I could never bring myself to forward all the email jokes, cartoons and other Internet comedy that land in my inbox. But then I started posting the ones my dad sends me. Judging from my comments and emails, my dad has become one of my greatest blogging assets. So for your morning blog chuckle I present: From My Dad.
Part of being a good citizen of the blogosphere is visiting, reading and, most importantly, taking the time to leave a comment on other’s blogs. It’s all about the conversation. In the interest of setting an example I’ve decided to link to those blog posts that have compelled me to leave a comment.
1656 Remains of the Day, 6-16-07
1651 Damn straight
My sister just stood still for thirty seconds,
amazed by what was happening,
then shrugged and tossed her shaggy head
as if she was throwing something out,
something she had carried a long ways,
but had no use for anymore,
now that it had no use for her.
That, too, was beautiful.
From Beauty by Tony Hoagland.
My name is Jeff Hess and I’m a biblioholic. I own hundreds of books. Not valuable books, mostly Science Fiction paperbacks and text books, tomes rescued by the bag from library book sales. A few years ago, in the interest of not burying myself, I began reading more books from the library and taking notes. My electronic chapbook was born.
A little more than a month ago, my friend, blogger and poet Sherry Chandler posted about a book that she had read. She wrote:
I have been very slowly reading my way through Chris Hedges’ War Is A Force That Gives Us Meaning (Public Affairs, 2002). I find it very slow going because every page seems to rip my heart out. Hedges is a great writer; the book is riveting. It’s a portrait of humankind at its most brutal.
I picked up the book and found I had the same problem. Hedges’ book is not one I could read quickly. I read and re-read sentances, whole paragraphs, trying to wrap my head around his experiences. A tremendous amount went into my chapbook, but where I wanted to copy out whole pages I forced myself to capture thoughts I could contemplate.
It is unusual for me to make a case for a book, but in the sixth year of the third millenium of our common era, this is a book that all Americans ought to read.
This is a passage I copied from War Is A Force That Gives Us Meaning by Chris Hedges.
It taught me a crucial lesson that I would carry into every other conflict. Lurking beneath the surface of every society, including ours, is the passionate yearning for a nationalist cause that exalts us, the kind that war alone can deliver. p. 45
Since I moved into my apartment I’ve kept my Chinese Elm BÅnsai in my front window. Unfortunately my apartment faces north so the tree never gets direct sunlight. After seeing this lolcats picture I was inspired to find a different plant light and to move BÅ into my office where I can see him and my fountain as I write.
The bulb is a 75-watt Philips plant llight. I’ll see how this works.
[Update — 1608 — And oh, there’s also this.]
[Update — 1603 — Do you suppose the bozos thought Bozo was infringing upon their copyright?]
[Update — 1543, 17 June — Boing Boing keeps the story alive.]
I haven’t flown but once in the past 10 years; just a quick hop to La Guardia and back. It was annoying, but nothing like what Monica Emmerson and her son had to face. Who ever is the top dog at the agency responsible for the treatment she and her son received at National Airport needs to publically apologize to her and fire the thugs.
Like other bloggers I like to see who’s linking to me and why. This afternoon a link popped up from the Cleveland Plus Campaign (which is not Cleveland Plus). Since my posts on the the campaign have not been positive, I had to wonder why would they link to me? If you’ll click on community opinion, you’ll find an answer.
Teflon Don: We said goodbye to Gator recently, after over four months of working together. Gator is the nickname Marines affectionately give their Amphibious Assault Vehicles — the 23-ton tracks that accompanied us on so many missions through Iraq. Our Gators were the men of Co. B, 2nd Amphibious Assault Battalion. Gator was the first Marine…
I could never bring myself to forward all the email jokes, cartoons and other Internet comedy that land in my inbox. But then I started posting the ones my dad sends me. Judging from my comments and emails, my dad has become one of my greatest blogging assets. So for your morning blog chuckle I present: From My Dad.
MOSES & THE RED SEA:
Nine-year-old Joey, was asked by his mother what he had learned in Sunday school. “Well, Mom, our teacher told us how God sent Moses behind enemy lines on a rescue mission to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. When he got to the Red Sea, he had his army build a pontoon bridge and all the people walked across safely. Then, he radioed headquarters for reinforcements. They sent bombers to blow up the bridge and all the Israelites were saved.”
“Now, Joey, is that really what your teacher taught you?” his mother asked.
“Well, no, Mom. But, if I told it the way the teacher did, you’d never believe it!”
THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD:
A Sunday School teacher decided to have her young class memorize one of the most quoted passages in the Bible; Psalm 23. She gave the youngsters a month to learn the verse. Little Rick was excited about the task, but, he just couldn’t remember the Psalm. After much practice, he could barely get past the first line.
On the day that the kids were scheduled to recite Psalm 23 in front of the congregation, Ricky was so nervous. When it was his turn, he stepped up to the microphone and said proudly, “The Lord is my Shepherd, and that’s all I need to know.”
UNANSWERED PRAYER?
The preacher’s 5 year-old daughter noticed that her father always paused and bowed his head, for a moment, before starting his sermon. One day, she asked him why. “Well, Honey,” he began, proud that his daughter was so observant of his messages,
“I’m asking the Lord to help me preach a good sermon.”
“How come He doesn’t do it?” she asked.
My name is Jeff Hess and I’m a biblioholic. I own hundreds of books. Not valuable books, mostly Science Fiction paperbacks and text books, tomes rescued by the bag from library book sales. A few years ago, in the interest of not burying myself, I began reading more books from the library and taking notes. My electronic chapbook was born.
A little more than a month ago, my friend, blogger and poet Sherry Chandler posted about a book that she had read. She wrote:
I have been very slowly reading my way through Chris Hedges’ War Is A Force That Gives Us Meaning (Public Affairs, 2002). I find it very slow going because every page seems to rip my heart out. Hedges is a great writer; the book is riveting. It’s a portrait of humankind at its most brutal.
I picked up the book and found I had the same problem. Hedges’ book is not one I could read quickly. I read and re-read sentances, whole paragraphs, trying to wrap my head around his experiences. A tremendous amount went into my chapbook, but where I wanted to copy out whole pages I forced myself to capture thoughts I could contemplate.
It is unusual for me to make a case for a book, but in the sixth year of the third millenium of our common era, this is a book that all Americans ought to read.
This is a passage I copied from War Is A Force That Gives Us Meaning by Chris Hedges.
The myth of war rarely endures for those who experience combat. War is messy, confusing, sullied by raw brutality and an elephantine fear that grabs us like a massive bouncer who comes up from behind. Soldiers in the moments before real battles weep, vomit, and write last letters home, although these are done more as a precaution than from belief. All are nearly paralyzed with fright. There is a morbid silence that grips a battlefield in the final moments before the shooting starts, one that sets the back of my own head pounding in pain, wipes away all appetites and makes my fingers tremble as I ready myself to go forward against logic. You do not think of home or family, for to do so is to be overcome by a wave of nostalgia and emotion that can impair you ability to survive. One thinks, so far as it is possible , of cleaning weapons, of readying for the business of killing. No one ever charges into battle for God and country.
“Just remember,” a Marine Corps lieutenant colonel told me as he strapped his pistol belt under his arm before he crossed in Kuwait, “that none of these boys is fighting for home, for the flag, for all that crap the politicians feed the public. They are fighting for each other, just for each other.” p. 38
@WR: night I sat in the desert by myself.
The sky stretching from horizon to horizon.
As if the world had folded itself in two.
The sky deep blue filled with a billion stars.
The earth ashen brown, its horizon unbroken.
Both meeting at distance unknown to me….
Part of being a good citizen of the blogosphere is visiting, reading and, most importantly, taking the time to leave a comment on other’s blogs. It’s all about the conversation. In the interest of setting an example I’ve decided to link to those blog posts that have compelled me to leave a comment.
0758 Retired and rehired: Orange City Schools’ superintendent
I could never bring myself to forward all the email jokes, cartoons and other Internet comedy that land in my inbox. But then I started posting the ones my dad sends me. Judging from my comments and emails, my dad has become one of my greatest blogging assets. So for your morning blog chuckle I present: From My Dad.
God was missing for six days. Eventually, Michael, the archangel, found him, resting on the seventh day.
He inquired of God. “Where have you been?”
God sighed a deep sigh of satisfaction, and proudly pointed downward through the clouds, “Look, Michael. Look what I’ve made.”
Archangel Michael looked puzzled, and said, “What is it?”
“It’s a planet,” replied God, “and I’ve put Life on it. I’m going to call it Earth and it’s going to be a great place of balance.”
“Balance?” inquired Michael, still confused.
God explained, pointing to different parts of earth. “For example, northern Europe will be a place of great opportunity and wealth, while southern Europe is going to be poor. Over there I’ve placed a continent of white people, and over there is a continent of black people. Balance in all things,” God continued pointing to different countries. This one will be extremely hot, while this one will be very cold and covered in ice.”
The Archangel, impressed by God’s work, then pointed to a land area and said, “What’s that one?”
“Ah,” said God “That’s Washington State, the most glorious place on earth.
There are beautiful mountains, rivers and streams, lakes, forests, hills, plains, and coulées. The people from Washington State are going to be handsome, modest, intelligent, and humorous, and they are going to be found traveling the world. They will be extremely sociable, hardworking, high achieving, and they will be known throughout the world as diplomats, and carriers of peace.”
Michael gasped in wonder and admiration, but then asked, “But what about balance, God? You said there would be balance.”
God smiled, “There is another Washington…Wait until you see the idiots I put there.
My name is Jeff Hess and I’m a biblioholic. I own hundreds of books. Not valuable books, mostly Science Fiction paperbacks and text books, tomes rescued by the bag from library book sales. A few years ago, in the interest of not burying myself, I began reading more books from the library and taking notes. My electronic chapbook was born.
A little more than a month ago, my friend, blogger and poet Sherry Chandler posted about a book that she had read. She wrote:
I have been very slowly reading my way through Chris Hedges’ War Is A Force That Gives Us Meaning (Public Affairs, 2002). I find it very slow going because every page seems to rip my heart out. Hedges is a great writer; the book is riveting. It’s a portrait of humankind at its most brutal.
I picked up the book and found I had the same problem. Hedges’ book is not one I could read quickly. I read and re-read sentances, whole paragraphs, trying to wrap my head around his experiences. A tremendous amount went into my chapbook, but where I wanted to copy out whole pages I forced myself to capture thoughts I could contemplate.
It is unusual for me to make a case for a book, but in the sixth year of the third millenium of our common era, this is a book that all Americans ought to read.
This is a passage I copied from War Is A Force That Gives Us Meaning by Chris Hedges.
A passage from the November 18, 1822 London Observer caught the aftermath of war:
It is estimated that more than a million bushels of human and inhuman bones were imported last year from the continent of Europe into the port of Hull. The neighborhood of Leipzig, Austerliz, Waterloo, and all the other places where during the late bloody war, the principal battles were fought, have been swept alike of the bones of the hero and the horse which he rode. Thus, collected from every quarter, they have been shipped to the port of Hull and thence to forwarded to Yorkshire bone grinders who have erected steam-engines and powerful machinery for the purpose of reducing them to a granular state. In this condition they are sold to the farmers to manure their lands. p. 30
I’m constantly tossing interesting websites into what I call my blogpile. Some of them find their way here in the form of regular posts, but more often than not they languish and get buried deeper in the pile. The end result is that I have to go back and do a bit of shoveling. Today’s item is Distracted By The Brain.
The second reason Libby will walk is President Bush’s dismal approval rating. The number of people who would be angered by a pardon who haven’t already abandoned the president could fit in an airport shuttle bus. Given the conservative defections from Bush over his support of immigration reform, a pardon of Libby-which would be popular with conservatives-might actually improve his approval ratings. Libby’s conviction is seen as such an outrage among conservatives that one former Bush aide suggested “the consequences of not pardoning, if Scooter is led away in shackles, will be uglier than pardoning.” John Dickerson
Between the ages of nine and 18 I lived on the five acres of Tunnel Hill in rural Southeastern Ohio. The nearest town of any size was Marietta. My friends and I spent our summers roaming the woods and cornfields in about a five mile radius of our house at the intersection of US 550 and Warren Township 279.
And that makes me we so sad for Ed Thomas:
When George Thomas was eight he walked everywhere.
It was 1926 and his parents were unable to afford the fare for a tram, let alone the cost of a bike and he regularly walked six miles to his favourite fishing haunt without adult supervision.
Fast forward to 2007 and Mr Thomas’s eight-year-old great-grandson Edward enjoys none of that freedom.
He is driven the few minutes to school, is taken by car to a safe place to ride his bike and can roam no more than 300 yards from home.
And don’t give me the bit about the world being a more dangerous place today than it was 40 years or 60 or even 80 years ago. It isn’t. This is what our culture of fear and television has given us.
How long before we just say feck and reduce our lives to the slot in the door where deliveries are made?
I’m sure that a lot of women have serious issues, internal and external, with the Genarlow Wilson case. The central issue, for me, has to be our Dollification of women. Are women to be protected or are they capable of protecting themselves? At what age do we decide that they have that ability?
Sixteen? Eightteen? Twenty-one? Thirty? Never?
As always, Jimi Izrael has his particular take on the story.
Warning: the excerpt below is marginally PG-13; most of the rest of Jimi’s excellent post is not.
I remember one day when me and my dudes lived across the street from this down the way girl with dudes filing into her place like she was giving away new Jordans. It was SICK.
She had 20 niggas in her house if she had 1. After an hour or better, the place just started rocking, like, it was a muthafuckin” block party in this girls house at 4 in the afternoon. Sure enough, Moms came home. “I told her about that loud music!” Moms said aloud. Me and dudes remained calm, but we was crazy with anticipation.
Maaaan, Moms, got up in that crib, screaming and niggas started falling out the windows in they draws, some had handfuls of jewelry and knick-knacks. Me and my crew was on the curb, cramped up we was laughing so hard.
Moms called the school, tried to get the girl to ID the boys and cry rape. She would not. So she ended up in catholic school. All this should act as a disclaimer: I”m not saying that white women are pre-disposed to freakdom. I”ve known some freaky sisters in my life.
For the record, I don”t have any problem with women wearing their sexuality any way they want. Just know that being a freak comes with ramifications that can last a lifetime. I mean, a lifetime. Seriously.
The question for me has to be: and mom (and hopefully dad) have been doing what before this all started?
I threw off the bowlines and said yes. Consider me. Hot Coffee Girl
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