THIS MORNING

It snowed overnight so that eveything was traced in lines of white. Every pine needle, twig, branch and railing is etched in a precariously balanced line of tiny, white snow-crystals. A trail of raccoon tracks link their way across the yard, down the steps and over the road. It was up before I was. The sun is coming out in earnest now and the day has blossomed into its full radiance. All is shimmering, and fragile and etched in white. Soon this crystaline perfection will turn to a dripping, muddy mess, but in this moment I would rather not think of that.

I NEED SOME ADVICE

Occassionally I find myself in the company of people who are disfigured in some way. Maybe they are a burn victim or an amputee. Maybe they have a disease or part of their face has been removed. I have to confess that I struggle to know how best to act around such a person. Should I avoid staring directly at their injury? You know, just be cool and pretend like it's not there? "Oh, that? Wow, I didn't even notice that you're nose is missing!" Or should I just call out the elephant in the room and ask them right away about the cause of their injuries? "Ooh! What happened to your nose?" Would that be obnoxious?  Unwelcome? Will they think I'm a faker if I don't ask them about it? I want to put them at ease, and I want to be at ease myself, but I get so worked up that I'm never sure if I've done the right thing. I never come away from such an interaction feeling like I handled it just right, and I want really badly to get it right.  Any suggestions?

TOP 10 SURPRISES FOUND IN THE NEW, REVISED VERSION OF THE NIV BIBLE

10. Peter now referred to as "P-Dawg"
9. Abishag the Shunamite described as "Smokin' Hot!"
8. Rising cost of diet pepsi identified as a sign of the apocalypse
7. The voice of Balaam's donkey performed by Eddie Murphy
6. The twelve disciples referred to as "Jesus's Crew"
5. Before knocking down the temple of Dagon, Samson eats a can of spinach.
4. Wife of Potiphar described as "a cougar"
3. Additional 11th commandment warns against the evils of corn syrup and white refined sugar
2. Bonus features include psalm parodies by Weird Al
1. Jar-Jar Binks!

GERONIMO?

Since the daring raid last week in which a team of U.S. Navy Seals stormed Bin Laden's compound, killing him and making off with his corpse and a treasure trove of intelligence, much has been made in the media over Bin Laden's code name of "Geronimo." Honestly, I can see why indignenous Americans, especially our Apache friends, might have taken offense. I wouldn't want to be identified with the likes of Bin Laden either.

I think the department of defense should take me on as a consultant to come up with code names for all of their future black-op targets. I think I would be awesome at that! I could certainly do better than Geronimo!

Here are my top ten alternative code names for Osama Bin Laden:

10. Bubbles
9. Turd-burger
8. Shabby Sheikh
7. Snookie
6. Jeff
5. Birthday Boy
4. Boo
3. Whiskers
2. Dimes (just 'cause I have always thought it would make the coolest nickname in the world)
1. Cochise

Department of Defense, if you are monitoring this bit of internet traffic (We all know that you spy on us, D.O.D.!) and you like my ideas, then I'll meet you on the bench outside of the Idyllwild Public Library Wednesday afternoon at 11:30 am. Wear a red hat.  I'll have an envelope containing more suggested codenames, which I will hand over in exchange for an envelope stuffed with cash. See ya then!

BIN LADEN'S STYLE INSPIRES FASHION CRAZE AMONG AMERICA'S HOMELESS

 The nation's homeless are rockin' the casbah with a new look inspired by America's late arch-villain, Osama Bin Laden. Fashion experts are calling the trend, which consists primarily of an unkempt beard and a menacing glare, "shabby sheikh." When reached for comment, local transient, Art Buckwell (photo below) said of the trend, "I'm with the CIA!"

THE VIEW FROM MY HOUSE- CAMERAS

A pleasant moment with friends can be a fragile thing, and introducing a camera into such a moment can be like yelling into the stillness of a new day. The moment hardens and becomes something else. At such times the camera makes a statement when things are better left unsaid. Just enjoy it and let it pass unphotographed.

THE VIEW FROM MY HOUSE- COMPOSITE SKETCHES FRIGHTEN ME

Why do they freak me out so? I really find them kind of unnerving, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is that bothers me about them. Photos of suspects don't usually have the same affect on me. Just artist renderings. Anybody?

OPENING DAY!

For reasons that remain mysterious to me I never evolved into a true sports fan. I love professional football of course, as you already know, but outside of World Cup soccer, the occasional Kentucky Derby, and a strange hockey phase I went through during college I never have cared much for sports in general. I have decided, as an exercise of the will and not truly of the heart, to give baseball a second look this season. I'm gonna try it on for size. Opening day has gone unobserved during all of the thirty-three years of my life, but today I feel strangely compelled to leave my status as a nominal Orioles fan behind and pursue a more enthusiastic posture toward their struggling organization. We'll call it a trial embrace. If the poor Washington, Redskins are any indication of what my support can do for a team then I need to apologize to the fine people of Baltimore and to the Orioles organization for publicly declaring my support for the team.

Did you know that when Lewis and Clark finally arrived at the Pacific Ocean they found an Indian woman with a sailor's name tattooed on her arm? When I read that it made me feel like as if Buzz Aldrin had landed on the moon and found "Dirk was here" carved onto some moon rock.That poor woman.

Since moving to Idyllwild nearly eight years ago I have heard raccoons fight on many occasions, and the sound of them fighting always sounds to me like R2D2 having a seizure. It's an unnatural sound, raccoons fighting.

ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!!

I remember once in Junior High I overheard a classmate of Irish descent explain to a teacher why she celebrates St. Patrick's day. "St. Patrick was Irish," she said "So we really celebrate the holiday more than most families do. We're really Irish!" She was dressed all in green with lick-on shamrock tattoos on both cheeks.

The teacher was smiling and nodding her head, when I interrupted, "Actually, St. Patrick was from England," I said. "He was brought to Ireland as a slave, but he escaped, and after coming to Christianity he voluntarily returned to Ireland to introduce them to Christianity."

That's not an exact quote I'm sure. It has been a long time since this exchange took place, but I remember some of the words I chose, because I was careful back then about how I talked about my faith in the public arena. "Introduce them to Christianity" sounds like he gave them a disease or something. Here I was speaking their secular language to describe the event, which in my heart of hearts I would have preferred to describe in more personal language. Had I described this summary of St. Patrick's life to sympathetic Christian ears it would have sounded more like, "After he came to know the Lord, he voluntarily returned to Ireland to tell them about Christ." As a boy I felt weird and different for being a Christian, and I was a tad bullied by the disapproval of my peers into avoiding any direct, naked discussions about my faith so I generally talked about it as though I were a detached observer and not as the participant that I truly was. I regret that.

(Confession- In truth, I was enjoying this moment a little too much. Pride gave birth to this exchange. I was an obnoxious, little, know-it-all sort of kid in Jr. High, and I wasn't primarily concerned with confronting their secular notions with the unsanitized truth of the holiday's religious beginnings, but with simply showing off a little of my knowledge. I'm sure it rubbed them both the wrong way, and they can't be blamed for that. I am still trying to shed my contentious nature. I share this so that you will know that I am not exactly proud of this story.)

The teacher looked at me puzzled for a second, her head cocked to the side and hands on her hips. The girl looked at me like I had just said that the capital of the United States was actually Cleveland, Ohio. After a moment the teacher said, "Is that right? Well, we'll have to look that up." She went over to an encyclopedia, which was nearby because we were in the library, and after a few minutes came back confirming that St. Patrick was, in fact, a Briton.

Victory!

Although, like most American mongrels, I can never be exhaustively or exactly sure of my ancestry, there is not a strong Irish presence in my family tree. If anything it tends to lean more heavily towards other portions of the British Isles. But I do celebrate St. Patrick's day, but not because he was a Briton (as were my ancestors actually! Isn't that word "ACTUALLY" an obnoxious sort of word?) but because we are brothers in the same family and in the same cause. The family being that of Christ, and the cause being that of Christ also.

One of Bowden's teachers at school was struggling recently to explain to him and some of his classmates why St Patrick's day is a holiday and told him that St Patrick is somebody we celebrate because he freed slaves in Ireland. At breakfast this morning, Bowden told Sarah that this is why we celebrate St Patrick's day. I was outraged. A paid educator taking such pains to avoid any endorsement of Christianity (perceived or otherwise) that she completely misrepresented the holiday's beginnings and the man, St Patrick. Maybe she was just bullied by the disapproval of her peers, I don't know, but I wanted to go to school, seek this teacher out and have an actually-filled conversation with her. In fact, I might. As I think about it that teacher wasn't so far from the truth after all if she meant that Patrick helped to free men from their slavery to sin and death by introducing them to Christ, but I doubt that's what she meant.. St. Patrick did come to Ireland to free slaves. I have to own that is true.

So, unlike some,  I won't be pretending that I'm Irish today, but then again I don't need to. For I am a Briton (by ancestry), as was the good St. Patrick, but more importantly I am a Christian, which was St. Patrick's raison d'etre, and, actually, it's mine also.

A FEW MORE UNRELATED THOUGHTS INSPIRED BY BEAR GRYLLS

I think my favorite part of any given episode of Man vs. Wild is when Bear makes a shelter. What little boy doesn't dream of making a shelter in the woods. Especially making one out of necessity! I think the act of carving a bit of comfortable space out of the wilderness speaks to that desire inherent in mankind to subdue the earth, to excercise dominion over it. I guess I shouldn't overthink it though. It just seems cool to go out in the woods and fashion a shelter of some sort. I have already told Bowden that the next time we go back to Vermont we are going to take the boat up to the overhang at Chipmans Point, construct some kind of shelter there, and pass the night sleeping where cannibals and savages used to live. I have documented, on this very blog, my regret over not staying the night there the last time I had an opportunity. I will have to remedy that mistake the next time I am back in the 802.

(I don't know who this gentleman is, but I liked his shelter. It looks like a more comfortable habitation than my birch bark wigwam, but not as cool looking though.)



THE VIEW FROM MY HOUSE- COCOA PUFFS

They should rename cocoa puffs "Rabbit Turds."

THE VIEW FROM MY HOUSE- TA+E

You can't spell Tate without "A+."

GRADUATED USE OF FORCE

Last night I was scrubbing a pan which I had used earlier that morning to make the kids some oatmeal. Right-Now-Josh screwed Future-Josh again and failed to rinse out the oatmeal remnants before it had the chance to harden and stick to the side of the pan with the bonding power of some industrial strength mortar. It would have only taken a few seconds and considerably less elbow grease for Right-Now-Josh to rinse it out, but Nooooo, he got distracted or something. Right-Now-Josh is always doing jerky things like that, and Future-Josh is always angry at him for his lack of consideration. He only thinks in the moment. It's very frustrating.

Anyway, I started scraping the pan with the abrasive side (green) of the sponge (#1 above), but that wasn't strong enough to do the job. So I took up the scrubbing brush (#2 above) which likewise failed to remove the hardened bits of old oatmeal. (Curse you, Right-Now-Josh!!!) So I reached for the nuclear option (#3 above) whose relentless application combined with the continuous flow of warm water from the tap won the day.

I found myself wondering why I don't always start with #3. Why bother with #1 and #2? Why this graduated approach? #1 and #2 have their place perhaps with dishes whose delicate construction or non-stick surface might be damaged by #3's abrasive nature. But for other dishes it doesn't make any sense at all to start with a lesser scrubbing utensil. From now on I'm showing up to every scrubbing challenge loaded for bear. No more half measures. I'm going straight to #3 every time.

BARBARIANS

Today, we are experiencing some truly lovely weather here in Idyllwild. It actually feels exactly like a fall day. Sunny but just a little cool, like you want a sweater on, but not so cold that you need it. Perfect weather. I decided to walk to the post office with the camp's mail. As I walked out the camp's entrance towards town I passed a man walking in the opposite direction. It was one of those awkward deals where you see each other coming, you realize you're the only two human beings in sight, You're getting closer and closer, and you're both wondering if the other party will initiate some sort of interaction (head nod, smile, hello, etc...).

Right in front of the laundromat we made eye contact, and I thought "in for penny in for a pound" so I proceeded to smile and say "hello." Nothing. He just stared right through me and walked past in stoney-silence. Like I wasn't even there!!!

That pissed me off. It really did. Who does that? We're not on the internet or something. I was a real, live person. I looked him in the eye, smiled and said "hello." The nerve of that guy. He just ignored me. We live in a society, sir! I wondered if he regretted his shabby non-response as we drifted past each other in awkward silence. I regretted not leaving for the post office five minutes later than I did so I could have missed this shifty misanthrope altogether.

I continued on, eventually meeting a man in front of the Idyllwild Water District Building, a woman in front of the liquor store, a second woman in front of The Greek Place Restaurant and two more men at the Post Office.

Of those six individuals who I greeted in passing guess how many returned in kind- JUST TWO!!! They were the two ladies.

Four of them, the four men, acted like I was a leper. This is the stuff that separates us from the barbarians, people!

We should greet people in passing and return said greetings. Am I right about that?

DUELING INSURANCE SPOKESMEN

It amazes me that on just about any given commercial break, and on any given channel you will encounter one or more of these insurance spokesmen. I find the different approaches to sell insurance very interesting. Right at the outset, and in the interests of full-disclosure, I have to disclose that we go with FLO. Our 2002 Astro Van is insured by Progressive and I don't have any complaints. I kind of like Flo, and progressive is about the same as every other insurance company I have ever dealt with. I send them money. They send me a little card, and I forget all about them until I accidentally rear-end a crappy late-model sedan on the way to jury duty in Riverside. 

This guy is solid, is he not? Every time he tells me that I would be "in good hands with Allstate," I think seriously about changing from progressive. I want to be in good hands!!! He's so sincere and honest about it. He clearly cares about me and my family. I suspect that he may be employing some Jedi mind tricks during these commercials. If he told me, in that honest, straightforward way of his, that these are not the droids I was looking for. I am confident that I would simply parrot back to my fellow strom troopers, "These are not the droids we are looking for."

Alright, the votes aren't totally in on this guy yet. He's got kind of a Kenneth from 30 Rock thing going, but I think the blue phone is genius. I like the commerical where he explains about the vanishing deductible to the girl on the park bench with the huge boulder hanging above her head, and also the one where he impetuously renames the company "NationPam."  The very fact that I remember these commercials would indicate that he is effective as a spokesperson. Yeah, I guess the votes are in. I like him. I'm not sure what the deal is with the phone though, but, as I said it, I like it. Plus, his enthusiasm is infectious. I'm definitely a fan of the Nationwide guy. "NationJosh is on your s...sosh?"

Why doesn't this guy have his own TV show? He's hilarious. Hands down the best insurance commercials on TV right now. I can't get enough of this guy. If the funniest commercial ended up insuring the most drivers we would all be insured by Allstate right now.

Remember the cave man? I have to confess I'm glad that's over. Geico has a way of overstaying its welcome. For example, the gecco.

America needs a break, Geico. We need a break. Not since that awful, grating duck from AFLAC has an insurance company so tried a nation's patience. It's time to retire the gecco.

Alright, let me unload about this guy. he's on TV constantly and I don't like him. He's creepy. Just creepy. He seems like the sort who would hit on your girlfriend right in front of you. Maybe even you wife! He is the worst of the insurance spokesmen. Worse even than the Geico gecco. With this guy as the face of the company, State Farm seems less like a good neighbor and more like a beady-eyed fella on the sex offender registry. He seems a little fake too, doesn't he? Like he's putting on airs, and his faux, coffee-house-chic demeanor comes off to me as kind of pretentious and a little too slick. Be real with me like that Jedi from the Allstate commercials. I don't care if State Farm insures more drivers than Geico and Progressive combined. I am not picking up what they are laying down. I'll stick with Flo. State Farm loses this duel in my opinion.



UNINSPIRED

In English, the word "inspire" means to breathe in. It speaks of taking something into yourself that is not of yourself. It is the opposite of "expire," which of course means to breathe out.

Inspiration and creativity are a strange duo. I have learned that they can't be denied when they come knocking, but neither can they be made to perform on demand like a circus bear. I don't believe they can be conjured through force of will.

You might suspect that I am waxing pretentious a bit here, but I have no delusions of grandeur as I write.  I know that I am not a creative genius, but I do enjoy very much being creative. I also enjoy playing soccer, but I know that I am no Pele. That is my relationship to creativity.

Tonight I want very much to be creative. The kids are in bed. Sarah is watching TV. I have just finished a bit of course work, and I have unfettered access to this computer and the internet. I want to write something funny or interesting, but all my efforts are falling flat. I give up. I will spare you, my faithful readers, the product of my mediocre efforts, and I will live to blog another day.

OFF THE PATH AND INTO THE FOREST

Most minds are like paths criss-crossing a forest. The paths represent predictable channels, well-worn ruts, and between the paths stands an untrammeled and unexplored wilderness of ideas and possibilities. Sometimes when I am driving along the freeway I will glance over at the face of a passing motorist. Their blank, glassy expressions betray the fact that they are off wandering some tired old path. That's what I do when I drive. Through reptition, the mechanics of driving come as naturally to us as lifting a spoon. It is not an activity that we need to think about as we do it and as we drive our minds are free to wander. The trails are always the same. The view rarely changes.

All paths should have a destination, but mine have traditionally run in a loop, doubling back, and covering the same ground over and over again without ever going anywhere or accomplishing anything. Paths which should serve to access marvelous places have become an end to themselves, a mind numbing and tedious circle.

Sometimes it takes something wildly unexpected, something totally out of left field, to chase a man off of his established paths, and into the forest.