What's Going On in the World

One of my favorite movies is Superman II. At the end of the movie- after
terrorists almost blow up Paris with a nuclear bomb and alien bad guys with
super powers wreak havoc on the Earth and almost take it over- Clark Kent has to
take Lois Lane's memory from her to protect his secret. When he does so, Lois
(who was at the center of all of these events) looks around at him and all her
coworkers at the Daily Planet and says, "What's going on in the
world?".

I know  how she feels. For the past nine days, I have been on vacation
and I have purposely kept myself isolated from the events going on around me.
This was by design because I needed a break. Yes, I am a radical Patriot and I
have some definite and very clear opinions. At one time, I was galvanized by
both the surge in patriotism and in anti-American rhetoric I expended a great
deal of energy expressing my opinions, ideas, and concerns. However, once the
starting gun went off (pun intended) all of the talk, I came to the realization
that all of the debates, the controversy, and the discussions had sapped me.

What a wonderful time for my own, personal Spring Break to happen along. I
have spent the last week or so without being glued to the nonstop embedded
coverage of the news networks or listening to the modulated debates of the radio
talk show hosts. I have not read a paper nor have I consulted a news related web
page. I have spent the recent past happily oblivious to everything going on
outside of my range of vision and enjoying the budding Spring, some mindless
fun, and the company of my family.

I still care about what is going on and I am slowly and begrudgingly tuning
back into it but I am in no hurry.

posted by The Pendragon at 3/31/2003 04:07:00 PM

Deja View

I have the exact same feeling I had over ten years ago when I was watching
coverage of the first war in Iraq. I cannot believe that the Iraqis  were
so defiant and that they are still fighting after three days. They are
outmanned, out gunned, and out witted. They don't have a chance and they have to
know this- sometimes it looks like they are not even trying to win- yet they
stand fast firing at targets that have long since passed and standing up to an
enemy that can squash them like flies from a thousand miles away. They have no
chance of winning and very little chance of survival.

What must be going through their minds as they see their fate barreling down
upon them.

posted by The Pendragon at 3/21/2003 04:07:00 PM

Live from Baghdad, It's Wednesday Night!

Last night a friend and I were, like, I am sure, many of you watching the
barrage of news coverage of the countdown to war in Iraq. All of the stations
seemed to be utilizing a feed from this one particular camera which was focused
where the news media thought they could get the best pictures of fiery
destruction raining from the sky. The scene depicted was, well, disturbing.

When someone says "Baghdad" I always think of genies and the
Arabian nights and an ancient city of roughly hewn mud walls and camels
walking along cobbled streets. The Baghdad on TV was quite different. There were streetlights,
several large multilane roads, and a lot of modern architecture. It could have
been any modern city anywhere. 

Just before dawn in Baghdad, you could hear some loud explosions and see
flashes reflecting off the buildings but the expected "shock and awe"
never came. As the sun shed its light on the city, it looked like early morning
anywhere. You could tell the city, which is normally home to five million
people, had pretty much been deserted yet a few cars were traveling down the
streets and, amazingly enough, a few pedestrians walked by seemingly concerned
about nothing more than getting to work on time.

"I wonder if that guy knows that like 200,000 people are watching
him," my friend said, "Waiting for him to get blown to bits. This is
morbid." She was right. Here we were, along with most of the country, watching
this serene street scene with people going about their business waiting, in some
cases hoping, that we would see their obliteration from planet Earth. 

Why were these people out there? Why were they driving and walking along as
if the day were no more notable than any other? They had to have heard the air
raid sirens and the explosions earlier in the day. Even if they bought the lies
of their evil leader, those detonations had to make them realize that war was
both real and near. Those people  had to know that they were possibly
moments away from being swatted like flies by the laser guided bombs and super
intelligent high explosive kamikaze robots of the most powerful nation in the
history of the world. So how could they act like it was just another day?

She was right. It  was positively morbid to be watching what could have
been the last moments of this ancient city. So, like everyone else, we kept
watching and went to bed disappointed that nothing had happened.



posted by The Pendragon at 3/20/2003 01:33:00 PM

Tempest in a Toilet

I am sitting here wondering at the bizarre collage that makes up the day’s current events. Of course, the big thing on everyone’s mind is the coming war with Iraq. Another very worrisome story is that of the “mystery flu” that is coming out of Asia. We are all glued to the story of a Elizabeth Smart which started as an all too common account of a young girl being kidnapped and, presumably, killed but has turned into a bizarre tale of love and brain washing. Meanwhile, a man is holding Washington DC, the capitol of the greatest and most powerful nation in the history of mankind, at bay with a . . .tractor.

ll of this and more is rocking our world and is certainly worthy of note. However, there is a much greater threat
looming over mankind than madmen with bombs, biological weapons, crazed kidnappers of children, and hostile farm implements. This threat is insidious and threatens almost all of the civilized world. It is not supposed or theorized, it is proven and real. Restrictions, security, and Tom Ridge have no hope of stopping it because it is already here and it has spread into about 95% of American homes.

It is the common toilet

Go ahead, laugh at me. World leaders are not laughing as they meet to discuss the toilet crisis. This crisis does not exist solely in a global scale. Toilets have attacked people in their own homes. They are not only the sites of criminal activity and perversion, they also aid and abet the perpetrators. Saddam may even be involved in one of the high level toilet-related conspiracies. Sadly enough, just like Saddam, toilets have been responsible for mass murder.

We need to take action nowto control this threat. These plumbed terrorists should be strictly confined so they cannot do as much harm. Governments should take a firm hand in controlling them. Support should be offered to those who have been victimized by the  porcelain terrorists.

If we take these steps and maintain a firm hand in dealing with all forms of water closet warfare, these detriments to society may actually become valuable contributors to and vital members of it instead of being conspirators in lawlessness and murder. They can be rehabilitated, they can be used to improve domestic relations, they can champion the cause of equality, and, in the end, they may become the saviors instead of the banes of society.




posted by The Pendragon at 3/19/2003 11:31:00 AM

Spring Has Sprung

It was just two weeks ago that is was so cold you would swear the air itself
was going to solidify and crack. It was just last week that an ice storm hit and
made things into a slippery mess. That's apparently all over now as Spring has
washed over the land like a tidal wave. Out of nowhere it has hgit suddenly and
unexpectedly. 

Everyone has found a  reason to be outside. Up and down the street my
neighbors are cleaning garages, washing cars, or visiting with those so engaged.
I even saw one fellow wistfully working on his lawn mower, yearning for the day
that he can fire it up and do what Saturdays were made for. The roads are packed
with traffic and everywhere the are people. The parkas, hats, and gloves that
were high outdoor fashion just days ago have given way to shorts, tank tops, and
sandals.

We too found reasons to be outside and, just as we were resignedly heading
back home, the mobile phone rang. It was friend asking us if we would like to
come to an impromptu barbecue at Camp Gaea.
Dude, we were there! 

As we entered Camp, we noticed a lot of cars. Someone was having a wedding. I
don't know of a more sacred celebratory rite of Spring but planning an outdoor
wedding during mid-March took a gambler's heart. It could have just as easily
been below freezing with a foot of snow on the ground. Ah, but those in attendance
weren't worried because they simply would not accept that.

As we had arrived first, I got to open up the cabin, which had been sealed up
since the first cold winds blew back in November. As I unlocked the door and
threw it back, the cabin blew out the staleness of the air that had been held
captive for months and breathed deeply of the fresh, sweet air. It felt so good
to swing back the shutters and raise the windows- ah, Camp season again.

Later, as we sat outside under the beauty of the full moon listening to the
celebration still going down at the main hall, we heard a different sort of
party being held in the deep woods. Tree frogs, just a couple of early
risers getting some extra practice in before their fellows and the other
creatures of the night added their whirs, clicks, buzzes, chirps, and other
assorted noises into the cacophony which is the soundtrack for the living
woodlands. As a bass backbeat, an owl hooted and a group of four legged sopranos
joined in with their maniacal barking and howling at the moon.I even had the
first mosquito of the year buzz me. Now where could she possibly have come from.

The fields are still brown and dead. The trees still stand black and naked
with no grass to carpet their domain. However, the message is clear. Life has
had enough of this endless and depressing winter. Regardless of what either the
calendar or the climatological records say, it is now being declared Spring. The
cold and the dark are gone and life is waiting in the wings for the overture to
be played. 

posted by The Pendragon at 3/15/2003 10:18:00 PM

Retro Radioactive

I am a fan of radio personality Howard Stern.
I was listening to the show today and, of course, they were dealing
with some familiar topics. Two comedians were having a feud with each other and
Howard suggested that they bring them both onto the show for a reconciliation to
which Robin (Howard's co-host) replied, "The chances of getting them here
are about the same as getting Bush and Saddam around a peace table."
Throughout the show, there were references to the "current troubled
times" and commercials spoke of the "slow economy"- all of the
doom and gloom stuff you hear anytime you turn on the TV or radio these days.

The thing is, the comedians involved in the dispute were Andrew Dice
Clay  and Sam Kinneson, "Bush" was George Herbert Walker Bush and
the peace talks would have concerned Operation Desert Storm. This was a
"Best Of" show from October of 1990- thirteen years ago yet it could
have been something I was listening to live.

13 years ago, the world situation was pretty close to what it is now.
However, there was not all the panic and despair that we see around us now. I
suppose this difference could be attributed to the trauma of 09/11 but we also
consider that, this decade and some change ago, the Internet had not really
taken off. There was one cable news channel and most folks did not have
it.  We had not endured Bill Clinton as President with all of the
accompanying scandal. It was a different world

Funny, isn't it, how the world can stay so much the same and yet be so
different at the same time? It is interesting how change can have such an impact
yet be so cosmetic. For me, listening to this show was like having a crystal
ball from 1990 to the present and smugly knowing what was going to happen next.
I saw the death of one of the comedians, the resolution to the war, a new
technology that would knit the globe together and horrible tragedy that would
tear it apart. I saw a boom economy where they could not shovel money out fast
enough. I saw everything coming full circle.

I am going to save today's Howard Stern show and hide it safely away. I am
also going to make a note to myself to listen to it in 13 years. I intend to
scientifically and irrefutably prove that, someday, we will look back on all
this and laugh.

posted by The Pendragon at 3/13/2003 06:51:00 PM

Finally

It rained today. Finally, the salt and sand and filth of winter has been
sluiced from the land.

 

posted by The Pendragon at 3/12/2003 08:52:00 PM

Holy Heroes!

I understand that Adam West and Burt Ward- the original Batman and Robin- did
some sort of revival show Sunday. No, I didn't watch it. I also realize that
"Batman" would have to be in his 70's by now and I just don't want to
sully the imagery.

To the World War II generation Superman was all that but for mine, Batman was
the Great American Hero. For one thing, his was the first show for kids that was
1) not animated and 2) did not involve some stuffy adult trying to teach you
things. No, this was heady stuff. A cool car, nasty villains, hot chicks (for
those approaching puberty) and plenty of action. He was James Bond for
Juveniles.

He was a real  hero who had a real impact on our lives. He was on
twice a week. Every Wednesday at 6:30, the streets of kid-dom were deserted as
every eye to young to have a driver's license was glued to the screen, waiting
to see what the evil villain would to to the Caped Crusader and the Boy Wonder
this week. The episode always ended with the Dynamic Duo hopelessly snared in
some impossibly fatal trap. At 7:00 sharp kids flooded into the streets to
discuss the episode with their peers and try to figure out how the intrepid
heroes could extricate themselves. All the next day the schoolyards and
classrooms were filled with the chatter of Batman-iacs talking about and even
reenacting the pervious episode. Then, at 6:30 the following night, every kid
worth his Keds was glued to the tube and, miraculously as always, our heroes extricated
themselves and brought the evil doers to justice with a few well placed BIFFS!
and POWS!

Batman was not only the inspiration for our imaginations, he was also the
center of our social hierarchy. We all had our capes and cowls, but the pecking
order changed according to who had the coolest Batman "credentials."
When the Batman movie came out, we envied Mikey because he conned his folks into
going to see it the first weekend while the rest of us had to keep working on
convincing the folks for several more.

"Guys! You ought to see what happens to the Penguin!"

"What, Mikey, what? TELL US?"

"Oh, you'll find out." That sneer in his voice made me want to
knock him down and force him to tell all under threat of a snuggy. His reign
ended, as he had to know it would, when we had all seen the movie.

My own fifteen minutes of Batman oriented fame came when I finally got Dad to
allow me to play in the old Chevy that was parked in the drive. *I* owned a
Batmobile (of course Steve's dad's friend's brother knew the guy that made the real
Batmobile, but we had all heard such claims before). Sadly, I too was toppled
when Larry (even that name exudes a sickening evil- Larry) moved into the
neighborhood. This, this, new kid and his family had the audacity to own a color
TV. Larry was the last and greatest of the Batman society Caesars. It was
immediately agreed upon that the only way to watch Batman was in color- it gave
enormous bragging rights over the other kids at school- so it was very expedient
to stay on Larry's good side.

Of course, once one person in the neighborhood had a color TV, all of the
keepers uppers with Joneses had to get one too. Not too long after that, the
people who made Batman ruined it first by making three part episodes
(blasphemy!) and then by adding that stupid Bat Girl. Once the girls thought
they could play with us the thrill was gone.

I heard someone interviewing Adam West recently and they asked him if, aside
from his roles in a few B movies, he regretted being typecast as Batman. He said
it didn't. He said it felt good to know that he had such an impact on the
children of America. You know, I am thinking that, at the height of his
popularity when he was going to all of those Hollywood parties with a dozen
babes on each arm, he really didn't think much about kids like me and my buddies
who has made him our god. He really has no concept of who and what he was to
every American boy whoever fired a cap gun or did tricks with a yoyo.

He was the ultimate in goodness, altruism, and justice. There was no evil he
could not overcome and no threat he could not defuse. We slept well at night
knowing that the Caped Crusader and the Boy Wonder stood guard over us.

posted by The Pendragon at 3/11/2003 08:53:00 PM

Monday-ne

I think it is pretty much universally agreed that Monday sucks. Sucks so bad,
in fact, that it has been the subject of stories and legend. Of course this
feeling stems from Monday being the first day back from the freedom of the
weekend. It is the day that reality slaps us in the face and we realize that the
languishing in La-Z-Boy with beer in hand is at an end and now it's back to the
swivel chair and the bad workplace coffee.

Does Monday deserve this treatment? Were Monday added to the
weekend, Tuesday would become the target of all that animosity and even more
because, greedy things that we are, we would resent even more the ending of a
three-day weekend. The weekend used to consist only of Sunday. In
fact, when the Santa Fe Railroad suggested
that Saturday become an additional day of rest, not only did some employees
laugh at the idea, some actually became enraged thinking the company was
"up to something." You can bet those stalwart pioneers were glad to
see Monday roll around again. I mean, after all, there was no cable or malls
back then. What else was there to do?

On the other end of the spectrum there is Friday. Everybody loves Friday
simply because it is the enticing prelude to the weekend. It's not like Friday
is better than any other day. Bad things happen on Friday like, well, Black
Friday. However our daily prejudices won't allow us to see this. Monday is bad
and Friday is good and all just because of which side of Saturday and Sunday
they happen to be on.

Monday can be good. You can get out of a meeting early and find yourself with
two unexpected hours to waste on a sunny afternoon.

posted by The Pendragon at 3/10/2003 05:37:00 PM

Alma Prognatus

I am quite proud of late, and with good reason. My son is completing his
Senior year of high school and is going through all the preliminaries of
entering college later this year. Any parent who's child makes it this far has
the right to be proud, but that is not why I am proud. He got an amazing 33 on
his ACT which put him in the top 3% nationwide and earned him a nice scholarship
and admittance to his choice of schools, but that is not why I am proud. 
He has already earned an additional scholarship and it looks like paying for
college won't be scary at all, but that's not why I am proud.

I am proud because my son has chosen to attend my alma mater. It is so cool
that, out of all the places that are clamoring for him, he chose the same
institution that I attended. I like to think that it was not just because of the
great academic program there or the fact that the particular school he wishes to
attend has gained national acclaim. I like to tell myself  it was because
of him hearing my wistful ramblings and my electrifying nostalgic accounts of
what my life was like when I went there and wanting to experience such wonder
himself. You see, he gets this opportunity about once a year as we have occasion
to pass through this college town on our travels. 

You could almost hear his eyes rolling as I pulled off the road saying,
"Let me show you where I went to school." After that came an
hour of having to endure my pointing at buildings and rambling on about events
they had to no way of relating and people whom they had never and never would
meet. Then, mercifully, my nostalgic urges sated and my companion staring on in
trivia-induced stupefaction, we would continue our voyage. I was actually
astonished that he chose this university- I would think he  had enough of
it.

This last trip through that town was different. For one thing, we stopped. My
son and I had left early that morning and driven down there so that he could
attend an interview for a possible scholarship plus participate in some other
"please go to school here" activities. At first it was exhilarating. I
had promised myself earlier that, since this was my son's day, I would not spend
it forcing him to relive my memories. Inside, the memories swept me away like a
river. Colleges are weird places. They are both cutting edge and timeless, avant-garde
and ancient. In some ways they are dynamic and in others they never change. As I
walked toward the Union again, all the intervening years since I had left simply
disappeared into the ether.

That was where I watched my first eclipse. Over there was where I picked a
copy of a the student paper. That's the place we would eat pizza, drink beer,
and argue about the ills of the world late into the night. Here was where I met
Shelly, there was where we used to study until late into the night, and right
there is the last place we held each other before she left for the summer and
out of my life forever. The steps over there was where I met Laurie and
everything beautiful again. The time warp sucked me in and it was just as if I
could look up to see a couple of my buddies coming toward me. I could here one
asking, "Hey man, we found about this great kegger tonight. Lots of beer
and lots a hot girls. Wanna go?"  

"Dad?" Suddenly, I was reeled into the present. My son stood before
me. The realization that those people and experiences were from a lifetime ago
hit me in the chest like a ball bat. "Dad, I am done, wanna go?"

No, son, I don't wanna go. I really can't understand why I ever wanted to
leave in the first place. College was pure living, stretching and exercising the
mind, the body, and the soul to their deepest core. It was the ideal life
balanced with stimulation and happy bliss, of grave seriousness and wild animal
behavior. I should never have left and now I deeply regret having done so. Did I
ever really want a job, a wife, and 2.5 kids? How stupid was I? Things
were so perfect here.

I looked around me. These were not the same people I went to school with.
Their clothes were different and many of the had piercings and tattoos. I saw
the bookstore was now the "Student Success Center" and wondered when
that happened. It was as if I had just woken from a coma.

"Yeah, let's go. It's not like we won't be back." On the way home,
I did indulge myself. I found a radio station that played some of the music from
my "college days" and replayed my fondest memories on the way home. My
son was sleeping soundly in the passenger seat, recovering from the trauma at
being up before 5:00 AM, so I was uninterrupted in my reverie.

Everyone says that college is the best four years of your life and I
understand why they feel that way. This was the time after you left the
"overbearing bullying" of your parents yet were not yet responsible to
a spouse or a boss. These were the days you were only responsible to yourself,
when some faceless entity saw to it that the bills were paid, and when you did
not even have to clean your room unless you wanted to have a girl over. It was
the time all children dream of when you could stay up as late as you wished, eat
whatever and whenever you wanted, and to play with whichever "toys"
you chose. We did not realize how great we had it then. Now we yearn to escape
the stress and pressure of being a responsible adult and go back to the days
where the biggest worries were getting that paper done by Monday and finding out
where the best party was next weekend.

That's why people say these are the best years of your life. I am lucky that
I can relive my college days surreptitiously through my son. Well, if not, at
least I can find more excuses to be nostalgic.

posted by The Pendragon at 3/09/2003 03:10:00 PM

Escape!

One thing I know about babies is that they are impatient, and this one was.
He came out from under that china hutch like a shot- and went right to the
kitchen and disappeared under the stove. A flash of gray and that was it. We
stood in the kitchen and asked each other what to do. The only possible answers
were to move the stove or to wait. We opted for more waiting. I figured that
either curiosity or hunger would get to him, he would come out of hiding, and I
would have him He must have fallen asleep because I did not see or hear him for
the rest of that evening.

The first problem presented itself the next morning. We have a tradition of
Sunday breakfast together and that morning's menu included freshly baked
biscuits. If the little fellow were somehow trapped in the stove and the oven
was turned on, well, the implications are obvious. Hungry family vs. barbecued
rat. I gritted my teeth and turned it on. Thankfully, nothing seemed to be
cooking but the biscuits.

The second issue was that of an insurrection from some other family members.
The first of these  were of the race Mustela putorius furo, which
translates into "Smelly mouse killing thief"- what better name for the
ferret? I have two of them and they were becoming very pissed. Two pairs of eyes
glared at me accusingly from behind their bars. They knew it was the weekend and
that it was supposed to be out of the cage playtime because the people
were around. Why were they being unjustly confined? Of course it was because
they would hunt the little rat down and kill it. It's what they do. In
order  to adhere to my strict "No Killing" policy among family
members, I had no choice but to incarcerate the innocent. However I could not do
so forever. I had to set a deadline in my head- Rand had one more day to show
himself or else.

I carefully monitored the house for rat sign for the rest of the day-
nothing. I stayed up late, after everyone had gone to bed, in order to sit in
the silence, hoping the quiet would coax him out and listening for any sign of
movement. Finally the hour grew late and I grew weary and I had to go to bed. On
the way, I paused at the rat cage. A little white muzzle poked up at me. Zaphod,
a youngster himself, was clearly confused by what had happened. Where was the
little rat? Did I lose another friend?

As I left the house the next morning, I knew what I had to do. I could not
have a little rat running loose in the house and becoming a big rat. I would
have to let the ferrets out that evening and, unless he was very lucky, Rand was
going to be lunch

In an eleventh hour move, the suspect surrendered himself. Coming home from
work, my wife opened the coat closet to find Rand sitting on the rows of
hangers, right at eye level. He submitted without a fight and was reportedly
relieved when he was returned to his cage. He was FREE ( as far as he knew) why
would he just suddenly come back? It could have been hunger and thirst. Those
have returned more than one wannabe runaway. 

I don't know though. If I was Rand I would have felt suddenly very small and
insignificant. In one leap he went form the coddled, warm, well fed pet to an
outcast. From his view of the world, it was if he had ceased to exist and life
went on around him without noticing the loss. No one talked to him, no one fed
him, no one acknowledged his existence. I really think that  Rand deciding
to climb up the coats and place himself at eye-level was his tiny way of saying
"Please notice me."

Brer rat is no dimwit.

posted by The Pendragon at 3/07/2003 06:54:00 PM

Programming note: I still cannot get the e-mail link that is
supposed to be in the banner above to appear. Until I can find either someone
who can fix it or a service that works, feel free to e-mail me at
pendragonsloft@yahoo.com

Escape!

Among the species represented in the Loft's menagerie is Rattus norvegicus,
the common rat. As far as caged animals go, you cannot beat a rat. They are
extremely intelligent and, unlike dimwitted hamsters forever running in circles,
they actually interact with you. They run to the side of the cage when you enter
the room. They respond to their names. Mine even bang the water bottle against
the side of the cage if my son forgets to fill it.

Brer rat is an interesting fellow but, unfortunately, his time on this Earth
is limited. We lost one of our rats about a week ago and, after the somber
ceremony in the woods we know all to well, we went to buy another rat. When I
buy my rats, I don't go to Petco or Petland where they are seen as someone's
cuddly pet. I go to the snake store where these wonderful creatures are actually
kept in bins because they are only thought of as food. In buying my rats there,
I get the warm feeling that I have saved a life and can beam at my magnanimity
every time it is my turn to clean the cage. 

The new rat is a very young gray, just a few weeks old. He is about three
inches long at looks more like a super sized mouse than a rat. We like to
socialize our young rats so we can play with them rather than get bitten when
they are older. In line with this effort, my wife was doing some work in the
kitchen with young Rand (she named him after Ayn Rand) riding on her shoulder.
Our oldest ferret often accompanies her in this manner, wrapping around her neck
and lazily observing her efforts as she cleans or does the laundry.
Unfortunately, she forgot the brer rat is not laid back. He is both
amazingly athletic and undauntedly fearless. From the comparative height of a 20
story building, he leapt.

My first indication was a blood curdling scream. I leapt to the kitchen
thinking I would discover some part of her anatomy had been hacked off in the
food processor. She explained to me what had happened and pointed to where young
Rand had taken refuge. Out of all the furniture in the house, he had to pick the
one piece that he could get under yet that could not be lifted or easily moved-
our sold wood china cabinet. Sucker must weigh 400 pounds.

I lay on the floor at one end while my wife laid at the other. I could see
his beady black eyes peering at me from just outside of my reach. As I crooned
and sweetly tried to coax him out, I weighed my options. I could try to grab him
but, he was so tiny that one miscalculation could end up with him getting badly
hurt. Did I want dead baby innards all over my hand burning an indelible
traumatic memory into my mind?

I decided to wait.  

posted by The Pendragon at 3/06/2003 08:29:00 PM

Gray

Believe it or not. there are those days in which profundity is absent. Days
where nothing excites and nothing inspires. Days like today. 

The lack of sunlight drained all color from the world turning it into a gray-tone photograph
of its better fellows. The cold seemed to drain the energy out of everything.
Everyone I met today seemed downcast and not a single bird visited the feeder.

Just a dull gray day suitable only for sleeping and dreaming the sweet dreams of
summer.

posted by The Pendragon at 3/05/2003 07:29:00 PM

Waterblogged

It's not that I am a Luddite. I am, in fact, quite the techy. I have a
several computers (even a laptop), a PDA, a web-enabled cell phone, I record
music on Minidisc, and I have all sorts of audio and video equipment
with the corresponding abundance of remote controls.The problem is not that I hate technology, the problem
is that technology seems to hate me.

As I noted in my very first piece, the idea of being able to formulate my
ideas and then be able to cast them to the Universe with a single push of a
button was most appealing. However, as always seems to be the case, life in
cyber space is never as simple as it should be. No sooner were the first pixels
illuminated by my words, than the helpful suggestions started rolling in.

 You need to add an e-mail link. You should  link your web site to
your blog. Real bloggers use this provider You need a place for
comments. Here is some software to help you out. Everyone was suddenly just
overflowing with great suggestions and helpful hints.

Uh huh. See the new e-mail link up there? FOUR HOURS! I am told that this is
like the easiest thing you can put on a website and it took me four hours to do
it. First it would not appear, then it moved everything else down a line,
finally, it decided to be orange. Not black like its complacent fellows, no. It
had to be bright blaze orange. Don't ask me, I have no idea why. I checked the
code, I verified it against my provider's tech support information, I even
copied it to an HTML editor. By all indications, it was fine. It looked exactly
like the other links but, no, it had to be orange.

Then, suddenly for no apparent reason, it decided to be black. Now it is gone again.
Look in the code and wou will see it there as plain as day. It simply refuses to work

My website is stranded on a sick computer that lets you go through the
endless agony of logging in and, when you click on an icon, it maliciously
reboots itself. It can play this game all evening long. The provider for
"real" bloggers is not accepting new accounts. I can barely get my own
stuff on here, let alone those of my readers. When that "helpful"
software started out wanting to know where "Perl" was, well,
that  frightened me so badly I accidentally deleted the installation file.
As you can see quite clearly, technology hates me.

I learned long ago when I traded typewriter ribbon and correction fluid for
the cool, friendly glow of word processing that I was going to have to endure the sweet
sadness of unrequited technological love and I have come to accept that. So I
set aside entire afternoons. I gird myself in the armor of resolution, take up
the sword of determination, and heft the shield of purpose. Then, I close the
door to the Loft so the rest of the family will not be singed by the language I
am about to use and I attack whatever dragon the whirling electrons decide to
invoke against me.

Some day this will be the bloggers blog. It will comments and links galore.
The visitor will  pictures and hear  MP3's and all of the things a
good blog should have. I just ask for a little patience in your part.

Okay, a lot.

 

posted by The Pendragon at 3/04/2003 04:47:00 PM

Just Say "Wait a minute!"

Having a teenager in my home, I am occasionally forced to endure what passes
for MTV these days. If you have not watched it lately, the meaning of the
"M" has changed from "music" to "morality." While they may
not quite be to the point of fire and brimstone, they take at least one
opportunity at each commercial break to preach about how tobacco companies are
out to do us all in for profit, the evils of drinking, and the Russian Roulette
of having sex. They have become cable enabled nagging mothers. 

The worst of all these moral diatribes surrounds drugs. The spots tend to
focus on marijuana. And, oh what spots they are! They put both "Reefer
Madness" and the famous pot episode of "Dragnet"  (the one
where the people get high and the baby drowns in the bathtub) to shame. We have
a choice of several little rotating vignettes. 

The most innocuous of them is where the couple finds out they are going to be
the "youngest grandparents in town" because little Mary smoked pot and
it "impaired her judgment." It is responsible for most of the evil in
the world as the intellectual discourse in the "drugs support
terrorism" ad reveals. 

If you are of the type who does not pick up on such subtleties, we have a
couple of messages that get directly to the point. In one, a group of teenagers
in car so filled with smoke that it would choke Cheech and Chong comes roaring
out of a drive through and nails a kid on a bicycle. In the other, two pals are
talking in daddy's study when one picks up the loaded pistol that has been
thoughtfully left on the desk and blow his friend's head off. "Heh heh heh.
Is this loaded?" BANG! The screen goes black. "Pot, it's worse than we
thought" intones the somber voiced announcer. 

After all of this, there can be no argument. Drugs are bad, m-kay? 

I know of a woman who has cancer of a very painful sort. In the all too
typical unfairness of life, she is young woman with a school-aged son and a baby
to tend to.  Her pain is debilitating and the nausea she suffers is
sometimes so bad that death seems to her to be the better option. She can't
work, of course, and she has a lot of medical bills, so theirs is a single
income family of very humble means. She is beholden to our form of Socialized Medicine
and gets only those crumbs of medical care they care to brush her way. She needs
powerful pain medicine but the state has declared itself more knowledgeable than
her doctor and will only give her about 75% of what she needs. I guess they feel
it is okay to wracked with pain 25% of the time. What medication she does manage
to get makes her sick as strong narcotics tend to do so her choice is to hurt or
to live by the toilet.

She has to take care of her family. If she is sick or in pain she can't do
that. But she can't afford to take up the slack in Medicaid, not if she wants
her family to eat. So what does she do? She smokes pot. It makes the pain
somewhat more tolerable and extends the life of the approved meds. In addition,
it is the only thing that quells the constant nausea and makes her able to
function. Taking advantage of the drug economy is the only way she can afford to
buy her herbal medication but one has to do what one has to do. Without access
to marijuana, this woman would be unable to care for her children (and would
probably lose them to some faceless state agency) and she would have to live in
abject pain and sickness.

These moralists that are so set in their little vendettas that they 
spread their own kind of terror sicken me. They seem to forget that, when they
paint things with their broad "holier than thou" brushes, innocent
people get hurt. It is nothing short of evil the way people engaged in this
harmless activity are painted as immoral whores, supporters of terror, and
murderers. Is my friend immoral  for wanting to care for her kids? Is she
supporting terrorism by taking the only means available to her to quell her
pain? Is she a murderer for wanting to live what life she has left as
comfortably and profitably as she can?

There is a HUGE difference between the pregnant girl, the supporter of
terror, the killer driver, the homicidal buddy, and my friend. The first four
are nothing but characters in a fictional story but  my friend is a real
person living a real life.


posted by The Pendragon at 3/03/2003 04:52:00 PM

Here is an article from the column:

That's Me in the Corner

The holidays are over now. This is the time of year that we go from barreling full tilt through shopping, 

parties, opening gifts, and social occasions into the seemingly motionless doldrums of the post Yule 

season. With nothing to do but wistfully look out the window and wait for the first glimpse of spring, 

what better time is there to be introspective and to think about what you believe and why you believe 

it? This has been on my mind a lot lately. I suppose it is part of my nature to constantly question the 

intangibles and to endlessly reevaluate everything I take "on faith." Primary among these is my 

religion. 

I have always been a spiritual nomad. I wandered the desert of xianity for years, looking for an oasis to 

quench the thirst I had to contact something on a higher plain that might lead me to my higher self. I 

found the waters to be fouled with the idea I was something unclean. I had come for actualization not 

sublimation, so I moved on. Buddhism had some appeal in its esoteric view of the Universe but it was 

"Don't be yourself," which was the antithesis of what I sought. So, once more, I pulled up my tent 

stakes and set out for a new land. Wicca was my next enticement and what an enticement it was. The 

verdant green of magick and the cool breezes of self-reliance seemed to be the path I was looking for. 

The only problem was, the path not go far enough. 

So here I am, trapped in this weird kind of twilight world of religion. If you ask me what my religion is 

I might answer, vaguely, I am a Pagan. But what does that mean? Ah, there's the rub. Is Paganism even 

a religion?

As I mull this over while sipping my mulled cider, my conclusion tends toward "no." When I look to a 

religion, I look first for its ideals. In xianity, the ideal is to become like their god. In Buddhism, it is to 

escape the bounds of material existence and find Nirvana. 

Paganism has no such ideals. It has no lofty goal of turning flesh and blood into clones of the gods. 

There are no aspirations of overcoming and escaping the human circumstance. Rather, it merely says, 

"This is life. Live it as you best see fit." 

As you best see fit? Why, this runs contrary to the very idea of religion itself! Religion presumes that 

we need guidance and direction. It seeks to set goals for us to attain if we wish to become something 

better. Of course, this is based on the assumption that, in our current state, we are something that is not 

to be desired.

What if none of this is true? Has anyone ever really moved up a notch on the scale of sentient beings by 

following the mandates of a religion? From what I can see, it is all directed toward something that 

happens after you leave this mortal plain. This is all very well and good except that I want something 

that produces results now. I want to be happy living my present life, not wasting it pursuing some carrot 

on a stick into the next world.

Which brings us back to Paganism. I now see religion as an evolutionary process. We use it to explore 

and investigate our spiritual nature, looking for the one thing that resonates within us and allows us to 

know our place in the Universe. 

As Webster sees it, a Pagan is "one who has little or no religion and who delights in sensual pleasures 

and material goods: an irreligious or hedonistic person." Perhaps he is right. Or perhaps the Pagan is 

the one who has the ultimate religion in that he has joyously discovered that the meaning of life and the 

source of fulfillment has been there in the mirror all along.

posted by The Pendragon at 3/02/2003 09:58:00 AM

Poop of the Gods

As anyone who knows me well can testify, I hate snow. In fact, I refer to it
as the "poop of the gods" and it is well deserved. My hatred of this
nasty substance is partially because I favor vehicles that do not perform so
well on slick roads but mostly it is because of the nature of the stuff. Snow
possesses to two worst characteristics of matter: it is cold and it is wet. I
fully realize that rain is also cold and wet but I don't hate rain because rain
is more honest. It falls, you get wet or you don't, it goes away, and it is
over. Snow is more insidious. It falls but it stays. Even worse, it can adapt
itself to whatever form will cause the most discomfort. 

On the roads, it is a frozen substance sworn to reduce the coefficient of
friction between you tires and the road and to release the kinetic energy between
your car and the one in front of it. But when you get it on your hands or down
your collar, it suddenly decides to become mere water so it can burrow and
inflict its coldness in a most painful manner. No exudate in the realm of mere
mortality could have such a hateful personality thus it is the poop of the gods.

Today is March- the month Spring begins in- first and it is snowing. One
would think after the Winter many have endured, the weather would have the decency
to recognize this fact. It is not such a bad snow, though. It is that fat heavy
snow that falls straight down and very fast like each flake is racing the others
to avoid becoming the "rotten egg." It coats the grass with a veil of
white and looks gorgeous falling through the naked trees of the woods across
from the loft but it is kind enough not to stick to the streets or the cars so
problems of sliding and having to scrape are avoided.

It seems to be an apologetic snow, a wistful snow, a snow that realizes its
season is about to end. It is like Winter's good-bye.

posted by The Pendragon at 3/01/2003 03:11:00 PM