The Fictions of Grandpa Harry: Introducing that Worthy

Grandpa Harry maintains selective use of his faculties. And when I say faculties in terms of Grandpa Harry, I don't mean just hearing and seeing; I also mean mental processes. For example, Grandpa Harry is perfectly capable of voting straight-ticket Republican one day ("after all," he says, "they're gonna steal less of my money, curse their money-grubbing, pork-forking little hearts!") and then voting straight-ticket Democrat the next ("that Hillary Clinton woman," he says, "she's got a fine figure on her! Yessiree! And that Howard Bean fellow? Real class. A man who ain't afraid to yell like that has genuine gumption.").

Anyway, Grandpa Harry was out mowing the lawn today on the old ride mower. He was wearing his black and white keffiyeh scarf that he bought last week at the farmer's market in Monterey (you can get them for about 20 bucks and I think they're made in Mexico or China, depending on the quality).

My wife came inside and said, "is he yelling what I think he's yelling?" I went outside to listen. It was a bit difficult to hear due to the noise from the mower, but it sounded like he was hollering "Allah Akbar!" every once in a while as he whizzed around through the almond trees.

I suppose that comes from reading the New York Times too much. Their memes on cultural diversity, tolerance and all that seep right into a body's head if you aren't too careful. Kind of like bad honey oozing down into bread. It doesn't help as well when you have President Bush harping on about Islam being a religion of peace. At any rate, Grandpa Harry's been interested in Islam ever since the Danish cartoon controversy. He says that any religion that allows you to marry multiple wives, go out and riot at any provocation, and chop people's heads off if you don't like what they say definitely has its attractions.

The Inequality of Cultures

I had the mixed fortune of attending a small, Christian liberal arts college for my master's degree. I won't elaborate on my use of the word "mixed" at this time, other than the point that, at this institution, there was an underlying current of thought that believed in the relative equality of cultures, something that can be referred to with the tediously academic term: cultural egalitarianism. This view wasn't held by everyone, of course, as there were some sane people at that school, but it surfaced with surprising frequency.

The reason I mention this is that this view is alarmingly pervasive in our culture today and its occurrences (evidenced in the West's various interactions with Muslim culture) have put me into a nolstagic frame of mind, hence my college reflection.

Strange, though, that the college adherents of cultural egalitarianism tended to be vegetarians for the most part. A high percentage of females in that demographic also had progressive views on shaving their legs, deodorant and war.

At any rate, I would offer a brief example to debunk the idea of cultural egalitarianism. A brother of mine works as a pilot down in the Amazon, flying a floatplane around the jungle and doing his part to pollute the rainforest. He's told me of a tribe there whose normal behavior would certainly raise eyebrows in Kansas (and might raise an eyebrow or two in New York). This behavior includes, but is not limited to, activity such as raping chickens, the public molestation of children and indulging in casual murder.

So, are all cultures equal?

Tossing Coffee In Your Face

Apparently, a New York State Senator is being investigated for throwing coffee in the face of one of her staffers, as well as pulling that staffer's hair. The Albany Times filed a report to that effect on Queens Democrat Senator Ada Smith. The police are investigating.

As you can see from the picture, Senator Smith is not a frail sort, so any kind of tossing and pulling she'd engage in would be done with muscle and weight behind it. Vigor is the word that comes to mind.

Granted, Senator Smith might have had good reason. Perhaps the staffer had set fire to the Senator's cat and the Senator was trying to put out the cat with her coffee and missed? And maybe the Senator pulled on the staffer's hair because she was having a hallucination due to a momentary lack of caffeine (see previous sentence) and thought she was fighting off some kind of snake-wig alien that had attacked her poor staffer? You have to admit that these are possibilities.

Our best and brightest... writing legislation that controls our lives, interpreting the Constitution via the crafting of policy, representing us and tossing coffee around like there's no tomorrow.

Sheesh.

The Unbearable Wrongness of a Well-Filled Diaper

I realize there are many things wrong with the claims inherent in that title: the rightness of good digestion, the blessed invention called the diaper (which, alone, calls into question the relative worth of all previous and present civilizations that weren't clever enough to invent their own diapers: the Aztecs - did they invent the diaper? No, they merely murdered thousands of people by pulling their still-beating hearts from their chests; the Egyptians - did they weave papyrus rushes into diapers? No, but they discovered a great way to pull the brain out of your head via a metal hook and your nose; the various Hindu dynasties - diapers? No, but, hey, suttee is quite a contribution to world culture), and babies in general.

However, the smell...

Ungrateful Hippies

Three members of Christian Peacemakers, a pacifist organization dedicated to the non-violent struggle for justice and peace, were rescued today by American and British Special Forces after being held hostage by terrorists in Iraq for four months. However, after their rescue, the organization put out a press release that did not bother thanking their rescuers. Rather, the press release stated that Christian Peacemakers will continue its efforts to end the illegal occupation of Iraq, that this illegal occupation is the root cause of all the suffering in Iraq, that they will continue to resist all evil, etc ad nauseum.

At the very least, it would not have hurt them to say "thank you" to the soldiers that risked their lives to rescue them. Perhaps these so-called Peacemakers could learn a lesson or two in selflessness from our armed forces? There's an irony in the act of a soldier willingly laying down his life in order to rescue an activist from potential death - an activist who is dedicated to protesting and promoting the view that the soldier's cause is evil.

Doug Pritchard, the co-director of Christian Peacemakers, remarked that the hostages knew their "only protection was in the power of the love of God and of their Iraqi and international co-workers." Yes, and what about the Special Forces, you ungrateful hippy?

Non-violent struggle for justice and peace, my hind-end. Evil flourishes unless good men are willing to stand in the gap, and sometimes those good men have to be carrying an M-16 so that ungrateful little hippies can prance about in their birkenstocks and hemp organic pants.

Satanic Toads, Frogs and Kangaroo Rats

Due to some recent hate mail that I received, I feel it necessary to explain my blog's title. Not that I think it necessary - rather, I feel it necessary, for I am a modern man, complete with fashion sense and delicate emotions. Before we begin, here's the mail.

SUBJECT: HUGE MONEY TRANSFER
ATTN: SIR/MADAM

l am ENGR. USMAN DAGGASH. a Civil Servant in the Ministry of Health. l know this proposal will come to you as surprise since we have not met before physically or through correspondence. I got your contact from our Nigeria chamber of commerce and have no doubt in your ability to handle this proposal involving huge sum of money. My father ALHAJI USMAN DAGGASH (Now Late) was the Royal Head of my community, Eleme in Nigeria. My community produces 5.8% of oil production in Nigeria and 0.5% of the Dollar value of each barrel is paid to my father as royalty by Government. In his position, he made some money which he left for me as only heir. The money is Eighteen Million Five Hundred Thousand US Dollars($18.5m). Due to poor banking system and political instability as a result of past Military rules (1985-1999), he deposited this Money in a Strong Room in Royal Bank of Nigeria waiting arrangement to transfer it abroad. He was planning this when died last year of Heart attack. Just before my father died he charged me look for kind foreigner who would assist me in transfer of funds abroad. So l would very grateful if you accept to help me achieve this great objective. I give you 20% of total funds transferred to your vital bank account as compensation for happy assistance. Contact me urgently and confidentially through my e-mail address above immediately. You are also requested to forward your personal telephone/fax numbers to me. All legal Documents concerning Money will be sent to you as soon as we agreed. May Allah very bless you.

Yours faithfully I wait,
ENGR. USMAN DAGGASH.

At least, I suspect it's hate mail. Granted, there's nothing specific in terms of addressing my previous thoughts on tamborines, baba ganoosh, or etc., and he doesn't actually use the word "hate" or "kill" or "I am planning on bombing your house with many bombs, you unregenerate limb of Satan" (though it felt like he came really close, once or twice), but you have to admit that any letter-writer such as Usman Daggash that deliberately ignores your key points in favor of the concerns of his own missive has some serious issues.

I'm curious as to why he draws so much attention to the fact that he's an Engraver. Why is there such a position in the Ministry of Health? Do they engrave something on people's foreheads, once they've had their vaccinations? Here, you've had your hepatitis B shot, stand still and stop squirming while I engrave that on your forehead. I honestly don't know, but I think someone should find out. Maybe he means Engrover? Does he plant trees? Or is he some kind of representative for Sesame Street in Nigeria, doing public service health announcements dressed up as Grover?

Anyway, let's cut past the raw emotion here that Daggash is displaying and get to the chase. Toads, frogs, kangaroo rats, and their ilk are satanic little creatures due to the fact that they have more power in government than humans have. Therefore, if you have a chance, rocket 'em. Or at the very least, hit them with a shovel and then bury the evidence. Or, if you're feeling peckish, get creative with your casseroles.

Bombs and Baba Ganoosh

Due to the intersecting currents of civilization and cuisine, my thoughts turn to either suicide bombers or baba ganoosh these days when I think of the Muslim culture. Granted, the Muslim culture has given us more than those two items, but my mind's fuzzy after it gropes for number three on the list.

I think Zarqawi and his murderous band of psychos would vastly improve their outlook on life if they just sat down with a bowl of some good baba ganoosh and pita bread. Their narrow view these days - bombs, more bombs, and cowardice - needs to be shaken up, and what better shaker than a serving of Mama Zarqawi's baba ganoosh?

Baba ganoosh ("baba" rhymes with Abba, the Swedish pop band, and "ganoosh" rhymes with, well, pa-woosh) is a delectable dip made of eggplant, tahini (sesame seed paste - available at most grocery stores), garlic, and lemon juice. Take three fat eggplants, prick them vigorously with a fork in several spots, and bake them for an hour at 400 degrees, turning every 20 minutes. Then, remove them from the oven and allow to cool. Once cool, peel off the skin and squeeze the juicy flesh in your hands until it is no longer so juicy (timid cooks not given to tactile experiences can simply heap the flesh in a fine mesh strainer and let the juice drip out). Place the flesh in a bowl, along with the juice of two lemons, four tablespoons of tahini, and six or seven pressed cloves of garlic. Puree all with a hand-mixer (or simply do the deed in a food processor) until smooth. Salt to taste. The baba ganoosh can then be enjoyed with chips, as a sandwich spread, or as a dip for vegetables. Some people, it is told, use it as a conditioner. Apparently, Mohammed (PBUHFH) had wondrously lustrous hair, all due to his judicious applications of baba ganoosh.

Baba ganoosh is the high point of Muslim cuisine in the Middle East, enjoyed by everyone and wept over at all the best parties when found in short supply. In fact, one of the most successful advertising campaigns ever run in Saudia Arabia was the Got Ganoosh? campaign. It featured a series of billboards portraying a sultry Arabianess dressed in a voluminous black tent and holding a heaping bowl of baba ganoosh. Eggplant sales skyrocketed when those billboards went up.

Where On Earth Do You Get Your News?!

I'm amazed there are people these days who get their news solely from newspapers and television. The only explanations for it is that they are either crazy or lazy or unaware of the internet (or maybe a badger is chewing on their ankle and that's preoccupying them). Newspapers and television can only present a pigeon's eye-view of the world, and pigeons, as you know, have their own interests at heart.

A case in point to illustrate this is the release of the document archive from Saddam-era Iraq. The translations have revealed contacts between Saddam's regime and Al-Qaida, terrorist-training camps, and the fact that Bin Laden visited Iraq previous to September 2001. Shouldn't the New York Times and the Washington Post be all over this?

Nah. That would torpedo their countless articles trumpeting the "facts" to the contrary.

Another case in point are the newspapers in my home county of Monterey. We're currently in a land-use war over the rewrite of our county General Plan. One one side: the environmentalists; on the other side: the farming community. However, do the papers refer to the farmers as farmers? No. They are constantly referred to as developers, due to the fact that the papers are sympathetic to the environmentalists. The word "developer," of course, carries with it all the evil connotations of concrete and suburbia and southern California sprawl.

The only thing farmers develop around here is lettuce.

The Beauty of Hang-gliding

While driving home along the coast from Monterey, I passed a spot on the sand dunes beloved by hang-gliders. The dunes rise high above the surfline below, enabling the gliders to catch the thermals that come up off the water. It's a pretty sight to see when the air is full of the hang-gliders, for their contraptions are multi-colored and swoop about not unlike butterflies.

The one thought that puzzles me is why no one has ever dressed up in sand-camouflage, hidden themselves on the top of the dune while a hang-glider is waiting to catch a thermal and, then, right when the wings are rising and the cables are tightening, rush out with a pair of hedge-clippers to clip through a cable or two.

Thoughts On Tamborines While Driving Home From Church

Most people don't realize it, having slept through history class in school, but the tamborine was originally invented as an instrument of torture during the early years of the Spanish Inquisition. A monk named Manolo Ferdinand de Gallegos y Huevos, inspired by an unsuccessful night of thumbscrews, devised the first tamborine by bending a flexible willow branch into a circular shape, stretching a bit of dry cowhide across this, and then, in a spurt of fiendishness, attaching children's bells to the edges. Gallegos y Huevos, not realizing that history was in the making, then beat upon this contraption while holding it close to the face of one Armando Llorente, who gave out after only three hours and, in his final moments of desperation, freely confessed to Deist heresies, being the incarnation of the anti-Christ, and harboring uncomplimentary thoughts about the Pope's hat.

It has only been in recent years that the tamborine has made the transition from instrument of torture to instrument of music, though some would argue that the cunning little device is determined to keep a foot in both worlds. The tamborine can be frequently found in churches on Sundays, being beaten in the hands of any number of women or small, wide-eyed children who are unaware of what they are doing. The tamborine can also be sometimes spotted in airports, where it is used by Hare Krishnas in order to elicit contributions from passers-by. In such a setting, the higher frequency of beats has a direct correlation to the amount of money given, as passers-by automatically understand that the increasing frequency means that something is about to give: either their sanity or the sanity of the Hare Krishna in question (which generally results in assault and battery with an avocado sandwich).

Eat Your Casserole Now!

The peer pressure is much too great to resist. I can feel the nitrogen beginning to bubble in my veins. Okay...now I've blogged. I wonder why a more attractive word wasn't coined? Blog. Blogged. Blogging. Blogger. Blogiate. It has a paunchy, sedentary feel to it, which obviously doesn't do much for the stereotype of pale, geeky computer nerds crouched at home alone in front of their glowing screens, one hand groping blindly for the bag of Cheetos and the other hand tapping tapping tapping at the keyboard.

Anyway, I'm powerless to change the word.

In other news, if my plans proceed as devised, I shall soon be forming your brains, which will then lead to me basically controlling your casserole choice and consumption (it'll be more of those gems from the 70s that, regardless of what was inside, always sported toasted mini-marshmallows on top), followed by your lives being defined by the wearing of stretchpants.