tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39174201668021011872024-03-05T22:16:35.824-08:00Tool-Using Bipedthe musings of Ordinary Jer, an analog man in a digital worldJerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-20259706985960994212018-04-24T12:52:00.004-07:002019-11-30T10:12:56.739-08:00The Fitch Barrier: A Risk-Taker's Lifesaving Legacy<!--[if !mso]> <style>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Among the artifacts of daily life so ordinary that they give no hint of their extraordinary origins are the yellow, sand-filled crash cushions found on highways in all 50 states. It’s unlikely that many motorists give them a second glance, let alone wonder how they came to be fixtures of the American roadway, but if they looked into it, they’d find that the story of the Fitch Barrier and its inventor, John Fitch, is as colorful as the barriers themselves. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqxdAiE_cqDUhto9wo-jiOiGcpV-NL5fD6j4LIeRDDi9gN7BbWhh3gi2n220cWHm4K7yQZgoXwxgBhCF8Tnn-j0IjBugYY6LsiXLWaSK_pg6Lgt_fjpkROYE49YQ7vYxTTUBuRhZW9AjQ/s1600/Fitch+P-51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="222" data-original-width="425" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqxdAiE_cqDUhto9wo-jiOiGcpV-NL5fD6j4LIeRDDi9gN7BbWhh3gi2n220cWHm4K7yQZgoXwxgBhCF8Tnn-j0IjBugYY6LsiXLWaSK_pg6Lgt_fjpkROYE49YQ7vYxTTUBuRhZW9AjQ/s320/Fitch+P-51.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Born in 1917 to a wealthy and inventive family (his great-great grandfather was an inventor of the steamboat), John Cooper Fitch studied civil engineering at Lehigh University before dropping out to travel the eastern U.S. and Europe by motorcycle. Sailing and airplanes were early interests, and after an unsuccessful attempt to join the Royal Air Force at the outbreak of World War II, he joined the US Army Air Corps in the spring of 1941. Flying the A-20 Havoc bomber and P-51 Mustang fighter, Fitch was one of a handful of pilots (including famed test pilot Chuck Yeager) to shoot down a German Me 262 jet fighter. Later, shot down by ground fire, he ended the war in a German prison camp.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4HHQUCQzn130TgJj1XuEbzmmCCiuJfBkkufIOhNIgw0PWnInie3ty8dY_dzl6fHwd7Watwj-0Gvyxj5of1BEPfv5tTZuDkN2p_-iXB0UwgIyxeoefu9fSid6vMNOMYkjtwpCSTCAGcap/s1600/Fitch+C4R.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="187" data-original-width="269" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4HHQUCQzn130TgJj1XuEbzmmCCiuJfBkkufIOhNIgw0PWnInie3ty8dY_dzl6fHwd7Watwj-0Gvyxj5of1BEPfv5tTZuDkN2p_-iXB0UwgIyxeoefu9fSid6vMNOMYkjtwpCSTCAGcap/s320/Fitch+C4R.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fitch and the Cunningham C4R</span></span></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">After the war, Fitch found his niche in sports car racing, parlaying impressive driving skills into a successful career with legends like Briggs Cunningham, Stirling Moss and Juan Manuel Fangio. He successfully managed the Corvette racing program in the late ‘50s, and between 2003 and 2005, in his late ‘80s, drove in land speed record attempts at Bonneville in a 1955 Mercedes 300SL Gullwing, the type in which he’d won the GT class at the 1955 Mille Miglia. He designed several racing and sports cars, including the highly regarded Fitch Sprint and Fitch Phoenix, both based on the unfairly maligned Chevrolet Corvair.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRizse8JxWF_P3NNqdmGcynvoUeOIAAF-JHN_3mRJ7DLzjgo8WHb_5StKpK9KcZzUjtDX4qFqt1jtgW32zyYnahSeieJKAoE0IwoyktROkyuftMLoL05CuUxhC7YaX3nDr-8ESYTFUipr/s1600/Le+Mans+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRizse8JxWF_P3NNqdmGcynvoUeOIAAF-JHN_3mRJ7DLzjgo8WHb_5StKpK9KcZzUjtDX4qFqt1jtgW32zyYnahSeieJKAoE0IwoyktROkyuftMLoL05CuUxhC7YaX3nDr-8ESYTFUipr/s400/Le+Mans+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">June 11, 1955 - the Le Mans Disaster</span></span></i></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">It was the infamous 1955 24 Hours of Le Mans, however, that provided the pivotal moment of Fitch’s life and career. During the race, another driver swerved in front of teammate Pierre Levegh’s Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR, launching it into an embankment, ejecting Levegh, and propelling the flaming wreckage into the spectator stands. Levegh and more than 80 spectators were killed, and nearly 180 more were injured. The Le Mans disaster, to this day the worst racing accident in history, was caused by a racetrack inadequate for the speeds of the day and having little or no crash protection for drivers or spectators. Although Fitch continued driving professionally until 1966 and in vintage racing for years afterward, he remained greatly affected by that horrific day at Le Mans, and realized he could make his greatest contribution to society through the promotion of automotive safety.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLX4jraR4-cjl3T49R_zNYAa10AqssaF-D_sKjrQ6toyUjRwVe0vtDOq871kSf0WDFeP9-3Hary20NXvpGtMH0rcsIC4S4ACfHyHSHn7sWsSO-4xSp2nxsDqtjQaC-vLHA8HDk25t3iLDD/s1600/Fitch+Barrier+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="544" data-original-width="800" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLX4jraR4-cjl3T49R_zNYAa10AqssaF-D_sKjrQ6toyUjRwVe0vtDOq871kSf0WDFeP9-3Hary20NXvpGtMH0rcsIC4S4ACfHyHSHn7sWsSO-4xSp2nxsDqtjQaC-vLHA8HDk25t3iLDD/s200/Fitch+Barrier+2.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Fitch<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>became a prolific inventor, patenting crash cushion and barrier systems for racetracks and highways, fuel, emissions, and brake products for cars and trucks, and safety improvements for cars and occupants. He devised cushioned racetrack walls and guardrails with deformable cylinders, and designed a race car helmet restraint that anticipated the modern HANS device for preventing fatal neck and skull fractures. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbXrGUHPVUYIhYJQ7g-zfseFVJt-VP-bdd5-gThlRsC-f8oU7NFEoVVZtbIf6w6Qi3e0mlB9ggsd512iKZr_Yu6PPV7WXvu9DGo0-y15u6_tJjp7ECfqrvPdqUHWUjHRZHV0aScoKZjzZ/s1600/Fitch+testing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="485" data-original-width="1024" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbXrGUHPVUYIhYJQ7g-zfseFVJt-VP-bdd5-gThlRsC-f8oU7NFEoVVZtbIf6w6Qi3e0mlB9ggsd512iKZr_Yu6PPV7WXvu9DGo0-y15u6_tJjp7ECfqrvPdqUHWUjHRZHV0aScoKZjzZ/s400/Fitch+testing.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">John Fitch testing early crash cushion prototypes in a '60 Chevy</span></span></i></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">The engineer in Fitch knew that reducing the severity of crashes required dissipating energy and increasing the time of deceleration of the crashing vehicle. He built the first prototypes of what would become the Fitch Inertial Barrier from sand-filled liquor barrels, testing them himself in his own driveway at speeds of up to 70 miles per hour. Fellow race legend Sam Posey recalled, “He had these barrels arranged. It's freezing cold, and John gets the car warmed up and charges toward these barrels. At the last second he throws himself down on the floor of the car. He crashes into the barrels. Sand everywhere. Just a huge mess. And John emerges, grinning like a sonofabitch." </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9ClrWcjQLFW4iX5scmhQ-ocTSq241pBeklLWomKZvT2wGSKW7QK1v2R56kOUIVMxs7p0QcwUihV_gioajBPz2rgi889L10EGVNc1ryMzvYH1zZeSqn4PiMuODS7InIbuKybguLR1io5u/s1600/Fitch+Barrier.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="780" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9ClrWcjQLFW4iX5scmhQ-ocTSq241pBeklLWomKZvT2wGSKW7QK1v2R56kOUIVMxs7p0QcwUihV_gioajBPz2rgi889L10EGVNc1ryMzvYH1zZeSqn4PiMuODS7InIbuKybguLR1io5u/s320/Fitch+Barrier.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Now, of course, Fitch Barriers are found on highways across America. No one knows how many lives they’ve saved in the decades since their adoption in the late ‘60s; the most commonly cited figure is almost 20,000. The value in human life is of course incalculable. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">John Fitch died in 2012 at the age of 95,<span style="color: #c00000;"> </span>having lived a storybook life. He’d traveled the world and moved easily among the powerful and famous, receiving a trophy and kiss from Eva Perón, and befriending the likes of the Kennedys and the Duke of Windsor. But it was his legacy of automotive safety that he valued most, and he counted as his greatest accomplishment the familiar yellow barrels that bear his name.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://www.racesafety.com/fitchbio.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Racing Safety with John Fitch</a></span></span></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://www.briggscunningham.com/home/john-c-fitch-driver/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">John Cooper Fitch at BriggsCunningham.com</span></span></a></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span></span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://www.sportscardigest.com/john-fitch-a-pictorial-remembrance/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Sports Car Digest, John Fitch - A Pictoral Remembrance</a></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span></span></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/sport-obituaries/9654484/John-Fitch.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">UK Telegraph - John Fitch Obituary</a></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.roadandtrack.com/car-culture/videos/a3672/john-fitch-a-life-well-lived/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Road & Track - John Fitch: A Life Well-Lived</span></a></span></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.roadandtrack.com/car-culture/a7987/john-fitch-phoenix-prototype/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Road & Track - Fitch Phoenix Prototype</span></a></span></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B000KJZEAW/?tag=googhydr-20&hvadid=175278616973&hvpos=1t2&hvnetw=s&hvrand=8453251139324207264&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=e&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9029805&hvtargid=kwd-52730877684&ref=pd_sl_70fe9oup3y_e" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">A Gullwing at Twilight</a></span></span></i></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rs9u54lajnLxmVberJELftwC4CDBNh63nGjTyVSBo59kHoadUj8BcaP9RxMs_vkUAFdgrwZYyLv9jmU9hda-sBz6gpcVeOwNMjLglz-5LsWm3QG6L4oOiLTT-B-OE-EafqViv0BKcqg6/s1600/Fitch+Mille+Miglia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="581" data-original-width="620" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rs9u54lajnLxmVberJELftwC4CDBNh63nGjTyVSBo59kHoadUj8BcaP9RxMs_vkUAFdgrwZYyLv9jmU9hda-sBz6gpcVeOwNMjLglz-5LsWm3QG6L4oOiLTT-B-OE-EafqViv0BKcqg6/s400/Fitch+Mille+Miglia.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fitch and a Mercedes 300SL Gullwing at the Mille Miglia</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-TXwR0AEQdP9n5ZoBUlIPUB_RSi0TYNKSi9quoxoHvokt-EXRKi787cqRSXkaZ1Kvn6_2vNyEku6ClwlZAE2H0ThmF_zRYq-JfhlzdX47aSE4TcDkhHy6Myp4cQILvPLWycgWfbVIELd/s1600/Fitch+Corvairs+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="335" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-TXwR0AEQdP9n5ZoBUlIPUB_RSi0TYNKSi9quoxoHvokt-EXRKi787cqRSXkaZ1Kvn6_2vNyEku6ClwlZAE2H0ThmF_zRYq-JfhlzdX47aSE4TcDkhHy6Myp4cQILvPLWycgWfbVIELd/s400/Fitch+Corvairs+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fitch with the Fitch Sprint and Fitch Phoenix at Lime Rock, Connecticut</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fitch and the Gullwing at Bonneville</span></span></td></tr>
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-29414306830663274082016-11-16T18:42:00.000-08:002016-11-16T18:43:14.794-08:00Fear Not!<i>Note: This was originally posted on Facebook on the eve of the election. It's a bit moot now, but not without value for the future, I think.</i><br />
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<i>"Bonhoeffer's experience with the African American community underscored an idea that was developing in his mind: the only real piety and power that he had seen in the American church seemed to be in the churches where there was a present reality and a past history of suffering. Somehow he had seen something more in those churches and in those Christians, something that the world of academic theology- even when it was at its best, as in Berlin - did not touch very much."</i><br />
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<i>-- </i>Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy<i>, by Eric Metaxas</i><br />
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In Matthew 16:18, Jesus proclaims to Peter that the gates of hell shall not prevail against his Church.<br />
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But that wasn't to say said gates wouldn't give it their best shot, and in Matthew 24, Jesus paints a vivid, frightening picture of what was to come, and did come.<br />
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It found partial fulfillment in the decades following his death and resurrection. In Rome, when Emperors like Nero tried to stamp out Christianity in the most monstrous ways, Christianity flourished, the message of grace, mercy, forgiveness, redemption and hope through the completed work of Christ spreading like wildfire throughout the known world and changing it forever.<br />
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And so it continues. In modern-day China and North Korea, a Christian caught proselytizing is at risk of the State-imposed penalty of disappearance and death. In Egypt, Coptic Christians have their churches and property seized, and in other parts of the Middle East, Christians are routinely hung, tortured, beheaded and burned alive by the likes of ISIS. Yet, like modern-day Wycliffes and Latimers and Ridleys, still they come.<br />
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In the United States, the Church has been free of any real persecution. Yes, disturbing inroads are being made on religious freedom, such as violating the rights of conscience of a Catholic religious order by requiring it to provide contraceptives coverage, and the severe curtailing of religious speech of the military's chaplain corps and servicemembers. But in America, the Church has always been surrounded by affluence and comfort and plenty that would leave third-world believers a-gape.<br />
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And yet (or more accurately, as a result), it seems to be wandering, seemingly more concerned with worship team amplification and pastors' piercings and skinny jeans and pandering to postmodern proclivities than with being a living sacrifice. As it always has, the Church in the US does an enormous amount of work that gets very little media attention. But where is our vital witness to a dying world?<br />
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Where is the salt and light? Where is our life-changing impact on the culture at large?<br />
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I believe this is a result of individual Christians' (me at the front of the line) pursuit of worldly goals and our eyes being focused on this world and looking to the things of this world for our sustenance and protection, rather than to our Creator and to the Author and Finisher of our faith. We are like the only seed sown on the pathway and rocky ground and among the weeds in Matthew 13. We have become indistinguishable from the world and have thus lost our power. Not the temporal power of princes and politics, but the power to change hearts and build the Kingdom. In pursuing political power, we have not gained it, and worse, have lost our spiritual power. We're exchanging our birthright as children of the King for scraps from the tables of impostors.<br />
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Jesus never told us to organize into coalitions for the purpose of amassing political power. He never told us to try to cozy up to the seats of earthly power. These are lessons we were supposed to have learned in the '80s and '90s.<br />
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Jesus called us to be salt and light. He called us to proclaim the Good News. He called us to disciple others. When his disciples said the crowd around him was hungry, he said "YOU give them something to eat." He said to care for the elderly, the widow, the orphan, the childless, the sick, the imprisoned, the bereaved. He told us to let our light shine before men, that seeing our good works, they would glorify the Lord. He told us that we are to act humbly, sacrificially, in love.<br />
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And yet, here we are in 2016.<br />
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I've read and heard some odd and even disturbing things from my fellow evangelical Christians this election, as if we've forgotten who we are. I'll avoid a cataloguing of them here, because that's not what this is about. But will I do a facepalm over the shriveled view of God that dares to claim Him for one or the other side of an election, as if the plans of the Alpha and Omega, the Creator and Sustainer and Sovereign of the Universe, hinge precariously on who becomes the head of one of three branches of the US federal government for four or eight years, forgetting that it is for us to try to be on His side. (See Psalm 2 and Abraham Lincoln.) Because every four years is the Apocalypse and the End of America if our person doesn't win, I've seen a lot of things that seem to be motivated by fear.<br />
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Fear that has taken our eyes off the Master in the midst of the storm, like Peter's, whereupon he began to sink.<br />
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Fear that the wrong President will "take away our right to worship." I don't know about you, but given what we know of the history of the Persecuted Church, and knowing how Americans typically react when told they cannot do something they consider a fundamental right, that might be the best thing that could happen to the fat and unhappy Church in America.<br />
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Jesus said no servant is above his master; that if they persecuted him, they would persecute us. Read Matthew 24. Jesus promised that his disciples would be delivered up to tribulation and put to death; that we'd be hated by all nations for His name's sake, and I don't believe his words have seen their complete fulfillment yet.<br />
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But if the history of the persecuted church teaches us anything, it's that Jesus's promise to Peter is true, and that the greater the persecution and tribulation, the more power and vitality is found in the Church and the gospel. The greater the danger, the more converts brave the persecution to come to the One who has defeated death (Romans 6:9, 1 Corinthians 15:54-55, Hebrews 2:14, Revelation 1:18). <br />
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In Syria, Christians walk to the gallows singing hymns. In North Korea, they distribute Bibles at risk to their lives. In Malaysia, they risk beatings and death. In parts of Africa, people walk an entire day to attend a weekly Bible study.<br />
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It seems they have all taken to heart Jesus's words in John 16:33 in speaking of his death and the Disciples' temporary separation from him. "I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”<br />
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Why are we then engaged in such strenuous pain avoidance, knowing his promises and our ultimate reward? Do we want to kick the can of trials and tribulations on down the road to our grandchildren, who, by all accounts, will be even less equipped to live through them than we are?<br />
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This rambling piece is meant, not for admonition, but encouragement. This election has been demoralizing for almost all of us, no matter where you find yourself on the political spectrum. We've probably all said things we regret. But in 2 Timothy 1:7, Paul says "for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control." So render unto Caesar tomorrow, knowing God sits on his eternal throne. Vote for whom you will, but don't do it out of fear, which is ungodly and un-American.<br />
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Fear not! Greater is he that is in you than he that is in the world.Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-34039400846099085872016-11-13T10:50:00.002-08:002016-11-13T15:28:59.217-08:00Election 2016 - Compassion for the Fearful<br />
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Christ commanded us to love our enemies. How much more, then, should we love those who aren't our enemies, but with whom we merely vehemently disagree about almost everything?<br />
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St. Paul told us not to destroy the faith of others, to not insist on our rights, but rather to place others above ourselves.<br />
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The Bible is full of exhortations of mercy and compassion. Jesus taught by his divine example that love (which must necessarily include love for our enemies) is sacrificial. He suffered and died for those who mocked him, flogged him and spit on him.<br />
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Jesus had many hard teachings. He expanded the definitions of murder and adultery. He called for meekness, humility, compassion, sacrifice; the taking up of our cross.<br />
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Presidential elections seem to present a real challenge to our being Christ-like.<br />
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It's not exactly a state secret to those who know me that I was vehemently opposed to both Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. So, I feel like while many on the two sides continue to shout at, or past, each other, I can understand both sides to some extent. Both sides are right about some things and wrong about others. Neither side is 100% right nor 100% wrong. Accepting that reality is a good first step toward moving forward. Take all the time you need. I'll wait.<br />
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Now, when I see people gripped by fears that they and others in their various identity groups are entering a period of darkness and oppression, that they even fear for their personal safety, I don't think those fears are invalid after the excesses of the campaign. But even as someone repulsed by the excesses of Trump and <i>some</i> of his supporters, I do think those fears are exaggerated. Some will say that's easy for me, a safe, white Christian male, to say. I'll concede that, and will gladly refrain from Trumpsplaining, or explaining to you how you feel or what it's like for you to be who you are. But I will say that there is such a thing as objective truth, and whether a thing is true or not does not depend on how easy it is to say. Even a scoundrel can speak truth. And if you know me, I'll ask you if you really think privilege precludes empathy and compassion, because if you do, I'm saddened by your low view of me.<br />
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Anyway, there are a number of reasons I think the present fears are exaggerated, quite apart from my privilege. I won't go into them here, as those with those fears don't really want to hear explaining right now. They need to work through their feelings. This fits in with my goal of doing more listening and thinking. I was going to add "and less talking," but here I am, talking, and talking, and talking. You can't have it all, people.<br />
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At long last, here's my point. If people are expressing fears we disagree with, it's okay to comfort and encourage them, if that's what they want. But if we just want to discount, to minimize, to justify, to argue, then remember, silence is golden. If we feel that the fearful ones are snowflakes that need to be toughened up for their own sake, fear not - if necessary, life will do that for them without our assistance. If you don't care about the person, shut up and go away. If you do care about them, shut up and stay.<br />
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If we think they're the enemy, I think we need to put down the politics and back away slowly. But at the very least, remember that thing about loving our enemies. And remember that love isn't a feeling, but an act of the will. Act in love, even if you're not feeing it. Jesus probably didn't have warm and fuzzy feelings as he was committing the ultimate act of love on the Cross. Be merciful as He is merciful to us.<br />
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This isn't about those committing violence and hate with Trump as an excuse. What they hate is America, and democracy when it doesn't give them the result they want. They'll get no defense from me, no matter how righteous they think their rage is.<br />
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And it's not about politics, but about filtering our politics through the Gospel if we believe we can't compartmentalize our Christianity, but must make all our thoughts and deeds captive to Christ, that the Gospel must permeate our lives and thoughts and deeds, that we died with Him to live in Him, that in Him we live and move and have our being.<br />
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It isn't easy.<br />
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But this is how we be the face of Christ to those those who are hurting and feel marginalized, because they have, rightly, or mistakenly, internalized what they believe to be hateful messages from Trump and many of his supporters. From the point of view of Christian ethics, if we're going to be skeptical of people's fears in the wake of the election, it's incumbent on us to 1) have compassion for them and 2) work to make sure their fears are never realized. Instead of telling them they're wrong, work quietly and lovingly to ensure they are and will remain so. <br />
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Speaking of Jesus, Matthew 12:20 says "a bruised reed he will not break..." and I am positive he never sneeringly called anyone the Aramaic equivalent of a "special snowflake." Filter any objection you have toward this through the Gospel. You may cringe at what you perceive to be the virtue-signalling of the safety pin, but the meaning behind it (I will protect you) is unassailable, isn't it? I may not wear a safety pin, but shame on me if I don't defend someone who needs defending.</div>
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Humbly,</div>
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Jer</div>
Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-8651788545296327352014-08-13T21:08:00.001-07:002015-01-08T09:23:11.902-08:00Thoughts on Depression and Suicide<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>It's a few days after the sad death of Robin Williams, and along with all of the tributes, there is a lot of opinion flying around the interwebs about depression and suicide. Having some firsthand knowledge of the topic, and never being a shrinking violet when it comes to giving my opinion, I held forth on Facebook and was surprised and pleased that it seemed to resonate with and help people.</i><br /><br />For the person with clinical depression, there is no life circumstance that will protect them from it. None of the things we aspire to in life will stop it.<br /><br />The answer to the question "How could someone so (gifted/talented/intelligent/confident/competent/strong/seemingly happy) take their own life?" is that when driven by clinical depression, suicide is not a rational act. Depression isn't just being extra sad. It is a real mental illness that can make people imagine and believe the most horrible, irrational, outlandish lies about themselves, lies that everyone else knows to be lies. Such a person can feel that they ought to die, and deserve to die, even painfully, as a gift to the world and restitution for the crime of having been born and lived. Does that sound shocking to you? Because that is the depth of irrational self-hatred to which depression can drive a person. Severely depressed people can also be subjected to the chaotic short-circuiting of thoughts, resulting in what I can only describe as the feeling that one's mind is on fire. Given that, it should be evident that suicide is not necessarily an act of weakness, selfishness or cowardice. For some unfortunate people, simply <i>being</i> is itself at times unbearable. People point out that suicide is a choice, and while that's true, it's not necessarily a choice made by a person in possession of their faculties. I wonder if it ever is.<br /><br />Society can help by understanding that mental illness is physical. The brain is a physical organ that operates through chemical processes, and it is no more immune to malfunctions in those processes than is, say, the digestive tract. A person with mental illness is no more defective, flawed or bad than is a person with ulcerative colitis. But mental illness is the one <i>physical</i> illness that carries with it fear, stigma and judgment.<br /><br />We would also do well to be a bit circumspect and humble in our opinions about anti-depressant medication if we have never personally had our lives and sanity saved by them. They are not "happy pills" and they are not an escape for the weak. For some, when prescribed and used properly, they erect a floor beneath their feet, a stop, a limit to keep their depression from spiraling out of control, and for them, they are a godsend. <br /><br />Of course, I believe the best thing for any person is to be reconciled to their Creator and enjoying fellowship with him, through the redemption of our lord Jesus Christ. I believe that much anxiety and depression is the result of unresolved guilt and unrepented sin, and the library has not been built that could adequately address the topic of the mind of the person whose soul is at enmity with God. But mental illness is real. And if we can make use of our God-given gifts and arts and intelligence to come up with ways to treat the physical problem of mental illness, we should. And if we can stop seeing those afflicted with mental illness as being specially and frighteningly damaged, we should.<br /><br /><i>John 9:2-3 </i></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>And his disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" Jesus answered, “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.<span class="p">"</span></i></span></div>
Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-32055191213147717812014-03-05T09:46:00.001-08:002015-01-08T09:00:23.596-08:00Traveling CompanionNot even I should go a year between posts, so I figured I'd check in, and with no topic in mind, just put down what's on said mind.<br />
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My depression is visiting me this week, but he's different than he has been in the past. It seems like he's matured and mellowed along with me. When he first sunk his teeth into me in earnest, some eighteen years ago, it was a savage, hard-edged thing. It knocked me flat. As I was able, with the help of doctors at least somewhat versed in brain chemistry, to control him, the edge came off, he donned softer clothing, but whenever he drew closer, he was still hard underneath the skin, and took me down for the count at least once. The medical help? The ignorant think it's some kind of chemical escape mechanism; as one uninformed, tactless nursing undergraduate called it, a "happy pill." Those who really know, know better. It's no such thing. I take my meds, and I still have clinical depression... but I'm alive. That's the difference. In the throes of depression, one is spiraling down a black hole with no end, and no desire to stop descending. The medicine simply nails up a sturdy floor to stand on to stop the descent. That floor may be lower than the surrounding ground, and it's made of rough-hewn planks, not carpeted in flowers and unicorns, but it is a floor, a limit to further downward movement. And that's enough, and thank God for it.<br />
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Anyway, I've grown and learned, and I have people who depend on me. My children get my mind out of myself, and they're worth it. I had my chances to be more than a mediocrity, but now is the time to be a springboard to their dreams, and it's a joyful thing to do so. Now, thanks mostly to the much-maligned doctor-prescribed SSRI in residence in my bloodstream, rather than being a savage primate riding piggyback, screeching in my ear, depression is more of a companion walking a few paces behind silently in a hooded robe. (If I were a man of consequence, perhaps he'd be the slave standing behind me in the chariot as it passed beneath Roman arches in the triumphal parade, whispering "Remember thou art mortal.") I'd love to be altogether free of depression's company, but that's probably not in the cards, and I can tolerate it.<br />
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This week, he's pulled up abreast of me. Not on my back, saying dark things to me from behind gritted teeth, but keeping pace. But where before his mutterings were a danger to me, this week, they're causing me to withdraw from people, all people except for family and the closest friends. It's not falling down a hole, but left unchecked, withdrawal into one's self isn't much better. But I think this is an episode that won't last; he'll drop back again and take his designated place behind me in our pathetic two-man parade.Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-68148070067403598042013-05-01T22:25:00.001-07:002014-08-24T07:37:10.037-07:00Reflections - 2013 A to Z Blog Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I</span>t all started innocently enough. A post to the Writers of Kern facebook page by our president, <a href="http://danamartinwriting.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Dana Martin</a>, said <span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"</span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Hi guys! Who has a blog?? I'm doing this challenge..." And, genius that I am, said <span style="font-size: large;">"Sure, I'll do it."</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">One month later and here I am, a Survivor of my first A to Z Challenge. I've written a blog post for every day of April, save Sundays, one for every letter of the alphabet.<br /><br />Now, I've made no secret of my distaste for runners. They're so <i>fit</i>, and always so high on <i>endorphins</i>, and you can actually make out their <i>abs</i>, and they don't eat Moon<span style="font-size: large;"> Pies and wash them down <span style="font-size: large;">with Dr. Pepper, </span></span>and they have those "26.2" stickers on their car and they <i>run</i>, of all things, and like to <i>talk </i>about it. I really do hate them. But I have to borrow from their world to describe what doing this Challenge was like for me. (I think I ran<span style="font-size: large;"> some</span> in eighth grade, so I'm not completely without firsthand knowledge here.)</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">Yes, this challenge was like a marathon. At the beginning, you're borne along on excitement, then pleasure at doing what you love and doing it in an actual event. After a few miles, it gets harder as the enormity of the task sets in. Well into the race, there<span style="font-size: large;"> are hints of panic <span style="font-size: large;">and</span></span> a thought of bailing out, but some perverse pride keeps you going. Farther in, it becomes a real slog, with actual pain, and <span style="font-size: large;">all your strategies go out the window save to </span>just keep putting one foot in front of the other. But as the possibility of actually finishing becomes better than an even bet, something curious happens, the "second wind." As the finish line draws closer and the you realize that yes, you really are going to make it, the tension and fatigue in the muscles fade, the lactic acid and cramping is forgotten, and you find your form and hit your stride with a kick of newfound energy. Finally, as you cross the line, the thought of never having competed seems ludicrous, the pain is forgotten, and only pride remains.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">And I am proud. I'm great at starting things, but not so great at finishing them. Not too experienced with closing the deal. Most of my projects lie unfinished. If you're not like me, it's hard to explain how exhilarating finishing a month-long task can be. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">There have been costs. I've stayed up too late, too many times, finishing posts. It's made it hard to get to work on time and added to my fatigue at work. Worse yet is that time spent writing was time not spent giving my attention to my family. <br /><br />But we made it through, and it's time to give the computer a bit of a rest. I'm glad I did it. </span></span>I<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">t's been great for my writing chops. I'm pretty much an essayist, and my best-ever essays have been for this challenge. An<span style="font-size: large;">d it's turned my blog from a<span style="font-size: large;"> neglected and somewhat embarrassing thing to something I'm proud of, an actual blog. That get<span style="font-size: large;">s updated regularly. And peop<span style="font-size: large;">le read.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">I'd like to thank the 2013 A to Z team that made this Challenge such a polished, professional showcase. They are </span></span><a href="http://www.madlabpost.com/">The Madlab Post</a> (Nicole Ayers), <span style="text-decoration: none;"><a href="http://tossingitout.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Tossing It Out</a></span> (Arlee Bird), <a href="http://amloki.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Amlokiblogs</span></a> (Damyanti Biswas), <a href="http://alexjcavanaugh.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</span></a> (Alex J. Cavanaugh), <a href="http://kmdlifeisgood.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Life is Good</span></a> (Tina Downey), <a href="http://dlcruisingaltitude.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Cruising Altitude 2.0</span></a> (DL Hammons), <a href="http://izombielover.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Retro-Zombie</span></a> (Jeremy Hawkins), <a href="http://thewarriormuse.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The Warrior Muse</span></a> (Shannon Lawrence), <a href="http://theqqqe.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The QQQE</span></a> (Matthew MacNish), <a href="http://leaveittolivia.blogspot.com/">Leave it to Livia</a> (Livia Peterson), <a href="http://nothoughts2small.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: none;">No Thought 2 Small</span></a> (Konstanz Silverbow), <a href="http://www.breakthroughsteve.blogspot.com/"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Breakthrough Blogs</span> </a>(Stephen Tremp), <a href="http://circleoffriendsbooks.blogspot.com/">Spunk on a Stick</a> (L. Diane Wolfe), and thanks to their cohosts, teams, minions and helpers.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Thanks also to all my fellow Challenge participants who encouraged me just by sticking with it, and provided me with so much great reading. Thanks especially to fellow Writers of <span style="font-size: large;">Kern A to Z bloggers</span> "Coach" <a href="http://danamartinwriting.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Dana Martin</a><span style="font-size: large;"> and <a href="http://derwerff.com/blog/" target="_blank">Dennis VanderWerff</a> and new<span style="font-size: large;">found blogging friends like <a href="http://www.oddparticle.com/" target="_blank">Kern Wi</a><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.oddparticle.com/" target="_blank">ndwraith</a>, </span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/08984884363991238225" target="_blank">Bethie</a>, <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/12041548718544123557" target="_blank">Susan Scott</a>, <a href="https://plus.google.com/100721347052743114088/posts" target="_blank">Kathy Wiechman</a>, <a href="http://literaryengineer.areavoices.com/" target="_blank">Suzi</a> the Literary Engineer, <a href="http://writinginwonderland.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Sylvia Ney</a>, <a href="http://emptynestinsider.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Julie Kemp Pick</a> and many others, and to <a href="http://tossingitout.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Arlee Bird</a> for sending A to Z love in my direction. Thanks for everyone not<span style="font-size: large;"> mentioned <span style="font-size: large;">by name here </span></span>who took valuable time from t<span style="font-size: large;">heir day to read and commnent on my posts (including the very same Mom and Dad who used to put my stuff on our <span style="font-size: large;">A<span style="font-size: large;">vocado Green </span></span>ref<span style="font-size: large;">rigerator)</span>. <span style="font-size: large;">After all, w</span>ithout you all<span style="font-size: large;">, <span style="font-size: large;">what's the <span style="font-size: large;">point?</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Finally, I'd like to thank <i>all </i>of my fellow <a href="http://writersofkern.com/" target="_blank">Writers of </a><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://writersofkern.com/" target="_blank">Kern</a><span style="font-size: large;"> for support and encouragement, particularly <span style="font-size: large;">my biggest cheerleaders, <a href="http://www.joanraymondwriting.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Joan Raymond</a>, <a href="http://danamartinwriting.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Dana </a><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://danamartinwriting.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Martin</a> and <a href="http://thedaymaker.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Annis Cassells</a>, <span style="font-size: large;">whose comments I <span style="font-size: large;">eagerly looked for<span style="font-size: large;">ward to every day</span></span></span>. I suppose I could have managed <i>something </i>without you, but it wouldn't have <span style="font-size: large;">been nearly as good <span style="font-size: large;">or as fun or as worth it.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love you all,</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jer </span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-64228192792575947342013-04-30T05:00:00.000-07:002013-04-30T05:00:02.165-07:00"Z" is for Zenobia<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4wlAT8K3Jlwprxb40h10YDFp5507qNNpNbdXylYxyJKWF5oaICfQntbtoQEnS6kYnoyX2v__lNqR8xj9AoeWo_-49jtqRbCHPSckC8qzEVQnXPsCh3qyinsDLLKOwPiC14EPS9s-Y9zUc/s1600/a-to-z-letters-z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4wlAT8K3Jlwprxb40h10YDFp5507qNNpNbdXylYxyJKWF5oaICfQntbtoQEnS6kYnoyX2v__lNqR8xj9AoeWo_-49jtqRbCHPSckC8qzEVQnXPsCh3qyinsDLLKOwPiC14EPS9s-Y9zUc/s200/a-to-z-letters-z.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Zenobia was the le<span style="font-size: large;">gendary </span>Queen of the East.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I know this because a few days ago, my 8-year-old daughter brought me her well-worn copy of Andrea J. Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz's <a href="http://daringbookforgirls.com/" target="_blank">The Daring Book for Girls</a>, which I had originally bought for her twelve-year-old sister's eighth birthday<span style="font-size: large;">,</span> for us to read together. Out of all the crafts, activities, history and biographies of great women, she <span style="font-size: large;">decided <span style="font-size: large;">we'd re<span style="font-size: large;">ad</span></span></span> the story of Zenobia, the 3rd century B.C. warrior Queen of Palmyra, in modern-day Syria. She was
a beneficent ruler, whose kingdom at one time stretched across the
entire Levant, until she rebelled against Rome and was overthrown.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrVx6srX6p-4aMs9VSnCHC-aKb7C7PWm7Z8JfKs5pAuGw8NNxWa0cpjsEa0ZujHu442amF85h08dUtwW2uls1nGoHHM92TArpqKrjMne_HsRNfLzSYU_YrI9eg9Th88Je1iLN2fixLjd6/s1600/NatJen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrVx6srX6p-4aMs9VSnCHC-aKb7C7PWm7Z8JfKs5pAuGw8NNxWa0cpjsEa0ZujHu442amF85h08dUtwW2uls1nGoHHM92TArpqKrjMne_HsRNfLzSYU_YrI9eg9Th88Je1iLN2fixLjd6/s320/NatJen.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My Daring Girls</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Fast-forward a couple of millenia. When I found out our first child would be a girl, I was thrilled. When I
found out our second and most likely last, was a girl, I let out a slow
breath and then proceeded to be equally happy. And I decided from the
very beginning that I would do everything I could to raise them strong
and independent and believing in their limitless potential. No, I would
not try to make them into the boys I'd never have. Why would I want to
do that? I was glad to have girls, and other than feats of sheer
strength and certain functions for which testosterone and hard-wired
aggression uniquely fit men, girls can do anything. (If God had rested after making the first man, I'd have judged humanity to be a bit of a
shoddy piece of workmanship, but happily, He wasn't finished yet.) Whatever vestiges of male chauvinism still clung to me as a young man were pretty much knocked off by my beautiful, precious daughters.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-6UZkhNizxba7gWm5eQGazZJKVMVdEZ3ZybcEnh0qVB0pj_4_m3BTKwMGlxEum1p92iVYFXdZUecQyNhIK4rNL5fo3_dUAirUT8bH1yMJcpKHB0iEeNDeIJx3VTiR9PlBbcRR688kBp_/s1600/Books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-6UZkhNizxba7gWm5eQGazZJKVMVdEZ3ZybcEnh0qVB0pj_4_m3BTKwMGlxEum1p92iVYFXdZUecQyNhIK4rNL5fo3_dUAirUT8bH1yMJcpKHB0iEeNDeIJx3VTiR9PlBbcRR688kBp_/s320/Books.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The </i>Daring Book<i> and a companion</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Anyhow, In an age when what's considered <i>de rigueur</i> for girls and women is dispensed by a society that belittles motherhood and seems hell-bent on robbing girls of their childhood as quickly as possible for maximum profit, <i>The Daring Book for Girls</i> is a refreshing step backwards. In 106 delightful articles, girls can learn everything from How to Whistle with Two Fingers to How to Negotiate a Salary, to Books That Will Change Your Life. Had <i>The Daring Book</i> come out long enough ago, Annie Oakley, Jo March and Idgie Threadgoode would have had it. My tomboy w<span style="font-size: large;">ife would have had it.</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Grandpa <span style="font-size: large;">might have bought it for my mom,<span style="font-size: large;"> and</span></span></span> Atticus Finch might have bought it for for Scout.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />The Daring Book for Girls is a perfect gift for daughters and granddaughters, as would be your time spent reading it and doing its activities with <span style="font-size: large;">them.</span><br /><br />Oh, and Zenobia? Accounts differ on what became of her after she was captured and taken to Rome. But in a book like this, it's fitting that the ending is left up to the girl's imagination.</span></span><br />
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-33209823783737435402013-04-29T05:00:00.000-07:002018-06-21T08:35:52.151-07:00"Y" is for Yonder (the Wild Blue)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr19ZF2L8cY8T-iJ3IGJ6g-b927GyxS4_K7ZWA8dhMoiE62K-pDFyuFQ3iXeIZqnvwmpAj1L0iJBHvwR3RWX20qZrj8Q2-zN9SgKFyufIvsgWfCviWSDZzFMQSGCHYIBhqbkOuNVZAGWBU/s1600/a-to-z-letters-y.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr19ZF2L8cY8T-iJ3IGJ6g-b927GyxS4_K7ZWA8dhMoiE62K-pDFyuFQ3iXeIZqnvwmpAj1L0iJBHvwR3RWX20qZrj8Q2-zN9SgKFyufIvsgWfCviWSDZzFMQSGCHYIBhqbkOuNVZAGWBU/s200/a-to-z-letters-y.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away.</i></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>If you can use some exotic booze, there’s a bar in far Bombay.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Come fly with me, let's float down to Peru.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>In llama-land, there's a one-man band, and he'll toot his flute for you.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Come fly with me, let's take off in the blue.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Once I get you up there where the air is rarefied</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>We’ll just fly, starry-eyed</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Once I get you up there, I’ll be holding you so near,</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>You may hear, angels cheer, ‘cause we’re together</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Weather-wise, it’s such a lovely day,</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>You just say the word and we’ll beat the birds down to Acapulco Bay</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>It’s perfect for a flying honeymoon they say, </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Pack up, let’s fly away…</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">© Cahn Music Company; Maraville Music Corporation</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FQRi-xz-5GDAUpacXN9X2WtWWnrlvEeW1oUEpm5I_ucootv0hVTo5qnyo2UEe6tgV7riztxf-zwBaokeHx3OKcRcpHPzMsagHjKbYVgdPEUivaHtOhd2DJ9v1S54IMjmUN8AWhJ3mcLP/s1600/DC-6+American2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FQRi-xz-5GDAUpacXN9X2WtWWnrlvEeW1oUEpm5I_ucootv0hVTo5qnyo2UEe6tgV7riztxf-zwBaokeHx3OKcRcpHPzMsagHjKbYVgdPEUivaHtOhd2DJ9v1S54IMjmUN8AWhJ3mcLP/s400/DC-6+American2.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Are
any of you old enough to remember when train travel was common and air
travel was a big deal? When a trip on an airplane was exotic and
exciting? When Frank Sinatra sang "Come Fly With Me" and you wished you
could take him up on it?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Do any of you remember this scene?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Your
dad wore his best brown suit and hat (well, back then he always wore a
suit, although at the beach he'd at least roll up his pant legs and
leave his coat and tie in the Buick) and your mom wore her new
floral-print summer dress and lacy white hat. Airport security
consisted of a middle-aged guy with a nightstick and revolver and
clip-on tie who looked like he'd eaten more than his share of donuts and
rocked back and forth on his heels as he gave you a wink and a nod. <span style="font-size: large;"></span>You strode out from the terminal building across the tarmac toward a
gleaming, streamlined airplane with either a blue or orange stripe or
two red ones, depending on whether you were flying Pan Am, American or
TWA. You ascended a set of air stairs that coveralled mechanics had
wheeled up to the plane and were greeted at the top by a beaming stewardess (as
female flight attendants were called in that less enlightened age),
impeccably attired in a neat blue suit adorned with silver wings and a
smart, military-style cap.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The
cabin wasn't cavernous, but only because wide-body jets weren’t yet
invented, not because you were being stuffed into it like so much
sausage by a bean counter corps trying to stave off bankruptcy
proceedings. Maybe your dad brought you up to the cockpit where the
pilot (who almost certainly flew during the War) pointed out what the
various levers and switches did and handed you a set of
Junior Aviator wings that weren't <span style="font-size: large;">made in China</span>. The
biggest challenge for the flight attendants was your little brother wanting
to zoom through the cabin with his toy F-86 Sabre jet, not business
travelers refusing to turn off cell phones or surly men glancing
furtively about.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Jet
air travel was in its infancy. You could get on a 707 or DC-8 for a
trans-oceanic flight or major domestic route, but just flying was
excitement enough and you felt a thrill, tempered with a bit of healthy apprehension
as you looked out the window of <span style="font-size: large;">your </span>DC-6 or Super Constellation and saw
the mechanic standing below the streamlined engine nacelle, fire
extinguisher at the ready, and each propeller slowly turn before its
massive Double Wasp or Turbo Compound radial engine caught and fired in a
thunderous coughing fit and cloud of white smoke. The booming
cacophony calmed to a loafing, lopey idle until the pilot deftly eased
the four throttles forward together with a practiced touch, unleashing
ten thousand stamping, impatient horses to urge you free of the ground. And then,
leveling out at cruise speed and altitude, the engines settled down to a
reassuring, steady drone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It
was still only 15 years since those same engines powered the Thunderbolts and Corsairs and Superfortresses that helped your dad and uncles whip
the bad guys in the big war. And even though they couldn't go down and
have a big time in Havana anymore since that Castro clown took over, and
even though the Russkies were rattling their sabers and sending stuff
into space and you had to do duck and cover drills at school and your
dad looked over brochures for backyard bomb shelters as he smoked his
pipe, you still liked Ike and it was still an idyllic and exciting time,
full of ideas and pregnant with possibility. And on a day like today,
bobbing on invisible currents of air between puffs of blinding white
cloud in the achingly, impossibly blue heavens, even the Reds
couldn't spoil it.</span></div>
Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-36449222394589911482013-04-27T21:28:00.001-07:002013-04-28T16:47:00.706-07:00"X" is for X Planes<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6P0xBkEAlY2N4bQs3iku2FNK5TT3KPQCWwL-guANqjuGkFTFiB7cmdDL6YvS5yUt9RU2BaWQ2vWGE_PlNw_Z2nMTm5hWpVtxP_OaOyCwR6oFY0c7l6wZQPi-L5dK3072xu7D3drLBjJm/s1600/a-to-z-letters-x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6P0xBkEAlY2N4bQs3iku2FNK5TT3KPQCWwL-guANqjuGkFTFiB7cmdDL6YvS5yUt9RU2BaWQ2vWGE_PlNw_Z2nMTm5hWpVtxP_OaOyCwR6oFY0c7l6wZQPi-L5dK3072xu7D3drLBjJm/s200/a-to-z-letters-x.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The "X Planes" (<i>X </i>for <i>experimental</i>) are the series of research aircraft flown mostly by NASA, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, and its predecessor NACA, the National Advisory Committee on Aeronautics, sometimes in cooperation with the U.S. Air Force. They've served various purposes over the decades, but the flights that most captured the public's imagination are the ones that set speed and altitude records. The first and most famous of the X<span style="font-size: large;"> planes</span> was the Bell X-1 in which the great Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier in 1947, reaching the pinnacle of the test pilot h<span style="font-size: large;">ierarchy and becoming</span> an <span style="font-size: large;">a</span>merican hero and legend. The literal summit of the X Plane flights came courtesy of the North American X-15, the first spaceplane, in which, between 1961 and 1968, pilots like Neil Armstrong reached the edges of outer space and helped bla<span style="font-size: large;">ze the trail</span> to the moon.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFDtTjFKy-SNXu_ySlpZfimCZRBkch8LcrLJ7FVYwnaHUXDxeK0uJQak6-sUtapwXZ3B8uT4G0vY9JLliSIJNAZmIRVzAeCVBjWTF1rnTswhNmmIcJCck5-hQ_pFbDljVo4KdbBg8OQkU/s1600/X+Planes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFDtTjFKy-SNXu_ySlpZfimCZRBkch8LcrLJ7FVYwnaHUXDxeK0uJQak6-sUtapwXZ3B8uT4G0vY9JLliSIJNAZmIRVzAeCVBjWTF1rnTswhNmmIcJCck5-hQ_pFbDljVo4KdbBg8OQkU/s640/X+Planes.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">However, like so many of my blog posts about "things," this one isn't so much about the thing itself, but what the thing represents. The X planes represent many things; the can-do attitude <span style="font-size: large;">e<span style="font-size: large;">xemplified </span></span>by President Kennedy's speech c<span style="font-size: large;">hallenging America to reach the moon by the close of the 1960s</span>,<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span>explosive innovation and exploration, and a time when almost all of the countries of the world looked at America with admiration for our audacity and technical leadership. They also are part of an all but bygone era predating modern computer-aided design, when advancements in flight required men with the "right stuff" to strap on rockets, stare death in the face and laugh, and go blasting off into the stratosphere.</span></span></div>
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-24394455322914311882013-04-26T05:00:00.000-07:002013-04-26T06:19:55.406-07:00"W" is for Watching the Wheels<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz-EpQ3d8dNHPnpdfZrOXWcwR-GvWoDxUJXlAyfqfL7H21d7hiSdsA8hsYoNetvXsuu7m8D3IW5I0x1os-GKmYh_5EQWHTYsFz8kdZRDhnQhPztO-eNWW7AIV9sSb4iy2Zn0Szi5X5qTqu/s1600/a-to-z-letters-w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz-EpQ3d8dNHPnpdfZrOXWcwR-GvWoDxUJXlAyfqfL7H21d7hiSdsA8hsYoNetvXsuu7m8D3IW5I0x1os-GKmYh_5EQWHTYsFz8kdZRDhnQhPztO-eNWW7AIV9sSb4iy2Zn0Szi5X5qTqu/s200/a-to-z-letters-w.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This one is for me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"W" is for my favorite solo John Lennon song.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I st<span style="font-size: large;">ill remember the days when John and Yoko's album <i>Double Fantasy</i> was released in 1980. The reviews were mixed, but there were some great songs that got plenty of airplay, and of course, <span style="font-size: large;">critics gave it a second look after Lennon<span style="font-size: large;">'s death</span></span>. My favorite track was <i>Watching the Wheels</i>; I thoroughly loved it and everything about it. The relaxed but driving tempo, John Lennon's piano playing, his beautiful, conversational singing and phrasing, the staccato saxophones, the way it captured the feel of the end of the seventies; <span style="font-size: large;">i</span>t was a musical gem. It<span style="font-size: large;">'s </span>also always been a melancholy song for me, because we know that after recording it, he had precious little time left on earth to enjoy the peace, contentment, and freedom from the expectations of fans and the music industry that it expresses. That knowledge also colors listenings of <i>Woman</i>, <i>(Just Like) Starting Over</i>, and <i>Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)</i>.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In the car, I'm a real radio channel surfer, but there are some songs that are guaranteed stop me in my tracks and keep my finger away from the preset buttons; </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>What'd I Say</i>, </span></span>Suite: Judy Blue Ey<span style="font-size: large;">es, </span>American Pie</i>, <i>Margaritaville</i>, <i>Under the Bridge</i>... and most of all, <i>Watching the Wheels</i>.</span></span></div>
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<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://img.youtube.com/vi/Da69-pu_pqc/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/Da69-pu_pqc&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/Da69-pu_pqc&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
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<br />Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-59688339533344627412013-04-25T05:00:00.000-07:002013-04-25T23:05:25.217-07:00"V" is for Vinyl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuD3QZFMjb59NC0cEsyqo19DMenoQdprnyeBVLxaUjPHb8xRGrQlbV75N6tuU9OZP1EXnJFIsUZXVgwErkFT8LjNFt2gAYaUOUdXq7JgdV2NT_xbY95iejTU5gI_9AtFo5TCDSOLa8E3vk/s1600/a-to-z-letters-v.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuD3QZFMjb59NC0cEsyqo19DMenoQdprnyeBVLxaUjPHb8xRGrQlbV75N6tuU9OZP1EXnJFIsUZXVgwErkFT8LjNFt2gAYaUOUdXq7JgdV2NT_xbY95iejTU5gI_9AtFo5TCDSOLa8E3vk/s200/a-to-z-letters-v.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Please note: this post is about vinyl </span></i><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">records</span></b><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">. If you're looking for pleather, just keep moving. This <span style="font-size: large;">is</span>n't that kind of blog.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Having been born in 1969 not only means my knees ach<span style="font-size: large;">e and I need glasses and I'm <span style="font-size: large;">s</span></span>quarely in the target demographic for some of the tackier pharmaceutical ads on late night television, but also <span style="font-size: large;"></span>that my contemporaries and I remember some pretty rad stuff, like G.I. Joe with the Kung-Fu Grip, The New Zoo Revue, crocheted beer can hats, and... the vinyl record.<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span>Most of us children of the '70s<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>had portable phonographs with our very own 45s and LPs, and as teenagers of the '80s, we caught the tail end of an era when going over to a high school friend's house <span style="font-size: large;">meant</span> studying album covers and reading lyrics from sleeves while listening to their record collection, just as it did for our Boomer parents. We were l<span style="font-size: large;">iving</span> the swan song of the vinyl record; we just didn't know it, and probably wouldn't have understood it if we had.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxptFlK454SLh6dxi2-LdNBa4hfjbluhSwNO8JED1B6ywTq5pI8EuPup3Uirao8iHqiHiRWX5e3FFcURkQ47oHuwQl-oc-GUGYVM8up7RdLEUU5PtnYMrBRLGzFYjziEyiGSnpdxBro-yA/s1600/two+records.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxptFlK454SLh6dxi2-LdNBa4hfjbluhSwNO8JED1B6ywTq5pI8EuPup3Uirao8iHqiHiRWX5e3FFcURkQ47oHuwQl-oc-GUGYVM8up7RdLEUU5PtnYMrBRLGzFYjziEyiGSnpdxBro-yA/s640/two+records.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">In my childhood bedroom... and at Chris and Greg's house after school</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Di<span style="font-size: large;">gital music</span> is an advance over the vinyl record...<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>in some ways. It'<span style="font-size: large;">s </span>compact and portable, it's not affected by a host of <span style="font-size: large;">phy<span style="font-size: large;">sical problems that plague record playback</span></span>, it's not worn out by normal use, and a rack of CDs is much less likely than your roommate's musty stack of cardboard<span style="font-size: large;">-sleeved </span>records to take on the lovely bouquet of spilled beer and cat pee. The vinyl record is also pretty much a home-bound affair. 1950s car-mounted record players g<span style="font-size: large;">ave it the old college<span style="font-size: large;"> try but </span></span>pretty much went the way of t<span style="font-size: large;">he <span style="font-size: large;">Edsel (I wonder how many discs were scratched go<span style="font-size: large;">ing over railroad tracks). I</span></span></span>f you<span style="font-size: large;">'ve got </span>to roller-boogie in sweatbands and short-shorts to Alicia Bridges, you<span style="font-size: large;">r boom box is going to need a cassette player</span>. And what level of h<span style="font-size: large;">ell</span> would recitals, family gatherings and car trips be <span style="font-size: large;">for </span>sullen adolescents without mp<span style="font-size: large;">3 players and ear buds?</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5EbAsZ5D2HZoZ3jnRkTV228BekNrSCTYRU6MXoEtlNu7SmAwP_uuoehdiJ150v6xMpQZrTWlWIrDBFvyyQQ97L9K32l0tklJtzsFgcQPx4JpuLUjuBMGyLhKsk-agNFzyLS2zfxqQjym/s1600/45adapter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5EbAsZ5D2HZoZ3jnRkTV228BekNrSCTYRU6MXoEtlNu7SmAwP_uuoehdiJ150v6xMpQZrTWlWIrDBFvyyQQ97L9K32l0tklJtzsFgcQPx4JpuLUjuBMGyLhKsk-agNFzyLS2zfxqQjym/s1600/45adapter.jpg" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><i>Remember this?</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But as with many other objects of nostalgia, the vinyl record has qualities th<span style="font-size: large;">at have never been better<span style="font-size: large;">ed</span></span>. Much has been said about the realism, immediacy and warmth of vinyl, and I'm convinced that when an analog signal is converted into discreet zeroes and ones, just as when an image is expressed in pixels, something is necessarily lost. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Then there is something that the quibbler or the uninitiated may complain about, but is an essential part of the experience for many of us. We vividly remember laying down on the floor of our living room in front of the gigantic Magnavox console stereo<span style="font-size: large;">,</span> or flopping down in a beanbag with headphones (real ones, that <i>cov</i><span style="font-size: large;"><i>ered </i>the ears)</span> plugged into the<span style="font-size: large;"></span> hi-fi<span style="font-size: large;">.</span> When we lowered the tone arm onto the record's lead-in groove, that little bit of audible crackle was a Pavlovian signal to our young temporal lobes that something cracklin' good was about to happen. In particular, I remember that anticipation just before the London Symphony Orchestra soun<span style="font-size: large;">ded the </span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">first crashing strains of the Star Wars Fanfare <span style="font-size: large;">on our</span></span></span> two-disc soundtrack album.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKq2N3-tM4DxNSZTzwV7Js27qsOvjsFRK92jkHpSoDYEaREWSbRBdY_13zu28vYyloYqpi17znzSu8jQJSwNqd7nQ5lYO63Eqx8OOsuguQ6IV1yqE5Jd6bn8IY4CepOdAjwh50hWHQe0n/s1600/album+covers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKq2N3-tM4DxNSZTzwV7Js27qsOvjsFRK92jkHpSoDYEaREWSbRBdY_13zu28vYyloYqpi17znzSu8jQJSwNqd7nQ5lYO63Eqx8OOsuguQ6IV1yqE5Jd6bn8IY4CepOdAjwh50hWHQe0n/s640/album+covers.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But the biggest loss with the demise of the LP has to be the album cover. It's not just that the larger format provided a more generous canvas for groundbreaking artwork than the CD; in the '60s and '70s, especially with double albums, they blossomed into interactive mixed-media experiences, with front, inside and back covers linked conceptually, playing a joke, giving a visual pun or surprise, or telling a story. A jewel case insert or the digital thumbnail picture next to the .mp3 listing on iTunes has no provision for the listener to punch out die-cut marching band memorabilia, open tenement windows, undo zippers or peel bananas.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Often, "new and improved" really means cheaper to manufacture, distribute and retail. Whether it means real improvement for the consumer isn't a<span style="font-size: large;">lways</span> clear, especially in the rear view mirror. Call me a throwback, but I'm sad that the vinyl record is mostly a museum piece.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">What's your favorite album and album cover from the vinyl era, and why? </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Update: Five bonus points for the first person to give the name and artist of all the above album covers. Two points if you know which picture is of the back cover and why, and one point if you can identify the doohickey above. Points not redeemable outside Bakersfield, CA, terms and conditions apply, see store for details.</span></span><br />
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-25827633240382278522013-04-24T05:00:00.000-07:002013-04-24T23:51:22.604-07:00"U" is for Unremarkable<span id="goog_392323346"></span><span id="goog_392323347"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVAUKxpCngWBtWf5QUBFZyw87eeeHxcjaP2puECc4nhShyvdGUowf0I0EhnqCrXCec1yJACd-vhJ2fXKjJvwLiCKHyoJNq-StsW234LrYWjjmOUGfM3ShgzwY_9bL0oBqsyAFPPLLFrjkV/s1600/a-to-z-letters-u.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVAUKxpCngWBtWf5QUBFZyw87eeeHxcjaP2puECc4nhShyvdGUowf0I0EhnqCrXCec1yJACd-vhJ2fXKjJvwLiCKHyoJNq-StsW234LrYWjjmOUGfM3ShgzwY_9bL0oBqsyAFPPLLFrjkV/s200/a-to-z-letters-u.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Underwear? Boxer briefs.<br />
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Ultimate Fighting Championship? Uninterested.<br />
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Uranus: Still a planet, right? </div>
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Ural: Utilitarian Russian motorcycle.</div>
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<u>Unholy Hunger</u>: Gritty detective-noir psychological thriller <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unholy-Hunger-Novel-Lure-Serpent/dp/0825442915/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top" target="_blank">debut novel by Heather James</a><span id="goog_392323342"></span><span id="goog_392323343"></span>.</div>
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Unmolested: Better than overrestored. </div>
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Utilities and Infrastructure? Yes, that was one topic idea, but I don't hate my readers.</div>
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Uninvited? Cool song. I liked it better when it was called <i>Kashmir</i> and performed by Zeppelin.</div>
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Unlamented: That was an idea for a super-short story for today, but it went nowhere. </div>
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Ulysses? Yes, it's on my Kindle; no, I haven't read it.</div>
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Unfortunately, for the second time in this here A to Z Challenge I am completely uninspired, unenergetic and unable to make more than a feeble stab at the letter of the day. I apologize if you take umbrage, but on the bright side, I'm leaving more of your time unconsumed and unwasted.</div>
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Until tomorrow...</div>
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-36844386053770369642013-04-23T05:00:00.000-07:002013-04-23T06:05:43.853-07:00"T" is for Things I Learned from my Parents<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2An80jMdOIVkPMJf_FnQHFIeOY3Zb9TY3zqXCdRWg9nuGB0VbfpfXjADh8HinLycf7Df3Hb38qk5gIN3PXI3BDO9pcTx-_aazh5ewUlA6oswzFXVXhTxMUpR82QjtXb2Ym4XQ9BqDyNk/s1600/a-to-z-letters-t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2An80jMdOIVkPMJf_FnQHFIeOY3Zb9TY3zqXCdRWg9nuGB0VbfpfXjADh8HinLycf7Df3Hb38qk5gIN3PXI3BDO9pcTx-_aazh5ewUlA6oswzFXVXhTxMUpR82QjtXb2Ym4XQ9BqDyNk/s200/a-to-z-letters-t.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Things Dad told: Don't do a halfway job. Look people in the eye and use a firm handshake. Do an honest day's work. Be respectful to adults, even if you don't feel like it. Treat your mother with respect. Return the car keys <i>to me</i>, not to an undisclosed location. Use the right tool for the job. When I'm under the car and ask for a tool, put it <i>in my hand</i>. Valvoline is better than Pennzoil. </span><span style="font-size: large;">A midnight curfew means you're home at midnight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Things Dad showed: Men's hair should be combed, as should their sons.' Hit the nail straight. Do not lie, cheat or steal. Have a good work ethic. Be dependable. Be the best at what you do and make yourself indispensable to your employer. Do what you say you'll do. Punctuality is respect for others. If your nation calls, answer. Good grooming is a given. Take care of your mother-in-law. Be true to yourself. Pulling weeds develops sons' character so start using Roundup only after your live-in gardeners have moved out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Things Mom told: </span><span style="font-size: large;">Go Dodgers! Your little brother only copies you because he loves you. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Nobody didn't love your grandfather. Your grandmother was a good athlete, an
excellent cook and giving to a fault. You don't need to reveal every single detail of our lives to strangers. No, you may not wear your new cowboy hat in El Torito. Be a help, not a hindrance, to your teachers. </span><span style="font-size: large;">God has a plan and purpose for your life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Things Mom showed: </span><span style="font-size: large;">Treasure your elders, love your family. Be sensitive to other people's feelings. Never be intentionally hurtful to other people. Be dependable. Small things that link us to our grandparents are worth preserving. History is fascinating, learning is fun, reading is priceless. Your work is good enough for the Louvre, but let's put it on the fridge. It's okay to be quiet, but there are times you must speak up. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Be true to yourself. Children are precious. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Your potential is limitless and it's my mission to nurture it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Things Mom and Dad told: All we ask of you is that you do your best. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Things Mom and Dad showed: Skin color doesn't matter, character does. Work hard for your family. Don't be afraid to make a move to benefit your family's future. Make sure your children spend as much precious time as possible with their grandparents. Life is about experiences, not money. Love the Lord your God and train up your children in the way they should go. We love you and are here for you for as long as we live.</span><br />
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-32891849357106628072013-04-22T06:00:00.000-07:002014-11-12T10:14:30.736-08:00"S" is for Shaving<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjks0fAKB03uCVgswgK77rkqXTVMrZhfFzssk4NCSDkvc_eMaOPSGpEygy0DdWak5L-dM8uk8CWGWow4pXzXhNsnLXAy7foBiTsaAo4UqtupXSccoYO4IcfCPBr-OnHglcyyBvgbSU5pKWr/s1600/a-to-z-letters-s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjks0fAKB03uCVgswgK77rkqXTVMrZhfFzssk4NCSDkvc_eMaOPSGpEygy0DdWak5L-dM8uk8CWGWow4pXzXhNsnLXAy7foBiTsaAo4UqtupXSccoYO4IcfCPBr-OnHglcyyBvgbSU5pKWr/s200/a-to-z-letters-s.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Warning: This is a Super-Manly Post. Approach with caution.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">It's also super-long and I do apologize. I know it smacks of self-indulgence and self-importance in a community of presssed-for-time A to Z bloggers, it's just that I did a lousy job of paring it down, and it's hard to constrain Super-Manliness, which tends to expand to fit whatever container it finds itself in. I appreciate your indulgence.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, what are those strange artifacts in the picture below?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If you haven't the faintest idea, I was going to tell you to go play with your X-Box and get off my lawn, I have socks older than you. But on second thought, pull up a chair, you might learn something, </span><span style="font-size: large;">and who knows, could even end up carrying the banner for an ancient rite of manliness yourself.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">If you guessed double-edge safety razor, badger hair shaving brush and shaving soap, you're right, and if you guessed it’s the Merkur razor, Rooney brush and Col. Conk's Bay Rum shaving soap that I use when I'm not sporting my Super-Manly beard, you’re
even righter, and are clearly a person of class and intelligence. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I actually enjoy shaving with these; so much so that when I have my beard, even though I look better with it, I'm constantly tempted to shave it so I can indulge in the daily pleasure of a traditional wet shave.</span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVeI1a3uOw8i5iHescjqG-yWMXD5VJvzMyf9aOkzuCnwsQP18O4FBvbfp2Nf_UNzPiX0QYk4xxuIVA0BuxJlQqlbw6hWXRLLQxN2x6Zwo7JH8PHqsJnh2CoNC38NZIuQYc3vfwmX5DDqs/s1600/Razor.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVeI1a3uOw8i5iHescjqG-yWMXD5VJvzMyf9aOkzuCnwsQP18O4FBvbfp2Nf_UNzPiX0QYk4xxuIVA0BuxJlQqlbw6hWXRLLQxN2x6Zwo7JH8PHqsJnh2CoNC38NZIuQYc3vfwmX5DDqs/s400/Razor.JPG" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The one manly corner of the bathroom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, I shave the way my grandfathers did. I could shave the way my great-great-grandfathers did and barbers and some stalwarts still do, with a straight razor. It's undeniably manlier than anything this side of a dry shave with a sharp rock, but any tool gives me pause when the possible results of mishandling include death and dismemberment. A safety razor is only really potentially dangerous when disassembled, a margin of safety I'm comfortable with, especially with children in the house. Plus, a straight razor requires regular honing by a practiced owner or a professional, which just isn't my bag, man. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I believe the version of the safety razor introduced by King C. Gilette in 1903 was a significant and genuine improvement in the state of the art, but </span><span style="font-size: large;">I don't believe the same for the cartridge razors introduced in the 1970s.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Multiple blades? </span><span style="font-size: large;">The efficacy of two blades is debatable; three, four and five (!) blades are artifice, snake oil and flim-flam, respectively.* Pivoting heads? The compactness of the traditional safety razor obviates the need, and remember, we homo sapiens are blessed not only with opposable thumbs, but pivoting wrists and fine motor skills. </span><span style="font-size: large;">If
one lacks the dexterity to follow the countours of one's face without
an articulated razor head, one might be happier with an electric shaver or a beard. Fewer nicks and cuts? I've suffered no cuts and only a few tiny nicks with this razor, fewer than with multiple blade disposables, and none requiring so much as a dab with the syptic pencil.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't do this purely, or even mostly, for the sake of nostalgia. The
"old-fashioned" safety razor and brush have real advantages over the multi-blade, lubri-stripped wonders.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The German-made Merkur 33C razor pictured above costs $32, and refill blades cost between $2 and $10
for a 10-pack, whereas the latest five-blade razors are $10 and up, and cartridges cost between
$20 and $40 per ten (although there are cheaper multi-blade alternatives). </span><span style="font-size: large;">The typical safety razor is made of three pieces of steel plus the blade. It's not going to break. Hard to imagine
that being true of a plastic Mach 5000 Terminator or electric shaver. Manufacturers of modern razors like to refer to them as "shaving systems." I think there's a lot to be said for a shaving "system" that contains no plastic and could easily outlive my grandchildren.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There is more room between the blade and the bar or comb of a safety razor for soap and
stubble to exit through than between blades of a multi-blade cartridge,
so it clogs less easily, rinses more easily, and because it has two sides, requires half the
rinsing. Also, shaving cream is thick and gooey, not because that's
better, but it's how an instant "lather" is achieved without a brush. But all that's needed
is lubrication, and shaving soap is every bit as good in that regard, if not better.
The thinner lather of shaving soap loads up the razor less, further reducing the
amount of rinsing needed. I only need to rinse a safety razor three
times during a shave; about ten with a cartridge razor.<br /><br />But the best advantage of the safety razor and brush is the most subjective, that is, the experience. </span><span style="font-size: large;">The best things a man can feel on his face are the caress of a loved one, the winds of freedom, a hot towel at the barber shop and shaving soap applied with badger hair shaving brush. The razor has a satisfying heft to it, the weight alone providing sufficient pressure for cutting the beard. It's a stylish and elegant accessory worthy of a gentleman, not an amorphous plastic contrivance that looks like it would be more at home in ET's interstellar toiletries kit.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What many will see as the one undeniable disadvantage of all this is the time required, and it does take longer. From the time I first wet my face to the time I slap on the after shave balm (my one concession to modernity; traditional aftershaves are mostly alcohol and can dry the skin) is a full ten minutes in "luxury mode," where I take my time and enjoy it; a couple less if I'm more purposeful about it. Electric shavers are the undisputed speed champions (though that is somewhat mitigated by the fact that I have to wait for my face to dry thoroughly in order to use them comfortably), and they do offer a close shave. If one's idea of shaving is a pedestrian chore, the goal of which is to get it over with as quickly as possible, then go with the electric.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But for me, speed isn't the issue. In taking the time for a traditional wet shave, I'm reclaiming a few minutes from my morning to enjoy an time-honored ritual of manhood. When I look in the mirror, it's like Cary Grant is looking back at me (that is, if I squint and hold my head at a certain angle). It sets the tone for the day; less hurried, less harried. My dad taught me to value good grooming, and after a traditional shave I feel well-groomed, manly, and confident, ready to take on the world. Even if the world is only the inside of a cubicle. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>For further reading:</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.artofmanliness.com/2008/01/04/how-to-shave-like-your-grandpa/" target="_blank">http://www.artofmanliness.com/2008/01/04/how-to-shave-like-your-grandpa/</a> </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.artofmanliness.com/category/dress-grooming/shaving/" target="_blank">http://www.artofmanliness.com/category/dress-grooming/shaving/</a></i></span>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i><i><a href="https://www.vintagebladesllc.com/" target="_blank">https://www.vintagebladesllc.com/</a></i></span>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://badgerandblade.com/" target="_blank">http://badgerandblade.com/</a></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;">
<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">* From </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Safety_razor" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">: </span></span></span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The
marketing of increasing numbers of blades in a cartridge has been
parodied since the 1970s. The debut episode of Saturday Night Live in
1975 included a parody advertisement for the Triple Trac Razor,
shortly after the first two-blade cartridge for men's razors was
advertised. In the early 1990s, the (Australian) Late Show skitted a
(insert name of popular razor brand) "3000" with 16 blades and 75
lubricating strips as arrived at with the help
of NASA scientists - "The first blade distracts the hair...". In 2004, a
satirical article in <i>The Onion</i> entitled "F--- Everything, We're Doing Five Blades" predicted the release of five-blade cartridges, two years before their commercial introduction.<br /> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: small;">[A battery-powered vibrating action], as advertised by Gillette, was intended to raise hair up
and away from the skin prior to being cut. These claims were ruled in an
American court as "unsubstantiated and inaccurate."</span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-46580062218020231692013-04-20T05:38:00.000-07:002013-04-21T00:45:14.467-07:00"R" is for Redhead<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmkejjnW_ZCqdKpKtHA_3MK-OxQ1V8g6_ailVRV4N0WUczuKs7m0AB0pWRIz3enZEGTZ_Bv0MNlORZc75HQMOlqk5bZy_gDXAPy7lJPC1XnNcu65d0v6YNDZKdSGKBTXdckiA5RE0bq_A/s1600/a-to-z-letters-r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmkejjnW_ZCqdKpKtHA_3MK-OxQ1V8g6_ailVRV4N0WUczuKs7m0AB0pWRIz3enZEGTZ_Bv0MNlORZc75HQMOlqk5bZy_gDXAPy7lJPC1XnNcu65d0v6YNDZKdSGKBTXdckiA5RE0bq_A/s200/a-to-z-letters-r.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Julia shook her head at Cal. "I’m married to an adolescent."</span><br style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;" /> </i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">That's because you </span></i><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">married </span><i><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">an adolescent," Cal replied. "Not too smart, if you ask me, Professor." </span><br style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">"I don't ask you. I admit it wasn't my most MENSA moment, but </span><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I needed someone who could work on a Volkswagen and open jars."</span><br style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Uh-huh... Son," Cal said, glancing sideways at Jay, "I’d never tell you </span></i><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">not </span><i><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">to marry a redhead, but I’d definitely advise you to go in with both eyes open," whereupon Julia gave him a good whack upside the head. </span></i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">.....</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It
was 1987 and I was standing outside my senior English classroom at
North High School with my girlfriend Robin before the bell rang, when my
teacher, Mrs. Gaede (who, incidentally, is tied for First Place in my
personal Teacher Hall of Fame) walked up to the door. She suddenly
stopped and looked us over, shook her head in bemused wonder and said
"My, your family certainly has a predilection for redheads."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Let's
turn back the clock another twenty three years. My Dad, with whom I
share a first name, was a North High graduate. Not only did Mrs. Gaede
teach at North High when he attended, he also did yardwork and odd jobs
for her, and she remembered his redhead girlfriend from then.
(Fortunately, hers was an interim position, and Dad married my redhead Mom,
whom he met at Bakersfield College. They just celebrated their
forty-fifth anniversary.) So yeah, Mrs. Gaede definitely had a point.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8ASxgZnEWvD8ZwQ0FNuQdgA_7impqkCM5dt81CMv8UVAcg8soCTjsYp2P6wi5zNoc1fQ15kIeWMRmngPXFPU9niCDwK-EBhbTmh8Sm8TqhFoGC2sIPY-oszt1lE_rK6YTCXDarsi90BJ/s1600/Prom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8ASxgZnEWvD8ZwQ0FNuQdgA_7impqkCM5dt81CMv8UVAcg8soCTjsYp2P6wi5zNoc1fQ15kIeWMRmngPXFPU9niCDwK-EBhbTmh8Sm8TqhFoGC2sIPY-oszt1lE_rK6YTCXDarsi90BJ/s320/Prom.jpg" width="224" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Our song? Lady in Red, of course.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I
met my own redhead girlfriend my sophomore and her freshman year at a
Tuesday night band practice, but honestly, it didn't register very
strongly with me at the time. She seemed kind of goofy, but that's
about it. It wasn't until the next year that I fell for her, hard, at a
County Honor Band practice. There she was, under the lights on the
other end of the stage, and BAM, I was smitten with the proverbial ton
of bricks, yea, verily. It took three months of concerted effort to
convince her that I was The Guy.</span><br style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><br style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Now
I didn't mention it before, but at that first inconsequential meeting,
the night air was damp and chilly, and Robin was wearing this ridiculous
nylon windbreaker with the hood cinched tight around her face. Note
that there was no electricity when her red hair was covered, but when it
was lit up by the stage lights I was zapped like Ben Franklin's kite.
Coincidence? The gentle reader may dismiss it as such, but I'm not
willing to. Of course, there were other things, like her beauty, her
vivacity, her faith, her inner glow, her nuttiness and her independent
streak. But never discount the redness. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQx9x8BkH4f37k5KnTvui9Neuo19_4bSL_39Ki5qHNDPYTA-XG7odHoz77LaAdodJOtIfDNoGUFC0ovCzx4crPC4H8HakUC6OuHG7RX10kvco7B02iNu9r9lDD6ynVHwv7ZMU4tqipjk8/s1600/Robin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQx9x8BkH4f37k5KnTvui9Neuo19_4bSL_39Ki5qHNDPYTA-XG7odHoz77LaAdodJOtIfDNoGUFC0ovCzx4crPC4H8HakUC6OuHG7RX10kvco7B02iNu9r9lDD6ynVHwv7ZMU4tqipjk8/s320/Robin.jpg" width="269" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Whatever
it was, it was something. We've been married for nigh on twenty-three
years now, and my redhead and I have been through ups and downs, thin
and flush, laughter and sorrow. It's common for redheads to lose their
red as time goes by, and she's no exception, now being more of a
reddish, brownish blonde. She hates it. Nothing against blondes, I
don't think, she's just always liked being a redhead, in a proud,
defiant way. Most redhead women know they're special. Now she just
requires a little help from magical hair guy David (two hours north in
Fresno!) to maintain it.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">But
I don't care. While it's true I have a thing for red hair, I'll always
have a thing for one particular redhead, even when her hair is white.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-72666514541882544902013-04-19T06:27:00.000-07:002013-04-20T13:29:39.529-07:00"Q" is for Quick<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqnIGA64S6hDyOL03rKnVmy46-JvIdBjoVjMAcLP0OtKecr4AYsg3EAKOAfZ8iBlXzP9UxXyCYCB8kNlH_lPfkVjkIQxl2CghgC7bVk_3hLIQOmJDueXYHOVwMYFXdLQ-LfA_DwVsRSzrl/s1600/a-to-z-letters-q.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqnIGA64S6hDyOL03rKnVmy46-JvIdBjoVjMAcLP0OtKecr4AYsg3EAKOAfZ8iBlXzP9UxXyCYCB8kNlH_lPfkVjkIQxl2CghgC7bVk_3hLIQOmJDueXYHOVwMYFXdLQ-LfA_DwVsRSzrl/s200/a-to-z-letters-q.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Before it was the trade name of check-balancing software and a loan company, "quicken" was a real word, though one rarely seen.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">My
first and only encounter with it was in the context of formal, corporate prayers said in
church services. "Quicken our hearts, we pray" was a
common phrase, one I liked, but it seemed a bit odd. Make our hearts beat faster?</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">No, make our hearts <i>alive</i>, as in Ezekiel 36:26. I later learned that before it was another way to say <i>fast</i>, quick meant <i>living</i>.<i> </i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>The Quick and the Dead</i>
isn't just a clever title for a western flick. The phrase originates
in three passages in the King James version of the New Testament and is
well known from the Apostles Creed. In all those instances it
refers to Jesus judging the living and the dead. In the movie title
then, we, and undoubtedly the film's creators, recognize the double meaning, but the two meanings amount to
the same thing; quick means alive - especially for a gunfighter.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Other words begin to make sense when we know the archaic meaning of quick. The <i>quick </i>is the living tissue under the fingernail, and where we get the phrase "cut to the quick." Yeah, it hurts. <i>Quicksand</i>
seems to trap its victim with purpose, like a living predator. And to
anyone who has ever rolled mercury around in their hand (back before
such a reckless act would have the hazmat squad whisking you into
quarantine and stretching yellow caution ribbon around your house), </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">it's easy to understand why <i>quicksilver </i>isn't just the name of a totally awesome Kevin Bacon movie.</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-13483942215071831622013-04-18T06:00:00.002-07:002014-08-24T09:17:26.786-07:00"P" is for Properties of People and Materials<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJmhklxs6OLCbucLBpBpmhlKTKVHJil0koZ3u_6ohVALT3GJU2GirYBCuungRA4B6wiTa7H5r9t_HeQ1RBzHZN_Q2XZjYgPJY9FrCiBiIAVBdk9eHyykD_4aLTu6V5ZPXcq8L_7-dRCN05/s1600/a-to-z-letters-p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJmhklxs6OLCbucLBpBpmhlKTKVHJil0koZ3u_6ohVALT3GJU2GirYBCuungRA4B6wiTa7H5r9t_HeQ1RBzHZN_Q2XZjYgPJY9FrCiBiIAVBdk9eHyykD_4aLTu6V5ZPXcq8L_7-dRCN05/s200/a-to-z-letters-p.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Yeah, that's a mouthful, so how about we call this one <i>Engineering for Writers</i>?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">How
many times have you read a story and seen a character described as
strong, or tough, or unstable? That's a little like asking how many times
you've seen conjunctions or the definite article. These are properties
that can describe not only people but inanimate objects and materials,
and engineers use those words even more than writers. I thought it
might be of some interest for the writer to see what engineers mean when
they use those words and to see how well the materials science definition
lines up with their usage. Who knows, it may even provide some insights
into your writing. Or not. But it won't do any harm.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(For
our first two words, it might be useful to define a couple of terms
first. Think of a hacksaw blade clamped vertically by the bottom end in
a bench vise. If you push on the top end a half inch or so, it will
bend,
but rebound to its original position like a spring when we let go. We
call that <i>elastic </i>deformation. Push on it more than a few inches and it will <i>yield </i>and stay in its bent position. That's <i>plastic</i> deformation.)</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Rigidity.</i> With people and with materials science, <i>rigid </i>means unbending. In engineering, whether this is desirable depends on the application, but with people it's
usually seen as a negative, i.e., "overly rigid." </span>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><i>Strength. </i>We
usually seem to think of human physical strength as power, or the
ability to apply force, in an active sense. On the other hand, we tend
to see mental or emotional strength as resistance to yielding under
stress, in a passive sense, and the latter is how engineers define it.
In materials, strength is resistance to yielding plastically, i.e.,
permanently.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5CSO0cmHBnBkteIWqmDy6xcnU3lwerY7WJ4XuiDKl8FI397Vkxb-4T3LvkGTkDTH352oLdSM7v2IED6sDYhU_5HTBYN4ZeQUGltioWXBpro260Hu_TQn8W31a2erWti8nXc3Dil7UYz43/s1600/steel-i-beam-lifted-by-a-crane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5CSO0cmHBnBkteIWqmDy6xcnU3lwerY7WJ4XuiDKl8FI397Vkxb-4T3LvkGTkDTH352oLdSM7v2IED6sDYhU_5HTBYN4ZeQUGltioWXBpro260Hu_TQn8W31a2erWti8nXc3Dil7UYz43/s320/steel-i-beam-lifted-by-a-crane.jpg" height="189" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We like people who are <i>strong </i>and unyielding, but not <i>rigid</i>,
completely unbending. We don't want our heroes to compromise on core
beliefs under duress, but we value their ability to examine their
beliefs and modify them if it proves to be the right thing to do.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Toughness. Strong </i>and <i>tough </i>are
often used interchangeably, but they are different. Toughness in a
person is the ability to absorb punishment without breaking. Similarly,
in materials science, it's how much energy a material will absorb
before failure (breakage or yielding). Remember the fight scene in <i>Cool Hand Luke</i>?
Lucas wasn't as strong as Dragline, but he was tough; no matter how
many times he got knocked down, he kept getting back up. He lost the
fight, but won the respect of Dragline and their fellow inmates. But
what really comes to mind when I think of toughness are little green
plastic army men. Those suckers could take any punishment my
six-year-old mind could conjure up, short of fire. You could bend them, but you couldn't tear them with your bare hands. The polyethylene they're made of is tough stuff.<i> </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Brittleness. </i>In
engineering terms, brittleness is the tendency of a material to break
suddenly rather than gradually. Think of a glass rod. Brittleness in a
person can be physical, as in an older person's bones, but is usually
used as an emotional quality. An emotionally brittle person is weak and
may "lose it" without warning.<br /><br /><i>Hardness. </i>Can be conflated with strength and toughness (<i>Those Marines on Guadalcanal were hard bastards!</i>),
but is also used to denote a lack of emotion, or an impenetrable
shell. Not exactly the same in engineering terms, where hardness is
resistance to abrasion; the hardness of diamonds makes them ideally
suited for cutting and grinding.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Ductility </i>and <i>Malleability.</i> Ductility is the ability to deform without breaking under tensile stress, </span><span style="font-size: large;">often expressed as the ability to be drawn into wire</span><span style="font-size: large;">.
Malleability refers to deformation under compressive stress and is
usually thought of as the ability to be hammered into thin sheets.
(They don't necessarily go together; gold is ductile and malleable,
while lead is only malleable). With people, the words could be used
interchangeably, but I don't recall ever seeing an easily-yielding
person called ductile. I have, however, often seen malleable used to
describe people who are easily shaped and influenced by others, and I
think it's a great, descriptive word. Ductile? You might want to run
it by a trusted editor.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If you've
made it through this long-winded post, dear reader, you can now use
these dual-purpose words with precision and confidence. No need to
thank me, it's just one of the many services I offer!</span></div>
Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-64929352099331812642013-04-17T06:25:00.001-07:002013-04-18T17:31:54.544-07:00"O" is for Old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjZBO-LrX-5U9aU4AaxBFc1sQG8T3TNIyb3zktnutVGXryOShu4yTRMq1DVGLHv3H6uV99flmHX7Msyx1zv21COrQ_b8d-9zz9MPZZgazIzlLWh95e2f_B9SvZMHSny21MuH6_RpBq8-eg/s1600/a-to-z-letters-o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjZBO-LrX-5U9aU4AaxBFc1sQG8T3TNIyb3zktnutVGXryOShu4yTRMq1DVGLHv3H6uV99flmHX7Msyx1zv21COrQ_b8d-9zz9MPZZgazIzlLWh95e2f_B9SvZMHSny21MuH6_RpBq8-eg/s200/a-to-z-letters-o.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Did I mention I like old stuff?<br /><br />Yeah, I do, and I have as long as I can remember, probably starting with a fascination with my grandparents' things. Fast-forward to 1985 and my first car was a 1964 Chevrolet Chevy II Nova SS (quite a mouthful, yes?) and I drove it for the next twenty years. It was a big enough part of my life for a blog post all its own, and it still saddens me that I had to sell it.<br /><br />I don't know if I could catalog all the things I like about owning and using old stuff. An important one is that if you're driving a car made the year your parents graduated high school, you'll probably be the only one on your block. The Nova attracted a lot of attention. Granted, 20 to 65-year-old males wasn't the demographic I was aiming for, but it was still cool. Obviously it fed into my nostalgic side. The Nova was like a time machine, and I had a great time cruising with the girlfriend who would become my wife. I even had a collection of '60s nickels and quarters in the ashtray. Is that weird?</span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm1Jcyp1SFgti1xWvS-6Y3R2Qs1tCu7TwYNAliKZxq9BAg8Q0yWbejXmQQhLCacrZtpK4ln7RTBQzOSvINXDFWzWU-Us-7weZrge9vw_8n7IWmDJMVSZ-6pOvXh5RStTxKS8nWRQD0vmAy/s1600/100_1510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm1Jcyp1SFgti1xWvS-6Y3R2Qs1tCu7TwYNAliKZxq9BAg8Q0yWbejXmQQhLCacrZtpK4ln7RTBQzOSvINXDFWzWU-Us-7weZrge9vw_8n7IWmDJMVSZ-6pOvXh5RStTxKS8nWRQD0vmAy/s640/100_1510.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>In 2006, age 42. No trouble picking it out in a parking lot.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When it comes to
actually using old things, I categorize them in three ways. The first
are things that have been made truly obsolete by newer things. These
would be mostly utilitarian things. Most people don't wash their
clothes in a tub with washboard and wringer or watch television on a
old DuMont set, and to do so would probably make them glad they're living in
2013.<br /><br />Some old things are quite useable and may have some advantages over new things, but involve some
definite compromises in using them. My Nova was a good example. It was
functional and was actually one of the faster cars on the road in the
mid-80s. But it always ran hot and didn't have air-conditioning, which
is a problem in Bakersfield seven months of the year. It also had
low-backed seats and lap belts only, so while I did worry about whiplash and
breaking my face on the steering wheel, it was a calculated risk I was willing
to take. That I often had to work on it was offset by the fact that I could work on it without a degree from a technical school. And the $46 annual registration fee was bragging material.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />Finally, there are those
things in which the old version, if not superior to the new, at least
has some demonstrable advantages. For me, these include shaving with old-style safety razor, shaving soap and brush, and vinyl records; more on those in the coming days.<br /><br />I think I've mentioned this before, and I'll repeat it - where "new and improved" actually means "new for no good reason but improved marketing potential," I'll take a good, hard look at the old. Your results may vary.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-40395731734100990352013-04-16T06:33:00.003-07:002013-04-18T17:31:23.523-07:00"N" is for nothing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigaGnnQyrdwMCwOvhp-6AeL1yHGXdqUHMGeEWJBYYQHQcnugA6eY5sDEXkKwFJFJLMR-sxYuhq5Q0VJYbyf3uWrFIX0wZfOa3gO5KsrZeVxd-aAagVTfQ3yfGbemCpLdo3ZvRExK2kexOG/s1600/a-to-z-letters-n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigaGnnQyrdwMCwOvhp-6AeL1yHGXdqUHMGeEWJBYYQHQcnugA6eY5sDEXkKwFJFJLMR-sxYuhq5Q0VJYbyf3uWrFIX0wZfOa3gO5KsrZeVxd-aAagVTfQ3yfGbemCpLdo3ZvRExK2kexOG/s200/a-to-z-letters-n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Nothing" because I couldn't come up with a word for "whine," "gripe," or "kvetch" that begins with "N." At the halfway point, this here A to Z Blogging
Challenge is turning out to be, well, a challenge, and I have to admit,
I'm struggling here. I'm getting started on my posts later and later
each day and staying up later and later to finish them. The mainspring
is starting to wind down, and the writing that came so freely and easily
at the beginning of the month is starting to feel decidedly chore-like. Which is just something that must be worked through, one foot in front of the other. But not tonight. I had
alternately considered writing on New and Improved, Nostalgia, Dodger
great Don "Newk" Newcombe </span><span style="font-size: large;">and even Nickel Plating</span><span style="font-size: large;">,
of all things, but after a twelve-hour work day, I'm fried and can't muster the energy to do any one of them. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So I hit the pillow and salute all my fellow A-to-Z bloggers who aren't copping out and phoning it in today and hope to rejoin them tomorrow. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7eSgDGisP0dUU6kDFchNYkxZzsz9g57nFx_6hreUTNDSGk-rtukA_83odARaA67gTMemnA7RRsAOevBU2ViH_lkMlY8HHpXthTtSR-_nuD8JRrtMd-Ipsl_vTsoRHEEULTY6b9aIYB17/s1600/tired1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7eSgDGisP0dUU6kDFchNYkxZzsz9g57nFx_6hreUTNDSGk-rtukA_83odARaA67gTMemnA7RRsAOevBU2ViH_lkMlY8HHpXthTtSR-_nuD8JRrtMd-Ipsl_vTsoRHEEULTY6b9aIYB17/s1600/tired1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-71412915248247893572013-04-15T06:21:00.000-07:002013-04-15T19:52:51.149-07:00"M" is for Motorcycle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMW5YyiTphg2F5KyWS4iP2dbVQEQ7U6aWjWBR_WmZ2aMtwO8nL-RgRl01f-Vo2mEfgQsoe5oYHlRPNLBIzDbRK4JLwngFsf8AuAMxv1qag4bExl5NKlT8FVw_Dt1sS_nJb6OPEiJwy9C1L/s1600/a-to-z-letters-m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMW5YyiTphg2F5KyWS4iP2dbVQEQ7U6aWjWBR_WmZ2aMtwO8nL-RgRl01f-Vo2mEfgQsoe5oYHlRPNLBIzDbRK4JLwngFsf8AuAMxv1qag4bExl5NKlT8FVw_Dt1sS_nJb6OPEiJwy9C1L/s200/a-to-z-letters-m.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<i>Today's post is an excerpt from the book I'm working on. And by "working on," I mean "mostly shamefully neglecting."</i><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">A shaft of amber light filtered through the
ancient glazed window of the shed and illuminated a sea of swirling dust motes. Jay sat on a stool at the motorcycle’s flank, leaning into
his work as if he were milking one of the dozens of cows his father told
him used to populate the farm. But instead of milk from an udder, he
emptied ethanol from the float bowl of a carburetor.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His mind wandered as he worked, muscle memory aiding nimble fingers. <i>Motorcycle</i>. It was his favorite word. Like his second-favorite word, <i>rifle</i>, it evoked its object perfectly. <i>Rifle</i> is slender and spare and handy. The rhythm of the word, with its heavy emphasis on the first syllable, is like</span><span style="font-size: large;"> a rifle's report and echo, or the cycling of a lever action. Motorcycle </span><span style="font-size: large;">is even more rhythmic. In a happy
accident, its four syllables mimic the rocking, reciprocating cadence of a four-stroke engine: <i>COMBUSTION, exhaust, intake, compression</i>. <i>MO-tor-cy-cle. </i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Motorcycle</i>.
It’s a solid word, substantive. It has mass, but not too much. It
conjures a rider's view of treetops passing overhead in the gleaming
fuel tank and stubby chrome handlebars with black, ribbed rubber grips
that the hands fall to naturally, as naturally as Jay’s feet fit in the
old new-in-the-box Frye boots that Jason had dug up and given him. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWyhJ_0HF32dM4Ag60C6pSAtUc02Ysn9W5XvxBzQjkju5vkMEW6H2d2QlCLzQh4MmRwbfSB0K66Pbs6JWXZWEpdiDch0A7QXNWOmigiuwVZedGNwNj460w04r1A51wg3uz7aCTwcR3BcF5/s1600/V-7+Sport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWyhJ_0HF32dM4Ag60C6pSAtUc02Ysn9W5XvxBzQjkju5vkMEW6H2d2QlCLzQh4MmRwbfSB0K66Pbs6JWXZWEpdiDch0A7QXNWOmigiuwVZedGNwNj460w04r1A51wg3uz7aCTwcR3BcF5/s320/V-7+Sport.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Jay felt the overpowering sense of how greater was his machine than the
sum of its bits and pieces. What peculiar brand of alchemy did the Italian <i>ingenieri </i>and <i>operai di fabbrica</i> employ all those decades ago that could give such life to
an assemblage of inert parts? </span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Even
though Jay had grown up with the motorcycle his grandfather first
bought new off the showroom floor after his return from the Vietnam war,
he was struck by question of whether there was an odder thing for a
twenty-year-old man to possess these days than a fifty-six-year-old
Italian motorcycle, even if said possession hadn’t been illegal on at
least two counts. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">These days, Jay's life seemed to him like nothing so much as an assemblage of oddities, so the motorcycle fit right in. </span></div>
<br /></div>
<br />
.Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-7486441346080561772013-04-14T17:49:00.001-07:002013-04-15T19:50:58.511-07:0042<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Disclaimer: I'm a baseball fan, history nut, and a third-generation Dodger fan, and Jackie Robinson is one of my personal heroes, so if you're looking for a clear-eyed, dispassionate and disinterested movie review, you're in the worst possible place.</i><br /><br /> I'm here to tell you that <i>42</i> is the best movie I've seen in a long, long time. <i>42 </i>more than lives up to the hype. It met and surpassed my expectations, which were pretty high; I don't remember the last film I anticipated so much. I'm sure critics and historians will find things to quibble about, but I'm neither of those, so I have the luxury of enjoying movies while I watch them. Yes, things can get a bit syrupy, and some artistic license was taken as should be expected, but the major events of the movie all happened. There's not an "Aw, come on, are you kidding me?!" moment in the whole film. Yes, the gas station scene is historical (though Dodger scout Clyde Sukeforth didn't really show up there), and yes, Phillies manager Ben Chapman really did say all those things. Pee-wee really did put his arm around Jackie.<br /><br /><i>42 </i>is a visual and auditory feast. From costumes to automobiles to streetscapes to music to speech patterns, it is rich and evocative, with eye-popping recreations of National League ballparks like Ebbets Field, Forbes Field, Crosley Field, and Shibe Park, all of which succumbed to the wrecking ball decades ago. (The scene with Branch Rickey alone in Ebbets Field is magical, and die-hard baseball history fans will recognize the Forbes Field left field wall in Pittsburgh as the site of Bill Mazeroski's 1960 World Series-winning home run). Recreating a time when the most colorful commercial endorsements in baseball were on the outfield walls is sure to invoke nostalgia. <i> 42 </i>is pitch-perfect, period-perfect and picture-perfect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />I'm usually disappointed with at least some of the casting in most historical films, but in that regard I found <i>42</i> brilliant without exception. Brett Cullen, Christopher Meloni, Max Gail and John C. McGinley play Montreal manager Clay Hopper, Brooklyn managers Leo Durocher and Burt Shotton and broadcaster Red Barber exactly how I've always imagined them. Andre Holland and Nicole Beharie portray reporter Wendell Smith and Robinson's wife Rachel Isum Robinson with feeling and nuance.<br /><br />Harrison Ford is truly Oscar-worthy as the colorful, visionary Branch Rickey, in all his Methodist, bow-tied, bushy-eyebrowed glory. There were people who thought Rickey was nothing more than a grandiloquent, pious, mercenary hypocrite (Walter O' Malley called him a "psalm-singing fake"), but I think them probably unfair, and Ford makes him neither a saint nor a scoundrel, but rather the multidimensional man that he was.<br /><br />Not only is Chadwick Boseman a near-perfect physical match for Jackie Robinson, but it's hard to imagine anyone doing a better job with what must have been the daunting role of a lifetime (imagine more pressure in playing anyone outside of the Bible). Boseman as Robinson is strong, stubborn, determined, courageous, resilient, dignified, sensitive, intelligent, outspoken, smoldering and <i>hates </i>to lose. I've said before that with all of the amazing things about Jackie Robinson to commend him, what stands out most to me is simply his manhood, and I was gratified to see how well Boseman conveys it. <br /><br /><i>42</i> is stunning, authentic, evocative, triumphant and important. What it promises, it delivers. It doesn't preach, it documents; it trusts its audience to draw conclusions. There were times in the movie I shook my head, hung my head, threw it back to laugh and put hand to forehead. There were times it was hard not to cry. There were times it was hard to watch and listen and <i>that's</i> why I think every American aged twelve or thirteen and up ought to see it. I'm glad my preteen daughter was with me. For her, Jackie Robinson will ever be more than a black-and-white photo or someone her old man talks about, and his importance will never be a mere abstraction.</span><br />
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-73096600118146146912013-04-13T14:04:00.003-07:002013-04-13T16:56:43.349-07:00"L" is for Language, the Sanitization of<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3PJw16hIvcwVZO7Gf8ckovxQbJvTKKmGZ4jjiWHH-LMH5MagOEzE8xDkPFgsz9DF_Gt7LPkWDKjZAA3ha6BiN5gqAWmXPkCC05MU4aDgHqcoEn-KhLGLNOAWugXXXxCDpwGt6U3a1Aymr/s1600/a-to-z-letters-l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3PJw16hIvcwVZO7Gf8ckovxQbJvTKKmGZ4jjiWHH-LMH5MagOEzE8xDkPFgsz9DF_Gt7LPkWDKjZAA3ha6BiN5gqAWmXPkCC05MU4aDgHqcoEn-KhLGLNOAWugXXXxCDpwGt6U3a1Aymr/s200/a-to-z-letters-l.jpg" width="200" /></a>Like any writer or reader of
English, I love the English language. The arcane, the archaic, the
flawed, the illogical and the just plain weird. The duplication and the
inconsistencies. The, uh, Anglo-Saxonisms. The quirks. You know, like
how we park in a driveway and drive on a parkway. Why do we call pineapple that which contains neither pine nor apple? And if the plural of
tooth is teeth, why is not the plural of booth "beeth?"</div>
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I
love it, warts and all, so I dislike what I consider the sanitizing of
it. And by that, I don't mean removal of naughty words, but the
homogenizing of it, the replacing of descriptive, recognizable words
with bland substitutes.</div>
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I'll give you a couple of examples. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhViUlh-4_Gfrz8f9-oNdy6p445eVwLLsupESwfTYjD09HRIxXOI6u3CUIpxnHg9Y7YcDXxoD5r7hYCfml1y7Jk3Lhmq3YvhMbM-ZjAsa97yDwQmZJayLE6hsrRCgRJUyO3dr_hEw3zQIE6/s1600/Unsung.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhViUlh-4_Gfrz8f9-oNdy6p445eVwLLsupESwfTYjD09HRIxXOI6u3CUIpxnHg9Y7YcDXxoD5r7hYCfml1y7Jk3Lhmq3YvhMbM-ZjAsa97yDwQmZJayLE6hsrRCgRJUyO3dr_hEw3zQIE6/s200/Unsung.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Unsung" <i>by James Dietz</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What
does the word "mechanic" conjure for you? A member of
an old and proud profession, someone who understands the language that engines
speak, and can get a recalcitrant one to purr again? Or maybe the thousands of sailors and airmen who
toiled with warplanes through the night in airfields and hangar bays to make
sure their charges would perform the mission and bring their pilots
back home? </div>
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<br />
Now, how about "technician?" If
you're like me, you think of a person in a lab coat holding a clipboard
or laptop in a sterile environment, and not much else.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmVAy4JL86bpXEjWXWn8ziwTG-JWPomRvvdIKcKDXiCr9ukwBPK9YI_Pn9wBQYlplNMdah2bqq__vFAu8jNdivsXAaVGCxqyWjdYEEe5slIIMCn8OKfADFYj-0GqO5CRfpn9xfb-1CB88/s1600/Surveyor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmVAy4JL86bpXEjWXWn8ziwTG-JWPomRvvdIKcKDXiCr9ukwBPK9YI_Pn9wBQYlplNMdah2bqq__vFAu8jNdivsXAaVGCxqyWjdYEEe5slIIMCn8OKfADFYj-0GqO5CRfpn9xfb-1CB88/s1600/Surveyor.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George Washington Young Surveyor<i> by Hy Hinterman</i></td></tr>
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What do you think of when you see or hear the word "surveyor?" George Washington on a hilltop peering through a compass and helping to establish the boundaries of a new world? Yes, it's an old and honored profession. Say you're a surveyor and people get it.<br />
<br />
So what comes to mind when you see the term "Geomatics Engineer?" If you're drawing a blank or thinking of a three-letter acronym that begins with "W" and ends with "F," you're probably not alone. Yes, that's what they're calling themselves now.</div>
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<br />
Words
like "mechanic" and "surveyor" are evocative, rich in imagery. They're interwoven with history and literature. Technicians are certainly professionals worthy of esteem; they're just saddled with a moniker that's generic because it's an umbrella for so many different disciplines. Words
like "technician" and, Lord help us, "Geomatics Engineer" seem bland and noncommittal, of a world where everyone is special, and thus, no one is.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So
why the changes? Somehow, I doubt it's part of a sinister conspiracy to render
English more vanilla. Rather, in the case of "technician," it was
probably a desire to change people's perception of mechanics as unskilled grease monkeys, to clean up the image, make it respectable. Why, I don't know. I for one have always seen the profession of mechanic as highly skilled and eminently respectable and I have a lot of esteem for people that get their hands dirty.
There's probably also a feeling that "mechanic" belongs to the previous century
and doesn't accurately reflect a time in which a mechanic spends more
time reading diagnostic codes on a computer than turning wrenches, and
likely went to a technical school to learn to do it. I get it, it just leaves me flat. <br />
<br />
As
for surveying, I'm a Civil engineer, so I have far more than a passing
familiarity with it (I've done a fair bit of it myself, and one-fourth of my professional engineering exam was on surveying) so I can tell you that it's like an
iceberg; the gal or guy out there with the total station or GPS receiver on a tripod is just the tip that the public sees. An enormous amount of surveying takes place in
the office, researching maps and plats and corner records, writing legal
descriptions and performing complex calculations. And I guess that's the point, the desire for a term that more completely reflects the totality of what a surveyor does. But it also seems like an attempt to gain more respect for a profession that for me, was never lacking in it in the first place (to me, surveyors are the "casual Fridays" of the engineering world, and who doesn't think engineering can use more of that?). But if that is the purpose, why such a goofy name? (The term "Civil" engineer comes from "civilian," meaning non-military. It was bland from the cradle, but I will resist with all my energy any attempts to rename it Physical and Natural Environment Technician.)</div>
<br />
With the well-intentioned but misguided replacement of both words, I think the result is the same. If we did this for
every hoary old less-than-encyclopedic name, what we'd end up with wouldn't be
English at all, but a homogenous goo. At that point, let's just get it over with and start speaking <i>(shudder)</i> Esperanza.<br />
<br />
How about you? Do you have any similar sanitizing pet peeves? Do you know of a newer term that's an actual improvement over the old? Or maybe you think I'm full of pre-processed bovine waste product? Let me know.<br />
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-63904369097916516752013-04-12T06:26:00.000-07:002013-04-12T22:37:27.832-07:00"K" is for Koufax<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU9mD1B0RVn8hy4nHJSuudTx-ygL78XT-4FLqiChEOcxuU6ASM1mnaG5Ml4N_fShNy8HjrdhWNWScUFfMmfR87KLiZSaONrEAVv94ZUPIfnXt78ZgpF4lDXLaMBk9LXObOiKTA4uen0DVl/s1600/a-to-z-letters-k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU9mD1B0RVn8hy4nHJSuudTx-ygL78XT-4FLqiChEOcxuU6ASM1mnaG5Ml4N_fShNy8HjrdhWNWScUFfMmfR87KLiZSaONrEAVv94ZUPIfnXt78ZgpF4lDXLaMBk9LXObOiKTA4uen0DVl/s200/a-to-z-letters-k.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Sanford Braun "Sandy" Koufax. Like Jackie Robinson, with whom he's tied for my all-time favorite athlete, he's far too large to capture in a blog post. Like Robinson, he's an incredible athlete and man, and like Robinson, his life transcends the game of baseball. Though both received their fame and recognition through baseball, neither one needed baseball to live a life of importance.</div>
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Arguably the greatest left-handed pitcher of all time, Sandy Koufax burned like a meteorite across the baseball firmament and then was gone, retiring at age 30 at the peak of his career, his elbow arthritic, his arm spent. Early in his career, he damaged his elbow trying to throw each pitch harder than the last, before discovering that by easing up he could throw just as fast<i> </i>and with more control. Early on, he was frustrated by how little the Dodgers pitched him, but once they discovered what they had, they worked him like a plow horse. The famously weak-hitting Dodgers of the early '60s depended on their pitchers for championships but, not uncommon for the times, seemed callously and myopically unconcerned with their longevity or health. In getting out of the game "while I can still comb my hair," he avoided the temptation that so many great athletes succumb to, to play out their string for too long past their prime and decline before our eyes on the field. He left on his terms. The game needed the man who once famously refused to pitch a World Series game on Yom Kippur, more than he needed the game.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gYxsthSj0hP6_MJ4luohLafwjnNgvh_QKxB1WdYjWFPQVn2VwiRlfnLX4Mo0dQ40TGeVEV9UfUem6yEiO7qYg9vw4y5Tso8CLrHsGmHEv5FM4TGhvEJNzsIwF14GF7HrP4kEGb5hIe4p/s1600/Sandy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gYxsthSj0hP6_MJ4luohLafwjnNgvh_QKxB1WdYjWFPQVn2VwiRlfnLX4Mo0dQ40TGeVEV9UfUem6yEiO7qYg9vw4y5Tso8CLrHsGmHEv5FM4TGhvEJNzsIwF14GF7HrP4kEGb5hIe4p/s200/Sandy.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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In an abbreviated eleven year career from 1955 to 1966, he amassed a record matched by few pitchers working twenty years. From 1962 to 1966 he dominated. I'll leave it to the reader's initiative to learn about the MVP award, the Cy Young awards, the pitching Triple Crowns, strikeout record, World Series championships, and the four no-hitters (first player to reach four), including a perfect game (the eighth in baseball history). That at his Hall of Fame induction in 1972 at age 36 he was the youngest inductee ever. A player can be judged by what his adversaries say about him; Pittsburgh legend Willie Stargell said that hitting against Koufax was "like trying to drink coffee with a fork." Although he tipped off his fastball and curveball to hitters by variations in his windup, Willie Mays, arguably the best all-around player ever, said "I knew every pitch he was going to throw and I still couldn't hit him." More than once, the word "unfair" was used.</div>
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On the field he was a fierce competitor who once said that "Pitching is the art of instilling fear." Both on and off the field, as was Robinson, he's the epitome of class and grace. He didn't call attention to himself, argue with umpires or show up other
players; one said "He'll strike you out but he won't embarrass you." Ever a man of dignity and integrity, he has never done anything in his playing days or in retirement to let down his fans or diminish his reputation. Even in a room full of politicians, scholars, celebrities and other luminaries, he's the one whose autograph everyone wants. He's a famously private man who declines his own celebrity, which is often mistaken for reclusiveness, but he's simply cut from a different cloth from a society that is increasingly, pathologically obsessed with fame and celebrity.</div>
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After an absence of several years, Sandy was back with the Dodgers this spring training, to the delight of both fans and players. He may refuse the mantle of hero, but he remains a hero to them all.</div>
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<i>I highly recommend</i> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sandy-Koufax-Leftys-Legacy-P-S/dp/0061779008/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1365744988&sr=1-1&keywords=sandy+koufax" target="_blank">Sandy Koufax: A Lefty's Legacy</a> <i>by brilliant writer Jane Leavy</i>.</div>
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-13116784148457064012013-04-11T06:31:00.001-07:002013-04-13T16:55:38.356-07:00"J" is for Jackie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnrGHijY3zAblZXYALLUZQpccafvdCHJu7SOEAFQgTxip1MTUnzTrk6ZfaLxpE3L6PXGhEjKn7ywhMYnBTO2-7zuedrWzy-1_cB-Ao9o6CWv7wt9G229gFHPA5rnY-Il7U8HacOEz1EOg0/s1600/a-to-z-letters-j.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnrGHijY3zAblZXYALLUZQpccafvdCHJu7SOEAFQgTxip1MTUnzTrk6ZfaLxpE3L6PXGhEjKn7ywhMYnBTO2-7zuedrWzy-1_cB-Ao9o6CWv7wt9G229gFHPA5rnY-Il7U8HacOEz1EOg0/s200/a-to-z-letters-j.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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With the eagerly-awaited biopic “42” hitting theaters tonight, I can’t think of a better word for “J."</div>
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There
is far too much to say about Jack Roosevelt Robinson for me to do
him any justice in a blog post, and I feel like the less I say the better. (Can my words either add to or subtract from greatness?) If all you know about him is that he broke the major league baseball color barrier, or played for the Dodgers, you really ought to discover more about the man for yourself. Consider it your homework assignment.<br />
<br />
There are any number of extraordinary things about him that, taken individually, are praiseworthy, but there's one that is front and center for me, that I've never seen anyone else mention.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When it comes to Jackie Robinson, what it all boils down to for me, is that he was such a <i>man. </i> In every episode of his life, in every possible sense of the word, he was a true man, a <i>mensch</i>. I'll leave it to the reader to ponder that.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKq4AT1iH9D_BKjTNyF0wDrUWrHck42h477I4nCH7nnOI78YfVHVyzl9iv-sSRmZ0qLe4xd3sS7jysGQWHk0GCN1zd3I5qPMEOnahc62CsRKC78H-WurQD9DmHvx_UZkGexakITXFPDMg/s1600/jackie-robinson_600x390.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKq4AT1iH9D_BKjTNyF0wDrUWrHck42h477I4nCH7nnOI78YfVHVyzl9iv-sSRmZ0qLe4xd3sS7jysGQWHk0GCN1zd3I5qPMEOnahc62CsRKC78H-WurQD9DmHvx_UZkGexakITXFPDMg/s320/jackie-robinson_600x390.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917420166802101187.post-61165715952629619002013-04-10T06:20:00.000-07:002013-04-11T17:20:50.514-07:00"I" is for Irritable<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEsNyaJcpYeO33gfw6wG-gt7OcmUw3uaWZUlDSmJ-iqXr5l3II6gmGMJVDVdTSk33kr5AkOyDBaHccKT9zUhdhvjeQRJTlCOD8XboGsEFQc9Eguw6YkKUmZ_ZALLe5toFoFR_F2KiIptj/s1600/a-to-z-letters-i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEsNyaJcpYeO33gfw6wG-gt7OcmUw3uaWZUlDSmJ-iqXr5l3II6gmGMJVDVdTSk33kr5AkOyDBaHccKT9zUhdhvjeQRJTlCOD8XboGsEFQc9Eguw6YkKUmZ_ZALLe5toFoFR_F2KiIptj/s200/a-to-z-letters-i.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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We continue this excursion away
from the theme of "Stuff: Engineering, Materials and Things" with
"irritable," a seemingly harmless little word which brought my very
world crumbling down around me some thirty-two years ago.</div>
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<br />
In
sixth grade, I was a wreck, at least in my own eyes. I was uncool,
unathletic, awkward and self-conscious. Basically, like me now, but
shorter. I was always the last one picked in any sporting contest. I
had a bit of a pot belly. I once laughed while drinking milk and it
came out my nose. In front of a pretty girl.</div>
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I was not popular.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
I
could draw pretty well and I was a fiendishly good reader, and no,
neither of those did a thing for my popularity, any more than did the
fact that I played the clarinet in band. Yeah, I was That Kid.<br />
<br />
Man,
I had forgotten just how bad it really was until just now. Excuse me
for a moment while I go collect myself. Talk amongst yourselves.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRlNhlFiI58YVJR8WIVrATanPfkjgpWRsCs2b4n8FnA43j2pQ2zjkyAYv-Sro3Hw30FktTOtoEuurDqA5M9rlvauezMCdxBWbQkxZ4Mu7TuhGR-ZartjLcGAy3ZK7wVgJ2q4bbubwugZe/s1600/roman-triumph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRlNhlFiI58YVJR8WIVrATanPfkjgpWRsCs2b4n8FnA43j2pQ2zjkyAYv-Sro3Hw30FktTOtoEuurDqA5M9rlvauezMCdxBWbQkxZ4Mu7TuhGR-ZartjLcGAy3ZK7wVgJ2q4bbubwugZe/s320/roman-triumph.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Right. Anyway, I was also good at spelling. Again, not something
that upped my cool factor in any way, but winning the 1981 Charles H.
Castle Elementary School sixth grade spelling contest did mean one thing
- I was finally the best at something. And that, folks, most assuredly is
better than not being the best at something.<br />
<br />
I remained
outwardly humble, of course; noblesse oblige, remembering the
little people, not wanting to take undue advantage of my newfound
notoriety. I do admit though, I was proud.</div>
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Which, I have on good authority, is the very thing that goeth before the fall, and for
me the fall came swiftly and terribly. A few weeks later at the
District contest I missed my very first word. I spelled "irritable"
with one "r."<br />
<br />
Yeah, I know.<br />
<br />
My humiliation knew no bounds. A third
grader should have nailed that one. I couldn't even look at my
principal, Mr. Chapman, who had accompanied me. I had failed myself and I had failed
Mr. Walker, the best teacher a kid could have. I had failed Charles H. Castle Elementary School. My ancestors looked down from heaven and shook their heads sadly. Like Icarus, I had soared too
close to the sun, and my fall was no less dramatic.<br />
<br />
Never again did I scale the dizzying heights of spelling greatness. Never again did Genius fly so low to brush me with her gossamer wing. The next year, at O.J.
Actis Junior High school, I didn't even get into the contest. Mrs. Kendrick made up a rule, on the fly, that you had to have gotten 100% on
all your spelling tests, and she did it just to keep me out, which she
was looking for any excuse to do. It may have had something to do with
me constantly talking in class and being lazy in my classwork, I don't know, whatever. Everett went instead. I think he won, and went on to win
everything between that and the World Spelling Bee or something, I don't
know, whatever.</div>
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But
shed no tears for me, kind reader. They may have have cruelly snuffed
out a promising spelling career; they may have robbed me of the
future greatness that was rightfully mine, but they could not take away
the glory of those few shimmering weeks when, for a brief, glorious moment, I was<i> the best</i>.<br />
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. Jerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553876967209814324noreply@blogger.com19