I Have No Explanation

Before anything else, dear readers, know that however important spirituality is in my life, I am not a believer in what I call smoke-and-mirrors theology: those coincidences to which people ascribe powerful religious significance. As a student of magic - the David Copperfield kind, not any kind of dark art - I've seen the powerful hold incorrect assumptions play in self-delusion. So here's my dilemma...

On January 28, 1984, a 38-year-old co-worker died suddenly from an allergic reaction to prescribed medication.

On January 28, 1985, the father of another co-worker in the same small office died.

On January 28, 1986, I received a phone call at my office telling me that Challenger exploded.

On January 26, 1987 (ok, a couple of days early), I received a phone call at work telling me my father had been shot.

Of course it's possible to pick out any date and find bad things happening. And I'm not a superstitious person. Still, it's not hard to see how this string of events - not just things, but big things, ranging from the bad to the downright catastrophic - would be enough to give one pause.

At work today I was thinking about this, about the silly superstitions that played in my brain for years after that, and how they're made to look even sillier by our having gotten past so many January 28's since then - including this year's - without incident.

Reveling in my smug delight, I encountered a co-worker who looked stunned and upset. One of our colleagues, returning to the mainland from a vacation in Puerto Rico, died suddenly on the plane. Jean had recently quit smoking and was an avid exerciser, a high-energy good humored person, and a delight professionally and personally. I don't know her age but will guess at mid-to-late 50's.

Shaking my head in shock that her sudden death happened at all, let alone today, I learned it actually happened yesterday. January 28.

As an engineer I say to myself, "You're a man of science. How can you possibly think there's a connection?" The problem is that I can't help but to follow it up with, "You're a man of science. How can you ignore data just because you don't yet know where they fit in?"

Normally, I try to bring journal entries to some logical point at the end. I am unable to do that today. And maybe that is the point.

As I said - I have no explanation.

Pop Art

While I won't comment on rumors that Tomato-Man was involved in the recent breakup of MJ and Spiderman, the responses I received - that he received, really - both here and privately are gratifying and appreciated. On the surface, it might appear he's simply the result of a budget-conscious athlete who couldn't afford steriods and human growth hormone, opting instead for injections of licopene and Miracle Grow. As is the case with most things, the truth is a lot less exciting.

First, a bit of housekeeping. Although I adapted it to Tomato-Man, the basic superhero figure used was created by a gifted balloon artist named Ken Stillman. (You can - and I hope you will - check out some of his amazing work at his web site, http://balloonmaster.com/ .)

Tomato-Man's story begins in Fort Lee, NJ, with a wonderful lady named Carmela who has a charming family-type Italian restaurant there. For the past who-knows-how-many years, Carmela (who I hope someday to make the subject of a well-deserved tribute in this space) has closed her restaurant to the general public one Sunday around Thanksgiving time and hosted a night of dinners for as many sheltered families as the place will hold in three or four sittings. The organization of the event itself is astonishing: Carmela and her equally selfless team execute the arrival, seating, serving, entertainment, clean-up and set-up for the next group with great, practiced precision. Even more impressive, though, is the genuine love and dignity that overflow from every aspect of the evening, elements generally missing from organized efforts to provide a meal to someone in need. There's music, dancing, entertainment, and everyone is young again. Words don't do it justice. If all this reads in a way that suggests I think of Carmela as an angel come to earth, it's because I do. (Looks like a bit of that tribute made it in after all.)

So what's this got to do with Tomato-Man?

For the past several years, it's been my privilege to be brought into this great event to make balloon sculptures for the folks in attendance. (My weekend profession is children's entertainment.) While the number of people there requires that the balloons be things that can be done fairly quickly, each year I try to make something big and special for Carmela herself. From one of these efforts came - you guessed it - Tomato-Man.

So it turns out that the story of Tomato-Man actually has very little to do with him, and quite a lot to do with kindness, respect, and a real-life superhero from Fort Lee, NJ. I like it better that way.

Unrelated Item 1

Memo to the press: You can stop reporting that Tom Cruise is an alien sent here from another planet for the purpose of reconnaissance preparatory to invasion. We already know that.

Unrelated Item 2

In this season of political campaigns, speechmaking and fist-pounding position asserting, I have to share this gem I came across. This was Tallulah Bankhead, campaigning way back when for FDR and against Tom Dewey. "Mr. Dewey is for unity. Next he will declare in favor of motherhood, the zipper and the telephone. Will all the candidates for disunity please stand?"

These Just In...

Item 1: It's a Crying Shame

Newly-released polls show T.O. has surged ahead to be the new front-runner in tomorrow's Michigan primary...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cevst1mqzIE&feature=related

Item 2: Picture This

I recently came across a marvelous journal created by a lady named Krissy that has, among other things, themed photo contests. The current contest is for items beginning with or resembling the letter T, and entrants submit photos by posting them in their journals. Always ready to try a new adventure, I offer you, and Krissy, my balloon superhero, "Tomato Man." (Yes, there's a story behind it and, if ever I completely run out of things to write about, I might even tell it sometime to fill space.)

aoljurlAdd, aoljurlAdd_1

Say It Ain't So, Obama

"There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance - that principle is contempt prior to investigation." (Herbert Spencer)

A firestorm of sorts has erupted in our church, or at least in the on-line discussion group connected to the church. One of the members posted a forward she'd received about Barak Obama that begins "This is VERY SCARY!!!!"  and that gives some pretty dire-sounding warnings: born to a terrorist radical father, raised by a radical terrorist step-father, won't recite the Pledge of Allegiance (and even turns his back to the flag and slouches while others recite it), etc. This really is scary stuff. If it's true, not only does it mean we're ready to elect a dangerous extremist to the White House (ok, ANOTHER dangerous extremist to the White House) but, even more devastating to our national security and stability, it would mean that Oprah lied to us.

Just a small amount of fact-checking (or just plain common sense) easily shows the e-mail to be just another internet hoax, passed along by yet another person convinced they're being helpful. By now I would have expected people to know that an inflammatory forward-of-forward e-mail that twice asks the recipient to forward it to everyone they know is, at the very least, highly suspect. A few important lessons come out of this:

1. There are large numbers of people who still don't know that an inflammatory e-mail that twice asks the recipient to forward it to everyone they know is probably a hoax.

2. The e-mail - and this may be the biggest lesson - dares readers to check it out on Snopes, even providing the link for it. This is really brazen since, if you click on the link, you'll find Snopes discredits the original e-mail. This really underscores the potential for a zealot - and we're all zealots about one thing or another - not to check things before passing them along as known fact, a phenomenon well known to anyone who has spent time either in a sixth grade classroom or an AOL chat room.

And do you want to know the sickest part of all this fighting? I now look forward to reading the discussion group's e-mails more than ever.

Unrelated Item 1:

In spite of how cynical the above may read to some, I've found a lot to be encouraged about these days. A woman and an African-American are leading contenders the presidency, not as radical fringe candidates running on their gender or race but simply as Americans. A major Hollywood celebrity "came out" and the world yawned and said, "what else have you got?" There's hope for us yet.

Unrelated Items 2: How's That Working Out For You?

The Britney headline-de-jour on aol news told of pills, incoherency, and a standoff with police. And that was just Dr. Phil. (I guess it was only a matter of time before someone emerged as the Al Sharpton of the entertainment world.)

Unrelated Item 3:

In the current culture of so-called divas who have dance troupes, light shows, and truckloads of stage sets - and who, if stripped of their production and made to simply stand at a microphone and sing, would barely earn a living - I'm coming to realize that Shakira is the genuine article, and a real treasure. Just thought I'd mention that.

Unrelated Items 4: Peggy's Sued

Somewhere between severely ironic and you-can't-make-this-stuff-up is a news report I just read saying that Maria Elena Holly, the great Buddy Holly's widow, and Peggy Sue Gerron (yes, that Peggy Sue) are currently at each other's throats. To Holly's "Peggy Sue" and "Peggy Sue Got Married"  can now be added, "Peggy Sue Wrote a Book," and Mrs. Holly is taking exception to some of the content. That this is sad news has nothing to do with who's right and who's not.

A few years ago I saw a PBS special celebrating Holly's too-short meteoric career and music, and it was thrilling to see people like Maria Elena and the widow of Norman Petty, Holly's producer with whom there had been some long-running legal fighting over rights, royalties, etc., coming together out of love for the music and respect for the man who wrote and sang it. I'm sure hoping something can be worked out here too.

Unrelated Item 5: This is VERY SCARY!!!!

Did you hear the one about President Bush going to the Middle East to lend them his expertise on achieving peace? Yeah, I thought it was a good one too. Be sure to forward it to everyone you know.

Ah, Christmas!

Ghost of Christmas Past: "I am here for your welfare, Ebenezer."

 

Scrooge: "My welfare? To be awakened by a ghost at one o'clock in the morning is hardly conducive to my welfare!"

 

(From the 1970 musical "Scrooge," starring Albert Finney)

 

We actually celebrated Christmas with my in-laws on Sunday, two days early. This year the usual December 25 date didn't fit everyone's plan, so we just rescheduled it. I love the concept. Kind of like a giant TiVo.

 

There was a half-hour of caroling at the church before the service last night. Someone in the congregation would shout the name of a favorite carol and that's what would be played and sung. I wanted to hold a cigarette lighter over my head and yell, "Layla!" but I don't think they would have gotten it, or appreciated it if they did.

 

Cookies matter at Christmas, of course, and this year's gingerbread men seemed to work out. There were the classic gingerbread men:

 

 

From the "Great Artists" series (left to right: Van Gogh, Picasso, and Toulous Lautrec)

 

 

 

The "You've Got Mail" gingerbread man:

 

And the "CSI - North Pole" gingerbread man:

 

 

Overall it's been quite a year. Every year, for everyone, has its large events, pleasant and not, and this year herehasn't been so different except it's been more like three years worth of it all.

It was the year I lost my father, and my cat. It was the year I learned the course I've taught for 14 years is probably being phased out after this school year.

 

It was also the year my father finally got peace from a brave, difficult battle that went on for years. The year my cat's long, healthy life ended with a short illness and minimal suffering. And the year I'm getting the opportunity to take on new challenges after successfully handling the same one for 14 years. It's all in the interpretation, and how I end up remembering it is up to me. That's a valuable lesson I learned from one of my favorite people.

A big first yesterday morning. Sitting right here typing, for the first time the cats came up into my lap. Lily came up first and then Willie, seeing the attention Lily was getting and being a true petting gourmond, followed. It's their first holiday in an environment they're just now getting used to. At first they just kind of stared at the tree with cautious reverence, like the 2001 apes looking at the monolith except without the weird music. After that phase came the delighted recognition that a tree that blooms cat toys grew right there in the living room. Lily's the smaller of the two, and can climb nearly to the top of the Christmas tree effortlessly. I probably should tell her not to but it's just beautiful to watch. Willie has started to get up that high too, though not quite as gracefully. When he pushes off with his back legs to jump out, the tree almost looks like it's coming down. The tree started out nice but keeping it that way quickly became hopeless. I really don't mind. So far they've left the other decorations in the house alone. I take all of this to be a good sign for the coming year.

 

Best wishes to all for a great Christmas and a great New Year. As for me, I have to check the date of the Super Bowl. If I'm busy that day I want to make sure the NFL has enough time to reschedule it. 

Sermonized For Your Protection

"If one has morals, they can't be taken away by me or anyone else." (Lily St. Cyr, legendary 40's and 50's stripper)

This weekend, "The Golden Compass" opened (to mediocre reviews and box office) at a theater near you. It's a movie based on a book I never heard of that was written by an author I never heard of. Or hadn't heard of until I started getting mass-mailing e-mails a few weeks ago warning of the dire consequences sure to result if anyone sees this movie.

If the idea is to make sure no one sees a movie, a campaign to tell people about the movie is a curious approach. In any event, I understand the campaign's objections to be two-fold.

First, the writer, Philip Pullman, is an affirmed atheist whose writings generally portray major religions as groups of people engaged in widespread, organized efforts to tell the less-enlightened people what to do. To counter this portrayal, groups of  offended religious people have organized widespread campaigns to tell the rest of us not to see this movie.  (And on the eighth day, the Lord created irony...)

Second, some of those offended have expressed concerns not about this movie or the book on which it is based, but rather about the more openly critical second and third books in the trilogy. It's felt that after reading the first book, there's a chance there could turn out to be a possibility that maybe someone could conceivably read one of the other books at some time in the future and potentially be influenced by it to some degree. Sure sounds to me like something to spend today fretting about. And I'm sure these folks, in protecting their religious beliefs from any form of disagreement, must have a good reason for disregarding Jesus' own admonition from the Sermon on the Mount: "Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." (Matthew 6:34 NIV)  

Being fair, many of the concerns are understandable. Not long ago, these same folks were warning us about the rush of youth enrollmont into witchcraft-practicing cults after the Harry Potter books and movies were released and, sure enough, isn't that just what happened? It was the most shocking display of social deterioration I've seen since the epidemic of alcoholism that resulted from Lucy doing the still-shocking Vita-Meta-Vegimin episode.

If children ever started getting hold of Phillips' books there's no telling what could happen. Just ask any child who has already read one of the fifteen million copies of books in the trilogy sold since 1995.

Regular readers of this journal know God is an important part of my life, so I'm certainly not taking any kind of anti-religious stance. Regardless of whether I agree with someone's concerns about a movie or book, I can respectfully accept them if they've seen the movie, read the book, etc. We need to think a bit more than we sometimes do before preaching a sermon from the Book of Reefer Madness about how we know the sky is falling because we heard it from someone who saw it in an e-mail he got from a guy he knows who read a synopsis.

Now let's go out there and protect our children from the threat of wizards and golden compasses, and give them more wholesome concepts like talking lions.

 

Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200

Back from relaxing for a couple of days in Atlantic City. (The photo below isn't mine - in fact, I didn't take any this weekend - but it will do for now.)

 

 

I hadn't been there in quite some time, maybe four years, and for all the building and rebuilding the place remains a great constant. For international readers, Atlantic City is a small beach town in southern New Jersey that over the years has become the east coast's answer to Las Vegas, with better fudge and salt water taffy.

 

It's a curious place. A boardwalk lined with the gaudy lights of big-money casinos. There are some big-name chi-chi stores with high end jewelry, clothing and such for that day's lucky big winners, punctuated by junk shops and greasy food joints for the rest. Lots of storefronts featuring oriental foot and back massages. (These, as far as I know, are actual massages, as opposed to the "massages (nudge, nudge, wink, wink)" one can get in Las Vegas, where "massages (nudge, nudge, wink, wink)" are legal, a code word for taxable.) And, of course, souvenirs for everyone to remember the trip. What is life without a "someone I know went to Atlantic City and all I got was this t-shirt" t-shirt?

 

There's a Korean War Veterans memorial that's powerful even if the boardwalk does seem a curious location for it. It includes plaques for each of the native New Jersey recipients of the Medal of Honor, with a brief description of what each did to earn that distinction. The descriptions read like the heroic scenes from a big-budget action movie, and then you remember these guys did it for real and without knowing if the script would bring them out alive. In most cases, it didn't. If you visit Atlantic City and think looking out at the ocean leaves you feeling awestruck and humbled, turn the other way and read the plaques. I'll never call some guy who hits home runs or makes 3-point shots a hero again.

 

When first built-up years ago, the casinos were supposed to benefit the city, in particular the schools, but travel a couple of Monopoly-named streets past the boardwalk and the poverty tells a different story. Visiting high rollers, rooms and drinks provided free in return for dropping a couple of thousand dollars at the craps tables, walk past glitzy casinos alongside the busloads of regular folks who could probably be doing better things with their money than trying to double it at a slot machine or blackjack table. And together they pass local folks trying to get a few dollars by singing, playing plastic-bucket percussion or just by being there. It's very democratic, in a sad kind of way. Most sobering for me have always been the pawn shops, right across the street from the casinos, with big signs offering immediate cash for gold jewelry.

 

Still, the boardwalk has things to offer the non-gambler. Fresh air. Good shows too, though it's a bit off season for entertainment until it's closer to Christmas. The only big-name show this weekend was Jay Leno at Caesars (top ticket price: $175). We decided on a Beatles tribute band concert (top ticket price: $25). So realistic I almost yelled out, "Don't marry Heather!" Afterward we went back to our motel (about a twenty minute drive from the pricier hotels on the boardwalk) and watched a Letterman rerun.