Let’s Talk About Love… And a Transgender God

First, A Couple Prefatory Notes To Aid Ease Of Understanding As You Read:

1.) In this article, the term referring to deity, i.e., “God,” will be capitalized to indicate reference the Jewish/Christian deity in particular, Who almost always, i.e., 99.9999% of the time, is referred to in the masculine gender, i.e., as a male — despite evidence strongly suggesting that “there is no male and female, for you all are one in Christ Jesus,” Galatians 3:28 (English Standard Version), and “God is a Spirit” John 4:24 (KJV), and others.

2.) References to that same deity in particular, by using personal pronouns in lieu of a proper name, for clarity sake, and with regard for traditional practice, will be capitalized, i.e., Him, His, He, etc., although there is abundant evidence pointing to the fact that the proper name of God is Jehovah, although the second name, or “surname,” changes, e.g., Jireh, Nissi, Rapha, Shalom, Tsidkenu, Sel’i, Go’el, Tsuri, Shamah, Sabbaoth, M’Kaddesh, hyphenated as Jehovah-Jireh, etc.

3.) To identify the speaker when a Gospel verse is stated, the words of Jesus of Nazareth will be emphasized in RED, and italicized.

4.) Unless otherwise specifically stated, all Scripture references are from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible, and when other versions are used, will be so noted by their abbreviated three, or four-letter designation, i.e., NLT=New Living Translation, AMP=Amplified Bible, NKJV=New King James Version, NASB=New American Standard Bible, etc.

5.) The word “theology” is taken from two ancient Greek words:
a.) Theos, referring to a diety, and;
b.) Logos, referring to the spoken word, such as in conversation, or discourse.

In a nutshell, theology means talking about God.

Regarding the origin and derivation of the word “theology,” it emerged c.mid-14 century, and is “the science of religion, study of God and his relationship to humanity,” which term is derived from the Old French word “theologie” meaning a “philosophical study of Christian doctrine; Scripture” (14c.), and stems from the Latin word “theologia,” from the Greek word “theologia” meaning “an account of the gods,” from “theologos” meaning “one discoursing on the gods,” from theos “god” (from the Proto-Indo-European root *dhes-, forming words for religious concepts) + -logos meaning “treating of” (see -logy). The meaning of “a particular system of theology” is from 1660s.

So, in essence, what you’re about to read is about Christian religion, which makes it Christian theology. However, I dare say that the ideas and thoughts which you’re about to read are rarely, if ever, discussed, much less taught, in schools of Christian theology. But the central and ultimate idea is inescapable, even blatant — making it the proverbial “elephant in the room.”

So, without further ado, let’s get underway.

Evangelical type folks, which notably includes Baptists, are the ones who are almost always saying “accept Jesus as your savior… get saved today,” etc., seem to relish telling folks that if they don’t ever pray, or repeat, what they call the “Sinner’s Prayer,” that, when that individual dies, that person is going to a place of eternal torment and damnation which they call “hell.”

And typically, that “hell” is described by them as a place that burns with fire and brimstone — which, interestingly enough, was NOT EVER described that way by Jesus of Nazareth. The phrase — “the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone” — is found in Revelation 21:8 as the King James Version (KJV) reads. It’s also found in Revelation 19:20 which states in part, “were cast into the lake of fire burning with brimstone,” and in Revelation 14:10 “tormented with fire and brimstone,” “the lake of fire and brimstone” Revelation 20:10.

There are other mentions of fire and brimstone, but not in the context of mentioning a lake, or as a place of perdition, torture, or torment, eternal, or not. Linguistically, however, such a place, as a proper name, is NEVER capitalized. And for that matter, neither is heaven. Where they proper names of places, they would be so identified by capitalization. They are not.

Jesus of Nazareth does mention hell a few times, vis a vis,

It’s 🎼 beginning ♫ to ⛄️ smell 🎄 a 🎶 lot 🛷 like…

Yup… Xmas is just a few days away.

Fourteen, to be exact, as this is being written.

And Americans have done what Americans do best — commercialize and capitalize upon the sacred.

I mean, what would Xmas be like without Satan Claws, the Ishtar Bunny, Abdominable Snowman, or Rudolph the Brown-Nosed Reindeer, eh?

Maybe that’s too much mixture of metaphones.

But, “merii Kurisumasu,” to you, anyway.

“Kurisumasu” is Japanese, being, of course, the phonetic pronunciation of Christmas, and “merii” being the phonetic pronunciation of the term recognizing the Virgin of Paloma; combine the two, and you have yourselves a merry little Christmas, dear. No more running of the bulls in Pamplona… which should not be confused with melanoma, nor with Oklahoma. Thank you, Will Rogers — the Sooner State’s Favorite Son… who was a Cherokee, a literal honest Injun, a Red Man — not to be confused with the chewing tobacco. And to you too, Fred McFeely Rogers. What would Big Bird be without you? Kentucky Fried Chicken. And Doumo Arigatou (どうもありがとう) to you, Harlan Sanders. And to Komatsu, and John Deere, we send mounds of earth. Now, get moving.

So, what’s the meaning of all this hegemonic, cacophonic, histrionic, mesenteric, miasmatic mess?

Creativity — pure and simple. It’s something made up in the crevices of my creative cranium using things we know about. It’s the use of reality to make a surreality, a phantasy — a thing like the real, somewhat resembling the real, though its most defining characteristic is that it is unreal… very unreal. And we know it.

But seriously, our Japanese brethren have taken a shining to Xmas (but not The Shining), a virtual twinkling of an eye, and/or lights, and/or toes, candy canes, little tin soldiers, and stockings hung by the chimney with care in the hopes that Saint Nick soon will be there, even though Japan is a predominately Shinto and Buddhist nation, just like Middle Eastern nations are predominately Muslim. Seems they like having something to celebrate in the dead of winter, besides soy sauce, saki, and Sony. Now they have Santa. What would a Buddhist Santa look like?

Maybe something like this?

For the Christian faithful, it’s now the Advent season, an annual celebration which consists of the four Sundays before Christmas, or in Eastern Orthodox churches, the 40 days before Christmas, which will then become Christmastide (being the festival observed from December 24 which is Christmas Eve, Christmas Day is the First Day of Christmas, until January 5, the 12th Day of Christmas, which is the eve of Epiphany), then followed by Epiphany.

Got it?

In other words, it’s the season for some of the holiest, and most important days of the year for many orthodox and Catholic Christians, though some Protestant denominations also acknowledge them. And then comes Lent (which is a 40-day period of fasting and penitence observed by many Christians in preparation for Easter, which in Western churches, lasts from Ash Wednesday until Holy Saturday — which is the day before Easter Sunday — excluding Sundays, in which time the observant commemorate the fasting done by Jesus of Nazareth while in the wilderness) and Eastertide referring to the Easter season, which occurs from Easter Sunday to Ascension Day, sometimes also called Whitsunday, or Trinity Sunday, which is 40 days in duration, initiating with Easter Sunday. Easter is ALWAYS on a Sunday, because that’s when many Christians think Jesus of Nazareth was resurrected from death, following his execution by the government, and subsequent entombment.

As the story is told, He was never “properly buried,” per se — which as many now consider it, is to have the mortal remains placed in a casket, which is then inserted inside a concrete vault, which is placed in a hole dug into the ground, then covered with soil — and rather, His body was placed in a cave, the entrance to which reportedly had a large rock placed in front of the entrance as a blockade. Archaeologists, experts and others who’ve scoured the area around Jerusalem have found only 4 round disc-type rolling rocks used as tomb covers/blockades among the 900-plus Second Temple-period burial caves, all of which were examined by examined by archaeologist Amos Kloner, and those were reserved for the very wealthy and/or royalty. Much more likely, and much more common, was a stone, which may have been hewn, used as a type of plug, in a manner somewhat similar to a cork in a bottle.

That is similarly attested to by researcher Dr. Urban Cammilus von Wahlde, PhD, of Loyola University, Chicago, IL, a Research Fellow Yale Divinity School, 1979, member Catholic Biblical Association American, Society Biblical Literature, Chicago Society Biblical Research, etc., who authored an article to that effect which was published in the March/April 2015 issue of the peer-reviewed journal Biblical Archeology Review, in a column entitled “A Rolling Stone That Was Hard to Roll,” in which he analyzed the Gospel accounts to determine how such a stone which was reported to have sealed the cave/tomb, and found in particular in the Gospel of John, in the original Greek, the grammar used yielded a detail which supports the idea that the cave/tomb in which Jesus of Nazareth was reportedly buried was sealed with stone in a cork-like manner. Here’s an image of such a type cave/tomb.

Very few tombs in Jerusalem from the late Second Temple period had round (disk-shaped) rolling stones, which were utilized by those of wealth and royalty, and it was much more common to seal tombs with cork-shaped stones, such as the one seen here. The archaeological evidence strongly suggests that the cave/tomb of Jesus — which the story says was the unused tomb of Joseph of Arimathea — would have been sealed with a cork-shaped stone. Photo: Tom Powers.

Before it seems like we’re getting all bogged down before making a point, please… bear with me, be patient. There’s a reason why, and it’ll be plainly evident soon enough. Very soon, in fact. And these religious holy days/holidays must be enumerated in order to understand what will be presented at that moment, when “the reveal” is made.

So, continuing…

Eastertide, sometimes also called Paschaltide, Paschaltime, or the Paschal season, focuses upon celebrating what the Christian faithful say is the

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Festivus, etc.

While I NO LONGER make any claims to be “religious,” practice any religious faith, or have anything to do with any kind of religion, faith, or the practice thereof, there are some things that, it seems to me, if there was a god/dess, such a being would be unlike us in practically every way… at least most of us.

Such a “god/goddess” or supreme being, would be concerned with our lives, the lives of humans on Earth, and with practically, or actually, every picayune thing associated with life here on this planet.

The relationship of humans to one another, to each other, the relationship of humans to the planet upon which they live, and upon which they rely as the very source of life itself, for food, for water, for clothing, for housing, for EVERYTHING — EVERY LITTLE THING — that pertains to life, including every minuscule joy, or momentary and passing pleasure, happiness, the taste of food, of smell, perfumes, aromas, all kinds of love, including sexual pleasures… ALL THAT would be a concern of a supreme/divine being, simply because that being loves those who live upon, and from, the Earth.

There is no god/goddess/supreme/diving being like that. At least there is none like that preached from most pulpits in churches, synagogues, mosques, temples and other houses of worship. And so, therefore, by virtue of that lack, that absence, I am led to conclude, that substantial lack, that fundamental absence of such a being — that again, being a being which is so full of love, and wisdom, that it cannot help but give, for giving is its very nature — that there is not such a one. There is no god/goddess/creator/divine being.

Yet, as a scientist, I must admit that we do not yet know, nor can prove, and so therefore, it is reasonable and rational to suppose that the possibility might exist, however small, that there might be such an one. But again, the likelihood is so minuscule, so microscopic, that its practically (for all practical purposes) non-existent. If it, the possibility, were but one grain of sand on the Earth, it would be so substantial, so life-changing. But those who have changed their lives have done so themselves, some with help of others, while others have done it alone. Jesus of Nazareth is even reputed to have told the renown parable story known widely as “The Prodigal Son” who “came to himself,” or as some versions put it, “finally came to his senses.” There is no indication that the son had any help in the matter.

But, it’s nice to think about the possibilities that a “supernatural,” even divine being exists, because again, if it were so, it would be a global game-changer. But, it’s also nice to think about eating all the ice cream, cake, pie, and other sweet treats that one could possibly want, without having any adverse side effect, like weight gain.

And so, this creature, this divine/supreme being… I think about a song which became popular some years ago

Telling Tall Tales: Shared Mythology in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam

Today I happened upon a description of a beer made by Cigar City Brewing of Tampa, FL – Double Barrel-aged Hunahpu’s – which is a 2016 release of an Imperial Stout, aged in rum barrels & apple brandy barrels and blended together.

As rated and ranked by the crowd-sourced beer enthusiast’s website BeerAdvocate, where reviewers rate beers according to various measures of quality, not upon “popularity” based upon sales volume, per se, Hunahpu’s Imperial Stout was graded 100, which is a perfect score, and was ranked 2nd within the category of Imperial Stouts, had a 3rd overall weighted rank, while the website’s contributors gave it an overall rating of 4.78 out of 5 truncated mean for all beers on the site. Its flavor notes read “Stout aged on Peruvian cacao nibs, ancho and pasilla chiles, cinnamon and Madagascar vanilla beans aged in apple brandy and rum barrels before being blended together.”

After having read the review notes, I navigated over to the Cigar City Brewing site to see the brewery’s page for the brew, to see what they said about it, and read that they describe it as being:

“Extremely dark in color with a brown head with notes of big notes of chocolate and espresso, moderate notes of vanilla and cinnamon and mild notes of tobacco and chilis. Flavor opens with a big blast of chocolate and moderate espresso with notes of dark toffee and interjecting notes of vanilla with lingering hints of cinnamon and tobacco and chili notes with a mild Scoville heat in the finish. Extensive aging in both rum and apple brandy barrels adds candied apple, allspice, vanilla and oaky tannic qualities to this rare and complex stout.”

I also found the following about the beer’s curious name:

Did you know?

In Mayan mythology, Hun Hunahpu was the father of the Mayan hero twins Hunahpu and Xbalanque. Hun Hunahpu, along with his brother Vucub Hunahpu, was tricked by the Dark Lords of the underworld and slain. Hun Hunahpu’s corpse morphed into a cacao tree, his head becoming a cacao pod, which in typically awesome mythology fashion, spit upon the hand of a young maiden named Xquic who promptly became pregnant with the hero twins. The twins would ultimately grow up to avenge their father and uncle and defeat the Dark Lords and ascend the heavens to become the moon and sun.

That’s quite a tale, to be certain, and as I read it, the preposterous absurdity of it all was reminiscent of another well-known fairy tale told by observant Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike.

Artist’s depiction of the Hebrew exodus

That tall tale is of Moses, regarded as

Happy Easter, er… Happy Fertility Day!

For Christians, today is Easter Sunday. It’s their annual high holy day which corresponds with the Spring Equinox in which they celebrate the alleged resurrection from the dead of their god, Jesus of Nazareth, whom they also call Jesus Christ, whom they believe to be God incarnate, and the “son of God,” even though in their story book, Jesus only referred to himself as “the son of man,” NEVER as “the son of God.” NEVER.

Of course, they’ll fight you tooth and nail in disagreement that Jesus of Nazareth is not their god all while saying “praise Jesus!” and making similar exclamations, but in the same breath, they’ll capitulate and confuse things by saying there’s a “trinity” of three separate divine beings whom they identify as “the Father,” “the Son,” and “the Holy Spirit” whom they claim are not separate, but are separate, and are “co-equal” yet distinct and unique.

Entire religions – actually, “denominations” – have been formed around the various interpretations of those blatantly absurdist claims. Baptists, Methodists, Presbyterians, Episcopalians, Church of Christ, Church of God, Church of God  in Christ, Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Seventh Day Adventists, Cumberland Presbyterian, are but a few, and that’s just here in the United States.

Abroad, there’s Greek Orthodox, Russian Orthodox, Armenian Apostolic, Armenian Catholic, Armenian, Coptic Catholic, Coptic Orthodox, Anglican, Anglican Catholic, and on, and on, and on, and on. Some have said there are probably tens of thousands of different denominations and sects of Christianity, while others say there are but a few hundred. And yet, the odd thing is, that while they’re all “doing their own thing” they pray and seemingly ask for “unity” which they call ecumenism.

Bottom line? It’ll never happen. Not until they all give up their own private interpretations, traditions, and everything about their religion.

There’s a long-standing joke – there’s ALWAYS truth in humor, and it serves to remind us of the matter about which it takes light-heartedly, and even

Click here for our coronavirus response.

This now-iconic image of late country music legend Johnny Cash was made at his San Quentin Prison, California concert in 1969 by photographer Jim Marshall, who had said, “John, let’s do a shot for the warden.” The photo was relatively obscure until 1998 when Cash began working with legendary producer Rick Rubin to create Cash’s American Recordings album series, which revitalized his career shortly before his death, and introduced him to a new generation of fans in several musical genres. Rubin, who produced acts such as The Beastie Boys, Slayer, Metallica, and Tom Petty, had never produced a country artist, and quickly called it a “trendy scene” after being snubbed by Nashville. So he paid $20,000 for a full page ad in Billboard magazine which featured this image, and sarcastically read “American Recordings and Johnny Cash would like to acknowledge the Nashville music establishment and country radio for your support.”

Part of the tragic irony of this coronavirus ordeal is that in addition to the modest bailouts that have been given to Americans, and small businesses, they were also to the corporate community.

The need was tremendously underestimated, and much of the benefits, such as a boost to the unemployment compensation, concluded at the end of July… but the needs and the bills just kept coming. There was no reprieve for them, including the rent, and mortgage payments.

Banksters, you know… they love to tell you how much they love mama, babies, apple pie, and the girl next door, but when it comes time for the rubber to meet the road, suddenly, they’re the enemy who’d rather give you a shiv, than the time of day. After all, they have the money – and LOTS OF IT – and you don’t, so they call the tunes. So, pull yourself up by your bootstraps.

Now, if you think about it, that’s just a bizarre, and nonsensical maxim, because well… you’re standing in your boots, and pulling on the straps is a totally useless exercise. It’s like looking for a mythological sky hook, or a snuffleupagus.

But grit, and determination, you know. That’s the American way – and all sung to Frank Sinatra’s version of “(I did it) My Way.”

The reader should infer significant sarcasm in the remarks above.

However, there is no sarcasm in the following commentary.

In this present situation in which we find ourselves, BIG BUSINESS has, once again, made out like a bandit with the handouts given to them by Congress.

In their earnest desire to make things good for the American people, Congress has seen fit to include families and individuals this go ’round in the latest state-funded bailout of the failed economic system. And, that’s a good thing.

I purposely use the word “failed,” precisely because had it not failed, it would not have exposed the weaknesses inherent in it the way it was. But now that masses of people have “suddenly” discovered that they’re just a paycheck, or two, away from total financial ruin, and homelessness, it signifies that

“Dear Santa, Can I cook microwave popcorn on the stove-top?,” and other preposterously absurd questions.

Some years ago, while attending university, during the Christmas season, I portrayed “Santa” on a local television station.

The show was aptly called “Letters to Santa,” and was a LIVE TELEVISION BROADCAST PRODUCTION, which aired, appropriately enough, in the late afternoons after grade-school children were out of school for the day.

The show’s tenet was simple enough, children would send their letters to Santa, care of the television station – some of which would be read during the show (live, on the air), in conjunction with live participants who would attend with their parents to tell the Jolly Old Elf if they’d been naughty, or nice, and what they’d like for Christmas.

The show’s Executive Producer (who has long since gone to the great broadcasting center in the sky) did his best to prepare me for the role, which included off-the-air role-playing scenarios, and other tips and tricks for how to handle the attendees, and studio viewing audience, which also included how to effectively deal with children who might be fearful, belligerent, timid, crying, or demonstrating any other of the numerous emotions for which they’re renown for demonstrating – including their parents, who can sometimes also act like their children.

Fortunately, such a topsy-turvy scenario didn’t present itself… as best I recollect.

Because it was important to him, to the station (for community relations purposes) – and to the parents – to not place the parents in a untenable scenario by being perceived as an anything-you-want wish-granting jolly old elf (whose promises to children the parents might not be inclined, or able to keep), it was crucial to give as non-committal an answer as possible when the children sat on Santa’s knee to make their requests – however scant, or numerous they may have been.

While most children were reasonable in their requests – and honest about their year-long behavior – some children (very few) were not, and had lengthy lists with seemingly endless self-centered wants. Again, like standard normal distribution in statistics tells us, those children were very few, just as were the ones who had no requests for themselves.

Of course, there were a few occasional socially-related requests such as getting mama, or daddy out of prison or jail, wanting family members to get well (some who had terminal illnesses), and the like.

Not very many wanted world peace, or any such thing.

And naturally, there were a few who, for whatever reason, simply didn’t “believe in” the Jolly Old Elf.

I guess for some parents, it easier to tell their children a lie, than it is to present a simple truth – there is NO “Santa Claus” who flies around the world in a reindeer-driven sleigh delivering toys to children. Besides, Jolly Old St. Nicholas might get arrested for Breaking & Entering if he was able to scoot his corpulent carcass down a soot-laden chimney… which might be in use during the winter.

That wouldn’t end well.

But the 1952 song “I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus,” written by native Mississippian Jimmy Devon Boyd (1939-2009), does a well-enough job of explaining the truth about the matter, anyway.

Speaking of which, the song was banned in Boston by the Catholic Church the year it was released, which claimed it was overtly sexual.

Of course, that only made the recording by the then-13-year-old boy sell better.

But… if you stop to think about it, Santa Claus is banging your wife!

And, it gives an entirely new meaning to “Ho, ho, ho!”

There’s a reason that Jolly Old Elf is so jolly!

And, that’s exactly what the Catholic Church taught. (Never mind the pedophile priests.)

PRO TIP: Write a Christmas-themed song. It’ll provide money to you annually, and for your heirs – 70 years after your death. Not a bad deal, eh?

Anyway… back to the Santa story.

It took me aback to

A Guide To Increasing Company Value

Almost everyone who has worked in sales has heard the mantras “the customer is always right,” and “the customer is your most important person.”

And as anyone who has worked in healthcare can attest, neither of those statements are true.

For example, consider the patient who, arriving at the ED (Emergency Department) said to the physician, “My doc says my sugar is high so he gave me this medicine for diabetes.”

Naturally, the physician asked, “Do you take it?”

The patient replied saying, “No, ’cause I don’t have diabetes, just high sugar.”

And then, another Physician who explained to the patient’s mother her child’s diagnosis and therapeutic interventions saying, “She has a concussion, she needs to rest in bed in a quiet dark room until she is better.”

The mother then asked, “Can she go to the fair?”

Conventional wisdom often monikered as “common sense,” sometimes follows the pithy axiom that “common sense isn’t so common anymore.”

For years, I’ve maintained that the customer is NOT “always right,” nor are they the “most important person” in any business.

Instead, the most important person in any business are the employees.

Some CEOs have gotten a bad rap, often justifiably, because while seeking to return corporate profit and shareholder return, they’ve cut resources and employees. Like the abusive Pharaoh of the Exodus account in the Old Testament, they demand to “make more bricks with less hay.” Of course, we know how that story ended – not well.

So naturally, it delighted me to read some time ago that Sir Richard Branson, a renown entrepreneur and philanthropist, has similarly long held that thought and said, “Put your staff first, customers second, and shareholders third.”

In a 2014 interview with Inc. magazine, Sir Richard said,

Mary Jo West Confirms Leigh Corfman’s Roy Moore Abuse Story

November 11 at 9:34AM

I need to say something, not because I want to get political, but because I know the truth and I need to tell it.

The now-national story about Roy Moore and Leigh Corfman is true, and I have known it for over 20 years. Leigh’s mother and step-father have been friends of mine since 1992 and I know them to be the best of people. We don’t share the same political beliefs but we love and respect each other on a level deeper than politics and these wonderful friends tell the truth. They are caring and educated and accomplished people who would choose privacy over headlines any day.

Leigh’s mother told me and others “The Roy Moore Story” in the mid-1990s, because her daughter had finally unburdened herself after years of silence and that burden lay dark and deep on a mother’s shoulders and in that mother’s heart. I listened to the same details as those that are printed now, and while some of the story has faded with time, several facts are seared into my brain: 1) the attacker was attorney Roy Moore and the victim was then teenager Leigh Corfman; 2) Roy Moore got Leigh to his house under false pretenses; 3) Roy Moore made overt sexual advances to Leigh which involved Roy Moore coming out of the bathroom undressed and ready for action; 4) Leigh was terrified and had the good sense to say NO and Roy Moore accepted her NO.

During Roy Moore’s political ascent, I’ve almost called Leigh’s mother many times to suggest that they expose who Roy Moore is at his core, but I realize that this story is Leigh’s to tell… no one else’s. Why has she not exposed him before now? Perhaps because no one likes being called a liar – and she is being called that now. Perhaps because that secret was safer locked away from the pain that she must be reliving now and having to deal with all over again.

Whatever it is, it is NOT a political conspiracy. Leigh’s parents bleed Republican red as long as I have known them…and Leigh says she has voted Republican in the last three elections. While this story has the “He said, She said” element, surely the counterbalance on the scales in Leigh’s favor is US…the group of friends who knew the story before it was a headline. There was simply no reason for Leigh to make this story up when she was young and trying to figure out life. Roy Moore’s terrifying advances surely had to complicate the path that she admitted was filled with choices she would like to redo. She owned them, admirably, but I wonder if some of her young years might have been easier if she hadn’t been abused by Roy Moore when she was 14 years old, vulnerable and confused.

Perhaps it’s simply that it’s time to shout from the rooftops that this man, Roy Moore…who wants our nation’s trust and our belief that he is a good man… simply doesn’t deserve our trust. He lied yesterday when he said he had never met Leigh Corfman. Maybe he’s gotten too old to act on his abnormal urges now, but in his heart, he still knows that when he could, he scared and emotionally scarred young women and in that chamber of his heart, his blood still runs mean and cold.

I believe in redemption and forgiveness. I’ve asked for forgiveness many times in my life, but first, you have to acknowledge that you did something wrong. And yesterday Roy Moore stood staunch and unyielding that he did no wrong. Take a lie detector test, Mr. Moore. There’s nothing fake in this story. Roy Moore is lying. This story happened and it was shared mother-to-mother with no agenda other than to get it off her chest and share her agony. Women friends do that, thankfully. Leigh’s mother told me this story when Roy Moore was a nobody…now he’s just a lying somebody.

Just because Leigh Corfman didn’t come forward and tell this horrific story about a bad man until now, doesn’t mean that it never happened. It’s her story. Yes, it was a long time coming, but

Build The Wall

Seems an Alabama company (Caddell Construction, in Montgomery) is vying for POS45’s attention by being one of six “finalists” in the surreality show now called “The President,” which has built a “life-sized sample” segment along the US-Mexico border.

Why don’t the idiots build one around Alabama?

Which reminds me of a story:

On one of their patrols, two GIs in the Middle East happened upon a device halfway buried in the sand, which they thought was an IED. After determining it was not, one of them picked it up and dusted it off, whereupon a cloud of smoke began to billow from it.

Scared, he threw it down, and they began to run from it.

Just as soon they thought they’d safely distanced themselves from it, they turned around and then saw a genie appear from within the cloud of smoke.

They hesitated reaching for their rifles because the genie appeared unarmed. After all, a muscular man wearing a turban, no shirt, and a billowy pair of pants could hardly be a menace… right?

Suddenly, the genie spoke, and in a authoritative voice said,

Playing Piano With Grandmother In The Rain

As a child and youth – even later in life – when visiting my maternal grandmother, I would often play her baby grand piano.

As a child, when a summer thunderstorm would approach, she would tell me to stop playing, because, as she said, lightning would strike the piano because of the metal wires in it. She falsely supposed it to be an attractive force of some type.

Of course, at the time, I thought such an idea to be preposterously absurd… and still do. And in retrospect, I saw my obedience, then rebellion, and later obsequiousness, more as a reflection of my love to, and respect for her.

Naturally, as a youth, I attempted to reason with her by asking her if she’d ever heard of, or knew anyone who’d ever had their piano struck by lightning while being played during a thunderstorm, and she said

Journey Inward To The Center Of Your Heart

Saint Romuald (c. 951-1027) was a man on a mission. As a young man, having been compelled to witness Sergius his father duel with a relative in an argument over property in which he killed his adversary, he entered a Benedictine monastery at Classe, Italy to do 40 days penance for him – to atone for the murder his father committed – which resulted in his own vocation to religion as a Benedictine monk. His father, who also later became a monk, contemplated leaving his monastic order, but was dissuaded by Romauld. Throughout his monastic life, Romauld continuously sought simplicity, which motivated him for 30 years to

Beat the Heat with Buttermilk Popsicles?

A good and longtime friend shared recently about making buttermilk popsicles at home with family, using a recipe presumably which came from Steel City Pops, a trendy nouveau foodery in Birmingham, AL. And giving credit where credit is due, Alabama has some mighty fine eateries, and an amazing wealth in it’s diversity of food. As evidence of that fact, Chef Frank Stitt, owner of Birmingham restaurants Highlands Bar and Grill, Bottega Restaurant, and Chez Fonfon has been on the James Beard Foundation Award‘s radar for quite some time, and most recently, NPR recognized the excellent oysters produced by Murder Point Oysters using farming methods in that Bayou La Batre, Alabama Gulf Coast town, which were also feted by Chef Emeril Lagasse. Alabama food is a literal treasure of gastronomic proportion. And it’s not just limited to the holiest of holies… barbecue.
(👉Get your Alabama Barbecue Trail app here!👈😋)

Now, I confess an aversion to buttermilk except in cooking. And the reason, of course, is that I’ve tried it. And not just once. In fact, I recollect as a youth visiting with relatives in

True Life Story: What did you name your kids?

–True Story–

A few years back (2006, to be exact), I recall having seen a human interest story on teevee about children in Birmingham Alabama’s Norwood Elementary Band Program and their need for instruments.

They were in dire need of instruments, having only about 50 – not nearly enough for all the children.

One dear, sweet child whom was interviewed was named

Late Term #Abortion Story

Should the government tell you what you can, and cannot do with your body?

We chose to have a funeral and now have a spot in a Blacksburg cemetery where we can visit her whenever we are near. Having a gravesite, I know, was a huge help in the grieving process for Matt.

Are you now government property?

Are you a slave?

Are you not entitled by law to FREEDOM to decide for yourself what is good, and best for yourself?

Or, are we in a “Nanny State” in which politicians and bureaucrats tell you what to do, when to eat, what to wear, where to live, who to love, and when to shower?

Lindsey Paradiso, and her husband Matt, had to make an untenable choice because their unborn infant daughter was diagnosed with a disease from which she would most likely not live… not even a few days.

And indeed, her heart stopped beating before she was at term.

I am so lucky to have such a strong and wonderful man to stand beside. We had just been admitted to the hospital for labor induction after having Omara’s heart stopped.

—/—

https://www.facebook.com/lindsey.shaffer/posts/10105763587970982

This ultrasound photo was the first time I really began to understand what was going on.

This is ending a wanted pregnancy.
This is late-term abortion.

It was

Yet Another Real Life Story And Reason Why #Abortion Should NOT Be…

A longtime, and dear friend recently chose to share her own very personal story.

I share it here with her permission.

Though I am certain she would not object, I have chosen to omit her name.

The reader should be aware that Ethan is her and her husband’s young boy, and firstborn.

Used With Permission

—/—

This is private, but I am going to put it out there to put a face on an issue for some of my friends.

On Tuesday, I lost two great sources of hope for the future. One was the election, but the other was more personal. Midday, before the polls ever closed, and right as I was returning one turf to Headquarters to pick up another, I got a phone call that brought me to my knees.

I was pregnant, ya’ll. I was 11 weeks on Election Day, and it had been a dicey start, but we thought we had made it. We were already discussing adorable ways to make it FB official. We anxiously awaited the results of this genetic test that would tell us the sex, so we could hopefully rest a bit easier if it was a girl (because of the pattern of kidney disease in my family).

The doc gently informed me that it was a little boy, and he had trisomy 18. Either I would naturally miscarry, or I would watch my baby die a slow and painful death over the course of a few days, months, or maybe a year. My worst nightmare was coming true, and I was terrified that I would

.@PastorAmyTRC: I Had A Late Term #Abortion and “I never had a second thought about the right thing to do.”

Church Pastor: The Truth About My Late-Term Abortion

by Amy Butler, October 26, 2016, 7:55PM EDT

“Trump’s words drove me to tears, and to write my painful story for the first time.”

Elections are supposed to be about real people — and not the ones whose names appear on the ballot. They are supposed to be about all of us, the policies that will impact our lives in tangible ways and the choices we make about the country we want to be.

The Rev. Dr. Amy Butler is the Senior Minister of The Riverside Church in New York City. Prior to this call, Pastor Amy served as Senior Pastor of Calvary Baptist Church in Washington, D.C. Pastor Amy holds degrees from Baylor University (BA ‘91, MA ‘96); The International Baptist Theological Seminary (BDiv ‘95); and Wesley Theological Seminary (DMin ‘09).

But this year, we have watched a major candidate for our country’s highest office demean and slander whole categories of American citizens. We have watched him make offensive, outrageous claims about real people and real decisions that everyday Americans face. People like me. Decisions like mine.

What sent me to my computer to write is late-term abortion. As I heard Donald Trump talk about babies being “ripped” from their mothers’ wombs, as if ending a pregnancy is a reckless, irresponsible afterthought, my outrage poured down my face in angry tears. In those moments, Trump, who has never been pregnant and presumably has navigated this far in his life without undertaking any difficult, gut-wrenching, gray-area decisions, used my own pain — deep, deep pain — to advance his political agenda.

But his words won’t tell my story, so I’ll tell it here. I don’t often speak about this experience. And I’ve never written about it until now.

The late-term abortion I chose was the end of a dream. The pain was so real and so consuming that navigating my way through the grief, I never thought that I would have the happy, healthy family that I do today. It was one of the most agonizing experiences of my life and

I had a Late Term #Abortion.

I HAD A LATE TERM ABORTION.
IT IS NOTHING LIKE DESCRIBED BY TRUMP.
PLEASE DON’T BASE YOUR VOTE ON THE FEAR MONGERING HE IS DOING.
PLEASE READ MY EXPERIENCE:

I had to have a late term abortion. It was the worst moment in my life. What made it even worse was the State of Utah had made it illegal. I had one dead twin. The other had severe Spina Bifida, and would only have lived with life support, in great pain, for a few days.

by Alyson Draper
October 19 at 8:46pm · Midway, UT
used with permission

I lay on the hospital floor, bawling hysterically, for twelve hours, waiting for an ethics committee of the health care corporation to

Meteorology, Mama & Baby -or- How I Was Befriended By Luck

It was Easter Sunday, 2010, and unknown to me, dumb luck had befriended me.

Pure dumb luck.

Even scientists believe in it.

In 1996, Duncan C. Blanchard, a meteorological researcher then affiliated with the State University of New York at Albany, authored a scientific paper entitled “Serendipity, Scientific Discovery, and Project Cirrus” published in the Bulletin of the American Meteorological Society in which he cited Project Cirrus (1947-52), a period and project of research from which “many serendipitous discoveries and inventions were made, opening up areas of research still being pursued today.”

Blanchard’s work was cited a decade later in 2006 by David M. Schultz, who was then affiliated with the Cooperative Institute for Mesoscale Meteorological Studies, University of Oklahoma, Norman, Oklahoma, and the NOAA/National Severe Storms Laboratory, Norman, Oklahoma in a research paper entitled The Mysteries of Mammatus Clouds: Observations and Formation Mechanisms. In it he wrote that what little we know about mammatus clouds was, because of their nature, “obtained largely through serendipitous opportunities.”

In other words, what little we know about the clouds (so named after human breasts because of their appearance), has been obtained by pure dumb luck – although, being prepared, and being in the right place at the right time does account for something.

In conversation recently with a dear, and longtime friend, I shared about

Sodomy: A prime example of what’s wrong with #ALpolitics

A dear friend who is a long-time retiree, aged 78 years, entire subsistence is from a meager pension (earned from a lifetime of work in a unionized organization), supplemented with a paltry Social Security check.

She’s lived through breast cancer surgery (mastectomy) & reconstruction, other major surgeries (knee replacements) and procedures, and lives in a trailer which she owns, situated upon a lot which she rents. She has resided there many, many years.

To save money, she recently

It’s A Dog’s Life… And They Called It ‘Puppy Love’

So, as it turns out, I bought these as a treat for my puppy. And what do you think she did? Read on to find out!

So…

a few days ago, as a treat,

I bought pig ears at a Kroger grocery store for Queenie, my 11 month old mixed-breed (sometimes aka “Heinz 57” – as in 57 different varieties) puppy.

Last night I

All You Need Is Love

I recollect, a few years ago, having gone with a dear friend to the apartment where her former husband lived.

He had died alone.

D’Angelo (not his real name) was a retired Army NCO, whom had volunteered for service. He was genuinely a “squared away” soldier, and rose to the rank of First Sergeant (E-8), which rank is politely nicknamed “Top,” because, aside from Sergeant Major which is also an E-8 position, it is the highest rank and position a NCO can obtain.

His generosity was well-known, and his humility, honesty and genuine love for his fellow man was evident throughout his life. And though he was a good man with many admirable character qualities, a congenial fellow, well liked – even loved – by many, it seemed he never could win the battle over the bottle.

What little I knew of him from others’ reports and my own limited interaction with him, he was an honorable family man. And yet,

On the Bleeding Edge of the Front Line

Uncle Dean never spoke to his blood relatives about his WWII service – even though they inquired – which was for them, perplexing, and they eventually stopped asking. However, he voluntarily spoke at length about it with me.

Perhaps it was because we shared a common bond of military service, I don’t know. They never understood why he didn’t talk about his experience. His Purple Hearts, Bronze and Silver Stars, and other medals of valor that

From Here To There: A Brief Journey In Life

Having been raised in the Methodist church, over time, I had “been around” in various Christian traditions

– including participation in by membership in some – 

such as:

• independent
• inter-denominational
• trans-denominational
• non-denominational
• make-your-own church
• Pentecostal (talking in tongues, dancing, but no snake handling)
• Church of God
• Church of Christ
• Church of God in Christ
• Baptist (hard shell, soft shell, primitive, mainline, and corn on the cob varieties)
• Cumberland Presbyterian
• Presbyterian
• Seventh-Day Adventist
• Lutheran
• Evangelical Protestant
• Episcopal
• Anglican (Anglican Diocese of San Joaquin – Southern Cone, while in California)

and then, finally…

Somebody’s Gonna’ Get Killed

It’s NOT mere “courtesy,”
IT’S THE LAW!

I was run off the road while riding my 10-speed bicycle.

It happened in a residential part of town, very near home, and upon one of the widest roads in town…

Capable of 4 lanes of 2-way traffic, with parallel parking along both sides, the road also ran adjacent the football stadium & high school.

I loved to ride my bicycle, and would do so almost daily, for at least five miles. And that was long before the song “Bicycle” by Queen was popularized. In fact, it was upon a “road bike” much like the ones seen in the video below.

Recollecting that

The Sweet Salvation That A Little Old Knife Can Bring

I don’t recollect exactly what year it was when I first heard the song “Woman Child” by the late singer/songwriter artist/musician Harry Chapin. I do recollect, however, that a young lady then near my age, was a fan of his, and it was through hearing some of his music she was playing that I learned of him.

It was perhaps his 1978 album “Living Room Suite” which I had seen her playing, but it was his second album “Sniper and Other Love Songs,” released in October 1972, which I subsequently purchased, which so powerfully affected me.

Chapin died tragically in July 1981, aged 38, and though the exact cause of his death was undetermined, he was thought to have suffered cardiac arrest while driving, which was explained as the likely cause of his wreck. The truck driver into whose path he swerved, along with the assistance of a passer-by, rescued him from his burning 1975-model Volkswagen Rabbit, and he was subsequently flown to a nearby hospital where a team of perhaps 10 or more worked fruitlessly for nearly a half-hour to save his life.

Chapin’s artistic creative style might be considered similar, somewhat, to that of a troubadour or wandering minstrel, because each and every song on that album – and indeed, every song of his – was a well-crafted, and expertly told story. The stories weren’t from a fantastic, idealistic fantasy life, but were from everyone’s work-a-day life. The struggles, trials, tribulations, joys, victories and crushing blows of unjust defeats in life were all subjects in his songs. From “W – O – L – D,” to one of his best-known “Cat’s In The Cradle,” Chapin’s gift of lyric and music made each song a veritable raconteur’s masterpiece.

As many older older teens are, at that time

Cheap Beer And Chili

It’s getting much cooler – chili, in fact…

Earlier, I had purchased ingredients to make chili. Among them, cheap beer. For me, that would be Pabst Blue Ribbon.

There were a couple left over from making that delicious batch of comfort food, which was well worth the extra effort. So, not recollecting to have ever tried a PBR – at least not in many years – I opened one up.

Wow…

First sip of a PBR in a ~very~ long time.

It was a 16oz “Tall Boy,” and so, not having a larger capacity glass, I poured, and drank it from a jar.

Naturally, your nose goes in the opening as you put it to your mouth for that first sip, and you breathe in some of the brew’s smell.

It was like I was

The Weird Church Lady

This cute meme reminds me of the story of a somewhat uncouth, and slovenly church lady who was almost constantly inviting the pastor over for a meal.

Being aware of her less-than-hygienic life practices & household condition, he politely declined at every opportunity when invited.

One day, she confided in him that she had “turned over a new leaf,” and that she’d spent quite some time cleaning & tidying up, and that her household was spic and span, from top to bottom. Being completely wearied of her seemingly incessant requests, he reluctantly accepted, and hoped to find her household in somewhat better condition than he’d seen it years ago.

When the day finally arrived, not knowing what to expect, he approached the front door with a mixture of eager anticipation, and trepidation.

He had no sooner finished knocking on the door, than Sister Smith opened the door and cheerily greeted the pastor.

“Hello, Pastor Jones!,” she excitedly exclaimed. “I’m ~so~ very glad you came! Won’t you please come in?”

“Thank you, Sister Smith,” he said as he stepped over the threshold into the living room.

Glancing around, he was utterly amazed at what he saw.

“Well… I declare! I’m practically speechless, Sister Smith!,” he exulted as he

We All Love… Silly Pet Pictures

Seen here, Izzy, the dog has “rescued” a discarded empty of chips from the trash bin, apparently in hopes of obtaining a smidgen of a tasty morsel. / Photo by SRL

Do Animals…

Things like this – Cat LOL videos, stories of animals having friendships, and other similarly expressive photos & stories (such as the depressed goat which was separated from, then was reunited with it’s longtime donkey companion) – are quite fascinating.

The reason why should be self-evident. Which is, that we find them humorous or entertaining because we ascribe human traits to animals.

From childhood, I never considered the

The Not Too Tall Tale of the Tail -or- The Shortened Tail’s Tale

I don’t much write about myself on this blog, and there are several reasons for that, not the least of which is that, in some way, I don’t think many people care… either about me, my life, or anything else other than what is beyond the end of their noses. And yet, I may be wrong.

Call it skeptical, if you will, or perhaps even cynical, but to my way of thinking, there are many more things which are far more interesting in life. And of those things which are interesting, I am probably least among them. For those primary reasons, I do not write about myself, or my experiences. Further, I suppose that what I think, and how I feel is adequately expressed in the thoughts that do proliferate on this blog. Besides, I don’t have to be talking about myself all the time. I think that’s a rather healthy self-perspective – to not be self-consumed, but to be more concerned with others, than with self. The word for the antithesis of that characteristic is narcissism. And I am definitely not that.

Be it right, wrong, or indifferent, it’s what I’ve done. And for the greatest part, I probably won’t change that – though I perhaps could, to some extent. We’ll see.

However, this time, I’d like to take a brief respite, or departure from that approach, and share something that, for one reason or another, continues to touch my heart. So for a moment, please indulge me.

Today, I was

Who are You?

The Eastern Shore of Lake Tahoe, also known as Galilee Image via Wikipedia

 

Some years ago, a good friend of mine had encouraged me to begin a blog.

“Why do I want or need a blog?,” I asked him.

“You write very well, and a blog would seem to be a natural outlet for your thoughts,” he said.

Never being one whom chronicled or maintained a “dear diary” in my youth, I was quite amazed to hear his words. I had, however, been periodically sharing thoughts with my kindred and friends via e-mail. Alan was kind enough to host my writing for quite some time, gently guiding me through the technical process.

As things go – at least according to the Law of Entropy – things tend toward deterioration, decay and chaos. In other words, they move from order to disorder. And in time, because of the age of his servers, the bulk of traffic and the increasing complexity of software, he began migrating his servers to another resource, at which point he also began encouraging me to move my blog, which I have, and which you are now reading.

I had purposed to republish my original writings – and inspired by a recent status update posting I’d made to FaceBook – piqued my desire to republish this one post immediately.

Some background: I was in Lake Tahoe, NV at the time of the writing, staying with an extended family member, having traveled West in response to a spiritual urging I sensed. The events surrounding the same are another story in themselves, which I shall reserve.

Without further ado, I give you…

Sam… in memoriam.

A dear, longtime friend of mine recently made a difficult and heart wrenching decision to euthanize his beloved pet. He is an excellent writer, and shared about his decision in the following post.

“On Saturday September 18th, I lost something else that meant the world to me. I finally had to make that awful decision to put my oldest dog Sam, to sleep. I admit it was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make. With deeply loved pets, it is the ultimate contradiction: Along with the joy of ownership comes the agony of responsibility. Like anything that you love, you always know in the back of your mind that the day will eventually come when you have to let it go. Even though you know, you can never quite prepare yourself for it fully and you still can never quite say goodbye. I knew someday the day was going to come for Roxie, but I did not have to make the decision for her, as I did with Sam. Roxie passed away before I had the chance to make it. Sam was a different case. She was

Goin’ Postal… Alabama Style

Too weird to be true – nut it… er, but it is.

Click here to see the actual story in the newspaper that reported it – The Huntsvile… er, Huntsville Times.

However… a word to “the wise”: It ain’t worth it – neither death will resolve or solve anything. Tomorrow’s another day, and things will change. Just reach out and ask for help. You are loved more than you know.

Nothing is impossible with God, even help when you’re at your wit’s end.

Here is a prayer, especially for you:

Oh glorious apostle St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the name of the traitor who delivered thy beloved Master into the hands of His enemies has caused thee to be forgotten by many, but the Church honors and invokes thee universally as the patron of hopeless cases–of things despaired of. Pray for me who am so miserable; make use, I implore thee, of that particular privilege accorded thee of bringing visible and speedy help where help is almost despaired of. Come to my assistance in this great need, that I may receive the consolations and succor of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations and sufferings, particularly ( -here mention your request- ), and that I may bless God with thee and all the elect throughout eternity. I promise thee, O blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, and I will never cease to honor thee as my special and powerful patron, and to do all in my power to encourage devotion to thee. Amen

Why is everybody always picking on me?

Why is everybody always picking on me?

Originally posted on Friday, June 4, 2010 at 8:19am

Today, I needed directions, and happening upon one of Murfreesboro‘s finest, I thought ‘what better source?,’ gave pursuit, and tooted my horn occasionally along the way, though I was apparently unseen and unheard.

Winding up at my original destination, I pulled along side and behind, stepped out and greeted the officer, whom then asked, “were you trying to flag me down?”

Laughingly, I said, “yes, I was!”

“I’m sorry,” replied the officer.

I explained I was needing some directions, and the officer left briefly to get some papers and would return momentarily, so I waited.

Returning, the officer said, “I’ll be glad to show you the location if you’ll follow me.” So we got into our respective cars. As I closed my door, I then noticed the officer got out of the patrol car and began to walk toward my vehicle, so I did likewise.

The officer walked over to my vehicle and placing a small piece of paper on my car’s hood began to write on it and said, “Here’s my card, if you need anything, call me. I work (insert days and times here), or just call me anytime. Can you read that?”

Taking the card, I said “yes, thank you,” called her by name, shook her hand, then proceeded to follow her.

Nothing like that has ever happened to me before.

Reckon what THAT was all about?

All You Need Is Love

I recollect, a few years ago, having gone with a dear friend to the apartment where her former husband lived.

He had died alone.

D’Angelo (not his real name) was a retired Army NCO, whom had volunteered for service. He was genuinely a “squared away” soldier, and rose to the rank of First Sergeant (E-8), which rank is politely nicknamed “Top,” because, aside from Sergeant Major which is also an E-8 position, it is the highest rank and position a NCO can obtain.

His generosity was well-known, and his humility, honesty and genuine love for his fellow man was evident throughout his life. And though he was a good man with many admirable character qualities, a congenial fellow, well liked – even loved – by many, it seemed he never could win the battle over the bottle.

What little I know of him from others’ reports and my own limited interaction with him, he was an honorable family man. And yet, his family didn’t know it, and apparently had low regard for him because of his human frailty, particularly for the bottle.

When he had retired from the Army, never one to merely sit still and wait for things to happen, he became

My Abortion Story

I’m a Registered Nurse.

I’m a man.

Here’s my abortion story.

Goodfellas: Robert DeNiro, Ray Liotta, Hugo Black, Joe Pesci, Mama, Daddy, Jesus

Though it was nominated for several categories, only One Oscar emerged from the 1990 Martin Scorsese-directed film Goodfellas, which is the internal award those in the film and motion picture production industry give themselves. Joe Pesci, playing the character Tommy DeVito, won the Oscar for Best Actor in a Supporting Role in Goodfellas.

Robert DeNiro, whom played the Irish character James “Jimmy” Conway, and Ray Liotta, whom played Irish-Italian protagonist Henry Hill, and Paul Sorvino, whom played the character of the local Lucchese family mob boss Paul Cicero, neither won any such acclaim or coveted award.

Based on the book and screenplay by Nicholas Pileggi, the story circulates around the fictitious character Henry Hill, whom as a 1955 youth began his life of crime, first with skipping school to park cars for nefarious Lucchese mob family members in his Brooklyn, New York City neighborhood, and gradually progressing into a full-fledged mobster.

Desiring a life of crime, Henry Hill understands becoming a “made man,” is a difficult obstacle he must overcome to become a full-fledged member of the Lucchese crime family. Yet his criminal mentor Jimmy Conway, whom is Paul Cicero’s close associate, can neither become a “made man,” because of his Irish heritage.

With Paul Cicero’s blessing, Jimmy Conway puts Henry Hill and Tommy DeVito together, and they become fast friends, and criminal compatriots.

As the story develops the characters, Henry meets and falls in love with Karen Friedman, described as a “no-nonsense Jewish girl,” and they eventually marry and have children.

Throughout the film, the strength and close-knit nature of the criminal companions and their families is demonstrated. The men work their various criminal enterprises together, their wives shop together, their children attend school and play with each other, and their families visit, dine and vacation together. The men are in constant contact with each other, and so are their wives and children. The strength of their bond is observed as a natural by-product of their consistent fellowship.

Eventually, Henry Hill cultivates a mistress named

Wings on my ass – a cause of blindness? My iPhone story in Lent.

This is the season of Lent. It’s a strictly Christian observance… well, it actually has its roots in the Jewish Passover.

Oh well.

Christians are the “new Jews.” Oy vey!

I started out thinking I’d share about my iPhone troubles – I have an unlocked and jailbroken 32G 3G[S] iPhone.

Yeah. Top of the line.

iResisted doing that – purchasing an iPhone – for quite some time. I used  – and still do – use a Palm Treo 650, and have never had moment’s trouble with it. NEVER!

I used it to surf the web, and sent e-mail from about four accounts, three of them associated with my work, all from different organizations. One day, several years ago, at a family reunion in MS, someone told me something had fallen out of my pocket. Looking down, I saw the stubby antenna lying on the floor. Loathing to pay the very-nearly $40 for a screw and tiny piece of plastic, I reverted to using two devices – as I had done previously with a Nokia “candybar” style phone, and Palm Pilot.

Back to Square One… right? Two devices… one phone, and one computer/calendar/appointment/memo/address/contact gizmo.

A few months back, I bought the iPhone for