tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26112466005060316922024-02-07T04:54:13.696-08:00Denzil Pugh's blogDenzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.comBlogger359125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-66898722020773156232015-04-27T08:23:00.001-07:002015-04-27T09:00:09.308-07:00The Sunken Soul<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpy3BPyZjU28X5qhi0z8_dcgbBBBlmbhaLWB-9RjARwwQyNXedJEttfY_MZPj3jfFGEOdbOxnNxYmTPGjZJZHfYtI17AicOKqlkIAM5MKTv88AGBdbBykUsLVyCOV1Nf7eMDUl8Hsga6c/s1600/burger-car-eating-food-1200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpy3BPyZjU28X5qhi0z8_dcgbBBBlmbhaLWB-9RjARwwQyNXedJEttfY_MZPj3jfFGEOdbOxnNxYmTPGjZJZHfYtI17AicOKqlkIAM5MKTv88AGBdbBykUsLVyCOV1Nf7eMDUl8Hsga6c/s1600/burger-car-eating-food-1200.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a>Any city that you travel to, and stay for any given amount of time, you will say "People in Townsville do not know how to drive!!" And you'd be right. People are so preoccupied with their own lives that they just let the whole "driving thing" become a subconscious act. Cell phones, make-up, talking and making wild gesticulations with hands and arms, braiding long strands of hair (somehow), dealing with the ill begotten children imitating Tasmanian devils in the back seat, reaching for that last french fry that left the container and is hidden among the napkins, or better yet, the action that will ultimately kill me and be on my obituary--trying to get the pickle off the cheeseburger. <br />
<br />
And yet, as I walk around the city of Dallas, I notice that people here aren't those kinds of distracted drivers. The ones I see are those that are totally engaged in driving their car (or land beast, a large charging bull of metal and gasoline) and determined to get to their goal three seconds faster than anyone else, resulting in someone imitating Tron's light cycle (I wish I had one). Swerving in and out of traffic, only to be stopped at the next light a foot in front of the person they just sped past. Then, to make up for some inadequacy of their own, attempt to break inertia laws and speed off with their lack of mufflers roaring like a pride of lions feasting on an antelope.<br />
<br />
Even this I can understand, especially if their sugar levels are low. Never drive when you're hungry, unless it's to get something to eat. The true monsters of the freeway appear after it rains. <br />
<br />
Dallas is particularly bad after it rains because of the refusal of officials to repair side streets prior to building the ornate bridges high over their fair city. Thus, potholes and dips become small oceans after a thunderstorm goes by. And being a simple pedestrian, just trying to get to the bus, I worry little about the rain coming from above, but rather the sloshing of water coming from the roadways by unaware drivers, or, as I suspect, by people who deliberately speed up (as I've witnessed first hand) to soak the walker before he can get his umbrella down parallel to the street. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObCm24pS5IzEJw9zguLLpNCDI-5vMwCtL0fEB5C7JFFk0WFEBUZxJ96nD3vyqQJZ4h32EmRR7jS4V50gmntZSoa-2zLYbnChxfdzuM6mpVO58qGaDaV__cJH5Zf5O0io4_eyrKgNRk8Q/s1600/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObCm24pS5IzEJw9zguLLpNCDI-5vMwCtL0fEB5C7JFFk0WFEBUZxJ96nD3vyqQJZ4h32EmRR7jS4V50gmntZSoa-2zLYbnChxfdzuM6mpVO58qGaDaV__cJH5Zf5O0io4_eyrKgNRk8Q/s1600/giphy.gif" height="153" width="200" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The cartoons we watched as a child, they are full of illustrations of people getting splashed with rain water. Movies as well. It's a symbol of someone down on their luck, or more accurately, a depiction of the depravity of the human soul. It's the same monster that shows up in the "comments" section of most any internet article, the bully who mercilessly picks on the twitter account of a celebrity or, honestly, anyone, because they can, and they will get away with it. For that driver is basically a troll, an anonymous face behind a window that drives off, never to be seen again. Chances are the soaked pedestrian didn't get the tag number, nor the cyber-victim the IP address of the person who posted. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGGAWw5mdVm1zf1ZQ8_LAndstr04I_6wF7JTVmeHoL88QMeLXFx5I19ys_Y_g4fqMnayCiiaSqZPrv2-NBVbGC4AsTIegmpg1hBEE3QgKK6GZ6JY_I_2I_pQUh2pDSxR1mDpC2FC1UiwA/s1600/DF7M98_2801425b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGGAWw5mdVm1zf1ZQ8_LAndstr04I_6wF7JTVmeHoL88QMeLXFx5I19ys_Y_g4fqMnayCiiaSqZPrv2-NBVbGC4AsTIegmpg1hBEE3QgKK6GZ6JY_I_2I_pQUh2pDSxR1mDpC2FC1UiwA/s1600/DF7M98_2801425b.jpg" height="199" width="320" /></a></div>
What really ticked me off was a simply search on Youtube for "splashing people with a car." There's a ton of them. All people who decide to film themselves splashing people with rain puddles, on purpose, and then putting it on the Internet for everyone to see. Because it's funny!! It makes you Cool!! Well guess what, it doesn't. I'm not going to put an example on here, as it will drive up their views, but you can go look if you want to. If you want to put your sunken soul for all the world to see, go right ahead. I will be wet on the sidewalk, but my soul will be on solid ground. It will be yours that will be drowning. I know Someone who can save you, if you will let Him.Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-52467260154106705212015-04-16T19:24:00.001-07:002015-04-16T19:24:48.209-07:00The Journey of a Thousand Steps<div class="MsoNormal">
Wearing something on my wrist to tell me how far I walk is
absurd, for me at least. Why should I let a number dictate to me how I live my
life? And yes, I realize that you'll say "how about your Blood Pressure,
or Cholesterol, or Weight?" Or how about even the years I've lived? How do pure facts, empirical data, control my every move? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see commercials telling me that my cholesterol is too high, but with this new medication, Xenatoleratrapine, or something, it'll be lower, but just watch out for all these disastrous side-effects that will probably make that number feel much less important. And "feel" is the key word here. Do you go about living your life, filled with medication, hoping that it would do you some good, and then spend that same amount of time wallowing in misery because of what the treatment is doing to you? What have you gained? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But let's look at why this is the way it is. I found it very interesting in Weber's <u>Safehold</u> series that one of the main keys that the lead scientists banned from the culture was Arabic Numerals. The anti-technological society created didn't know about the decimal for 800 years. That, of course, was exactly the point. With numbers comes technology, because there's a way to measure things, to take data and analyze and utilize and mold and shape it into man's own image. At some point, however, numbers become the master, and human beings become controlled. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Neil Postman called this phenomenon Technopoly. Quoting Neil Postman (and since my copy is buried under a mountain of books right now, I'll quote from Wiki, and assume that their quote is right):</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 14.9333333969116px;">Postman defines “Technopoly” as a society which believes “the primary, if not the only, goal of human labor and thought is efficiency, that technical calculation is in all respects superior to human judgment ... and that the affairs of citizens are best guided and conducted by experts.” (p. 51 of <u>Technopoly</u>)</span></blockquote>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuXP1ty_5GxAskN9GeKKXoSV96RKIULJYc3IsdU_AlG7qJlwFfTCTUHGEgrSdB7680RSJ_GXSoU_AOI3eFPGRul3EJSX6aI8doFqtFBjrGe-UHm6BJlcbusLflCrfptJFaf0RoLyDRhZ8/s1600/postman1_L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuXP1ty_5GxAskN9GeKKXoSV96RKIULJYc3IsdU_AlG7qJlwFfTCTUHGEgrSdB7680RSJ_GXSoU_AOI3eFPGRul3EJSX6aI8doFqtFBjrGe-UHm6BJlcbusLflCrfptJFaf0RoLyDRhZ8/s1600/postman1_L.jpg" height="320" width="203" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We live our lives based on cold equations. Everything we analyze becomes quagmired in numbers... and the start of the baseball season is a prime example. For each team could be digitized and computerized into it's basic parts, and each players could become a strain of numbers called "VORP" and "WAR" and hundreds of other values that it takes specialized experts to determine and say "You have Chosen Wisely" to those about to start their seasons. And more often than not, the numbers are wrong. The Braves were widely panned this year as being mediocre at best. Then they started out 4-0 and suddenly those same analysts were trying to say, "well, we were right, but we didn't take into account this..." When the numbers turn on the analyst, one must use the numbers to lie, leaving us to wonder if those same numbers were being truthful to begin with. In fact, the veracity of numbers in any subject is crucial, as it is vitally important to the rulers of this world that they be able to control the data coming into our minds. The data must be right. The Number Is God...</div>
<br />
<br />
So when we put on our Athletic Apple App, and slap it on our wrist like some handcuff chaining us to the chair in a holding cell, we are essentially telling the controllers of the data harbinged inside the computers that we will abide by anything they say, no matter how accurate, because whatever it is, it is the truth. <br />
<br />
I am not saying that whenever I take my blood pressure with this cuff device that my brother got for my mom prior to her dying by having blood pressure over 200/whatever it was, that I don't take those numbers seriously. Truthfully, I am thrilled when my efforts, and medication, have resulted in a normal number here. I just think that it shouldn't be the king of our world. <br />
<br />
One of my friends on facebook (actually, several of them) have decided that taking 10,000 steps a day is a goal for fitness and healthiness. And who am I to think they're wrong.... except... when that number forces them to doing whatever it is they do to fulfill that number, no matter how torturous and mind-numbing it might be, then it's not worth doing. Because the number, in my opinion, isn't important, it's how those steps are achieved. Playing hopscotch with your kids? Definitely! Walking down the local nature trail, hearing the birds, and watching the squirrels eat without concern on the <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB27njMciPePN_tcbnts14Wcb6n3tO6CBDBIvyLDPb20L114BE8vctZh8jk_mX8E8Y0aaqKBrsn_P78XUFQwflvslZyHBl46Foj0rG8gDnfI_c-ojSFgPl0uJMXZsXajOjEHpsdI5qPLg/s1600/images+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB27njMciPePN_tcbnts14Wcb6n3tO6CBDBIvyLDPb20L114BE8vctZh8jk_mX8E8Y0aaqKBrsn_P78XUFQwflvslZyHBl46Foj0rG8gDnfI_c-ojSFgPl0uJMXZsXajOjEHpsdI5qPLg/s1600/images+(2).jpg" /></a></div>
trail beside you? Absolutely! Walking on a treadmill or around a circle someplace with a whole bunch of people like cattle? I'd rather drink Lysol. It's the <i>feeling</i> of doing it that makes whatever it is you're doing worth it. I will not stand to be miserable for one minute of my life trying to obtain a goal from a doctor who says "This is where you should be," or some Health Care Insurance Carrier says, "You scored X on your Health Questionnaire." I won't do it. But walking for miles on a path less traveled, or eating healthy foods, either through my kitchen or from a restaurant like Sweet Tomatoes (which I'm going to in a day or so), I will do it in a second, and I will rejoice all the way.<br />
<br />
Is it enough? To deny the power of the doctors and their numbers, and enjoy instead the journey down a road without speed limits, without deadlines and measurements? Do I ensure myself a life as long or longer than with obtaining those same goals through the numbers reported to me on Fitbit? I don't know, nor do I care. This is the point where the doctors and I differ. How long do you want to live? Is that important, to live the quantity of life as the sole achievement? That a person turned 90 or 100 living in a nursing home without any knowledge of who or where or why? Is that the apex of our civilization? Or is it the better knowing that, given the balance of happiness, fullness of life, and the enjoyment of the life that, we would just as soon live to be 70 and die, then turn 90 and be miserable? Or 60? Only a half-century? You see, there is a balance, one that, frankly, I don't know the answer to. God knows... and, with the life that God gave us, is He expecting us to have a long and miserable life, or a somewhat shorter one, and live it with all the joy that is around us? It is certainly still possible to enjoy life and still be in step with the journey God has in store for us. <br />
<br />
I am probably the most conservative Epicurean to walk the planet, as the joy that I get from this world has nothing to do with drinking, or smoking, or sex, (maybe a little gluttony of food, as everyone has weaknesses, but that's for another time) but if it makes me happy, and it's worth it, then I'll do it, or won't do it, as the case may be.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWxxcVMwY1jsHvcyFJ9yBtO08KPvMm8iC2IRekE435Kwhf9G997pNMwGtn47ZRe6nCNNrMWW7CCBLvGQ8-12mq8EfnvF9PC3cET4CcGHOjzmdwmZ0YZ87kJcsdfZLbotJh1InS_21aXA/s1600/barra-de-proteina-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWxxcVMwY1jsHvcyFJ9yBtO08KPvMm8iC2IRekE435Kwhf9G997pNMwGtn47ZRe6nCNNrMWW7CCBLvGQ8-12mq8EfnvF9PC3cET4CcGHOjzmdwmZ0YZ87kJcsdfZLbotJh1InS_21aXA/s1600/barra-de-proteina-3.jpg" height="115" width="200" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Since we're talking about eating... an example. We sell protein bars at the college bookstore. Truly foul things that, to me, tastes exactly like chocolate mixed cardboard. However, they are extremely popular with those of the athletic mindset, and they pay $3.50 a bar for them, and go off and work out or run or whatever. And while I realize that, given the ideal circumstances, they could potentially go play professional sports and make millions of dollars a year to make themselves as happy (or not) as they desire, I think that if you're going to eat something, even to get protein or energy or whatever, that it should at least taste good. But it's something they can wolf down and forget about, portable, as forgettable as the seconds it took to eat it. Then multiply that by the number of forgettable minutes, hours, days, and then ask yourself, "Have you really lived your life?" </div>
<br />
<br />
Sleep the days away, but if you dream, then those hours have not gone in vain. It's one of the things I found the most sad about how my mom lived her life, with chemicals directing her physical life. Her headaches and stresses caused her to take what is generally a tranquilizer to get herself to sleep (and that's another story, one I won't go into here.) But the sad part about it was, she went into deep sleep, and then instantly awake. She never had REM sleep. She never dreamed. What good is sleeping if not for the dreams? Aye, there's the rub. Give me 4 hours of sleep, but a good flying dream, over rivers and cities like Atreyu on his Luck Dragon, and that's better than 8 with a "late for school" dream thrown in. <br />
<br />
But I've gotten off topic. The point is... I want to "feel" my way through life, even if it's shorter, than analyze and compare and follow a set of numbers blindly. I want to say that my life counted, not that I counted life. And if all I can claim about my day is that I've walked 10,000 steps, but can't remember a single one, then there's no point in getting out of bed. To duplicate that last great ending line, I'd rather make my steps count, than to count my steps.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cYLH0rPLjUg?rel=0" width="560"></iframe></blockquote>
Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-9025483135361280892015-04-02T18:34:00.000-07:002015-04-02T18:34:26.658-07:00Book Review: Orfeo by Richard Powers<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I'm Hearing the light from the window... </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I'm Seeing the sound of the sea... ~Michael Nesmith "Rio"</blockquote>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGCoRjo-mffpBGC3Ch2aXbQmKIXhNhKKsiLO4aua0ytxZ5qPheYZP_uWlIqh4qkpuBDNWKYGWvh8tb0ChVMtvS5GUz7gL23thMSt7UvO_UziFfS2pLQbEsNzO4fY59hheaWRC9kGxHKo/s1600/orfeo3D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGCoRjo-mffpBGC3Ch2aXbQmKIXhNhKKsiLO4aua0ytxZ5qPheYZP_uWlIqh4qkpuBDNWKYGWvh8tb0ChVMtvS5GUz7gL23thMSt7UvO_UziFfS2pLQbEsNzO4fY59hheaWRC9kGxHKo/s1600/orfeo3D.jpg" /></a><br />
I've never read a book so in tune with what a musician feels, what he or she sees, when playing symbols from a page, contrasting the diaphragm, sounding the notes which would set angels to attention. I've never read a book that says what it means to love music, to be enthralled with every passage of sound in one's life. And never have I read a book that contains in its pages its own soundtrack. But it's here, and it's <a href="https://play.spotify.com/user/ronhogan/playlist/5UsDXXP9dr7g1VmSIbQBQj" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
I don't think I have to say that any musician will love this book, as the division between someone who simply listens to music while jogging or cruising down the block and the person who hears the music, the notes fill up every corner of the air around him, has never been so aptly described. I have often said that Mozart or Beethoven would weep and render their clothes asunder if they knew that their most famous works are now used as cell phone tones, heard in grocery stores as an irritant, rather than praises to God, or messages to Life, Death, and Time itself. I want to grab the earplugs of the people around me and yank them out, saying, "Listen!! The music is all around you." Would they miss the trumpets of Gabriel for the autotuned babble of One Direction?<br />
<br />
But this book contains all this, and a story as well. It is the story of Peter Els, a prodigy child musician (on the Clarinet, no less), and an outcast from the rest of the social order, as he spends his time listening to music and seeing inside of the notes what Kant would have called the Noumenal World. He sees the notes as the pure Forms, outside the cave, that other people can but dance to, shake their hips and gyrate. (No, I see nothing of this person in me at all..............) He sees in mathematics the numerical order of the musical world, and in Chemistry, the underlying tones of the Universe. <br />
<br />
But, alas, he is torn to choose between chasing after standing on the mountaintops and gazing out at Paradise and real life, love of a woman, and the constant pressures to understand to his professors' ideas of music theory in the Twentieth Century. The book transitions back and forth between his life story, his past, the events of the 1940's on (reaching the present), and the point where the story begins, where FBI agents raid his home after finding potentially deadly homegrown bacteria. <br />
<br />
Els becomes, perhaps, a mirror of Willie Loman, as well as the defiant character found in Faustian legend. All bound together in a work of literature that may not ever get the acclaim it deserves.<br />
<br />
I say this because a reader who is not a musician probably will have little patience with the verbal description of long works of music composition. The reader will tire of little plot in the present and too much back story. A reader not familiar with Post-Modern literature will not understand that the journey throughout the book, in time and mind, is the story worth telling. <br />
<br />
I've told <a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2009/12/singing.html" target="_blank">my own story about singing</a>, about belting notes in my car, where no one could hear, <a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2012/08/skywriting-and-trail-walking.html" target="_blank">of singing Art Garfunkel's "Skywriter" in the grocery store parking lot</a>, late at night (and this was before the days of iPods and mp3 players, where every bagger is totally deaf to anything going on around them because they're too busy listening to the rot in their brains.) I've told why, even though, to my parents, I had a great voice, but never used it. And I feel a kinship with Peter Els. The last thing he wanted to do was to actually publish a work, and he hated every time he did it. To face the criticism of the expression of the Music of the Spheres as Peter heard them, I wouldn't want to publish them either, but rather hold them close to my chest and hear the notes late at night, rotating around my room, illuminated by the lamp post outside. <br />
<br />
<br />Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-22449622309806656232015-03-28T19:11:00.000-07:002015-03-28T19:11:14.218-07:00Red Velvet Oreos and Key Lime Poetry...I am a fanatic about Oreos. I remember sitting on my broken down recliner in my apartment in Milledgeville some 14 years ago, with a cup of milk and 4 or 5 Oreos, dunking them in milk and hoping for the perfect dissolve ratio before eating the whole thing in one magnificent yalp. The chocolate, the filling, all hanging together just by a thread, else the whole cookie dissolves and you have to fish it out of the bottom of the cup (or it goes down your shirt, whichever). I got so mad when, after gleefully purchasing the white chocolate dipped Oreos at Christmastime, to discover that the white chocolate made the Oreos undunkable. They were useless to me then, and so, in a fit of depressed euphoria, as was my premedicated state in those days, I threw them away. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEissn_i5c0glyKbv12o8Dhas3Vlh3Ql7fxPF833rt2fGaPriciCJHkAs_u5zepNI4TQstXdJJChtASSBsyNeisysZZD1YP4CyNhV2-OziYVIV_om5hoeeEI_LRVyktj67u8caz0X1u883w/s1600/oreo-600x450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEissn_i5c0glyKbv12o8Dhas3Vlh3Ql7fxPF833rt2fGaPriciCJHkAs_u5zepNI4TQstXdJJChtASSBsyNeisysZZD1YP4CyNhV2-OziYVIV_om5hoeeEI_LRVyktj67u8caz0X1u883w/s1600/oreo-600x450.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
So I happened upon "Red Velvet Oreos" at the grocery store sometime in February, and I bought them... Red Velvet Oreos with Creme Cheese Frosting. It had a date with a perfectly poured glass of milk just at bedtime... and so I bought some milk. And got sick. No milk for me when sick, so the milk sat in my refrigerator, bacteria multiplying, becoming some foul brand of yogurt, and I had to throw it out. When I got over my combined ear/sinus infection (doctor said it was the Flu), I then had paid said doctor $160 dollars, and so I had no money to purchase a new container of milk. <br />
<br />
So, after my health, my budget, and my milk supply met in unison, I finally poured that cup of milk and dunked my Red Velvet Oreo and waited the prescribed seconds for the milk to penetrate the layers of cookie and filling. I actually figured out (either from Online or by sheer luck and genius) that I could use a fork, stuck in filling, to force the Oreo under (as Oreos float, leaving the top cookie exposed to air and not milk) to continue the saturation process. I don't remember if I did that this time, although I didn't need to. The Red Velvet concoction dissolved perfectly, and the flavor was spot on, a creamy, fantastic Red Velvet Cake in the shape of a cookie. I cannot recommend an Oreo higher than this. <br />
<br />
***<br />
Have you ever eaten something that made you want to write poetry? That made fireworks go off and your taste buds wake up and say "Why have you been stuffing tasteless mush into yourself all these years??" I have had those experiences, and I've learned that the best foods come from those who put as much passion into their cooking as spices and seasonings. I had a Javanilla Shake at Borders made by the most wonderful cook (Katrina, who is now at a hospital revising the notion of Hospital Food), and every single sip of the heavenly drink tasted as good as the first. Even down to the bottom, where ice clumps were known to gather, turning everything into a watered down mess, it was evenly flavored. <br />
<br />
And then there's the Honey Soy Salmon that the family owned Bangkok Grill serves in Covington, GA. You don't go into a place yearning for their Rice Cakes, but this one makes amazing Rice Cakes. I took some on my move to Dallas with me, to keep me awake. You can't eat and sleep at the same time. But the Salmon...ohhh... that was a precious gift (my friend Gwen took me there as a going away meal). I have made a close replica of it in my own kitchen, but the tenderness of it, and the soy, truly awesome!!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcCHUgdSpAsF07AF9liVQ1nkz6ejU3uQge6CZjK9B-vKIok-x82ir9yLGPlQF8BVA8gNX0vhqYOUGPW5GqUhvtBFHk13DKuNjQc_Kxl95KlaVquqUm8jQBnIYncjq1n-XbyDcxpLNnNg/s1600/keylime.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcCHUgdSpAsF07AF9liVQ1nkz6ejU3uQge6CZjK9B-vKIok-x82ir9yLGPlQF8BVA8gNX0vhqYOUGPW5GqUhvtBFHk13DKuNjQc_Kxl95KlaVquqUm8jQBnIYncjq1n-XbyDcxpLNnNg/s1600/keylime.jpg" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So today, with the first warm sun beaming down upon Dallas, I decided I was going to splurge, just this once, and go to Sweet Tomatoes and try their Banana Upside Down Cake they were advertising. It was mediocre... but, amongst the flavors which I experienced there (and read <a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2015/02/denzil-reviews-everything-sweet.html" target="_blank">my prior blog about all those amazing flavors at Sweet Tomatoes in Addison, TX</a>.) I found the Key Lime Muffin. Sweet and soft inside, and tart and Crispy, with the right amount of sprinkled sugar on top... all the parts of my tongue and mouth were awake and aware and understood their function in life. I only had one. I only needed one. I understand now the idea that cooks have when they bring out their culinary masterpieces, and it turns out to be some little dinky piece of something with something swirled around for decoration. Their attempt, whether it succeeds or not, is to provide an instant shock of flavor and recognition of genius, and then let the signals enter the brain and form new neurons of memory, recorded for all time. It matters not that the stomach is full, but rather that the mind is full. You can go to any Chinese Buffet and eat enough that your stomach is ready to burst out of your skin, but what of flavor? What of the memory of that meal? It is forgotten by the time you leave the parking lot (possibly to be revisited later, which may or may not be pleasant). But this, this muffin, I only have to have one of them for the engram to be recorded forever into my skull. I hope it's not a limited time thing, as Sweet Tomatoes often does, as I will want to sample those fireworks again. </div>
<br />
<br />
Oh, to work at the kitchens of that company, to invent the things which mouths will record and brains remember for years to come! If that is not a chef's dream, to live in immortality through the food they create, then I don't know what is... We all strive to create things. Some have babies, others have books or music or art. I have a blog, my brother has a son. Chefs have something that maybe only musicians have, an art form that is temporary, where the notes are produced and soar through the concert halls and into the ears, where those signals are captured forever. And that, if they are lucky, is immortality. Chefs do likewise, through the signals the mouth and tongue create when they bite down into that Honey Soy Salmon, or that Key Lime Muffin, or the Red Velvet Oreo. Somewhere, the inventor of that Oreo can be grateful that he or she can live in the recorded sensations in people everywhere, as they dunk the cookie in milk, and then, with eager anticipation, and urgency, pop it into their mouths.Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-85638398648274198182015-03-27T22:07:00.000-07:002015-03-27T22:07:43.508-07:00Sociopaths, Psycho-Killers, and Half-Life Levels<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJELGDuE8iuX0YUK-TEGmcSfI0t-iWNxf-80ftRPUgBp2HmK_dh_tzkly4ur-Mee87yBkf626_cQwRegSmriZGiO39Zcuf9mPt2jXD9vb-UKAuN-5HtBPuQPAJ94-xsbS_rsKReUfkMe8/s1600/B9wehBiIAAEDMC6.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJELGDuE8iuX0YUK-TEGmcSfI0t-iWNxf-80ftRPUgBp2HmK_dh_tzkly4ur-Mee87yBkf626_cQwRegSmriZGiO39Zcuf9mPt2jXD9vb-UKAuN-5HtBPuQPAJ94-xsbS_rsKReUfkMe8/s1600/B9wehBiIAAEDMC6.png" height="158" width="320" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know I'm the last one in the universe that should be talking about Reality Vs. Fantasy. The person who thought himself a Transformer for many years of his life, who still makes a "transforming" noise when I get up off the ground, who, as Jimmy Fallon read off in his "hashtag" segment, waves his hand in front of automatic doors like a Jedi. So, as you can see, I'm not the best person to talk about knowing the difference between fantasy and reality.</div>
<br />
<br />
I can't help but think as I'm walking to the car in the cavernous parking lots of the Galleria, with the endless pathways of concrete, with stairs and elevators, how the makers of Half-Life would have loved to make this into a playground for the first-person shooter crowd. Computer graphics and interaction has become so realistic that anything short of reality is considered "retro." I've said many times that, when the game <u>Zork</u> came out for the Commodore 64, and it actually had sounds that somewhat sounded like English, I was amazed. Now we live and communicate with people all over the world in 3-D universes with their own economies and cultures. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfAAeF2iDMOPS_iPWS8hhc-56ocRov0LzuzAjESnduXNb_0Z0sgRSK03UnUsTjJgUEvHLc4xVWEvLP1CRaj31H-eoYAi-kUtihFCPzazX4L_UJF_wIwdLlrmQtfAOhjis7vzo1NP2Kyx8/s1600/dm_diehard0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfAAeF2iDMOPS_iPWS8hhc-56ocRov0LzuzAjESnduXNb_0Z0sgRSK03UnUsTjJgUEvHLc4xVWEvLP1CRaj31H-eoYAi-kUtihFCPzazX4L_UJF_wIwdLlrmQtfAOhjis7vzo1NP2Kyx8/s1600/dm_diehard0004.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>So in college, and mind you, this was in the 1990's, when <u>Half-Life</u> came out, the Internet at the time was able to host multiplayer maps of any design, as long as you learned the graphic interface. Among the favorite maps made was that of a parking lot. Snipers could find people on the lot below, trip-wires could be set in stairwells. One day my brother and his roommate spent quite a bit of time setting trip-wires all up and down a stairwell, hoping that one of our friends would come along and set the whole thing off, blowing up that part of the map. It was hilarious. There doesn't come a time when I'm in a new building, a hotel, a parking garage, The Galleria Mall itself, when I don't think, "This could be a great <u>Half-Life</u> level!" And of course, I know it's just a game, a world outside of this reality, a playground for a few hours of entertainment. I wonder, though, how many people trained for their own lives playing <u>Grand Theft Auto,</u> and then tried to carry out those actions, to some extent, in real life? The arguments oscillate on whether violence in video games affects the mentality of teenagers, or people in general. I would say, "Of Course!!!" It's not a great leap to go from me pretending to be Lion-O on the playground to someone "pretending" to be a sniper or a <u>Halo</u> soldier. And it's not a great leap, given internal circumstances, to go from "pretending" to actually doing it. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5MwSZIFxhyphenhyphenxjn_3WKNx4dz4arC8ozB6fLwamLCjcA1JrMbqyhODud4h37QqY6BCv494T-RaaDYFmFIzcJ7jKs1SUHVUWcLvGbGg5KdaDnqD8c0qnF9AIoFiXY8vH8PKC6ElCJwupMXY/s1600/MV5BMTQyMzExMzAzMl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMDEzNzk1OQ@@._V1_SX640_SY720_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5MwSZIFxhyphenhyphenxjn_3WKNx4dz4arC8ozB6fLwamLCjcA1JrMbqyhODud4h37QqY6BCv494T-RaaDYFmFIzcJ7jKs1SUHVUWcLvGbGg5KdaDnqD8c0qnF9AIoFiXY8vH8PKC6ElCJwupMXY/s1600/MV5BMTQyMzExMzAzMl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMDEzNzk1OQ@@._V1_SX640_SY720_.jpg" height="320" width="217" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
People have always told me that I couldn't differentiate between Fantasy and Reality, and I have to dispute that claim, especially now, because there are people out there who simply cannot do it. We've seen many examples of this, and the end result is usually tragic. We've communicated to people (Postman) that violence is okay, that extreme scenes of gore and brutality are perfectly okay to show on television, as long as they don't show a breast. And since pictures are worth a thousand words, each image is internalized and reacted to with vehement emotion. We strive for more, for images of grief and violence, as constantly pushing the boundaries of what we have seen will create ratings, talk, (and negative or positive attention are both good things in the Entertainment business.) Zombies eating people?? Sure!! No problem!! Psycho-Killers on a neighboring channel? Wonderful! </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've recently watched episodes of <u>Criminal Minds</u> on the basic cable television channels I have, and I found it quite understandable why Mandy Patinkin left the show after two seasons because he was disturbed by the material presented to the American public each week. Shortly after watching this, I went walking at the Harry Moss Park (as the dirt trails were still too muddy). Seeing single female joggers in their sweatsuits and ipods and earplugs running past, I could only think, "Well, she's dead." Because any sociopath that wanted to drag her off into the woods could easily do it. Plenty of places to hide a body. Now, this is not to say that I'm going to become some mass-murderer, but you can easily see how someone with a loose grip on reality, or with sociopathic tendencies already built in, if they watched these television shows, could learn quite a bit from just watching and then start acting it out in the real world. And all this for the final objective of making money through advertisement. It's quite disturbing, actually. All in all, however, I believe the places I walk to be safe, and my relative mental health to be stable. I'm just not sure about the rest of the city. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-26218727322442655372015-03-06T20:33:00.002-08:002015-03-06T20:56:41.567-08:00Duplicity: The Decemberists<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps it should be obvious with an album title like <u>What A Terrible World, What A Beautiful World</u>, that the album's theme should be duplicity. It's something that has been done before, even in the genre which The Decemberists are known for. I loved the Simon & Garfunkel cut of Silent Night merged with a clip from the "Seven O'clock News." I know that it's possible for artists and music video producers to make such a cut now, but it just doesn't seem like something this brilliant has been done lately. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/b1X_a9o4ezw/0.jpg" frameborder="2" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/b1X_a9o4ezw?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I said in the previous blog, people nowadays are too afraid to stand up for their beliefs, for fear of being labeled an extremist, a racist, or an out of touch crazy person. It's what I find so refreshing about the Decemberists music, that they make bold statements with their music, and it hearkens us back to the folk music of the 60's. So as I listened to <u>The King Is Dead</u> album, with the "Bold and Brilliant" songs that are so much different from the excrement being played on the radio today (and I hear enough of it at work, I should know), I began to fear that their next album would be nothing like it, and it would be simply a shining diamond amongst a cable car of coal. It would be just another flash of genius like Keane's first album, or John Mayer's first album. I should have placed more faith in them, however. What The Decemberists produced was an album of songs written and formed and molded into a masterpiece. Social Media and the Internet has allowed Colin Meloy to describe<a href="http://www.amoeba.com/live-shows/upcoming/detail-3202/" target="_blank"> the creation</a> of the album, <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/music/2015/jan/08/decemberists-colin-meloy-new-album-tour-interview" target="_blank">how it all came together</a>, and I find it endlessly fascinating. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He says "We had to change, some." It what is so notable about the last two albums, because I go back and listen to the first 5 they released, and I just don't like them as much. They're darker, more "alternative," and they rely on solely narrative tracks about Mariners and dark and Gothic characters. I once read an article debating whether the Decemberists were an "Emo" band. With these last two albums, the answer is a resounding "no." This is why many of the reviews for <u>The King is Dead</u> are so negative. They didn't want their band to change. Well, Meloy had kids, one of the band members had breast cancer, and they started looking at life differently. They had to change, some. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/xEk-L1MQ4J4/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/xEk-L1MQ4J4?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the duplicity of this world, this terrible, beautiful world, is what the album is all about. In "12-17-12," we have a father elated by the coming of his second son while dismayed at the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School. In "Cavalry Captain," we have the glorious leader of the army, describing himself as "the printed upon your stars," while convincing his underlings to ride off into battle, "and only for a second, we'll be alive." In "Philomena," it starts out as a 50's doo-wop hit, something that the Everly Brothers would sing, and yet, it reveals itself as an aroused teen trying to get under the skirt of his crush. In other words, a distinct reality from the "innocent" days we all think of the 50's, a time when probably so much more was taking place. At the end, with all this in mind, Meloy writes "The Beginning Song," in which he asks, "I am Hopeful, should I be Hopeful?" in a Prufrockian tone that easily brings up the room where women come and go. However, The Decemberists leave it on a note of wondrous positivity, a bold stand that says, "Yes, we should be hopeful." </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/Cm6xtkX_Dvs/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Cm6xtkX_Dvs?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's an album that, I believe, should easily connect the older, more Gothic works, with <u>The King is Dead</u>. It works out well in my mp3 player, as the newer album is played <i>prior to</i> the older one, and it works out <i>so</i> well this way. "The Light, Bright Light..." joins right in with the "Bold and Brilliant Sun" that starts the previous album. It brings hope to a dark world, in seeing the positive side to what can be one very long marathon of <u>Law & Order,</u> where criminals and serial killer stalk the streets, and where there is no happy ending. But let's "raise our glasses, to the turning of the season," where we can do something about all this negativity, if we stand upon our beliefs and see the miracles that happen every day, the bright light all around us. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/_cErckfwG_8/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_cErckfwG_8?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-37492736885757445432015-02-28T21:16:00.000-08:002015-03-01T16:15:55.961-08:00This is Why We Fight: Folk Music and Republicans <div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Bold and brilliant," is what I heard over the Borders overhead as the CD started. A band I had never heard of, "The Decemberists." Lots of harmonica, lots of guitar, something that I would have fallen in love with anyway. People call <u>The King is Dead</u> album "Dylanesque," and they're so right about that. Folk music is, after all, about taking a stand, and this album does it. "This is Why We Fight," a track at the end of the album says, "And when we die, we will die, with our arms unbound." All this right before a moving song about his autistic son. There is no better music (and hip-hop artists will disagree with me) to deliver vehement statements about the world we're living in than folk music. The Decemberists stand fast, and proudly defy all the injustice in this world, and it's so much more than other artists, those that disrupt award ceremonies, or those that sing about money and fame and love and sex, none of them can fill that hole... a desire to stand up against the wrongs in this world, to have some power when so many of us feel powerless. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not something that I take lightly, those who can stand for a cause, no matter what side of the political isle you're on. Those who have a voice and can use their talents to be heard, when sometimes just a vote (as so many political pundits say is the most powerful voice) is not enough. And then there are those with money, of which I most assuredly am not, who can influence the world with capital, and that is effective, but quiet. The people who can spread messages through song and speech, through words and poetry, they are the ones that can influence people well beyond the political cycle. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it's odd that I would say all this, as I am definitely Conservative, decidedly Libertarian, and occasionally Republican when I go to the ballot boxes. Those people that see the Republicans as some massive white, rich, heartless group of men (mostly), would think that my love of Bob Dylan; Peter, Paul, and Mary; Crosby Stills, and Nash; would run counter to my ideologies. It is in fact quite the opposite. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Conservatives choose to stand for causes, but they are quite lacking in the ability to put a voice to it. The Republicans are equally, if not more, inept at putting anyone in the spotlight that has any ability to stand for anything. Just looking at the CPAC meetings this week will tell you that. The person who is leading in National polls (read, the ones made by all the mainstream media that have already crowned Hillary as the next Democratic Candidate, because they all have their ducks in a row, while the Republicans are akin to cannibalistic hyenas) is Jeb Bush, who while speaking during the meeting, was met with a walkout and blasted by most of the other speakers. And so this, and Mitt Romney, and John McCain, and Bob Dole (we can go back that far) are the candidates that the mainstream people have given the opponents of liberalism to vote for. And none of them had voices, at all, to speak about anything. The VP candidates who could speak were silenced or denigrated into headline jokes on late night talk shows. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's no </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">cultural</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> fervor about the Conservative movement at all. Sure, the Christian social conservatives are going to vote as a block, and have plenty of music and speakers to give their point of view. And that's well and good... I enjoy some of it. The music and speeches that are intelligent, thoughtful, and non-hypocritical of everyone (yes, I know everyone speaks of Christians as being hypocrites, and there is obviously some truth to this, or it wouldn't be so easily proved). Take a look at any of Mark Lowry's performances to see exactly what I enjoy that comes from the Christian world. It's no wonder that I say I'm "Libertarian," when Facebook asks me my Religious beliefs. It's all about my personal, individual relationship with God. For that, I need no other church telling me what to believe or what is evil or wrong in this world. God does that quite nicely. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I've digressed from what I really wanted to talk about. I'll get back to it eventually. What I value in the music of the Folk music movement of the 60's, or The Decemberists, or of people like Mark Lowry in the Christian world, is the ability to stand up and say "This is what I believe in. It's something that very few people do nowadays. We are too busy being afraid of who we might offend to stand up and defend anything. We think those that have a cause must be those who are victimized, or those who are clearly crazy. And those who stand for something have either Love or Hate in their hearts. You can stand with the rainbow flag on one side, or the flag of ISIS (or, unfortunately, those of Westboro Baptist Church) on the other. Those in the middle, every day citizens who live and love and work, they are just busy trying not to stand, lest they be labelled an extremist about </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">something</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. Why can't we just stand up and say, "I am a human being, and I love this world where I live, and I love the people in it." ? Isn't that what God said is half of His greatest commandment? </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If the Conservative movement, Christians and non-Christians alike, could stand up and say that, and put all other differences aside (for having irreconcilable differences is exactly what opponents of Conservatism would like nothing better than us to have), that would make all the difference, no matter who we elected President. But I dare say that this can't happen, not in the polarizing, white/gold dress- blue/black dress world we live in today. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was not supposed to be a post on political ideology, or religion, or anything close. I was trying to review The Decemberists' latest album, which I never even got around to. But nevertheless, I'll let this one stand, and try again in a few days. Let March (now that's convenient, a term of standing and acting) take that review, and let February, known for love and introspection toward times when people </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">had</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> to stand up for their rights, take this one. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fczvWSANXdo?rel=0" width="560"></iframe></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
(During this album period, I think Colin Meloy looked <b>a ton</b> like my dad. My mom didn't think so, but with those glasses and that shirt, he very much does.)</div>
Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-86957299144705370602015-02-15T21:04:00.001-08:002015-02-15T21:04:57.548-08:00Denzil Reviews Everything!!! (Sweet Tomatoes Restaurant)Yes, every single thing... I'll review it... like the Dayquil I just took this morning to help with my cold, said it was non-drowsy... slept for 6 hours afterward. But it helped. <br />
<br />
I wanted to talk about food. There's not a place in this world where you can find massive amounts of food being trucked in than the city of Dallas. There are restaurants everywhere, that is, everywhere there's not a Whole Foods or some specialty grocery store. Seems that all people do here is eat. And I'm okay with that. My goal was to go to one restaurant a paycheck, try something new. I'll do that, eventually, and I will finish when I'm Methuselah's age.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimRHE3efDVIuY02-leEM-D2hdYar992y-P-tWuNyAiyX5Aekl8JuU_xSD_CYY2zjXCPb44f0dyaJ_LUAxVolnvJv9ew8pJSbkOv653fYMup6eYv3oS5P1AKXc2UnZZFjuENl8sEKOq6KA/s1600/sweettomatoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimRHE3efDVIuY02-leEM-D2hdYar992y-P-tWuNyAiyX5Aekl8JuU_xSD_CYY2zjXCPb44f0dyaJ_LUAxVolnvJv9ew8pJSbkOv653fYMup6eYv3oS5P1AKXc2UnZZFjuENl8sEKOq6KA/s1600/sweettomatoes.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have to say, I'm addicted to Sweet Tomatoes. I think there's a misconception about me and food, that as long as it has cheese or comes in a box that can be warmed up in the microwave, I'm all set. And while that's certainly true, there's always a question of flavor. If I'm going to eat, I would really like to have something that tastes like something. You find me something that is healthy, and tastes amazing, bonus points if it's cheap, and I'll be the healthiest person on Earth. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I found the answer to this paradox in the glorified salad bar that is Sweet Tomatoes. Take the idea that Golden Corral made and then refine it. The difference being that, you pay the exact same price for either place to eat everything that you want, but at Golden Corral, you walk out absolutely stuffed, but then can't remember anything that you've eaten. You've eaten a massive amount of food, but your body doesn't remember any of the flavors experienced. My brother says of me (and he's right) that I remember the places I've been to by the things I eat there. I can tell you the exact places and foods I ate that were the best "X" I've ever eaten. And those come along so rarely, that those engrams are pasted into my memory as firmly as any "where were you when" scenarios. </div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyq0yr-WLxMIeKxfCaNQyeZSivTP_Yu79nI4J9OUFjz2PLxSbR6B_miZKy_sbTFf30JBptrcdQcrxS1QCElshh81qLzJslC40b7z9r0POopvukKQyBKC-JX7BMJctMSYQsCs-XYCFF7lI/s1600/RE-Sweet-Tomatoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyq0yr-WLxMIeKxfCaNQyeZSivTP_Yu79nI4J9OUFjz2PLxSbR6B_miZKy_sbTFf30JBptrcdQcrxS1QCElshh81qLzJslC40b7z9r0POopvukKQyBKC-JX7BMJctMSYQsCs-XYCFF7lI/s1600/RE-Sweet-Tomatoes.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So I was fighting a cold in January and saw the promotion at Sweet Tomatoes of their (shock) Tomato Soup. I had to have some. So I filled up a plate with salad, a Romaine Asiago with Lemon, covered with a Lite Honey Mustard Dressing. Each flavor you put on that salad adds or detracts from it. Blue Cheese adds a tart, musty flavor right in the back of the throat, while the lemon is a tang on the top of the mouth. I tried adding Balsamic Vinegar to it... bad idea... that was too much. And the thing is... it's all that way. Everything in the restaurant has a flavor to it. It's not trying to get you to buy a drink, not trying for filling you up, it's trying to get you to <i>remember</i> those flavors, perhaps, with a carbonated beverage, you'll remember them for an hour afterwards, but that's okay. </div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR4R0yJlPeRLDZ4gioC0zr7TkiE2fwwp9gF09PfM0WfVD-SNWfWZA-eF3Jvjpcxhbl3H-6T9THNhYCgGSGpgFmysKEDThViW8b0Qa7ACEUlgyFSN-AEOaZXDo6IZ25MSnoA9k_Nd3C12M/s1600/sweet-tomatoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR4R0yJlPeRLDZ4gioC0zr7TkiE2fwwp9gF09PfM0WfVD-SNWfWZA-eF3Jvjpcxhbl3H-6T9THNhYCgGSGpgFmysKEDThViW8b0Qa7ACEUlgyFSN-AEOaZXDo6IZ25MSnoA9k_Nd3C12M/s1600/sweet-tomatoes.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
The businessmen who run these eating places, they make things like Taco Bell's Steak Stacker, and put all this meat and cheese in it, and forget to add flavor. IHOP's omelettes are huge, and bland, and I've been to plenty of Mexican restaurants where spices by the ton are added to a dish, but no flavor. It just makes you thirsty (which, of course, is the idea). Give me a place that values flavor over filling, and I'll eat there every day. The olive oil on the cheese bread, the Rosemary in the Potato Leek Soup (needs a little more salt, though.) Fantastic stuff, each touching parts of the palette, each adding a memorable part of the meal. That I don't get leftovers, and that I might have to eat later on that day, are both worth actually enjoying a meal. <br />
<br />
One last thing, if you're reading this in February 2015, go get the Red Velvet Cake they have for dessert.... creme cheese frosting.... so good!!! And there's always coupons, signing up online for them, and whatnot. The closest one to my friends in Georgia is the one at Gwinnett Place Mall, or one at Perimeter Mall. Go have soup and a salad... you'll be glad you did.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWjHVoeYWDgaTZqrJC6vMAb5zV831x__u-KfTHWjX6_ZsvKoNZ3qyr0jp7jyHtuxuusSUAcMAweJtR_76jJMAGN17zQJVN9Wu10L8iWFqLnZNg1KTj-EjnVj8u4nL4sL1VFVQn4SttT4/s1600/51246af0a016410d05a17630643a4c44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWjHVoeYWDgaTZqrJC6vMAb5zV831x__u-KfTHWjX6_ZsvKoNZ3qyr0jp7jyHtuxuusSUAcMAweJtR_76jJMAGN17zQJVN9Wu10L8iWFqLnZNg1KTj-EjnVj8u4nL4sL1VFVQn4SttT4/s1600/51246af0a016410d05a17630643a4c44.jpg" height="310" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-90061899254424899832015-02-12T21:42:00.002-08:002015-02-12T21:42:36.542-08:00Left Shark and the LexiconAt the beginning of the month, people everywhere sat in front of their newly bought, over expensive televisions and watched three hours of commercials, and in the middle of it all, a football game broke out. Which saved the day, because without the Super Bowl, and Half-Time show, the world would have taken a collective Prozac because they were all depressed. I've never seen a Super Bowl with commercials that inept, nor commercial and business advisers get nearly every idea wrong. It was a malaise of social consciousness and utter failure. It will be a miracle if Nationwide gets a positive ad campaign going in the next 6 months because of that one commercial. <br />
<br />
Which is why, however exciting the game was, it was Katy Perry who saved the Super Bowl, and more specifically, Left Shark who should have driven off in the car (along with Malcolm Butler, who eventually did get it) that Tom Brady received. There's so few times in pop culture when a term can be instantly inserted into the lexicon of idioms and sayings. The presence of cable TV and the Internet makes it all the more possible, however, and it goes without saying that, while the Super Bowl will be forgotten in years to come, if you say "Left Shark," people will know what you are talking about and what it means. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ByhmaChUnGiAKC-MHoU9tdiM9HPpuWtbrlj8BhBikC4kWmXTLaHDq9u18JRUeHW_MlRrbdZmXlFX0IVYNtbuH6iyPYJqaz_qfjbWgtrThUlhjBbNYMBv1t3qUsJJhzXYhamdEiDgQxc/s1600/landscape_nrm_1423329087-462664498.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ByhmaChUnGiAKC-MHoU9tdiM9HPpuWtbrlj8BhBikC4kWmXTLaHDq9u18JRUeHW_MlRrbdZmXlFX0IVYNtbuH6iyPYJqaz_qfjbWgtrThUlhjBbNYMBv1t3qUsJJhzXYhamdEiDgQxc/s1600/landscape_nrm_1423329087-462664498.jpg" height="200" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Left Shark: A person or thing that is slightly out of sync, doing its own thing, out of step with the rest of the world. The person or thing named as such may be intentional or accidental. Something that</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo2ddHs3N4KazKV_SR8gSsTGtk8R3AjaSzeSMU_UjR9GOZc9odvnUqCj08TKyacmju9zsN6MgJnHKksYFpcdgZrkpN7byqKj_Q9-KdWBO4CLuyUCLD9c601jpK8mMJc4FY-N4MoigYx-o/s1600/43045_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo2ddHs3N4KazKV_SR8gSsTGtk8R3AjaSzeSMU_UjR9GOZc9odvnUqCj08TKyacmju9zsN6MgJnHKksYFpcdgZrkpN7byqKj_Q9-KdWBO4CLuyUCLD9c601jpK8mMJc4FY-N4MoigYx-o/s1600/43045_1.jpg" height="200" width="145" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Thoreau would call "marching to the beat of a different drum." The Antonym for this is, of course, Right Shark, someone or something that is following along the proscribed procedures or directions.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's amazing, that for all the technical marvels done with the Halftime Show, with things that come straight out of a Olympic Opening Ceremony, very little of it is actually talked about. The lion Perry rode was astounding! Made me think of an old Magic: the Gathering card... but I digress. What is talked about, probably more than anything except the last minute of the game itself, is the Left Shark's dance moves, or lack thereof. It made me think about other sayings popped into the cultural lexicon during events such as this. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96NHbqKAi5q3DhFYzz-Bsj1tB2hyphenhyphensD0lGdJj7E4ku0fahENcq0cprvc7s4QXBYeRJFlaMT3PnUtNwwtVaB-UdWz6FEPwtmgA-Zi3qTd-h_Dhd20unlZeQmSRtYdhBdC_3AoinGyIWIb4/s1600/katy-firework-zoe-ruderman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96NHbqKAi5q3DhFYzz-Bsj1tB2hyphenhyphensD0lGdJj7E4ku0fahENcq0cprvc7s4QXBYeRJFlaMT3PnUtNwwtVaB-UdWz6FEPwtmgA-Zi3qTd-h_Dhd20unlZeQmSRtYdhBdC_3AoinGyIWIb4/s1600/katy-firework-zoe-ruderman.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
I thought to myself when hearing about Katy Perry performing the Halftime Show that, if a "wardrobe malfunction occurred, it might well be fatal." This is due to fireworks coming out of her jumblies on her "Firework" music video. The term "wardrobe malfunction," of course, comes from a fateful Halftime Show some years ago where Janet Jackson's breast was exposed after part of the costume was removed by Justin Timberlake. Now the term is used whenever clothing is worn that accidentally exposes parts of the anatomy that is not normally supposed to be seen. <br />
<br />
Then there is the term "sidebar," which everyone glued to the proceedings of the O.J. Simpson trial (not surprisingly also dealing with football, to a degree) learned was a conversation had by Judge Ito and the head lawyers in such a manner that the jurors could not hear what was being said without them having to leave the courtroom. Now, of course, you can say, "that was just sidebar," meaning any conversation or happening that occurs outside of the normal routine of things. <br />
<br />
Of course, there are countless sayings from movies and TV shows, but I was thinking about things that happened live, where the introduction to the idiom was instantaneous throughout the country. Can't think of any others at the moment.... how about you???<br />
Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-83011617088839170382015-01-28T18:28:00.000-08:002015-01-28T20:02:28.983-08:00A Poem: 73 Seconds [Wrote this in 1996, 10 years after the Challenger Accident. It's one of those "Where were you when..." moments that captures and defines a generation. I'm glad we haven't had one since 9/11. It's annoying, I work with people now who weren't even thought of when we lost Challenger. It makes me feel old.]<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">73 Seconds</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
73 seconds seems so little</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
to shackle a country to its soil.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So little for a fraction</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
of a machine to freeze,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
to thaw, to expand, to explode.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Barely a minute goes by, </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbz-OMUVvc66vetx8qi8rgwI8oRQs9g4JoZV0qRhGsiVs1R6y1mDCAAtF9kbu1dqulubtC5kl8vkU0QVMXbRt_sqgiOPPI8occ6TCVlsGckKx0MO7Vr1wexkbcceovZqLbHN1m127OAA/s1600/Lightship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbz-OMUVvc66vetx8qi8rgwI8oRQs9g4JoZV0qRhGsiVs1R6y1mDCAAtF9kbu1dqulubtC5kl8vkU0QVMXbRt_sqgiOPPI8occ6TCVlsGckKx0MO7Vr1wexkbcceovZqLbHN1m127OAA/s1600/Lightship.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Lightship by Atilla Hejja<br />
<a href="http://www.usmilitaryart.com/the_space_shuttle.htm">http://www.usmilitaryart.com/the_space_shuttle.htm</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
dreams made real while feeling </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
3 G's escaping Nature's </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
forces. The Challenger was caught,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
for those few moments, by the</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
cold January morning, by the</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
cameras of the media, my the </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
minds of every dreamer. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This dreamer remembers,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
being called away from a 4th grade class,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
led to a tornado shelter, to a TV, </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
to the replays, tragic replays.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
No catharsis from the endless</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
chorus of reporters</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
only questions of why? </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
How to explain the end of a dream, to</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
schools filled with students, to </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
witness a death not just of 7,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
but of a minute part of each of us.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
How to come home, staring at the news,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
hour after hour, counting the seconds,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
and feel the nation stop and take a breath</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
to find what it had lost. </div>
Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-40471104544931351932015-01-25T17:37:00.000-08:002015-01-25T17:37:48.186-08:00Ben & Jerry's, Bob Dylan, Bill CosbyMy opinion on celebrities being involved in politics (or anything else) is that their work on the field, or on stage, or on screen, or in the recording studio, is absolutely independent of the celebrity in question. I absolutely love folk music, and Bob Dylan, and groups like Coldplay and The Decemberists, but they're all liberals and some have actively campaigned for the Democrat party. I don't care... I will listen to them anyway, even sing (in Peter Paul and Mary's case) anti-war songs and songs about peace and brotherhood and all that, because the work of art is separate from the often current political arena. (There are a couple of exceptions, those that gush politics. I loved John Mayer's first mainstream album, but then his album quality went downhill and his third was almost exclusively anti-Bush, so....)<br />
<br />
But that doesn't apply just to singers. I've had people tell me they won't eat Ben & Jerry's ice cream because they believe in Gay rights. Good... more for me to eat. If the product they make is superior in quality (not to mention delicious), they could fornicate with goats and I wouldn't care. <br />
<br />
Case in point... Consider Bill Cosby. Let's assume that everything that all these women have said are true about him, and he has an uncontrollable desire to sexually assault drugged dates. And obviously he hasn't handled it well, and he should retire and get out of the limelight. Now, go back and watch episodes of the Cosby Show, or his stand up routines. Hilarious! Insightful! Masterful work! To me, his art is separate from him as a person. And years from now, after he dies and everything is forgiven (which usually happens), the issues he faces now will be an asterisk (although a damning one) on his life, but people will still gush about how he has changed their lives. <br />
<br />
Because in the end, I don't care about the politics, about who is married to whom and who voted for Obama and who didn't. I really don't even care about the actions that people did in the past (although it doesn't speak well for the people involved, and it does hurt their effect on people.) Imagine all the young people who, in the 1960's and 70's, aspired to be a running back just like O.J. Simpson. How many running backs, some of whom are now probably hold records at colleges and maybe in Halls of Fame someplace, looked up to Simpson as a role model and emulated his style of play on the field? The fact that O.J. (probably) killed his ex-wife and is now in jail for robbery doesn't detract from the positive effect his football career had on other people. We watch the Naked Gun movie with Leslie Neilsen and laugh, even though Simpson is the comedy sidekick. <br />
<br />
It's what effects me that I care about. It's the times when we sat in the living room of our Oklahoma City house and watched <u>Bill Cosby Himself</u> on HBO and laughed so hard that we couldn't eat the dinners on the television trays. It's about the time when, alone at Georgia College, the music of Peter Paul and Mary spoke to me, even though they were liberal activists (and I going to meetings of the College Republicans), and in past years Peter Yarrow was convicted of making sexual advanced toward a then 14 year old girl (he didn't know it at the time and was later pardoned by Carter). It's about the amazing taste of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, especially the caramel core flavor with the rich caramel cream right through the center.... so good!! <br />
<br />
I understand the idea behind not buying something because you don't believe in the same things as the maker, to underscore some point by affecting them financially. I guess to me it's more about my happiness (short term or otherwise) than some statement I might make by <i>not</i> buying something. I enjoy the ice cream, I have cravings for Chick-fil-a's Milkshakes (usually on a Sunday), I find music that I like, even though their political beliefs are different... it doesn't matter to me. Would we have the Mona Lisa torn down and destroyed because of Leonardo da Vinci's supposed erotic relationships with his male students? Do we decry the works of Lewis Carroll because his known attraction to little girls? Of course, these examples are in the past. Something tells me that, years from now, when Bill Cosby is years deceased, and the accusations have long been silenced with money, someone will find his comedic works languishing on Youtube, and they will laugh, and he will be treasured once again. Is it right? I don't know. But I do know that his performances are worth keeping, outside of whatever he himself has done. Let us praise the work, even while the artist is punished. Let us see the beauty in a song or a painting, even if we don't agree with those that made it. <br />
<br />Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-9895330679038776042015-01-15T20:26:00.000-08:002015-01-15T20:26:42.334-08:00Book Review: Safehold by David Weber<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPJxIY6TIjA7xPaFtF-b0GnNuKlD5oSvbvhTJqNGfJPm4ielp1ikcaNIegcC1LfD6iU_RdmBzNm5qtN2H_9JvQyvNBnlhqksgdCapgHYEVzmD7mSdNpHGsVSDaxa2YjFIWpWVe_k60JM/s1600/AMightyFortress_hires.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPJxIY6TIjA7xPaFtF-b0GnNuKlD5oSvbvhTJqNGfJPm4ielp1ikcaNIegcC1LfD6iU_RdmBzNm5qtN2H_9JvQyvNBnlhqksgdCapgHYEVzmD7mSdNpHGsVSDaxa2YjFIWpWVe_k60JM/s1600/AMightyFortress_hires.jpg" height="163" width="320" /></a></div>
It is truly an astonishing sensation to be delivered into the playground of someone's mind. To watch as the person takes the dough, shapes a world, creates everything in that world, molds it into existence. In essence, he is emulating God. I know I've used that idea many times, and it is no more true than reading David Weber's Safehold Series. The first book is titled <u>Off Armageddon Reef</u>. I actually purchased the audiobook a few years ago and just sat it on my shelf, never really getting around to it. It languished there, moving from shelf to shelf just to get it out of the way of other books I collected and haven't read yet. And then last year, when I needed something to keep me awake as I drove to Dallas, Texas to an interview, to begin a new chapter in my life, I brought along the 25 CD set and immersed myself in the scenery of the interstate, and the scenery of Safehold. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LD-xG3a7O_4M8O3iIF9qAHgd5FD9qtxL09c6AnYVL5q3aMmtFucOQvpTHdStJNh58-h2WQuut4ihPL4zTzCKFZBlBoy1W19Dd3ALb0SUthiCFqgepWxVK0Ja4BEvLWRz_ZveFzoWrsA/s1600/latest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LD-xG3a7O_4M8O3iIF9qAHgd5FD9qtxL09c6AnYVL5q3aMmtFucOQvpTHdStJNh58-h2WQuut4ihPL4zTzCKFZBlBoy1W19Dd3ALb0SUthiCFqgepWxVK0Ja4BEvLWRz_ZveFzoWrsA/s1600/latest.jpg" height="320" width="230" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Briefly, Safehold is the last remaining planet that is home to the Human Race. Destroyed by an alien race called the Gbaba, who could detect any technological power sources coming from any planet mankind should try and hide in, the Terran Federation decided that the only way to survive was to create a world where technology would be non-existent. In other words, mankind would be put back into medieval times. In order to keep things this way for the centuries needed to make sure the alien race would leave Terran space, the creators of this world made a religion (with themselves as Gods and Archangels) that specifically forbid innovation. It is to this world that Merlin Athrawes awakes from a 900 year old hibernation. He becomes, basically, Martin Luther, and challenges the Church of God Awaiting, albeit more subtly. </div>
<br />
As I said, Safehold is David Weber's playground. He has written many more novels that take place in other worlds, in other universes, with other authors, but this one he's written alone, and I get the feeling that this world is his to become a Clockmaker God. In other words, he created Safehold, with the rules and religion and people and circumstances, and then he lets it run. The action comes as he sees it, as would happen naturally. The conversations and innovations come slowly, over time, and he's done a magnificent job so far. There are currently 7 books, with book 8 coming out September 8th, 2015. I can't wait for book 8 to arrive, so I can continue the journey through Safehold. <br />
<br />
So now that I've gushed about the series, which is great for Sci-fi, Fantasy, Historical, and Military book lovers alike, here are the problems with the series. First off, the series is *his* playground, so there's no editing of lengthy and sometimes boring conversations about weapon builds, historical and religious descriptions of the character's ancestors, etc... but while reading the books, you <b>must</b> realize that this is *his* world, and that to change it to suit his readers would go against what I feel is almost a work done as a writing exercise. I think that Weber creates some of his other books to make money, to exercise his craft, to share his worlds with others, but for Safehold, it is Weber's world to tinker with, and we are simply along for the ride. The main evidence I see of this is in the book structures. There are no typical climaxes and then resolutions of each book, simply a continuation of the world from one book to the next, as if you could combine the whole saga into one long tome. Most authors have these worlds, ones where you can exist inside the world if you want, but it's the author's work, and he or she will do whatever it is they want to do. For Anne McCaffrey, Pern was that realm, although she had others. Tolkien always had Middle Earth, and that was his sole realm-creation. Even for fantasy writers, where they might have more than one series, I think there's always one that they feel most at home. I know I could easily live inside Pern, or Middle Earth, and now Safehold. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguOAYbMh0CM9k6bMpcMwoY9JqDws63HjfcfgxHWPN0DR90QrM3YRv6FYBGxUgpL3L-Eq2XHxes2plKDZA7vFPBuWmB9-vR6C8sCLBMp2-t0YUUWAdz8mrUM1HtILSpMu5aZjynrwx4cII/s1600/51P69fzP8PL._SL500_AA300_PIaudible,BottomRight,13,73_AA300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguOAYbMh0CM9k6bMpcMwoY9JqDws63HjfcfgxHWPN0DR90QrM3YRv6FYBGxUgpL3L-Eq2XHxes2plKDZA7vFPBuWmB9-vR6C8sCLBMp2-t0YUUWAdz8mrUM1HtILSpMu5aZjynrwx4cII/s1600/51P69fzP8PL._SL500_AA300_PIaudible,BottomRight,13,73_AA300_.jpg" /></a><br />
The second major problem is that, having seen the inside of the books, I couldn't read them anyway. I say this because David Weber has a very annoying habit in this book of replacing vowels with "y's". For instance, the antagonist of the book is "Zhaspahr Clyntahn" and his second in command, "Wyllym Rayno." The names, only having looked at them in the book, would kill me. I can't stand reading Fantasy novels where, by the time I've read the jacket and seen all the weird names, my eyes have glossed over and I can't stand to finish reading even that. Thus is it most fortunate that I have "read" all 7 books as Audio Books. It is good to consult the maps in the books (they are online as well) from time to time, but I've taken to "reading" them on the way to work, or on long trips, or just sitting in my apartment with no television on. In fact, I've gotten along quite well without cable TV because of my Audio Books. I can be entertained without paying $100's to the cable company. So, if I were to go into detail about the characters, I would write them as I have heard them pronounced. "Jaspar Clyntan" (the problem here is that without the Y, you read Clinton, and think of the past president.) and "William Rano"<br />
<br />
One other note, if you decide to "read" the books as Audio, which I wholeheartedly recommend. The narrators change, which, when book 3 came along and the person was different, I had myself a minor conniption. All of them, save one, does a fair job. The British narrator for book 5 did a fair job, although he muffed the pronunciations somewhat ("Charis," instead of "Karis," as every other speaker had done). But I could overlook that. It's book 6 that drove me nuts. The narrator did a wonderful job with female roles, and children roles, but when he started yelling "FIRE" during the battle scenes, it was funny. The guy simply couldn't do battle scenes, and it made a war hilarious. But if you can overlook that one, the rest are magnificently done, and kept me awake all during my travels. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEqi0klE_FZhAMHtuF_xnT4WTYAcC1B3WpfD_GpmuX02z_pJvAsQdE0LnOY1pLeOircVH4nnmS_TD4dIQCbithNDN9xPdEBk9weWIzhQKh7W1oL6amS9rrjb3dx2hGCcTx8iedz6oXao/s1600/latest.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEqi0klE_FZhAMHtuF_xnT4WTYAcC1B3WpfD_GpmuX02z_pJvAsQdE0LnOY1pLeOircVH4nnmS_TD4dIQCbithNDN9xPdEBk9weWIzhQKh7W1oL6amS9rrjb3dx2hGCcTx8iedz6oXao/s1600/latest.png" height="314" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
There comes a time in your life when you need Fantasy worlds. I don't know where I would be today if it hadn't been for J.R.R. Tolkien. I have lived hours of my life in Pern, and I could go on living there, if I had to. I would say the same for Safehold, and the times in my life when I could listen to the conversations between Emperor Caleb, Empress Charlean, and Merlin, plus a whole host of other really "good" good guys, were worth every minute. I rather much like my fantasy stories where the good guys are good and the bad guys are stupid. And being a Christian, much of the conversations with Archbishop Michael and the others, are as good sermons as you're ever likely to hear on a planet called Earth. I guess I shall now be Awaiting book 8, and doing so with baited breath. Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-27126823001514951932015-01-04T09:32:00.000-08:002015-01-04T09:45:08.155-08:00The Great Plastic Bag CaperMy dad is now rolling over in his grave....
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/d-MnD8Y8TGg?rel=0" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
I know what my dad would have done... He would have collected up all the plastic bags he could find, and he would have delivered them to the doorstep of the Councilperson involved in this little endeavor. I went to Walmart last night to get groceries. When I went to the self-checkout, no one was using it because there were no bags. I thought that was odd, as the people there weren't trying to refill them. So I went to a regular line, which was much busier than usual, and waited there. When I got to the cashier, she asks me if I want her to put the groceries in plastic bags... I said, "Of Course I do." I told her that I would have done this all by myself at self-checkout if they had had bags. She then explains to me that they are now charging 5 cents per plastic bag, so they took all the bags out of self-checkout. I sighed, having been familiar with the practice in far off Los Angeles or San Francisco. But here, in Dallas? So I paid the 20 cents for the 4 bags she used and left, grumbling and complaining about the Democrats in Dallas. And truthfully, Dallas, Texas is a Blue city, with the Republicans having left and gone to the suburbs around it. Just like every other major city in the US.<br />
<br />
I posted about it on my Facebook Page, and got this reply from one of my progressive-leaning friends: <i> Politics aside, the world is a better place without cheap plastic bags clogging storm drains and swirling down alleys in the wind. These kind of bags are terrible as bags. Except for Target's bags, they are all so thin that they break when you put more than 2 things in them. Good riddance to them. Suck it up and get yourselves some sturdy reusable bags. No matter how you vote don't we all want clean streets and waterways? </i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoLwmpPf1Bhx9Huf8t580tTdpjqsgqeLNHpRqkIPxoJTlQiK68NaBGOofCKFOejJ1oRBJALntnKXvTljOiZX9A6ldsTHM3snlCT5KV7IkRyrd78cxmdglehtwrl2IKcvYRzRGy9wsNUb4/s1600/10487333_10152278206513292_5016597239298607086_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoLwmpPf1Bhx9Huf8t580tTdpjqsgqeLNHpRqkIPxoJTlQiK68NaBGOofCKFOejJ1oRBJALntnKXvTljOiZX9A6ldsTHM3snlCT5KV7IkRyrd78cxmdglehtwrl2IKcvYRzRGy9wsNUb4/s1600/10487333_10152278206513292_5016597239298607086_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
To which, my reply was: Definitely! I reuse my plastic bags as much as I can for lunches at work, and given the choice between plastic and cloth bags...etc... I wouldn't hesitate to use the latter. However, I don't have the money to go spending it on tote bags (although the ones Lifeway usually has are cheap enough if you can find them on sale), and I resent the way they've just decided to take nickels away from me. I can't afford much more than basic food, gas, utilities, but I am making it. Any excess expense, especially because the government wants to use the environmental issue to gain power and money, is something I can't afford right now. And since I can go to Kroger near my work and save that money, that's what I'll do.<br />
<br />
I hate pollution, since I walk all over the place and see it in the woods, on the trails...etc... and everyone can do their part to keep their part of the world clean, individually. It's when the issue is used for political purposes that turns me against the whole thing. Take light bulbs, for instance. I'm all for the newer bulbs, cause I'm lazy, and I don't want to change the dumb things. But the regulations against the incandescent bulbs were done just to extend government control, and I don't like that. I'll use the newer bulbs when I can, but if I can't afford the things... I'll sit in the dark. I'm used to it.<br />
<br />
I've talked about my stance on Environmental issues <a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2012/07/wild-places.html" target="_blank">at great length in the past</a>. So this post is more about this particular issue. I've walked on trails in Dallas, and so I've seen first-hand the areas that the Councilman is referring to when he proposes to clean up the city with the proposed money collected. I for one have seen how money collected in the name of "transportation" or "education" never really gets to those places at all. It gets put into the General Fund, and then it all gets worked out with the budget and spending bills coming from the state. This never has worked properly. But let's say for the moment that the money is collected properly. I would hope that it would be used to pick up all the other things I see walking down the trails of Dallas.<br />
<br />
The thing is that I've not seen so many bags in my walks as discarded plastic water bottles, aluminum beer and soft drink cans, and glass beer bottles. What if we, instead of charging a tax for them, offered money back for their recycling. I know some companies used to do that. That would make sense, and it would train people in a positive way instead of punishing them by making them carry all their groceries loose into their apartment buildings.
It should be about the training of people to behave in a certain way, to care more about the environment as a whole. The idea about cans and bottles (which I think is a greater problem than the bags) would have the positive effect of rewarding those who do the right thing. When training a dog, do you reward them for sitting on command, or do you punish them for not sitting when you tell them to? You could do both, I suppose, but the latter will come back to bite you, most literally. It would cause fear and dislike, which is what the government's fee on plastic bags is doing. It's also going to drive customers away from the grocery stores inside the city limits of Dallas and lower the amount of taxes (on those items which are taxed, which makes no sense. In Georgia, everything is taxed. Here, groceries are not taxed unless they're deemed not good for you (or the lobbyists can persuade (as in the corn chip industry) the lawmakers that it shouldn't apply to them)). So the city loses out either way. It makes no sense to pass a law that will only end up hurting the revenue streams they were depending upon to clean up the pollution they were seeing.
<br />
<br />
And of course there's the argument of how multi-use bags will effect the health of the citizens. If people continuously use canvas or cloth bags, especially to carry something like boneless raw chicken breasts or leaky milk bottles, those germs will collect onto the bags. Then, the next time, when apples or some such are put in there, you gently get a case of salmonella or food poisoning. Sounds like fun, don't it?<br />
<br />
Don't think that the people won't change their spending habits because of a little plastic bag tax (which is what it is). They will, and it will hurt enormously the places inside the city limits. But, as I'm also determined not to pay said tax, but I don't want to wind up driving farther to get groceries, I'm going to do something else. In Georgia, I went to Ingles to get groceries and any time they had their huge Egg Boxes available, I took one to use for the Friends of the Library booksales. So instead of bringing in all the groceries in the bags they were in, I put all the bags inside the boxes (which admittedly, wouldn't be the best thing to do if the groceries were loose, because, as in the paragraph above, they <i>are</i> egg boxes.) and carried them into the house. So I will bring one or two of the many paper boxes I have here (I haven't thrown them away yet from the move to Dallas) and I'll just put the groceries in them. They have handles, and are sturdy, so they can keep their bags and their 5 cent charges, and I'll be able to carry the groceries in easier. Killing two birds with one stone, as the saying goes. The plastic Christmas Trees they won't have to cut down will thank me for it. Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-84686870903527314382014-12-15T21:34:00.004-08:002014-12-15T21:34:51.954-08:00Blooming Iris<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">[I tried, once, to write a Sonnet, just to prove I could. And to turn it into something that, while it could rhyme, it didn't have to (and of course, is one of the things that Sonnets are supposed to do.) I actually have a couple of versions of this, the earlier that does rhyme, almost forcefully so. Which is why I don't like it as much. The issue is that some images in the first poem are better than the second, and vice versa. <shrug> The great thing about writing poetry, or short stories, or novels, as some of my friends are discovering, is that they can always be re-edited, redone, words omitted or added, and meanings found in the letting of blood. It's the difference between writing poetry versus novels. In editing a novel, whole paragraphs can be lifted out like some form of liposuction, whereas poetry, editing becomes word by word, as if the surgeon uses a laser scalpel.]</shrug></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Blooming Iris </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stare and wonder, at blue eyes shining, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A sea of periwinkle, saddened mercury.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shivering, icy raindrops falling,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They look at you, plead for soft-heart empathy.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After the clouds have settled round the moon,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before dreams remove their glimmering veils,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The iris seeks safety, but finding none,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lies frost-bitten, weeping, as simplicity fades.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Forget your far-off shores, grasp a timid hand.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The deep eyes, fallen, must rise aflame,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Driving beasts away, allowing hearts to mend</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The blooming iris, joyful tears running down the stem.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One touch will quell all monsters, end their reign,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Replace cold fears with warmth, and calm the pain.</span></div>
Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-3182362700218346542014-12-14T19:11:00.000-08:002014-12-14T22:59:00.065-08:00Book Review: The Alien Effect by Cary Neeper<div style="text-align: justify;">
The easiest way to write a Science-Fiction novel is to do away with Old Earth. Let the action take place on some planet in a distant galaxy, long ago, or even better, lets just destroy Earth completely and let man explore the stars in their ragged looking spaceships, like some nomadic band of camel riders in the foreign desert. I guess it's Romantic that way, to push the future away, for the goals that mankind has reached and surpassed are so far away from us now, we could never reach them. Or at least, that's what we realistically think.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But of course, the Science-Fiction writer's most fervent wish is to bring the message of a better Earth back to his or her reader. Than mankind can be better than what he is now, knock down the obstacles that hold him back, find his way through the unknown and progress to a Utopia that must be reachable. There are frontiers out there, if only we could get past our own failings and reach them. However, the challenge for the writer is to portray an Earth that has changed sometimes beyond what we could even imagine it being, for the better or, more often, for the worse. A world of biological or nuclear wastelands, of endless pollution, of environmental catastrophes, or of a population that has to live in a world like <u>The Fifth Element</u> or Corsucant from the <u>Star Wars</u> series. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's hard, really it is, because a story taking place on Earth has to contend with the myriad of issues that plague our homeland. It's possible to become overwhelmed by them. And more likely than not, if you bring the hope of progress to the reader, they will find cynicism and discouragement, as it's something that, given the condition of the world currently, it would be impossible to achieve. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UmXk6LKnICcOBArS_wg_iZ38LMgZfWty0VnoV9sI3xHTN9WZb_vK26zlfjW7FTIN6RzgZaxzybxOCJpngpzMTJ7P5FEaIaJHpSgLV6AIOr4OJlyFV0LWsLrWUB-BkwwHfHeHLuftPMw/s1600/alien+effect.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UmXk6LKnICcOBArS_wg_iZ38LMgZfWty0VnoV9sI3xHTN9WZb_vK26zlfjW7FTIN6RzgZaxzybxOCJpngpzMTJ7P5FEaIaJHpSgLV6AIOr4OJlyFV0LWsLrWUB-BkwwHfHeHLuftPMw/s1600/alien+effect.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I say all this as a preface to a review of Cary Neeper's third book in the Chronicles of Varok series, <u>The Alien Effect</u>. You can read the first two reviews <a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2013/03/book-reviews-2-x-sci-fi.html" target="_blank">here</a> (<u>A Place Beyond Man</u>) and <a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2013/01/book-review-webs-of-varok-by-cary-neeper.html" target="_blank">here</a> (<u>The Webs of Varok</u>), and you <b> must</b> read the first two books first before this one (unlike the second book, which is easily read without the first). It's the first criticism of the book, that a prologue might be in order, to catch a reader, even if they have read the other two, back into the groove of the novels themselves. The third book continues Neeper's quest of bringing a palatable model of steady-state economics to the attention of the world. And unlike most other scholars on the subject, she's trying to do it through the application of the system in a fictional world. And unlike most other Science-Fiction writers, she accomplishes her goal with remarkable, robust characters with a similarly developed culture. The Varoks, Ellls, and Ahlorks (Nidok's dialogue is excellent!) are great alien races, who are developed by dialogue, which is the best way to write a Science-Fiction novel. I cannot praise enough the characters that Neeper has made. As a writer, she has this aspect completely mastered. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Unlike the first two books, the plot suffers from being on Earth, with all of the complexities that must be taken into consideration when dealing with the world we live on. I found some parts, especially on the boats out in the Pacific, to be gold mines of interaction between Alien and Human, places where the general plot can be fleshed out. I would have loved to have heard the conversations between Orticon and the Captains, or Nidok and the humans aboard ship. The plot twists, the sudden storms, the traps laid by fishing vessels, they tend to just appear, in a couple of sentences. The difference between this book and the other two is that the plot in <u>The Alien Effect</u> is progressed by external events and directions, whereas the first book took place within a small moon-base, and <u>The Webs of Varok</u> took place on a small, hidden moon of Jupiter. The crises in both novels were internal, happening within the minds of the characters. In <u>The Alien Effect</u>, Neeper has to bring that conflict to Earth, to handle the problems and complexities of bringing the Steady-State system of Varok to our own planet. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In most Science-Fiction stories, like Neal Stephenson's <u>Anathem</u>, for instance, this problem of plot isn't a big deal. I love <u>Anathem</u>, and as long as I don't have to worry about the plot, I can read that book forever, with its philosophical conversations filling pages upon pages. But again, bringing the setting to Earth makes doing this much more complicated. The scenes with Shawne at the Economic School on Earth tends to become a background issue, one that is mentioned only as a backdrop for Shawne's moods and her attraction to visitors later in the book. The idea of population control, one that is essential for Steady-State to work, is whisked away by objections by devout religious students, who suddenly disappear, taking their argument with them. The futility of Shawne's efforts with mankind becomes evident, and I'm not so sure that we don't need more of that hope here. This combines with the diary or textbook sections that talk about the actual "Alien Effect," which show that the actualization of Shawne's dream doesn't happen for millennia, and only because of extraterrestrial influences on human evolution (without the black monolith and the usage of "Thus Spoke Zarathustra"). This part also needed some fleshing out, with maybe some of the students becoming actual characters, which would have been great, as Neeper's ability to make outstanding characters would have added to this section. Shawne and the Varoks and Ellls could have had a Plato-like discussion which would have been essential in bringing the ideas of Varok to the fictional Earth and to our own world as well. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And while I criticize the book, I would easily rate it (on the Amazon scale) as 4 stars, because I've read the other two novels, am familiar with the ideas of Steady-State Economics, and love the interactions with the characters. This is never a problem at all with any of the stories, and is usually the main criticism I have of other idea-based Science Fiction novels. To see what I mean, without taking too long to wade through an entire book made by, say, Robert Silverberg or Clifford D. Simak (both have written amazing books, by the way, so I'm not saying <i>don't</i> read them, but just to throw out a quick example) go watch the first Science-Fiction feature film to hit theatres, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqeU1gcDbAU" target="_blank">Rocketship XM, which was covered by <u>Mystery Science Theater 3000</u> in the 90's. </a> This demonstrates how characters should <b>not</b> be created.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So to end the review part of this, go read the first two books, then read this one, and anticipate future novels, and you'll have no problem with the shortcomings of the third book. I don't either, actually, but as a reviewer I have to maintain an honest opinion of the book as written, separate from the rest of the books in the series.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
**************</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now, to the ideas presented in <u>The Alien Effect</u>. All you have to do is walk into a Wal-Mart to appreciate the idea of runaway materialism that is plaguing our society. Mounds upon mounds of crap. It's all it is. I've presented many times the idea of material inflation. In fact, a great example happened to me just yesterday. I broke a coffee cup. I cleaned my office at work, and, finding an old coffee cup (with Brookhaven College on it, which is where I work), I decided to take it home and wash it. Well, I dropped the bag it was in, and broke it. Instead of weeping and ruing the loss of a cup which could have easily been the only one I owned, had I lived a century ago, I just shrugged, threw it away, and looked at the dozens of other ceramic coffee cups I have sitting on my counter. We have no problem with planned obsolescence, or of the casual ruin of the things we own, as we can always go out and get more, at substantially cheaper costs. It's is amazing how many brand name, high quality clothes I find at Goodwill for a fraction of the costs of getting something new. But walk into a Walmart, and you'll see mountains of product just waiting to be bought, used, set aside, and find its way to our growing landfills. And all for the boost of dopamine that Neeper talks about in <u>The Alien Effect.</u> It's so true. I've seen children scream and cry "I want a TOY!!!!" and, just to get the child to shut up, they buy him or her whatever trinket they want. More than likely, the object will either be thrust back into the parent's hand as the child runs off to gaze into the Vending Machines (you know, those little rings and rubber things in mysterious bubbles, just waiting to be bought, lottery style. That's Dopamine X 2!). The child didn't want the toy, they wanted the dopamine boost, as well as the feeling of attention and love that they got when their parent bought them something. Materialism and Love are the same thing. And that's something that has changed dramatically from even a century ago, when possessions were so much more valued, coming out of world-wide depressions.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's easy to see, then, where the dopamine boost comes into play, with materialism at the store, with collecting of action figures and other worthless objects (and I know, I still collect the State and National Park Quarters), with the episodes of Hoarders, where throwing away anything will cause temper tantrums to erupt. Entire economies are based upon the buying of trinkets that cause that momentary dopamine boost, and there are whole factories of children in China hoping to make that boost happen. How much of that same boost, then, happens when people have yet another child? Can material inflation be extended to People Inflation? Why should we care if someone on the south side of Chicago gets into a gang war and is shot dead? There's always more people where that came from. The body count on the news rarely becomes news anymore, unless the death can be used by political parties or other organizations to increase negative emotions, and therefore, donations to their coalitions. But I digress. Why should we care about people at all if there are so many of them? And this attitude is in addition to the resources that those people use day to day. In essence, most of the issues of this world, from the Environment to Crime to Disease to Politics, come down to Population Control. This, too, is a result, especially in modern times, of a desire for brain chemical boosting. In other words, the erotic pleasures of sex. And as everyone knows, Pregnancy is a by-product of sex. As long as we have a system where continued child bearing is rewarded, and self-discipline is unnecessary, we will continue to see parents of 8 children walking around Walmart trying to keep their kids from screaming by buying them whatever they think they want at the time.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What I have been consistently impressed with by Cary Neeper's ideas (and by extension, the ideas of other Steady-State Economic thinkers), is that these ideas exist outside of current political modes of thought. While ideas like Carbon-Capping and Environmental Regulations sound like ideas right out of the Democrat's playbook to extend power over businesses, the ideas themselves are neutral in political ambition. The idea is to make the world a better place to live, and to sustain the world as a healthy place to live for all the inhabitants of the world. In other words, for mankind to live in a symbiotic relationship with the world that they value. I have said many times that, while I have no desire to join modern environmentalists and go hug trees (and you can start <a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2012/07/wild-places.html" target="_blank">here</a> for some ideas I have on the subject), I am earnestly a proponent of taking care of the world we live on. The ideas that Shawne had in her classes were ones that Conservative thinkers could agree on. I especially liked the idea of regulation and oversight by local, non-centralized governments. In Neeper's America, the Nation-state is decreased to geographical regions, such as the Pacific Northwest, or Southern California. The idea of Nationalism has waned as problems on Earth became too complex and too impossible for large governments (such as our own) to provide for people's safety. A great example of that is the recent Ebola outbreak. When the Federal Government refused to block travel from West Africa to different airports in the US, individual states enacted regulations. This sort of thing is the best way to maintain optimum living quality in any given area. This is also something that every Conservative should agree with. That Conservatives (of which I happen to be one) and Liberals can work, compromise, and achieve real solutions to major problems, is something that should be very exciting for anyone working to solve the world's problems. However, this dream fall short when it is blocked by politicians hoping to keep themselves in power and comfortable by the contributions of lobbyists. In today's world, nothing will get done at all on <i>any</i> subject as long as the political atmosphere of Washington DC continues to fester.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lastly, I want to address the issue of technology. In this case, I disagree with the descriptions of <u>The Alien Effect</u> when they find technology to be an unneeded part of establishing a proper steady-state system. There are very few ways that you can fundamentally change the ways of thinking by any culture. Religion is one way. It takes a long time, to change the religious beliefs of any one culture, especially the entire Western World. The other one is Technology. And while technology can be used to further manipulate and entrench current thinking patterns into any given culture (see Neil Postman's <u>Techonopoly</u>), there are examples of fundamental changes brought about by technology that are immediate and obvious. The food replicators in <u>Star Trek</u>, for instance, or the wormhole creators in Arthur C. Clarke and Stephen Baxter's <u>The Light of Other Days</u>. Both these innovations would ultimately forever change the way we think. And I think there are technological breakthroughs which are quite within our reach that would do the same. Take Clifford D. Simak's <u>Ring Around the Sun.</u> In it, aliens (or a further evolution of mankind) start to mysteriously create light bulbs that would last forever. In getting rid of planned obsolescence, the economy of the world is changed in an instant. Razors, cars, houses, all that never break or wear down, and all made so that anyone can afford them. It breaks down the consumer society, and leaves us with no wants in the material sense. The dopamine push is gone, and then we have to find our chemical boosts in other ways, perhaps from exercise of the development of our own minds, the progress of mankind itself. This is what Roddenberry envisioned for Earth of the 24th century.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In the end, it comes down to those Millennium that Neeper talks about at the end of <the alien="" effect="" u="">. It would, in that world, take countless generations before a Steady-State world would stabilize Earth, and in our finite mode of thinking, that's too long. Heck, in our world, something that takes more than a week is too long. If we can immediately change something to make it better (from Obamacare to a struggling Football team firing their coach...etc...) then that is something that must be done quickly. It might even be a band-aid, something to cover up the underlying problem, but that's better than actually solving the problem, because it's something that can be done quickly. When the solution would take more than an election cycle, or a football season, then why bother. We want pleasure and satisfaction now, not later... that doesn't give us bliss. </the></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Noel Paul Stookey (and I'm going to mention this for the umpteenth time) said that there's two ways for us to miss things. One is if the world goes by too fast. The other is if <i>we</i> go by too fast. Some people look up one day and see a tree, fully grown, and they had never noticed, while other, more fortunate people, can simply watch the rings form. It might take half our lives to see a tree grow from seed to mature towering being, but the tree will be more worth it if we do. Same thing for our own world. It might take us countless lifetimes to make our world a paradise, but it will be infinitely more worth it when we do. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-22378642052325915632014-12-07T16:35:00.000-08:002014-12-07T18:08:19.352-08:00From One Cross to AnotherFor Thanksgiving this year, I went down to the town of Orange, Texas, where my Cousin lives and spent the weekend with her and her husband. A little about travelling in the state of Texas... It is possible to go anywhere from anywhere, but not without avoiding the toll roads. The astute driver will first consult many maps, go over all the backroads, and finally come up with great shortcuts that are free to drive on. Thus Texas, who has put most of their revenue building for roads into these Toll Highways, will never make as much as they think because people will find a way around it. The only option the state has is to basically make all highways into Toll Highways, which means that no one will ever go anywhere unless it's on Gravel roads. I made it down to Orange from Dallas in 5 hours, 30 minutes. <br />
<br />
My cousin's house had recently been burned to the ground by fire, and has now been rebuilt. A marvelous abode, much like <a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2010/03/ode-to-home.html" target="_blank">the house my friend A., has</a>, with the raised ceiling and a den above the living room, much like a balcony over a sanctuary in a church. Getting out of my car in front of their house, I could smell the cool air blowing off the Gulf of Mexico, filled with a sweet odor, something<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTBf5NEQDTra4God-c324FrX0XTha8YsnJs0z7QYXlbhyM56B8CiQgKUM9y2NW5o3IZw1jFQsMm2a954wltdosCaX2BG0r5tj3lpDg0fjIQBhSNvWpT2068XARNeCyj5Jr-epma3ubd4/s1600/9320381.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTBf5NEQDTra4God-c324FrX0XTha8YsnJs0z7QYXlbhyM56B8CiQgKUM9y2NW5o3IZw1jFQsMm2a954wltdosCaX2BG0r5tj3lpDg0fjIQBhSNvWpT2068XARNeCyj5Jr-epma3ubd4/s1600/9320381.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
that I've only smelled once before in Jacksonville. The area is more like Louisiana than Texas, the part east of Houston, which harbors the cities of Orange, Beaumont, and Port Arthur. Connecting them are bridges of immense size, true monuments of human ingenuity, that allow barges to travel beneath them from the Sabine Lake to the Intercoastal Waterway to the Gulf.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ixEGB61DZMuH5N02eYZT79sEeZszhrB47Y6bO9QDM1A3T4g8idze4pumlUil_GGiFf_7sAkbd_faq6aM8GBf7tgNh2PJQhbkdfWGxaITDjmNtCelWwe4MpSz816etrNWsuHX-ZQmD9w/s1600/p1637707594-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ixEGB61DZMuH5N02eYZT79sEeZszhrB47Y6bO9QDM1A3T4g8idze4pumlUil_GGiFf_7sAkbd_faq6aM8GBf7tgNh2PJQhbkdfWGxaITDjmNtCelWwe4MpSz816etrNWsuHX-ZQmD9w/s1600/p1637707594-3.jpg" height="320" width="226" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The people of these towns brought with them the cultures of their homelands, combining with Texan, Mexican, and American customs to make a truly unique area. You could travel to Nederland, and see the giant windmill signifying the Dutch ancestry of the citizens, or go eat in Chinese Restaurants with a decided Cajun flair. We went to the <a href="http://starkculturalvenues.org/starkmuseum/" target="_blank">Stark Museum</a> and saw the paintings of the Taos, Arizona artists collected by the Stark Family and shown in amazing galleries. I liked the landscapes, as well as the pottery made by women of Newcomb College (part of Tulane's college for women at the time of the Civil War), with their rich blue colors and designs. In the same area are architectural wonders restored by the Stark family. To quote Wikipedia: <span class="bbc" style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The First Presbyterian Church on Green Avenue uniquely captures the classic Greek Revival architecture. Completed in 1912, it was the first air-conditioned public building west of the Mississippi River and its dome is the only opalescent glass dome in the United States. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFb8vMAHWu23dedClSl_m42uMcns-5kGv5__Ha3XRhDJ8FC6sV9AKlqFwftq0bA416x_tLkURs9j0yI_Pcq_QOXca0VphKymECXyJnctoMHyNFhE80oUp0Q3lXJHexxpVOkKg_82kXvw/s1600/060409_pottery2_8690_pbc_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFb8vMAHWu23dedClSl_m42uMcns-5kGv5__Ha3XRhDJ8FC6sV9AKlqFwftq0bA416x_tLkURs9j0yI_Pcq_QOXca0VphKymECXyJnctoMHyNFhE80oUp0Q3lXJHexxpVOkKg_82kXvw/s1600/060409_pottery2_8690_pbc_1.jpg" height="230" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="bbc" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #282828; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">I left on a Sunday, and a strong cold front was due to sweep through in a couple of days. That, of course, meant that the winds would be out of the southeast, and it would bring warm air out of Mexico. It was in the 70's, and I decided to see the Gulf of Mexico in all its glory. I took 124 south from the small town of Winnie to High Island, and there it meets what used to be Highway 87, prior to the street being destroyed by Hurricane Ike. The highway, right next to the beach, was never rebuilt. Driving up over a hill, I suddenly see the Gulf of Mexico spread out upon the horizon, and it was an amazing sight. We live on such a magnificent planet, something so unlike any other planet in the area, and there are times we have to step back and realize what we have here, how gorgeous it is, and how we can add to the beauty, and not take away from it. </span></span></span></div>
<span class="bbc" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #282828; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMwuXPiDfjo_ZpSWkQ4EflRMHuRdUIU1mHLwItPq4XyTl8WHncdgjW5HWR7oMg-thqijSyiokUzj2fQXmuYTkYHgMEec1m25vfcXGKx9_O-q9A5psNaUog5PV9VSUri6XHn9mRUmpuvg/s1600/IMG_20141130_133951.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMwuXPiDfjo_ZpSWkQ4EflRMHuRdUIU1mHLwItPq4XyTl8WHncdgjW5HWR7oMg-thqijSyiokUzj2fQXmuYTkYHgMEec1m25vfcXGKx9_O-q9A5psNaUog5PV9VSUri6XHn9mRUmpuvg/s1600/IMG_20141130_133951.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<span class="bbc" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #282828; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">I parked in front of a huge wooden Cross, standing on the beach in memory of those affected by the tragedy. I decided to leave my work keys in the car, and so I took apart my keychain, left my car keys in the car, and promptly locked it. Of course, I realized my mistake, and after several seconds of berating myself, I realized that I had left the windows of my car down a little, so maybe it was possible to stick my hand (which didn't work, that hurt) or something else down into the door to unlock it. I went down the beach looking for trash that had washed up that just might help me. I found, after a time, the back part of a broken fishing rod (someone was having loads of luck that day), and thought it just might do it. I returned to the car and, after a little </span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span style="line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">maneuvering</span></span><span style="color: #282828; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">, managed to unlock my car. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="bbc" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #282828; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class="bbc" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #282828; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">So, back to the beach, to the cross, to the stereo sound of waves crashing upon themselves, and upon the shoreline. To the waterbirds that take flight, long wings and necks like feathered dinosaurs, flying up and over the water and then back down shore where my walking wouldn't bother them. To the shells that washed up on shore after so many years of being houses for mollusks, only to become a pathway for fishermen to bring their trucks, their poles, and drive down what was left of the highway to places where they might catch a fish or two. Yes, back to the beach, and even though the water was cold (I took my shoes off and let the water crash into my toes), it was an amazing place to be. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="bbc" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #282828; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFF0VccKmdxOVgWCONJqVV9tetQs-pi42_o7GEns4huJUmBOoiKb2h0pqVHEN66uw8rHQ0JeFKhiP4cPJu6bAIa2aACF-IKDIMb-9zveU3rdy8MEWSGps4emeY929lYK3N4K11cZEx6M/s1600/IMG_20141130_133000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFF0VccKmdxOVgWCONJqVV9tetQs-pi42_o7GEns4huJUmBOoiKb2h0pqVHEN66uw8rHQ0JeFKhiP4cPJu6bAIa2aACF-IKDIMb-9zveU3rdy8MEWSGps4emeY929lYK3N4K11cZEx6M/s1600/IMG_20141130_133000.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span class="bbc" style="background-color: white;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="bbc" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #282828; font-family: inherit; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">On the other side of the beach were giant horses, or that's what they seemed to be, just standing in grassy swampland, waiting to be activated again for the search of oil. They stand solitary out there, and it reminded me of the all knowing cow that Robert Penn Warren wrote of in </span><u style="color: #282828; font-family: inherit; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">All the King's Men</u><span style="color: #282828; font-family: inherit; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">, the cow that you pass as you go west, on the train, the one that looks up at you as it's chewing its cud, and you wonder how many people it has seen and how many people have seen it, really seen it, not just passed by without a single thought. How many fishermen have passed by these oil rigs, not paying any attention to them? In thousands of years, when the highway and the crosses and the houses and the fishermen have all been blown away by time and wind and wave, the iron horses will stand, and future people will come and stand in front of them and wonder what these great machines saw, and who made them?</span></span></div>
<br />
<span class="bbc" style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #282828; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKZZ3MZRdSv3sZNw7NehO5ooSsWKKf5sXrf7guv3G9Ql9U1XdtLerAld02SsHEHVU9DMqHKtEd02zEaywPzHWl43FBd34MDKB_p6pfg8sX_KjmNFvq3gMBAPb6asXC_saTjGdorxIDA-8/s1600/IMG_0099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKZZ3MZRdSv3sZNw7NehO5ooSsWKKf5sXrf7guv3G9Ql9U1XdtLerAld02SsHEHVU9DMqHKtEd02zEaywPzHWl43FBd34MDKB_p6pfg8sX_KjmNFvq3gMBAPb6asXC_saTjGdorxIDA-8/s1600/IMG_0099.jpg" height="277" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #282828;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">A mile east from one cross is another, one that used to be the carrier of telephone wires and cable wires, the voices of countless humans travelling down the beach. Now, however, a bird perched on it, and next to it, a sign, signifying the McFadden National Wildlife Refuge. Having walked a mile, from one cross to another, I decided to head back, for I had many miles to go before I got home. I will, when the time comes, return to the Gulf, and bask in the sunshine and the sound of the water hitting the shore, and see the solitary iron horses, and the crosses and the fishermen. I loved it. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #282828;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #282828;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">It was then time to drive back to Dallas, avoiding the Toll Roads, and, it being the Sunday after Thanksgiving, to stand the heavy traffic on the interstates with all the other people driving back from wherever to their homes to work the next day. And my car died on me once, and I waited 15 minutes for it to cool down, rest, and then it started back up (it does that when I take road trips, and it'll do it again, I expect, but I can adapt, for now). I was glad to get back home, to continue this journey. If you ever get the chance, do head down to the small towns along the Gulf of Mexico. You'll be glad you did. </span></span><br />
<span class="bbc" style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="bbc" style="background-color: white; color: #282828; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-42313851711687932152014-11-15T19:33:00.000-08:002014-11-15T19:33:27.218-08:00Book Reviews: Auraria; Waycross and Winter, both by Tim Westover<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1Djr5Yo2Ssh8yiRNIqgcseqcZPFSwlD5oPsKNy_LATwAYz-JLxFaUvYHO_33_ASd_-RIkl1iNoJoImCH_iTIzI4Tx75FcU8DFRFHF17ZLD9zqzJOGBO7Knc8_fM9Y_yo-VlAvmJuty4/s1600/155958_475837254090_3309281_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1Djr5Yo2Ssh8yiRNIqgcseqcZPFSwlD5oPsKNy_LATwAYz-JLxFaUvYHO_33_ASd_-RIkl1iNoJoImCH_iTIzI4Tx75FcU8DFRFHF17ZLD9zqzJOGBO7Knc8_fM9Y_yo-VlAvmJuty4/s1600/155958_475837254090_3309281_n.jpg" height="320" width="294" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'd put the cover of the book on here, but it hasn't been made yet. Tim Westover is a Medical Software designer and IT consultant who plays the banjo, has one of those daughters who makes every conversation a "Facebookable" one, and hikes across Georgia and elsewhere looking for the ruins of our recent past. He finds the rubble of mills and walls covered over by vines and pine straw, the abandoned wooden sheds, the majestic waterfalls appearing out of nowhere and flowing down to make great rivers and lakes. And he write stories. His first novel, <u>Auraria</u>, was an episodic romp into the supernatural world of the Appalachian Mountains. Briefly, Holtzclaw, a real estate developer in the pre-modern days (early 1900's? there's not really a date given, nor is it needed), is sent by his boss in Milledgeville to the area around modern day Dahlonega, Georgia where a resort town was to be constructed. There he proceeds to buy up land from the residents, and finds them very odd, almost <u>Alice In Wonderland</u>-ish. Ghosts play pianos and remain in the houses with their still living husbands, fish are caught out of thin air, and giant turtles sleep for eternity inside the mountains. It is a wonderful book that I highly recommend, as it's the kind of book that I enjoy. The plot isn't really the most important thing; rather, it's the experience of existing with Holtzclaw in this strange and wonderful world. Is the book perfect? No, as I talked about in my review on Amazon, but it was a book that I enjoyed reading. Knowing the author, and going to one of his books signings (at Charis Books Atlanta, in which, sadly, the only audience was me and the people that worked there), puts me in a unique position of being friend and reader, in which reviews are read by the author.</div>
<div>
So, when Tim announced he had finished his second novel, <u>Waycross and Winter</u>, at least, a good rough draft, he wanted those of us on his Facebook page to read it and help edit, give suggestions, give impressions. I downloaded it onto my Kobo and took it to work with me so I could read during my lunch breaks. The interesting thing about reading a book that hasn't been fully completed, with every i crossed and every t dotted, is that it changes the way you read the book. Are you reading it as an editor, looking for grammatical mistakes? Or as a reader, absorbing the text and reading for context? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think that in reading the book, I became a book surfer. If I hit a rock or a large wave, and I fall of my board, I'll become an editor and go investigate the rock. I told Tim, among other things while reading the book [the block quotes are mine, edited from prior messages to Tim]: </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Reading is a flowing motion, like swimming in the ocean (no, I'm not trying to rhyme...), and the ebb and flow of words are essential to a text, be it a book or a blog. I was reading along fine, understanding the character of Waycross, and more importantly, the writing style, as something I would read in a 19th century Gothic book by Stevenson or Shelley (both of which wrote about doctors). And then, on page 3 of the text in my Kobo, I came upon the phrase "conscience wasting my time." I fell flat on my face. The wave struck me and I got water in my nose. I know what you mean, but a reader, especially not one familiar with 1800's literature, is going to feel it as a jolt away from the book. [I include this as an illustration of how being a reader and being an editor are different when reading. Tim changed the wording afterwards.] </blockquote>
The book tells the story of Aubrey Waycross, a doctor in the early 1800's Georgia, who travels from Savannah to the wild frontier town of Lawrenceville, Georgia to begin a practice. For those who know the Atlanta area, you know right away that Lawrenceville is in Gwinnett County, near Discover Mills, and Sugarloaf Parkway, and all the modern day everythings that are suburban Atlanta. But in this time, it was a town far away from anything resembling a city. Once there, he finds that people's medical needs are served by quack salesmen, like those who sell bottles of fizzy drinks that are now found in every vending machine in the nation. They are also helped by old wives' tales, the trial and error of herbal remedies, and, of course, witches. And so, with the righteous indignation of a Doctor fresh out of medical school, Waycross goes up to the house of the Winter Sisters to give them a piece of his mind. It's here that the story really starts, and I stopped worrying about editing, as the flow of that ocean became calm and peaceful. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Speaking of flow, the story starts on his trip to the Winters' residence, especially with the episode with the pigeons. I could feel you exhale as the character came alive, fleshed out. Before hand he was a stick figure, a stereotype of a haughty, over confidant doctor in the early years of this nation. At this point, he becomes human, and I have enjoyed the story since then. [Since finishing the book, I realized why the doctor was who he is. Characters change, grow, as a book progresses. You grow to care about Waycross, especially when he grows to care about other people.]</blockquote>
The main problem I had with the story was the usage of so much human excrement when talking about the doctor's procedures on patients. Of course, in these days, draining blood to calm humors, and using enemas as a way of draining toxins out of people were among the most common ways to cure people of whatever illnesses they might have. The fact that I was reading while eating made me, admittedly, skim through some of these sections. I did the same thing when reading Martel's <u>Life of Pi</u>, when he was talking about his waste in terms of his dietary condition while lost at sea. And I mentioned that to Tim, and he wanted to know if he should take some of it out. I thought about it for a long while, and actually finished the book before replying back. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I think the main problem with the excremental parts of the story is that I usually read while I'm eating. But I don't want you to change that just because of my reading habits. Orson Scott Card included quite a lot of vomiting in his book <u>Lost Boys</u> (which has nothing to do with Peter Pan or Vampires), but he was using it for a symbol of the real or physical world vs. the supernatural. It shows that both Sarah and Aubrey are rooted in the real world, at least, for the time that Aubrey was more interested in what the classic doctors said than the herbal and mental parts the Winter Sisters practiced. There are strong reasons for leaving those parts completely as they are, but the opposite deals not with the story, but with the readers. The people that read your book, are they going to stop reading it when they get to Sarah's story, or when cutting off the farmer's arm? The answer should be a simple one. You are the author, it is your creation. God didn't leave out the gross parts of this Earth because he thought we might not like it. Pat Conroy could have left out the rape scene in <u>Prince of Tides</u>, would have saved a whole lot of challenging by conservative mothers wanting to ban books, but he didn't, because that was part of the story. </blockquote>
When I finished the book, I began to see the layers of the story, the reasons for the rabid "creature" in the woods, the actions of the doctor when dealing with the supernatural, and when dealing with matters of his own mind and heart. I questioned the existence of characters, wondering if they were just people in Waycross' mind... It was very satisfying, to see a story more compact than Tim's first novel, one that could be read and interpreted in different ways. <br />
<br />
The other thing I enjoyed about the book was the literary references and the usage of themes that have been used in the greatest of literary works. Aubrey Waycross is, in the context of the novel, part Dr. Faustus (Marlowe or Goethe), part J. Alfred Prufrock (Eliot), and part Candide (Voltaire). Now, this probably has to do with my own reading history, as for most people, you bring into a book the experiences of your life, and it helps to shape what you read. But in these cases, it's true. It was refreshing to read something that, with a turn of a phrase, it connects you with a work, a twinge of recognition. I won't give examples, because that would ruin the fun. <br />
<br />
I look forward to the time when this book becomes available to the public, when I can hold the actual book in my hands. I echo the dream of the author, to see Tim Westover's books on a bookshelf at Barnes and Noble, be able to pull it off the shelf, read the dust cover or description, and feel the book calling to me. Or better yet, to have a bookstore worker be able to recommend the book to readers with the passionate zeal that I know they have (because I have it, too.) Amazon just can't do that, no matter how many reviews are below the price.<br />
<br />
Shelftalker review: Dr. Aubrey Waycross travels to the frontier town of Lawrenceville, Georgia to set up a practice, meeting quack medicine salesmen, flocks of pigeons, and the Winter Sisters. In layers of complexity, with scenes both graphic and hauntingly beautiful, Tim Westover blends the supernatural with the historical in a unique way. Readers of either will be right at home, and any reader will be pleasantly surprised.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOey5RJTIit3N1ra-QIU9do54BBKODFf01hj41j1FB3uiVJPR37E-L6tdGcAc_r9bOXGduab82T55qAnh9g8Zh6prRjaW3zkhWDDCidB0hxosDcPAWjbVIaneYMjs8l2OTV5vLUBRS2c/s1600/baldwincradock1833.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOey5RJTIit3N1ra-QIU9do54BBKODFf01hj41j1FB3uiVJPR37E-L6tdGcAc_r9bOXGduab82T55qAnh9g8Zh6prRjaW3zkhWDDCidB0hxosDcPAWjbVIaneYMjs8l2OTV5vLUBRS2c/s1600/baldwincradock1833.jpg" height="348" width="640" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br /></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-48230838456840501612014-11-04T08:45:00.000-08:002014-11-04T08:45:15.746-08:00Depression and Comedy... Birds of a Feather<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMI6wqnLMiaP1YWPpCZ-d7dAYBuMN-BJnTJLZlCNZXuGFmafl_J1GZum92l8iyCQcuHY6zCbXR-jhWNJJ3KBt5SBK3lfSqz8wNHlEL8UBdoutdN5Ajr4E8ooJ6sBLCShZodyARE_-rAjc/s1600/theater+mask+smile+frown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMI6wqnLMiaP1YWPpCZ-d7dAYBuMN-BJnTJLZlCNZXuGFmafl_J1GZum92l8iyCQcuHY6zCbXR-jhWNJJ3KBt5SBK3lfSqz8wNHlEL8UBdoutdN5Ajr4E8ooJ6sBLCShZodyARE_-rAjc/s1600/theater+mask+smile+frown.jpg" height="132" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; padding: 0px;">
Saw Wayne Brady's interview on ET is trending on here (you can find it easily, not gonna put a big picture sharing thing on here. Text will do). Comedy is often part of a program, a way to deal with people when we would rather be alone. Most people would think it crazy that I'm an Introvert, that all the voices and meows and snarky remarks aren't to get attention at all, but as a part of my own mechanisms for living in this world. I have depression (I've talked about taking Prozac many times, and it helps), and it's a brain chemical imbalance, something that, I think, most comedians have. It's what divides the serious from the funny, one part of their personality from the other. It's a program, just like Word or Netscape or Minesweeper is on a computer. I've had people ask if I was ever suicidal... nope... I'm too self-centered for that. Life is too wonderful and there is so much beauty in the world (not to mention good food) for me just to give in to all that negativity. But I do know what Wayne Brady is talking about. And I know that the comedy is just as important a part of my life as it is to Wayne's or Robin's (RIP) or anyone else that is funny. The important part is not to silence it, not to say "you should act more serious, more grown up," but to understand that it's part of who I am, that I need to be funny just as I need to breathe, to eat, to pee. Think of it as the by-product of whatever brain chemicals are going around up in my head. That's not to say that "Shut Up Denzil" isn't a wonderful response. I need that, too. That's the ADHD (same brain chemical imbalance, just like Robin or Jim Carey has) kicking in. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; padding: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="padding: 0px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object height="315" width="420"><param name="movie" value="//www.youtube.com/v/qdLPI6XhEN8?hl=en_US&version=3&rel=0"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param>
<embed src="//www.youtube.com/v/qdLPI6XhEN8?hl=en_US&version=3&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="420" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<span style="font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; padding: 0px;">
<br style="font-size: 13px;" /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; padding: 0px;">
I remember sitting in the center of my bed (at home in Georgia) with my room a mess, and needing to clean it up, and not knowing where to begin. I can't tell you what day it was, like Wayne can, but I can remember it vividly. After that, my family decided that I should go to a psychiatrist and she gave me Prozac, which helps, but a lot of the issues I had (and some still have... go ask me to balance my checkbook, see what response you get), had to work themselves out naturally, through time, through circumstances beyond my control. I'm not over some of it yet, and obviously this past couple of years has helped in some way, but not in others. You keep having those memories of difficult times that flash into your head when you're sitting at your desk at work, and you have to lock them back up in the filing cabinet, saying "That's the past, I can do nothing about it." It is best to think of the future, or of the present, of things you have control over. The complexities of my mother's death, those are hard to deal with, even with the obviousness of it all, looking back. But I can't do anything about any of that now, because I'm not a time traveller, nor would I want to if I could. I have to learn from my experiences and continue my journey, now here in Dallas. I've made decisions which I think will help me out in the future. I also think that I have still other decisions I must make (weight, health, diet...etc.) which I will make in time (some of which is a direct result of the Prozac and the depression side effects). But for now, I will go to work, and sit in on the conference call slated for today, and figure out how to get Dr. Pepper stocked into our coolers (cause, you know, it's Dr. Pepper!!), and I will come home and read and make snarky remarks on Facebook, and Martin will tell people not to encourage me, which is quite all right, it wouldn't be him if he didn't. I'll continue down this road, and whatever I'm supposed to do with my life (which I'm sure writing these blogs are a part of it) will present itself, as it always has. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; padding: 0px;">
<br style="font-size: 13px;" /></div>
<object height="315" style="clear: right; float: right;" width="560"><param name="movie" value="//www.youtube.com/v/yKNUsbTvD94?version=3&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param>
<embed src="//www.youtube.com/v/yKNUsbTvD94?version=3&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="560" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-78844334567948205452014-10-19T09:39:00.000-07:002014-10-19T09:52:40.181-07:00Dreaming of Reality TV I dreamt I was at a college dinner, one of those that they might serve to get everyone acquainted with the college at an orientation. I was sitting at a table with all these other people, most of which were very odd, and there were television cameras all over the place, above and in the corners. It was perfectly normal, except, I knew that the people I sat with had various psychological disorders, ones that would not get along well without medicine...etc... After a time I left the room and found myself in a large television studio, a place with large "habitats" where people were going about their daily lives, except with cameras everywhere. Sorta like <u>The Truman Show</u>, except this one had an odd twist to it. The characters in these stories were picked from mental institutions, facilities, along with normal people, all in an attempt to make a Reality TV show where the people in the situations were just a little more odd than normal, and watch the madness unfold. <br />
<br />
I remember while I was working at Borders, that we had a running joke (at least, my coworkers did prior to me working there), that we were unwittingly a part of a Japanese Reality TV show called <u>Happy Booktime Go!</u>, where the strange customers and the strange employees interacted and provided hilarity for the viewers. It made sense, as some of our customers were indeed very strange.<br />
<br />
But in my dream, they had more control over the people. People were taken from one scenario to another, their memories wiped and replaced with alternative ones to match the theme. Those that were boring or lost ratings were eliminated... as I saw people with machine guns around, for that purpose. It was built into the show as a terror plot, or a bank robbery, or something like that. <br />
<br />
Yes, it was a strange dream, one that I had prior to waking up, which is when I have the strange ones I remember, right before I wake up totally, coming out of the final sleep cycle. It got me to thinking though. All our television shows, whether they're actually called "Reality TV" or not, are similar to this. People watch <u>Gotham</u> or <u>Modern Family</u>, and they are just interactions between very odd people, some that deal in gruesome murders, some not. Some have outrageous violence and sex, some don't. Some make commentaries on society using stereotypes (which may be true or contrived), and some are just made to humiliate people. I don't honestly think that Chris Rocker is going to become any more loved after his stint on <u>Survivor</u> than what he was before. He is societies' Joker, made up to be laughed at and scorned, to make everyone feel a little better. We are better than him, at least. Push your scarecrows over, and feel better about our lives. I mean, we all lead lives that may or may not be difficult, but we can all be assured that the side show mentality of the television shows will pick people who are living much worse lives than we are, and it makes us feel good. <br />
<br />
So why not pick those people out of the crazy farms, the looney bins, the Mental Hospitals, and put them in a place where they can entertain the rest of us. There are enough of them, even in the smallest towns, that we would never run out of stooges to laugh at. So what if they like running down the street naked with a lamp shade on their head... that's funny!! At least we're not like that!<br />
<br />
It can easily go that way, you know. The normal life is no longer appreciated. Those that live comfortable lives want to see the way others live, so we can laugh at them and scorn their ways. We watch <u>Hoarders</u> or <u>16 and Pregnant</u> and feel badly for them, even as we laugh at their misfortunes. And we turn the TV off (if indeed it ever goes off) and feel better about ourselves. It's either that, or take medicine, and the other way is cheaper, and more fun. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<object height="315" style="float: right; margin-left: 10px;" width="420"><param name="movie" value="//www.youtube.com/v/Ua-4MQcG0-Q?version=3&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param>
<embed src="//www.youtube.com/v/Ua-4MQcG0-Q?version=3&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="420" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I haven't watched much television since moving to Dallas, except for Football on weekends, and even then, I could listen to it on the radio just as well. I love the Simon & Garfunkel line from "The Only Living Boy in New York," "I get the news I need on the weather report." It's what I worry about the most, if I got rid of television and cable and everything all together. I wouldn't have that outlet for looking at storms as they come in. Sure, I can use the radio and the radar on the Internet which I can read as well as any meteorologist can, but the reassurance of the TV Weather Guy is something that has been coded into me since I was a wee child watching Gary England on CBS in Oklahoma City. So I think I'm going to dump cable, keep the Internet, and then hopefully by the Spring, I'll have an antenna strong enough to pick up the channels on the south side of Dallas (all the towers are in Cedar Hill, and Downtown Dallas is between me and them). Until then, I'm going to unplug this thing and use it for computer games and other escapes from reality.</div>
</div>
</div>
<br />
I have no problem escaping from reality, but I want to do it without making fun of other people. I would rather do it with books, Audio or otherwise, and put the images in my head, instead of on my screen. Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-57514200639853596082014-10-10T19:27:00.000-07:002014-10-10T19:33:11.677-07:00Road Trip! You Can't Go Home Again......but you can try. I had a prior business arrangement in Oklahoma City, and so I hopped in my Blazer and made a weekend out of returning to the city of my birth. The saying "You can't go home again" isn't exactly true. You can, but both "you" and "home" have changed. The minutes and miles have passed, time's erosion has done its damage. But instead of waxing metaphoric about the roads traveled, let's put the pavement under foot and experience it ourselves.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5pLmgEkRdYGNYtHXFG9hYeejj_EP9Wu5vgTYR2xzRWrU5VhoA6epLJZkGjr3T-lG49YzktHP90uQBridse_jyu8rV5sjOPa2NTrAaJ3Q4dA-_c3D_DZUutQQ6IwC4W08KnuQpTY5qblU/s1600/capture_08102014_201241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5pLmgEkRdYGNYtHXFG9hYeejj_EP9Wu5vgTYR2xzRWrU5VhoA6epLJZkGjr3T-lG49YzktHP90uQBridse_jyu8rV5sjOPa2NTrAaJ3Q4dA-_c3D_DZUutQQ6IwC4W08KnuQpTY5qblU/s1600/capture_08102014_201241.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Crossing the Red River, which has been shrunk to a small creek with the years long drought here, I was amazed to gaze not upon the "Welcome To Oklahoma" sign that I was expecting, but a <i>huge</i> sign, purple and gold, with a large arch, announcing to the world that a marvelous casino was just a few stops down the road. I can only imagine a thousand years from now, when archaeologists explore the society of the Native people of this great land, they will find piles of poker chips and alcohol bottles. It drives me crazy to think that the only way they can make a living is through building of casinos based on loopholes through the separate nation status that the Native Americans enjoy. And no doubt that the owners of these places aren't "Indians" at all, but outsiders who are using the loophole to their greatest advantage. So you come across the abominations, a casino shaped like all the monuments of the Western World... not the world that should reflect their own heritage... ridiculous...</div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1AjVLetk0G-bFKlxMtSsmHfljkBMmQk0lIrQfUDMrKCgUdUFyGbH0B6-YbX2HOWP_rL5yOQHBFnMVIBKmhHp0rnT4DzOoW_ow6U-5Fff0-cEImwVLUjLfw9VzmANBgzOqlm9Cc1ff8M/s1600/capture_08102014_205049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1AjVLetk0G-bFKlxMtSsmHfljkBMmQk0lIrQfUDMrKCgUdUFyGbH0B6-YbX2HOWP_rL5yOQHBFnMVIBKmhHp0rnT4DzOoW_ow6U-5Fff0-cEImwVLUjLfw9VzmANBgzOqlm9Cc1ff8M/s1600/capture_08102014_205049.jpg" height="176" width="320" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
The area from Ardmore to Sulphur is peaked with slabs of Granite, Limestone, Shale, giant rocks with plateaus that stick out over the Interstate. What I wouldn't give to stand upon those peaks and look out over the plains, to see for miles, with the Oklahoma wind blowing and the dry heat of the summer. It would be certainly glorious! And beyond those slabs of rock is Turner Falls, which I've never been to, but from the pictures I've seen of the waterfalls and the river valleys, it is someplace I will certainly explore when the weather turns back warm, the Good Lord willing...</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Driving through the town of Davis (past the new Choctaw Casino....), I see the same little town I remember from the 80's. Sooner's Foods is still where it was, with the darkened isles and the stubborn tenacity to remain in business while Walmarts spring up throughout the area. And the small shack where we bought firecrackers to set off at the Lake House is still there, still advertising its wares. There's the turn-off to the Lake House (now cornered by a McDonald's and a Walmart), and past the Chickashaw Heritage Center, a place where they have stored how they used to live so that it won't be lost in neon lights, rounding the corners where mobile homes, A-frame Houses, and people that have lived there for decades still live, still sitting on their front porches and listening to the cicadas in the trees and the wasps building a nest in the corner of the porch. That's the Oklahoma I remember, taking myself forward on the road and backward through time. I turn off onto the gravel road that turns to the lakehouse, past the bumps and the hills, but there are new road signs, and Hilltop Road is actually what we called Rock Drive (<a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2009/10/days-at-arbuckle-lake.html" target="_blank">and that's what it's named on Google Earth, see my prior blog about the discovery</a>), and I drive to the end of the road... to find the gate closed and the grass growing high. It woudn't surprise me if the bank owned now, from whatever people bought the house after my Grandmother sold it. The road was the same, and although I was different, it felt good to find my way to one of my homes. <br />
<br />
Drove down to the end of the road to the Lake of the Arbuckles, and found that the drought had hurt the lake something fierce. The buoy that signified "No Boats" was so close to "shore" I could have walked out and touched it. It's funny, because I remember that buoy being so far out in the middle of the lake, I could never have swum out to it. But something tells me it's not the drought that made it look odd. The lake may have grown smaller, but I've grown bigger, and those distances aren't so far anymore. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFwVeArLAMNjOEIF9BSooLlHCeWU0NuOO_cEWkL7rboa93nhXd25aLV2RpihdmVtG_kgoA9VDu0bIGsrVU_Hae8orZ3UExRfC7Fskcb1vEsYaowHGCGmjonDpfqOGZLZrFwut-YFGDWmo/s1600/capture_08102014_210839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFwVeArLAMNjOEIF9BSooLlHCeWU0NuOO_cEWkL7rboa93nhXd25aLV2RpihdmVtG_kgoA9VDu0bIGsrVU_Hae8orZ3UExRfC7Fskcb1vEsYaowHGCGmjonDpfqOGZLZrFwut-YFGDWmo/s1600/capture_08102014_210839.jpg" height="233" width="400" /></a>Pulling into Oklahoma City, the old knowledge of the roads took over, and it would be impossible to get lost. I asked my mother where every road in town went, and I knew it by heart. Having time prior to my meetings, I drove out to Westbury, where I used to live. The outlet malls along I-40 and Rockwell look just as bad as the casinos, but at least they tried to approximate the teepees and other colors of the Native Americans. The truck stops had grown larger, a sign of prosperity (the outlet mall had sold all of it's shops well before it was even made, and three additions later, it's still full) in the Grand Old State. The houses and roads of neighborhoods newer than anything I knew of (I last was here in 2005) grew up like the grass in the fields, spreading out for miles. And there is the neighborhood I lived in, the street, the house.... and it looks good! Someone has repainted it and it still looks as I remembered it. I drove to both my grandparent's houses as well, and they looked okay, both sold long ago and now have new tenants. It's good to take a dip into the past. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXN03hNIXStGYbNySc9QhkQKnNen9r_o7r8DZRa0JXjXojGnbYHjgES8xwFFhL5FFpU7CpclNrd6u3s2HesJkDgfxp3kkUzTfaV4_PKRaKkJcPSwmRizMeUOrq0gXJGouaJWFk9ZJAvg/s1600/IMG_20140927_152727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXN03hNIXStGYbNySc9QhkQKnNen9r_o7r8DZRa0JXjXojGnbYHjgES8xwFFhL5FFpU7CpclNrd6u3s2HesJkDgfxp3kkUzTfaV4_PKRaKkJcPSwmRizMeUOrq0gXJGouaJWFk9ZJAvg/s1600/IMG_20140927_152727.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I sat upon the bench in front of Mustang Valley Elementary School and called those who I wanted to meet, and while some were out of town, others were there and available. Mustang Valley look exactly the same... except they paved over the playground to make a parking lot (cue Joni Mitchell) , and the new playground is plastic and safe and looks like the things they are supposed to represent. We made the rocket ship into such a place, and the Spider, and the gigantic Teeter-Totters that I'm sure would have spawned lawsuits today... but it used to be my playground (<a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2011/02/this-used-to-be-my-playground.html" target="_blank">see prior blog for that, as well</a>).</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
I went to visit my mother's friends who agreed to let me stay the night, and we went to BJ's Brewhouse and I had some wonderful Balsamic Glazed Chicken with White Cheddar Mashed Potatoes. I also went to see the Granddaughter of Robert Orbach, my grandmother's boss. I found, while cleaning out my house, a scrapbook of all of the goings on of Orbach's Department Store, along with the writings he did on his own Printing Press. I brought the scrapbook to them, as I felt it would the only place on Earth it would be appreciated. I was so right on this, as they had lost a lot of Mr. Orbach's writings in a house fire a couple of years ago. It made me feel good to bring them home.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4BIOTE9A4F99gtlJW-r-QBqkUZZoCADshKgWaX39h-iXKvBDc3LesMuWwB8JYOo20Reo2tKY5fS-6c_w53doBy9_KWlOLU_RsDRjFeGDoGFoNoZ8IN8sFkt8rHHK4nijeJmjwwf4i6E/s1600/IMG_20140928_132504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4BIOTE9A4F99gtlJW-r-QBqkUZZoCADshKgWaX39h-iXKvBDc3LesMuWwB8JYOo20Reo2tKY5fS-6c_w53doBy9_KWlOLU_RsDRjFeGDoGFoNoZ8IN8sFkt8rHHK4nijeJmjwwf4i6E/s1600/IMG_20140928_132504.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One other thing I did was to drive to the east side of Oklahoma City and visit the Omniplex (okay, yes, it's now called Science Museum Oklahoma, but to me, it will always be the Omniplex). It was like reliving my childhood. Some things had changed, some were the same as I'd always known it. The balls that rode along their prospective tracks have been doing it for as long as I remember. I stood there watching it for quite a bit, as it was, if nothing else in that city, the idea that, in a world where change is inevitable, there are always those points of constancy. It made me feel good. I missed the pendulum, slowly swinging with the power of the Earth's Rotation, and the Geodesic Dome Playset (which probably was taken away when someone got hurt and wanted to sue...). The Earthquake display was still there, showing that same movie with actors with 80's clothes. The planetarium did their daily show, and I went into the darkened room with the night sky projected on the domed ceiling and relaxed.... until a family with 8 kids came in and sat behind me... all with attention spans of 30 seconds. Last time I'd been there, the guy doing the show probably hadn't even been born. It was a perfect ending to my trip, my look back into my past. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
There's a certain confidence I found there, to see everything that had changed, mutated (the casinos and outlet malls), and grown up all around the city. And so had I. I could now drive anywhere I wanted, go anywhere, and I had the ability to do it. I brought things home, even as I had come home, to a certain extent. But in the end, I drove back to Dallas, to my apartment, to my job, and to my home. And I'll go back... there's so many people I didn't get to see, places (like the OKC Bombing Memorial and Bricktown) that I want to visit, but there will always be time for that. Just 3 hours north. A short jaunt, as the hawk flies. <br />
<br />
<br />Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-52788660220747568922014-10-05T10:43:00.000-07:002014-10-05T21:49:15.571-07:00The Great SleepersI wrote this about my dad, being one of the few memories I have of him, of the house in Oklahoma City. The fan was high on the vaulted ceiling, and woe be it to whoever let a balloon go in that room. The light would shine in from the patio doors and the windows and reflect off the dust (and smoke) in the air. It was usually quiet on Sundays, when a football game wasn't on. And when it was.... <br />
<br />
This poem, in whatever form I submitted it, won the 1999 AWP (Associated Writers Press) Intro Award and was published in the Mid-American Review.<br />
<br />
The Great Sleepers<br />
<br />
Sunday afternoons, the ceiling fan<br />
whispers as it turns around--<br />
around<br />
A chair squeaks, an ancient squeak,<br />
the contemplative creak of a sleeping lord.<br />
<br />
He sleeps in that chair,<br />
old, rustic and blue, the way<br />
Caesar on his throne watched<br />
gladiators battle, and genuflect,<br />
saying "<i>Morturi te salutamus,</i>"<br />
so does this king, owner of all he sees,<br />
snoozes through the Cowboys beating the Bears,<br />
or maybe dreams<br />
of when his dad sat on the couch<br />
eating donuts, smoking cigars.<br />
<br />
The rulers of this world, look at them.<br />
They sit in their ancestral halls like old kings<br />
overlooking tiny empires. And then sleep.<br />
Even Charlemagne had blue slippers,<br />
lying on the floor.Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-2275908875579716062014-09-30T08:35:00.000-07:002014-09-30T08:37:56.644-07:00The Pursuit of Happiness<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheRKt13gDi_nXGvJf36I3XZ9L6L6xt_SMN4QbR8m0sjVBZML59CS33QcuOMlv7x-xA-gwwR9u4JJdg92Jp8CfD6QrSD7LjwQzeHxL_MhHSADW8hSz-DZWz1ndHwJZxNzZ9ubIlzDu2bd8/s1600/IMG_20140920_171913.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheRKt13gDi_nXGvJf36I3XZ9L6L6xt_SMN4QbR8m0sjVBZML59CS33QcuOMlv7x-xA-gwwR9u4JJdg92Jp8CfD6QrSD7LjwQzeHxL_MhHSADW8hSz-DZWz1ndHwJZxNzZ9ubIlzDu2bd8/s1600/IMG_20140920_171913.jpg" height="312" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Hiking down the Champion Trail, completing what would look like a large snake on Google Earth, I looked over to the left of me, and the wind created waves on the lake where Farmers Branch and Elm Fork Trinity River meet. Across the lake were large buildings, office buildings with the well known brands displayed proudly upon the apex of the structure. To the right of me, a neighborhood of spacious, well built houses around park lands and canals and sidewalks. People rode bicycles or tended plants near the trail, and it all seemed peaceful and calm. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zIAThK_o29UxuojF80zZ3UeYUYSQrzJahMbXNGpQyTyL_8tHQ3GPQyS5BcIst-h4X1miz9ZcsujqtWrY0FVDrxDlj_ih399ojk7smSiyYhVmsYsYqY1cfVDV0DK1TLQs-tNw4i2i4lM/s1600/capture_20092014_185645.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zIAThK_o29UxuojF80zZ3UeYUYSQrzJahMbXNGpQyTyL_8tHQ3GPQyS5BcIst-h4X1miz9ZcsujqtWrY0FVDrxDlj_ih399ojk7smSiyYhVmsYsYqY1cfVDV0DK1TLQs-tNw4i2i4lM/s1600/capture_20092014_185645.jpg" height="243" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I wondered, "Is this Happiness?" Of course it is, the realization of an American Dream, a house, a job, a considerable amount of security, the ability, probably, to go wherever you want. Now that's freedom. "But," I asked, "I'm happy. Does all this make them any more happy with their lives?" I have an apartment, and it's not big, nor do I have the elegant openness of the houses I saw, nor the office in a large, glass-filled building where, at my leisure, I can look out over the parks and the lake and the canals and see my house. But I have a job that I am happy with and grateful for. What makes my happiness different from theirs? </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RPFXB1Y4Tg4KoQi_CDFa-5zNGqWmzuCY2U3SOE9fCFE5ViuTKri3JES_7sNSjb0O51HrJX69VdYyJYdTxxVkq8w3p8M3aL2EQTRx8rFes2pWS4oVf8H0fPCPwhlkmpLAAQRRZFlwmo8/s1600/IMG_20140920_173740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RPFXB1Y4Tg4KoQi_CDFa-5zNGqWmzuCY2U3SOE9fCFE5ViuTKri3JES_7sNSjb0O51HrJX69VdYyJYdTxxVkq8w3p8M3aL2EQTRx8rFes2pWS4oVf8H0fPCPwhlkmpLAAQRRZFlwmo8/s1600/IMG_20140920_173740.jpg" height="246" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I remember back in Georgia, as I have <a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2009/01/there-are-eureka-moments-in-your-life.html" target="_blank">talked about many times</a>, that my stepdad drove an ice cream truck around the poorer neighborhoods of Rockdale County. We actually sold more ice cream to the children in the trailer parks than in the affluent neighborhoods. The people watching their large televisions or playing whatever console was out at the time would not have bothered with the ringing bells of the rickety old van when they could get ice cream out of their own freezers. But in those small streets that wound their way through the mobile homes, the ice cream truck distributed not only ice cream, but happiness. They ate sugary goodness, then continued to play outside. I never once saw those children unhappy. For while I'm sure they were aware of those places where rich people lived, where they were was home for them. It was their world, and the things they had were good. I will not pretend to think that it was all roses and lollipops for them, either. I'm sure some had parents that were abusive, or drank, or worked all night to provide a roof over their shoulders. I'm sure they came home tired and had no time for their children. But so, too, are the people who live in the opulent homes. They could be abusive, or drink, or spend too much time at work, not able to see their kids. The conditions in which they live might be different, but often, the emotions around them are the same. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, back to my own situation, yes, I am happy. I thought about it further, and realized that the ability to be happy in this country is the main reason why so many people come here, legally or otherwise. And that's a rather common thing to say... you hear it on the radio and the television all the time. But I don't think that people really know what that means. To people who live in those houses, to them, why would people cross a river with nothing but what they could carry just to come here? I mean, poverty (as we define it) is here as it is elsewhere? The difference being that here, there is the <i>opportunity</i> for happiness. It's an old argument, one that goes back to the Declaration of Independence. "Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness." The argument from the free market </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilySLONFOyU5fLdKWW8w8NZ9KEiyHJ-OR1-K2_jQj3irm5OF0JKhtYGAk58bRtj-RL-jADXk85sVe-hpcnoffuHvgTIEPPHEUwbUZo4BILr5oNSCmNjF7UR5x6yaz3xcsIIb84p8WnSz8/s1600/IMG_20140906_135209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilySLONFOyU5fLdKWW8w8NZ9KEiyHJ-OR1-K2_jQj3irm5OF0JKhtYGAk58bRtj-RL-jADXk85sVe-hpcnoffuHvgTIEPPHEUwbUZo4BILr5oNSCmNjF7UR5x6yaz3xcsIIb84p8WnSz8/s1600/IMG_20140906_135209.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail underneath I-635. Dallas loves their bridges!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
world is that our government provides for the opportunity for happiness, not necessarily that you will achieve it. Honestly, happiness is relatively easy to achieve here, with a job, and the basic needs of survival met, the rest is the pursuit of being happy, comfortable with your life. Any external force that interferes with this should be dealt with by the Federal Government. I will admit that this is a little more liberal of a stance than what I would normally take, but every citizen should be afforded the "opportunity" to pursue happiness. According to Maslow, this cannot happen until the basic needs of human survival are met. Shelter, Warmth, Food. I think this is ample justification for the programs that welfare extend to those people who might not have it otherwise. And this is something that is taken advantage of and used for political gains, undoubtedly. I do not agree with the extent that these programs are used, but that they are absolutely necessary, I will stand by and defend. I would even go so far as to agree with the need for basic health care, the basics that keep us all healthy and able to pursue our goals. Again, this is not to say that everyone should be taken care of completely for their entire lives, as we have had thrust upon us, but for children and those who cannot afford it, it's absolutely necessary. </div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-3NnFlpN7SS4PWIF1Q7QSS0vpxux7VgAeK26XqOBHcp9GmY3zB0crMmAfLX5uEIE0Og1i-jFju8tC6NBX3n9ZdCB3IG-WhuohpOoqiGaVRbI8eMnqviuEtWDmWgatfKNDspUMZSCdg74/s1600/IMG_20140901_152247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-3NnFlpN7SS4PWIF1Q7QSS0vpxux7VgAeK26XqOBHcp9GmY3zB0crMmAfLX5uEIE0Og1i-jFju8tC6NBX3n9ZdCB3IG-WhuohpOoqiGaVRbI8eMnqviuEtWDmWgatfKNDspUMZSCdg74/s1600/IMG_20140901_152247.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have digressed some, but that's okay. My main thought was that I am just as happy living my life right now as the people living in those houses and working in those buildings. I know I've had a lot of stressful things that have happened to me (my Cousin who is a psychologist pointed out that of the list of the most stressful things that can happen to a person, I've had most of them happen to me in the past couple of years). I think I've come <a href="http://denzilpugh.blogspot.com/2014/05/through-fire-eulogy.html" target="_blank">through the fire</a> , with Help, of course, very nicely, and that, with that same Help, I can overcome any obstacles in my way. The journey that I'm on, one that, in the end, will result in my independence, in my "growing up" as it were (you know that's not going to happen fully, but a little maturing wouldn't hurt), is just starting. The one lesson that a lot of people need to learn is that looking up at the houses on the hill, or the towers of offices and the opulent stores that sell temporary satisfaction, all these things are just that, temporary, and there's little of that which is different from what I already have. What ultimately improves that happiness is what I do with it. From the people I meet to the things that I do, that will provide happiness, not the material objects I have around me. Again, this sounds like a common theme, realized over and over again in sit-coms and cartoons, but it's the truth, and is something that is so hard to realize. Not when every window out in the world broadcasts what you don't have, and how wonderfully happy those people are that <i>do</i> have it. It's not the "haves" and "have nots," but the "lives" and the "lives not." I would rather live, and be happy, in my small abode, than toil and strain, simply to get more of what is out there, and not be happy at all. As Candide said, I am happy simply "tending my garden." That is what I intend to do. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-49084191426641788712014-09-17T20:09:00.000-07:002014-09-17T20:09:32.833-07:00Roadrunners, The Galleria, and Global Warming...In other words, it's time for a "things that bug me!" post. That's right, once again I find things that irritate the fire out of me, and I let you know what they are! Aren't you excited? I knew you would be. And this episode is the special Texas edition. <br />
<br />
In the last episode, I talked about my Blessed Flyswatter. You know, the one I can't find in all my boxes and shelves because I. Don't. Need. It. Here. Either the Arts at Midtown Apartments have amazing pest control specialists (and they probably do. I've seen a cricket, and a couple of little bugs inside my apartment, and absolutely nothing outside. In fact, the whole time I've been here (a month now), I've seen exactly one cockroach (but more on that in a minute). We have two stray cats on the premises, or at least, I think they're strays, probably belong to someone around here. I've seen no stray dogs. In a huge city like Dallas. I saw a skunk once, while I was driving home from the college. Never seen one of those before. <br />
<br />
The reason I bring this up is that in Texas, as you know, everything is bigger (and that's a stereotype with loads of truth in it). In Texas it's what eats the cockroaches that is a pest. I need to send these things over to Georgia... they'd have an absolute feast! Thing is, I don't know what they're called. but they're everywhere. Birds. About the size of blackbirds, but they don't fly, and are brown-ish. They have their mouths open constantly (mainly because it's probably 110 degrees near the pavement), and they make insanely loud squawking sounds. I call them roadrunners, not because they are, but because the run on the road. They sweep the streets clean of bugs, leftover food, anything they can devour. Even the bugs off of cars. And they're not scared of you at all. They stand on the sidewalk and watch you pass, about like the buzzards do in Georgia. And they're everywhere! I guess it's a mixed blessing, to have no bugs, but lots of large birds around. (after some looking, I think they're called "Great-Tailed Grackles," and from the description that wikipedia gives them, it makes sense. A pack of Grackles is called an "annoyance." It says they're not afraid of humans and make loud, raucous sounds. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhriixyirOkiw915IGqSg4oClXqP7WkWG17LhdvOSIp8pFvIP9OqITahoxyXfYpxbFpuh_1HVRhalpkVn3fkSR9QMbYF2-suPpJXWNVOD0AkuJQu43axEwJOzuYmQYv4XNYrfTfnD_bqpA/s1600/Grackle-Great-tailed-female.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhriixyirOkiw915IGqSg4oClXqP7WkWG17LhdvOSIp8pFvIP9OqITahoxyXfYpxbFpuh_1HVRhalpkVn3fkSR9QMbYF2-suPpJXWNVOD0AkuJQu43axEwJOzuYmQYv4XNYrfTfnD_bqpA/s1600/Grackle-Great-tailed-female.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
***<br />
Couple weekends ago I took a two minute trip west to the Galleria Mall, the opulent center of human decadence located conveniently right next to my apartment. I even dressed up to go in, thinking it would be better than shorts and a t-shirt. Four floors, with the bottom being an ice rink and food court, and the other floors ascending as they decreased in price. On the main floor is Nordstroms, <br />
along with alternating shops that sell the finest of women's clothing and purse/handbags stores. Fine jewelry, watches, accessories for the latest Apple products... all of which is totally worthless to me. The one store I was delighted to find was one owned by Papryus. Borders carried a line of Papryus products, and I was glad to find such great greeting cards within such a short distance of my house. I would definitely go back to that store for birthday cards and, of course, for amazingly sparkly wrapping paper. :) <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIy9p6jpccGRDTkKCjSNF2BemsXMvKF1vC7gN5WV9GBTbQ0oqeZyae7Dnpbvg-ZMsYQqr-oixQMqdYF0UkgffPuFiDXaSSUe0umDlHy_v1ibV7lnICw3eTrg3c0iXN4Tlo2hIcSsPzIew/s1600/2645491972_a1e9e019bd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIy9p6jpccGRDTkKCjSNF2BemsXMvKF1vC7gN5WV9GBTbQ0oqeZyae7Dnpbvg-ZMsYQqr-oixQMqdYF0UkgffPuFiDXaSSUe0umDlHy_v1ibV7lnICw3eTrg3c0iXN4Tlo2hIcSsPzIew/s1600/2645491972_a1e9e019bd.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a><br />
The upper floor is where the normal mall stores are: Spencer's, Hot Topic, Subway. Packed within this area are all the people who, like me, couldn't afford the lower floors but <i>have</i> to buy something while at the Galleria Mall so they could say they did it. I declined that opportunity, at least for now, and I do understand the attraction for seeing how the rich spend their money. However, I feel much more at home at the Valley View Center on the other side of my street, or even at the Thrift Shops over on Harry Hines, where, amongst the loud Spanish Pop songs and screaming children and toys all over the floor, I found some great Jeans for $4.00 a piece, ones that I can wear when it gets cold around here (which I hope never happens.)<br />
***<br />
<br />
One thing I have loved here in Dallas is the 100 degree temperatures. With relatively lower humidity than the saunas that are prevalent in Georgia. I walk outside and feel the warm (to hot), crisp, air, and it warms the muscles, the skin, relaxes it. It's amazing that such a ball of fire as the Sun, 8 light-minutes away from Earth, can generate that much heat. It reminds me of my now long gone Large Dangerous Space Heater which I loved so very much. Without the humidity, you sweat more here, but it evaporates, keeps you cooler when the Dallas winds go sweeping down the plains (oh, wrong state). And every single person I know would think I was the craziest person on the face of the planet for liking warm temperatures... I mean, it's getting hotter, isn't it? We're going to bake in an oven of our own making? Global War... I mean, Climate Change... is going to do irreparable harm, and the only way we can fix it is to let the Government tax, regulate, and force us to be kinder to our environment. After all, they know best, don't they???<br />
<br />
Truthfully, do I think that we have had something to do with affecting the overall climate of the Earth? Probably. I don't know what that is, as I have little proof and even fewer reasons to go looking for that proof. But... do I want the Government to control everything that I do, consume, and waste, all in the name of protecting Mother Earth? Of course not!! I will leave my lights on if I want, and sleep with icicles hanging off my feet if I so choose. And I will pay for that in the electricity bill that I get each month (which, in Georgia, was in the summer around $350).<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdlajPB6wPoPtCGvfS5bZlbkubwzYGTFpFZ7IRwaFr_d87MzYGD51FBR_elPKHWsFAYhruB08T72Hk1sQcemKrY0dQ1iR_CtnQ33T-wIlqoWuKbX0hRCki11EkcC1zbnMBkYmfuaEnus/s1600/climate+change.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdlajPB6wPoPtCGvfS5bZlbkubwzYGTFpFZ7IRwaFr_d87MzYGD51FBR_elPKHWsFAYhruB08T72Hk1sQcemKrY0dQ1iR_CtnQ33T-wIlqoWuKbX0hRCki11EkcC1zbnMBkYmfuaEnus/s1600/climate+change.jpg" /></a>I say all this because the college that my bookstore serves is requiring every student in the school to read <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Global-Weirdness-Relentless-Drought-Weather/dp/0307743365" target="_blank">Global Weirdness</a>, and wanting every professor, whether it's an English or History or Science or Math professor to use it in some way. And I can see how it can work, I took Environmental Algebra at GC&SU, and made an A in the course. It was very enjoyable. I only hope that in those classes, they are providing the students with a balanced look at the issue, showing evidence that, perhaps the world isn't going to bake in an oven as quickly or as dangerously as they think. They could easily show how climate change oscillates from one century to the next, cooling and warming, and depending on forces like El Niño, climate is changed more by natural phenomenon than the things we are doing.<br />
<br />
<br />
The main reason I couldn't care less about the whole Environmental movement is that sometimes the real goals are cloaked in the humanitarian mission of saving the planet. Control, Power, Money...and the people who are ambitious for them, can easily use the Evironment as a tool to gain them. And besides, let's be honest about our reasons for doing things. Do I want to go back to incandescent light bulbs? Heck no... I had to change them every two weeks in fixtures that were impossible to undo. Put an LED in there, save money, save time, and I can be lazy and not have to change it for years. That's environmentalism for you. If the college turns off the AC in a building because they are trying to "conserve" and be "green" about things, that's a load of compost. They do it to save money. And that's fine. Just tell us that you're saving money, and not because of some altruistic sense of duty toward this rock we live on. I'd do a lot of things to help the environment (and I've seen the many things that liter, light pollution, noise pollution, water pollution (the rivers in Dallas are Green), do to our world, and I don't like it. But that's not enough for me. Give me an incentive to take that extra step. Saving money, or saving time, or letting me be just a little bit more lazy when I don't have to unscrew that light bulb. That's all I want. And that's the true answer to that riddle.... "As few as possible." And while we're at it, let's go shop online and not have to worry about spending electricity and other utilities to power that thing to my east. What savings that would create! We pick and choose, when it suits us. Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-68201099045882290262014-08-30T18:18:00.000-07:002014-08-30T18:18:37.476-07:00Valley View and Pan Pipes<br />
I recently took a 2 minute drive east and took a leisurely walk around Valley View Center. It's a mall, much like the Macon Mall in Georgia, or Crossroads mall in Oklahoma City, which, in the prime of its existence, was the most attractive shopping destination in Dallas. But bigger and better things are built. Superhighways of goods flow across the Internet, and towers of glass and steel rise above the horizon, leaving the flat shopping paradise behind. They have a web site dedicated just to those slabs of granite, <a href="http://www.deadmalls.com/"> Deadmalls,</a>, that paint in detail the dying world of shopping malls. But where people see crime infested corners and empty shops, bringing poverty and depression, I see a world filled with potential. Perhaps those in this part of the world do, too. For what is now inside Valley View Center is worth the notice of any traveler to Dallas.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Upon entering, you see that the shops are indeed closed. Go on a Sunday, like I did, and the entire mall is basically empty. But the few signs of life are vibrant, colorful. A church gathers in one small shop and sings patriotic hymns, praying for our nation. An artist works in his shop, preparing paintings for the next week. The lights from the dance studio are on, thought no one is inside, and the lady on the second floor selling fake Peruvian jewelry has Incan Pan Flute music playing, and it echoes throughout the empty hallways.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIm3zRwWysxfJgNxoKrOX_3wvz6JuT3wROfT4nhDixoe5MeJxDn1prkXUteU0qfzuAeUvqfGJrN_iOfESM1vtl0iivKBi0fmPjUJ5_6AYdUL5GMsLkSZqvGvcqYEI-zgGN2KTA6zEl2-Q/s1600/gallery-at-midtown-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIm3zRwWysxfJgNxoKrOX_3wvz6JuT3wROfT4nhDixoe5MeJxDn1prkXUteU0qfzuAeUvqfGJrN_iOfESM1vtl0iivKBi0fmPjUJ5_6AYdUL5GMsLkSZqvGvcqYEI-zgGN2KTA6zEl2-Q/s1600/gallery-at-midtown-2.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a>Upstairs, the mall has been turned into an art gallery, each framed and ready to sell, for the right price. It's here that my dad would have felt right at home. He was a sprinkler engineer, and designed pipe layouts for skyscrapers like the Peachtree Tower in Atlanta, and the giant glass greenhouse and Arboretum in Oklahoma City. In his mind, the steel beams ran through the walls, across floors and elevators, and in those urban landscapes, I'm sure he saw the construction of those buildings in his mind. Why not see the ideal structures erected inside your mind while the real ones, imperfect maybe, slowly assemble up from the rock and the noise of the construction crew. He would have seen these paintings, of urban landscapes such as those of Ozz Franca, a Brazilian painter who drew abstract landscapes of towers and bridges (as well as Native American portraits), and he would have loved them. The fantasy works that might as well have illustrated the covers of his science fiction novels, the geometric designs filled with color and depth... these are the things he would have loved. I hung (or will hang) the ones my dad had in their bedroom in my living room. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU9bMT2cjS9_QYcchiGxBY4sOH8M5Bou-D-uapw7VasddEamhtI6uxFXDH97yndMMEtWicf7zaAOa6y8YIbmA1OfXiBw1-dh_MN10LYie1w4YCVtjEWj4z_gGmJ91RO54PPu82Ir7V-70/s1600/Ozz_Franca_Naechtlicher_Hafen_Harbour_At_Night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU9bMT2cjS9_QYcchiGxBY4sOH8M5Bou-D-uapw7VasddEamhtI6uxFXDH97yndMMEtWicf7zaAOa6y8YIbmA1OfXiBw1-dh_MN10LYie1w4YCVtjEWj4z_gGmJ91RO54PPu82Ir7V-70/s1600/Ozz_Franca_Naechtlicher_Hafen_Harbour_At_Night.jpg" height="249" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I know that James (a co-worker from Borders) would have loved the gigantic space to work and create art and sell it to the world. The idea is amazing, that the owners of this mall could turn it into a service based center for arts and movement, the tactile creations when we move our bodies and create. They have a boxing ring there, for lessons, and a place for martial arts. There are soothing spas for the masseuse who has learned to press stress from the body. And all the while, the music of the pan pipes play, and the colors from the murals dance. There is no other place, except the dirt trails that meander through the forests, where I could be utterly at peace. It's evident that the Hispanic culture has influenced the culture around here, but also that of Japan and China, and that of America. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOf3Y7SjM-yQoO9-p1n1gHnasub6FiyBEO3tXBoydAXahIcQ-dtW4ySdRc4WtZgIITWaSHRAJzJ0vplytkdiuXY2CsbETLyMbvEgcTQqiqdJmH9bB2aGLUjWOCgExICpLdJWmTtmouBc/s1600/franca_25333_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOf3Y7SjM-yQoO9-p1n1gHnasub6FiyBEO3tXBoydAXahIcQ-dtW4ySdRc4WtZgIITWaSHRAJzJ0vplytkdiuXY2CsbETLyMbvEgcTQqiqdJmH9bB2aGLUjWOCgExICpLdJWmTtmouBc/s1600/franca_25333_2.jpg" height="320" width="189" /></a></div>
As I left, I found a Western shop, where cowboy hats could be bought, and boots, and jeans. All symbols of the Nostalgic American West. It is a part of this country, just as the Mexican culture and the Japanese culture are as well. We think of Hispanics and we immediately think of those who would cross over the Rio Grande, smuggling drugs and bringing their crime-ridden pasts with them. But remember that also, they bring with them a vibrant culture of food (which I'm sure I'll sample much of), art, music, and a hard work ethic. Let's not throw the amazing things humans can do out with the vices and flaws that we all have. I'm not saying we should just give everyone amnesty (in fact, I have no real solution to the problems facing our country today). Perhaps, though, if we went inside this center of beauty in the middle of Dallas, and saw the colors of paint dipped onto easels, and heard the melodies of the Incan Pan Pipes, maybe some thoughts would come to us. It's worth a try. </div>
Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2611246600506031692.post-89037055427603705832014-08-22T20:51:00.001-07:002014-08-22T20:51:57.179-07:00Letter from the Apartment <br />
Silly morning rains... I was sitting in a chair next to the pool in the apartment complex where I live now. Dallas, Texas. I was waiting for my laundry to finish, and it was so peaceful that I thought, "This is a perfect place to write blogs." So I went back to my bedroom and got my AlphaSmart 3000, which is a cordless typewriter with a usb plug, and I started walking back to the pool when it started sprinkling. Looks like it's stopped now...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object height="315" width="560"><param name="movie" value="//www.youtube.com/v/_bOHQQfh5R8?hl=en_US&version=3&rel=0"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param>
<embed src="//www.youtube.com/v/_bOHQQfh5R8?hl=en_US&version=3&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="560" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<br />
Now, back by the pool. I was reading a book, as well, and I didn't want the pages to get wet. I've said before that reading a book is much like taking a dip in this pool in front of me. You can only stay underwater for so long, then you have to come up for air. Same thing with books. For me, I can only read for so long, then I have to come up to reality for a time, to breathe, to relaign myself with this world and place.<br />
<br />
I think the same thing goes with television series as well. I haven't hooked up the cable or Internet yet, so I've been watching seasons of Star Trek DS9 while unpacking boxes and the like. I remember thinking, as I drifted off to sleep that night that, there was no need for my brother to send the things I had forgotten in Georgia, that he could just beam them over. Problem was, I'm not in the 24th century, nor have transporters been invented yet. A shame, it would have made moving much simpler. Of course, if that economy was here, now, I wouldn't have this job. Textbooks would be on tablets (more so than they are now... as life imitates fiction), and there would be no need to buy them. I can't help but think that the world of the Federation, with the technological breakthroughs that they would have, the whole idea of Capitalism would fall by the wayside. I know that some references are made to credits and rations when it came to Transporter usage and trade with other races... but the society would work on a service base, not one of marketing goods and materials. Only what you could make yourself through your own skills would be marketable through some kid of market. Like Cisko's father's restaraunt in New Orleans, for instance. But I've digressed. I'm sure enough theses have been written on the economy of Rodenberry's world that I have nothing to add.<br />
<br />
Like I said, I haven't had Internet at my apartment since I moved in, and while that will change in couple of weeks, I've not had a place to work on blogs, save for the Subway next to the bookstore, which has a row of computers. It's been a pain, but, no major withdrawls, since I can access it from time to time. <br />
<br />
Dallas' summers are dry (except for the occassional summer storms which, when it rains, forms a private lake outside my apartment. I'm sure if a Tropical system ever parks over Texas like Alberto did in Georgia in 94, I would have flooding issues. But for now, I wont worry about it. The hot summers are tempered by low humidity and a nice breeze that keeps 100 degrees not feeling so bad. It would be unbearable in the humid, muggy, Georgia climate. <br />
<br />
***<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhndJwdFif4zV8iWB73_bWxZttqSJ4eX_agKqFfG_MJjhunhYcWfgONpL2W6_lznyEscIHWsrcZWtSI1M83hgq7LIICbJgq2CauCdBRMt_QfSSxY8sz8JHY4wP5MN3cCWrxxNMW2tp7PYQ/s1600/pool1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhndJwdFif4zV8iWB73_bWxZttqSJ4eX_agKqFfG_MJjhunhYcWfgONpL2W6_lznyEscIHWsrcZWtSI1M83hgq7LIICbJgq2CauCdBRMt_QfSSxY8sz8JHY4wP5MN3cCWrxxNMW2tp7PYQ/s1600/pool1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My apt. is underneath the left chimney in front of the<br />building on the left side. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm very satisfied with the apartment complex I've moved into. The Arts At Midtown right next to the Galleria Mall. Very quiet, great security, I feel at peace here. Moving into an apartment, however, teaches you certain things. Living by myself, I didn't realize that there's no reason to have 50 cups or three sets of silverware (which was too heavy for the board shelf it was on, and came crashing down inside the cupboard one afternoon). I use the dishwasher (I have a dishwasher!!) and clean the same three plates and the same two or three cups and silverware that I use every three or so days. So unless I have a large gathering (not going to happen...), all these dishes will remain stashed away. I think laundry room ettiquite is not practiced in most places. In a laundry room with 10 washers (and 4 are out of order) and 8 dryers, it's not necessary to bring 6 loads of laundry to do all at once. Do a couple a day, or whatever, and let more people clean their clothes. I only have three loads total, and so I've done two on Sunday, and I'll do the other tomorrow. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEr6fwyqiGTcM2VJ9mrmCcEdTzqdldEwND7-oeJ1OrMfiLd1aKMwTYgbVVBb-ZDoP6Hijm7j_ews-1HnMOJEvp70XVPaSr_HPPugWvIYKse2rS1Dhu5BQjcxqhxvDHkhvVM-iHav2cqs/s1600/BHC_map_Aug09color.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEr6fwyqiGTcM2VJ9mrmCcEdTzqdldEwND7-oeJ1OrMfiLd1aKMwTYgbVVBb-ZDoP6Hijm7j_ews-1HnMOJEvp70XVPaSr_HPPugWvIYKse2rS1Dhu5BQjcxqhxvDHkhvVM-iHav2cqs/s1600/BHC_map_Aug09color.gif" height="408" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm in building S.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
All the things I talked about several years ago about the way a town should be built is realized here in North Dallas. Apartments, houses, all right next to shopping centers, parks, colleges, and offices, all so that you never have to drive more than 10 minutes to work. Assuming that I never drove out of the area around me, I could easily fill my tank up every two or three weeks, and that would be sufficient for my needs. Or, I could walk, or tke the DART bus. But with the amount of gas I save just by being right here, I doubt it would be necessary. I could walk about 10 minutes and get to a Target, Burger King, Macdonalds, two shopping malls, quite a few other restaurants, and probably a bank, if I wanted to switch. Not to mention the parks around where I work, with miles of trails. This is the way a town was supposed to be constructed.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Yeah, I know, no big philosophical musings in this blog, just the act of living my life in a new place, and being on my own to do it. Perhaps just surviving is the greatest happiness we could have, and no lofty ideals should ever climb above that. I keep thinking back to Voltaire's <u>Candide</u>, where his answer to the best of all possible worlds is simply to live in a house and till one's gardens. I don't have any gardens to till, but I know it's a metaphoric garden. My little spot in this world is my garden, and I shall nuture it and watch it grow.Denzil Pughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17545765853762072166noreply@blogger.com0