Wednesday, August 30, 2006

About TIME someone noticed

In 1995 Peggy Giordano did a study of high school yearbooks. She was leafing through one when something caught her eye about the notes people had written there, something about their rawness and their honesty. "I was amazed at some of the messages that the boys were writing to girls," Giordano says. "They seemed to be so emotional and so heartfelt. It didn't seem to jibe with the picture of boys' only wanting one thing and objectifying young women."---TIME Magazine, August 27, 2006

What's that they say about half-truths? They're just like half-bricks- more dangerous because they fly farther.

Does anyone remember Dan Quayle and the brouhaha over his "Murphy Brown" remarks? Dan Quayle- you know, the guy who couldn't spell "potato", the man who was Vice-President under George Bush Sr. In a speech concerning the breakdown of the American family, he made these remarks: "It doesn't help matters when prime time TV has Murphy Brown - a character who supposedly epitomizes today's intelligent, highly paid, professional woman - mocking the importance of a father, by bearing a child alone, and calling it just another 'lifestyle choice.'" (Read the entire speech here.) His point was that fathers are important, and the lack of good fathers hurts our society. And it doesn't help when popular media portrays fathers as entirely unnecessary.

Poor Dan Quayle was unfairly crucified for these remarks. Most people in Hollywood, including Candice Bergen herself, reminded him that "it's just a TV show." The same groups of people who ripped apart Dan Quayle also protested the movie The Passion of the Christ for its supposed anti-semitism. The Passion of the Christ didn't portray anti-semitism, but even if it did, "it's just a movie", right? Kind of funny how inconsistent people can be.

The stereotype of boys and men being lazy brutes who "only wanting one thing" has done untold damage to male/female relationships in this country. The attitude is pervasive, affecting all segments of society. Take television, for instance. First of all, it's rare to find a family portrayed on TV in which the mother and father are still married and live in the same house. Usually it's the father who skipped out and is therefore portrayed as a deadbeat dad. If a father does make an appearance on a sitcom he is usually portrayed as an idiot who needs his wife to bail him out. Read these paragraphs from a larger essay entitled "American [Sitcom] Fathers":
In contrast to the Father-Knows-Best-Simulacrum Father and to the outdated penchant for paternalism, the flawed-yet-penitent father type epitomized by Homer Simpson represents sitcoms’ progress in the 1990s. Sitcoms that distinctly feature the Homer Simpson father type include Home Improvement, Malcolm in the Middle, and Grounded for Life; like Homer, this father type consistently proves imperfect and reformed by his patient and wise wife. A prominent theme of The Simpsons is Marge Simpsons’ struggle to improve Homer’s parenting, etiquette, professionalism, spirituality, culture, and physical, mental, and emotional well-being. Similarly, Home Improvement’s Jill Taylor sought to update her husband’s archaic macho attitudes with feminist ideas toward their marriage, family, and social relations, resulting in the show title’s double meaning.

Feminism’s impact on television also manifests in this father type through these men’s sharing delegated power in a matriarchal family. Aside from economic roles, the wives of these fathers dominate the parental, ideological, and sexual politics of their families. Because of their wives’ significance, the shortcomings of these fathers produce comedic rather than detrimental results: Homer’s, Tim’s, and Grounded for Life’s Sean’s mistakes in their breadwinner roles have only emphasized the matriarchal rule of their wives, to whom they must repent, akin to their mothers. Like the prototypical Marge, Lois of Malcolm in the Middle shines in the disciplinarian role of their children that proves the Homer Simpson father type complicit, negligent, and/or responsible: this more accurately represents contemporary family conditions and portrays women in an empowered rather than subordinate role, in which these fathers support them. Probably the most positive trait of this father type is his apologetic nature regarding his faults as a father and husband, a tendency that probably resulted more from modern theories of gender relations than practices.

I would add the show 7th Heaven to this list; although not a sitcom, the show does portray a mother who is dominant and a father who consistently makes the wrong decisions in raising the children and needs his wife to bail him out.

How about TV commercials? When was the last time that you saw a father who could change a diaper without help? Who could cook a meal for the family that didn't include the pepperoni group, the barbecue snack treat group, or the congealed grease group? Instead, the mom is the mastermind, and the dad is the fool. If the roles were reversed, there would be a massive outcry.

In fact, for one Diet Coke commercial stereotypes were reversed. A group of women sat and watched as a well-built man took his shirt off in the course of doing some work. All the while, these women were making comments and double entendres. There are many commercials where men ogle women, and different groups cry out against mysogynistic content. "This commercial objectifies women," they tell us. "It reinforces the stereotype that women are merely sex toys." Well... is the answer then to try to balance the scales and make men the eye candy? When does the stereotyping just stop?

Back to TIME Magazine.

(Peggy) Giordano--an author of such articles as "A Conceptual Portrait of Adolescent Romantic Relationships" and "Hooking Up: The Relationship Contexts of 'Nonrelationship' Sex"--believes something most people don't: not only do adolescent boys have hearts, but they're also the biggest romantics around. It's a theory that runs counter to the story our culture usually tells us about teenage boys--that they have abandoned dating and monogamy for hooking up and "friends with benefits." But Giordano believed the prevailing wisdom was wrong, and in 2001, with the help of two colleagues, professors Wendy Manning and Monica Longmore, she set out to test it. (Emphasis mine)

Now why would our culture possibly think that boys are only interested in being "friends with benefits"? Two thoughts here. One, a point which I've already made, is that the "men as sex maniacs" message is repeated ad nauseam throughout society. Two, men who do wear their emotions on their sleeve are portrayed as sissies and "girly men" and ridiculed. Why should a teenage boy or a young man or an older man bother trying to show his emotions when they face ridicule at every turn? They keep it inside, and then the pent-up emotion manifests itself in undesirable ways, most often in violence. Then people point at men and say "See? All men are potential wife-beaters and rapists." And God help the man who is good with children and likes to be around them, because he'll be wearing the scarlet P(ervert) around his chest for the rest of his life.

I take my kids to the bus stop. I change diapers. I tear up at sad parts in TV shows, movies, even books. I like action movies. I like seeing two pro wrestlers end up with thumbtacks in their backs and blood on their faces. I like driving fast. I cook for my family. I know next to nothing about cars. If I never get the chance to go hunting that will be just fine by me.

I'm a good father.

I'm not a stereotype.

I'm just a guy trying to make his way on the road of life.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Are you talkin' to me?

I have pet peeves, you have pet peeves- we all have them. For some people it's bad grammar. They'll correct you every chance they get. For others it's people who drive and talk on their cell phones. Still others have favorite razors that get misplaced :)

I recently had a conversation with my wife, and she told me that people occasionally come up to her and ask if I know this or that about the Catholic Church, with the insinuation being that if I had that one piece of secret information, I would know the real story. Some of them question whether I'm really a Christian. The common denominator here is that none of these people ever come to me and tell me these things. It's easier to talk behind my back.

Some will tell my wife, "Oh, he's just too argumentative and only wants to debate." I won't deny that I am occasionally argumentative :) But they confuse my desire to discuss the issues with a desire to debate. There's a difference. To debate means that I want to be the winner and want to see you as the loser. Not true. I do like to discuss things, which means that we have some give and take and try to understand each other's sides better.

For some people, just that fact that I question something they're telling me means that I'm picking a fight. To me it means that I'm not willing to blindly accept something just because you said it. At the same time, wisdom will sometimes tell me that it is better to let a subject go. If I know that an argument is the inevitable result then I'll wave a subject off.

So if you ever have an issue with something I've wrote, the comment section always follows the post, and I have my e-mail link at the top.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Why you should be involved in politics

Let me tell you a story. This story is about a parakeet, a parakeet named Flip. Flip lived in a nondescript town on the plains of Nebraska, one of many such towns that dot the landscape of America- only one way in, only one way out; people had to go to the general store to get their mail; and "fancy dining" meant heading 35 miles out of town to grab a burger at McDonald's.

Flip lived in a small efficiency apartment above a pizzeria. It wasn't a bad place to live, except for the occasions when Luigi and his wife got to arguing about how much the grocery bill was. To pay the rent Flip worked at a small UHF station on the outskirts of town, a station which covered about three miles all around. He hosted an after-school TV show called Flip's Amazing Cartoon Cavalcade. Decent work in a town where employment was hard to come by.

But Flip had a dream. The small-town life was cramping his style. He yearned to spread his wings and be free. He longed for a more fulfilling calling. He wanted to be President of the United States. Sure, people scoffed at his dream. "A parakeet? For President?" They laughed at him, not with him.

One day he was hosting the Cavalcade and had just introduced Patty and the Gentle Gigolo when he went out back to grab a smoke. As he sucked at the sweet, oxygen-depriving, life-destroying herb, two men in sunglasses came up to talk to him, one on each side. They had a deal for Flip- they saw how popular he was among viewers of Flip's Amazing Cartoon Cavalcade, and they thought that he would be a perfect candidate for the office of President.

Flip couldn't believe it. The Presidency! He barely had time to squawk "Yes!" before he had to go inside and introduce the latest installment of Stinky and Smelly the Diaper Twins. He was on his way. He stared out the window on his short drive home and began to imagine the possibilities. He would finally be able to shed the position of third-rate TV host and reach for the stars!

The next two years were long and arduous. Flip criss-crossed the land on his "Flip for Flip!" tour, shaking hands and kissing babies across the United States. His popularity began to skyrocket, even after his "chicken in every pot" comment drew the ire of the poultry population of the South. People saw in Flip a new start for the country. And when Election Day came upon us, and he was elected by an overwhelming majority, he told the crowd at the hotel where he was staying that they too, if they dreamed long enough and worked hard enough, could achieve their dreams, just as he had.

But Flip had a problem. You see, he was a parakeet, and parakeets have very small hearts. They can't handle the stress of the modern political process. So not long after the inauguration, when Flip was jogging through the garden surrounded by a phalanx of reporters, he clutched his chest and fell over dead. The Vice-President, one Snidely Doowrong, took the oath of office an hour later, swearing to uphold the Constitution and all that jazz. But no one expected that Flip would just up and die, so when it came time to choose a running mate, they chose a buffoon. A moron. A total idiot. Snidely drove the country into the ground and then, to take the attention off of him, started a war with nuclear weapons-bearing countries. The war did not end well and soon the entire country lay dead.

So the moral of the story is this. Be involved in the political process. Vote your conscience. Study the issues and cast your vote for whomever you think is the right man or woman for the job. Vote for Condaleeza Rice, or John McCain. Vote for John Kerry or Wesley Clark. Vote for Hillary Clinton, Ralph Nader, Ross Perot, Donald Rumsfeld, Howard Dean or Barack Obama...

...but never Flip the Bird.

Monday, August 21, 2006

History is people

I'm a baseball fan, although not a typical one; my interests don't run towards how the Cleveland Indians are doing now, for instance, but I do enjoy talking about how the Cleveland Indians in 1995 won 100 games in a strike shortened season, won many games in the bottom of the ninth, and crushed the hopes of their fans by losing to the Atlanta Braves in the World Series. (Well, maybe I don't enjoy that last part.) I like discussions of who the greatest baseball player is, because even though 9 guys out of 10 may say Babe Ruth, I'm the guy who will stick up for Tyrus Raymond Cobb. When Hall of Fame voting time rolls around, I'm that geek who will argue the merits of one George Van Haltren, 2,532 hits, lifetime batting average of .316.

Yet statistics don't tell the whole story. The stats don't answer the question "why?" Ty Cobb hit a total of 117 home runs, with no single season total higher than 12. Babe Ruth hit 714 home runs. Does that mean that Ty Cobb sucks? Well, no, he's the greatest player of all time. You have to understand the conditions that the game was played under during Ty Cobb's career as well as the hitting philosophies of the two players. To understand the stats you sometimes have to uncover the story.

And therein lies my fascination with history- the fact that behind every hero is a homelife, behind every monster is a mother, behind every death there is a life. Everyone has a story. The facts don't always tell the tale; indeed, sometimes our preconceived notions interpret the facts for us. If I tell you that my friend Dr. Jeffrey Smale is a fundamentalist, you immediately have an idea in your head as to what he is like. Whether it is true or not, you still have that idea. If I mention that he's an evangelist your stereotype is probably reinforced. Does the label tell you that his daughter Hannah was born with Down's Syndrome? Does it tell you that she died at the age of four after open heart surgery, and through that tragedy Dr. Smale developed a love for special needs children and adults? No, it does not. And for some people it doesn't matter. Knowing the full story means that they would have to think of Dr. Smale as a living, breathing human being and not a stereotype, and it is certainly much easier to box someone up and file them away.

Jesse Tannehill. Does the name mean anything to you? He was born in Dayton, Kentucky; he died in Dayton, Kentucky. If I tell you that he was a ballplayer does that flesh out the picture at all? In 1894 he was a 19 year old rookie pitcher for the Cincinnati Reds, a boy in the world of men. What was that like? He ended up having a pretty decent career. Did he ever feel like giving up?

Victoria Wilhelmina Morgan, my great-great grandmother. Born in 1867 in Sweden; died in 1945 in San Bernardino, California. Came to this country via a boat which landed in New York; was married in 1887 and had her first child seven months later, in Texas. The 1910 census has her living in Spokane, Washington with her three children; the 1920 census has her living with her two daughters in San Bernardino. In 1930 she was still living in San Bernardino, this time with her daughter Miriam, age 38, and her son-in-law, Elta K. Westover, age 57. What happened to her husband between 1887 and 1910? How did she make a living as a single mother in the early 20th century? Was she married before or after she got pregnant?

Elta K. Westover has a story too. In the 1900 census he is listed as living with his father, three brothers and three sisters on a farm in Kansas. In 1910 he is living in a boarding house in California. In 1920 he is working in a soda plant in California and living with 9 other people, all employees of a soda plant. in 1930 he is married to Miriam and living in San Bernardino with her and Victoria. Victoria owned the house since 1919 yet Elta is listed as head of household. Why? Elta died in 1957, Miriam died in 1966. Did the house stay in the family? Are their any pictures of Victoria, Elta and Miriam? Did they sit around playing cards? Did they attend church? Did Victoria cuss in Swedish when she got really mad? These stories are lost to the sands of time, but they make up the people involved every bit as much as social security numbers and census records.

Rod Stewart had a hit song with "Every Picture Tells A Story." The old saying goes that a picture is worth a thousand words. But for every picture, every thousand words, there are a dozen pictures and 10,000 words left unspoken. History isn't just facts and places, dates and names. Those are but the skeleton upon which the muscles and sinews of history are strung.

Saturday, August 19, 2006


I edited out a sentence in the last entry. Came off sounding a little crass.

BUT... I don't apologize for thinking about something that God says is good.

He who has ears to hear, let him hear.

The secret of life (for men)

Your wait is over, guys. I have discovered the secret of life. You may thank me later. The secret to life is...

Learn to cook.

That's right, learn to cook. If your wife has a meeting or has to work late, don't ever look at her with a straight face and say "But what am I going to have for dinner?" She ought to leave your lazy rear right there. I've heard one of my bro's-in-law say that, when his wife was working and his mom had an appointment. "What am I going to have for my dinner?" Well, I'll tell you what you're going to have. You are going to march into that kitchen, grab two pieces of bread and throw something in between them. There will be no ordering DoMarco's Hut Pizza and Ribs tonight. Learn to make a freaking sandwich.

If you aren't down with that I have two words for ya- Betty Crocker. I am telling you, Betty Crocker is your best friend. Forget Emeril, forget Rachel Ray- go with the woman with the red suit and the 70's hairstyle. Spend so much time with Betty Crocker that your wife thinks you're having an affair. Master that cookbook and you can do anything.

You say you aren't married? All the more reason for you to learn to cook. First of all, whatever you cook you get to eat. In order to survive as a bachelor it behooves you to learn to do more than heat up a gravy and meat TV dinner with a brownie mix that has spilled over into the corn. Cooking will earn you points with the ladies, my friends. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach? Uhh, yeah, right. You serve me up something nasty and you ain't getting my heart, my liver, my colon, or any part of me. But if I can serve you up a fantastic meal, created with my own two hands? I have you hooked for life. You'll be talking about that meal with your friends for 50 years.

And now I'm off. I have to make chocolate chip cookies for the wifey.

Friday, August 18, 2006

This is my lucky day!!!!!!!

Check this out- I just got an e-mail from one Salim Ibrahim, a businessman from Dubai, Kenya. The poor man has cancer and only has a few months to live. This is what he needs my help on:
I will want you to help me collect my last deposit and dispatched it to charity organizations which I deposited in security/finance house abroad, which no one knows of is the huge cash deposit of (Twenty five Million, Five Hundred Thousand U.S dollars) I have set aside 25% for you, then 5% for any expenses insured.
Awesome! I stand to make six million three-hundred seventy-five thousand dollars! Let's see what else he has to say:
If you are interested, please send your prompt reply to myemail address below which you will have to reply to if you will be kind enough to assist.
May the almighty Allah bless you...

Aww, crap. He wants Allah to bless me, and I'm a Christian. I knew it sounded too good to be true.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Jack Hyles revisited

While I was on hiatus from the blog I still got comments on one of my posts, the one titled "What Is Truth?", specifically about the Jack Hyles section. To recap, I was talking about the adoration Fundamental Baptists give this man (now deceased) and the reasons such adoration is totally out of line. In response I received this comment:

Sean,Being a Fundamental Bible Believer does not make you Jack Hyles. Mostly we are Independant Baptist. That is to say that Fundamentals do not have a "home office" that supports Hyles with some kind of doctrinal statement. They all have the ability to support who they will. It is true that many fundamentalist do speak well of Hyles, but I do not, and I never will. Thank you for the information though.

He's right, of course, and I should have made the distinction. Jack Hyles was a fundamentalist but being a fundamentalist does not make you a Jack Hyles follower. Yet the mindset that produces the Hyles groupies still remains in many fundamental churches, whether they recognize Hyles as the Baptist Pope or not.

Does your church emphasize soul winning numbers at all costs? That attitude can be directly attributed to Jack Hyles, whose massive bus ministry went to three states in order to bring 'em in. Concerned about souls? I'm sure many were. I also know from experience that when soul winners are released upon the masses they will lead anyone in a prayer and count them saved, whether the person even remotely understands what they are talking about or not.

Does your church believe in consulting "the preacher" on every life decision, from when and where to buy a house to when to start a family? Again, a Hyles attitude which has entrenched itself in fundamentalism at large. I see no problem in asking the advice of someone you respect. But when they demand obedience to said advice? Whoa, nelly.

My thoughts on fundamentalism will have to wait for another day. But I apologize for painting with such a broad stroke.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Why pizza and Mountain Dew is the breakfast of champions

Pizza and Mountain Dew is equivalent to a hearty breakfast of pancakes, eggs, bacon and sausage. Observe:
  • Pancakes equal the pizza crust.
  • The cheese is your dairy product. Very important to start your day with some milk.
  • Sausage and bacon on the pizza=sausage and bacon on the plate.
  • Pepperoni equals... well... we don't want to be fundamentalists about this, do we?
  • Anchovies. Somewhere in the world someone is eating fish for breakfast. So there.

And then there is Mountain Dew. Ah, the nectar of the gods. Mountain Dew is the biblical drink, which qualifies it for any meal of the day. "As the dew of Hermon falls upon the mountains of Zion, there the Lord commands the blessing, life forevermore." Psalm 133:3, baby. Never say that a Catholic doesn't know his Bible :)

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

The long black comb

My father was in the military for 26 years. As a Coast Guard officer his appearance had to be a certain way- shoes shined, uniform shirts ironed, hair shorn to a certain length and kept well groomed. And he did his job well. Had a closet full of light blue shirts and Coast Guard issue ties. (I still have one of those ties. Goes along well with my one and only dress shirt, a short sleeved blue number....)

As a kid his tendency towards order and perfection had its pros and cons. When he cooked it had to be perfect or he threw it away. That was a plus. You knew that what he made was going to be excellent, and that there would always be a double recipe :) But the cons. Oh, the cons.

Enter the long black comb.

We usually had half a dozen combs in the bathroom, but he had to have the long black comb. If it wasn't there we would hear about it. I mean, geez, couldn't he have picked up another comb and just used it? No, it had to be the long black one. And with good reason- it was a great comb. Covered the whole head in one fell swoop. But man, would he make a big deal about it.

Just recently my razor came up missing. Now let me tell you something- I hate to shave. I only shave on Sundays and when I might have an appointment in which it would behoove me to shave. On those occasions in which I must shave, not just any razor will do. Single-blade disposable? Nada. Double-blade disposable? At one time I would have said yes. But not now. There is only one razor that comes closer to perfection in shaving as St. Francis came to in life.

The Gillette Mach 3 Turbo.

Those three blades make all the difference in my shave.

A few weeks ago I needed to shave, but alas! My Gillette Mach 3 Turbo was missing. I just knew my wife had used it... I shuddered at the thought.

"Honey, where is my Gillettte Mach 3 Turbo razor, the one with three blades that gives me a clean close shave?"

"I don't know- I haven't seen it."

Well, you know, she had to have seen it. I put my razor back in the exact same place every day, as well as the can opener, the dish soap, my favorite glass... if you put things back in the same place all the time, then you know where it is the next time. But when my wife cleans the bathroom, all bets are off. I picked out an old razor that still had hairs in it and scraped it across my face in an effort that was only slightly less dangerous than Katherine Hepburn, God rest her soul, shaving someone for hernia surgery with a straight razor.

Tonight I finally buckled down and bought myself a new Gillette Mach 3 Turbo. I made it very plain that this razor would be for my face only, and would find its home in the medicine cabinet, third shelf, where I would expect to see it every day.

Then I thought of the long black comb.

Oh man.

I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?

How do you teach a snake to dance?

I was in the local convenience store yesterday picking up some stuff for dinner, and the cashier was obviously training someone. The trainee looked pretty lost, while the cashier/trainer raced through the transaction, as if the new woman should be able to pick up everything on the first pass.

I had a similar experience at my last job. I had just been promoted to Section 8 Occupancy Specialist (read: caseworker). This position actually had some prestige within the public housing office where I worked. My trainer was a fellow O.S. with a lot of experience, and she threw everything at me all at once. I was lost from the get-go. When I thought I had a handle on something, she pointed out a half dozen mistakes. The guidebook she let me use, which had step by step examples of every kind of paperwork, had pages out of order and revisions and revised revisions scratched in the margins by generations past. We had different lunch breaks, so when I had a question she was inevitably gone. I failed miserably at that position, and I lay part of my failure at the feet of a crappy training program.

I feel like I'm entitled to criticize their training methods because I worked as a trainer for two years at a previous job. When I worked for a book warehouse I trained numerous employees. For a week I had them under my observation. I did nothing else but help them learn the job. My education background finally came in handy; I knew the different ways people learned and could tailor my methods to fit their needs. Some of the people I trained went on to higher positions. I trained two future supervisors and another guy who went from the warehouse into the corporate offices.

I'm thinking about all of this as I drove home with my ground beef and pepperoni and ice cream sandwiches. If the cashier-trainee ends up surviving at this convenience store it will be in spite of her training, not because of it. If you throw enough transactions at her she'll end up getting it, I guess, but it isn't the best way to do it. A better way would be to let her watch as the trainer worked and talked through each transaction. A manual could be developed with examples and pictures. Give her mock transactions and have her walk through the steps. Then throw her to the wolves. Don't overwhelm her right away.

And of course, I tried to make spiritual applications as well. How many people leave church on Sunday having heard a fantastic sermon, but have no clue what to do with it? How many pastors take educational psychology and methods along with homiletics and hermeneutics? Do older Christians adequately model the Christian life for the "trainees"? How many people give up on Christianity because they feel overwhelmed, having plenty of people around to tell them how but very few to show them how?

How do you teach a snake to dance? I don't know, but you might have to lead for awhile.

Monday, August 14, 2006

We're here, we're queer, we don't want any more bears

Back in June when I went into retirement I had basically had enough with the blogging world. It was time to step away from the computer for a bit, read a book, maybe try my hand at writing some fiction... anything but pound out my opinions in a world already too crowded with them.

My exile lasted about two weeks. Then I got the itch again. So instead of coming back to The Pardoner's Tale, I decided to start a new blog where I would be anonymous. That way I could say anything I wanted to, whether it be about politics, religion or current events, and it would never come back on me. I could take on the gimmick of angry middle-aged man and get away with it.

Two problems with that. First, the angry man gimmick is already being done to death in three out of four blogs worldwide. Second, I don't like playing a role. I stopped writing in the first place because I felt like I was playing to the crowd and losing my own voice. So I deleted the blog.

But I still wanted to write. So here I am again.

I will probably continue in the same vein as before, although I won't be limiting myself to specific subjects. I'm not a Catholic writer, nor a Protestant; I'm not a liberal writer or a conservative one- I'm just a guy.

Welcome to the show.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Hello again

I've decided to come out of retirement. More to follow.