MCR

No, not MC5 (that was a really long time ago). My Chemical Romance. I'm taking the Lads to see MCR tonight in Birmingham, AL; their birthday present for the 13th anniversary of their birth. It's about a seven hour trip, but MCR are (arr-arr) the rage, at the moment, and I took their brother to Greenday and Blink 182 for his 13th B'Day (Took Caroline to Weezer later on). I already posted their current hit "Teenagers" a coupla weeks ago. Their are several versions of it on you-Tube (one version has been played more than 52 million times!). I used to rock, but, well, I'm significantly older now. I think I'll bring ear-plugs. Just in case.

Here's a sample of what we'll probably be hearing tonight:

The Black Parade.


I'm Not Okay.


Helena.


I'll give you a report on Friday.

"Plato and a Platypus...

I wonder what God looks like.

Like this?

Or maybe this?

Of course, the faithful believe that mostly God works through people. This is hardly groundbreaking news. Shoot, when the descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob cried out from bondage in Egypt, God sent them Moses.

"Plato and a Platypus...Walk into a Bar, Understanding Philosophy through Jokes" has one story explaining the gulf of difference of understanding between the faithful and the more critical:

"A little old Christian lady comes out to her porch every morning and shouts, "Praise the Lord!". And every morning the atheist next door yells back, "There is no God!". This goes on for weeks. "Praise the Lord!", yells the lady. "There is no God!", responds the neighbor. As time goes by, the lady runs into financial difficulties and has trouble buying food. She goes out aonto the porch and asks God for help with grocceries and then says, "Praise the Lord!". The next morning when she goes out onto the porch, there are the groceries she asked for. Of course, she shouts, "Praise the Lord!". The atheist jumps out from behind a bush and says, "Ha! I bought those groceries. There is no God!". The lady looks at him and smiles. Not only did you provide for me, Lord, you made Satan pay for the groceries!".

So, how do we know the difference between a lucky coincidence and an answered prayer? Well, mostly we don't. Except that, sometimes, you just sorta do know. And sometimes the grand miracle is nothing more than a pat on the shoulder and a whispered, "hang in there buddy, you'll be alright". Which brings me to last night.

I went to the isolated Piggly Wiggly at about the midway point between mine and my BabyMamma house to pick up the Lads. Tina and my "Husband-in-Law", Daryl dropped them off, and I went to fire up SpongeBob, and... nothing. Not even a pathetic "Rrrrr-urrr-urrr". Not a sound. "Got to be the starter", expounds Tina's current husband. "Better call a tow-truck". A hundred-sixty-five dollars and two hours later, and we're back in the Boro. So, where's God in that? Well, the tow-truck driver, a thin, dread-locked African-'Mercan in his twenties turns out to be the son of my all-time favorite Beaufort jail guard. His mamma is just one of those people who sparkles. Great sense of humor; great smile; wonderfully positive world-view. As must have been apparent over the last few posts, I've not been "high on life" of late. Bumping into this gal's son was a pat on the shoulder that I really needed. Coincidence? Nah. I know better.

I Love a Parade!

It's festival season in the lowcountry of South Carolina. Summerville recently wrapped up it's Azalea Festival (well, I think they call it "Flowerville" or something, but it's all about the azaleas). St. George had its Grits Festival. In the Summer we'll have Beaufort's Water Festival and Yemassee's shrimp festival, and in the Fall Hilton Head will have a seafood festival and Ridgeland its Gopher Hill Festival. Right now, the Boro is having its Rice Festival. Fireworks last night (actually, quite good, thank you). The parade was this morning. Though the Lads were at their mamma's house, I decided to check it out anyway. His Honor, Mayor Sweat, recently back from the hospital after a freak accident where he was hit by a rogue golfcart. What's a rice festival without the Mahatma Rice Maharaja? Fortunately, we can only speculate. Awwww. Cute. I dig the Red Hat ladies! Alright, let's see if that band video worked out...
Doesn't look like it. Oh, well.

Public or Private?

My oldest son graduated from Thomas Heyward Academy, the largest private school in Jasper County, where I lived for twelve years before moving to the Boro. THA was founded shortly after Brown v. Board of Education came to be applied in South Carolina, and the reason for the founding of the school can be inferred from the choice of its mascot.
Jasper County used to be about 50% black, 49% white, 1% hispanic (numbers, last time I checked, changed to about 45/45/10). THA is about 98% white. JHS is about 98% black. THA was, and is, a much better school than the Jasper County public schools, with an SAT average about three hundred points higher than Jasper High School, so I didn't have to ponder what part the large racial differences might have otherwise played in mine and my babymomma's decision to send Oldest to THA. Now I got to start thinking about it. The Lads currently attend the largest private school in Colleton County: Colleton Preparatory Academy (formerly known as John C. Calhoun Academy). I like CPA. I like the Headmaster and the office staff, and a few of the Lads' teachers. The Lads are more circumspect. They are learning. They are struggling (though not as much as I did when I was sent to private schools). The public school that they would attend if they attend public school is one of the better public schools in Colleton County. Racial mix reflects the County generally (about 50/50). My friends at the Department of Juvenile Justice say that they have very few problems from that particular school. The public schools are not academically as good as CPA. They are not abysmal (about 100 points or so better on SAT than JHS), but CPA is definitely better. Extra-curricular activities? Public schools definitely have more. They have all of the sports that CPA has, and more, and offer things like band, that CPA doesn't offer.

Wonder if the boys from the band had kids?

Disillusionment Smackdown

Don't want to get to get all dark on you, but Sunday's soul searching got me thinking about pop and rock journeys into and out of faith. Know history and know yourself. The history of Israel seems to me to be a history of revelation, worship, abandonment, and reconciliation. So it goes with regular folks. We love, we embrace, we forget, we quit. Sometimes we come back. And the beat goes on. This week's Smackdown is loss of faith songs.

Many moons ago when I was scarcely older than the Lads are now, it occured to me that my then-favorite group, Three Dog Night, had put out a "religious" album: Cyan. The single from that record, "Shambala", sure did sound like a reference to heaven. Next album out the blocks? Hard Labor, featuring "Put Out the Light" which seemed to me like a falling-away single. The anti-Shambala, if you will (I couldn't find "Put Out the Light", so I'll use the equally cynical "Show Must Go On").


Bob Dylan's music has always had a spiritual side to it, but he got specific in "Slow Train Comin'". "You Gotta Serve Somebody" was not subtle. Bob Dylan has always been great, and it's not a surprise that his "back to reality" stuff is also pretty damn good. "Things Have Changed" is one of my all-time favorite songs. Embedding has been disabled, but if you're inclined to check it out: http://youtube.com/watch?v=WQDeYzUkXOU

Oh, and anybody who listened to any music at all in the 1990's heard R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion", but the religion they lost seemed to be reflected in the single a couple of singles before that single, "Stand". Losing My Religion:


Okay, that's three loss of faith songs. I need a little help with the last one or two. Any suggestions?

Pharisees and ADD

I don't like Hillary Clinton. I'll probably vote for her if she wins the Democratic party presidential nomination, but I don't like her. It's not fair, really, because I don't know her. I don't like her because she reminds me of Ms. Green.
Ms. Green was one of my elementary school teachers. She was wan and humorless. Granted, I was a pretty awful student in elementary school (and worse in Middle school), but Ms. Green was a robot who represented all I hated about authority. "Conform", she'd say. "Why?", said I. "Because I said", she said. "It's go time!", I thought then (The Pink Floyd image at left was inspired by Mags, who included a "Floyd" link in a comment a month or so ago).

I'm pretty ambivalent toward authority. This should strike a note of irony, since I'm a lawyer and a former (part-time) Magistrate. That ambivalence is why I liked Bill, but don't like Hillary. Bill had a quality of mischief that I don't perceive in Hillary. When Bill lies to you, he's winking at you. Kind of like Reagan denying knowledge of trading guns for hostages: you figured he wasn't telling the truth, but dammit the guy had style. Anyway, Hillary, when she's not spinning things, seems a little sanctimonious to me. Which brings me to this morning.

I managed to get the lads up, showered and ready for Church today. This is not an easy thing, particularly since they didn't especially want to go. As my brother, amazing Ultra-Runner, AndyMan, used to say, "I like Church: it reminds me there's something worse than school". Frankly, I wasn't red-hot on the idea myself, but I think bringing kids up in some sort of religious environment is important. Trying to understand the meaning to life, and addressing that part of most of us that wants to understand and commune with the eternal- those are important things. Sanctimonious and superior attitudes are not.

Anyway, I leave the videogames and the Sunday paper, and get the Lads to Church. "The Peace" is a transitional part of the Episcopal service where you go from "the lessons" to the Eucharist. The priest says, "the Peace of the Lord be always with you", and where the Parish responds, "and also with you", then greets each other and shakes hands or nods or whatever. Instead of high-fives and pats on the back that I figured I deserved for getting two reluctant adolescents to Church, Sister Smellssomethingbad in the pew (maybe that's what smelled bad. Hee hee. "pew") in front of me gives me a "tut-tut" for the boys' behavior. Okay, they did sock each other a couple of times. A couple. Fairly light punches. Shoot, they didn't even raise any knots. Actually, they were more like jabs that only the gal in front of us noticed. I separated them immediately, and they made not an inappropriate peep thereafter. Here, I suppose I also owe a debt to Chase for his "Kids gone wild (and not in a good way)" post of a coupla weeks ago. Maybe this is a response. It's tough to raise kids. It's especially tough if you are trying to get them inculcated into an authority scene about which you have your own doubts.

The People Have Spoken, Three

The Cheese Champ is... The Pina Colada song.

First, the song, virtually:



Now, some pointed commentary by the Mystery Science Theater crew:



I've gotten a thought for the next smackdown, after I read in the paper that superstar tenor, Pavarotti, lipsynched his final performance. What? You don't believe me? Here:



How about some thoughts on best/worst lipsynchs?

Re-Cycling

No, not that kind...

...not that one...

Yep, that's the one.

I've never been a recycler. Never. I remember visiting Sister Mom and the utter sisters in Eureka, and getting some schooling in the matter. These nuns were amazingly tolerant of everything. A church they visited had both a cross and a yin-yang symbol. I kid you not. Tried to argue that the whole good/evil in all things seems kind of inconsistent with the whole God/devil duality. Try to understand, they'd say. Capital punishment is cruel, and we should respect the sanctity of life in all things, they'd say. But two things really got their goat. I learned the hard way. First of all, I made the mistake of jay-walking in downtown Eureka. Jay-walking. As in, crossing the street not at an intersection. No cars in either direction. I start to cross the road. Hey, now! Get back here! That's jay-walking! I started to look for the host of the Tonight Show. No, they were talking to me. Jay-walk in MY town? I don't think so, Scooter!

The other mortal sin? Well, we'd had one of those family-size frozen lasagnas. Stouffer's, I think. I was helping to clean up (Really. I was. Stop laughing), and started to throw the foil container in the garbage can. "What do you think you're doing?", asked Sister Theresa. "I was throwing this empty foil pan in the garbage", I responded (reasonably, I thought). "Ahem. We do not throw foil containers in the garbage", She retorted. "Really?". "We recycle", she haughtily answered. So, I pull it out of the garbage can, and start to throw it into the "Recycling. Aluminum." bin. "Ahem". "What?" (clearly, I don't understand California's ways). "You have to wash it before you put it in there". "Let me get this straight: I can believe or practice pretty much any sort of philosophy that strikes my fancy, and you're okay with that, but jay-walking and failing to wash my garbage is high treason?". "Well, not exactly. Treason, given the current Administration, is understandable. Failing to recycle is not."

You Mess with the Bull...

...you get no sleep. Got the lads back from Beaufort yesterday. Tales of energy drinks and long hours into the night met me. This is what I met this morning.

and.



So, who to blame for the epic struggle to get 'em up and out? I was shown a photo lineup. I picked this fellah:

Spring Frost

This was the front of "the Manor" eight days ago.

This is the scene this morning.

The well-flowered shrubberies of last week are the poorly tended bushes of this morning. Got me in that "Circle of Life" mood: Good, bad, inevitable, evanescent. Which got me thinking about Ponyboy, Sodapop, and "Two-bit" Mathews (no relation). What do you mean, "What the heck are you talking about?". Surely you read S.E. Hinton's "The Outsiders" in junior high/middle school? Oh, come on, I know there are more than that. Hold on, I know I got a copy of it somewhere. I'm going the kids' room. Don't go anywhere; I'll be right back.

Let's see... S.E. Hinton's "The Taming of Star Runner", S.E. Hinton's "That was Then, This is Now", St. Augustine's "City of God", Suess's "There's a Wocket in My Pocket" (apparently Dr. Suess really enjoyed his work). Hmmm. In any event, "The Outsiders" was about underpriviledged teens and preteens struggling in tough places and tough times. Soda and Ponyboy and the rest of 'em. One of the characters liked Robert Frost's "Nothing Gold Can Stay". The poem puzzled him, and described him, them, us, nature. The poem, in case you have misplaced your copy:

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Stay Gold, Ponyboy.

Smackdown Time, Cheese-style

Okay, the nominations are in. Thanks to John for the abundantly cheesy Pina Colada song, and to AndyMan for Afternoon Delight (the song. Not the Afternoon Delight. Aw, come on, he's my brother for cryin' out loud!).

Teenagers...

The lads turn 13 next month. They're the last boats on my armada of foals, and the last to enter the teenage years. Terrible twos? Bah! I scoff at your troubles. Wait, just wait, until your little angels hit the threatening thirteens. The twins are already exhibiting the characteristics of the teen years: selective hearing and memory loss; the inability to see clothes hampers, dirt, or mess;


and the inability to find glasses or cups after one use of said glasses or cups. The twelve vessels at left accumulated in less than four hours. Three residents. Twelve glasses. Four hours. Sadly, because they are males, these traits might never disappear. On the good side, their sense of sarcasm is growing, as is a healthy disrespect for authority.

It's not all bad, really. The lads and I baked a bundt cake this weekend (it's good, too!). I guess it beat doing their school project.

Cheese, Three, Four and Five

Why didn't I form a band in the 70's? Just didn't have The Knack. Now, a few years later, some dude stole my name and did make a decent living playing music.


If Harry Chapin had taken himself just a little more seriously, and dressed just a little more gaudily, he might have been make the poll; instead, the oh-so-earnest Terry Jacks is number four in the Cheese list.


Number Five? Well, usually, four is a set, but, AndyMan was absolutely right: no 70's Cheese poll would be complete without Alan O'Day. Throw in Charlie's Angels for good measure, pull out the leisure suits and let's get down!

Cheese, Two

Amazing Ultrarunner AndyMan almost convinced me to post Alan O'Day's Undercover Angel as my second entry. By anyone's calculation, Undercover Angel is consummate 70's cheese. I almost changed my mind. Almost. Ultimately, I "stayed the course" with this next entry: Bo Donaldson and the Heyward's "Billy, Don't Be a Hero". I'll stick with Bo (unless there is a groundswell of popular support for "Whaaat? Say, "OOooh-Weee!).

1970's Cheese Smackdown.

You know I love my smackdowns. It's been a couple a weeks now, right? I was commenting and reading comments on Chase's blog, and realized that the bands of my youth just won't go away. Aging Boomers grasping at the slipping memories of our youth continue to make Elton John, Billy Joel, Kiss and other bands whose heyday was in the 1970's tons of money. Elton and Billy probably deserve it. The Little River Band? Not so much. The 70's had some good music. The 70's had some awful music. The 70's had some music that was so bad, it was wonderful. High cheese is what I'm talkin' about. Let's start with a Scottish band named after a random town in Michigan: The Bay City Rollers. One of more than a few "next big things" that got exactly the fifteen minutes of fame Andy Warhol promised us all.

I Haven't the Foggiest I.D.

It looks, for the moment, like I won't have to use my passport to travel from South Carolina to see my friends in Florida, Colorado, Illinois or Missouri. For the moment. The federal gummit is trying to force South Carolina to use "Real I.D.s" which congress says all the states must use, instead of state driver's licenses or I.D.s which South Carolina, and most states currently use. The feds say that if we don't use their I.D.s and get into their specific data-base- to be used for who-knows-what?, by who-knows-whom?- Homeland Security will make S.C. residents present passports and go through increased security checks to travel interstate through airports.

Most states have asked for more time to comply; South Carolina refuses to ask for an extension, because it/we disagree in principle with a National I.D. Last time S.C. got really serious about a "state's rights" issue... well, there's a picture of Ft. Sumter (now, but not always, under the Stars and Stripes).

Now, my view of our Republican Governor, Mark Sanford, had always been colored by my party affiliation, Democrat, and my friends and acquaintances in the legislature, who have not had a particularly smooth relationship with the Governor. It's getting harder to stereotype Governor Sanford. The Charleston Post and Courier reports that Governor Sanford sent a letter to the director of Homeland Security, Michael Chertoff, informing him that S.C.'s driver's licenses meet 90% of the criteria listed for "Real I.D.s", anyway, and that we wouldn't be requesting an extension, because we don't agree with the concept, and, get this, "Our greatest homeland security is liberty". Chertoff, for the moment has granted us an extension anyway, even though we didn't ask for it. Now, S.C.'s legislature actually passed a law prohibiting S.C. from complying with the "Real I.D." demand, but Sanford has never had a problem thumbing his nose at the General Assembly in the past. Say what you will about Sanford: he's got guts.