Photography

When I was growing up, I wanted to be an artist.  I wanted to paint stunning landscapes, the kind where the viewer asks themselves, “Is that a photograph?”  Then I learned I could produce even more realistic images by just taking photographs.  In an effort to improve my skills, I signed up for the Photography 101 wait list at my local community college.  I was worried I would not get in the class, but then all three people in front of me were hospitalized after the same balloon accident.

Our first assignment was to take a landscape photograph in our local area and show it to the class.  I decided to take a few photos of Mount Rainier, which was clearly visible from just about anywhere.  Unfortunately, it turned out the zoom was broken on my camera, so I decided to drive closer to the mountain.  My car was overdue for an oil change, but I always waited until the oil burned away, refilling it when the light turned on, so I was not concerned.

I left the city in my tan 1990 Ford Tempo, my camera belted into the passenger seat, and headed south to Mount Rainier National Park.  Due to my crippling fear of freeways, I spent several hours on country roads, passing through farmland and forest.  At one point in my journey, I nearly hit four cows and a small horse before realizing I had left the road and was driving in a field.

Not far from the park border, I ran out of gas for the first time on the trip.  It was a long walk to the nearest town, and there was not much chance of catching a ride in the middle of the forest.  I walked along the road in the early afternoon, enjoying the rain that had started the moment my car had stopped.  As I rounded a bend, the mountain was before me in all its majesty, towering over the forest like a mighty king of old.  My camera was in my car, where I had left it strapped into the passenger seat, so I continued on my quest for gasoline.

I arrived in town an hour or so later and purchased a gas can and two gallons of gasoline.  I did not feel comfortable asking anyone for a ride, so I walked back to my car.  The return journey took considerably longer, as the can was heavy, and I was out of shape.  I had not been to a gym since my first attempt at college, when I would spend an hour a week reading a magazine while sitting on a weight bench.

The keys were on the front seat of the car, but I had left the window open just enough to grab the keys with a hooked stick and push them onto the floor.  This had not been my intention.  As the rain continued to pour, I tried all the door handles and attempted to hit the unlock button with more sticks.  Finally, with a word of apology to my faithful car, I shattered a back window with a rock.  After pulling away any shards of glass, I crawled through the window and over the seat.  Digging through the small forest of sticks, I found my keys, which had slipped through a small hole in the floor and onto the ground below.  The hole was inherited from the previous owner, who had jumped the car into a rock pile.

I emptied the gas can into the tank, started the car, and was on my way.  Without further mishap, I reached the gate to the park.  I had left my park pass in my other jacket, but thanks to a wrong turn down the exit road at the gate, I managed to bypass the pay station.

Navigating the winding roads up to the mountain has always been a bit difficult for me, but thankfully I had my insurance card, and the damage to the other vehicle was slight.  I was now missing a headlight, but there were several hours of daylight left, and I still needed my photograph.

Not far from the Longmire lodge, I found the perfect spot.  The peak of the mountain stood against a patch of pure blue sky, the snow shining in the light of the afternoon sun.  I grabbed my camera out of the passenger seat, but when I tried to take a photograph, I realized there was no memory card in the camera.  I began rummaging around in the back seat, tossing aside my backpack, the jacket with my park pass in it, a few unpaid bills, and a dozen cheeseburger wrappers, before I found the card plugged into my laptop, under an old pair of boots.

I loaded the memory card into the camera and took one of the most amazing photographs anyone has ever taken.  After confirming the picture of my car was in focus, I took another photograph, this time of the mountain.  My quest had been a success, though there was still the small matter of getting home.

Leaving the park was easy enough, but I ran out of gas again several miles from the gate.  I had left the previous gas can by the side of the road as a gift to some future traveler, so after my walk to town, I had to buy yet another can.  After emptying the can into the tank, I drove to town and filled up the tank the rest of the way, something I had neglected to do the first time.

I headed north without further mishap, aside from the incident with the moose and the drapery, but that is a story for another day.

Conservatives, Environmentalism, and the Future

American conservatives have an uneasy relationship with the environmental movement. Maybe someday I'll do an in-depth research project on when and how this tension started, but this is a blog post, people, not a college paper. I haven't had to type up a Works Cited page in years. Do they still use MLA format in those fancy schools?

You know how it is, every time we have Earth Day or the Hour of Darkness or whatever environmental commemoration (I'm partial to the Three Days of Darkness, when the true pope will appear and all five genuine real authentic Catholics will be saved from the horrors that await; I'm out because I have a fondness for the rock and roll, but that's a side note). Liberals will make some token effort to save the Earth, like turning off their lights for an hour and navigating by the glow of their iPhones. Conservatives will respond by cranking the engine on their 90,000 horsepower SUV's and then dumping a million gallons of diesel fuel into the nearest lake. It's like, "Ha, stupid liberals; I will undo your pathetic gesture and then some."

Part of this is that many on the left are so easily aggrieved, and there is a certain delight in taunting them. Another factor is perceived hypocrisy. "Sure, turn off your lights for an hour, and then go back to your 24/7 electronic gadgets, your $5.00 cup of coffee shipped from South America, your monthly flights from liberal coast to liberal coast (skipping icky conservative "flyover country"), and your Dance Dance Revolution parties at Al Gore's house." Also, appeals to think of future generations run a bit hollow from people who put so much effort into thwarting the next generation through in utero violence and chemical sterilization (and hey, flooding our water system with hormones is probably fine).

There is also a suspicion that environmentalists are not really trying to save the environment; they are trying to halt American progress, so that our enemies may get the upper hand. One thinks of environmentalists in the '70s and '80s, fighting to restrict American industry, while praising the smog-choked skies of the Soviet Union. A modern equivalent would be someone saying, "You want to stop fracking, so we have to buy oil from the Muslims, Barack Hussein Obama!"

What else? Pantheists annoy theists, and some environmentalists are a bit on the pantheistic side. Many conservatives are Christians, and they believe in a distinction between Creator and created. That rock over there is a really pretty rock, and yes God made it, so praise Him, by all means. Just don't bow down and worship the rock. And don't tell people they are worth less than the rock, and they need to die or live in poverty so the rock can be preserved.

Continuing the religious point, Christians and other theists of a more conservative bent believe this world is not ultimately our home. All of this will pass away, and our true home will be in Heaven. So, if we have to plow over an acre of rain forest here and there so a few more people can come into the world, it's worth it. After all, we're talking about each individual person being an immortal being, one who may shine like the stars in the eternal glory of Heaven.

There is another set of Christians who believe the end of the age is near at hand, and therefore environmentalists are trying to preserve the world for a future that will not happen. Why should I give up my third Camaro, if Jesus is coming back next Thursday?

Here's the deal, though. All those points above might be true. Some environmentalists are crazy. Some liberals use the environment as an excuse to push their agenda. Some of their proposed solutions may make the problem worse. However, none of that excuses the apathetic or even hostile attitude so many conservatives have toward the environment.

Conservatives are supposed to conserve, right? When liberal politicians want to spend our grandchildren's money on government programs, we protest. But when conservative politicians want to burn up our grandchildren's energy reserves or cut down their forests, or pollute their water, we go right along with it. I mean, those kids will think of something, right? They're not our problem. There is a callous attitude toward future generations that does not fit with the ideals conservatives are supposed to hold.

The world is changing. Now, I want the Star Trek future as much as anyone. I want to see a hi-tech thriving world, running on clean and renewable energy. I want to see mankind go to the stars. I want us to figure out warp drives or mass effect relays or hyperspace. The thing is, though, I don't really think that's going to happen.

Pessimistic, you ask? I like to think of it as being realistic, something conservative pride themselves on being. Our society runs on oil, gas, and other fossil fuels, and those fuels are going to become less plentiful and more expensive in the years to come. We don't have to reach the point where the planet runs dry; we just have to reach a point where we use more energy extracting these fuels than we gain from their use. I'm still new to this whole peak oil concept, but I think there is something to it.

I mentioned not long ago on Facebook that conservatives tend to think fossil fuels will last forever, while liberals think we will be able to maintain our current lifestyle using clean and renewable energy sources. I think they're both wrong. The future is going to be different, and we will all have to make changes.

So, what will the future look like, and what does this have to do with conservatives and environmentalism? First, the obvious disclaimer that nobody really knows what will happen in the future. Any number of things could happen to change the game, so to speak. That said, the future could prove to be one where our ties to the environment are much closer than they are today, and local communities have more influence on our lives. What happens in DC or on the other side of the world may end up mattering very little.

I see a world where it becomes too costly to ship food great distances, so we all live closer to where it is raised and grown. I see a world where private automobiles are rare, and most people walk to work or use some form of mass transit. I see a world where suburbs and "bedroom communities" either go away or are transformed into fully functioning communities in their own right. I see a world where more of us work in agriculture and less of us work in offices. I see a world where we still have meaningful leisure time, but that time is rarely spent in front of electronic devices.

This is a far cry from the world in which we now live. The American dream, championed by so many alleged conservatives has turned into this: Live in a large, energy-inefficient home, in a suburb where people don't know their neighbors; drive alone in gridlock to a job an hour or more away; work more hours than a medieval peasant; make the same crushing drive again; buy groceries shipped from hundreds or thousands of miles away, wrapped in plastic like everything else we buy; keep up with all the television programs, all the sporting events, be intimately aware of the private lives of people you've never met. It's a mess, it really is. And when liberals suggest buying local, taking the bus, slowing down, knowing your neighbors, caring for green and growing things, they are right. When conservatives mock liberals for doing these things, they are mocking what should be their own values.

Do you want your descendants to breathe clean air and drink clean water? Do you want them to be able to walk in the forest on a summer's day, or watch a whale breach along the coast? If yes, then live accordingly, and start now (this goes for me, too, lest my reader think I believe myself superior). In some ways, many conservatives are already more environmentally conscious than their liberal brethren. A family of six in an SUV is more efficient than six individuals in their own Priuses (Priae?). And really, it's hard to find people more conservative than the Amish.

We should all be more like hobbits, to be frank (or Frodo). Living a simple life, together with our friends and family, with good tilled earth, an occasional pint at the Green Dragon, and long walks in the country. I think the future will look more like the Shire than the Starship Enterprise, and while there may be some bumps on the way, it could prove to be a merrier world.

15 Things Men Need to Stop Doing After 30

We've all seen these lists, so here is one I made:

1. Basing their lives on lists strangers put on the Internet.
2. Leaving Lego bricks on the neighbor's lawn.
3. Camping the spawn points.
4. Wearing the emperor's new clothes to church.
5. Riding horses through the halls of Congress.
6. Reading the comments.
7. Painting the roses red.
8. Storming the field at chess matches.
9. Cooking toast in the crock pot.
10. Bringing your own silverware to Applebees.
12. Skipping numbers on lists.
13. Opening the forbidden scrolls.
14. Awakening eldritch abominations from their long slumber.
15. Speaking the names that may not be spoken.

The Evolution of the Word "Sergeant"

The word "sergeant" starts as a two syllable word, which is how new recruits start out saying it. Soon after arriving at their first unit, the word begins to slip to "sarent." It is still two syllables, but the "g" has disappeared. Time passes, and the word becomes "sarnt," soon to be following by "sarn." If left unchecked, it can slip to "sar," a word easily confused with "sir." This can be convenient when you do not know if the screaming man in a PT uniform, chasing you down for the lack of a PT belt, is an NCO or an officer. "Yes, sar," has helped many a hungover soldier survive Monday morning.

The final evolution of the word is nothing but a shrill hissing sound, similar to that made by the spider that fell behind your bed last night, and that you could not find again. At this point, society breaks down, anarchy prevails, and a new order arises. The newly victorious barbarian chieftains enforce the proper pronunciation of "sergeant," resetting the clock of civilization.

The more you know...

The World of Tomorrow

"So, what do you think of this place?" I asked, leaning back in my chair and not smoking a pipe or anything.

"The bar?" Fred asked.

"Well, sure, but I mean 2014, the present, my time and place," I said. Fred was a foreign exchange student from the future.

"I like it," he said, "though it's hard to believe people used to live like this. We have history books, of course, but it's something else to see it."

"Okay, what are some of the biggest differences between your time and now?" I asked.

"Let's see," he said, "in my time most of the Pacific Northwest is known as the Kingdom of Cascadia. That seems to be a big change from what you have going now."

"We become a kingdom?" I asked.

"Not right away," he said. "After the depression and the war, this region became the Socialist Republic of Cascadia. When that government fell, local governments kept order in some places. The rest was a bit of a mess. The king brought order."

"When will this happen?" I asked.

"I don't think I'm supposed to tell," he said, "but don't plan on collecting social security from the U.S. government."

"Way ahead of you there," I said. "What else?"

"Everyone here has a car," Fred said. "In my time, only the very rich have private automobiles, and they don't burn gasoline. Everyone else walks or rides bicycles everywhere. Horses have made a comeback in the country."

"Do you have any kind of mass transit?" I asked.

"Sure," he said, "in the larger cities. Most people live near their work and their food, though."

"How about population?" I asked. "Is it crowded?"

"In places," he said. "People either live in dense cities, small villages, or the country. No 'McMansions' in the suburbs. The suburbs all died out or became villages in their own right. The overall population is lower than now. We don't have much petroleum-based fertilizer anymore, and long-distance transportation is less feasible. We just don't pull as much out of the fields as you people do."

"Are people religious?" I asked.

"Of course," he said. "The Protestant mainline pretty much went away, so if you're a western Christian in my time, you're probably a Catholic, a Pentecostal, or an independent KJV-onlyist. Cascadia has quite the thriving pagan population, with official denominations and everything."

"Atheists and the like?" I asked.

"A few," he said, "though they've learned to get along. Living closer to the cycle of the harvests has tended to make even the left more religious."

"How do people make a living?" I asked.

"More people work on farms, since heavy equipment is expensive to operate and fuel is scarce. Computers still exist, but we don't produce nearly as much electricity as you people. Offices full of cubicle drones staring at screens all day have mostly gone away. Fast food is pretty much gone, too."

"A university education is getting ridiculously expensive in my time," I said, "while at the same time becoming less valuable. How does the education system look?"

"Most of the universities are gone," Fred said, "and their land has been converted to more productive use. Those that remain have a fairly classic curriculum. Most people don't go; it's all about apprenticeship and on-the-job training."

"So, college is just for the elite again?" I asked.

"In a way," he said, "but don't get the wrong idea. A high school graduate in my time knows more than one of your college graduates, and is far more employable. People learn useful skills at an early age."

We talked through the evening, and I learned a great deal. The future he described was not one I had been taught to expect, but it was an interesting one. As we said farewell, I had one final question.

"You're not worried all of this information will change the future?" I asked.

"You're just posting it on your blog and social media accounts, right?" he asked.

"Yep," I said.

"Yeah, nobody reads those; the future is safe."

So, there you are, dear reader(s). Time for me to learn to plant a garden.

Iraq

I spent about two years in Iraq, as some of you know. This is not much compared to many of my comrades, some of whom have added tours in Afghanistan and elsewhere, but it was a significant portion of my life. I was just a regular soldier, and I did not perform any great acts of heroism, and no one is likely to make a movie about my wartime experiences.

What I did do, though, was walk the streets and breathe the air. I talked to the people, spent time in their homes, heard their calls to prayer. I rode in vehicles down torn up roads, through deep puddles full of questionable contents, hoping that this was not the time some insurgent pushed a button and sent us all beyond the veil. It happened to friends of mine, good men and true, men who were better soldiers than I.

Even in those days there were debates. Should we have invaded Iraq? Was our cause just? The big picture will be debated for years to come, and it is, to use an Army expression, above my pay grade. Big picture aside, in our little sector of  Baghdad, we had tremendous moral clarity. Our enemies were blowing up children, snatching people from their homes in the middle of the night, beheading people with knives, and attacking their own country's infrastructure. What they were doing was evil, and we, flawed though we may have been, were attempting to counter that evil with good. We were working to bring order when our enemies wanted chaos, we were working to bring security when our enemies wanted terror, we were working to bring peace when our enemies wanted war.

We thought we were making progress, that we were leaving the country better than we found it. The Iraqi police and army were improving, elections were held, and we were moving to an advisory role.

Then this ISIS thing happened. I don't know how it will all end. Perhaps they've had a brief flash of success and then order will be restored. Perhaps the country will break apart with even more death and devastation.

The whole mess troubles me deeply, though not as much as it surely troubles the people who live there. I wonder about the people I talked with and worked alongside. I think of the Iraqi Army soldiers, I think of our interpreters. I remember one interpreter who helped me to my feet after I unheroically tripped and fell during an awkward encounter with AK fire.

I do not know the best way forward, and I do not claim to speak for the U.S. Army or any branch of the U.S. government. I hope and pray that this whole situation has a positive outcome.

Please pray, if you are the praying sort. If these ISIS chaps all meet a violent end, I cannot say I will shed a tear, though I will pray for their souls. May God have mercy on us all.

Making Time to Write

I am about to head out on my lunch walk, a daily ritual without which I should go mad, but I feel driven to write something. It is difficult to find time to write, though much of that difficulty comes from my own choices. Life is full of distractions, and one can consent to them all too easily. I often tell myself that if I can manage a page a day, I can have three hundred sixty-five pages in a year. That is a novel, though perhaps not a doorstopping fantasy epic.

The world is full of stories, some good, some bad. I like to think I have something to offer, something as yet unwritten that will bring a bit more beauty and light into this often dark world. For those of you who write, how do you make the time?

And with that, the walk awaits!

The Latin Mass (Because Me Being Catholic Wasn't Weird Enough Already)

This past Sunday, I attended (participated in? assisted at?) a Traditional Latin Mass. For those not in the know, this used to be the standard form of the Mass (are we supposed to capitalize it?) all over the Western world, until the Catholic Church came out with a new version about fifty years ago. Despite the near universal adoption of the Novus Ordo/Ordinary Form/The One With the Felt Banners, the Old Mass has held on in a few places. Since Pope Benedict XVI issued his apostolic letter Summorum Pontificum back in 2007, the Latin Mass has become a bit more prevalent.

Several minutes before 5:00pm, I walked into Saints Peter and Paul Catholic Church in Tacoma, Washington. The parish has a predominately Polish membership on Sunday mornings, a fact confirmed by the Polish missals in the pews, the Polish text on a painting of the Divine Mercy, and a prominent picture of Pope John Paul II. The Latin Mass group are guests, so to speak, as part of a mission from the main North American Martyrs Parish (FSSP) in Seattle.

There was none of the chatter that fills my usual parish on a Sunday morning. A small group were praying a rosary together, while others knelt or sat in silence. Mantillas were plentiful. The kneelers were already in the down position, which later proved to be convenient. On my initial entry, I forgot the Latin-English missal, so I exited my pew and retrieved one. My Latin skills are unfortunately lacking.

As the Mass progressed, one thing that struck me was how little speaking I needed to do. In the New Mass, the congregation and priest have quite the conversation, but in the Latin Mass, most of the responses are said by the (male only) altar servers. For the most part, I stuck with "amen" and "et cum spiritu tuo." I was able to read along in the missal, so I could follow all the prayers and responses. There was amazing theological depth to it all, and I could not help but wish the Church had just translated the existing Mass back in the Vatican II days.

We did kneel quite a bit more than I was used to, but it seemed right. It is a posture that lends itself well to reverence. When it was time for Communion, everyone who wished to receive went up on their own, without row by row dismissal. There were two small altar rails with kneelers at the front. Two people at a time knelt at each one, and they received the host on the tongue. This was the first time I had received in this way, and it was quite a moving experience. It certainly felt more sacred than having a Eucharistic minister hand the host to me.

I am very glad I attended, and I hope to do so in the future. It is too early to tell if I will "go trad" or not and become a regular, but I am glad that Mass still exists. We shall see what the future holds. I may want to lock in my Al Smith dinner speaker role first.

The Tale of the Goose

This past Friday, as I returned to the Park and Ride at the end of the day, I saw a large goose fly by and land in the parking lot. One often forgets how large geese are, particularly when their wings are spread. "I greet you," I said, or something to that effect, since I am the sort of person who talks to animals when no one is looking. I went on my way, with the goose showing no alarm at my presence.

I reached my car without further incident. As I looked in the rear view mirror, I saw the goose flying straight toward my car. It landed behind me and stayed there. I did not wish to run over the magnificent bird, particularly since I had already conversed with it, so I exited my car and walked toward the goose.

I would likely have discussed any number of matters with the goose, but there were some adolescent young men approaching, and I try to minimize the amount of time I appear crazy in public. The goose waddled a short distance away, so I climbed back in the car, carefully backed up and prepared to move forward. However, the goose decided to stand in the way. I sat there for a moment, as the goose stood defiantly in place and the young men laughed.

In an effort to break through, I slowly began to edge past the goose on the left. The goose finally allowed me to pass, but he began honking and sticking out his tongue. Whether this was a challenge or a fond farewell, I was not able to determine. It may be that I was parked next to a secret nest. For now, the fowl mystery remains unsolved.

Books!

John C. Wright, whose writings I could share daily, posted the following link:
www.sfsignal.com/archives/2014/05/mind-meld-books-weve-worn-out-re-reading/

It made me think of my own list of books I have re-read and intend to re-read in the future. Here it is, for those who are interested:

The Hobbit - Tolkien
The Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
The Pendragon Cycle - Lawhead
The Song of Albion - Lawhead
The Chronicles of Narnia - Lewis
The Hitchhiker series - Adams
Various Dragonlance novels - Weis and Hickman
Treasure Island - Stevenson
A Song of Ice and Fire - Martin

I can see myself reading the Harry Potter novels again, but so far I've only read them once. The same goes for any number of Redwall stories, Edgar Rice Burroughs novels, Robert Howard novels, and Jules Verne classics.

I know I'm missing some, so I will probably add them. What's on your list today?

My Noah Review

I haven't seen Noah, but here is my review:

First of all, this is supposedly a Bible-based movie, and yet there are no Christians in it? What kind of commie nonsense is this? Also, wasn't Russell Crowe in that Gladiator movie? That movie was awesome. Not Robin Hood, though; that movie was all kinds of awful. So was King Arthur, now that I think about it. The Disney cartoon was better. Hey, have you guys seen The Black Cauldron? It's a Disney cartoon with a PG rating. The Star Wars movies were rated PG. Boba Fett, now, he was a gentleman warrior. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was pretty underwhelming. Hellboy was way better. Ron Perlman pretty much makes every movie awesome. So does Thomas Jane.

A Few Lines for each Genre

This is a fun project I have thought about doing for a while, so here it is. I will be posting a few lines each from a variety of genres. None of these are part of my existing stories, though perhaps I may further develop these ideas. Some of these paragraphs will be in medias res, and some will be the beginning of the story.

Fantasy
The ice fields of Narathrandianlithicoretolkienesque stretched to the horizon, and the army of Mekkuppaneim had left a trail the entire way.

"They won't be hard to track, but they could be days ahead of us by now," Haielffenlord said, clutching his silver longbow in his hand.

"Ah, but they must walk, and we will ride upon the wind," Proetagoenist said. "The sail of Mil-Wa-Kee has melded with the sled of Wi-Skaun-Skin."

Science Fiction
"I'm sorry," the android said, his head inclined slightly. His eyes blinked. "Please rephrase your question."

"Can you help me up?" I asked, hanging by one arm from the one hundredth floor balcony of the Asimov building.

"Certainly," it said, and with almost comical ease, it pulled me to safety. Aside from the two of us, the room was empty.

Western
"Put down your gun, friend," the stranger said, "I ain't got no quarrel with you."

He was sitting at a corner table, a glass of whisky in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"You kilt Johnny Davenport!" Sid said, a mean look in his eye.

"Maybe I did," the stranger said, stubbing out his cigarette on the worn table. "I've never been much for names."

Romance
The Highlander pirate highwayman shook out his long, untamed hair, his freshly waxed chest glistening in the morning sun. Cordelia blushed and looked away, but only for a moment. She felt a stirring within her, an unquenchable desire, a flood of passion. She must have this man, she must tame him, she must civilize him, she must change him so thoroughly that no trace of the man she desired remains. There will only be a memory, a bitter memory, and she will come to despise this man for being so easily molded.

Young Adult Paranormal Romance (hey, this is where the money is)
"I will drain you," Aelric said, his fangs glistening. "I will take from you all that is human, and leave you a soulless husk. You will wander this world until the end of time, knowing only hunger, knowing only pain. You will never see the sun, and for you Heaven's gates will never open. Is this what you want?"

"Oh, Aelric!" Lara gasped. "What is eternity in Paradise with God and all the angels and saints, when compared with a few painful and torturous years with you?"

"Umh..," Aelric said. "Have you really thought this through? I mean, I really feel like I'm taking advantage of a stupid person here."

Children
There's a monster in the forest, and I think he wants to eat me. There's a cave inside the forest, where he hides all dark and scaley. There's a fire in the cave, where he cooks his food so tenderly. There's a monster in the forest and it's me.

War
The radio wasn't going to man itself, and so we sat. Hours passed, vehicles left, vehicles arrived, radio checks were made. Sergeant Cortez had a Maxim magazine, and I had Plato's Republic. I don't claim to be more sophisticated, just less honest about what I find interesting.

Around noon, someone brought us chow. This was FOB food, which beat MRE's just about any day of the week. Still, it wasn't home.

"Sar'nt," I said, because no one pronounces the whole word, "the flames are getting a bit closer. Should we move the radios?"

Our company command post was nestled among the wreckage of what used to be our headquarters. The air strike and artillery bombardment had occurred earlier that morning, but I had been so engrossed in the duties of a citizen, I scarcely noticed.

Horror
"We have to keep the blood inside!" she screamed, clawing at the walls of her cell. "The one who comes will see! The one who comes will know!"

"Calm yourself," Dr. Preston said. "What are you talking about?"

At this, she stopped and her eyes focused on the wall behind us. Her voice took on a perfect calm.

"He's already here."

Feminist Zombie Apocalypse Non-Fiction
You may find that in this zombie-filled world, an oppressive system of hetero-normative cis-gendered privilege will attempt to assert itself. It will be tempting to fight against this with knives or guns, but the inherently phallic nature of these instruments is problematic and troubling. The best method is to establish free zones of affirmation, where all forces of oppression, both living and undead, are firmly asked not to enter.

The Parting Glass

I should point out I wasn't driving at the time. That would be most irresponsible.

Election 2014

I'm heading back to the office after a lovely lunch in Seattle. Don't worry, I'm not driving. Did you know some people can play guitar with their hands? I don't even know what to say to that. This one time, I walked all the way to the cake table. Typing on a smart phone is silly. I found a pine cone in the forest once, but I left it there. Removing too much biomass from the forest can cause what some have termed a "total planet kill." Don't forget to zip up your sleeping bag when you go camping. Sure, you're warm now, but there are like a billion bears right next to you.

Thoughts on Lent

Last year for Lent, I gave up video games. It was beneficial, though I must be honest and say I just watched more TV on Hulu instead. This year, I'm giving up fancy coffee, and I am also attempting to read the whole Catechism of the Catholic Church. Why do I tell you this, you may ask? After all, if I tell you what I am giving up, is that not a form of bragging? Am I not earning my full reward here, rather than in Heaven? Ah, but think about this: If I tell you about my Lenten abstinence, it will cause you to think me a bragger, which will cause you to think less of me, which will lower my standing in the eyes of the world, which will make me humble, which will reduce my pride, which will prepare me for Heaven. However, if I am allowing myself to be humbled for the sake of spiritual gain, am I not seeking after glory? And if I am seeking after glory, will this not lead to pride? And, if it leads to pride, will this not lead to a fall? And will this fall not lead to humility?

But, fancy coffee, some will scoff! What kind of thing is that to give up? How easy, how paltry? Ah, but have you tried Nespresso? No? Then you know not of what you speak.

And reading the Catechism? It comes out to a mere seventeen pages a day, when stretched throughout the whole of Lent. This is no great spiritual work.

Indeed, indeed. But if I did a great spiritual work, I might take pride in it, and that would undermine the whole point.

At the end of the Lenten season, I will have been a Catholic for an entire year. It will be quite an anniversary to celebrate. Please join me, if you have not already.

Quick Thoughts on Catholic Traditionalism

I kind of want to be a Catholic traditionalist, but I am also kind of reluctant to be one. Part of it is a form of protest. After all, I am Catholic already; I should not have to move "further up and further in" to find the purely pure "real" Catholics. I am also just a regular man. I try to be a good Christian, but I do not try all that hard to be extra-spiritual. I would rather read a good novel than the Summa Theologica. Many of the saints frighten me, with a level of devotion I find intimidating. We have a wonderful parish that celebrates the Ordinary Form in a fairly reverent manner. For the Latin Mass, I would have to drive all the way to Seattle for a Sunday morning Mass, or wait until 5:00pm for one in Tacoma. For just a regular man, this is crazy stuff (cue the traditionalist complaint that they drive four hundred miles each way for the Latin Mass, and on the way they have to fight hordes of albino monk assassins sent by their own bishop; okay, so I admit to some spiritual weakness here, but I am still new).

I have also heard the horror stories about some of the more "interesting" denizens of traditionalism. "Did you know Jewish Freemasons created the heliocentric heresy in order to more effectively fake the moon landing? If you don't home-school your kids, you will burn in the second deepest level of Hell, right above the women who wear pants and the people who defend Tolkien on Twitter."

Of course, I know most traditionalists are not like this. They simply believe that the Church expressed its teachings more clearly in a pre-Vatican II sense and with a pre-Vatican II Mass. Much of what has been done in the last fifty years has made a mess of the faith. Therefore, like debugging software, it is often best to roll everything back until we get to where everything still works. At least I think that is the idea; I dropped Computer Science and majored in English instead.

As I have said before, I nearly became Orthodox instead of Catholic, because of all the mess. However, as the traditionalists say, the mess is a bug, not a feature. Bishops, priests, nuns, and others in authority decided that the New Springtime of the Church was a great time to turn the Church into something else. It has gone...badly. One should hesitate to attribute malicious intent, and yet...

...........Just adding a few more of these........................

I have observed three (or four; see below) basic camps within the Church (I ask my reader to pardon the repetition from previous posts). There are the liberals, who desperately want the Church to have values indistinguishable from the secular culture. Groups like "Catholics for Wholesale Infant Slaughter" or "Catholics for the Dictatorship of the Proletariat" are popular (I'll take the conspiracy theorist from paragraph two over them any day, since they are not, you know, going around actually killing people). The second camp are the conservatives, as they are often called. They are very loyal to whatever the pope and bishops are teaching right now. If the pope said tomorrow that we are at war with Eurasia and always have been, the conservatives would write untold thousands of words affirming that this is indeed so. The third camp are the traditionalists, who claim to believe what Catholics always have. If their beliefs seem strange, it is because everyone around them has changed. The fourth camp is actually camping, and whatever they are cooking smells far better than the sandwiches we brought.

I do not like that these separate camps exist; I just want to be Catholic, and I wish all these other people could be, too. Of course, the real battle is between good and evil, and the battle lines are drawn through every human heart. It matters not if you follow Paul, Apollos or Cephas, if you do not follow Christ. So, who follows Christ? It is those who do what He says, who live as He lives, who love as He loves. Who is doing that?

It is no secret that most Catholics really are not all that Catholic (and many of them transition to, "I was raised Catholic, but."). I knew this long before joining the Church, so I have not been shocked or disillusioned. However, there is a difference between bad Catholics who know the faith but who do not live up to it, and malformed Catholics who have no idea what the Church teaches and yet are Hell-bent on changing it. The traditionalists would say, I think, that in the pre-Vatican II days, there were plenty of the former, but it has taken the "hope and change" post-Vatican II days to cause such an explosion of the latter. The former may repent, even on their deathbeds, but the latter see no need to repent.

At any rate, this debate and exploration is like a family dispute. Where I fit in this Church family is a matter for debate, but there is no doubt this is my Church. This should be your Church. It really should. There is no such thing as my truth or your truth. There is only truth. And truth is a person, Jesus Christ. And Jesus Christ said, "Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church; and the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it."

Real Men

It has become fashionable for people to post opinions on what makes a "real man." This is a bit amusing, because the definition is quite simple. First, this individual is real, as in genuine, as in he actually exists. Second, he is of the male sex and has reached the age of maturity. That is it. A real man can be a good man or an evil man, he can be a gentleman or a cad, he can be kind or he can be cruel.

Therefore, a man does not cease to be a real man because he fails to live up to a thirty bullet point list posted by women on Facebook. Being a real man takes no skill or determination. It is simply a matter of biology and age.

Now, what do people actually mean when they talk about a "real man?" My literal definition is not what they have in mind, I think. Perhaps they mean a "desirable man" or a "strong man" or an "admirable man." Why do people not simply say what they mean?

I am, of course, over-thinking this, as I do everything. Therefore, just to play along and have a grand old time, may I present the following list of "real man" qualities:

• Real men have long, flowing beards, because they are wild berserker warriors, untamed by civilization.
• Real men shave regularly, because a real man masters his facial hair in the same way he masters his passions.
• Real men never have hobbies that do not involve their wives and children; all leisure time must be devoted to the betterment of the home.
• Real men have a variety of hobbies and interests; in addition to increasing their own enjoyment of life, this also makes them more intriguing to women.
• Real men have experience with vast numbers of women and antibiotic prescriptions.
• Real men are chaste before marriage and completely faithful within it.
• Real men have nothing to do with the crutch of religion.
• Real men love Jesus.
• Real men can't be tied down by rules and regulations.
• Real men join the military.
• Real men like curves.
• Real men like whatever the [expletive] they want.
• Real men are not tied down by a wife and children.
• Real men are good husbands and fathers.
• Real men hate guns.
• Real men have all the guns.
• Real men lift.
• Real men work hard enough in their everyday tasks that they don't need to lift.
• Real men think sports are for children.
• Real men play sports.

That's enough for now. Take care, everyone, and watch out for snakes.

Hellish Thoughts for the Christmas Season

I would like to briefly discuss a common attitude about Hell. It is a sort of compromise between the “love wins” idea that no one will be damned, and the “God hates you” idea that everyone except the purely pure members of the purely pure church will be damned. This idea is more along the lines of “Well, yes, Hell exists, but it's not really for you and me. It's for particularly nasty people. You know, like Hitler.”

Ah, but why do people think Hitler belongs in Hell? Usually, it is because he did many very bad things. These things were so bad, and of such a significant quantity, that eternal punishment is a just and right consequence. Very well, one might respond. However, those actions, however horrible, were finite in nature, and the punishment is infinite. So, you acknowledge that, at some point, a finite amount of sins merit an infinite amount of punishment.

Let us consider mathematics. If sin is represented by x, and Hitler committed 20,000,000x, to pick a number, and 20,000,000x equals ∞, then what does 100x equal? How about 10x? I am no mathematician, but is there not something about x, or sin, that leads to ∞? Therefore, it is the x that merits damnation, regardless of the number in front of it. After all, when compared with infinity, what is the difference between 20,000,000 and 10? When compared with infinity, all the crimes of Hitler are no different than a single sinful thought.

Therefore, would it not be best to say, “All of us, myself included, are in the same boat. If one of us merits Hell, we all do. Therefore, let us all work out our salvation with fear and trembling, trusting in God's mercy and not in our own righteousness. Many thought to be quite wicked will likely be in Heaven, and many thought to be quite righteous will likely be in Hell. Let us pray for the salvation of all, but assume it for none, especially not ourselves.”

Some of you do not believe in Hell, finding it to be an unjust and monstrous idea. I can respect that. It's certainly an idea I have had from time to time. However, for those of you who hold to Christian doctrine, remember that when it comes to sin, you are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. All of us are the same.

A Veterans Day Tale

The flag rippled and fluttered in the wind, catching the eye of Command Sergeant Major Hill. Another Veterans Day, he thought, and I'm still here. The number of stars on the flag had changed since the first days at Benning, when CSM Hill was PVT Hill. He had been just too young for Iraq and Afghanistan, but he had caught the next one. It had been a short but brutal affair, in a country no one would have predicted in the days of the War on Terror.

He wore the combat patch on his right shoulder. It was from an old division, one that had cased its colors nearly two decades ago. In fact, CSM Hill had the distinction of being the last remaining soldier in the Army to have a combat patch at all. The world had changed after the bombs fell, and concerns had turned homeward.

There were other veterans, to be sure, those who, like CSM Hill, had seen cities disappear and borders change. They, however, had all moved on to civilian life, to retirement, to regular careers. CSM Hill stayed on, though his mandatory retirement age was drawing near.

Decades of peace could be hard on a soldier, though his wife, kids, and grand-kids were glad to have him around. And there was always something to do. Soldiers these days were soft, not like in the old days. CSM Hill gave the flag a sharp salute, and continued on his way, rolling on as the Army ever had and ever would.

Neil Gaiman on Libraries

Hat tip to John C. Wright for the link: http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/oct/15/neil-gaiman-future-libraries-reading-daydreaming. I posted the link on Facebook earlier, for those of you who know me in real life.

This is an excellent article, based on a lecture by Neil Gaiman. In our house, he is known primarily as the author of Crazy Hair,which may be my eldest daughter's favorite book. It brought to mind the books of my childhood and adolescence, some of which I have since revisited, and some which still wait on the shelf, always ready to rekindle our friendship.

The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are obvious. If you have only seen the films, you are cheating yourself. Treasure Island, Kidnapped, and The Black Arrow make a great set of adventure stories. Anything by Edgar Rice Burroughs must be added to the list, though I must confess I have only recently landed on the mysterious world of Barsoom. Watership Down prepared me for my later Redwall excursions.

Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn are essentials, and made me want to sail the Mississippi myself. Jules Verne is from the same era, and cruising in the Nautilus beneath the sea, or circling the world in eighty days, is a delight.

I read a selection of Christian fiction, of course. Frank Peretti's stories are incredible, and he has written some entertaining selections for children, as well. The Thoene's interested me in the Middle East, an interest that is perhaps stronger now that I have been there. Gilbert Morris wrote the same story a hundred times, most stating that even Christian women craved men who were tall, dark, and handsome. I eventually became quite content with being short, pale, and interesting.

Stephen Lawhead has crossover appeal, I would say, and Christians and pagans alike should find joy in his work.

If you have not yet read Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker books, stop reading this post, and go read them immediately. Patrick McManus has written numerous short story collections, and he keeps writing them. I have laugh wrinkles already, and they are mostly his fault.

It turns out the library is not open at 11:30pm, so I suppose I shall sleep. Keep reading, and keep supporting your library.