Morally, Is One Innocent Life Worth More Than Another?

It's very clear that in the secular world lives have different values. Try running over a neurosurgeon and a WalMart greeter and you'll quickly learn the difference. This is to be expected...if I recall, even the Bible carries instructions on making financial restitution for the loss of a life.

But, in the moral world, where we talk in hard to gauge terms such as "justice," and "fairness," how do we value lives?

The reason I ask this question is because now, at this moment, innocent lives are being lost in Afghanistan and Pakistan...and still so, but to a lesser degree, in Iraq.

Specifically, one of our Predators (flown from Florida, or California by a pilot/technician who, after work, can go surfing) takes out a house harboring Taliban and, in the process, kills ten other people, many of whom are children.

Certainly, in such cases, our representative makes financial payments to the family of the slain innocents. This much we know.

But, is this enough? Have we made restitution?

Some would say that Pakistan is a war zone, and, as such, contains innocent people who are sometimes inadvertently killed. I can buy that argument, IF we flip the coin and address the statement I've heard that says that our war on terror knows no borders and, thus, includes our own houses. Would we send a missile into a house holding known Taliban (or other extremist groups) if innocent people were there, too? (Our most recent action of using deadly force in a situation somewhat analogous to the house in Pakistan was when we stormed the Branch Dividians in Waco, with subsequent horrendous loss of life.)

But, now, at this moment, would we bomb a house here where even the slightest prospect of taking the lives of children existed?

Then why do we do so in Pakistan?

Mind you, I'm not saying we shouldn't try to root out the Taliban, which is infamous in its treatment of those who disagree with its interpretation of Islam. I am positing, though, that we ask the question I have posed: Is the life of an innocent person in Pakistan (or Iraq, or Afghanistan, or Somalia, or Mexico) worth less than the life of an innocent in U.S. of A?

We HAVE to ask this question; we HAVE to answer NO to this question; and only THEN can we find true justification for the loss of innocent lives in other places (if such justification can, indeed, be found).

Perhaps we don't ask this question for the same reason we don't ask other questions: we don't want to have to answer it with what we really feel.

Mike S.

Top Ten Reasons to Have Sex Tonight!

The above was the subject line in an email (spam, no doubt) I received.

I'm thinking: Stupid people! I'm a man. I don't need a REASON...all I need is a WILLING PARTNER!

Mike S.

Men Do Stupid Things

As if we all didn't know that!



I, myself, have a long list of "Stupid Things I've Done."

The earliest I can remember, and perhaps the one that could have ended all future possible idiotic acts, was sitting out behind the garage and wrapping a rope around my neck. Not that really tight, mind you. No particular reason...I was just foolin' around. (The "foolin' around" must be coded onto a certain gene in men; if you have too much of this chemical combination, Darwin's Laws will see to it that the error is corrected.)

Soon, my head began to swell and my neck tighten as the deep arteries pushed blood into my head that could not return via the closer-to-the-surface veins. (Does this remind you of how a certain kind of sex toy works?)

Well, anyway, panic ensued, and I fought to maintain control as I began quickly to unwrap the rope. The trouble was, I had used a really long rope...something like ten or more feet long...and it was taking just too damn long to get the coils off my neck.

Would I manage to take it all off before I passed out and, presumably, died?

Folks, it was close...very close. I remember passing the rope around and over my head, switching it between hands as fast as my little becoming numb fingers would go. My vision faded, each heartbeat pounded behind my beginning-to-protrude eyeballs, and my head felt as though it was going to explode.

Even as I struggled to save my stupid life, my mind was divided into the present and corporeal world (don't panic don't panic don't panic...work faster work faster work faster) and the more reflective, philosophical world (as this it? is this how I die? I hated the thought of my mother and father thinking that I had done this on purpose!)

Finally, just when the world before my eyes went red then black, I slipped the last loop off my neck and fresh air rushed into my lungs. I would have fallen to my knees, but I found that I had already done so.

The joy of living--a feeling so sweet and refreshing that, almost fifty years later, it recalls itself to me whenever I stand on a cliff or am on the edge of a thunderstorm and am washed by clean air--suffused througout every cell in my body. I was alive.

I never told this to anyone. Until now.

Mike Sledge

(Picture source unknown...)

Would Somebody Please Give Me a Break!

This pool



came with this warning

The Main Problem in Establishing A Nation-State in Iraq

The main problem is evident, but not so obvious: it is the difficulty in realigning loyalties given to a gens, phratry, or clan to a new holder of authority, an entity based not on family but on location.

Media sources carried the statement that when the Al-Qaeda member Al Zarqawi was on the move, trying to elude US forces, the first question he would ask when going into a new location was (to paraphrase), "What is the tribe?"

This makes total sense, because power rested not in the hands of any provincial government, but in those of tribal leaders, sheiks. The tribes were composed of clans, which were composed of houses, which were composed of extended families.

Those of us in the United States who have difficulty grasping why matters are so chaotic in Iraq simply do not understand and fail to grasp the strength of ancient social organizations. (Now, since we have more information coming our way about Afghanistan, we will see the same problem, but on several orders of magnitude greater. And, a thorough knowledge of ethnology will be required in order to have any chance of success in that "graveyard of empires.")

That a repository of power should be based on blood is, if we think about it, understandable. Anyone who has seen Braveheart has an idea of the strength of allegiance to blood rather than to a remote and amorphous "state." A not too distant example of the strength of tribes as the norm for societal group boundaries can be found by considering how Native American tribes of North America were organized into tribes, that were groups of extended families.

But, we can also look closer to our times for examples of filial loyalty. For one, I would posit that if you go to any rural area of the US, you will find the bonds of loyalty following more ancient rather than contemporary channels: who is your father/brother carries more weight than who is your representative or senator. And, consider Bush I and Bush II...and, possibly, Bush III? The hands working the levers of power bear a strong family resemblance and are an atavistic reflection that which has ruled for many thousands of years.

Interesting, our notion of ruling authority as seen in current governmental structures is based a patriarchal form of power lineage. (This is not surprising, considering the Glass Ceiling and other impediments to women achieving parity in the workforce.) There is much evidence that, in much earlier times, lineage was traced through the mother. Again, this should not be too surprising, as evidenced by a saying in rural parts of Louisiana, "Mama's baby, Daddy's maybe." Why, when, and how did societies move from a matriarchal basis of lineage to that of patriarchal?

I would submit that this change, gradual though it was, came about once humans were able to create wealth that could be acquired, stored, transported, and passed down. The germ for this change lies in the establishment of sustained agriculture. Richard Manning's article, The Oil We Eat, is an excellent treatise which gives a very good account of how packets of energy (read that as packets of carbohydrates...grain, rice) eventually led not only to the creation of wealth but also to the creation of a widely spread group of social classes. Once man could grow his wealth, he realized he could grow even more by employing others.

But here's the rub...once man could acquire wealth, he had a chance to achieve immortality by passing this wealth (legacy) on to his heirs. Thus, the creation of harems, polygamist marriages, and other institutions in which men controlled women in an attempt to increase their chances of knowing who their offspring were. (Recall again that sage Louisiana adage.)

Thus, to get back to the premise of this blog, we won't be able to adequately address the issues facing us in wars of theology where geographical boundaries do not matter (as they did, indeed, in WWI and WWII) as much as ethnological/societal beliefs/practices. We must think in terms of "they" (them, all of them) think, and realize that a solution will not come in a nice little ribbon-tied package. And, interestingly, a side-benefit of such outside the box thinking might be that we might come to a better understanding of our own gender/power issues.

Mike Sledge

Lucky...My Very Own Economic Stimulus Plan

To heck with the Obama stimulus package...I've got Lucky, my 15-something-month-old lab/pit bull mix who claimed me as his own last December when the economy was tanking. Because of him, I've contributed a "comma figure" to the local economy.

Let's see...initial vet bill $400
Emergency bill to get a cow neck bone off his jaw $120
Ear mites (Lucky had been a stray) $100
One pair of cycling shorts $125
Many books he found he had a taste for $120
Another pair or cycling shorts $140
Second vet bill $100
Much food and treats (estimated) $400
Pair of shoes $ 80
An adult trike so I can run him in the hood $250
Pair of sunglasses $550
Pair of clear glasses $450

Get the picture? This is, by no means, the full tally of what the little sweetheart has cost.

But, like children, we try to reconcile matters of the wallet and the heart, with the heart often winning any toss-up. Just look at him...how can you NOT love a cute little boy like this?

Thankfully, Lucky is growing out of puppyhood and his little transgressions are quickly forgiven. And, the economy shows signs of reviving, so it can do just fine without my personal contribution to the common good.

And, finally, I can always console myself that Lucky will never get a DUI or wreck the car!

Mike Sledge

Good Tasting Medicine?

I went to pick up some medicine today, and this was the sign I saw in the pharmacy window.

WHAT?

No Way!

Medicine is supposed to taste bad...for at least two reasons.

The first is obvious: little kiddos are known for prying in places where they shouldn't, and, because of our genetic survivial of the fittest traits, they tend to taste unknown food/substances before eating. So, if the little miscreants get hold of mommy's and daddy's get happy pills, a bitter taste would prevent them from shooting them down the pipe.

The second reason for bad tasting medicine has to do with tradition: what would happen to the saying "Take your medicine" if the medicine tasted good? What would have happened to the delightful scenes in the movies when the parent threatened the kids with castor oil when they complained of a stomach ache to stay out of school? How much less poignanat would the scene have been if the little fakers said, "WHOO HOO, it's MEDICINE TIME!" instead of, "Oh, NO, please not the castor oil. I'm better. Really I am! I'm ready to go to school."

Also, we're not supposed to want to take medicine. After all, it's MEDICINE! You're not supposed to like the debt restructuring plan your bank gave you, but you do it because you know it's good for you and you want to get it over with.

Perish the thought of good tasting medicine. It just doesn't tase right.

Mike Sledge

Beware The Man With Garden Tools In His Hands

My philosophy, when it comes to yard work, is "Why should I pay somebody to do a lousy job when I can do the same for nothing?"

Actually, that's not quite true: I will gladly pay someone to do the mowing and edging. (I did that enough for $$ when I was growing up...and this was BEFORE the days of warnings pasted on mowers that said, "Do not use as a hedge trimmer.") I, though, insist on screwing up the flowerbed work myself.

The irony is that I bought my house, in part, because of the very nice flowerbeds. But what do I do? I let my dog dig in them, lie down in them, and otherwise invariably let all kinds of Cichorium intybus, Iva axillaris, and Amsinckia intermedia establish themselves, only to wrest them from the soil with a set of tools.

Now, so I'm digging away, leaving a trail of herbaceous corpses behind me in front of the flowerbed. (I never clean up the dead until after they've withered so much that I decide, "Hey, let the lawn guy chop them up!")

And, I'm doing a great job of uprooting these really tall leafy things that are embedded among my lillies. Or, irises? Or whatever.

Anyway, I've got a nice pile of these weedy-looking things in the yard and a neighbor walks by and says, "Hey, if you're going to throw away all those flowering bulbs, can I have them?"

(I was wondering why the roots of the "bulbs" were so different from those of the other "weeds.")

So, I replant them all.

Then I remember...I had done this same thing last year.

Mike Sledge

Viva Viagra?

First, a disclaimer: I am not nor have I ever been a member of blue pill party.

Second, a corollary to the disclaimer: Should I ever need to, I will have no qualms about plunking down $$ for the lil' pepper-upper!

Now, come on, you creative marketing geniuses, you...is this the best you can do for an erectile dysfunction ad?

I mean, WTF? Do you think I'm gonna set around with a bunch of buddies and sing about getting a boner? Give me a break. (Having said that, I would much prefer men to sit around singing about an ed product than slaughtering rhinos in Africa for their prized horns with, supposedly, aphrodisiac qualities.)

Now, a really good song about older men and their loss of virility is Buddy Guy's Done Got Old.
(The song is on the right hand side of the screen.) (One line is priceless: "I cain't love like I used to.")

Just think...a really creative ad group would run Buddy Guy's song and then advertise handguns with the voice-over, "Men, have you done got old? Lost your hearing? Can't get it up? Well, Smith & Wesson has the answer for you!"

Now that's the kind of advertising I would consider original.

Mike S.

Capt. Phillips is Rescued, but Limbaugh & Hannity Are Still Afloat

Thankfully, the courageous Captain Richard Phillips is on his way home, but Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity are still on their way to the moon...or somewhere else where hypoxia must have affected their thinking.

Even while President Obama has praised Captain Phillips, moving the spotlight off of himself and to the leader who put himself at risk so his men would be safe, our conservative, talk show hosts (let's be clear here...Limbaugh and Hannity are not astute policy wonks...they are talkers who will do most anything to increase their listener base) have spent hours making themselves look like whiny, snot-nosed, little boys who didn't make the team and who are now running around trying to make those who did look bad.

The only ones they're making look bad, is themselves. Let's face it...Phillips is back safe and sound, and as the result of the use of force, something that both talkers had said our President would fail to employ.

Certainly, President Obama, as others, would have preferred to resolve the matter without shedding blood, but such was not the case.

The funny thing is that people I know, in days prior to the crisis coming to a head, said that we should take out the pirates. Now that we have done so, under Presidential orders, these same people are saying, "So what...the President is supposed to use force if necessary."

WTF? Do they even hear themselves? Or, are their ears and minds too clogged with the afternoon-dribble from our two major talkers?

Instead of blowing off so much vitriol about President Obama, how about they spend their time expressing their thanks and gratitude that Capt. Phillips is coming home...in one piece and alive, not in a body bag.

Mike Sledge

Marijuana Kills!

LOL! Yeah, haven't we all seen the film Reefer Madness?

Lately, the anti-marijuana ads have gotten a little more, well, hip.

However, both of these films miss the point, because whether grass is a gateway drug or a harmless pasttime, and whether it should be illegal or treated just the same as alcohol are all academic exercises or merely simply excuses to continue current behavior because, save for medical purposes in a few places, marijuana is illegal and, as such, the use of it promotes criminal behavior. (Note: I said "criminal" behavior not "deviant" behavior and not "shiftless" behavior.)

With Sec. of State Clinton, now and for the first time I am aware of, shouldering part of the blame for the criminal insurgent activity in Mexico, one of our sister countries, we see that we are, indeed, our brother's keeper and our desire for illegal drugs has spawned a spree of killing on a scale that greatly exceeds even that of the days of Prohibition.

It is important to note that not all of the killings are "bad on bad." Honest policemen, journalists, judges, and politicians have been brutally murdered, sometimes in front of their families.

Illegal drugs are, in many ways, a commodity. They will be supplied at whatever cost the traffic will bear. Sadly, this cost comes not only in the loss of lives and law and order south of the border, it is increasingly clear that it will also carry a greater human cost in our own country. The last, that we will suffer the results of our demand for illegal drugs, does not supercede the first, the pain and misery to our neighbor.

I'm sure there are those who will say, "Hey! MY grass comes from California. I'M not contributing to the killing. However, again, it is clear that the drug cartels are also shouldering their way onto our native soil in areas of production, as well as distribution.

There are others who will say that there is no need for them to put down their favorite vehicle of escape because there are far worse drugs coming across the border and that we need to deal with those serious drugs first. They are absolutely right...in that there are far worse drugs. They are wrong in that there is no need for them to change. If they can justify their behavior with an illegal, non-addictive drug, how can they expect others who are actually addicted to more serious drugs to quit.

I'm no prude. I know, personally, the pleasurable effects of marijuana, having experimented with it many, many years ago. However, my break with it came because I work up one morning, way before the making of the movie Traffic and other films in which the world behind-the-scenes of drugs was illuminated, with an epiphany that my money spent for my fun fostered evilness.

Ultimately, especially during the moment of a relaxing, completely enjoyable, shared high, a look around the circle of close acquaintances tells you how happy you are for such company. At that same moment, in another place of the world not far away, there are those who look around their circle of teary-eyed friends and they are thankful for their support during the mourning for their dead son, father, brother, cousin who lost his life while trying to maintain some sense of law and order in a world gone crazy.

Push for all the legislation you wish to legalize marijuana, but in the meantime think of John Donne, whose message in MEDITATION XVII I shall rephrase to say...any man's loss is our loss.

Mike Sledge

Advice to the Younger Woman

OK, I'm an old hat. I admit it...been around long enough to have stains and bends in my brim. And, of course, women have aged along with me.

At this point in our lives, the effects of sun exposure on are becoming very apparent. We're talking breakdown of collagen, wrinkles, spots, blemishes, other markings.

Beautiful skin, sadly, even begins to look like leather...and not the expensive supple of calfskin gloves. Rather, we're talking old work gloves that have lain out in the sun and are now hard and lined with crevasses. For them, it's too late.

I won't go into the litany of skin cancers and such that are so common with overexposure: these risks are known to all. Instead, I want to speak straight to two issues: Vanity, and the "I'll never get old" fallacy.

First, yes, a tan DOES look good. Somehow we've become indoctrinated to feel this way. However, we have a BRAIN that is supposed to work. LOL...no, it doesn't work all the time, does it? Like, "OHMIGOD, I can't believe I did X with him! I MUST have been DRUNK!"

Second, yes, you WILL get older. Or die. You must try, as hard as it is, to imagine yourself 40 or 50 or older. (Trust me, older women are sexy...BUT NOT if they look like this:



So, girls and young ladies, lie out in the sun all you want, but use the screen that protects against ALL UV. Get a tan now and then if you must, but please, please, please try to think ahead and protect your natural beauty.

Or, you can end up with your skin looking like this:



Mike Sledge


Photo licenses at: http://creativecommons.org/licenses

Book Review of The Shack ...Traditional Christianity Cross Dressing

SPOILER ALERT! THIS POST WILL REVEAL KEY ASPECTS OF THIS BOOK.


The Shack by William P. Young has made it to the bestseller list. After reading it, I wonder "Why?" and I answer myself with, "Ah, yes, I see!"

This book (it doesn't even rise to the level of a "novel" even by romance novel standards) is, in essence, a syncretic blend of Traditional Christianity, New Age Spiritualism, and World Spiritualism. However, let there be little doubt that the New Age/World Spirituality aspects are but the spices in a meat-and-potatoes stew of the typical Christian views of God, humankind, and how the roles of the two interact.

As I read it, I was struck with the parallel between it and the theme of how fundamentalist Christians have used the Intelligent Design Theory as a back door method of introducing Creationism into a science classroom. For more on Intelligent Design Crossdressing, go to
http://www.harpers.org/archive/2005/12/0080852

There is a distinction, though, between the proponents of introducing Intelligent Design into the classroom (former President Bush was one) and Author Young: that is, Young is not trying to push an agenda...he is simply a writer who has penned what I would call an "inspirational fictional Christian memoir." It should do well in a Christian Bookstore. That it appears on the Bestseller list is, to say the least, disturbing.

However, let's talk about the book.

In The Shack, a man loses a young daughter to a serial child killer. Her body is not found. (Not initially, that is.) The father and another daughter who feels responsible for Missy's disappearance and death are saddled with guilt over the loss. The father is also afflicted with The Great Sadness.

The father, Mackenzie (Mack), gets a mysterious non-postmarked letter in his mailbox that tells him to go to "the shack", the place where his daughter was murdered. Upon his initial arrival, Mack grieves while viewing the bloodstains on the wood floor and contemplates suicide. Then, predictably, he falls into a slumber. He soon, presumably, awakens, feeling forsaken, "I'm done, God...I can't do this anymore. I'm tired of trying to find you in all of this." Mack goes to leave the shack, but on his trek back to his vehicle the cold winter is suddenly replaced with a "sudden rush of warm air", "The chirping of a songbird" and so on. (You get the picture, right?)

He turns back to the shack and finds that it has been transformed into a beautiful cottage on the lake. He returns to it and, inside, finds God in all three manifestations: The Father, The Son, and The Holy Ghost. But, God is personified as a black woman, presumably to overturn a White God Male stereotype that Mack holds. (Do I need to continue?)



Anyway, Mack walks and talks with God in all three forms. As he does, he learns the meaning of man's control over his destiny, God's role as one who sees and knows but refuses to intervene in daily details (oh, that is interesting...then why did God come to Mack?), and the futility of man's trying to live without God. Ultimately, Mack meets his daughter Missy in the other-world (Heaven?) and knows that she is fine. God assures Mack that throughout her abduction and murder that Missy was never alone.

And--now here's the crossdressing part--Father/Son/Holy Ghost assure Mack that there is not one road to them, but that they will travel all roads to those who believe. Oh, yes, Jesus (he's a carpenter by the way) insists that he is not a Christian.

Eventually, Mack is cured of The Great Sadness and given the choice of staying with the Holy Trinity or returning to the world. Since his wife and children, especially Kate, the daughter who feels responsible for the tragedy, need him, Mack decides to return. On the way back home, he is in a terrible car accident.

Mack is in a coma, from which it takes days to awaken...and it is weeks before he is out of the hospital. Mack learns that the car accident occurred on a Friday, the day he left home for the shack, and not several days later as time had transpired while he was in the presence of the Trinity.

During his recovery, Mack tells Kate that she is not responsbile for Missy's death. Apparently, Mack's verbalization is the first time it occurred to anyone to talk to Kate about her burden...it was "...a secret."

After his release from the hospital, Mack leads the police to the place where Missy's body has been secluded this whole time. The police obtain enough evidence to find the bodies of the other murdered girls and arrest the killer.

End Of Story.

Of course, I'm leaving out the parts where Mack walked across the surface of the lake (possible only if Jesus was by his side), where the Holy Spirit manifestation was nebulous, a-shimmer with lights, how Mack had trouble seeing the Trinity through the radianting brilliance of light...how God said that his/her handing down of the Ten Commandments was not to show how to lead a good life, but that all were doomed unless they had God. (Think "Original Sin").




Now, don't get me wrong. This book was on the Bestseller list. Is that scary? To me it is. Am I cynical? Well, let's just say that I am highly spiritual and I try to be as literate as possible. That such a story (it IS a cute story) can sneak out of the Christian Bookstore and into the general market should tell me something. I need to pay attention to what that says, just as the Conservatives need to pay attention to why there was such an overwhelming move toward Obama in the last election: to reword, "I don't understand it but I need to pay attention to this."

Mike Sledge

The Dover Ban - Why Everyone Still Gets It Wrong

Recently, Defense Secretary Robert Gates announced that the ban on media presence at the return of “transfer cases” containing the remains of US service personnel who have died overseas would be lifted. I offer my sincere appreciation for this proposed change in policy.

However, after studying the proposal (and the objections of groups such as Military Families United), I can’t help but be struck by how much misinformation exists about the return of our Soldier Dead.

First, “coffins” (as generally reported) are not coming back to the US. A coffin infers that the deceased is already identified and prepared for burial. Rather, the “transfer cases” containing the remains are nothing more than big ice chests.



(The picture of these transfer cases was taken by the author at the U.S. Army Morgue in Baghdad, Iraq)


Second, once the as yet not officially identified remains are received at Dover, they go through a meticulous identification process in a state-of-the-art facility that is the envy of the rest of the world. Military deaths are often a messy affair, and dedicated men and women work diligently to assure that each and every body part is associated with the appropriate service person who has given his or her life.

AFTER the remains are officially identified (Dr. Craig Mallak, Chief Medical Examiner for the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology, has stated that remains only have a tentative identification when they arrive at Dover), they are prepared for burial, which includes a full military dress uniform and the casket of the family’s choice.

What this means is that, at the time of arrival in the U.S., these fallen soldiers are the country’s unnamed emissaries who carry the nation’s sword and shield. As such, they belong to the country as a whole, not just to a particular family.

Therefore, to say that we leave the decision to the family about whether or not to have media present at the return of the dead gives a decision to a group that does not yet have an official claim on the dead.

Certainly, it doesn’t take much prescience to understand that, if we have a single death in Afghanistan AND a day later a plane shows up carrying these remains, it would be possible to say with confidence that a certain transfer case does, indeed, carry the remains of someone whose identity is clearly known.

And, if this fallen soldier’s family wants privacy from the beginning to the end, then there could be a potential conflict in satisfying this request.

To try to resolve any actual or potential conflicts in any situation, especially one in which the issues are subtle yet deep-rooted, it is necessary to have a thorough grasp of the theoretical basis of such issues.

In this case, that of allowing media presence at the repatriation of our Soldier Dead, it all boils down to the question: “To whom do the dead belong?”

I assert that the dead belong to both the family and to those they serve. This means that, until the dead receive formal identification and are officially handed over to the Next of Kin, they belong to each and every citizen of the United States, for it is on our behalf that they gave their lives.

As such, there will be those of us who agree that these men and women died for a worthy cause, and there will be those who disagree with this premise. Undoubtedly, some of those who disagree may attempt to use the formal recognition of the receipt of our dead to convey their disagreement.

And, undoubtedly, there will be those who agree with our call to arms who will, in their own way, use the receipt of our dead to support their position.

Dissension and the employment of images of our war dead for one reason or another is inevitable, and should be looked upon as a peculiar feature of our process for displaying and resolving conflict. It is part of our heritage and, as such, should not be squelched.

In conclusion, there is no pleasing everyone, but I would dare say that, while some families may feel that they have lost control of how their loved ones are portrayed, many more families will be comforted by the embrace of many millions who, heretofore, have been “banned” their chance to both offer and receive comfort.

Michael Sledge
author of Soldier Dead: How We Recover, Identify, Bury, and Honor Our Military Fallen
www.mikesledge.com

Kindle 2 - What Sleek Beast Slouches Toward Store Shelves?

I did it. I bought a Kindle 2. Yes, a battle has raged within and a victor has emerged. But, the battle between the electronic book and the paper book models of providing printed text to the reader is really only a side show to what Kindle 2 represents.

First, a quick review on Kindle. Kindle is Amazon's foray into the electronic book business. You order a sleek, light device that holds up to 1,500 books. (You can also download magazines and newspapers.) Its screen uses state-of-the-art "electronic ink" that is energized to show up much as liquid ink does. The readibility is marvelous.

You can order a book either through Amazon on through Kindle itself. The book is then, magically, sent to your Kindle through "Whispernet", which is Kindle's Sprint phone wireless service.

I won't go into all the features that Kindle provides in searching, marking, and noting, but I will say that such features, including the dictionary, are a great aid to readers/researchers.

It is the use of the Whispernet where Kindle's real power lies. It won't be long before you can Google Search on Kindle, or, better yet for Amazon, pull up Amazon's site and order from it...that is, order items other than books!

Undoubtedly, you will also soon be able to buy an accessory keyboard and, thus, obviate the need to lug your laptop around for quick trips to the coffeeshop.

Kindle has the potential to reach far beyond the providing of books and newspapers. It represents a potentiality to provide the "information user" with a new tool that will supplant one or more (how long before you can "talk" on Kindle as though it were a cellphone?) of your electronic devices.

The King is dead...long live the King.

Mike Sledge

Nerd’s Revenge – Gaston in Beauty and the Beast

Or: Oh, The Power In The Hands Of Those Wielding The Pen

Recently, while baby-sitting one of my granddaughters, I watched Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. We all have seen it more than once and are quite familiar with the tale, but this time I was really caught up with the fun the writer(s) must have had when doing Gaston, the thick-headed, dull-witted, egotistical, narcissistic, and bicep-bound bully who insisted on marrying Belle, despite her obvious objections.

Why did Gaston want Belle, when he could have had any of the other “bimbettes” in the film in a moment’s notice? Because she was “the best” and didn’t Gaston “…deserve the best?”

There was never a worse mismatch: Gaston loved to hunt, Belle loved the animals; Gaston hated reading (“How can you read this? There’s no pictures!”) LOL!

And imagine Belle’s disgust when Gaston described how she could look forward to fulfilling her dream by marrying him, bearing him many “…strapping boys…like me!” and could dote on him, massaging his feet (his toes sticking through holes in the socks, mind you!). I’m sure sex with him would have been a mutually satisfying experience, an image that the writers at that time could only intimate.

Yes, the scriptwriters missed little. One can only imagine them thinking, “How can I make this guy more of a jerk?” One can also only imagine that the writers had had sand kicked in their face at the beach, or had taken note of who dated whom in high school and college back in the days when “men were men”.

Of course, a Gaston can’t exist without an adoring crowd of inadequate men willing to pump up the ego of their hero so they can live vicariously through his exploits. As Gaston is the “paragon” of strength, the fawning Lefou is the epitome of a member of the support system such a mindless brute requires. During one scene, in which Gaston’s minions cheer him up after an ignoble rejection by Belle, Lefou says, “Gaston is the best and the rest is all drips!”

The writers, of course, know how the game is played, and have both Gaston and Lefou intone, “No one plots like Gaston, takes cheap shots like Gaston.”

One could say that Gaston does have a redeeming moment at the end when he exhorts the Beast to fight him, but his challenge is really an empty one for two reasons: 1) the Beast is clearly dejected, and 2) Gaston knows that he will be extolled as sone worthy of extending his gene pool if he fights a worthy opponent.

However, Gaston’s veneered request for a good fight is peeled away when he stabs the Beast in the back.

Yes, the Disney writers certainly had a great deal of fun, undoubtedly drawing upon their own and shared experiences with men of muscle, and those around these pillars of brawn.

Mike Sledge

Shot To Death - Twice

You can never tell when you will learn something new. Yesterday, our local news anchor was reporting on a tragic post-Valentine's Day murder/suicide. She said, "...[the woman] was shot dead...twice."

I'm going, like, Oh, this is interesting...the victim was either a vampire or a zombie: dead once, came to life again (so to speak) and then killed again.



http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5/


The murderer, after killing his girlfriend twice then turned the gun on himself. I guess that, now dead, he can come back to life and then be tried for murder.

Which begs the question: Which killing of his girlfriend would he be tried for? The first or the second? Could he be tried twice? Probably not, given double jeopardy law.

At least, if given the death penalty, he would be executed only once since, after all, he had already taken his own life once.

But, if politicians, actors, and even A-Rod can resurrect themselves from a celebrity death (usually death by stupidity) I guess it's not too much to expect a physical resurrection of ordinary folks.

Of course, what I'd really love to see is a resurrection of command of the English language.

Mike Sledge

I Know Where Fat Comes From

I have no doubt that this year’s Nobel Prize in medicine will go to some significant advancement in treating adult hypertension that comes from raising children. Likewise, an eminent scientist who has determined why you only get flat tires in the rain will receive the physics award.

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5/

Eventually, though, I feel that all due recognition will be given to my interdisciplinary discovery concerning fat: I have discovered where fat comes from.

This discovery, which I have named the “Unified Fat Theory” or “UFT”* for short, states that: “Fat cannot be created nor destroyed.”

Like all important theories, the UFT was postulated from observation. I noticed that when I reached 35, all of a sudden this extra inch was hung around my middle. Since I had not changed any eating or exercise habits, this fat had to come from some place.

Upon talking with my wife, I found out that the same had happened to her, and to my friends, and to her friends. Since they, too, had made no major life style change, then this fat had its origins elsewhere.

From this basic Unified Fat Theory concerning the stability of fat in the universe, there are several corollaries. First, since fat cannot be created nor destroyed, yet we all gain and lose weight, then it follows that fat only moves to and from a “fat bank” into which lost fat is deposited and from which fat is withdrawn, and that the books must always balance.

For instance, when you reach a certain age, there is an automatic draft upon that fat bank with a corresponding deposit to your account (hips, legs, stomach). After you age, or lose weight through disease, the fat is redeposited to this bank.

Second, fat does not have to be deposited directly to that account. It can, instead, be transferred from one person to another.

Third, the likelihood of fat being deposited to your account from another person who is losing weight is directly related to your proximity to that someone. If you take an office of five women, one of whom decides to go on a diet, woe to the other four, because they are bound to gain what the dieter loses.

Fourth, fat attracts fat. Once you start gaining some extra pounds, you are likely to gain even more.

Lastly, up to a certain point, fat likes age. The older you are, the more likely you are to gain weight.

I believe that there is a “fat” bug which is a carrier of this fat. This fits in very nicely with the corollaries above. One bug always attracts more. An ailment spread by bugs is more likely to infect those in close surroundings. Older people have lower resistance than younger ones, and are thus more susceptible to infection.

Somehow, these bugs are run though the fat bank system, are loaded up with fat, and then later unburden themselves on some poor, hapless soul.

In conclusion, I feel it vital that we turn our attention to the Unified Fat Theory and attempt to develop means by which we can delay or, even better, defeat the mechanism of transference of fat, and I will be happy to volunteer some of my buddies at the downtown Y for experimentation.

Mike Sledge

*This UFT is not to be confused or conflated with the more common use of UFT in physics: Unified Field Theory

Misunderstanding X-Ys

A few years ago my daughter and I were riding in a car (important fact because of road/wind noise) and I said, "Men do funny things because of their X-Ys." And Jes replied, "Men do funny things because of their ex-wives?"

Yeah, that too!

Mike Sledge

The American Way of Looking (Appearance, that is)

Jessica Mitford’s 1963 The American Way of Death was a startling expose of the funeral industry in America. Like Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle, it led to Congressional investigations and, ultimately, more regulation over an industry whose members—from funeral home directors to real estate developers—habitually squeezed the last bit of profit out of a transaction that was rooted in the grief of bereaved family members.


I’m sure the Ms. Mitford would roll over in her grave—actually, she can’t because she chose cremation at the cost of less than $500—if she knew the latest trend of ridiculousness and insanity that had permeated the funeral business: plastic surgery on the dead. However, this trend (we can only hope it is only a fad) owes its promulgation not to the somber men in dark suits who knowingly pronounce that “Momma would love this engraved, pearl-coat upscale model” casket, but to the vanity of the living.

I guess it just had to be this way...after all, vanity plastic surgery has increased faster than the rate at which Obama nominees begin paying “overlooked back taxes”. To be sure, the American Society of Plastic Surgeons reports that right at 350,000 women had breast augmentation in 2007. This is up 60% from 2000. What? We’ve got 60% more women in only seven years?

Imagine the entire population of the city of St. Louis, MO going out of their homes and standing on the curb. Now, imagine each of those persons to be a woman with a newly-enhanced bust line. That’s 350,000. Instead of having a single silver arch as the Gateway to the West, there would be a double arch side by side, showing where America cleaved.

For a less-invasive procedure, botox was done over 4.6 million times in 2007, half of which were by Patrick Swayze. (Oh, wait, that was an overstretched face job he had.)

Statistics are still being gathered on post-mortem plastic surgery as to quantity and cost, but I would rather imagine that plastic surgery medical classes would give a BIG discount, since there’s no worry of a student screwing up and killing the patient.

It is obvious that we care what we look like, even if “we” are no longer “we”. And, since we all can’t have Beowulf’s funeral pyre and a mound set upon a headland as a guide for sailors, we can at least anticipate people saying, “Oh, but doesn’t she look so good.”


Mike Sledge

A beside:
If one does elect for post-mortem perky boobs and also plans for a cremation, then the procedure would have to be done in reverse: gels leave a mess on the floor of the crematorium!