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After one year being gone from her journal, pamie is writing again. I missed reading her journal regularly, but maybe the separation was a good one. I moved on, trying to find other people to replace my pamie fix. And I found some pretty cool people — interesting, honest, deep people. Now pamie is back *and* I still have the other people to read too. So maybe a year off of reading pamie was just right.

Welcome back, Squishy.

I can sleep in exile
among my people,
but fitfully.

I can live on crow
and humble pie,
but not thrive.

I know my rights
and have waived them.
I have pled guilty.
And I reject all appeals
except for clemency.

And now I walk my time,
and toe the line
to make straight the paths
of forgiveness

in a land where
my breaths are sighs,
and my once proud gait
is a listless shuffle.
With the priest,
the bartender,
my only friends.

I did move my copy of Gravity’s Rainbow to my bedside table. So far so good. But I haven’t cracked it yet. I have an excuse.

Heidi and I took my daughter, her cousin, and her friend to the mall for a scavenger hunt. It’s something we periodically do to entertain kids for not a lot of money. We make up a list of stuff for them to find and check off. If they find a certain number of the items, go for ice cream afterwards. This time I added a twist — I made most of the items stuff they’d never heard of. We had stuff on there like “Egyptian Cotton,” “seersucker,” “herringbone,” “Cubic Zirconia,” “mag wheels,” etc., and they had to both figure out what they were and find them. (To our chagrin, many of the salespeople didn’t know what some of these things were. You’d figure if you sell men’s clothing you’d know what herringbone is.) Anyway, they had to find a “recipe for Ratatouille” at the bookstore. It took them awhile, so I moseyed over to the Graphic Novels section…

And I just *had* to buy the fourth Sandman trade called “Season of Mists.” Guess what I started reading instead of Gravity’s Rainbow? Reading comic books instead of great literature? Tsk, tsk, I’m such a slacker.

Even though I am religious, I can see the reasoning in challenging the “under God” verbage in the pledge of alliegiance under the separation of church and state. But the recent Federal court decision that the Pledge is unconstitutional is gonna stir up a sanctimonious conservative outcry not seen since Hillary made her “baking cookies” remark. I am not looking forward to that at all.

I feel the same way about this as I do about school prayer. I can pray anywhere I want. I don’t need my school or my government to facilitate my prayer life. In fact, if we “pray without ceasing” as we are supposed to do, not getting to say “God” during the pledge of allegiance is no big deal.

But to many this isn’t about opportunities for personal prayer, is it? This is about opportunities for public prayer — officially sponsored public prayer. This is about evangelism. It’s about asserting publicly that we are a godly nation, right? What’s this country coming to when you can’t legally push your faith on the great unwashed masses at school?

Not to worry, fellow Christians. Our conservative-stuffed Supreme Court won’t let this stand. In another year this’ll be just another hanging chad on the disputed ballot of history.

But until then, what’s a confirmed heathen to do? Do what my wife does. When we say the Credo in Mass, there’s a part that says, “for us men and our salvation.” Heidi, objecting to needless gender specific language in litugical prayer, recites. “for us… and our salvation.” Viola, instant inclusiveness! She doesn’t insist that everyone remove the language she obects to. She does it, admirably, for herself. I try to join her, but every Sunday I forget (having said it the old way about a kajillion times. And being a male pig, of course.)

So, if you don’t want to say “under God” but don’t want to be the lone pinko commie who won’t say the pledge, just say it the way it was said before Dwight D. signed the “under God” words into the pledge back in the day. “One Nation….Indivisible, with Liberty, and Justice for all.” Still a pledge of allegiance in my book.

Okay, this story about the proposed “politically correct” coffee law in Berkely (again via ObscureStore) has been blogged to death, I know. But it gives me cause to rant anyway. Yes the proposed law is a bit over the top, but the principle behind it is not a bad one.

What I hate is the term “politically correct.” I understand it is meant to refer to the overzealous and somewhat self-righteous application of progressive sensibilities and issues. What I resent is that “politically correct” in 90% of the usage I hear is used to refer to *any* application of progressive sensibilities and issues. It’s the term cynical people use to dismiss concepts such as openness, inclusiveness, and just plain thoughtfulness.

So if a group of people don’t want to be called “Negro” or “Black” and prefer to be called “African-American,” it’s just plain polite to oblige them, not “politically correct.” It is not “politically correct” to want to help poor people, or to stand up against discrimination, or to treat women with due respect. Cynics who use the term “politically correct” seek to portray such thoughtful motives as superficial and shallow. They use the term to reject any suggestion that they should behave likewise. They use the term because they don’t want to be bothered.

I’m not saying that every use of the term is completely without merit. Sometimes people have their hearts in the right place but go overboard with badly thought-out applications of good principles as in the Berkeley law. But let’s not denigrate the principles, please.

Here’s a test. If the word “thoughful”, “sensitive”, or “considerate” would substitute appropriately for “politically correct,” why not use one of those words instead?

Thanks for listening.

Hey! I used to eat from there! The eggroll carts on the Drag in Austin were a regular stop on the way from class to my West Campus Apartment in the afternoon. They’d be yelling, “Happy Hour! Three egroll, two dollar! Happy Hour!”. If you only had two bucks, you had lunch. Now I find out that I coulda fenced my stolen goods there too. (via ObscureStore)

The latest Blog Meme spreading like wildfire is to type “{your name}-is” into Google and see what Google has to say about you.

Cody is proud to host a full rodeo every night
Cody is not shy or aggressive
Cody is famous, too!
Cody is the continuation of the spirit of individual accomplishment.
Cody is a founding member.
Cody is now a 7 time National Champion.
Cody is a great entertainer.
Cody is a very dynamic dog.
Cody is perhaps best known for his highly acclaimed, coming-of-age novel….

You get the idea. I was fascinated with the idea because it seemed like a great way to generate randomized poetry:

Life is unfair. Life is abuse.
Life is art. Life is good online.
Life is Sweet! Life is a drama.
Life is so strange. Life is short — Eat Bisuits!
Life is a series of plan B’s
Life is for living.

Okay, maybe by choosing “Life” for my noun, I was asking for platitudes. Anyway, we all swim in a sea of data and someone had found a fun new way to splash around and play in it. The most fun since Googlewhacking! And a random poetry generator to boot!

Took me a while to find the original blogger that started it all — everybody faithfully named the person they heard the idea from, but it took a while to follow the trail back to here. Meg Pickard (whose blog I promptly bookmarked) is now marveling at how some ideas form memes like this one and most don’t. What confluence of forces made her idea — which she calls “Googlevoyance” — take off like it did?

I have my theories, but I’m having too much fun making random Googlevoyance poetry to expound on them.

I treat books the same way I do food. I devour the ones that are frivolous, empty calories and I buy the ones that are good for me with the best intentions and then leave them to rot. Except that while the vegetables decay and get thrown away, the ponderous tomes accumulate and then mock me through their layers of dust from the bookshelf.

It’s taken me a year to get almost through Jared Diamond’s “Guns, Germs, and Steel”. And I’m halfway through Don Delillo’s “White Noise” which I bought because I hadn’t read anything by Delillo and it was the smallest, most accessible of his books. I did pick up his huge “Underworld” at Half Price Books. I didn’t particularly want to read it, but it was so cheap for such an “important book.” Yes I still have a problem. But at least I don’t carry it around *pretending* that’s the book I’m reading. Not anymore anyway. Yes, I’m a literary poseur. But I’m trying to recover.

Every summer I say that this is the summer I will finally get around to reading Pyncheon’s “Gravity’s Rainbow.” I bought it at a book collectors store a few years ago. The clerk looked impressed. “Everybody says it’s a great book,” I said. Then I started to fall asleep every time I tried to read it. While I have seriously stemmed my habit of buying books I’ll never read, I still maintain the delusion that I will finally read Gravity’s Rainbow. I even put a companion to it on my Amazon wish list.

And then I found this beautiful illustrated guide and now my resolve has been renewed. Tonight! Tonight I just might move my copy from the bookshelf to my bedside table…

Hey, I found a site dedicated to the best item ever to grace my Charlie Brown lunchbox back in second grade — Space Food Sticks.

Say you’re a meta-mathematics geek and you really like playing with proofs. Did you know you can make music with proofs? Nerdalicious!

I didn’t go to Life Teen Mass last night. I usually hate missing Life Teen Mass because that’s the mass that feels most like a celebration. It has music closest to what I like. But I had volunteered to sell tickets to a youth concert after two masses (Jars of Clay is coming to our little church, Y’all.) and I was signed up as Eucharistic Minister for the 10:45.

But in the course of the morning, I got the full church experience:

Fundraising. A fundamental element of Church.

Donuts. Another fundamental.

Joking with the Priest.

Gossip and Gab with fellow parishoners.

Prayer. I got to go sit down for ten quiet minutes before mass. With our bustling brood always coming in two minutes before the processional, there is no quiet prayer before mass. Any quiet prayer that happens in my life happens before the household wakes up.

Being bored in church. Why must we sing everything like a dirge? Sigh.

Listening to a talented Lector make the scripture come alive.

Listening to an enthusiastic but unchallenging homily — God loves you and wants you to know it. Yes, yes.

Annointing. We prayed over Larry Nodarse, who struggles with cancer, as father annointed him with oil. Larry’s not looking too good, but he seemed cheered by being prayed over. If you pray, please pray for him. If you don’t, then send him some good thoughts.

Eucharist. I got to give Eucharist to a few hundred people, which always makes me smile. If we really believe that it’s what we say it is, why wouldn’t we smile while handing it out?

I love being Eucharistic minister. It left me feeling like Eucharist myself. Hence praying with Larry. And wrestling with Mr. Freshpants, who was being especially cute. And getting Grandma out of the house and going for a picnic in the park. And playing “baby hat” with Petunia, who squealed and laughed. And hence the quiet time I set up for Heidi and I to reconnect that night.

At the end of the day, Heidi and I reflected on how busy and satisfying the day was. We did nothing very grand, but the day was very full of life. And that is what I’d like to be — not very grand, but full of life.

This morning I re-realized that you can keep on ministering Eucharist after you leave the church. And this morning I prayed that I not forget that.

And we were running late. Petunia was in the middle of her mashed peas and Heidi was trying to help Grandma get the batteries in her hearing aids and we were all rushing cause there was less than an hour til the previews (which you don’t want to miss ’cause thats part of the Movie Experience you pays yer $7.50 fer). And we were just about to start that logistics dance involved with loading four children and a fragile elder into a mini-van (minivan. no lie.) when Grandpa calls. Seems he needed to be picked up at the bus station downtown. The only mechanic he trusts to touch the beloved RV lives in their old city of Corpus Christi, so he drove it down and took the Greyhound back.

Instead of making everyone go downtown to the bus station on Saturday night and miss the movie, Petunia suggested she and I get Grandpa and let the crew, who barely still had time, make the movie. So, what’s a guy and his infant daughter gonna do in the two hours until Grandpa’s bus pulled into the bowels of Houston? What kind of wholesome father/soon-to-be-daughter bonding experiences could we have? Well, we went to Spec’s Liquor Warehouse downtown, which is just three blocks from said bus station. Her suggestion, honest.

Spec’s Liquor Warehouse downtown is a great place. It has more than liquor, oh yes. It’s actually a lot like Whole Foods, except less new-agey and politically correct. Lose the yoga food and the stuff that’s good for you but nobody likes, and add liquor and every self-indulgent food category known to man. Throw in coffee roasted on premises (here in Texas, that’s a rarity. West coast types are so spoiled.), and a deli where you can get a certified angus roast beef and brie sandwich, and you have Spec’s Liquor Warehouse downtown.

So I bought two bottles of liquor, a bottle of Nutella which I’m hiding from Girlzila (Shhhhh….), a bottle of Orange Chipotle Barbecue sauce cause, since Grandpa got his new grill for Fathers’ Day, you have an 80% chance of having roasted flesh for dinner on any given day, a bag of powdered Chai which I am giving the benefit of the doubt and this stuff. Yet another mate drink! Petunia got a bottle of Soy formula and a coupla crackers from the deli (thanks for asking).

So the evening wasn’t a total waste. Grandpa thinks I’m weird cause I made him listen to my Soular Grooves program on KPFT and it was particularly acid-jazzy and ambient. Grandpa is not an ambient kinda guy. He was glad to be home. And out of my car. Petunia slept. And I poured and blogged.

Another Swim Meet Saturday, another batch of pix, another chance to fool around and learn how to do all the html stuff to post pics. This time I’m trying thumbnails. Unfortunately figuring out on my own how to make them come up in their separate windows didn’t fit within my attention span for this session. Maybe next time.

1. When’s the last time you had a meal that made you fall asleep at the table?
2. Mr. Freshpants searches within.
3. Heidi officiates at the meet.
4. Mr. Freshpants squirms in the arms of a friend.

This article in the Philadelphia Inquirer pointed me to Cafe Del Mar series of records from Ibiza, Spain, one of which I soon want to acquire.

Apparently “chillout”, emerging from the “chill” rooms of rave parties, is becoming a boomlet of sorts on the electronic music genre. I can understand wanting music that relaxes rather than agitates, that sets a mood that encourages rather than impedes quiet conversation.

I went to a rave oncea few years ago. I was the oldest person there. If anybody had spoken to me, they’d have called me “pops”. Anyway, the chill room was my favorite part of the rave. (Well, maybe next to the silvery people in loincloths who led the drum circle).

I can’t wait to play with these, provided they are still available and working:

Poetry Tools from the TextWorkz Toolshed.