A Chronology of Easter Week, 32 AD

Because this is the day, not Friday, that the Crucifixion occurred.

More than a few years back now, I spent my Easter Sunday doing some research. The dates never quite jibed, you see: Good Friday to Easter Sunday morning – Crucifixion to Resurrection – never added up to the three days and three nights that Jesus talked about. I’d heard apologists say that rabbis count the smallest part of a day as a whole day, so the few hours of Friday, all of Saturday, and some pre-dawn hours on Sunday just sort of counted as three days and three nights. My. How rabbinical.

But there were other problems. If Passover was Saturday, then Sunday was the Feast of Unleavened Bread (always the day after Passover). No work was allowed on either of these, um, holidays, yet the women rested on Saturday, but went to tend the body on Sunday, like traifniks. And worse, inconsistent. One day they race around trying not to break the law, another, they’re acting just like the goyim. A problem. I won’t however belabor the issue.

A Sabbath is any holy day. A preparation day is any day before a holy day. Confusion arises from the fact that there is a weekly Preparation Day and Sabbath Day – our Friday and Saturday. So you see there can be more than one Sabbath in a week – which to our ears sounds like there can be more than one Saturday in a week. Same with Preparation Day – Friday. There are a number of ancient texts that provide evidence about custom and chronology in this matter - theDidascalia, the Bab Talmud Sanhedrin, the Qumran texts – but I’m not presenting this as a scholarly work.

Cut to the chase: Jesus was crucified on Wednesday, April 9, 32 AD. This was the Preparation Day for Thursday’s Passover, a Sabbath. Friday was the Feast of Unleavened Bread, a Sabbath, and Saturday was … well, it was a Sabbath. There were three Sabbaths, three days of rest, in a row. These three days of rest perfectly match the three days that Jesus’ body rested in the tomb. Kind of works out pretty well, don’t you think? Really sort of symbolic, eh? One might almost say, elegant. Easter Sunday, Resurrecting day, was Firstfruits. Firstfruits. Hm … or should I say, Him.

I should point out that Jesus most likely rose not on Sunday morning, but Saturday evening - perhaps even Saturday at 3 pm. Do the math. 72 hours. Not necessary, but Sunday starts, for the Jews, Saturday night. Pretty embarrassing for Jesus, if they came into the tomb at a lawful time, first opportunity after the Sabbath, to find him still dead. I guess pretty embarrassing for the ladies, too, busy with their spices and he comes back to life. In any case, it really doesn't matter, a lot, that Good Friday is observed as Crucifixion Day. It isn't about days of observances, after all. But there are those who delight in what appear to them to be inconsistencies. For their correction and for their sake, accuracy matters.

So here’s one of my incomprehensible tables, which always look so good in my own computer but end up all distorted when I post them. Lo siento. It is a complete chronology of Easter Week, with relevant correlations to other biblical events. I do a bit of Greek, but only in passing. Enjoy!


J

	Nisan			Nisan, 32 ad, Jesus age 35
April		8		[To clarify differences in timekeeping, shaded areas indi­cate night, clear areas indicate day­light]	Day of Preparation
4	Fri­day			Jesus comes from Ephraim, arrives at Bethany "six days before Passover" (Jn 12:1).
		9		Anointing (Jn 12:1-; Mt 26:6; Mk 14).	Sabbath
5	Sat­ur­day			Judas conspires (Mt 26:14; Mk 14:10; Lk 22:1).
		10		"on the next day" (Jn 12:12)
6	Sun­day			Palm Sunday	Lamb in­spec­ted
		11
7	Mon­day			Fig tree cursed (Mk 11:12-; Mt 21:18), temple cleaned; Ser­mon (Jn 12:20-50)
		12
8	Tues­day			Figs withered (Mk 11:20-25, Mt 21:20); Parables(Mk 11:27-; Mt 21:23‑; Lk 20:1‑19); Taxes (Mt 22; Mk 12:1; Lk 20:20); Ressurection ques­tions (Mk 12, Mt 22, Lk 20:27); Greatest command (Mt 22:34; Mk 12:28, ‘no more ques­tions’); about messiah (Mt 22, ‘no more ques­tions’; Mk 12; Lk 20:41); denounce(Mt 23; Mk 12; Lk 20); Widow's mite (Mk 12; Lk 21); end times (Mt 24‑25; Mk 13; Lk 21); finish — Passover is "two days away" (Mt 26:2; Mk 14:1).	In Tem­ple
				Before ‘First day of Feast of Unleavened Bread, when lamb is sac­ri­ficed’ (Lk 22:7) [not ‘arrived’ but ‘approached’, re ‘came’, Vines, p. 108, #1, 2064; see Lk 15:20,25; in Mt 26:17; Mk 14:12, no ‘on’, dative article = ‘regarding, with respect to’ Greek to Me, p. 185; Greenlee, p. 28; see Rom 4:20)]; "arrest Him but not during Feast" (Mt 26:5; Mk 14:2); "Go prepare" (Mt 26:18)	Mount of Olives
		13		"after dark" (Mt 26:20), "Before the Passover Feast" (Jn 13:1); Feet washed, Last Supper (Judas, Farewell) garden, arrest. Trials: Priest's house, Annas (Lk 22:54; Jn 18:12); Sanhedrin, Caiaphas, mocked (Mt 26:57; Mk 14:53; Jn 18:24); Sanhedrin, "very early" (Mk 15:1); "daybreak" (Lk 22:66);	Preparation Day of Pass­over
9	Wed­nes­day			Pilate's Palace, "early morning, Passover meal not yet eaten" (Jn 18:28); Herod (Lk 23:7-11); Pilate (-16), Barabbas, beating (Jn 19:1-16), public. "Preparation Day of Passover Week [not of weekly sabbath], 6th hour, 6 a.m." (Jn 19:14); Si­mon in from field; Crucifixion "at 3rd hour, 9 a.m." (Mk 15:25); "noon to three, dark" (Lk 23:44); Death 3 p.m. (Mk 15:34). Evening approached, Preparation before [Passover] Sabbath (Mk 15:42); to Pilate; linen bought (Mk 15:46); women prepared spices (Lk 23:56); "Preparation day, [Passover] Sabbath about to begin" (Lk 23:54; Jn 19:42), tomb…	Day the Passover Lamb is sacri­fice
		14		…tomb Passover
10	Thursday			"next day, after Preparation" (Mt 27:62); Guards; Women rest (Lk 23:56)	(Egypt plun­dered)
		15		Feast of Unlea­vened Bread (15th, Lev 23:39, Ex 12:18) — no work (Lev 23:7; Ex 12:16), end of 14th / start of 15th	(Hebrews left Egypt)
11	Friday			[Weekly] Preparation Day
		16		Sabbath
12	Saturday			"just as Jonah was 3 days and 3 nights" (Mt 12:40; Jonah 1:17); "after (μετα) 3 days" (Mk 8:31); see Mt 27:40 "in 3 days", Jn 2:19 — ‘εv’ = "in the course of", see Arndt, p. 260, II.a.
		17		Resurrection "when the Sabbaths were over" 3 women buy spices (Mt 28:1, Mk 16:1) — more than one “sabbath” that week;	(Ark rests - Gen 8:4)
13	Sunday			came to tomb, dawn of first of the week (Mk 16:2); empty tomb; "this is the third day since all this happened" (Lk 24:21 - "sinceall" includes Passover and placing guards on Thursday – so Sunday is the “third day”; indeed, nothing happened Friday or Saturday – days of rest).	Firstfruits (Lev 23:11) 1Cor 15:20‑23

Glib

N had his surgery Friday, went well. Reattached his Achilles tendon. Ah well. Live and learn.

What. It's been a while? It's not that I have nothing to say. Too much, really. Overwhelming. So, Obama? Omama? Imagine the arrogance of Kuhdaffy, calling Omama his son. Wrong on so many levels. I hadn't thought about it before, but arrogance amounts to stupidity. Hmm. Maybe I'd better reconsider my self-esteem. Because I'm so dang smart, see?

Someone pointed it out, and I found it amusing. They compare Omama to FDR. Well, yes -- gigantic expansion of government. And to Lincoln, somehow ... uh, I don't know why. And to ... wait for it ... Reagan. LOL. In other words, Omama is all things to all men, women or otherly gendered. You know, he is without discernible character. Unlimited. Like fog. Where ever there's a hole, he'll slip in. Maybe I'm thinking of clinton?

Of course our egos define us. God's ego defines him. He is what he is. The trick is seeing ourselves clearly. See others too, clearly. Through the fog. Hopefully there is something, someone there ... you know, a character. Obama is what he seems to be. A talker. Um. Uh, y-y-y-y'see? Him up there in front of the flags, constructing the reality of the moment with his words, believing them as all good story-tellers must. Contradictions within the same teleprompted paragraph, unnoticed of course, because the first contradiction is in the past, and we are not to be bound by precedent or consistency. That's what fundamental change is all about. Changing the fundamentals. Old foundation, truth? Time for a new truth. Forget that wisdom is knowing the things that do not change. We will hope change into existence.

I was just reminded, men fix, women feel. Obama is the perfect androgyne. Both hope (feeling) and change (fixing). No wonder he won. Note to Republicans: incorporate contradictions in your next slogan. Oxymoronic. Local globalism! Every man a king!

Alas. These are sad times. We have a literal moron leading us. Moronic in his incapacity to recognize actual reality. Leading in the sense of talking a lot. Lord. America is about energy. Not freedom, not law, not justice not wealth, not opportunity. We are what we are, because we can be. Can because of available resources. Energy. So my state is raising taxes of course, not reducing spending, importing poor unskilled illegals to drain the infrastructure, undermining the values that gave us value ... for what? Well, for the payoff of any addiction. A feeling.

Now I'm irritated. Why do you do this to me. Just leave me alone.

J

Shit Mohammad

Well, since I'm here, I might as well say. My son ruptured his Achilles tendon today, testing for the Games. Needs surgery. He's very stoical about it, as is our way, but it is what it is -- bad news. So I have a father's grim concern about the matter.

The Religion of Stupidity is demonstrating its character again. Three beheadings so far in Crapistan, innocents ripped out of a UN building -- a female helicopter pilot, and a Swede, I seem to remember. You know, cuz a Floridian burned a koran. It's being denounced all over as intolerant and hateful ... I mean the koran burning, not the beheadings. That's a sacrament.

It's too obvious to rehash. You know, how stupid moslems are. Probably stupider than the global average, as a group. That would be because it's a Third World religion, where backwardness is to the front. We're all stupid. It's just that sometimes there are cultural expectations of civilized behavior. Mostly, not, though, in Crapistan and points south.

So I'm going to engage in a bit of performance art. I'll roll up a koran (small-print version thank you very much) and insert it into my anus, vigorously and repeatedly, simulating sodomy. The Left won't know what to think. Sodomy is good, as is performance art and public displays of freedom and vulgarity -- the Libs will fight to the death to defend my right in this -- but then again, koran-sodomy is intolerant and hateful.

Will somebody please do a google search for all the Lefties who denounced the artistic masterpiece Piss Christ?

As for Libya, I don't know what to think. Seems the "rebels" ... insurgents? freedom fighters? terrorists? ... are coalescing around a leadership of Taliban. Well of course. Nobody else is stepping up to lead them. So that's turning to crap istan. Obama's War. How ironic, that he should be a Cowboy. Well, a Dude. It's okay though, cuz he doesn't approve of his war. See? Like me with a koran up my butt. I don't approve of it. It just feels necessary. More harm than good will come of it, but it would promote my own self interest not to, and that would be like capitalism, bad. Oh, it's nuanced.

So, to tie it all together, let us present

The Obama Doctrine:

The United States shall be bound by no consideration of precedent or consistency. Contingencies of the moment shall dictate policy.

The United States shall involve itself only in conflicts that have no direct bearing on American national interest. Deference shall be given to governments that are hostile to American interests; no action suggesting an effort to promote American interests shall be initiated, supported or sustained.

There is no "America exceptionalism", no uniquely positive role in world history or current events. At most, The United States bears a special guilt for its wastefulness and arrogance; at worst, it is The Planet's preeminent force for injustice, intolerance, oppression, eco-genocide, homophobia, and middlebrow art.

And for the sake of completeness and symmetry,

The Biden Corollary:

"..."

Oh, nothing to contribute? Maybe later, when he's done talking. Meanwhile, here's a joke. Three moslems go into a bar, and behead everyone ... or maybe they blow up themselves and everyone else too. I'm honing it. It's the details that will make it funny.

J

Safe

So I thought I was doing really well in a workout tonight, and it turns out I was all hunched over like the Eggman. And I got some coaching and I thought I corrected the problem, but apparently I didn't. And now I feel like a complete fool. Cuz my defensive little attempt at humor didn't go over, and it was just offensive. It's so hard to get it right, strike a balance between emotional security on the one hand, and social grace on the other. And all of my humor is ironic, always a comment on some unspoken and underlying truth. The loudmouth I play at is a reaction to the morons I had to be around as a child -- the out-of-control egos of borderline sadists. Such is the grist for my humor mill. Not funny? Well, sometimes.

So I actually have a friend, the best I've ever had, and I love him somewhere between a brother and a son. Perhaps you know how much I love my son. As for brothers, well, my genetic brothers are just people I grew up with, share some DNA with, some experiences, but as for love, I think that puppy got stomped to death sometime in the late 1960s. But I know what it should be. And tonight I was rude to my friend, defensive-humor rude, but nevertheless. And conscience torments me.

What a world. How can these things ever be put right? Well, we have to understand, about our flaws. You know, wisdom. And then grace. It will never be, and never can be, perfect. So accept me, please, for my flaws, deep as the sea. I'm not beautiful, not pure, but there's something in me that even I -- raised to hate himself like poison and corruption -- can respect. Maybe you'll do me a favor and give it a name, if you know me well enough. If not you, who?


J

Precis

Okay Kuhdaffy, let me be clear you BETTER not do anything, um and I do NOT mean eeay it! It is unacceptable, this huh thing er that I'm I I talking about, and we w-w-will definitely not put corpsemen on the ground with ... boots on! Got it? You better believe um that uh I want ... you to believe what I say! You KNOW what hmm "unacceptable" means, right? Let me be clear. It's when you offer me something ... ... and I ... say, "No thank you very much. Maybe later. But thank you." So I do NOT accept all that stuff you either did or said, I forget which. Uh, like, that thing with the ... airplane all that time ago when I was tokin a dooby in college or organizing a community or whatever. Dude, that was totally bogus. I mean it was entirely unacceptable. Um ... let me be clear about that. It is a well known statistic that 98% if all Middle East situations occur, despite all opposition to the contrary, in a manner that presupposes an understanding of the complex situation as posited by my State Department of the United States of America, and our children, and our children's children, while the seas continue to rise and my Secretary of Energy wants gas prices to match those of Europe, a continent, or rather peninsula hanging like a scrotum off of Asia -- and anyway Africa is much bigger than it looks on the map ... my father was Kenyan, you know? Thank you, God bless you, and God bless the children and their children's children and all the little growing flowers. And by "God" I mean Allah.

BO

In no particular order...

Because sometimes we have to get out of our own heads.

J

Something about Nothing

Someone asked me a question today and said, "Be honest." And it's not reasonable to be offended. But am I not known? Apparently not. I'm always serious, about information. I avoid conflict, until it comes to me. I don't demand respect, but I take deep umbrage at disrespect, or even its hint. Someone snuck up on me a while back, I think I mentioned, and I still have a problem with it. Well. We expect to be believed, when we say a thing. Other people don't always understand that we mean it. It's not disrespect. It's communication, which is mostly an imprecise affair.

I'm bordering on depression. It's a choice, and I'm deciding against it. But even so. Got some bjj in today. Just reinforced how rudimentary I am at it. If I were small, I'd lose all the time, fast. It does come back reasonably quickly, but only with practice, and I just don't get as much as I need. In the near future there was an open door to role with a white belt female. But no. It's complicated. Social pressure and gender pressure and undiluted one-on-one pressure with no chance to triangulate. No chaperon. Life has shown that I can rise to any demand. But I have a choice here. My point? Well, it must be that complicated things are depressing.

I have this cat who waits at my door, but I'm never home, except at 10. She managed to pry open the door and rip through the screen, to get to me. Bu I wasn't there. She's on my lap now. I've had better cats. Much much better. I think I like cats more than dogs now. This surprises me, because I've been a dog guy. But cats are not so needy, and I'm tired of being needed. Or maybe I need to be needed. I don't know which. It's complicated. I do know there's a deep loneliness in my soul and I don't think it will ever be filled. But I'm trembling on depression, so that's just an opinion of the moment. For all its pervasiveness.

I'm kind of sick of myself. I don't understand what life is about. Yeah, I know, adoring God, and doing good. But I mean really. I just want to get laid. Kidding. Or am I. See? What do we fill ourselves with.

I hardly ate today. Eating my stew now, and then I'll read for a while, and go to sleep. I'm reading Leviticus. One of my favorite books.

J

Review of the Weak

Do miracles have to be good?

My phone rang and some smartass said, "Bootie call." Well, I've said it myself, and first. I said, "No, that would be my other phone. And it's a hot salsa lick." The guy has a good sense of humor, at least. Usually we expect these gay-married dudes to be really uptight and intolerant. Of course there's something twisted in the boy. He goes to defcon 1 without warning.

Defcon 5 is the lowest level.

"Let me be very clear. We do not expect harmful levels of radiation to reach the United States." Yes. I'm very glad I let him be clear. It's so eloquent to use words that way. Very eloquent. Let me be clear about that, and this too. We expect radiation that is not harmful not to reach the US. Uh, and even radiation that is harmful, we expect that also not to reach us. Or, to be more clearer, we do not expect radiation that is either harmful or not harmful to not reach us, in the sense that if it reaches us it will or would not be harmful, to us, as opposed to not reaching us yet being harmful, or reaching us and being harmful, or reaching us and not being, or being, harmful. And also let be be clear, as I speech-give slowly with careful pronunciation, about what harmful is, and is not, to us in the US or as is sometimes said, the United States, that you elected me president of. After all, what is it to be harmful? Harmful means many things to many people. And so, in conclusion, I have spoken to you slowly with good diction. Thank you and good night, to you, and to your children, and your children's children, and their children after them, because we will not be rendered sterilized by radiation, which does not exist here in the United States except that nuclear power is bad, and so is oil and coal. Wind, wind is my favorite. I love the wind, like when I walk on the beach, shirtless, so tall and lanky and lean like the girl from Ipanima. Thank you, may God bless you, and God bless the United States of America, a country in the northern hemisphere of the planet Earth, which is globally warming, along with the rising oceans which I have stopped, like King Canute, with my eloquence.

Someone said that Obama didn't make verbal gaffs the way W did. The police acted stupidly. Arugala. Clinging to their guns or religion. These are not gaffs. He means what he says. He speaks very clearly. Very. It's just that what he thinks is wrong.

So after a few weaks of dithering and waffling and being indecisive and eloquent ... oh, I mean weeks ... Obama has made it very clear to Kuhdaffy that we will not, repeat not be sending in soldiers. The situation is unacceptable, so the consequences must be, um, clear, about the thing that we won't be accepting any day soon now. So do not, repeat do NOT get that ice cream out of the fridge young man, or you will be in BIG trouble. The French are ON THE WAY! Is that CLEAR?!? I MEAN it.

I have a few extra bucks now. It's been a tight year, what with my sources of income having become constricted. Maybe I'll buy myself a new gi? -- with clover leafs embroidered all over it! Yeah! And I've been yearning for an electric razor. That's about it. I have humble needs. I stopped buying books, and cut out most supplements. I even went a while without omega-3. Haven't been training hard enough anyway, mostly, to suffer too much from the lack. Cat's claw, boswellia, hyaluronic acid -- effective but auxiliary. I learned a decade ago what it was to go through fire. In all things I am content ... no ... in most things I am fairly okay.

I put together some gymnastics rings. I have three designs, and variations on them, and have made one of them. Seems to work as desired. I'll make its variation, and take a vote. That's one of the reasons I get short of cash -- I spend it on projects. I don't see myself as generous. I take care of myself, first. But I have small needs, and then, when I have disposable funds, I tend to give people things, but only if I think they could use it. Never gifts for the sake of giving. Whereas I am very proud, and will accept gifts from only a very few people. Anyway, have some ideas about kettlebells as well. And I've been tinkering with adjustable straps. And thinking about building another kitchen and bathroom for my foolish mother. I don't see much of a difference between those projects. Do you? Rings, or a kitchen? Seems about the same to me. About a hundred dollars.

I haven't seen any of the earthquake or tsunami video. Send me some cool links, k?

J

What To Eat

We start with common sense. If your grandma wouldn't recognize it as food, it probably isn't. Food, contrary to popular opinion, does not grow in boxes, bags or cans. Its growth is somehow connected with the ground. As little contact as possible with factories is desirable, generally. Organic? -- heirloom? -- sure, of course. But don't let that stop you. Excellence is better than good enough, but good enough is good enough. Perfect is a fantasy, a destructive fantasy. See? Common sense.

So, what to eat? We've seen it before. Berry-fruit smoothies. Doesn't have to come out of a $400 blender. Just get the job done ... make a smoothie. Berries are superb nutrition. Invented to be food. So get to Trader Joe's or CostCo or where ever, and blend frozen blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, cherries, strawberries ... all very low glycemic load ... and a tiny little bit, a cube or two, of mango, pineapple, kiwi, banana, for the nutrients, not for the flavor. The tropical fruits have a higher glycemic load, so go easy on them. On the other hand, a little is reasonable -- we're after the nutrients.

Add water, maybe tap, maybe purified ... whatever. Add some protein powder, to taste, not more than 30 grams per serving -- maybe rice protein, maybe pea protein, maybe mixed veggie protein -- no need for soy, or whey ... we get enough soy and animal proteins just by being American -- no need to supplement it. Add some coconut oil, some flax seed oil, some omega three oil. You now have nearly perfect nutrition. You could live, abundantly, off of just this sort of meal. No need for any other beverage, milk or rice milk or soy milk or almond milk or milk or, um, wheat milk or milk or milk. Common sense. We're not trying to add calories and spike our insulin. We're trying to get nutrients into our bloodstream.

Most people's blood is sugar water and red corpuscles, and maybe some heavy metals ... strontium or plutonium maybe. Don't be like that. Feed your cells, not your appetite. The bloodstream should be a soup, a thick broth as it were, of nutrients, available when your cells need what they need. You don't know what they need. But they need it. So eat nutrients, not sugar in all its industrial disguises.

What else? Fibrous vegetables. Nutrient dense, calorie poor: the perfect ratio, if there is such a thing as perfect. Frozen broccoli, cauliflower, mixed peppers, corn and peas and green beans and string beans and carrots. Chop in any other veggies you like, or high quality meats. Add seasonings. Apple cider vinegar, extra-virgin olive oil, turmeric, cayenne pepper, cinnamon, basil, oregano, parsley, any other high-nutrient herbs or spices. Bragg Liquid Aminos -- savory. Bread? Some, Ezequiel.

What to eat before a workout? Something that won't spike your insulin. Eat more than half an hour, or an hour, prior to the job. What to eat after the workout? If your goal is to pack on muscle, it's the one time that spiking insulin is good, to usher protein into muscle cells. Here it is again, the post-workout recovery drink:

A can of 100% fruit juice (not the sugar water "drink"), flavor does not matter -- it's all instant carbs anyway, which, in this instance, is the point. Look at the ingredients, see how many grams of carbs there are, and add about one-third or one-fourth than many grams of protein powder -- pea is nice. So if it's 250 grams of carbs, add 60 to 80 grams of protein. It's not complicated, it's easy. Protein you don't need just turns into calories, and in the mean time turns your body acidic, and leaches calcium out of your bones, and is hard to digest anyway. Don't get more than you need. Get what you need. That's called optimal.

Add 2 g each of:
• potassium
• magnesium
• salt
• creatine
• glutamine
• vitamin C & E
• ALA (alpha lipoic acid) .

Divide it into 3 or 4 portions, freeze them for later, use it within an hour of a hard, big workout.

What else to eat? Paleo? Atkins? Zone? South Beach? They are all insulin-control diets. It's not all the protein that gives the benefits, it's cutting back the industrial carbs. Paleo gets it right in the emphasis on good fats and low glycemic load carbs. As for all the protein, there's a debate that we need not get into. Eat, be happy, but be responsible. So eat nuts and seeds and fruits and whole grains and all those good things. In moderation. Eat them for the nutrients. Feed your cells abundantly, and feed your appetites moderately. You know, common sense, like grandma would have wanted. No need to be perfect.

Be excellent.


J

Crystallization

Now you will be wondering, if belief in God need not make us good, what is the benefit, now, of believing in God? Sure, in the by and by and hereafter there's all sorts of fab rewards. Like, uh, harps, and clouds, and, uh, choir singing. Very musical, and, um, meteorological.

It's a complex question -- if it were easy almost everyone would have the same religion, or none. So the real question should be, is there a God at all? In other words, what is real? We determine what is real by testing the matter. You know, science: organized knowledge. Organized: the imposition of order upon chaos by the application of intelligence; knowledge: what has been determined to be true. Intelligence: awareness of truth. Truth: things as they are. We're talking about testing reality.

How can we do such a thing? Descartes was very fretful about, well, everything. He didn't even know how he knew he existed. We went over this some years ago. He choose thinking as his proof. Seems a subjective choice. Why not feeling, or perception, or will? The Buddhists would have desire as the proof, and cause, of existence. Why not memory? Or the sense of continuity we call the self? All of these things can be distorted or deceived or deceptive. I think that all certainty is moral certainty -- that which we know, by faith and assertion, to be true. We trust our reason, our memory, our perception. Moral certainly is all there is, mostly because nothing can be satisfactorily disproven, without agreement. Yes, it's all very circular.

So it doesn't pay to get too philosophical about these things. That's the reason I think philosophy is crap, and a waste of time. I love to argue, or used to. Eventually though we gain some maturity, and care more about what is than about what is not. The answer then, to get back to the original question, about God, is science.

Theories have to make predictions, the results of which must be observable, testable, falsifiable. Obviously what cannot in some manner be observed, even indirectly, cannot be tested, and so cannot be falsified. So when we mix precise measures of chemicals together under the same conditions, we demand the same result. We demand uniformity of physical laws. When we talk about supernovas and Evolution, observations and tests and outcomes become so mired in ad hoc assumptions that by strict definition we must consider them hypotheses -- they are thought experiments, and whether true or not, are mostly about faith. To find rabbit bones in Precambrian strata is not a falsification of Evolutionism. Special pleading is always possible -- by definition, if it has rabbit bones, it's not Precambrian ... if it's Precambrian, the bones must have migrated there.

So. Complexity exists. Randomness never produces organization -- only order, patterns predicable from the nature of the material. Agitated aggregates stratify, smallest particles lowest down. Snowflakes are beautiful, orderly, and complicated because of the way water crystallizes. Complication and complexity are not the same thing. Organization, as opposed to order, is the imposition of intelligence onto a system. It is a surprise, nonpredictable. Nothing in the nature of silicon atoms predicts a computer microprocessor.

Everywhere we look in the material universe, we find that entropy, the principle of disorganization, is the presiding law. Energy is always becoming less available for work. The Sun is wearing out. The universe will end in heat death, as a cyrstal, utterly still, absolute zero, with not even the movement of an electron. Or maybe not. Maybe everything just goes on forever, in perpetual motion. But observation predicts otherwise, of the material universe.

But we're talking about God, which means the whole universe, material and nonmaterial, physical and metaphysical, natural and supernatural. And yet we're talking about science. No contradiction. Because there is organization, not just order. There is intelligence, not just randomness. Either, then, the merely physical can get metaphysical, and rationality is invented, and life is Evolved, out of chaotic and inert matter. Or. The material universe, imbued with life, is the artifact of something greater.

Is this true? Atheists say it's not. Such is their faith, that they hold that science requires testing and observation, except when it comes to the tester and observer himself. We just are. Life just is, just happened. And with this happenstance of intelligence, which might as well be something else, we judge. Rationality, fathered by nonrationality, is to be trusted.

Doesn't make sense to me. I prefer consistency. I prefer inductive reasoning, using specifics to construct general rules. Enough observations give us the right to draw conclusions. The universal conclusion of observation is that randomness does not create complexity, organization, intelligence. Life.

Atheists, then, and their beliefs and nonbeliefs? They have too much faith for me, and too much emotion, and too much irrationality. I need order, and consistency.

God loves complexity, and simplicity, like following a light through a storm. I'm sure God loves happiness. I know he loves joy. He requires pain, too, which is a fact hard enough to make us atheists. But sanity agrees with reality, no matter how unpleasant.

I haven't been to church in ten years. I don't know that I'll ever stop being angry with God. I am a stiff-necked man, and I'd like some obvious blessings before I'd consider myself called back into the fold. No shepherd has left his flock to seek me out. I have now the blessing of a good friend, but what of my wife, and lost sons? Everything Job lost was replaced. I'm not good, but nothing has been replaced. Friendship is a new thing to me, and I'm not very skilled at it.

It has to do with encouragement. Once, long ago, at a very hard time, I said to someone on the phone that I didn't see how I could go on living in a world like this. His sharp "Hey" pulled me up short, out of my self-pity. It wasn't encouragement, but it threw me back onto my sense of duty. No matter what, we don't give up. We are always sane. We are honest.

We don't always love, though. Or feel loved.

And that's the answer.


J

Billboards

If only you could view the contents of my magnificent brain. No, I mean mind. You wouldn't want to see my actual brain. Yick. Gray matter, all wrinkled and shiny, or gooey ... like liver, twisted liver. Yick. But my mind, my magnificent mind -- in its undiluted presence your puny intellect would dissolve like bubbles of Silly Soap in a child's bath. Pathetic.

Take for example my amazing thoughts about God, and atheists. Seems some dude or group has taken out billboard ads saying that people can be good, or have hope, or lead meaningful lives, without believing in God. Isn't it interesting, finding out what people think is worth spending money on?

It's said not infrequently by religionists that believing in God makes people better. I suppose it's true, since God implies judgment. But everyone, almost, has a conscience, and that's punishment enough, almost. And society has been known in the past to punish wrong conduct. So there are two layers of punishment, before we get to God. But none of that says a lot about believing in God. Because it's not so much about belief, as reality.

If there is a God, it is secondary whether or not we believe in him, or whether such belief affects our conduct. Primary is that we agree with reality. Good things should ultimately follow from that. Take for example gravity. Believing in gravity doesn't make me a better person. It makes me fit better into the physical universe. Believing in God, if there is a God, is sane. Not believing in what does exist is the equivalent to believing in what does not exist. Both are inconsonant with reality.

And of course there's the uneasy question of, which god? Does belief in a god that does not exist make a person better? Gandhi was a good man, as men go, but which of the countless Hindu gods was his particular favorite? And how does having a false god make one better than having a true conscience? Nazis most assuredly had a god.

It isn't God who makes us good. It's following moral teaching. Whence does that come? Well, God, and in diluted form, from sane teachers. But sanity comes from recognizing and agreeing with reality.

Just thought I'd share that, a few minor observations that my magnificent brain so easily makes, and casually. Brilliance radiates from me as light flows from supernovas. Ah.

J

Humor

Even numbers are not funny. Not all odd numbers are funny. Smaller prime numbers tend to be funny. The first funny number is eleven, but it's marginal -- the two ones make it too simple, visually, but the three syllables can make it work. Thirteen is not funny. Neither is 15 -- easy multiples are not funny. Seventeen is the first purely funny number ... funny looking, a funny age to be, with hindsight ... all that teenage angst and highschool drama. Nineteen is also funny. No number in the 20s is funny, except 29.

Almost all emotions are funny. Involuntary bodily functions are funny, especially those involving noise or smells, as are the spastic convulsions of great passion. Physical deformities, handicaps and diseases that involve bodily fluids are funny. Weakness and vulnerability is funny. All cultural habiliments, and all characteristic racial differences, are funny. Rudeness and insensitivity, ignorance and bigotry, are funny.

It's important to understand the uses and meaning of laughter. It is primarily a method of communicating scorn or ridicule. As an emotional weapon its power is almost unmatched -- commonly, only sexual molestation surpasses its destructive force. Loud, coarse or angry laughter is best, with titters and snide chuckles playing a more subtle role. In comparison, spreading malicious rumors is a blunt tool indeed.

Thus we must find it very amusing indeed, that the Westboro Baptist Church has won its Supreme Court case, defending their right of free speech, to picket the funerals of slain soldiers, calling them "fags" whom "god" "hates". Well? The standard cliche is that we must protect the right of free speech ... it's what America is about.

Well. Sadly, the cliche is right. The Constitution is about our institutions, which exist to not oppress us. The Judicial System is not about justice. Please. It's about process. Rule of law after all is what makes systems work. So where is justice, actual justice, to be found, in this instance? Well, again we find the answer in looking at law. The law does not recognize the concept of fighting words. But human beings intuitively do understand its reality.

So someone uses appropriate non-lethal retributive force against these antichrist picketers, who is then charged with assault, and a jury of his peers acquits him. The trauma and pragmatic injustice of having to bear the expense and ordeal and threat of the trial is punishment enough. And putting a real fear of the real God into the withered evil hearts of the cultists may have a palliative effect.

Meantime, in Great Britain a Christian couple is no longer allowed to be foster parents, because they believe and teach that homosexual behavior is sinful. See? We must, must, must protect our institutions. Not Canada, maybe Australia, but probably only America is left, where government does not habitually attack freedom of conscience. So the eight to one decision of the Supreme Court is frustrating, but correct.

True justice is sometimes found only at the harsh end of a horse whip. Sometimes justice is about tar and feathers.

J

What Everything Is

I know a sound guy who worked the red carpet for the Oscars. Boom man. Said it was freezing. Then Monday he did the Charlie Sheen interview. Charlie was calm and polite, chain smoked, with his two tattooed girlfriends, from the Valley, both about an 8. He helped the crew with their equipment, and sniffed a lot. If I don't really care about Sumatran tsunamis and Louisianan hurricanes, I surely don't care about Charlie Sheen.

Then I foolishly opened the door to a political talk, with an off-handed comment about how Mega Government didn't seem competent to manage micro health. Guy suggested that anyone who didn't have a hundred thousand dollars saved up, or insurance, would be a "free rider." I said I'd rather die. I think I mean it. In any case, later I brooded, a lot, about the implication, that I wouldn't pay my debts. That wasn't his point of course, but I'm a little crazy. It's crazy to take that sort of thing personally, and to brood about it as an offense, and to rather die than get sucked into the disease care system.

And someone parked in the spot I use, and I made a jokey stink about it, but it did bother me, and I carried it too far anyway. It was wondered if I'm territorial. Apparently, pathologically. The diligent reader will be aware that I have almost hermetic boundaries.

I was involved in the purchase of an Airdyne, a sort of exercise bike, highly recommended by my son. Got it at a phenomenal price, thirty percent discount because I'm a senior citizen. Over fifty. It needs a tuneup, call it fifty bucks. I'm calling around to find a place. Normal bike shops don't do that sort of thing. Sure it's a hassle, but that's what life seems to be.

I don't understand life. It seems so hard, and pointless. My own life isn't hard. Kind of empty. I find I love a very few people, and there's tenderness in that, but I'm so constricted. I should be a saint. What went wrong? If it were possible, God would be disappointed. As it is, He'll just judge me, justly.

Yesterday ended with cause for optimism. Today ended with it's disappointment. Not discouragement though. Whatever we put our faith in, it shouldn't be put into what people say. There is a random correlation between promises and completion.

There's a cat that waits outside my door for me. Not actually my cat, but I bring it in and it sleeps with me. Well? It's a wearying thing to sleep alone, always. Something about the proximity of another heartbeat. So I understand gay marriage. Even without the sex, people just want to be with someone. Too bad sodomy has to be involved.

I just don't understand how Two and a Half Men could be the number one show. It sucked so bad, the one time I saw part of it. Sheen seems to be the smartest guy involved. How did it possibly last 8 years? Inexplicable. But so is everything.

J

Duhbuh Duhbuh Duhbuh

I'm killing time before I go and transform my foolish mother's garage into a rental space. Reading some thriller, good reviews but so far just so-so. If you want to read a really surprising ending, go for Running Blind by Lee Child. One of the Jack Reacher books. I generally anticipate the twists, and I got the second-biggest one in this book -- but the big one, revealed at the same moment, was really well done. The set up was flawed, because too many professional people had to be stubborn and stupid, but it works to set up tension, so there's that. One of the things I figured out from listening to oldtime radio is that there is an economy of characters. With limited time and budged, everything has to have a purpose. So the guy who doesn't seem to have a purpose, is the guilty one. FYI.

Bethatasitmay, the hero in the current book makes a big deal about France Gall's 1965 EuroVision performance of Poupée de cire, poupée de son, "Wax Doll, Bran Doll" (son puns as "sound"; bran would be sawdust -- I'd translate it freely as sand, for the evocation.) The young Miss pulls it off through naive sincerity -- a pure but not quite polished voice, almost boyish at points, a touch mechanical in its adherence to meter. But very pretty, oui?

So of course I rifled through the archive, my heavy heels and greasy thumbs leaving their indelible imprints -- what I touch, I ruin ... where I tread, only destruction remains -- and came across Les sucettes -- "Lollipops", or, more bluntly, "Suckers". To be brutal, "Things to Suck On". I won't do all the lyrics. Enough to note that Annie likes to suck, and that anise [Annie, anus] suckers

Give her kisses / An aniseed [cf. anusy] taste. / When the barley ["orge", cf. orgy] sugar / flavored with anise / Slides down Annie's throat, / She's in paradise. ... / For a few "pennies" [cf. penis], / Annie has her anise suckers. / ... When on her tongue / All but the little stick is done, / Her legs take her body / Back to the "drugstore".

Now, it's rather subtle, the images in this 1966 television production, so let me explain. The elongated confections are phallic, and represent penises in a condition of sexual engorgement, tumescent with blood (during which state the male may penetrate the female's vagina with his erect, or turgid, penis). The young women in this video are then simulating the act of oral copulation, a form of sodomy. Get it? The four throbbing quivering dancing penises represent candy, about which the young woman is singing. The footlong cylinders that slowly plunge into the women's mouths, or linger on their lips and tongues, are in some manner meant to figure into the imagery. See? As I say, it's subtle.

Thing is, it really is clear that young Ms Gall did not understand the puns. So when we see Serge Gainsbourg, the lecher who wrote the song, give the most incredible smirk at second 48 of another performance ... well we can't help the shape of our nose, or our chin, or our ears -- but our character can be awfully ugly, non? Lot's of talk about how brilliant Gainsbourg is. No. Clever, the way an adolescent who discovers sarcasm before his peers is clever.

If anyone argues with me about this, or any other of my opinions, I have an unanswerable retort. I always do it. First I shout that they're wrong. Then I fart, really loud, and it sounds like this: duhbuh duhbuh duhbuh duhbuh -- and then I laugh. And everyone is all stupid with silence, and I say, that's right, sucka, and there's PLENTY more where THAT came from -- and I fart again to prove my point. Mess with me and that's what you get. Sucka.


J

One-Eyed Jack

When I have a disagreement with someone, I don't notice it for a while, no big deal. Then later I think, now they will try to destroy me. And I look to see if my position is secure -- anticipate their attacks ... broken windows, stones thrown at the back of my head, slashed tires. That sort of thing. Or betrayals, vicious things, just to get even, get revenge. It's an attitude I have that's prudent but not rational. Not everyone is a monster. I just expect that they can become monsters. The phases of the moon might have such an effect. Because I am rational. It's the world, and its population, that isn't.

After all, I was married, and then betrayed. I had a family, expanded, foster kids, and I was betrayed. The distinction between thoughtless and vicious is negligible. Or maybe it's me that's the problem, my earnestness, my need for absolutes, and integrity, and honor. I remember joking with my wife, that she was mine, and I'd never let her go. And I laughed. And I didn't understand her expression. We had, you see, incompatible senses of humor. Because she let me go. Is that a betrayal? To me, yes -- because I mean what I say. Except of course when I'm joking. Love, springing from a generosity of spirit, should have been able to discern the difference. Chalk it up to communication problems. Pronoun trouble.

Friday I found I had some extra money, and went to a restaurant and had a vegan pizza. Do that once every year or two. Luxurious. Made a little joke a few weeks ago: "So you're telling me you actually go out to some other place, you drive there, and eat? In public?" Like it was unthinkable and obscene. I get a kick out of myself.

And today it snowed in my suburb of LA. An inch of snow on the car. I came out and said to myself, "You gotta be kidding me." Took a plastic lid of something or other and scrapped off the windshield. Been about ten years since I've been to the snow. Back when I had sons.

I am subject to depression, to melancholy, but I'm not often insecure. But I'm feeling insecure. It's not a matter of whether or not I'm up to such and such a job. It's, is what I do what other people want.

I did some stuff with a bunch of kids today, sort of a teaching situation with bjj. It's been a long time. I've aged quite a bit, in that I'm not as good at seeming ungrumpy. I have little patience for silly six-year-old disruptive attention-seeking behavior. But I kind of found myself thrown into the situation, with no time to prepare. Gotta prepare. I hate to fake it. Like Obama, just talking until you think of what to do. It's good to think on your feet. But how about thinking ahead of time too? An issue of integrity.

We learn by seeing other people do it. I learned to teach, in the classroom setting, by seeing good teachers teach, and copying them. Teaching is about organization, management, presentation. The classroom, the class, and the teacher. Calm rather than chaos. Lines rather than crowds. Simple instead of complex. For kids, define the terms. Most of them don't know what "pivot" or "guard" or "post" means. Say, then show, then do. Use colorful and easy-to-remember examples. Analogies they can understand. This thing is like that thing. Simple verbal formulas. Larger than life. The point is, be memorable. That's called teaching, if what is remembered is worthy of the effort.

I think I used to be a good teacher. As for bjj, I've forgotten so much that I'd just be faking it. It's a little discouraging. More than a little, frankly.

As for my lower back, thank you for asking, I find I take more than five days now to heal. Hope it's only a muscle, and not a disc. Took the whole week off from training. Not that I'm actually training. Toward some goal. Don't judge me. When you're my age and can do half what I do, then you'll have a right to voice an opinion about me. In a little squeaky piping voice, peep peep.

Which brings me again to the real topic, my penis. I've decided to call it my one-eyed jack.

J

Wed

San Diego is talking about making circumcision illegal. Not having it -- having it done. I mean, they gotta allow me into the city, right? After all, they let in the illegals. What am I, chopped liver? Little yuppie babies with their fretful, syndicalistic parents, shall go forth unaltered into the big bad world. A foreskin must have many uses, after all. It's uncivilized to mutilate a baby boy. Jews and their superstitions? Screw em. An exception however will be made for the moslems and the Holy Religion of Islam. Except for female circumcision, which the mossies love, cuz it ruins sex for the chicks, which is good. Stinking women.

My understanding is that it's not circumcision at all, with females. It's the removal of the clitoris. Exact counterpart, if my grasp of comparative anatomy is solid, would be the removal of the glans -- or as I think of it, the power ball.

It was a topic of radio discussion on the drive home. Yuppies and bureaucrats butting into other folks' business. Seems like parental choice is not a good thing, when it's only a penis in question. When it's cutting apart the whole baby, though, male or female, well ... choice is good. Dicks, no. Brains, yes. Struck me as ironic. Is abortion illegal in the City of San Diego?

One of Saint Diego's miracles is that his dead corpse cured a prince who, after whoring all night, fell down a flight of stairs and became blind and paralyzed. Paralytic blind whoremongers, flock, all of you, to San Diego. It's your kind of town.

I've decided yet again that I was not a very good husband. Piss poor, in fact. Immature and critical. Not abusive, but not much of a catch. Now, a quarter century later, I'm not immature but I'm selfish. Just want to be left alone, unless I don't want to be left alone. I have noticed over the years females who give evidence of being attracted to me. I am generally very successful in ignoring these signals. Hurrah. I win. But I've always been loyal, to those I owe loyalty. Select group.

Pulled a muscle deep in my lower back on Monday. Maybe overtraining? Well, I really should have stretched first. I wish I could get more sleep. Healing time. I'm a brighter and less unpleasant guy when I get rest. Ah well. Someday I'll win the lottery, after I start playing it, and then I'll hire someone to sleep for me. It'll be great.

That's all. Remember me in thine orisons.

J

Neglect

You know what I think? I think Obama is so far up his own ass that he's made it through his mouth and up into his ass again. He's coiled so many times around himself he's like a magneto. He could power the eastern seaboard. Except, energy is bad.

So the dominoes fall. The Middle East is going south, dicpotato after dicpotato, latest Kadaffy, off to get more plastic surgery, the Cat Lady of North Africa, like some sort of malignant sphinx in a loin cloth. By summer gas will be $12 a gallon. So much for the recovery. Chavez will be our new best fiend. Suck my oil. Say hello to my little friend. Feckless fools.

It came to me as a highly predictable bolt of lightning. Natural gas. I don't know the mechanics of it, but there are such engines, and there must be compressors you can hook up to the household line. How do you spell it ... cheep? -- cheap? Just google it. "Natural gas engine." It's not rocket surgery. We've got more of it than anybody. Seems obvious. Sort of a not-19th century fuel. Wouldn't it be nice to go back to not needing our enemies. Only Hitlers need their enemies. Normal people don't want to have anything to do with them. Hitler needed the Jews. We should not need the Arabs. Let's just need our friends. Deal?

I pulled a muscle in my lower back this morning. A few weeks ago my son did some sort of fitness assessment on me, and of course I'm amazing, although he hasn't given me the analysis yet. But there's a problem with my flexibility, and my muscles are absolutely full of knots. And today someone insisted on putting some pressure on the pulled spot, and that actuality helped a lot, and made me even more aware of how dysfunctional my dysfunctionality is. Touching me is like juggling a bag of marbles -- I squirm, and I'm tense. Jumpy and lumpy. I'm also itchy and scratchy. Yes, I do need a massage -- a series of them. Last time I had one was a chiropractor in Sydney 25 years ago, and that was just an assessment, lasted about 15 seconds. This is what wives are for. And friends, I guess. We find out who are our friends are when we're snake-bit in the butt. So far up which I am that I can see light at the end of the tunnel. Let's call it hope. Yes, we need friends.

There are areas I have sorely neglected. Flexibility and lumpiness are one of them. My income has taken a hit in the past year, never huge, but I have lived modestly for, well, always. But I could see going to a chiropractor and being cracked into place, or to someone who would gauge the lumps out of my musculature. When my son was little I used to have him walk on my back. Then he got too big. The circle of life.

Ah well. Just needed to vent. Stuck up my own ass as I am, sometimes I need to come out for air.

J

Respect

I don't claim not to be odd. I have my issues. So I find myself on a regular basis in a certain place, and I don't like it when people just appear out of nowhere, and I told someone this, and he jingles his keys jokingly to let me know of his approach, but today he didn't, but instead just appeared at the door and said, "Don't stand up." Ha ha.

But it really startled me, and it was deliberate, and that really really bothers me. Because I had already communicated my reality about that. Dude was sort of cavalier about my mild expression of displeasure. "You know, I'm kind of high-strung." Should I have been harsh? It messed me up for a couple of hours, though. I know, I'm nuts. But I'm nuts. And how clear do I have to be, beyond actually telling someone something in a straightforward way, as I had done?

No, I have only one issue. Disrespect. And the sad fact is that once trust is lost, it's lost. How do you get it back? I don't see how. Repentance? Who would even see the need to repent of that little joke? I'm not reasonable. I know this. And I'm sure I've crossed people's boundaries too. I apologize when it's made clear to me. It's only right. We don't have to be perfect. We have to be courteous when we offend. And we have to be trustworthy. Sometimes I'm amazed at how important loyalty is to me.

I told my pathetic little feeling to someone, about disrespect, and he said he had something like that about being lied to. We're all different. When I'm lied to, I usually just observe the liar, fascinated by the insight into their souls. We lie to protect ourselves, or to manipulate someone else. No, I didn't pee on the toilet seat. Or: Dude, I saw your mama last night on the corner picking up men. In any case, the lie is always about the character of the liar. Well, it's all about character. So ... nothing solved. And everything.

My foolish mother a while back got into the habit of throwing my things away, as the whim struck her. I'd had some things stored at her place. I went so far as to put locks up, but she found her way in. It's amazing. I seem to have solved the problem, but trust is completely and totally destroyed. I will never believe her. See my point? It's not that she's crazy. It's that we have to respect, or at least acknowledge other people's boundaries.

I'm generally sleep deprived, and it's delightful how much energy I have and how productive I am when I get something like enough. Getting in some good workouts, everyday this week. Need to do strength, and more rowing. Ah, tomorrow then. Yes. Am I looking even more beautiful, if such a thing is possible? I don't know. No one has the decency to tell me. Seems like I work hard for little or no results. But futility has not stopped me yet.

Yep. We're all nuts. Taking offense at what other people see as their right, or as wit. It's so tiresome. This is why there can be, at most, only one God.

J

Sunday So Far

My foolish mother had a plumbing problem -- house, not body -- and I'm the guy who deals with that. Toilet backing up. Snake didn't do anything. Then the shower backed up too, so it was deeper in the pipes. Well, a big pee company is always, always always advertising itself, "clear any drain for only $99." That's close enough to rooter-rental cost to make it worth while, so she called "Mike Diamond, the Smell-Good Plumber". Dude came out and asked where the cleanout was. She didn't know. So he said it would cost $1800 dollars. She called me, rather distraught. "Forget that," I ordered. You know, forget that, like the song. No way. So she said she'd had good luck with Rooter Rooter in the past. Guy came. $2400. No. They are crazy about their cameras, their very very apparently expensive cameras.

So that's what I did Sunday afternoon. Went online and looked up how to replace a toilet, if need be. Not as hard as I'd feared. Rented a Home Depot rooter. Got her washing machine line working -- she'd been letting it drain into the yard. Pretty rough on the fingers, that cable twisting around. Hunted down some gloves. Very earthy smell, sewer pipes -- not fecal, swampy. Went to the other side of the house to the four inch line, cleared it out to the sidewalk. Bit got stuck and I had to crawl under the house and cut the pipe open. Hassle, but I got the bit back. Toilet still backed up though. Crawled around some more, belly and back, dirt down my collar and up my shirt, silk of course, the very finest, and noticed the pipe from her bathroom didn't have any slope to it. So of course it wasn't draining. Plumbing is all about gravity. I propped one end up with a stone, and the problem was fixed. Total relevant cost, $0.

So this is where I expurgate my vulgarity re ripoff artists, who see an old lady and think they can have their way with her. Cuz, y'see, they'd like to help, but, like it costs $2000 to look under the freaking house.

Then I went and used the rooter someplace else that needed it, because it's a sin to waste. And then I went to Trader Joe's, a store with quality products at a reasonable price -- nuts and berries for me. Funny thing though. I saw my brother there, with his new wife. He didn't see me, so I just went about my business. Store was out of strawberries, and out of almonds. In line I hear a voice at my back, "My wife wants to say hello to you." And she seems to be a sweet young thing. Must be 20 by now. Little Asian girl. Well, Asians are okay, I guess.

But man. My brother. Earlier, before I saw it was him, and her, I just saw their backs, both dressed in night-on-the-town black, and my thought was, that man has strange posture. Then I saw it was my brother. And in line I got a look at him. Beard now. Haven't seen him for a couple of years. Very strange looking. Something is just off. Really rather unhealthy looking. Okay color though. Thing is, his basket had 15 or 20 egg cartons -- you know, by the dozen. And perhaps 10 quarts of yogurt. And a big heap of almonds bags. And another heap of frozen strawberries. He'd cleaned out the store. And that's what he eats. Eggs, yogurt, almonds and strawberries.

Man. Like my father's diet: cranberries and fishsticks.

It did not occur to me in line to ask my brother to let me have one of the bags of strawberries to buy.

On the drive home, I decided that from now on I will call everyone "boyfriend." So that's my Sunday, so far.

J

This and That

I'm leaving you. Because you're not worth loving anymore.

Sorry. I thought of it, and just had to say it. But that's the kind of honesty that shows how clueless I am sometimes. I work on tact, but it ends up mostly as silence.

I am going to beat you until you shit your pants. [some time later] Stop? Stop? But no. Remember what I said? I told you when I'd stop. You haven't shit your pants yet.

Generally I don't share the odd thoughts that fleet through my head.

You don't know me. You have no idea what I'm capable of. Sure we were friends, insofar as such a thing is possible. But nobody knows anyone. We don't even know ourselves. Just the shadows.

Sad thing is, not only do I mean it, but it's true.

J

Superb

Congressman Christopher Lee, shirtless.

So ... "Christopher Lee":

No, that's not the guy.

"Shirtless politician"?

No.

No.

No.

No.

No ... but then again, YES!

So, uh, "shirtless congressman"?

Aaron Schock? Mmmm. But, no.

Scott Brown?

No, not the guy. But yum.

Ah. Yes. That's him. Conservative family-values pol Christopher Lee of NY State. Resigned just few hours after this pic came to light. Y'see, he'd posted himself on craigslist, a well-known pornography ad site similar to WikiLeaks, representing himself to some chick as a 39-year-old single dad. Well, he's 46, and for the moment still married. Described himself in his ad as "fit fun and classy". Yeah, babe, I got a lot of class. Jus' ast my wife ... oops, I mean, DON'T ast her, if y'get what I mean, LOL.

Well, he's clearly spent some time in the gym. Typical stuff. Sitting on a bench, bulking up those guns with excellent curls, and it looks like he's even worked on those delts, and traps. Shrugs, maybe. Good on ya, mate. A bit, what, soft in the middle. Not flabby -- just little-boyish. Like Oakland: there's no there, there. And honestly, he's trying to pass himself off as 39? Ah well, maybe I'm spoiled, by my own superb genetics and superb lifestyle with its superb results, or as I like to say, resluts. But dude -- 39? Just, no. On a related note, I read recently that someone described me as looking 40, and it hurt my feelings a little. 40? Me? Try 34.

As for former Congressman Lee, frankly, yick. Just creepy. At least there's no weener shot, that we know of. Maybe something headless somewhere, but we'd have to go into his blackberry to find that. One of the circles of hell. Huh. Loneliness is understandable. Even betrayal is understandable. So is shame, and resigning quickly because of it. It's all understandable, not because we're all wise, but because we're all fools.

But now you must pardon me. I've just discovered the personals on craigslist, and I'm trying to upload some bodyshots. "Tall, blond, vvvgl, virile 29 year old, totally hot, classy, brilliant, an assload of integrity, hard in all the right places, looking for fit moslem, male or female, for fun times and maybe more if chem is rite. Where you lead I will follow. ddf, hiv neg, ub2."

What a world.

J

My Real Topic

Of course you have missed me. My wisdom, my brilliance. How I pity you, not being me, or at least around me. So sad.

"Let me just say this. What we need to do is..."

Oh, pardon me. I was channeling Obama. So very, very eloquent. Eleven useless, wasted words. But so eloquent. Very. Humble, see, cuz he's asking permission. And then inspirational, cuz he's informing us about what we all need to do. That Assistant Professor Obama is such a pedagogue. That's so good.

Back when I was a father I was a real hugger. Kisser too. Touching has always been an odd thing with me. Even when I was very little. Pre school. Elementary school. Kind of strange I know. I'm sure I was abused. Wish I could remember. Not even family members, birth family, were in the theoretical group of people who could touch me. Then I got married, somehow, and I remember my sister-in-law saying I was a lot more normal, touchwise. Yes, I was. I had an anchor. Maybe I even said something like that, outloud. But it's been a long time since I've been married, and quite a few years since I had kids.

Then the other day someone I know, and love, hugged me, and others commented on the fact. Apparently I am notorious. And I said something like, "He is in my family." It seems that to me family does not mean blood ties. Repugnant is too strong a word -- but I do not want hugs from, say, my brothers. I wish I could forgive. But it's nice to love. I always squeezed my boys, hello, and always goodbye too. I'm around a few kids now once in a while. I might be loosening up a little with them now. But they are other people's kids, not fatherless, not unloved, and they don't need me. That's okay. We can love even when it is not needed. Never know when it might come in handy. It might save a life. It might save mine. In any case, it is the difference been happiness and misery.

I have become aware that I don't smile much. I used to, I think. I think I don't now, the way I used to, because I want to be left alone. A sort of don't fuck with me thing. Unpleasant. Maybe I should try to change that. There are people in stores I frequent, clerks, who have gotten to remember me. They start conversations. It's like pushing a truck, for me. Maybe I should make the effort. Who am I trying to be? My father?

I had some very wise things to say about Egypt. All figure out. But I've forgotten what they were. Might have been that democracy is not all it's cracked up to be. It's not how we get there, it's where we get. We want to get to a place of justice and equality before the law. And I thought, and it's true, that monarchy is the best form of government. For those of a certain orientation, it's undeniable. When Jesus comes again, he is not voted into office. He rules as an absolute monarch. Whereas democracy elects, oh, say, well, pick a demogogue, or a pedogogue. The wisdom of the crowd is a logical nullity. Intellect v emotion -- gee, who will win? Civilization is an entropic slide away from a few initial good decisions. The Constitution, then decay. So much for Evolution.

Stay tuned for my continued sporadic observations of brilliance and beauty, like me, and my penis. That has after all been my real topic.

J