforts to bring my personal tragedy to you do not do justice to what I have lived. I simply hope to prove that the pain is normal, the insanity typical, and the trauma standard. My pain is no worse than that of any other father who has lived through this experience. The difference lies in my perception, and my willingness to share.
Today is August 17th, in the Year of Our Lord 2007. For those just joining us, that means ten years. In just fifteen days, it will have been ten years since the miraculous event that transformed me from a self-centered, drunken, occasionally violent, irresponsible man-whore, to the man who now regularly willingly subjugates his own desires for those of his children, the man who without regret or complaint sacrifices personal treasures to pay the bills, and the man who would without question lay down his life for his wife and children. Ten years have passed since one man died, and another was born.

But it has also been a year since another version of that man died. As I write these words, four hundred and thirty-two days have passed since I was initiated into this terrible club of loss, and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate my dear daughter’s upcoming birthday then by getting this ball rolling in earnest.

Time to finish what I started.
I havebeen working hard on my illustration skills. Muscles that have long been sedentary are now awakening, stretching and flexing again. I have a story to tell, and though my skills with the written word are not minor ones, my real strength lies in communicating through pictures. It is now my plan to tell the story of 2006-2007 in a multi-medium format. Much of my work will still simply be written, but the majority I hope to have in a graphic novel format. I hope to better describe feelings, thoughts, and emotions in this manner. Additionally, I hope to expose for the first time some of my poetry, which I have long kept to myself. It does me no good to sit on this stuff. It doesnt do anyone else any good either. Once I have confirmed my employment situation, I will be able to schedule regular time for writing and illustrating. I will present pieces of this work here as they come.

If this experience I hope share with you has taught me anything at all, it is that we survive. The wounds that should have killed me outright, did not. I live with the cold, ache for the rest of my life. I heal, and move on. I, like those who share this experience and survive, take with me the best parts of my loved one, and those parts somehow make me, and all of us that much stronger. We absorb their strength of character, their determination, their love of life. We see things differently than we did before. Our priorities are different, as well as our look at life. We learn who our friends really are, and very much what we ourselves are capable of.

Even with this hole through the middle of me, I’m still standing.

Peace

On Art: My first time...

2007-07-21T12:00:00.000-07:00

Here is my first computer colored picture.
I finaly figured I had betterget with the program if I am to fulfill my life's dream of the revisiting of the 1980's post-apocalyptic superheroes inspired by Mad Max movies. Thats right I want to do a comic book before I die.
I have been recently working on getting the tools and skills together to make this happen, and have been exploring online communities for support. One of these is the Online Manga University... some pretty cool folks there. This is a contest entry based on some Warrior Android named Roxxanne. I apologize to all those at OMU whom I may offend with my ignorance.

This is the first time I have used computers to so anything. I did a sketch, inked and scanned it onto the iBook. Then I used Photoshop 4 to color, though I found it to be a time-consuming and irritating process. The results when you look closely at the maginified image are rough to say the least. I will be adding the hand colored version in the near future for a comparison.

I hope to post a few pages within the next month or so with an excerpt. Lots of excerpts huh people? When the hell am I going to get you a finished product?

On God's Influence: A True Story from my Life

2007-07-12T09:03:00.000-07:00

Hello again friends. It seems that life has interrupted my writing again.
I would like to share a true story from my life. This is an exerpt from a rough draft from my memoir. It is the introduction to my work on keeping promises. I hope you like it.

Years ago I was commissioned by a man to paint a portrait of Christ. It is an interesting story really, I was approached after having done some mural work for a local club, and after handing me a check for several hundred dollars, he informed me of his wishes.
“God has moved me to commission this work,” he told me. “I’ve seen what you can do, and I’m confident that it is you that God has in mind.”
I thanked him for his confidence, and proceeded to ask him the usual questions:
How big?
What medium?
What timeline was I looking at?
His answer was very strange at the time.
“Its gotta be big,” he told me. “Its gotta be big and in color. I know you like to do those black and white dot things, but this is in color.”
I nodded.
“When do you want it by?” I asked.
“Well, God has told me that I am going to die in eleven years.”
Inwardly I raised an eyebrow and let out an “Oooooooh-kay.” I heard the sounds of cuckoo birds somewhere off in the distance, but I shrugged it off and let him continue.
“I have eleven years,” He repeated. “I’m not going to bother you about it. God has told me to trust you. As long as I get it before then, I have no time requirements for you.”
I snickered to myself as I shook his hand... this guy is some piece of work.

My daughter was born shortly thereafter. Soon after that I had moved to a town about an hour away to go to college. Following that I was married. Somewhere in that time, my daughter had developed her neurological difficulties, and we moved again to be closer to the medical health professionals of the metropolitan area of Grand Rapids. I graduated college; I got my first professional job. My wife and I had five more children. In short. Life happened.
In the back of my mind I always had that promise. From time to time I toyed with the idea of starting the painting whose commission I had long since spent. I never got around to it, plain and simple. It wasn’t a big priority. There had been no rush. I have to admit that from time to time, I was sure he had written it off. I was just some asshole that screwed him. Again, I have to admit that at times, the thought crossed my mind.
One day, about six or eight weeks ago I was driving down a busy urban street when an old red pickup truck drove by. There was an old man and woman seated in the cab, and I could distinctly make their features out as they passed me by, going in the direction from whence I had just come. There was a moment of eye contact between the driver, and myself and to my surprise I saw the man whose picture I had yet to paint. Finally, with what I was certain to be a sign from on high, I began work on the face of Jesus Christ.

Once the piece was completed to my satisfaction, I put the canvas up—high out of the reach of my small children, and debated on how I was going to get this picture to its rightful owner. We are not a wealthy family by any means, and any extra cash usually goes into the bellies of our children, so the idea of having to drive two hours to deliver this picture was out of the budget, and out of the picture for the foreseeable future.

It became a bit of a joke with me. “Hello, Jesus!” I would say upon passing the portrait. “How's’ it hangin?” What more appropriate thing to say to a painting? In truth, I began to enjoy having his smiling face around. But as time went on, it became a problem of procrastination again. The image was done, but it needed to get to whom it belonged.
One of my wife’s clients had paid her in cash. So there was sixty dollars that the family had planned on using to go north to visit my parents. The Saturday prior to our visit, my youngest son Max, became ill. I called my mother and told her we wouldn’t be coming after all, and that we would have to wait a week. The tank had already been filled.
My mom said that she and my dad would come and visit us, and thus, the next conversation I had with Jesus was a little different.

“Hey, Jesus! How’s it hangin?” I began.
“When are you going to take me to where I belong?’
“Come on, man. You know I don’t have the money to take you there, or else I would have done it already.”
“My son, that’s a bunch of garbage and you know it. I provided you with money to go and visit your parents. Instead, they came to see you. You still have all that gas. Use it to take me home.”
Damn. Jesus was right.
Today was that day. For weeks now, I had been wondering what the reaction would be when I showed up after all this time, Christ in hand. I pulled up to the building I had painted so many years ago, and walked inside. There was the smell of cigarette smoke and coffee that had always been there. There had been some painting and other decorating, but otherwise it was still the same. I waited until the men that were in the lobby had noticed me, and I asked if the gentleman I was looking for still hung out around there. And I received odd looks and silence for my query.
“He passed away this past fall.” A young man with a full head of hair and intellectual looking glasses told me. I felt my heart sink.

It occurred to me at that moment that it had been nearly eleven years since I was first commissioned to do this portrait.

It also occurred to me that I have gone through life with this “it can wait” or “I’ll do it tomorrow” attitude. Now I am reminded of all the fact that there are just some things you cant take back. Most things in life I would say, you are able to get “do-overs.” You don’t like your career you can go back to school and start again. If you don’t like your Dodge Charger, you can trade it in on a Ford Mustang. Even in the more important areas of our lives, we choose who we will marry—and sometimes when things don’t work out, we can do that over as well. We change our majors, we relocate, we make plans and then cancel them If we get into an argument, we can always apologize. If we hurt a loved one, we can always try to make it up to them. . It all becomes part of our fickle culture, our disposable nation. Until one day we make plans to do something with someone, and they are gone.

I never got that picture to its rightful owner before he passed away. In my mind the only right thing to do was to find his closest surviving relative and give the picture to them. A few questions and a dozen gestures towards the east later, I found myself at a small auto repair business a few miles away. I spied a man coming out of the small building nearby and introduced myself. There was no mistaking this as the son of the man who had commissioned me. For a moment, I had the feeling that I was staring at the man I had come to see—only twenty years younger. I told him I had known his father, and that I had something for him but that I had heard he had passed away. We talked for a little while, and I presented the picture to his son. In the end, I guess it was a gift from a father to his son. I was merely the vessel. It had been bought and paid for.

It still didn’t settle within me the realization that I had left a promise unfulfilled. It wasn’t this portrait of Christ that it was about however. It was about another promise, one I made to a little girl on a warm summer day.

On Art: A Work in Progress Part II

2007-07-07T11:16:00.001-07:00

Here is the basic outline of the painting I will be working on. I have will show it in several stages, the first few will be in this post with commentary.

The image is a "self-portrait" of sorts. Well, I guess not of sorts. Its me. I just had a photograph taken, and then I worked it onto the canvas. I however, am not the subject of the painting... the emotion is.

I began with the colors immediately. I have a vision of some Simon Bisley work in this, but it doesnt come out with the blue. It is flat and cartoonish.

I switched to browns...one idea being that I could use only two colors of paint for the entire piece. I put that idea aside, and added black and grays. The head distortion did not turn out as planned however, and the face is beginning to look like a tengu.

More coming.

On Greatness

2007-07-03T22:13:00.000-07:00

Happy 4th of July.
Happy Independence Day. The birth of The United States of America.

I sit here early in the morning hours contemplating what it means to be American. I was made an American by birth. I was born in the city of Kent, Washington. Yeah, right up in the Pacific Northwest, that’s the place. I was blessed to be a part of this mighty giant by virtue of nothing other than chance. I could have found myself incarnated into any family anywhere in the world. I could have been born in Australia, or Denmark. Maybe China, or Argentina? Who knows? Doesn’t matter. I am an American Citizen because I was born here.

Americans are great aren’t they? We do great things. We create incredible products. We develop amazing new technologies. Our military is the strongest on earth. We really have it going on, don’t we?

So, as an American Citizen, what have I done that is great?
I dropped out of Art school.
No, wait... I graduated college with a B average and went on to... no, sorry. My mistake. That was someone else.
I came up with a cure for that one disease... oh what was it called? Shoot. That wasn’t me either.
I did spend eight years in the Marine Corps Reserve... does that count?

Let me see... what is really great? Who shaped cultures? Who defined nations?
Jesus Christ did... He was friend to the downtrodden and the poor. He healed the sick and fed the hungry wherever he went. Yeah, but Jesus was a Jew from Galilee, not from New Jersey.
Mohammed. His teachings have become the basis for the fastest growing religion in the world! Oh, wait. He was Middle Eastern too.
Buddha... Crap. He was Indian.
Confucius! Yeah I like... Jeez. He was Chinese.

Maybe I should avoid religion. I know I will look at world peace!
Gandhi! Gandhi brought nonviolence to the worlds eye, and Gandhi was... what? Indian too?
Well Mother Theresa would certainly rank number one in that... You’re kidding! Born in Macedonia?

Well Conquest! Who was the greatest military leader in history?
Alexander the Great? Greek.
Adolph Hitler? Like it or not he made taking over Europe look easy—even if he was a psycho genocidal megalomaniac. Yeah, but he was German. Err, well Austrian.

Let me try writing. Whose work influenced the world?
William Shakespeare—English.
J.R.R. Tolkien—English.
Hmmm.
Does anyone see where I am going here?

Please don’t misunderstand. Americans have done great things. Hell, I have done great things. With the children I work with, I mean, my own kids seem to think I am pretty great. I know I did a great job when I chose my wife. And I don’t want anyone to think that I don’t love my country. I do. Eight years of carrying that damned machine gun says so (It was heavy you know.)

What I am saying is this:
We are not great simply by being born great. Greatness is made by determination, strength of character, charisma, and a little luck. The entire world has made contributions that have shaped American Culture—for good or bad. But we as Americans do not hold the monopoly on greatness, pride, or richness of culture. We are leaders in the world community that many in said community have a hard time following these days. Today, on the birthday of this magnificent nation, I encourage you all to take a moment to reflect on true greatness. Those who earned it, and not born into it. I know when I think about it, it makes me that much more appreciative of the Greatness in inherited being born American.
Take a moment to appreciate what you have!
Take a moment to be thankful!
And Take a moment to appreciate all those from around the world whose efforts have made the world a better place. American or otherwise.
Finally, also remember those whose blood was spilled to give us the right to be great.
Semper Fidelis.

Peace.

On Art: A Work in Progress

2007-07-03T11:48:00.000-07:00

Greetings again, true believers! It is I, your humble host.

I thought that I would share for you a work in progress. Part of my asperations as an artist is to fuse my art, poetry, and prose into a volume that will share the process of grief that I have worked through the past year, and continue to work through each day. Much of the conversational prose has yet to be written, but my essays are all complete, and I am in the process of formatting the work.

As an artist, I struggled to come up with a means of describing the pain of losing a child to someone who has not had the experience. Finally after much work, I designed a "self-portrait" in ink, and I will be moving on to a colored format that I hope to use in this manuscript. This blog will be the format for me to share that work from start to finish.

Eventually I will post the photograph I will be basing the project on.

See you soon with an update :)

E&B

On Greif: Yalaina Symone

2007-07-01T06:42:00.000-07:00

I was doing my usual thing.
Randomly searching the web for those really odd and unusual things to inspire my creativity. I came across a distinguished looking fellow named Maurice Broaddus, the self proclaimed "Sinister Minister." I was intrigued by the Gothic atmosphere and his announcement of being a "Christian Horror Writer." http://www.mauricebroaddus.com/blog.htm,

Once I arrived on the site I read the story of his sister Ro's dear little daughter. I encourage you all to read it.
href="http://">mauricebroaddus.proboards24.com/index.cgi?board=mochat&action=display&thread=1179006247

You all know me, I cant believe it was an accident or coincidence that I found this blog. My heart goes out to this family, and I hope in time we will become friends, this Sinister Minister and I.

If I speak in the tongues of men and angels,
but have not love,
I have become sounding brass or a tinkling symbol.

And if I have prophecy and know all mysteries and all knowledge,
and if I have all faith so as to remove mountains,
but have not love, I am nothing.

And if I dole out all my goods, and
if I deliver my body that I may boast
but have not love, nothing I am profited.

Love is long suffering,
love is kind,
it is not jealous,
love does not boast,
it is not inflated.

It is not discourteous,
it is not selfish,
it is not irritable,
it does not enumerate the evil.
It does not rejoice over the wrong, but rejoices in the truth

It covers all things,
it has faith for all things,
it hopes in all things,
it endures in all things.

Love never falls in ruins;
but whether prophecies, they will be abolished; or
tongues, they will cease; or
knowledge, it will be superseded.

For we know in part and we prophecy in part.

But when the perfect comes, the imperfect will be superseded.

When I was an infant,
I spoke as an infant,
I reckoned as an infant;

when I became [an adult],
I abolished the things of the infant.

For now we see through a mirror in an enigma, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know as also I was fully known.

But now remains
faith, hope, love,

these three;

but the greatest of these is love.

I Corinthians 1-13

On Painting: Successful and Unsuccessful

2007-06-29T12:00:00.000-07:00

As I have mentioned painting is not my strongest suit.
Here is a painting I did for my wife for the Christmas following Marissa's passing.

Possibly the most successful part of this picture is the area around her mouth. The light has been reflected accurately I think, and makes for a "real" look.

I am not satisfied so much with the eyes.

Marissa's eyes were in fact impossibly blue, but something around this seems terribly artificial. Perhaps it is the black of the eyelashes?

Overall I am very happy with this piece. More coming.

On Art: More Stuff

2007-06-26T09:54:00.001-07:00

Heres some more stuff. The first is a picture of the Lion Dancer from several years ago.

Next come two images from when I was trying to teach myself comic book penciling and inking. The first image is of the Tang Dynasty charachter Sun Wukong... the Monkey King from Journey to the West. It is a pencil line drawing.

The next is my version of a Dark Horse series starring Boba Fett, I believe it was called "Boba Fett: Enemy of the Empire" I thought my art was better... what do I know? anyway the shot is an inked page of Boba Fett's ship the "Slave I" on approach to an Imperiel Star Destroyer orbiting a planet. I had it laid out for some digital >urk< coloring... I know what the heck was I thinking?

As always feedback or inquiries are appreciated :)

Peace out beloved readers.

On Art: Time to Show My Stuff

2007-06-24T11:12:00.000-07:00

Hello again friends.
I have been sitting here with Mighty Max napping on my lap and working on some writing. Intermittently, I did some browsing online, and after seeing s few sites on writing and illustrating, decided that if I want to get anywhere as an artist, illustrator, or writer, I need to start getting some opinions on my stuff, right?

I know that I am certainly better at some things mediums than others. The fact is that I cant stand digital art and coloring. For some reason, I adamantly remain "old school" when it comes to the art of creating. I am just guessing, but it seems to me that there is a lot more painstaking skill involved in adding shadow one .005 sized dot at a time, than there is with a sweeping command of pixels on a computer screen. I hope not to ruffle too many feathers with that kind of attitude, because I certainly can admire CG art. It just not my thing. Yet. Maybe someday.

In the meantime here are a few samples of my artwork. Some I am more pleased with than others.

First up is this portrait of Jesus I painted for a guy. It was ten years before I actually got around to doing it, which I am not all that proud of. However, painting is not really my bag, I prefer pencil and/or ink which you will see below.
I took the Jesus image from the a now lost internet source of a guy dressed up like the Lord and Savior. I was looking for inspiration... I mean the whole corpse on a stick thing is not only greusome, but old and overdone. I remember Jesus as a guy who hung out with the working class joe's as well as the scum of society--the theives, the whores, the criminals, and tried to bring them up. He was not, in my opinion the solumn, all business guy portraye in the movies and local Church sermons. He was a kind, generous, and happy Son of God. Thats how I wanted to portray him.
I did want him to have a darker complexion and to appear more "middle eastern" than he does here. After all he did come from Bethlehem, and ended up in the area of Jerusalem much of his life. He was a Middle Eastern man. This is how it turned out. For better or worse. while not satisfied with the painting, I do get a "feel good" sensation with it around.

As a stark contrast to Christ, I hav ethe succubus Lilith here, as she appeared in a H.P. Lovecraft inspired story I wrote several years ago that never went anywhere. The mythological "Mother of all Monsters." She's hot fellas, but she's evil.

My "Little Geisha" came from the inspiration of an old Kodak ad from the mid 1970's. This is an enlargement of the surviving piece.

Finally this is an eastern ribbon snake I have whipped up for a childrens book project I am working on. Hiss... its not quite done yet...

On Remarkable Stories: The Prodigal T-Bird

2007-06-24T07:57:00.000-07:00

Came across this and was delighted for this guy!

PALO ALTO, Calif. - Ronald Leung thought he would never see his beloved 1956 Ford Thunderbird again after it was stolen from his auto-repair shop in downtown Palo Alto in 1976. But the 59-year-old car aficionado will soon be reunited with the classic car he treasured as a young man after police called Thursday and told him the T-bird had been found in Southern California.

"I was very shocked," said Leung, a retired sheriff's deputy who runs a car-rental business in Milpitas. "After 31 years, I thought that car was long-gone history, like the Roman Empire."

The California Highway Patrol recovered the collectible — still in excellent condition — after a Ventura County woman tried to register it after buying the car on eBay from an Ohio seller. She contacted the CHP because the vehicle identification number listed on the car's title didn't exist in the California Department of Motor Vehicles registry.

CHP Officer Christopher Throgmorton located the true VIN and ran it through a CHP database that identified it as a stolen car from Palo Alto. Leung plans to fly to Southern California to pick it up next week.

"It's in really good condition," Throgmorton said. "It looks like somebody had it refurbished. It's been restored."

Since the Thunderbird disappeared, Leung fathered two kids and retired from a two-decade career in law enforcement. He had bought the collectible in 1974 for about $1,500 and carefully restored it.

"I belong to a car club, and every time I look at a Thunderbird, I go, 'Oh, I had one of those!'" he said. "I have one son who's 30 and a daughter who's 26. It's unbelievable, that car is older in theft than they are in age."

On My Kids: "Mad" Max

2007-06-23T17:00:00.001-07:00

This past week my youngest son Max, decided it was time to walk.
This is the little guy who ws born just five weeks after my oldest left. Now, just under a year later, at over thirty pounds, he takes his walking seriously at last. Just wanted to share a little of my joy with everyone again.

On Useless Government

2007-06-22T22:37:00.000-07:00

Click above on the link to see why I am no longer affiliated with either of the major political parties of this great nation.
Honestly its enough to make one want to seek citizenship elsewhere... maybe Mexico?

2007-06-19T19:40:00.000-07:00

On Writing: A Sample...

2007-06-19T11:57:00.000-07:00

"And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way
things have changed."
--Shinedown

Here is where I could use some comments my friends. This is a small sample from the current piece I am trying so desperately to turn into a book. Let me know what you think.

My extremely sensory imagination saved my life that day. It’s difficult to put into words the description of what a big solid block of metal clicking against your incisors is like, so if you can, imagine tapping your two front teeth with a ball peen hammer. The sharp click, of metal on bone. The vibration traveling straight through your skull to the audio sensory organs in your ears. The click magnified to the point of being deafening due to its close proximity to your eardrum. The sensation of that unrelenting, unmoving pressure. The head of that hammer feels huge, doesn’t it? The metallic taste left on the enamel of your teeth that spreads its bitter flavor to the tip of your tongue...
Are you with me?
Well then, it wasn’t the thought of a hammer clicking against my teeth that sent a shiver down me. The tool in my hand had the same unyielding weight, and the same bitter metallic taste, but it was designed for something different altogether.
At 2.49 lbs, and eight and a half inches respectively, the Colt semiautomatic pistol is capable of sending a metal projectile just under a half-inch in diameter at a rate of eight hundred thirty feet per second through anything dumb enough to get in its way. It’s both a formidable chunk of steel, and a formidable means of accomplishing what I had in mind. At eight hundred thirty feet per second, neither the roof of my mouth nor my brain housing group was likely to offer much resistance, and after that? Sweet, blessed oblivion. Free from this pain. Free from this vast emptiness and cold that burned its way through the middle of me. Free.
Then came the thought of that two pounds of metal clicking against my teeth. I felt the cold blue steel against my lips, and heard the hard metal click against my right front incisor. I realized that an impact any harder than that, and my teeth would break like glass. Let me assure you that all the fluoride treatments in the world wont amount to a pile of shit if someone was to swing one of these bad boys into your pie hole.
The truth of it is, that in a few seconds the inconvenience of having broken teeth wouldn’t matter much anyway, yet the thought caused me to pause just long enough for the unpleasantness of that idea to sink in. Here I was about to paint the wall behind me with a brush of two hundred thirty grains of instant dispatch, and I was worried about my dental health.

On the Proposed "Gay Bomb"

2007-06-15T06:23:00.000-07:00

Just in case no one believed me... click on the above link to see the actual news broadcast sent to me by Military.com
7.5 million dollars to develop this thing...

On Star Wars: The Ugly Truth

2007-06-13T08:37:00.000-07:00

Star Wars, the quintessential Science Fiction Fantasy story of two generations has been all roses to fans for over thirty years. Now, as the second trilogy has brought us conclusion to the story, and we eagerly await the arrival of the upcoming live television series, many of the dark little secrets have crept to the surface. "Exposed about the characters are the secrets now." said Jedi Master Yoda from the other side. "A great ho that Leia has become."
It is up to Ernie and Bert to expose these secrets to the fans out there.

There were many reasons to feel sorry for Darth Vader. Having been mutilated in his legendary lightsaber duel with Obi-Wan Kenobi, being forced to wear that ridiculous suit, being the “Chosen one” yet still getting kicked around by imperial governors like Tarkin. Oh the humanity! Perhaps the worst of it came when his bid for the Presidency fell short when it was revealed that he was romantically pursuing Leia Organna.

Who could blame him?

So ,when known chick magnet and starship Captain James T. Kirk attempted to put the moves on “Vader’s girl,” he didn’t stand a chance.

Vader’s jealousy was limitless. “If I cant have her, no one can.” He was overheard saying to Evil Galactic Emperor Palpatine in a holo-transmission.

Unfortunately word didn’t reach Vader that Organna was his daughter until moments before his death on the second Death Star. It Vaders “eyes for Leia alone,” that squashed the Galactic Empires hot new “Femtrooper” program. If Vader couldn’t have Leia, he wanted nothing at all.

This certainly explains Vader’s sadistic treatment of Han Solo on Bespin’s Cloud City. Vader could only see Solo’s love for Leia, and he wanted Solo to pay dearly. We can only wonder if things would have been any different if Vader had known the truth...
Leia had been involved in a cheap affair with Solo’s best friend and co-pilot, Chewbacca.
The 200 year-old wookie had a long standing resentment towards Solo for the years of bossing him around and making him swab the deck of the Milennium Falcon. So one day while Solo was on patrol on the ice planet of Hoth, he slipped a little Barry White on the ships audio system and made his move. A little wookie nookie.

Lets not forget the whole Lando affair either, but in Leia's defense, who could resist Billy Dee?

Perhaps it simply falls on the sexually repressive society of Alderaan. Perhaps Leia’s adoptive parents were just too strict? Perhaps there was some underlying abuse issues in her past, or maybe it was just low self-esteem? The underlying cause may never be known, but Princess Leia Organna wreaked more havoc on the Galaxy far, far away than the Sith ever could have. That, coupled with a poor body image (due to his disability) is likely the cause of Vader's over eating towards the end.

Next up, "Booze, drugs, and droids: Where are they now?"

On Remembering: Marissa Giovanna August 31, 1997-June 11, 2006

2007-06-11T08:21:00.000-07:00

On the first anniversary of Marissa's death, I wanted to share some of my memoies.
I miss you.

Best smile ever!

Little stinker... the Halloween skunk!

Swinging...she loved to swing! She never got very big so she always fit in that infant swing.

Happy little showoff...

A nap with me.

How cute is this?

Firefighter for Halloween

Marissa the Party Girl, age 2

The mystert "halo." Cant figure out what the little white reflection is... proof of an angel?

My beautiful girl...

Chillin' in her wheelchair at the playground.

"Are we done yet?" A walk in the woods in the Fall

My favorite picture of her smile...

Marissa outside at her grandparent's house.

Mommy and a brand new Rissa-roo!

Marissa at her playgroup for special needs kids with her mommy.

The last picture I have of Roo

Marissa Giovanna just a few hours old.

On Colossal Wastes of Tax Payer Dollars

2007-06-10T19:07:00.000-07:00

All I can ask is "Who in their right f*cking mind thought this was a good idea?" Are there really buffoons of this caliber in government office?
Wait...
Don't answer that.

http://cbs5.com/topstories/local_story_159222541.html

[b]Save | E-mail | Print
Jun 8, 2007 9:03 pm US/Pacific
Pentagon Confirms It Sought To Build A 'Gay Bomb'

Hank Plante Reporting[/b]
(CBS 5) BERKELEY A Berkeley watchdog organization that tracks military spending said it uncovered a strange U.S. military proposal to create a hormone bomb that could purportedly turn enemy soldiers into homosexuals and make them more interested in sex than fighting.  Pentagon officials on Friday confirmed to CBS 5 that military leaders had considered, and then subsquently rejected, building the so-called "Gay Bomb."  Edward Hammond, of Berkeley's Sunshine Project, had used the Freedom of Information Act to obtain a copy of the proposal from the Air Force's Wright Laboratory in Dayton, Ohio.  As part of a military effort to develop non-lethal weapons, the proposal suggested, "One distasteful but completely non-lethal example would be strong aphrodisiacs, especially if the chemical also caused homosexual behavior."  The documents show the Air Force lab asked for $7.5 million to develop such a chemical weapon.  "The Ohio Air Force lab proposed that a bomb be developed that contained a chemical that would cause enemy soliders to become gay, and to have their units break down because all their soldiers became irresistably attractive to one another," Hammond said after reviwing the documents.  "The notion was that a chemical that would probably be pleasant in the human body in low quantities could be identified, and by virtue of either breathing or having their skin exposed to this chemical, the notion was that soliders would become gay," explained Hammond.  The Pentagon told CBS 5 that the proposal was made by the Air Force in 1994.  "The Department of Defense is committed to identifying, researching and developing non-lethal weapons that will support our men and women in uniform," said a DOD spokesperson, who indicated that the "gay bomb" idea was quickly dismissed.  However, Hammond said the government records he obtained suggest the military gave the plan much stronger consideration than it has acknowledged.  "The truth of the matter is it would have never come to my attention if it was dismissed at the time it was proposed," he said. "In fact, the Pentagon has used it repeatedly and subsequently in an effort to promote non-lethal weapons, and in fact they submitted it to the highest scientific review body in the country for them to consider."  Military officials insisted Friday to CBS 5 that they are not currently working on any such idea and that the past plan was abandoned.  Gay community leaders in California said Friday that they found the notion of a "gay bomb" both offensive and almost laughable at the same time.  "Throughout history we have had so many brave men and women who are gay and lesbian serving the military with distinction," said Geoff Kors of Equality California. "So, it's just offensive that they think by turning people gay that the other military would be incapable of doing their job. And its absurd because there's so much medical data that shows that sexual orientation is immutable and cannot be changed."
(© MMVII, CBS Broadcasting Inc. All Rights Reserved.)

On Brutality: My Sense of a Senseless Act.

2007-06-09T00:52:00.000-07:00

please click on the title to see what it is I am talking about. I have to warn you it isnt easy to watch. If you are sensitive--especially about suffering children, dont watch.

There is a reason someone posted this. Even if it isn’t the reason they intended.
There is a reason I stopped and read the post and watched the video on this, the 9th day of June—almost a year to the day I lost my baby.
The reason?
There is something to be learned from this.
We can be angry.
We should be angry.

We feel sad.
And we should.
I cried.
I am writing with tears in my eyes now.
I cried to the point I felt sick when I saw this.
I wept like I did the day I lost my own daughter.
Some people believe that everything happens for a reason. I know that this thought does not comfort the parents of baby Kaleb now. But there is more that I believe...

I believe that we choose our lives. Like when we are going away to school, we choose the courses we want to take because of those things we wish to learn. Before we are born, we know full well what our experiences and our suffering will be, and we choose to enter this incarnation with the understanding that we will learn certain lessons for ourselves, and teach certain lessons to others.

For eight years I watched my baby suffer. I watched her exquisite mind trapped inside a body that did not work, wracked with seizures and subjected to countless tests, surgeries, and treatments. I used to jokingly refer to her as my little “pincushion.” I know what this family is going through. I cannot offer them any comfort, only my sympathy. Nothing is as painful as having to watch your child suffer and die.

I believe that Kaleb knew his destiny before he was born. I have to believe this or my own life would not make sense. I have to believe that he is one of the remarkable beings who choose suffering to better the lives of others. Perhaps he is here to teach us all justice? Perhaps forgiveness. Whatever the case, I love him for it. I deeply love this child who loved his parents and all of us so much that he chose this for himself.

I will pray for the conclusion that Kaleb must have. Be it one that brings him back to his family, or takes him to be with the other angels we feel were called before their time, but were not. They choose to go like they choose to come. Thank you baby Kaleb for your compassion and your courage.
Tell ‘Rissa I love her when you see her next.

On Aging Pop Culture Icons

2007-05-31T04:58:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine turned me on to this the Rambo 4 trailer the other day. Its pretty brutal. Click above to check it out.
Yes, ladies and gents, Rambo is back.

After Rocky Balboa, I wondered if the rumors were true that Sylvester Stallone was going to revive David Morrell's character in his successful franchise. Though truth be told, in the original book that inspired four slaughter happy films, John Rambo dies...

So now we have seen the return of both Rocky and Rambo.
What's next?

Indiana Jones 4 began filming this month.
Harrison Ford will be back. And as if he isnt too old for the hat and the whip, rumor has it that Sean Connery is joining him.
Yeah. I'll be there.

Doesnt look to be as brutal or ultra violent as the Rambo 4 flick, but Im sure I will subject myself to both.

One aging star that wont be returning to his roots any time soon is Mel Gibson.No, I am not talking about his floundering "Lethal Weapon" series that started with a bang, and slowly fizzled out over four films. I am referring to one of the greatest and often overlooked sci-fi action series of all time. The story of "Mad" Max Rockatansky... known to American audiences as The Road Warrior. Max will be returning for a fourth run in "Fury Road," but with another actor behind the wheel...
See article:

http://www.cinematical.com/2007/03/14/mad-max-4-announced-mel-gibson-will-not-star/

All thats left is the Governator... can it be?
“I think it’s in his contract [to make an appearance],” MGM CEO Harry Sloan told The Boston Herald when talking about "Terminator IV."
Gee. What will that look like?

Yeah...
as sad as it sounds, I'll probably see that one too.

On Spider Man 3

2007-05-24T22:44:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don’t know I am a HUGE comic book nut. I grew up on Spider Man. I remember when the Black Suit was a gift from a God-Like being known as “The Beyonder,” in the Marvel Super-Heroes Secret Wars limited series of the mid 1980’s. I owned “Web of Spider-Man” #1 where Peter uses the Bell tower to fight off the alien Symbiote. I had it all. When Venom was “bad” and then, when he became...”good.” sort of.

As a fan that loved the first two films, all I can say is...
Spider Man 3 was one of the worst movies ever made for this audience.

Fans wanted to see Venom, but I would rather have had a good solid story then a bunch of CGI effects. I mean we have seen Dr. Curt Connors in all three movies, but we never saw the Lizard. Eddie Brock could have been present without having to force Venom into the picture.

The ending was predictable—teaming up with the Goblin to defeat the Sandman and Venom, and the film cheesy (the Scenes of Peter Parker strutting down the streets of New York with bad hair and swagger to the 70’s disco sound). The only real redeeming part was Thomas Hayden Church as the Sandman. His look was fantastic, the part could not have been cast better, and given the angle of his sick child... it made him touching, and well rounded.
That being said, we ended the movie with him still at large free to do as he would (at least I assume so, I left before the movie was over). The scenes of Church’s Sandman were generally rehashed sequences from “The Mummy” and “The Mummy Returns.” And what is it about becoming a megalith of angry humanoid sand makes villains lose their ability to speak? As soon as Church turns into the Sandman, his intelligent speech is reduced to unintelligible moans, groans, and roars. How cliché.

If you are a Spider Fan, you will not be pleased. No matter how cool Venom looks, there just wasn’t enough story to keep this franchise alive. I am glad to hear neither McGuire nor Raimi have any intentions of doing more.

Thank God. I don’t know if I could stand another scene of Kristen Dunst singing.

On Buddhism: Is There Room for God? Part I

2007-05-24T22:09:00.000-07:00

What is God?
This is a question I will attempt to answer quite bluntly, and so some blanket statements apply.

Answer: the correct answer is...

A word.

Yes. That’s correct; “God” is just a word. Well that’s not entirely true; God is one of these special words that spells another word when you spell it backwards. God is “Dog” in reverse. Before any of you get too upset, bear with me. This is not a pointless jab at another’s faith, but rather a platform for me to demonstrate something that I hope will be quite logical.

Words are how we communicate ideas. So each word has with it, a potentially limitless number of attributes that we as individuals attach to that word. For example, “chocolate” to me means a mouthwatering, bliss-filled experience. To another who may be allergic to the substance, it may mean discomfort, pain, swelling, nausea, or asphyxiation. You see? Each word has meanings given to it by our individual perceptions.

With that in mind, let us examine the attributes that are commonly associated with a Christian/Judaic/Islamic “God.”
1. All powerful
2. All knowing
3. Ever Present
4. Male

Okay. Can we agree on these four things? Just for the sake of argument? If so, then I will continue discussing at a later time how I reconcile the understanding and belief in a Creator God, with my practice of an atheistic philosophy/religion.

Thank you all for your comments and questions. Feel free to pass this blog on to others who may have questions... I can only answer for myself, remember, but I will help where I can.

On Buddhism: In the Beginning

2007-05-22T21:13:00.000-07:00

My new friend Dustin asked a little about the basics of Buddhism. Here is what I came up with...
I will start with the basics...
Buddhi, is the Sanskrit word that means “awaken.” If it sounds familiar to you, that’s because—you guessed it... it is the root of the word Buddha, or “Awakened One.” The

There have been, are, and will be, many Buddha’s, but the one credited as the patriarch of the philosophical path called Buddhism, was the man born Prince Siddhartha Gautama.

Please note that I said man.
There is a common misconception out there particularly among those uneducated in other cultures or belief systems that Buddhists “worship” the statue of a short, fat bald guy. This could not be further from the truth in most cases. Buddha never claimed to be God, or even a god. No Buddha was just a man who came to a realization, and had the good nature and heart to share it with others. Simply put, that realization was how to put an end to your suffering. Nothing more, and nothing less. No eternal salvation. No eternal damnation, none of that.

Buddhism began approximately 2500 years ago—which means that it predates Christianity by about half a millennium. It is a philosophy rather than a religion, though there are aspects of both in its practice. I say this in this way because of a passage in S. Dhammika’s book “Good Questions, Good Answers” regarding this very subject.

“The word ‘philosophy’ comes from two words ‘philo,’ which means ‘love,’ and ‘sophia’ which means ‘wisdom.’ So philosophy is the love of wisdom, both meanings describe Buddhism perfectly.”

In fact, I should have thought of this earlier. One significant resource for both practicing Buddhists and those who are just curious can be found online, with many MP3 downloads, e-books (including the one I just cited) and other useful tools. All of this is free to use, and may be more helpful than I am going to be, Dustin. You can find all of this at Buddhanet, which is listed on my links to the right.

I encourage you to read over the “Good Questions, Good Answers.” Then if you have any further questions, I would be happy to go further into the philosophy. Remember that I am more of a Zen guy than a “practicing Buddhist,” and I tend to do little with scripture, and focus more on practice and intention.

Let me know if any of this helps, and please... keep asking.

On Buddhism: The Reluctant Tutor...

2007-05-18T16:58:00.000-07:00

Hello friends,
There has been a group of wonderful people. Some I know in the community, some from my job who have asked me from time to time to explain this or that about Buddhism. In the past I have been far from eager to anser these things for fear of explaining something incorrectly. It isnt that I havent lectured or taught before. I did a series of lectures in college, some were even attended by members of the Philosophy department, and I was only corrected once. But still, my practice having suffered over the years and through my loss has made me more reluctant to speak when asked.

Lately however, a dear friend of mine asked me to explain a few tings to him in an email. His questions reminded me of where it is that I am in my life, and where I want to be--and how very different those two places are sometimes. This, coupled with the fact that during a time I needed to process my grief, my own teacher smiled and told me that one day I would be a "great teacher" myself, has encouraged me to speak a little more on the subject. This entry will open the floor for discussion on my insights into the practice of Zen Buddhism. Please enter your comments and I will address them as I am able.

On Being One with Nature

2007-05-17T14:36:00.000-07:00

On Friday of last week while returning from a day of work on the nature trails I am constructing for Allegan County, a snake that I had stepped on inadvertently bit me.

I picked up the snake, and identified it as a corn snake. Judging by the way it was shaking its tail like a rattlesnake, I determined that it was pretty irritated.
I took the snake with me back to the unit, and placed it in a 5-gallon pail to take home to my kids. The fact is, I have city kids who don’t experience stuff like this too often. But the snake was highly agitated on the ride home... continuously trying to escape and bite. I finally pulled over and said to it;
“Look, just give me a couple of days to help my children learn to appreciate animals like you and I will put you back in the exact same place I found you. Okay?”

The snake was exceptionally docile the rest of the way home. It lived in a 55-gallon tank for the next 48 hours. The Monday morning before I went back to work, I took it out of the tank to let the kids touch and hold it before taking it back. It climbed on them and was extremely gentle with them, showing no fear or aggression.

That afternoon, I put the snake back where I had found it.
It at first refused to get into the grass, and then I reminded it verbally, “I told you that I would put you back where I found you. Thank you for letting my children learn and hold you.”

The snake very slowly and purposefully, stretched out and I swear to you... It gave me a kiss goodbye. After I felt its tongue on my nose two or three times, it dropped to the grass, and disappeared in a flash.

Pictures don’t lie.

On KIds: Children and Internet Pornography (Or Why I Wont Buy My Adolescent Son a Subscription to Penthouse...)

2007-05-06T00:44:00.000-07:00

"It is not only for what we do that we are held responsible, but also for what we do not do."
--John Baptiste Moliére

My wife recently described an online conversation she came across on one of her message boards. As I have a bit of experience working with children and adolescents who have been exposed to pornography and sexual abuse, I thought I would share my opinion on what she told me. Bear in mind that I have not read these posts myself.

An eleven-year-old boy’s curiosity into the opposite sex, and relationships between men and women is completely natural. While most pre-teens are just beginning to really come into a sense of who and what they will become, it is important for parents to be present to answer any and all questions that their children may have—while at the same time being responsible enough to keep them from situations that can cause them lasting harm.

When I heard that there were questions about what to do with (what I assume to be hardcore pornographic) printouts found in the possession of an eleven-year-old boy, who apparently gained access to the material through unsupervised time on the Internet, I became quite concerned. When I was told one solution would be to purchase a subscription to Penthouse magazine, I cringed. Not the approach I would take, and here is why:

I am not opposed to pornography. As the father of six, I am not willing to subject my kids to these materials, however I am also not willing to tell other people what is or is not freedom of expression.

To start, there is a tremendous difference between sexuality, and pornography. Healthy relationships between consenting adults and hardcore sexual acts are worlds apart, and I felt compelled to share some of my professional experiences with children who were exposed to hardcore pornography before their teens.

One young person became interested in the collection of pornographic magazines they found aat a young age. Their fascination with the acts that he saw men and women performing on those pages peaked their curiosity—to the point where they asked the only other person they trusted to experiment with them. When asked why they engaged in a sexual relationship with a sibling, they stated that they simply wanted to experience the things that they had seen. They had been told these were the acts two people engaged in when they loved each other, and they loved each other.

Another young girl was exposed to pornographic material even earlier--before the age of seven She was caught trying to convince her younger siblings to “lick her.” Again, simply due to the fact that she was curious about what it was that she had seen.

In both cases it was not an intention of harm that was the issue, but rather the inability to differentiate between healthy adult relationships between loving partners, and the perceived “normal” interactions between members of the opposite sex. With no way to discern the difference between a sibling relationship and a husband/wife relationship, all many children see is interaction between a male and a female. It is both a little scary and very exciting. Once engaged in such behavior, they then realize that it feels good as well, and may not even consider what they are doing to be wrong.

But acting out in sexually inappropriate ways may not be the only issue. According to the Internet source Treatment Online: Anxiety, Addiction and Depression; “Pornography can be a very harmful thing for children to see, especially at younger ages. Images of nudity and sexual activity can create distorted expectations about body images, romance and intimacy. These negative stereotypes and expectations, especially when encountered during a teen's formative years, can feed into attitudes and behaviors of an unhealthy nature.”

I have seen many examples of what exposure to hardcore pornography has done to children who were too young to fully understand what they were seeing. While hardcore pornography is not always to take on the blame for the results entirely, it has been in more than just a hand full. There is a reason things are labeled for “Mature Audiences” and kept behind counters.

It is important to talk to your children about sex. It is nothing to be ashamed of, nor is it bad when within the boundaries of a consensual, adult relationship. Eleven year-olds do not necessarily have the cognitive capabilities to understand what they see. It is your responsibility to help them through such a time, but exposing them to hardcore pornography is not only an inappropriate way to deal with it, it is also illegal. Most magazines require the purchaser to be eighteen years of age; unfortunately the Internet is not as scrupulous as your local newsstand. It is dangerous to allow unsupervised Internet time for children—regardless of how much you trust your child. They may be too embarrassed to ask questions and seek answers out on their own, answers they may not be prepared to deal with mentally, or emotionally. And dealing with the repercussions of such exposure through CPS or other government agencies is not something I would want to experience.

“Like it or not, porn is a part of the modern, web-based, world. Just as parents warn their children to not talk to strangers or to look both ways before crossing the street, it has become all the more important to teach safe and healthy Internet usage strategies to children.”

Sex is not dirty, or wrong, or shameful, or disgusting. It is natural. We live in a sexually repressive society. I am all about healthy sexual experience and the freedom of speech and expression. I just encourage parents and care providers to act responsibly when it comes to children. It can be argued that pornography can be an enjoyable part of an adult relationship, but I don’t think that applies to eleven year-olds. I could be wrong. But don’t just buy the subscription without the conversation that goes with it, and remember that he is an adolescent boy—he will talk about it with his friends, and he will show it to them. Do you want to be the parent responsible for exposing other people’s children? Are you prepared for the consequences of that?

Lots to think about. I encourage parents to think things through thoroughly before acting.

Open to All...

2007-04-22T15:05:00.000-07:00

It has come to my attention that I had this blog set up to accept comments only from members...
This is no longer the case.

My apologies.
No more excuses for R3 :)

On Insensitivity: Reaction to the Virginia Tech Shooting

2007-04-22T06:08:00.000-07:00

“Real men do not read anything other than GUNS AND AMMO, SPORTS ILLUSTRATED, or SHAVED BEAVER.”
--Dennis Leary

In light of the recent shooting on the Virginia Tech campus, I am hesitant to post this out of fear of being a hypocrite. I am afraid that my displeasure with the response of our Nation to this tragedy has gotten me to fall in step with the rest of my insensitive brothers, talk show hosts, and political figures.

On a message board that I can often be found lurking, and occasionally posting, I made a simple post on the incident that took place. I said:
“My heart goes out to the families and friends of these thirty some people.
I don’t even know what to say.”

This is entirely true. What can you say? The New York Times describes the event as “the deadliest shooting rampage in American history and came nearly eight years to the day after 13 people died at Columbine High School in Colorado at the hands of two disaffected students who then killed themselves.”

Thirty-two people lost their lives.
Thirty-two families lost children, brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, cousins, aunts, uncles...
Thirty-two families are irreversibly changed.
Thirty-two families will never be whole again.

This is how one message board responded:

“I'm not sure why a supposedly intelligent individual would resort to an action like this, but I guarantee that it will be blamed on lack of gun control.......”

“That said, I have very good control over my own gun. I don't need anyone else, particularly big brother, telling me that I can or cannot have one.”

“I have excellent gun control....I always hit what I aim at.”

Thank God for Real Men like these.
Without them to cheapen the loss of these families by yucking it up about their gun-given power, this would not be America. If this mentality ruled the nation, there would be a perfect Utopia.
Why if only everyone had guns, there would be no more violence in this Country. If only everyone had guns there would be no more poverty or hunger. There would be no more rape, no more incest, no more child abuse, no more unemployment... The only problem this many guns would be unable to solve is the epidemic of impotence that would be sure to follow in the wake of such a high power need. After all these Charlton Heston clones have to be compensating for something...
Like Stacey Keach said in his role as Ken Titus: “We dont need guns son, the men in our family have penises.”

Of course it wasn’t limited to the insensitive remarks of these Macho guys. Alan Colmes was found discussing gun control pros and cons the following evening on his Fox radio show, as was Laura Ingram. I am sure that there was tireless banter on the subject all over The airways, but I just couldnt listen. I shouldnt be surprised. In a recent article, Charles Krauthammer said it very well:
“What can be said about the Virginia Tech massacre? Very little. What should be said? Even less. The lives of 32 innocents, chosen randomly and without purpose, are extinguished most brutally by a deeply disturbed gunman. With an event such as this, consisting of nothing but suffering and tragedy, the only important questions are those of theodicy, of divine justice. Unfortunately, in today's supercharged political atmosphere, there is the inevitable rush to get ideological mileage out of the carnage.” For full article see http://www.realclearpolitics.com/articles/2007/04/obama_turns_tragedy_into_polit.html.

It isn’t just the right side of the political fence either as I mentioned. All of the John Waynes in this country had their moment to say stupid things: “If just one or two people had been armed this Cho would have been stopped(Not taking into consideration the fact that just as many people could have been killed in a crossfire).” But even presidential hopefulls from the left were not immune to idiocy.

Barak Obama proved his mental impairment by stating “There's also another kind of violence though that we're gonna have to think about. It's not necessarily physical violence but that the violence that we perpetrate on each other in other ways. Last week, the big news, obviously, had to do with Imus and the verbal violence that was directed at young women who were role models for all of us, role models for my daughter.”
In context, these comments make a little more sense. However context or not, the fact that Obama can compare a 60 year-old shock jock calling the Rutger’s Women’s basketball team “nappy headed hos” to thirty two individuals being slaughtered like animals is astonishing. No... Idiocy and insensitivity in America knows no bounds.

To all you gun advocates; Give it a rest when you are in a venue that is discussing lives lost to gun violence. Your John Wayne mentality is charming, in a short-sighted, selfish, hammer-for-every-job lind of way. But it isn’t welcome or warranted in places where loss weighs heavier than political rhetoric. And before you jump knee deep in my sh*t about being some pinko commie scumbag, know that I am licensed to carry concealed weapons in several states. I have carried on and off the job, and am surgical with my weapon of choice—a quality 1911. There is a time and a place for everything... and pro gun talk in a forum to process or offer condolences to shooting victims is not one of them.

To all the rest of you insensitive clods who find it necessary to preach the values of no guns in our society—give this a rest too. Those of you who don’t believe that guns have a place in our country need to remember that no amount of laws or control measures will keep an unstable person from committing a horrible act. Cho would have made pipe bombs if he had been unable to obtain firearms. For chrissake he would have brought a chainsaw to class that day if he had to. Don’t delude yourselves. If someone wants to hurt you badly enough... make no mistake, he will.

Since this is my forum for putting things out there I will tell you all what I feel is more important than the pro or con side of gun control: To remember what happened, and who it happened to.

Ross Abdallah Alameddine, 20 years old.
Christopher James Bishop, 35 year old language instructor.
Brian Roy Bluhm, 25 years old.
Ryan Christopher Clark, 22 years old.
Austin Michelle Cloyd, 18 years old.
Jocelyne Couture-Nowak, adjunct foreign languages instructor. Daniel Alejandro Perez Cueva, 21 years old.
Kevin P. Granata, 45 year old engineering science professor.
Caitlin Millar Hammaren, 19 years old.
Jeremy Michael Herbstritt, 27 years old.
Rachael Elizabeth Hill, 18 years old.
Emily Jane Hilscher, 19 years old.
Jarrett Lee Lane, 22 years old.
Matthew Joseph La Porte, 20 years old.
Henry J. Lee, also known as Henh Ly, 20 years old.
Liviu Librescu, 76 year old holocaust survivor.
G.V. Loganathan, 51 year old environmental engineering professor.
Partahi Mamora Halomoan Lumbantoruan, 34, of Indonesia.
Lauren Ashley McCain, 20 years old.
Daniel Patrick O'Neil, 22 years old.
Juan Ramon Ortiz, 26 years old.
Minal Hiralal Panchal, 26 years old.
Erin Nicole Peterson, 18 years old.
Michael Steven Pohle Jr., 23 years old.
Julia Kathleen Pryde, 23 years old.
Mary Karen Read, 19 years old.
Reema Joseph Samaha, 18 years old.
Waleed Mohammed Shaalan, 32, doctoral student from Zagazig, Egypt.
Leslie Geraldine Sherman, sophomore history major and member of the honors program.
Maxine Shelly Turner, 22 years old.
Nicole White, 20 years old.

I think that these people and their families would rather have back what was taken, than pointless and insensitive discussion about what “could have happened if only...”

To those families I can honestly say I feel your pain.
My thoughts and prayers are with you.

On Grief: Being Angry with God--WARNING MAY BE OFFENSIVE TO SOME READERS

2007-04-12T06:12:00.000-07:00

Here I promised something soon. I also mentioned that what I provided would possibly be shocking. Thus, if you are a God-fearing Christian, whose faith or belief system is easily offended, please read no further. I do not wish to offend anyone, but at the same time I am going to express my feelings. I am angry, and there is little doubt as to whom I am angry with.
Read on at your own risk.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

“Christians by their very nature are selfish. Let’s put it this way, would Christians follow Christ if there was nothing in it for them in the end of the day? I think not. There is a reward at the end for them. How can you live for god when you are basically living to secure YOUR own fate…”
Ihategod.net

It was Easter on the 8th of this month. Easter is the Christian celebration of Christ’s victory over death (you know, when Jesus rose from the dead on the third day after his crucifixion?). Well I have an issue to take with this.

It has now been close to a year since my Rissa passed away. I have waited much longer that the required three days. No one has sent me a letter stating that there has been a mistake. No one has come to the door stating that Marissa is waiting patiently at the security desk to be picked up. No one has called to say “She is risen!”

What a bunch of crap.
Seriously. How stupid can people be to place their trust in something as ridiculous as this mythology. If Christ had really triumphed over death, then wouldn’t everyone be free? Wouldn’t all of our loved ones be able to be with us still? What kind of sweeping victory grants the spoils only to one?

No, I think that the early followers of Christ talked too mush sh*t. Their leader was gone, and pursued by those who hated them, they needed some kind of battle call—some hero to rally around, and since the major players had all denounced, doubted, or betrayed Jesus, they figured none of them were qualified. I’m sure that John came up with the brilliant idea that if Jesus just came back from the dead, all the enemies the twelve apostles had would simply **** out. It would be easy really. No one would have to know. After all, after Jesus rose from the dead, he only appeared to his friends and disciples.

I would think that with such a grand victory, he would have been prancing around everywhere to thumb his nose at those who killed him. Even If his resurrection was more than a hoax, it was simply a matter of who he had to bl*w to get himself out of trouble.
“Holy sh*t! I’m dead! This sucks! Hey you! Big fella with the pointy tail and horns… Whats a guy gotta do to get outa here?”

Oh yeah. Im still angry. And all the people who tell me that If I would just trust my “Lord-and-Savior” and he will bring me peace can go take a long walk off a short pier. All it does is rub all my painful sh*t in my face.

My baby is dead. Where is the comfort of their beloved Christ? Even if I still believed that the mythology of Christianity was fact, where is his hollow victory over death? When are people going to get that I am a grownup and I dont care what they think or what their religious beliefs are? I have my own method for comfort--right now it is in my ability to be angry. I have every right to be angry, and last I checked it wasn't against the law. I will be angry as long as I need to be to heal.

SO TERRIBLEY SORRY THAT MY GRIEF DOES NOT MEET YOUR ACCEPTABLE TIMETABLE!

Keep this "comfort and peace of Jesus" sh*t to yourselves people. You obviously have no idea how rude and inconsiderate this really is. Furthermore, as a recovering Christian, none of this makes any difference to me in the first place. I grow tired of having the "comfort and peace" of somone elses belief system continuously rammed down my throat by those who think they mean well, but are simply reaffirming their own beliefs to themselves out of fear. Your God is no more valid or real than what I believe...

Im not worried about what is going to happen to me after I die. If I am not... why are you?

On Absence Making the Heart Grow Fonder...

2007-04-10T19:38:00.000-07:00

Sorry folks.
My Mac is in the shop presently and I dont feel right somehow posting from my nice government job.

Be back in a week with something a little shocking perhaps.
It wasnt a very good Easter.

Shanti.

On Grief: Guilt

2007-03-25T10:24:00.000-07:00

“You can’t keep blaming yourself. Just blame yourself once and move on.”
Homer Simpson

When Marissa died, I was on the phone. Well, I was more accurately asleep. She had been up late in the hospital, and I had sat in a chair next to her bed, watching television, and drawing pictures, and talking with her. As the night turned into morning, I watched her yawn, and after following suit, I climbed into the little bed next to her. I carefully tucked her head in the pocket of my shoulder and gently moved her arms so that I wouldn’t disturb her IV. Finally, I pulled the safety rail up so that I wouldn’t roll off the bed, and we went to sleep.

The first thing I remember hearing was the monitor for her pulse oximeter unit. It was an alarm that I was unfamiliar with, but in this day and age the sounds monitors make change from one trip to the ER to the next. There were no nurses in my room, no one was tending to the IV unit, and after seven years of these experiences I had become numb to such disturbances, which in the past, had never amounted to much more than an annoyance.

When the phone rang, it took me a few seconds to acclimate. I put the railing down, rolled out and stumbled around the bed. I picked up the phone—it was my mother-in-law calling to see how ‘Rissa had fared through the night.
“Fine,” I told her. “She was up until about five or so, but then she fell asleep. She’s sleeping soundly now. Its good to see her sleeping so well now after being so restless last night.”

I hung up the phone. The alarm was still going off. If I was going to be awake, that part was going to have to be dealt with. Usually I knew which buttons to push on an IV to take care of business. Perhaps a lead had fallen off somewhere, or her probe wasn’t attached to her little toe anymore. I checked all the lines and wires and found them to be securely in place at their various locations. This puzzled me. That was when I looked at the monitor screen.

The sensation was like swallowing an ice cube—cold and hard. When it hit my stomach it turned to a hot fiery coal, and spread through my belly. The monitor was flat lined. I checked for pulse (I had been through first responder training while working in private security and executive protection, and regularly trained in first aid at the hospital and youth facility) immediately and had that heat spread even further when I touched her skin. It was cold. She was cold and had no pulse. My training left me.

I flew out into the hall. I remember I wanted to yell but all I could manage was a croak. “Help me,” I said. “Help me, my baby’s dead.”

The nurses rushed in and took over. Later, I would look back on that morning in a phone conversation with Marissa’s pediatric neurologist, Dr. Michael Nigro. I told him about my training. I totally knew that within four minutes of an episode, brain death occurs. “I could have done something,” I said, “monitors are always a few seconds behind. How long must I have been on the phone? I could have done rescue breathing, I could have done compressions… but I didn’t. I just didn’t. I talked on the phone like it was going to be just an ordinary day.”

“Don’t do that,” Nigro told me. “Look, you could have done all of that, and you might have resuscitated her, but you would have a child that would only be a shadow of your daughter. She would have been a vegetable if you were able to do anything at all…”

In truth I didn’t need to hear this, I already knew. I had put down any thoughts that I could have altered this outcome in any way, shape or form. Marissa’s departure from this life wasn’t my decision to make. The sooner I was able to lay the guilt aside; the better off I was going to be. We aren’t going to heal as long as we keep on tearing the scab off of the wound.
It is perfectly natural to blame yourself for something. In my case, it was “If only I hadn’t talked so long on the phone I might have caught this early enough to save her.” For my wife it was something else entirely. For another person, maybe if they had just taken the keys from that friend, or not let them get on that airline, or if they just apologized for that argument the night before… Go ahead and blame yourself. Like I said, it’s perfectly natural.

But you can’t keep blaming yourself forever and expect to heal. That’s like a Ferrari stuck in the mud –All that horsepower and you’re just spinning your wheels.

On Ego, the Martial Arts, and Glasser's Theory

2007-03-24T21:34:00.000-07:00

Today my five-year-old son and I went to a karate tournament.

It was a tournament that I had competed in years ago, and when I heard that it was going on this weekend, I thought it would be a good opportunity for bonding with my boy. I got a chance to see some old acquaintances, and made a few new friends with the Chinese Martial Arts competitors. There were a lot of things that were the same, and a few that were different. Overall, it felt good, and it motivated me to begin some tournament training after I am done with my 25k in May.

I noticed something.

The tournament director held no title. His name was “Tom,” to those who knew him, or “Mr. Fabiano,” to the rest. This is not just some average Joe who was putting this on. He has been doing this for years. He has turned out some fabulous students—including such celebrities as Taylor Lautner of the motion picture Shark Boy and Lava Girl. Mr. Fabiano’s tournament had first second and third place trophies. Oh and participation medals for all the kids. A class act chock full of good competitors from contemporary Wushu to modern Arnis to traditional Korean and Okinawan Karateka. Kudos, Mr. Fabiano on a dignified and well run event.

See what I have noticed?
There was not a soul that introduced themselves to me or my son as “Dr.” “Professor,” “Master,” or “Grandmaster.”

I am continuously amazed by the number of “master’s” “grandmasters” and “grand-pooh-bah elite,” I find out there at some of these larger events. As a Traditional Chinese martial arts stylist, I tend to hold my standards to those of my teacher—or at least how he explained them to me:
You know you are a master when others begin to address you as such.

Li is certainly a man who has taught students to be masters themselves, yet he still humbly goes by the title Shifu or “Teacher father.”
I find this admirable in the day and age when a black belt is more often bought than earned.

There are numerous organization out there that will “recognize” your “rank,” or award you rank. If you belong to one such organization another will consider you “illegitimate”. This holds true especially in the Korean Karate organizations where politics seems to have superceded the love of the art.
Some self-proclaimed masters manage to go from a 4th degree black belt to a 6th or 7th, without hitting 5th or 6th. They think that no one will notice, but the scrupulous eye of their peers, is ever watching. Martial Artists that seem to have nothing better to do than to looking for some scrap to use in the defamation of the character of one of their own.

Then, we have the breed who doctor certifications or simply make up their own system and award themselves master of the universe.
William Glasser’s psychology describes the five basic needs of the human condition as:

1. Survival
2. Love and Belonging
3. Fun
4. Freedom
5. Power and Recognition

While in Glasser’s theory, none of these needs are negative attributes, I have to wonder what it is about these particular martial artists that drives such a high Recognition need? I mean when it comes to developing events, circumstances, organizations, or the like to draw attention to yourself, your rank, or whatever… When you are continuously searching for some award, certificate, or trophy of such attributes as leadership, or service? Isn’t true leadership to lead by example and not acquisition? Isn’t service supposed to be altruistic?

Jesus people. Puh-LEEZ. Get over yourselves.

I like to compete. Its guys like this out to make a name or a buck that are ruining it for me. I like to perform in front of others… I am not ashamed to admit that I have a high recognition need myself. But I also don’t claim to be anything special. I’m just a guy who likes to kung fu. I’m never going to be a Shifu. I’m never going to run an organization. Hell, I will likely never get a second-degree black belt. I would much rather spend my time on what I already know than trying to convince someone else that I know more.

This situation is really were the Martial Arts have taken another path far from the spiritual foundations that spawned them.

There is one name that I am dying to say… One shining example of how a guy (no matter how hard he has worked to earn them) has let his titles go to his head. But I wont.
I wont even hint at it save to say he is in my current home state of Michigan. I wont because then I would be one of those guys who is out to slander someone else.

So I will see what happens here. Consider this me getting my fun need met.

Shanti.

On Things to Consider...

2007-03-12T19:17:00.000-07:00

In 1793 the "Bard of Scotland," Mr. Robert Burns wrote this little piece that seems appropriate for this day and age. I find it somewhat comforting to see that even in the eighteenth century, we had the hypocrisy of war noticed by the literati of the time.

Robert Burns in my humble opinion, is one of the greatest poets of all time. He gets far too little attention outside of his native Scotland. If it wasn't for the fact that you have to read much of his work with a "Fat Bastard" type of accent, in order to get it, I think he would be much more recognized for the talent that he really was.

Without going much into the religious or political at this time, I will simply state what the great Robert Burns said so well in his poem "Thanksgiving for a National Victory."

Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks?
To murder men and give God thanks!
Desist, for shame!-proceed no further;
God won't accept your thanks for Murther!

Nuff Said

On Stupidity: Wisconson ranks Number 1

2007-03-10T12:21:00.000-08:00

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.”
Albert Einstein

I expect to find Wisconsin at the top of the list for the most recipients of the Darwin Awards in 2007. There are always going to be stupid people doing stupid things, but really…

According to an Associated Press Article dating March 8th, 2007, Twenty-year-old Jared Anderson, suffered serious burns to his hands and genitals according to an Eau Claire County criminal complaint. Apparently, a drunken Anderson allowed one Randell D. Peterson (aged forty-three), to spray lighter fluid on him and light him on fire.

Please understand that I would never wish ill to befall anyone—especially death or dismemberment,--but in this case someone who is actively trying to remove himself from the gene pool in such a fashion deserves to get their wish. It will be amazing indeed if Anderson is able to reproduce after this in which case he could be eligible for the Darwin in 2007. I only know of one other recipient who lived... That is a story I cant bear to retell...

As a man, I have a great appreciation for my crown scepter and family jewels. I like them right where they are—happy and healthy. I don’t know of any man who would intentionally put his tackle at risk—especially by fire!

The amazing thing is that “Anderson pulled down his pants and let Peterson spray him with lighter fluid. When the fire didn't catch, Peterson sprayed more lighter fluid on Anderson.”

Incredibly this is not the only really stupid thing that happened in Wisconsin in the past thirty days. Check this:

James Van Iveren (a thirty-nine year-old man from Oconomowoc who lives with his mother), pounded on the door of his upstairs neighbor and kicked it open without warning Feb. 12, damaging the frame and the lock. Van Iveren says he broke into an apartment because he thought he heard a woman being raped, He was armed with a cavalry sword.
Van Iveren said Tuesday that he heard a woman "screaming for help," grabbed the sword, bounded up the stairs, kicked in the apartment door and confronted the man who lived there.

"I had the sword extended. But that was all," he said.

He wasn’t the only one with his sword extended.
The sounds Van Iveren actually heard came from a pornographic movie that his neighbor had been watching.
Apparently Police seized Van Iveren's sword, but their was no need to trouble his neighbor further, he had already been seizing his own sword…

Wait that’s not all folks!

In Sheboygan, Wisconsin. A 22-year-old man was arrested for drug possession after police found a marijuana pipe and drugs stashed in his underwear. Apparently this guy’s pants were undone (while driving I might add), and authorities found a “small pipe.”

So that’s what they are calling it these days…

So as we see, Wisconsin folks are really into their… well, you know. I know I am scraping the bottom of the barrel, and that you, my beloved readers are expecting much more from me than this, but COME ON! Who does this stuff?!?! Who gives permission to a guy to set their crotch on fire? Who breaks in on a guy sword in hand?!?! At least the last one I can sort of understand. If the guy was high enough he would have forgot to sheathe his “sword” before getting into the car, and really if his “pipe” was that small, then there is even more space to hold his stash.

I’m really worried now. My father is from Wisconsin, as is my darling wife. I must remember to hide the lighter fluid.

On Grief: Manifestations

2007-03-08T09:42:00.000-08:00

“Death ends a life, not a relationship.”
Jack Lemon

Life is all about relationships. We are social beings—interconnected with one another on a level that is impossible to describe with any word other than spiritual. I remember reading somewhere or hearing in some lecture or another in college about how significantly we impact one another. The gist of the story goes (and forgive me professor if I get this wrong) something like this:

A man became disgusted with his failures in life. He never seemed to be able to reach his dreams or aspirations. In defeat he decided he would become a hermit and live on top of a nearby mountain. “I will completely remove myself from society,” he thought to himself. “I will no longer have any ill effect on my loved ones. No longer will they pay the price for my failures.”

And so he went. He took nothing but the clothes on his back and left, thinking he had done the world a great favor by removing himself from it. Little did he realize that his presence was still felt in the life he left behind. His wife longed for her husband, and his children lived the rest of their days missing their father. His employer, now short on manpower, found his business productivity slipping. What made matters worse was that now he had to take energy away from running his business to find a replacement. His coworkers had to double their efforts to make up for his loss. His neighbors had to spend time helping the man’s wife with maintaining her home—taking away from their own families.

Ultimately the man, who had intended only to better the lives of his loved ones by removing himself from the equation, only made things more difficult. Even in his absence, he was impacting those around him. The relationship went on—even without him there.

For me, the death of my daughter left my home without a physical presence. For weeks, and months, I would come home from work and still expect to see her sitting cross-legged on the area rug in the living room, playing with her favorite toy. Of course she was not there, and my heart would sink every time that realization manifested itself.

Our loved ones are gone, but our feelings, sensations, and memories are not. Depending on your religious persuasion, this can be beneficial to our healing during our bereavement. Whether you want to look at it as a message from the person we have lost, a reminder of things as they were, a memory, a wonderful coincidence, or complete garbage—its up to you. I will share this story with you, and you can draw your own conclusions.

About a month after the death of my daughter, I was back at work in the Juvenile facility assigned with supervising an activity. The children and I went for a walk from the facility proper, down to the nearby lake about a half-mile away. The sun was shining, and the grass seemed exceptionally green to me that day—all the vegetation for that matter. Everything seemed so much more vibrant. The sky was blue save for the few wisps of cloud that passed overhead—not even enough to make shadows in the early afternoon. Anything other than green blue or brown would have stood out like a sore thumb.

I was lamenting my daughter—how could I not be? It is a daily event. The walk down to the lake was quiet, save for the children’s laughter and conversation, which to my ears was pleasant. They didn’t engage me much. Our relationship was a respectful one, and they all understood that I had suffered a loss, and most had given me plenty of space. Because of this relationship I was able to enjoy the walk, the children’s company, and my memories all at the same time with little difficulty.
We spent some time at the waters edge. We picked up garbage and disposed of it in the large teal dumpster. One of the children found an old turtle shell, and fished it out of the water. Still another waded into the lake near the boat launch. All the while my heart grew heavy. The breeze from the water passed through the hole in my heart with a chill. I wanted to go back, but it wasn’t time. Eventually suppertime approached and we began our hike back up the hill to the facility.

The boys had worked up some energy on their little outing—the opposite effect that I had hoped for. The trip back was not as pleasant. They bickered and laughed, and teased and pushed each other in a spirited nature, as I plodded along behind them back up the same path that we had come. When some of the language being used by the boys began to deteriorate, I stopped and chided them. They looked in my direction, but I could see that their eyes were not on me, but below me. Thinking that I must have stepped in something, I looked down.

There between my feet was a vine that had worked its way from the thick brush alongside the path, into the short grass. At the end of the vine was a single, enormous, lavender blossom.

Now as I mentioned earlier, anything other than the green and brown of the vegetation, or the blue of the sky would have stood out like a sore thumb. The size and brilliance of this flower made it impossible to miss by any standard. I know people have told me that (if not in words, with their eyes) I was likely absorbed in thought on the walk down and was not paying any attention, but from my perception, there is simply no way for me to have missed that blossom on the walk down to the lake.

It simply had not been there before.

My daughter’s favorite color was lavender.

If we look hard enough we can easily see the manifestations of those we have lost. Whether it is a flower, a scent, or a memory, our relationship with that person endures. We carry on that relationship in a different form until our own death. Make no mistake about it—the loss of a child never goes away, but we will be happy again.