Lady Wisdom Gives a Dinner Party
The Casual Cynic
I have spent the past couple of weeks trying something new. A friend gave me a copy of the Message this past Christmas, and I have been reading its version of the Proverbs. I found them to be very amusing and at the same time quite effective. It was like reading a letter from my Grandfather. They are very down to earth and express the truths in an incredibly matter-of-fact way. While I would not delve too deaply into theology with this book, it is interesting what a little rearrangment of style does. Here are some of my more amusing favorites.
On work:
Make hay while the sun shines - that's smart; go fishing during harvest - that's stupid.
On wealth:
The rich can be sued for everything they have - but the poor are free of such threats.
Banks foreclose on the farms of the poor, or else the poor lose their shirts to crooked lawyers.
On wisdom and the fool:
The wise accumulate wisdom; fools get stupider by the day.
Knowledge flows like spring water from the wise; fools are leaky faucets, dripping nonsense.
A quiet rebuke to a person of good sense does more than a whack on the head of a fool.
The words of a fool start fights; do him a favor and gag him.
And finally:
To ask a moron to quote a proverb is like putting a scalpel in the hands of a drunk.
Thursday, March 20, 2003
Weapons of War
Rants and Delusions
It has been a while since the last post. Most of the blame falls on the weather. It has been far too nice outside to sit in front of my computer inside, and I have been to lazy to actually unplug all the appendages and actually use the laptop for its intended purpose - mobility. I need to get me one of those cordless network things so I can take my house's DSL to places that are worth sitting to write.
Despite my failure to write, the world continues to turn. We have declared war on a nation. "Operation Iraqi Freedom," I think it is called. I watched the news for a couple of hours last night to see what would happen. It appears as though there could have been a chance to end the war before it started with an early decapitation attempt that ultimately failed. It is indeed a different time when it is altogether possible to turn on CNN in the morning and find the world a completely different place. I haven't done it yet this morning. Some things I prefer not to know until I am fully awake. Some things I prefer not to know, ever.
I remember the first time we made a push towards Bagdad. I was all of 11 years old. I watched the Iraqi anti-aicraft fire from TV and tried to comprehend all that was going on. I don't think an 11 year old ever understands the fullness of war. I don't think a 23 year old does either. Or a 99 year old for that matter. About that time in my life I had a couple of posters of F-14's on my wall. I loved those planes. My father didn't. He was and is a pacifist and we had a couple of conversations about those scraps of paper. I loved the power that they possessed, the ability to take off from a bobbing flight deck, fly faster than anything a preteen could imagine, and slam back home after a successful flight. My father told of stories of listening to planes fly overhead during the cold war heading toward some missile crisis with some sort of bomb that would bring an end to civilization as we knew it. He spoke of the fear it evoked. I couldn't understand that.
Perhaps that is the biggest difference between us. My father is still afraid to fly. I watched the F-18E Superhornets take off last night and wished it were me in the cockpit being hurled out over the water. I love the machine. Both of us hate the destruction to humanity they can cause. Were that me in the cockpit my enjoyment would end with the release of munitions. War is not a training excercise. It is not Top Gun. It has real and devestating consequences.
War, as horrible as it is, is also sometimes necessary. I haven't made up my mind about this one yet. I guess the only way to know for sure is to look at the life of an Iraqi 10 years from now and see if we made the difference we now hope we can. My hats off to all those over there right now doing all they can, each in their own capacity, to somehow make the world a bit better. That is the only way this thing can be successful.
Rants and Delusions
It has been a while since the last post. Most of the blame falls on the weather. It has been far too nice outside to sit in front of my computer inside, and I have been to lazy to actually unplug all the appendages and actually use the laptop for its intended purpose - mobility. I need to get me one of those cordless network things so I can take my house's DSL to places that are worth sitting to write.
Despite my failure to write, the world continues to turn. We have declared war on a nation. "Operation Iraqi Freedom," I think it is called. I watched the news for a couple of hours last night to see what would happen. It appears as though there could have been a chance to end the war before it started with an early decapitation attempt that ultimately failed. It is indeed a different time when it is altogether possible to turn on CNN in the morning and find the world a completely different place. I haven't done it yet this morning. Some things I prefer not to know until I am fully awake. Some things I prefer not to know, ever.
I remember the first time we made a push towards Bagdad. I was all of 11 years old. I watched the Iraqi anti-aicraft fire from TV and tried to comprehend all that was going on. I don't think an 11 year old ever understands the fullness of war. I don't think a 23 year old does either. Or a 99 year old for that matter. About that time in my life I had a couple of posters of F-14's on my wall. I loved those planes. My father didn't. He was and is a pacifist and we had a couple of conversations about those scraps of paper. I loved the power that they possessed, the ability to take off from a bobbing flight deck, fly faster than anything a preteen could imagine, and slam back home after a successful flight. My father told of stories of listening to planes fly overhead during the cold war heading toward some missile crisis with some sort of bomb that would bring an end to civilization as we knew it. He spoke of the fear it evoked. I couldn't understand that.
Perhaps that is the biggest difference between us. My father is still afraid to fly. I watched the F-18E Superhornets take off last night and wished it were me in the cockpit being hurled out over the water. I love the machine. Both of us hate the destruction to humanity they can cause. Were that me in the cockpit my enjoyment would end with the release of munitions. War is not a training excercise. It is not Top Gun. It has real and devestating consequences.
War, as horrible as it is, is also sometimes necessary. I haven't made up my mind about this one yet. I guess the only way to know for sure is to look at the life of an Iraqi 10 years from now and see if we made the difference we now hope we can. My hats off to all those over there right now doing all they can, each in their own capacity, to somehow make the world a bit better. That is the only way this thing can be successful.
Tuesday, March 04, 2003
The Golden Rule In Action
Spare Parts and Leftover Screws
I guess it was only a matter of time until an FBI Plane is Mistaken For Terrorists
Spare Parts and Leftover Screws
I guess it was only a matter of time until an FBI Plane is Mistaken For Terrorists
Captive Across Texas
The Casual Cynic
I spent the weekend, and much of the past week for that matter, traveling around the state of Texas. Most of it was done from a sterile veiwpoint of thousands of feet above the landscape, but this weekend I had the chance to traverse the countryside the old way. I drove. There is much to be seen and heard on a trip to the southern portion of the state. The trip to San Antonio did much to reinforce the notion that Texas is an entity all of its own. Perhaps the most persuasive argument for this conclusion is the sounds that can be heard across the airwaves.
I grew tired of my selection of CDs and decided to try something I hadn't done in a while. Timidly I punched the "scan" button on my radio. First there was nothing but the standard worn-out, classic rock and whining country music coming out of my speakers. Then there was something that caught my ear. Something I had never heard before. I listened wondering what in the world was going on. How can someone write something so spastic, so unusual, so ... "interesting." The song finished and the DJ explained that his station, 104.something - "The Ranch," played the very best in...Big Band, Western, Swing. Wow. This was definitely a new experience. I decided to stick around and check out this mutation of music, and found myself questioning, "If you're so smart, how come you ain't rich." It sounded like Marty Robbins suddenly woke up wearing a zuet suite and playing a trombone. The selection was followed by the financial advise, "You gotta sell them chickens (before they die, and the eggs before they hatch.)" I didn't know what to do. Should I break out in a swing move or a two-step. Fortunately I was strapped to my seat and the steering wheel kept me from getting to crazy, and I had to settle on pointing at the stereo and laughing like Nelson, the bully on the Simpsons. It made me want to find a hip holster for my tommy gun. It was like flagpole sitting at a rodeo. It was crazy. It entertained all the way from Corsicana to Temple. Texas truely is a state like no other.
The Casual Cynic
I spent the weekend, and much of the past week for that matter, traveling around the state of Texas. Most of it was done from a sterile veiwpoint of thousands of feet above the landscape, but this weekend I had the chance to traverse the countryside the old way. I drove. There is much to be seen and heard on a trip to the southern portion of the state. The trip to San Antonio did much to reinforce the notion that Texas is an entity all of its own. Perhaps the most persuasive argument for this conclusion is the sounds that can be heard across the airwaves.
I grew tired of my selection of CDs and decided to try something I hadn't done in a while. Timidly I punched the "scan" button on my radio. First there was nothing but the standard worn-out, classic rock and whining country music coming out of my speakers. Then there was something that caught my ear. Something I had never heard before. I listened wondering what in the world was going on. How can someone write something so spastic, so unusual, so ... "interesting." The song finished and the DJ explained that his station, 104.something - "The Ranch," played the very best in...Big Band, Western, Swing. Wow. This was definitely a new experience. I decided to stick around and check out this mutation of music, and found myself questioning, "If you're so smart, how come you ain't rich." It sounded like Marty Robbins suddenly woke up wearing a zuet suite and playing a trombone. The selection was followed by the financial advise, "You gotta sell them chickens (before they die, and the eggs before they hatch.)" I didn't know what to do. Should I break out in a swing move or a two-step. Fortunately I was strapped to my seat and the steering wheel kept me from getting to crazy, and I had to settle on pointing at the stereo and laughing like Nelson, the bully on the Simpsons. It made me want to find a hip holster for my tommy gun. It was like flagpole sitting at a rodeo. It was crazy. It entertained all the way from Corsicana to Temple. Texas truely is a state like no other.