Cordeiro's Musings

Thank you, Mr. Hanks

2009-01-23T16:15:00.001-05:00

For the record, let me plainly state that I believe Tom Hanks to be one of, if not the finest actor of his and many other generations. He has been honored by a myriad of institutions for his work as an actor (two Academy Awards) as well as a producer – most recently of the exceptional docudrama chronicling the life of America's second President, John Adams.

For the record, I think Saving Private Ryan was robbed of its true status as Best Picture. But I digress.

So, when I heard that Mr. Hanks had called me, and all the other member of the religion I follow "un-American" for having supported California's Proposition 8, I was taken aback.

Today, I am heartened by Mr. Hanks' apology. It takes a big man to admit having crossed a line in acceptable public discourse. Its good to know there are still some people who can do that.

Tom Hanks and I don't see eye to eye on the issue of same sex "marriage". Somehow we can both be civil about this difference of opinion. I just wish the rest of the anti-Prop 8 crowd would get that memo.

Here endeth the lesson.

Proof that the Almighty works miracles on the gridiron

2008-12-29T11:20:00.001-05:00

Even the most callous anti-football hard case cannot read Rick Reilly's latest column without admitting the Lord's work can be done on the football field.

Read the whole thing.

Here endeth the lesson.

November 19, 1863 - Lincoln at Gettysburg

2008-11-19T13:23:00.001-05:00

Today’s media world is one defined by six-second sound bytes. Political orators great, and not so great, give speeches by the dozen on any number of subjects to cheering crowds of the assembled masses. What they say is boiled down to what fits in the news segment between the train wreck and the office shootout as reported by the 24-hour cable channel.

The world notes little and remembers less of what is said by national leaders.

On this day, 145 years ago, two speeches were given at the dedicatory ceremony of Gettysburg National Cemetery. One was given by a man widely renowned as the greatest orator of the time. He was none other than Edward Everett, a former Secretary of State, U.S. Senator, U.S. Representative, Governor of Massachusetts, president of Harvard University, and Vice Presidential candidate. Almost as an afterthought, the President of the United States was also invited to give “dedicatory remarks.”

On the dedicatory day, November 19, Everett’s speech contained 13,607 words and lasted over two hours. After Everett’s oration, and a hymn, Abraham Lincoln rose and gave the following speech:

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate—we can not consecrate—we can not hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Some times less really is more. This speech was given long before the era of paid speechwriters and TelePrompTers. Lincoln wrote it believing (most likely) that it would be forgotten among all the other speeches he gave. Its doubtful he had much time to give serious thought to his “dedicatory remarks”. His nation was at war with herself. The Gettysburg Address was Lincoln at his oratory best – because what he said was what he truly believed. No coaching. No polling. No focus groups.

It is one speech that I wish was available on video. The closest I can get you is Walt Disney’s “Great Moments With Mr. Lincoln”. Enjoy. (The actual address comes at about 37 seconds into the video.

Here endeth the lesson.

Godspeed, Dean Barnett

2008-10-27T18:30:00.000-04:00

It is with a deep sadness that I link to the news of Dean Barnett’s passing this afternoon after a long and valiant struggle with Cystic Fibrosis. He was 41 years old.

Dean was one of the early rising stars amongst the conservative side of the blogosphere. His writing was crisp, intelligent, irreverent, and most of all insightful. If there was an important topic about which he found himself uninformed, he went to great lengths to educate himself from the best sources available and pass that knowledge on to his readers in a way which made us all a bit smarter than we would have otherwise been.

I will miss his wit, his wisdom, and yes even his self-described “haddock cutting” Boston accent. The world in general, and the blogosphere specifically, will be a smaller place without him in it.

Breathe easy now, Dean. Godspeed.

Yet another reason why guy's shouldn't be at baby showers

2008-10-16T18:18:00.001-04:00

Nothing good can come of guys being where guys shouldn't be.

Here endeth the lesson.

102 Minutes

2008-09-11T10:22:00.001-04:00

I’ve spent the past few days trying to put together a fitting tribute on this anniversary of September 11th. After much thought I came to the conclusion that I could only write something from my perspective on that day as mine is the only perspective of which I have first hand knowledge. You’ll find this post below the fold.

In the mean time, if you do nothing else today, take a look at this video…and remember.

It was a normal Tuesday morning on September 11, 2001. For me the day began much like most days did – finding me waging the battle of the bulge on a Nordic Track in the garage of my Los Angeles home. At 0530, I began my workout on that dreaded torture device with Blogfather Hugh’s morning radio show murmurings in the background.

Shortly after 0546 I heard Blogfather Hugh deviate from his normal morning routine as he began to make mention of a “tragedy in New York City”. He mentioned something about the World Trade Center having been evidently struck by a plane. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t pay much attention – it was after all well before sunrise and I wasn’t really awake yet. I finished my workout and wandered into the living room and turned on MSNBC a few minutes before 0600.

My verbal reaction to the image on the screen (something having to do with sanctified natural fertilizer) woke the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro who then came in to find out what the ruckus was about.

She rounded the hallway corner into the living room just seconds after 0603 – the moment in which United Flight 175, piloted by Marwan al-Shehhi, tilted its wings and impacted between floors 77 and 85 of the World Trade Center’s South Tower.

We sat there and watched in stunned silence for what seemed like an eternity. 34 minutes later, as NBC’s Jim Miklashevski reported live at the Pentagon, his entire desk shook as the building absorbed American Airlines Flight 77 as it the westernmost wall.

In the midst of all this I managed to ready myself to head for my office near LAX. As I was heading for the door at just before 0700, the unthinkable happened. There was a loud rumble, audible even to the cameras in the distance, and the South Tower collapsed upon itself like a folding telescope. Lower Manhattan disappeared in a huge cloud of smoke, dust, and pulverized debris.

America was in a state of shock. New York City was in a state of panic. Unbeknownst to all but a few, two minutes earlier the passengers aboard United Flight 93 had decided to take action. Their own plane had been hijacked by the same band of Islamofacist Murdering Thugs responsible for the other hijacked airplanes.

Thirty-seven passengers and five crew members were herded into the aft section of the Boeing 757-200. The intentions of their hijackers soon became clear. Some passengers had made phone calls to friends and loved ones who informed them about the attacks on the WTC and the Pentagon. They looked at each other. They took a vote. They decided to rush the cockpit and attempt to reclaim the aircraft.

It is said that America’s strength is neither in her military nor in her treasure. America’s strength is in her citizens. Forty-two Americans, most of whom had not known each other prior to that morning, banded together and started to push the drink cart down the aisle to do battle with their captors. The final words anyone heard from these brave souls were those of Todd Beamer:

Are you guys ready? Okay. Let’s roll!

Six minutes later, United Flight 93 crashed nose first at 563 miles per hour into a reclaimed coal mine in Somerset County, Pennsylvania. Thus began America’s counterattack in the War on Terror.

Having stopped for breakfast on my way to the office, I saw the North WTC Tower collapse upon itself at 0728. Though nobody knew it, at that moment the attack was over. When all the dust had settled and the smoke had cleared, some 2,996 men, women, and children perished on that Tuesday morning in September.

From the time the American Airlines Flight 11 impacted the North Tower to the time that same tower collapsed down upon itself, a total of 102 minutes elapsed. Those 102 minutes would forever change America. For weeks after that day, Los Angeles radio station KFI ran a haunting one sentence reminder at various intervals during the day. On either side of the voiceover was about five seconds of dead air – just enough to get your attention. Then a voice stated:

It could have just as easily happened here.

Los Angeles is a geographical continent and cultural world away from New York and DC. Distance and culture notwithstanding, LA ground to a halt just like most metro areas. Businesses and schools shut down and parents like me were left wondering just exactly how to explain the events of that morning to our children.

My son Corderinho, then a three-year-old bundle of curiosity, was very concerned. You see at that time I traveled often for business and he would accompany the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro when she either dropped me off or picked me up at LAX. When I told Corderinho that some “bad men” had crashed the planes into those big building, he looked at me with the quivering lip unique to three-year-olds and asked:

Daddy, are there bad men on your planes?

No three-year-old should have to ask that question.

A few years ago while visiting New York City, I made a pilgrimage to Ground Zero. As I stood looking out over the 20 acre hole in the ground, I was approached by a Boston PBS station reporter who put a microphone in my face and asked me how I “felt”. My answer surprised the reporter:

I am still angry.

There were no follow up questions and I’m sure the interview got tossed in the corner of the cutting room floor.

I leave you today with a performance by Billy Joel at the Concert for New York City – an event held a few weeks after September 11. He wrote this song some thirty years ago as a science fiction song, but the lyrics are very prescient. The video is interspersed with footage from 9/11 – some of which is difficult to watch.

Count me among the handful.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

2008-09-01T14:37:00.001-04:00

I’ve spent four of the past six weeks traveling around the country for business and vacation purposes. During that time I made a point of throwing Obama’s domestic consumption decree to the proverbial wind.

In short, I ate as much as I wanted. I drove a range of vehicles (SUVs, sports cars, and yes the family minivan) as much – actually more – than I wanted. I kept my hotel room – whether it was in the Mile High City, the arid plains of Oklahoma City, or the humid confines of Orlando – at 72 degrees or cooler for the duration of my stay. I figure its only a matter of time before Algore comes to my door and accuses me of being the driving cause behind Hurricane Gustav.

July 4, 1776

2008-07-04T08:00:00.000-04:00

232 years ago this morning, fifty-six delegates from the thirteen British colonies met at what would come to be known as Independence Hall in downtown Philadelphia. Most of them had spent the better part of the previous several months debating and arguing about the best course of action in regards to the ongoing conflict between the colonies and the crown.

The first months of 1776 had been anything but peaceful. Skirmishes, shootouts, and outright battles were raging from the Carolinas to Boston. Then General Washington’s Continental Army – though victorious in some instants – was dreadfully undermanned, badly supplied, and under-trained in the face of what was the most powerful army on the planet at the time.

Thomas Jefferson recorded that July 4, 1776 was an “unseasonably cool” day for Philadelphia. The aforementioned men gathered in the large room on the ground floor where they had spent so many days and nights to put their signatures to a document which could have very well become their own personal death warrants. They were, for all intents and purposes, committing high treason against the British Crown. King George would not look kindly upon their actions and would not have hesitated to execute the delegates had a few battles gone the other way.

Who were these men who had the audacity to put their names to a document so full of risk? Glad you asked.

Of the 56:

9 were immigrants

2 were brothers

One was an orphan

The average age of those in attendance was 45 - the oldest being Benjamin Franklin (70) and the youngest being Thomas Lynch, Jr. (27)

18 were businessmen or merchants

4 were doctors

14 were farmers

42 had previously served in their colonial legislatures

22 were lawyers

2 were clergymen

Most were Protestant Christians - only one was a Roman Catholic

17 served in uniform during the Revolutionary War

5 were captured by the British during the war

11 had their homes and property destroyed during the war

It is the Declaration of Independence, authored by Thomas Jefferson, which put on paper the longing of the human soul for freedom and the power to control one's own destiny. The signers boldly declared that:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. [Emphasis Added]

It should be noted that, at the time these 56 men signed their names to this bold Declaration, the outcome of the Revolutionary War was anything but certain. The war would grind on for over seven more years before Treaty of Paris was signed. I highly recommend David McCullough's 1776 to help illustrate just how tenuous America's beginnings truly were. Had Washington failed to rout the Hessians at Trenton - or had any one of a host of other narrow victories become a defeat - there's a good chance the Union Jack would still be flying over this nation and we'd still stop the world to have tea on time.

The men gathered in that stuffy room at Independence Hall pledged to each other their "lives, fortunes and sacred honor". Some gave their lives, many gave all or most of their fortunes, but all kept their honor.

So, before you go and fire up the barbeque, watch the fireworks, and do the other fitting and proper things Americans do on this the nation's birthday, take some time and read or listen to the words behind the Patriot's dream that truly saw beyond the years.

Here you will find the single best Super Bowl commercial ever produced. If you can somehow watch Pat Tillman's widow read part of the Declaration of Independence without getting just a little choked up, You. Are. Not Human.

And, just in case you haven't read it for awhile, here's the text of the Declaration of Independence.

Some years ago, Rick Moran "live-blogged" the Continental Congress. Well worth the trip down Virtual Memory Lane. Rick gives an entirely new definition to the Historical Fiction genre.

And finally, I'll sign off with Red Skelton. Think about this the next time you recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

Have a fantastic Fourth!

Thoughts On Memorial Day

2008-05-26T16:16:00.001-04:00

The origins of Memorial Day can be traced back to the 1860s when it was designated as Decoration Day – a day to decorate the graves of fallen Civil War soldiers both Union and Confederate. About a century later it was changed from May 30th to the last Monday in May and renamed “Memorial Day”.

Since that time it has marked both a day of remembrance and the opening of the Summer season. On this day much merriment will be made, sales will be made, and barbeques will be lit. In addition – and no doubt more importantly – honor will be rendered to those who have given the last full measure of devotion to their country. It is, to paraphrase Abraham Lincoln, all together fitting and proper that we should do this.

I spent the first twenty years of my life in and around the United States Army. Father Cordeiro was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant shortly after I was born. Because of the nomadic existence inherent in the life of a soldier’s family, for all intents and purposes I have no hometown. When people ask me where I’m from, I simply reply, “I’m from the United States Army.” Thus, though I have not worn my country’s uniform, those who do and have are and always shall be – to me anyway – family.

On the National Mall in Washington DC there is a beautiful monument dedicated to those of the Greatest Generation who fought in the last truly Global War. The World War II Memorial is truly a stunning piece of architecture and symbolism. The centerpiece of the monument is a field of 4,000 stars upon which is inscribed this simple phrase:

Here We Mark The Price Of Freedom

Each of the 4,000 stars represents 100 soldiers, sailors, airmen, or marines who died in World War II. To save you the math, it equates to roughly 400,000 lives. That was the price paid for freedom some six decades ago. About two years ago I took my family to that memorial. As I watched my then three-year old daughter Corderinha toddle across the ground in front of the star field it made me realize just how big a price freedom really is.

This Memorial Day finds the nation again at war. Soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines have been and will be deployed to fight that war. I’ve sometimes found myself unsure exactly how to thank these countrymen of mine for the service they so gallantly render. Yes, there are military charities like Soldier’s Angels and the Semper Fi Fund that do God’s work for the servicemen and women wounded in the line of duty and their families. I highly recommend both of them to you.

On a more personal level, some time ago as I passed through the cavernous labyrinth that is Chicago’s O’Hare Airport I stopped for an overpriced and under-flavored meal. As I finished my meal and prepared to jog down the terminal hall to board my flight, a soldier sat down in the booth across from me. It was obvious to me he was returning from a deployment, possibly on leave but I didn’t have time to ask. The most I could do at that particular point in time was to buy him another round of Miller Lite – which I did. It wasn’t much, but I hope on that day and in that situation it was enough.

I pray that our heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom. Yours very sincerely and respectfully, Abraham Lincoln.

Here endeth the lesson.

One Less Cinderella

2008-05-22T08:20:00.001-04:00

On my iPod is found a wide variety of music from AC/DC to Yo Yo Ma. Someplace in between is a song by award winning gospel music artist Steven Curtis Chapman called Cinderella. It is a song about precious moments shared between daddies and daughters. Let’s face it – daughters can get anything they want from their fathers just by calling them “daddy”.

But I digress.

Chapman wrote this song about his two young daughters which he and his wife adopted from China. You might wonder why I’m taking time to write about this today. Well, yesterday, Chapman’s five year old daughter Maria was killed in a tragic car accident at the family residence in Nashville.

I am the proud daddy to my spitfire of a daughter known here as Corderinha. She is five. Chapman’s Cinderella song could have just as easily been written about her. My heart goes out to this daddy whom I do not know, but whose grief I understand. There’s one less Cinderella in this world today.

Godspeed, Maria.

Here endeth the lesson.

Black Robed Thugs In The Golden State

2008-05-16T15:08:00.001-04:00

Some of you will no doubt find this post offensive. Some may even go so far as to find it hateful. Some of you will be unable to look past the subject matter and even be able to remotely understand what I'm trying to say regarding the judicial coup which took place yesterday in my home state of California.

If you find yourself in that position, you'd better stop reading now because you'll be offended by the rest of this post. If that's the case, perhaps you need to be offended.

On March 7, 2000 the State of California had a primary election in which several Propositions (or Ballot Measures) were put before the electorate. California is a fairly unique state in that it is possible for grass roots based ballot measures can be voted on by the electorate – effectively bypassing the Sacramento legislature. Each election has a slew of them and the airwaves are saturated with ads extolling voters to either vote for or against the measure. This particular election was no exception.

Among the various ballot measures before the Golden State electorate was the very controversial Proposition 22. Most ballot measures are so long and wordy that few people can make sense of them and hardly anyone ever bothers to read them. The text of Proposition 22 was surprisingly short. It read – in its entirety:

Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.

Needless to say, billions of words from both sides were exchanged regarding that proposed amendment to Article II, Section 8 of the California Constitution. I will not re-flog the issues surrounding Proposition 22 – that is not my point.

My point is, that on that day in March of 2000, 4,618, 673 Golden State voters checked the box indicating they wanted this sentence added to the aforementioned section of their state constitution. The measure carried by 61.4% of the votes cast. In the interest of full disclosure, my vote was one of those 4,618,673.

Yesterday, four Californians overruled those 4,618,673. In short, 61.4% of Californians were overruled by 0.000000531% of the electorate.

A wise man once stated that "Liberals attempt through judicial activism what they cannot win at the ballot box". Truer words have seldom been spoken. Four California Supreme Court Justices took out their distorted constitutional microscope and fabricated a right to same sex marriage out of whole cloth. They spent several hundred pages justifying their "discovery" – feel free to read the legalese – but all the judicial jujitsu in the world can't distort what they did.

There exists the Constitutional principle of Separation of Powers for a reason. The legislature (or in the case of Prop 22 the "people") pass the laws, the executive executes the laws, and the judiciary "interprets" the law to make sure said laws don't conflict with any constitutionally guaranteed freedoms, rights, or other legal issues.

No, the Judiciary does not make laws. Find me a place in the Constitution (Federal or State) which authorizes the guys and gals in black robes to make laws. You'll be looking for a very long time. Have fun.

A lot of people, even good friends of mine, are celebrating this judicial coup. Its ended a very discriminatory practice – in their eyes. Again, I'm not going to debate the issues of Prop 22. That has already been done.

The fact of the matter is, the people had already spoken on Prop 22. 61.4% agreed with its implementation. You can't get 61.4% of Californians to agree on the time of day – but they agreed to Prop 22. Evidently over four million votes mean nothing to four Black Robed Thugs in Sacramento.

Those who support same sex marriage constantly refer to the changing view of the American people on this issue. If this is true, then perhaps what they should do is put it before these same people for a vote. They won't, because it would lose and lose ugly. As long as they can count on four votes in Sacramento, the other four million don't matter.

And that, dear reader, is wrong – no matter what side of the issue you are on.

Here endeth the lesson.

Give This Kid A Medal

2008-04-02T08:52:00.001-04:00

Check out this Washington Post story about the heroic actions of a 12 year old boy in defense of his mother. The mother was being attacked as the boy sat playing video games in another room after he had finished his homework. According to the reporter's interview with the mother and son, a man attempted to strangle the mother with his bare hands and refused to stop even after repeated pleadings from her son.

The boy could have just kept screaming at his mother's attacker - most likely to no avail - but instead he took the only action left to him to save his mother's life. He found the knife most recently used to carve the family's Thanksgiving turkey and turned it on his mother's attacker. He struck the man in the neck with a fatal blow. His mother lived. Her attacker died.

True to the liberal slant of the Washington Post, the article spends a great deal of time reviewing the legal precedents of the case and wondering whether or not the boy will be prosecuted for his actions. I can't think of a District Attorney in his or her right mind that would even think of bringing charges, let alone trying to take this case to trial. The boy is a hero and should be treated as such. His mother was in mortal danger and he saved her life. What more can be expected of a son when his mother's life is in danger?

Well done, young Master Stamp. Would that my son would do the same in your circumstance.

Here endeth the lesson.

The Tomb Is Empty

2008-03-23T11:06:00.003-04:00

He is not here: for he is risen... - Matthew 28:6

A Victory in the War on Diabetes – Could It Really Be This Simple?

2008-03-18T15:25:00.001-04:00

Some readers may remember a previous post on some promising medical research in the quest for a cure for a devastating disease commonly known as Diabetes. While that research was focused on the ever popular stem cell front, I came across another researcher whose field focuses on a much simpler treatment.

Type I Diabetes – the most prevalent of the two types – occurs when a patient's pancreas ceases to produce enough of the insulin hormone to effectively break down the glucose from food or drink ingested by said patient. High blood sugar results in a host of maladies which I will not here review. I'll just simply state the disease really sucks.

One of the theories behind the demise of the patients pancreas is that the immune system mistakes the insulin producing beta cells for a disease. The immune system then declares war on the beta cells and for all intents and purposes the pancreas is a worthless hunk of tissue. Conventional wisdom and medical science has held the belief that the beta cells could not be resurrected. New research might just debunk this theory.

Dr. Denise Faustman a scientist at Massachusetts General Hospital and Harvard Medical School has been conducting experiments on mice using a generic tuberculosis vaccine which evidently kills the immune system cells which took out the insulin producing beta cells. Here's the bottom line:

The real shock, however, was that with the killer T-cells eliminated, beta cells apparently regenerated enough to pump out sufficient insulin to cure the mice's diabetes. No one had any idea before this that a diabetes-ravaged pancreas might still harbor enough beta cells, or be able to resurrect them, to reverse diabetes, at least in lab animals. (Emphasis Added)

I'm not much of a medical expert, but that's pretty compelling evidence – something which in my mind is worthy of further study – and funding. Here's the pathetic part of the story: The Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation declined to fund Dr. Faustman's research. In fact, they went so far as to fund three research teams whose stated goal was to debunk Faustman's hypothesis.

The linked article doesn't go into much detail as to why the JDRF declined to fund Faustman's project. I have a very uniformed guess based strictly on capitalsitic theory. Simply put, Faustman's research is too simple. The vaccine upon which her work is based has been on the market for nearly 80 years as a treatment for tuberculosis. It's a generic drug which can be mass produced for pennies a dose. Should Faustman's research result in a viable treatment for diabetes, it will be one of the cheapest cures ever found. It doesn't involve fetal stem cells or overpriced technology. The vaccine kills the cells that caused the problem and nature goes back to working the way it was meant to.

Faustman owes the fact that her work is going forward to the charitable inclinations of none other than former Chrysler CEO Lee Iacocca. Mr. Iacocca lost his wife Mary to the ravages of Type I diabetes in 1984. His foundation stepped in and donated $11.5 million to further the clinical trials of Faustman's research with the hopes that fewer people will lose their limbs, eyesight, and lives to this scourge. Iacocca is a businessman and evidently he understands that a good, fast, and cheap cure is better than none at all.

Thanks, Lee. Good luck Dr. Faustman.

Here endeth the lesson.

Sticking It To “The Man” Through Charity

2008-03-06T15:42:00.001-05:00

I don't have a very good relationship with the county parking authority which patrols the local streets near my office. Thus far I figure I've contributed at least two bills to the county coffers. Each time I've missed the iron fisted Nazi-like ticket writer by a matter of minutes.

The Parking Nazis start writing tickets promptly at 0800. They arrive in their Ford F-150 trucks and prowl the streets like wolves circling wounded prey. Sooner or later a meter will start blinking red and they'll swoop in for the kill. There is no such thing as free parking! Got expired tags? That'll cost you more than the parking ticket.

Needless to say, I don't drive into work unless I have to. Yesterday was one of those days.

I've learned my lesson that it's better to shove an extra buck in the meter rather than get an all day pass to the tune of 35 clams. As I walked out to my car, I noticed that the meter on the car parked behind me had just started to blink its crimson light. I don't know how the Parking Nazis are alerted to an expired meter. Perhaps it's a wireless signal sent from the meter to a computer in their oversized pickup truck. Maybe they sense a tremor in the force. Whatever the method, a Parking Nazi truck pulled up behind the expired meter – the trap had been set.

Parking tickets suck. Parking tickets found after a long day at the office suck rocks. I know. I've gotten more than my fair share. Not only does the county get the cash shelled into the meter, it also gets another 35 clams because the car owner got held up.

I looked at the Parking Nazi and smiled. Then I fished in my pants pocket and found two quarters. I popped them in the meter and bestowed upon the car owner another sixty minutes of reprieve from the cash sucking Parking Nazis.

And that, dear reader, is how you "Stick It To The Man" through charity.

Here endeth the lesson.

A Farewell To Favre

2008-03-04T14:55:00.000-05:00

In writing this post, I feel it necessary to state for the record that I am not a great respecter of quarterbacks. As a former defensive lineman, I came from the Howie Long school of quarterback pursuit. Howie once eloquently stated that he'd never seen a quarterback maim anyone, so once he made it past the offensive lineman, Howie usually wouldn't put too much of a hit on the quarterback. In Howie's mind, the chase was far more fun than the actual sack. Howie is a wise man.

Most quarterbacks, regardless of the level at which they play, have enormous egos. The quarterback position is the one most focused on by fans, media, and followers of the game. If the team wins, the quarterback is a god. If the team loses, the quarterback shoulders the blame. Actually, most of the time he blames other players – there are after all 21 other positions on the team. Any good student of football understands the game is won and lost at the point of attack – that being in the trenches with the lineman. If a team doesn't dominate the line of scrimmage, what happens in the backfield won't really matter.

Very few quarterbacks – even at the professional level – understand this fact. Brett Favre is one of the few.

Today he announced his retirement from the Green Bay Packers having played there for seventeen seasons. The average NFL career hovers someplace around five to six years, so seventeen years is an eternity – especially for a quarterback. That he managed to play so effectively for so long is a testament to his athletic skill and especially the skill of those massive humans tasked with blocking for him.

My professional football allegiance has and always will lie with the Denver Broncos – good seasons and bad – but I can honestly say I have a lot of respect for Brett Favre. He is one of the few and quite possibly the only professional quarterback I have ever seen throw a block on a massive, ugly, hulking, enormous defensive end so the running back could gain a few more yards. He did that throughout his career and earned the respect of defensive lineman across the league for doing so.

As a general rule, defensive linemen don't hold quarterbacks in high esteem. Favre's relationship with them was more collegial than anything else.

An era in professional football has come to an end. I for one will miss seeing #4 take to the frozen tundra of Titletown's Lambeau Field. It just won't be the same game without him.

Here endeth the lesson.

Al Qaeda's New Recruitment Strategy

2008-02-16T09:24:00.002-05:00

I understand Al Qaeda's numbers are dwindling due to the accuracy of precision guided Hellfire missiles, US Military snipers, and the fact most of Al Qaeda's missions are one way trips. Like any organization needing to replenish their numbers, Al Qaeda has adopted a new recruitment strategy.

Enjoy!

Here endeth the lesson.

Great Moments With Mr. Lincoln

2008-02-12T11:17:00.001-05:00

Today is Abraham Lincoln's birthday.

Few life stories in American history are more compelling than that of the man who would come to be known as "Honest Abe". This self taught country lawyer came to power during this nation's darkest hour – when her very survival as a nation was in serious doubt. His tenure as Commander-In-Chief was one punctuated by some of the most terrible fighting ever to be seen upon this continent.

Some – dare I say most – men would have crumbled under the load he bore. That wasn't Lincoln's way. He believed that this nation would either prosper while united or fall as two divided states. He was loved by most, ridiculed by some, and loathed by a few. The monument honoring his legacy sits at the furthest end of the National Mall opposite the Washington Monument. The symbolism is accurate. Washington founded this nation. Lincoln preserved it.

Lincoln also anchors another unique symbol of America. Just as you enter Disneyland in Anaheim, California you pass the Opera House where one single attraction has headlined that venue since July 18, 1965. The main (and only) event at Disney's Opera House is "Great Moments With Mr. Lincoln".

Here an animatronic Abraham Lincoln rises from his chair, and with great fanfare recites the Gettysburg Address – 271 words which, despite Lincoln's prognostication, were remembered. If you've never stopped long enough to see this short show, I highly recommend it.

Prior to the Gettysburg Address show, Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln was a slightly different attraction. Lincoln's speech was a synergy of several speeches he'd given over his lifetime about the basic underpinnings of America.

So, today take a moment and enjoy some truly Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln.

The world has never had a good definition of the word "liberty". The American people, just now, are much in want of one. We all declare for liberty. But in using the same word, we do not all mean the same thing.

What constitutes the bulwark of our liberty and independence? It is not our frowning embattlements, our bristling sea coasts. These are not our reliance against tyranny. Our reliance is in the love of liberty, which God has planted in our bosoms. Our defense is in the preservation of the spirit which prizes liberty as the heritage of all men, in all lands everywhere. Destroy this spirit, and you have planted the seeds of despotism around your own doors.

At what point shall we expect the approach of danger? By what means shall we fortify against it? Shall we expect some trans-Atlantic military giant to step the ocean and crush us in a blow? Never. All the armies of Europe, Asia, and Africa combined could not, by force, take a drink from the Ohio or make a track on the Blue Ridge in a trial of a thousand years. At what point, then, is the approach of danger to be expected?

I answer that if it ever reach us, it must spring from amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we ourselves must be the authors and finishers. As a nation of free men, we must live through all times, or die by suicide.

Let reverence for the law be breathed by every American mother to the lisping babe that prattles on her lap. Let it be taught in the schools, in the seminaries, and in the colleges. Let it be written in primers, in spelling books and almanacs. Let it be preached from the pulpit, proclaimed in legislative halls, and enforced in courts of justice. And in short, let it become the political religion of the nation. And let the old and the young, the rich and the poor, the grave and the gay, of all sexes, and tongues, and colors, and conditions, sacrifice unceasingly at its altar.

And let us strive to deserve, as far as mortals may, the continued care of Divine Providence, trusting that, in future national emergencies, He will not fail to provide us the instruments of safety and security.

Neither let us be slandered from our duty by false accusations against us, or frightened from it by menaces of the destruction to the government, nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us have faith that right makes might. And in that faith, let us to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it.

Here endeth the lesson.

The Single Best Super Bowl Ad Ever Produced

2008-02-04T09:35:00.000-05:00

There are few things more inherently American than the Super Bowl. Regardless of who plays, wins, or loses, the Super Bowl transcends all demographic boundaries. The game itself is almost secondary to the pomp, circumstance, and excess that precedes it.

One of the Super Bowl’s great traditions is the commercials which run between plays, during timeouts, and other interruptions of the game flow. These commercials don’t come cheap and to tell the truth sometimes they are more entertaining than the game itself.

This was not true of yesterday’s game. All I can say about Super Bowl XLII is – on any given Sunday, even the lowest of teams can knock of the premadonnas. It was a fantastic game – one for the books. But I digress.

Just before kickoff, the FOX and the NFL ran a 6 minute 26 second spot which featured NFL stars – past and present – along with everyday Americans reciting the key paragraphs of the Declaration of Independence. Check it out:

If you can watch Marie Tillman (Pat Tillman’s widow) stand next to her husband’s statue and not get the least bit emotional -You. Are. Not. Human.

So, just in case you missed it, here’s the Single Best Super Bowl Ad Ever Produced.

We Are Americans.

Here endeth the lesson.

Gordon B. Hinckley 1910-2008

2008-01-29T15:02:00.001-05:00

It is with some sadness that I comment on the passing of LDS Church President Gordon B. Hinckley. He died this past Sunday surrounded by family at the age of 97. If I ever get to choose the time and place of my own passing, that would be it.

President Hinckley has been the face of the LDS Church for as far back as I can remember. Most of my memories of him center around General Conference where he conducted most, if not all, of the sessions. He was called into the First Presidency as a "Counselor" when the sitting Presidency (Kimball, Tanner, and Romney) were all incapacitated due to illness. He stood at that pulpit and never really left.

His entire life was dedicated to the faith. After returning from his mission to England he took a job in what would become the LDS Church PR office. From there it was one job after another until he was called into the leadership ranks. He married his sweetheart Marjorie and they spent nearly 70 years as husband and wife.

Most church members' interaction with General Authorities is pretty much limited to Conference sessions. These are two-hour blocks of speeches punctuated by music from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. While most of the speeches contain important messages, eventually they all blend into a singular drone. Some orators are gifted. Others are not. General Authorities are no exception.

President Hinckley was an exception to that general rule. He had a well developed sense of humor and used it often. For the last few years of his life he was known to treat every conference session as if it would be his last. He made a point of once giving two talks in the same session because, in his own words

I am an old man and do not know how much longer I shall live.

Most of the conference sessions he presided over were held in the Salt Lake Tabernacle. This building is one of Salt Lake City's most famous landmark and is home to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. It was built in the mid-1800s by the pioneers who settled the Valley of the Great Salt Lake under the direction of Brigham Young. It was built well before air conditioning and despite many attempts at refurbishment, when the building was packed with people and the hot desert temperatures soared, the air in the Tabernacle was just about stifling.

It was on one of these afternoons that President Hinckley took to the podium and looked out upon the overheated crowd, smiled, and said:

We know it's hot in here…and we're sorry.

Then with a twinkle in his eye for which he was famous, he continued:

Its gonna get a lot warmer if you don't repent!

He is now at rest after a lifetime which few men could have kept up with. He is no doubt surrounded by loved ones, especially his wife with whom he spent nearly seven decades.

Rest well, Gordon. You've earned it. Godspeed to you – and welcome home.

Here endeth the lesson.

Christmas In Fallujah

2007-12-19T14:05:00.000-05:00

I haven’t really written much about music and the people who write and perform it. I know I have no talent for writing music and I don’t really play an instrument so I admire those who can and do.

One of my favorite musicians is Billy Joel. He is by far one of America’s great songwriters. His musical talent has a catalog of work which spans some three decades. His songs are uniquely American – based mostly from his experience growing up in and around New York City.

His performances are truly an experience. As a general rule he doesn’t have an opening act. When you go to a Billy Joel concert, you are entertained by Billy Joel for the entire time. There is no dancing (except by those in the aisles) or lip syncing. The Piano Man knows how to give a fantastic show. His audience spans the demographic scale from teenie boppers to aging baby boomers.

Deeply affected by the Vietnam War, he wrote what can only be described as the quintessential song from the heart of the American soldier. “Goodnight Saigon” tells the story of Vietnam-era Marines from Parris Island to the rice paddies of North Vietnam – and Joel pulls no punches as the soldiers sing the chorus

…and we will all go down together…

from the shadows behind the stage. Watch here – listen, and feel.

On December 1st he took to the stage in Chicago with a song written from the hearts of soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines serving in Fallujah. As you’ll hear him explain in this video, he felt the song needed a younger voice so he tapped Cass Dillon.

Here’s the song Christmas In Fallujah – written by Billy Joel and performed by Cass Dillon backed up by a chorus of soldiers in the shadows. While I don’t necessarily agree with all of Joel’s lyrics, I’ll let the song speak for itself.

Well done, Billy. If nothing else, it reminds us of the very important fact there many of our countrymen and women who find themselves far from home and in harm’s way this Christmas.

They are at war. America, it seems, is at the Mall.

Here endeth the lesson.

Interview with Ahmed the Dead Terrorist

2007-11-26T12:01:00.000-05:00

Your irreverant humor for the day.

An Increased DevotionJohnny Micheal Spann (USMC - CIA)

2007-11-25T16:26:00.000-05:00

Toward the end of each November, I take a walk through the hallowed grounds of Arlington National Cemetery. There you will find the last resting place of thousands of men and women who gave what Abraham Lincoln famously referred to as “the last full measure of devotion”. The plain white headstones unique to military cemeteries are the great equalizers of those who serve. Admirals are buried next to Petty Officers, Generals next to Privates – none more revered than the other.

My annual journey takes me to Section 34 Site 2359. There lies entombed the remains of Johnny Micheal Spann. Mike, as he preferred to be called, has a distinction nobody would every wish for – he was the first combat casualty suffered by the United States in the Afghanistan War – a war which would become the Global War on Terror.

Mike held the rank of Captain in the United States Marine Corps, but it was not his Marine service which sent him to Afghanistan in the fall of 2001. He had left the Corps and signed on as an Operations Officer at the Central Intelligence Agency. In the aftermath of the September 11th attacks, he volunteered for duty as a part of the paramilitary team searching for Osama bin Laden. On November 25, 2001 – while most of America was winding down from the Thanksgiving weekend - he was killed in a prison uprising at Mazar-i-Sharif. Mike’s whole story can be read here.

Mike heard the call of his country and answered it with all the gusto anyone could ever ask for. He obviously believed in the importance of his mission – knowing full well it could cost him his life. He knew the risks and went anyway.

When Abraham Lincoln looked over the carnage of Gettysburg, he declared:

It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain.

I submit, dear reader, that the work started by men like Mike Spann is yet unfinished. He gave the last full measure of devotion on a battlefield far removed from the hallowed ground of Arlington. I make my annual pilgrimage to his grave to remind myself of a man I never had the privilege of knowing.

The American memory is a short one and always has been. This is good in some ways in that – as a country – we are able to continue on with life rather than dwelling in the past. The flipside of that coin is that – as a country – we tend to forget what people like Mike Spann have done for us.

That is why I try and take an increased devotion to the cause for which Mike gave the last full measure.

Take a minute today to read about Mike Spann. A scholarship has been set up in his honor at Auburn University.

I’ve tried to think of some phrase with which to end this post, but I can find no better ending than a quote from the man himself. When applying to the Central Intelligence Agency, Mike wrote the following:

I believe in the meaning of honor and integrity. I am an action person who feels personally responsible for making any changes in this world that are in my power...because if I don't, no one else will.

Here endeth the lesson.

Thanksgiving 2007

2007-11-21T10:48:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving is a uniquely American holiday. This weekend will be full of feasting, turkey, and football – played by both professional teams and ad-hoc family games which more resemble the Roman gladiator games than an friendly game of touch football.

This is what Americans do in late November, and it is all together fitting and proper that we do this.

That said, I believe it is important to remember from whence this holiday was born. To do so I quote from Abraham Lincoln’s original Thanksgiving declaration (with added emphasis) in order that we might see the historic similarities between today’s circumstances and those faced by American in the midst of her Civil War.

Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defense have not arrested the plow, the shuttle, or the ship; the ax has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well as the iron and coal as of our precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege, and the battlefield, and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom.

No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.

It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole American people. I do therefore invite my fellow-citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next as a day of thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the imposition of the Almighty hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it, as soon as may be consistent with the divine purpose, to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity, and union.

In testimony whereof I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the city of Washington, this 3d day of October, A.D. 1863, and of the Independence of the United States the eighty-eighth.

- Abraham Lincoln

Enjoy Thanksgiving, America. Just remember to render thanks to whom from all blessings flow.

Here endeth the lesson.

"24" in 1994

2007-11-20T14:06:00.000-05:00

For those of us who lived through pagers, dialup, and internet by the hour, this is downright hystierical.

Star Wars - Revenge of Wierd Al

2007-11-20T09:57:00.000-05:00

For your viewing pleasure:

Thoughts On "Rained Out" Football And Halloween-Free Schools

2007-10-31T08:42:00.000-04:00

When the time comes to trace the catalysts which led to the downfall of Western Civilization, among the principle events to be noted will be the decisions made by school administrators to reschedule high-school football games because of rain and also to prohibit grade school students from wearing costumes to school on Halloween.

Yes, the skies did open last week over the Commonwealth of Virginia. Evidently this was a major catastrophic event because all of the high school football games in my county were rescheduled for this Monday. Granted, this is as close as most of the players will ever get to playing on Monday Night, but let’s get serious here. Football is not a weather sensitive sport – with the obvious exception of lightning. If it rains, football is played. If it snows, football is played. Football is even played when the fog is so thick the quarterback cant’ even see the defensive linemen. Football is not cancelled or rescheduled for rain unless the field is under more than a few feet of standing water.

Wusses.

Today is Halloween, but you wouldn’t know it by visiting any of the neighborhood schools. It seems that we as a general society have become so sensitive to the feelings and sensitivities of event the smallest group of people that we shudder at even the very thought of possibly offending one person.

My son Corderinho’s school sent home a note last week reminding parents that the school does not celebrate or in any other way recognize Halloween. No candy, no pumpkins, no ghosts, ghouls or other representations would be permitted at school. Wearing anything that could remotely be considered a “costume” was prohibited.

While I understand the reasoning behind this Halloween ban, I fail to see the logic in it. Part of the purpose in school is to have fun and to encourage creativity. A few lifetimes ago when I was in High School (where we played football in the rain) a group of guys got together and came up with a unique costume idea.

Their costumes consisted of white sweat shirts and pants with white skull caps. Each sweat shirt bore the lettering:

Fallopian Swim Team

Well, at least you know they paid attention in Biology.

Here endeth the lesson.

Condensed Motherhood

2007-10-04T15:57:00.001-04:00

This about made me fall out of my chair. I knew there was a Cliff's Notes primer on motherhood. I just didn't know it had been put to the William Tell Overture.

Facing Life...Before Death

2007-09-21T14:47:00.000-04:00

There a few certainties in this existence we call life. One of those certainties is the fact we all eventually will die. Nobody likes to dwell on this fact because – for most of us – death is a pretty depressing subject.

How we deal with life is just as important as how we deal with death. Few people actually know when it is their time here upon this Earth will end. One of those people is Carnegie Mellon University Professor Randy Pausch. He participated a lecture series based on the concept of asking professor types to give a speech of what they would want to include in their very last lecture. Personally I think that’s a pretty novel concept and a lecture series I’d be sure to attend.

For Professor Pausch, a Computer Science teacher, the venue is an ironic one. You see, Pausch suffers from – and will shortly succumb to – pancreatic cancer. In this short snippet from his lecture (thanks to Dean for the link) he gives some unique and inspiring thoughts on life and the importance of living those dreams you had in childhood.

Here’s a link to the full lecture. Though I haven’t had time yet to see the whole thing, I’m sure it’s as inspiring as the excerpt.

Randy Pausch is proof that how you deal with challenges – even fatal ones – is very much a choice of attitude.

Godspeed, Randy. The world will be a smaller place without you – and your imagination.

Here endeth the lesson.

Five For Fighting ALS

2007-09-18T10:23:00.001-04:00

If I had a nickel for every chain email that found its way to my inbox claiming I'd get rich if I forwarded it to my entire address book, well I wouldn't have the tip jar on the sidebar anymore. If you're ever wondering why you don't get those emails from me, well now you know.

So, when the Blogfather mentioned Dean Barnett's post on this effort to fund the fight against Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) – commonly known as Lou Gehrig's Disease – I was, to say the least, surprised and somewhat doubtful.

Here's the deal – and it is exceptionally simple: Follow this link, play the video, and $2 will be donated by Glenn Tullman/Allscripts and Bert and Cyndie Silva to fund what could be the final research into a cure for this deadly disease. All you have to do is watch and listen. Careful – you might learn something.

Here endeth the lesson.

It Was A Tuesday Morning In September

2007-09-11T17:10:00.000-04:00

Six years ago this morning began like any other. American began their day in the usual way like they had countless mornings before. They woke up, showered, ate breakfast, bundled the kids off to school, and made their way to the work or whatever other daily activities they had planned for any other Tuesday morning.

Nobody ever plans anything very important for Tuesday. Tuesday is that day of the week that falls between the beginning and mid-week. Its just a day you try and muddle through.

At 8:46 AM Eastern Time, that quiet Tuesday became a day which would influence each and every day that followed. Within about an hour, the Twin Towers of New York’s World Trade Center had collapsed into what became known as Ground Zero. In Arlington, Virginia, one side of the Pentagon lay in a twisted ruin of concrete and steel. Over the skies of southeast Pennsylvania in America’s finest tradition, Citizens became Soldiers and defended with their lives their country and the lives of their countrymen.

That Tuesday morning began with America at peace and ended with America at war. In truth, the Islamofacist Murdering Thugs had been at war with the United States for nigh unto three decades. It was only that Tuesday they decided to bring it to our shores.

Much has transpired in the intervening years since that Tuesday morning. There is still a hole in the heart of New York City. There are as many opinions about that issue as there are New Yorkers – but the most vocal whiners are those who seem to be more afraid of offending the Islamofascists than they are upset and angry over the events of that Tuesday. Contrast this with the Pentagon restoration – all that remains of the attack is one blackened brick. The military brass was bound and determined that Osama “Binny” Laden wouldn’t dictate the look of their headquarters. New York could stand to follow that example.

With the passage of time comes the fading of memories. People move on with their lives and thus the country moves with them. For me, the memory does not fade. I still remember the events of that Tuesday morning in September. I have not forgotten the loss of 2,996 of my countrymen and women. The world is a smaller place without them in it.

Billy Joel once wrote a fictional song about a post apocalyptic New York. He performed it at The Concert for New York City. Click on the YouTube link below and pay attention to the last words of the song:

There are not many who remember….they say a handful still survive. To tell the world about, the way the lights went out, to keep the memory alive.

Remember.

Here endeth the lesson.

Graphic HT to the Dynamic Duo of Cox & Forkum

But I Like Mockingbirds...

2007-08-24T15:04:00.000-04:00

You're To Kill a Mockingbird!

by Harper Lee

Perceived as a revolutionary and groundbreaking person, you have
changed the minds of many people. While questioning the authority around you, you've
also taken a significant amount of flack. But you've had the admirable guts to
persevere. There's a weird guy in the neighborhood using dubious means to protect you,
but you're pretty sure it's worth it in the end. In the end, it remains unclear to you
whether finches and mockingbirds get along in real life.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

James E. Faust - 1920-2007

2007-08-10T09:15:00.000-04:00

James E. Faust, Second Counselor in the First Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints died this morning in Salt Lake City. He was 87.

President Faust has been a fixture in the upper echelons of LDS Church leadership for as long as I can remember. I always enjoyed the counsel he provided in the various settings I saw him in. Most times he was a jovial, grandfatherly type but he also had a stern side when he was given an especially difficult or sensitive subject to discuss.

Of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, President Faust was the only one who spoke Portuguese. He, like me, served a mission in Brazil, though when he served, the Brazil Mission took up most of the Southern Hemisphere. 70 years changes many things.

My fondest memory of President Faust occurred when he and Elder Richard G. Scott visited an Area Conference at Brigham Young University. This meeting took place in the Marriott Center and the place was packed to a capacity crowd – something that usually happens when the BYU basketball team has a winning season.

He was preceded at the podium by his wife and before she took her seat he put his arm around her and proceeded to tell the story of their courtship. He stated that he did not kiss his wife until they knelt across the altar and were married for time and all eternity. He went on to explain that he had more than made up for the lack of pre-marital lip-lock in the subsequent years of their marriage.

Then President Faust looked at his wife, and with a devilish smile said:

I don’t think I’ve ever kissed you in front of this many people before…

And he proceeded to lay one on her right then and there.

He served his country during World War II in the US Army Air Corps and later practiced law in Salt Lake City. He was called as a General Authority in 1972. His life was full of family, service, and love. He will be greatly missed.

Well done, thou good and faithful servant…enter thou into the joy of thy lord. – Matthew 25:21

Godspeed, Jim. Welcome home.

Here endeth the lesson.

No Toil Nor Labor Fear…All Is Well

2007-07-24T15:47:00.001-04:00

Today marks the 160^th anniversary of the day when Brigham Young led a rag tag bunch of weary pioneers down Emigration Canyon and boldly proclaimed the Valley of the Great Salt Lake to be "The Right Place". One can only imagine what went through the minds of those in his wagon train. 1847 was long before Mormon settlers learned how to irrigate the valley and make it blossom as a rose.

The valley was a dusty desert with a huge salt water lake. Brother Brigham was suffering from Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever at the time, but those brave souls followed him down the mountain and built a city which is among the world's best planned metro areas. They sacrificed much to go west with Brigham. Some sacrificed everything.

To read the accounts of the trials endured by these pioneers as they crossed the plains – some in covered wagons, some with handcarts, and still others on foot – is to stand in amazement of what one person can do in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. If you're searching for inspiration, go read the story of the Martin Handcart company and the story of the three young men who ferried the entire company across an ice filled river. Truer acts of heroism have seldom been seen.

Through it all, their anthem of Come, Come, Ye Saints echoed across the plains from Winter Quarters to Salt Lake City. They feared no toil nor labor and went their way with joy. They did this with the hope that future generations would benefit from their sacrifices. They are my forbearers, and I'm proud of them. I hope they are of me too.

Here endeth the lesson.

One Giant Leap...To Where?

2007-07-23T12:05:00.001-04:00

This past Friday an anniversary came and went without much fanfare. 38 years ago most of the world was riveted to television screens as something never before attempted by man was broadcast around the world. The United States of America, personified by Neil Armstrong, made good on a challenge put forth by an American president to send a man to the moon. Armstrong stepped off the ladder and into history with words remembered by most Americans and a good portion of the world’s population.

That’s one small step for man…one giant leap for man kind.

Man has always looked to the stars as the Final Frontier. Armstrong’s leap was supposed to be a stepping stone into the exciting exploration of space. Several men followed in his boot prints. The Apollo astronauts walked as Gods among men in America’s pop culture. Far off places like Mars were within our reach – or so it seemed.

Then, as best as I can tell, America got bored. Spaceflight became routine to the point that the ill-fated Apollo XIII mission (immortalized by a the movie with the same name) wasn’t even broadcast on television. The networks evidently said NASA had made going to the moon about as exciting as “driving to Pittsburgh”.

Roughly four years later, Eugene Cernan gained the infamous notoriety of being the last man to walk on the surface of the moon.

So, what has NASA done since? It still attracts America’s bravest and brightest minds, but nobody has left orbit since Cernan’s capsule splashed down in December of 1972. Much was made of the America’s Shuttle fleet – the first reusable spacecraft – but those vehicles have far outlasted their original designed lifetime and mission not to mention far exceeded the cost they were supposed to bring down.

I don’t mean to deride the accomplishments of today’s astronauts. They go places and do things guys like me only dream about – but something tells me they’d rather have a far off destination than endlessly circling the globe at an altitude of 200+ miles. The question remains: When will we go back to the Moon?

Eric Jones attempts to answer this question. He’s got the facts and figures to back up his statements but the basic answer to the question above is pretty simple: We’ll go back when it becomes a national priority to do so. In short, Jones says:

…we might hasten our return to the Moon if we become a bit less cynical, a bit more mindful of the old maxims about preparing for tomorrow, and, in the process, manage to rediscover our old fascination with the frontier. We shall see.

I believe there is an instinct deep in the soul of mankind which requires us to reach beyond what we have already accomplished and go beyond where we have already been. I wonder how long it will be before the need to explore again permeates the American psyche and compels us again to reach for the stars and take our place among them.

Not too long, I hope. I’d like to be around when man again walks on the Moon and planets beyond.

Here endeth the lesson.

Greater Love Hath No Man Than This

2007-07-10T14:22:00.001-04:00

I came across this short article today and had to give it a mention.

Like many Americans, James Alton Barbour, Jr. loved to spend time in the water. Its summertime in North Carolina and for those of you who have never been there, it's hot.

James and his little sister were playing in the pool when Alona strayed into the deep end of the pool and began struggling to stay afloat. James made a quick decision and pushed his kid sister to the shallow end – saving her life.

James, however, was not so fortunate. He lost his footing, slipped, and drowned after having saved his sister.

If you've already clicked over to the story than you know why I had to give James a mention today. James is six-years-old. His sister Alona is three. Even at that tender young age, James saw what had to be done and did it. He loved his little sister and gave his life that she might live. Never let it be said that kids don't understand far more than we give them credit for.

Godspeed, little James.

Here endeth the lesson.

I'm Rated G

2007-07-05T14:54:00.000-04:00

High Treason

2007-07-04T10:14:00.000-04:00

No, I'm not talking about W's commutation of Scooter Libby's prison sentence.

I'm talking about what 56 men committed when they put their names to a document which would forever change the way people looked upon the institutions of government and thought about a strange new concept called "freedom".

Had Washington's fortunes been a little different at Valley Forge - or any number of other Revolutionary War battles, these men would have paid for their audacity with their lives and quite possibly the lives of their families.

Yet, they

with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence

mutually pledged to each other their lives, fortunes, and their Sacred Honor to the cause for which we today celebrate.

So, Dear Reader, have a great Fourth of July. Enjoy the fireworks, but remember that the first fireworks were real.

Here endeth the lesson.

Adventures With Duct Tape

2007-06-27T11:01:00.000-04:00

Every guy who can lay legitimate claim to Guy-Hood has experience with God’s gift to handymen everywhere – commonly referred to as Duct Tape. It has many uses, as detailed by the link. I’ve made extensive use of Duct Tape for various uses both common and, well, not so common. Basically, I believe in the following Article of Duct Tape:

If it cannot be fixed with Duct Tape, it cannot be fixed.

For the past six months or so, the Service Engine Soon light has been on in my Mustang. Like most guys, when it came on I popped the hood and made sure the engine was still in place. It was. I then checked the owner’s manual and found out that, unless the light was blinking (which it wasn’t) I could continue to drive the car as normal. The illuminated light meant the evaporation line on the fuel system wasn’t totally sealed. Taking this to mean my car was in no danger of spontaneously combusting, I continued on my merry way – though not so merry because of the constant yellow glow emanating from my dashboard.

Emissions inspection time came, and after taking my car to be serviced I found that the top gasket on the gas tank was no longer sealing properly. While the evaporation line was a quick and cheap fix (a 3 cent clamp), the gas tank gasket was another story entirely – and much more expensive to boot. Both issues had to be resolved – in one way or another – before the emissions test could be passed.

The evaporation line was fixed with a cheap clamp, and I was at a loss as to how to fix the gasket problem – until I found a roll of duct tape sliding around in the trunk. I took several small strips of duct tape, placed them over and around the damaged gasket and voila! the gas tank was sealed. Emissions test passed with flying colors.

So, dear reader, there you have it – yet another use for Duct Tape. It’s kinda like The Force. It has a dark side and a light side – and it holds everything together.

Here endeth the lesson.

On Being A Father

2007-06-15T17:09:00.000-04:00

This Sunday marks Father’s Day. It is a day of questionable ties and silly cards given to fathers by their children and to husbands by their wives. Personally I’ve long advocated Father’s Day be moved to coincide with the NFL’s opening day, but my lobbying efforts have thus far fallen on deaf ears.

Father’s Day gets much less publicity than does Mother’s Day. While there may be many reasons for this disparity, the fact of the matter is the importance of fathers in today’s culture has been greatly diminished. I won’t get into the root causes of the declining influence of the modern father in society – that’s a debate for another time – but I will simply state for the record there can be no replacement for a father (or father figure) in a family.

The fact of the matter is, children need a father’s influence. This in no way cheapens the important role and influence mothers have on children. Mothers care for and nurture children. Fathers take them outside and wrestle with them in ways that cause their wives to wince. Children, especially boys, need this kind of controlled violence in their lives.

In my perusal of the Blogosphere, I’ve come to really enjoy the writings of Tony Woodlief. He’s written a pamphlet (yes, Tony, I’m giving you a free plug) entitled “Raising Wild Boys into Men: A Modern Dad's Survival Guide” and has this teaser:

I've noticed that I walk slowly to my front door when I get home. I'm not a poetic guy, but I linger over the sound of the birds, the whisper of a breeze, the gentle sunlight on the grass. Then I open the door and cover my crotch, because each boy will come barreling at me, head lowered, preparing both to hug and tackle me at the same time. It's how they show love, through fierce hugs and low-level violence...

Tony has several posts on the importance of Fatherhood. He’s also recently been published in the venerable Wall Street Journal. Reading Tony reminds me of the oft quoted and very prescient words of David O. McKay

No other success can compensate for failure in the home.

I’ve read that quote thousands of times in many different settings, but it never really hit home for me until I was faced with my own personal patriarchal dilemma. I’ll spare you the details, but I came to the conclusion that if I screwed up in my role as a father and husband, it really wouldn’t matter how successful I was in other aspects of my life. If you screw up professionally, you might get fired. If you screw up as a father and your kids end up as damaged goods, your failure will be magnified on a generational scale.

Where did the seeds of this epiphany com from? Well, yes there were years of Sunday School lessons and other such teachings and I’ll give them as much credit as they deserve – but in the end those lessons are just words on the page. I learned the importance of being there as a father from Father Cordeiro. During my teenage years he had a professional opportunity that would’ve been great for his career and perhaps turned his gold oak leaves silver. Accepting that assignment would’ve uprooted our family and taken us across the ocean for the second time in six years. Father Cordeiro thought long and hard about it and ended up taking a stateside job with much less prestige. He did this so his children would have better opportunities. It was a difficult call for him to make, but one which benefited his posterity in ways yet unseen.

90% of fatherhood is just showing up. So many boys in today’s world are hell bent on engaging in the act of procreation while being wholly unprepared for the results thereof. The lack of a father’s influence in the life of a child is something which devastates society as a whole. According to Roland Warren, president of the National Fatherhood Initiative, children growing up in fatherless homes are two to three times more likely to use drugs, become teen parents, be connected with the criminal justice system, to fail in school or to live in poverty.”

Children learn from their fathers. The prophet Enos wrote that his father

was a just man—for he taught me in his language, and also in the nurture and admonition of the Lord—and blessed be the name of my God for it— (emphasis added)

It's my personal opinion that Enos did not always bless the name of his God for his father having taught him in his language along with lessons about the nurture and admonition of the Lord. I'm sure Enos did his share of lamenting over his father's lectures - I know I did when I was a kid. That said, Enos learned that his father had been a wise man and was grateful for the lessons he imparted. I know the older I get, the wiser man my father becomes.

Boys learn how to be men from the actions of their fathers. Girls learn how men should treat women by how their father treats their mother. Children learn these lessons regardless whether or not what is taught is right or wrong.

It’s hard to be a good father. Fatherhood means you spend a lot of time doing things you’d really rather avoid. It means learning how to handle hazardous material containers commonly referred to as diapers. It means sleepless nights with sick kids and weekends spent on little league fields rather than the golf course. It means sitting down and having a tea-party with your little girl and her dozen dolls while the playoff game of the century comes to a harrowing climax you’ll only see on YouTube long after the game is over. It means spending hours helping a little boy paint a Pinewood Derby car when you could be elsewhere. You do these things because your father did them for you, and you hope your sons do it for their children.

I do not remember all the little things Father Cordeiro did for me as a child. What I do remember is that he was there for me, regardless of how inconsequential the event was. Yes, he did manage to get tossed from more than a few junior-varsity football games for making incendiary comments about the visual acuity of the officials – but I’m pretty sure that’s required by the Dad Handbook. Just that presence taught me that, in his eyes I had value. When it’s all said and done, the time fathers give their children will matter more than all the material possessions in the world. No man ever came to the end of his life wishing he’d spent more time at the office.

I really like the movies The Family Man and The Pursuit Of Happyness. Both of these films greatly underscore the struggles and sacrifices made by men as they try to succeed in the only role that really matters.

Fatherhood, dear reader, is what really separates the men from the boys. Today’s world has enough members of the male gender. What we need is more men.

Here endeth the lesson.

Ronald Reagan - June 12, 1987

2007-06-12T08:31:00.001-04:00

On this day 20 years ago, Ronald Reagan stood before a divided Berlin at the Brandenburg Gate. He delivered a speech that was broadcast around the world – as several American Presidents had before him. The year was 1987. It was the height of the Cold War. The conventional wisdom of the time stated the Iron Curtain would remain in place and the best anyone could ever hope for was a prolonging of the status quo.

Ronald Reagan didn’t believe that. He believed in confronting the enemies of freedom – and so he went to the Brandenburg Gate armed with four words. His staff didn’t want him to say those four words. It simply wasn’t done. One could not stand before the Soviets and demand the Berlin Wall be torn down. Reagan didn’t care. He said what he went there to say, consequences be damned.

I have read and listened to Reagan’s Brandenburg Gate Address many times. I thought to be able to summarize it for you, but I can’t find where to edit it. I guess that’s what happens when you come across one of the truly great works in the history of speechmaking.

So, dear reader, I quote for you here today the Gipper – at his rhetorical best. You may read, or listen as you like.

Thank you. Thank you, very much.

Chancellor Kohl, Governing Mayor Diepgen, ladies and gentlemen: Twenty four years ago, President John F. Kennedy visited Berlin, and speaking to the people of this city and the world at the city hall. Well since then two other presidents have come, each in his turn to Berlin. And today, I, myself, make my second visit to your city.

We come to Berlin, we American Presidents, because it's our duty to speak in this place of freedom. But I must confess, we’re drawn here by other things as well; by the feeling of history in this city -- more than 500 years older than our own nation; by the beauty of the Grunewald and the Tiergarten; most of all, by your courage and determination. Perhaps the composer, Paul Linke, understood something about American Presidents. You see, like so many Presidents before me, I come here today because wherever I go, whatever I do: “Ich hab noch einen Koffer in Berlin” [I still have a suitcase in Berlin.]

Our gathering today is being broadcast throughout Western Europe and North America. I understand that it is being seen and heard as well in the East. To those listening throughout Eastern Europe, I extend my warmest greetings and the good will of the American people. To those listening in East Berlin, a special word: Although I cannot be with you, I address my remarks to you just as surely as to those standing here before me. For I join you, as I join your fellow countrymen in the West, in this firm, this unalterable belief: Es gibt nur ein Berlin. [There is only one Berlin.]

Behind me stands a wall that encircles the free sectors of this city, part of a vast system of barriers that divides the entire continent of Europe. From the Baltic South, those barriers cut across Germany in a gash of barbed wire, concrete, dog runs, and guard towers. Farther south, there may be no visible, no obvious wall. But there remain armed guards and checkpoints all the same -- still a restriction on the right to travel, still an instrument to impose upon ordinary men and women the will of a totalitarian state.

Yet, it is here in Berlin where the wall emerges most clearly; here, cutting across your city, where the news photo and the television screen have imprinted this brutal division of a continent upon the mind of the world.

Standing before the Brandenburg Gate, every man is a German separated from his fellow men.

Every man is a Berliner, forced to look upon a scar.

President Von Weizsäcker has said, "The German question is open as long as the Brandenburg Gate is closed." Well today -- today I say: As long as this gate is closed, as long as this scar of a wall is permitted to stand, it is not the German question alone that remains open, but the question of freedom for all mankind.
Yet, I do not come here to lament. For I find in Berlin a message of hope, even in the shadow of this wall, a message of triumph.

In this season of spring in 1945, the people of Berlin emerged from their air-raid shelters to find devastation. Thousands of miles away, the people of the United States reached out to help. And in 1947 Secretary of State -- as you've been told -- George Marshall announced the creation of what would become known as the Marshall Plan. Speaking precisely 40 years ago this month, he said: "Our policy is directed not against any country or doctrine, but against hunger, poverty, desperation, and chaos."

In the Reichstag a few moments ago, I saw a display commemorating this 40th anniversary of the Marshall Plan. I was struck by a sign -- the sign on a burnt-out, gutted structure that was being rebuilt. I understand that Berliners of my own generation can remember seeing signs like it dotted throughout the western sectors of the city. The sign read simply: "The Marshall Plan is helping here to strengthen the free world." A strong, free world in the West -- that dream became real. Japan rose from ruin to become an economic giant. Italy, France, Belgium -- virtually every nation in Western Europe saw political and economic rebirth; the European Community was founded.

In West Germany and here in Berlin, there took place an economic miracle, the Wirtschaftswunder. Adenauer, Erhard, Reuter, and other leaders understood the practical importance of liberty -- that just as truth can flourish only when the journalist is given freedom of speech, so prosperity can come about only when the farmer and businessman enjoy economic freedom. The German leaders -- the German leaders reduced tariffs, expanded free trade, lowered taxes. From 1950 to 1960 alone, the standard of living in West Germany and Berlin doubled.

Where four decades ago there was rubble, today in West Berlin there is the greatest industrial output of any city in Germany: busy office blocks, fine homes and apartments, proud avenues, and the spreading lawns of parkland. Where a city's culture seemed to have been destroyed, today there are two great universities, orchestras and an opera, countless theaters, and museums. Where there was want, today there's abundance -- food, clothing, automobiles -- the wonderful goods of the Kudamm.¹ From devastation, from utter ruin, you Berliners have, in freedom, rebuilt a city that once again ranks as one of the greatest on earth. Now the Soviets may have had other plans. But my friends, there were a few things the Soviets didn't count on: Berliner Herz, Berliner Humor, ja, und Berliner Schnauze. [Berliner heart, Berliner humor, yes, and a Berliner Schnauze.²]

In the 1950s -- In the 1950s Khrushchev predicted: "We will bury you."
But in the West today, we see a free world that has achieved a level of prosperity and well-being unprecedented in all human history. In the Communist world, we see failure, technological backwardness, declining standards of health, even want of the most basic kind -- too little food. Even today, the Soviet Union still cannot feed itself. After these four decades, then, there stands before the entire world one great and inescapable conclusion: Freedom leads to prosperity. Freedom replaces the ancient hatreds among the nations with comity and peace. Freedom is the victor.
And now -- now the Soviets themselves may, in a limited way, be coming to understand the importance of freedom. We hear much from Moscow about a new policy of reform and openness. Some political prisoners have been released. Certain foreign news broadcasts are no longer being jammed. Some economic enterprises have been permitted to operate with greater freedom from state control.

Are these the beginnings of profound changes in the Soviet state? Or are they token gestures intended to raise false hopes in the West, or to strengthen the Soviet system without changing it? We welcome change and openness; for we believe that freedom and security go together, that the advance of human liberty -- the advance of human liberty can only strengthen the cause of world peace.
There is one sign the Soviets can make that would be unmistakable, that would advance dramatically the cause of freedom and peace.

General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization: Come here to this gate.

Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate.

Mr. Gorbachev -- Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!

I understand the fear of war and the pain of division that afflict this continent, and I pledge to you my country's efforts to help overcome these burdens. To be sure, we in the West must resist Soviet expansion. So, we must maintain defenses of unassailable strength. Yet we seek peace; so we must strive to reduce arms on both sides.

Beginning 10 years ago, the Soviets challenged the Western alliance with a grave new threat, hundreds of new and more deadly SS-20 nuclear missiles capable of striking every capital in Europe. The Western alliance responded by committing itself to a counter-deployment (unless the Soviets agreed to negotiate a better solution) -- namely, the elimination of such weapons on both sides. For many months, the Soviets refused to bargain in earnestness. As the alliance, in turn, prepared to go forward with its counter-deployment, there were difficult days, days of protests like those during my 1982 visit to this city; and the Soviets later walked away from the table.
But through it all, the alliance held firm. And I invite those who protested then -- I invite those who protest today -- to mark this fact: Because we remained strong, the Soviets came back to the table. Because we remained strong, today we have within reach the possibility, not merely of limiting the growth of arms, but of eliminating, for the first time, an entire class of nuclear weapons from the face of the earth.

As I speak, NATO ministers are meeting in Iceland to review the progress of our proposals for eliminating these weapons. At the talks in Geneva, we have also proposed deep cuts in strategic offensive weapons. And the Western allies have likewise made far-reaching proposals to reduce the danger of conventional war and to place a total ban on chemical weapons.

While we pursue these arms reductions, I pledge to you that we will maintain the capacity to deter Soviet aggression at any level at which it might occur. And in cooperation with many of our allies, the United States is pursuing the Strategic Defense Initiative -- research to base deterrence not on the threat of offensive retaliation, but on defenses that truly defend; on systems, in short, that will not target populations, but shield them. By these means we seek to increase the safety of Europe and all the world. But we must remember a crucial fact: East and West do not mistrust each other because we are armed; we are armed because we mistrust each other. And our differences are not about weapons but about liberty. When President Kennedy spoke at the City Hall those 24 years ago, freedom was encircled; Berlin was under siege. And today, despite all the pressures upon this city, Berlin stands secure in its liberty. And freedom itself is transforming the globe.

In the Philippines, in South and Central America, democracy has been given a rebirth. Throughout the Pacific, free markets are working miracle after miracle of economic growth. In the industrialized nations, a technological revolution is taking place, a revolution marked by rapid, dramatic advances in computers and telecommunications.

In Europe, only one nation and those it controls refuse to join the community of freedom. Yet in this age of redoubled economic growth, of information and innovation, the Soviet Union faces a choice: It must make fundamental changes, or it will become obsolete.

Today, thus, represents a moment of hope. We in the West stand ready to cooperate with the East to promote true openness, to break down barriers that separate people, to create a safer, freer world. And surely there is no better place than Berlin, the meeting place of East and West, to make a start.

Free people of Berlin: Today, as in the past, the United States stands for the strict observance and full implementation of all parts of the Four Power Agreement of 1971. Let us use this occasion, the 750th anniversary of this city, to usher in a new era, to seek a still fuller, richer life for the Berlin of the future. Together, let us maintain and develop the ties between the Federal Republic and the Western sectors of Berlin, which is permitted by the 1971 agreement.

And I invite Mr. Gorbachev: Let us work to bring the Eastern and Western parts of the city closer together, so that all the inhabitants of all Berlin can enjoy the benefits that come with life in one of the great cities of the world.
To open Berlin still further to all Europe, East and West, let us expand the vital air access to this city, finding ways of making commercial air service to Berlin more convenient, more comfortable, and more economical. We look to the day when West Berlin can become one of the chief aviation hubs in all central Europe.
With -- With our French -- With our French and British partners, the United States is prepared to help bring international meetings to Berlin. It would be only fitting for Berlin to serve as the site of United Nations meetings, or world conferences on human rights and arms control, or other issues that call for international cooperation.

There is no better way to establish hope for the future than to enlighten young minds, and we would be honored to sponsor summer youth exchanges, cultural events, and other programs for young Berliners from the East. Our French and British friends, I'm certain, will do the same. And it's my hope that an authority can be found in East Berlin to sponsor visits from young people of the Western sectors.
One final proposal, one close to my heart: Sport represents a source of enjoyment and ennoblement, and you may have noted that the Republic of Korea -- South Korea -- has offered to permit certain events of the 1988 Olympics to take place in the North. International sports competitions of all kinds could take place in both parts of this city. And what better way to demonstrate to the world the openness of this city than to offer in some future year to hold the Olympic games here in Berlin, East and West.

In these four decades, as I have said, you Berliners have built a great city. You've done so in spite of threats -- the Soviet attempts to impose the East-mark, the blockade. Today the city thrives in spite of the challenges implicit in the very presence of this wall. What keeps you here? Certainly there's a great deal to be said for your fortitude, for your defiant courage. But I believe there's something deeper, something that involves Berlin's whole look and feel and way of life -- not mere sentiment. No one could live long in Berlin without being completely disabused of illusions. Something, instead, that has seen the difficulties of life in Berlin but chose to accept them, that continues to build this good and proud city in contrast to a surrounding totalitarian presence, that refuses to release human energies or aspirations, something that speaks with a powerful voice of affirmation, that says "yes" to this city, yes to the future, yes to freedom. In a word, I would submit that what keeps you in Berlin -- is "love."

Love both profound and abiding.

Perhaps this gets to the root of the matter, to the most fundamental distinction of all between East and West. The totalitarian world produces backwardness because it does such violence to the spirit, thwarting the human impulse to create, to enjoy, to worship. The totalitarian world finds even symbols of love and of worship an affront.

Years ago, before the East Germans began rebuilding their churches, they erected a secular structure: the television tower at Alexander Platz. Virtually ever since, the authorities have been working to correct what they view as the tower's one major flaw: treating the glass sphere at the top with paints and chemicals of every kind. Yet even today when the sun strikes that sphere, that sphere that towers over all Berlin, the light makes the sign of the cross. There in Berlin, like the city itself, symbols of love, symbols of worship, cannot be suppressed.
As I looked out a moment ago from the Reichstag, that embodiment of German unity, I noticed words crudely spray-painted upon the wall, perhaps by a young Berliner (quote):

"This wall will fall. Beliefs become reality."

Yes, across Europe, this wall will fall, for it cannot withstand faith; it cannot withstand truth. The wall cannot withstand freedom.

And I would like, before I close, to say one word. I have read, and I have been questioned since I've been here about certain demonstrations against my coming. And I would like to say just one thing, and to those who demonstrate so. I wonder if they have ever asked themselves that if they should have the kind of government they apparently seek, no one would ever be able to do what they're doing again.

Thank you and God bless you all. Thank you.

Where is the Wall which Reagan so forcibly helped crumble? Well, I found a few pieces of it in a very unlikely place, unless you understand and appreciate the efforts made by America's Cold Warriors. At the US Army Intelligence Museum in Ft. Huachuca, Arizona - an obscure place if ever there was one, are found two slabs of the Wall. Here's one:

So much for conventional wisdom.

Here endeth the lesson.

June 6, 1944

2007-06-06T09:27:00.001-04:00

In Memoriam to those whose “lives fought for life…and left the vivid air signed with your honor”.

The men of Normandy had faith that what they were doing was right, faith that they fought for all humanity, faith that a just God would grant them mercy on this beachhead or on the next. It was the deep knowledge--and pray God we have not lost it--that there is a profound, moral difference between the use of force for liberation and the use of force for conquest.

We in America have learned bitter lessons from two World Wars: It is better to be here ready to protect the peace than to take blind shelter across the sea, rushing to respond only after freedom is lost. We've learned that isolationism never was and never will be an acceptable response to tyrannical governments with an expansionist intent.

Here, in this place where the West held together, let us make a vow to our dead. Let us show them by our actions that we understand what they died for. Let our actions say to them the words for which Matthew Ridgway listened: "I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.

Strengthened by their courage,heartened by their value [valor], and borne by their memory, let us continue to stand for the ideals for which they lived and died.

-- Ronald Reagan, June 6, 1984 (Exerpted and Emphasis Added)

Memorial Day 2007

2007-05-27T19:57:00.001-04:00

Memorial Day means different things to different people. The holiday itself can be traced back to 1868 when “Decoration Day” was instituted as a day in which to decorate the graves of those who died in the Civil War. From those humble beginnings we now have the holiday that, among other things, signals the official start of summer.

It has always been a day to remember those brave individuals who gave the last full measure of devotion to their country on the battlefield. What began as a day where places like Fredericksburg, Charlottesville, and Gettysburg were mentioned today finds us trying to pronounce names like Fallujah, Khandahar, and Al Anbar. It is a day in which warriors will remember their fallen comrades.

I am a child of the United States Army. Father Cordeiro was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant shortly after I was born. For most of my childhood and a good chunk of my adolescent years if my address did not have the word “Fort”, “Presidio”, or “APO” in it, I did not feel like I was truly home. To me, the men and women of the United States Military have, and always will be, family.

This Memorial Day, like most others, will find many Americans enjoying this truly American holiday. Many hot dogs and burgers will be grilled, and the odd steak will be accidentally carbonized. While it is all together fitting and proper that these festivities take place, it should be remembered these events happen under the umbrella of freedom which has been purchased and defended at an exceedingly high price – often with the very best men and women this country has to offer.

So, dear reader, celebrate Memorial Day – but as you do, take time to remember those who made such a holiday possible.

Here endeth the lesson.

Walking In A Costco Wonderland

2007-05-17T15:08:00.000-04:00

Costco is truly a monument to Capitalism. There’s one near my office and one was just recently put up near the shopping center closest to my home. This event caused the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro to renew our Costco membership and we recently went to the new warehouse as a stop on our weekly grocery run.

Men and women go to Costco for different reasons. Most women find the deals on bulk quantities of things you buy a lot of anyway – say flour, peanut butter, bread, etc. Costco caters to guys by putting the 12 foot high-definition plasma screen as close to the entrance as possible. Guys are immediately drawn to whatever is playing on the incredibly large screen – they could run endless loops of the Sound of Music and you’d still have a crowd of guys standing around commenting on the picture clarity to complete strangers.

So, after running the technology gadget gauntlet, the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro disappeared into a cavernous aisle and I wandered pushed Cordeirinha (strapped in her double wide cart) around the open middle area. Costco remains the only place on earth where you can go in empty handed and come out with the following:

Five pounds of sirloin steak - $11.95
One 8 foot long, 4 foot long, by 6 foot high inflatable water slide - $400
One hot tub – installed - $5,000

Needless to say, I didn’t walk out with any of those items. The Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro kept shaking her head and saying something about a household budget.

Oh well. I did get the famous Costco lunch special – hot dog and a soda for $1.50. Somedays it’s the little things that make the difference.

Here endeth the lesson.

Every City Has Its Idiot

2007-05-07T12:31:00.000-04:00

In Salt Lake City, they call that idiot “Mayor”.

Last Friday, Sean Hannity flew to Salt Lake City to debate Mayor Ross “Rocky” Anderson. I call it a debate using only the most liberal definition of that word because the whole exchange (most of which can be seen here) only showed Anderson’s ability to parrot the Daily Kos talking points he gets every morning. Anderson is and has been a huge embarrassment to Salt Lake City for his entire tenure as its mayor.

He’s spent more time flying around the country protesting against the W Administration than he has governing Salt Lake City. Even when he’s in town, he only shows his fact at protest rallies. Perhaps I’m being a bit too judgmental. He did, after all, take time to encourage city workers to avoid drinking bottled water thereby fighting global warming. I’m sure Salt Lake City residents are looking forward to the post-Anderson era.

Hollywood has no shortage of people vying to become the official village idiot. The list of applicants is long and less than distinguished but this week’s winner is none other than Paris Hilton. She’s won an all expense paid 44 night 45 day excursion to the Los Angeles County Jail courtesy of the taxpayers of the aforementioned county.

As it turns out, driving drunk whilst in the possession of a suspended driver’s license whilst on probation for DUI qualifies her for the aforementioned vacation. If you follow the link, you’ll read of her whining – and that of her mother – about the “cruel and unwarranted” to be inflicted on Ms. Hilton starting June 5th.

Memo to Paris: Stop whining. Your 45 day visit to LA County’s Guest House is what we in the real world refer to as “consequences”. Keep on your current course and you can expect more of them. I hope you like the shapeless orange jumpsuits.

Memo to Kathy Hilton: Stop whining. Perhaps if you’d taught Paris about consequences – perhaps taken away her toys or something – you might have been able to avoid this entire mess. Paris isn’t going to jail because she’s Paris. She’s going to jail because she’s stupid.

Stupidity has consequences, even in Los Angeles.

Here endeth the lesson.

One Of The Last Old Bold Pilots

2007-05-03T13:50:00.000-04:00

I like museums – most of them anyway. My favorite one is the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum on the National Mall and the Udvar-Hazy Annex near Dulles Airport. I like going to these places because they celebrate the Americans who pioneered flight. It reminds me that it hasn’t been that long since the idea of man leaving the ground made many people laugh.

A little over a half-century ago, brave men put themselves at great risk to journey into space atop dangerous rockets and experimental capsules – just to prove that it could be done. Neil Armstrong journeyed to the moon and back using a computer with less power than my wristwatch – and he made it look easy.

Well, before Armstrong there were guys like Wally Schirra. Schirra was one of the seven original Mercury astronauts. He died today at the age of 84.

The aviation world gets a little smaller each time guys like Schirra pass on. Schirra knew that exploration was fraught with risks and he went anyway. He blazed a trail most of us today consider commonplace. Every single astronaut who walked on the moon did so thanks to Wally Schirra. I think its important to recognize those who made the impossible something we accept today as normal.

Godspeed, Wally.

Here endeth the lesson.

Trying to Make Sense of the Senseless

2007-04-17T11:45:00.001-04:00

The weather around Virginia is bleak. Dark grey clouds fill the sky and the wind howls through the trees like some possessed banshee. All is not right with the world and all you need do is turn on the television to find out why.

Yesterday’s events on the campus of Virginia Tech will long be remembered as part of one of America’s darkest days. One deranged man inflicted his insanity on 32 fellow Hokies in a dark, expressionless mechanical manner. 32 families have been given great cause to mourn today, and every single one of them will be asking one unanswerable question.

Why?

There is no single answer to that question. No one person will be able to get inside the head of the shooter and know what truly drove him to such a murderous rage. Yes, there will be those who will claim to have what those who grieve seek – but in truth those words will ring very hollow.

As human beings, we seek to make sense of senseless acts. Investigations – both those official and those from other sources – will be conducted. They will claim to be focused only on the events in question, but all they’re really interested in is assigning blame.

There will be those who blame America’s gun culture on both sides of the issue. Some will use this tragedy as a springboard from which to launch anti-gun campaigns. They believe the only way to prevent similar tragedy is to rid the landscape of all firearms. There will also be those who will claim the answer to this tragedy is for more guns to be in the hands of responsible people.

Personally, I’m wary of anyone who would attempt to place the foundation of any argument atop the coffins of 32 college students and teachers.

There is, as the Preacher says, a time to every purpose under heaven. This is a time to weep, and a time to mourn those whose lives were taken just as they had begun. With time, however, perhaps we can remember them for how they lived rather than how they died. Then this time to weep and mourn may turn itself into a time to heal, laugh, and yes maybe even dance.

It is difficult now to look upon life as a transitory state. That said, I take comfort (and hope others will as well) in the poetic words of W. W. Phelps:

There is no end to glory.
There is no end to love.
There is no end to union.
There is no death above.

A few weeks ago the world celebrated Easter. Easter is a celebration of life beyond this mortal sphere and at times like these I take comfort in knowing the tomb is empty.

Here endeth the lesson.

Good News On The Stem Cell Front

2007-04-11T14:04:00.000-04:00

With all the hype given to the possible medical breakthroughs contained within the Holy Grail of medical research commonly known as Stem Cells, very little if any actual results have come from that final frontier.

Many proponents of embryonic stem cell research claim that, if given access to federal funds, stem cells could unlock the panacea of medicine and lead to cures to everything from cancer to male pattern baldness. All it takes is the federal blessing to take that which many people consider to be a life and sacrifice it on the altar of science so that others may live in a disease free world.

The most recent issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association has some fantastic news on the stem cell front, though if you look hard enough you’ll find it has nothing to do with embryos. In a Brazilian study conducted at University of São Paulo in Ribeirão Preto, recently diagnosed Type I (insulin dependant) diabetics were injected with stem cells from their own bodies after undergoing a light round of immune system suppressing therapy. I’ll let you read the details for yourself, but what I’m most interested in is results.

According to the co-author of the study, University of Chicago’s Richard Burt, 93% of the patients in the first trial did not need synthetic insulin after the “autologous hematopoietic stem cell transplantation” therapy.

Some of you may look at this study and say “So What?” Well, thanks for asking. Let me illustrate.

Diabetes kills more people than AIDS. It is the number one cause of blindness in the United States, in addition to being one of the leading causes of heart disease, kidney failure, and a host of other ailments far too numerous to mention here.

Any person receiving a diagnosis of Diabetes Mellitus today is faced with a lifetime of daily pricks, injections, and blood tests which said person must endure on a daily basis. Many great advances have been made in the past decade in diabetes treatment and management, but that’s just another fancy term for life support.

In my opinion, this true breakthrough in diabetes research holds the first real hope to cure this disease which ravages far too many people – millions of whom are children who want nothing more than to be able to eat a piece of birthday cake without having to worry about how much insulin they’ll have to take to function afterwards.

This is where the stem cell research money should go – an effort which shows real promise for real results.

And best of all, the source for the stem cells can be found within the person getting the therapy.
This might just be one of the few times everyone can be happy about something.

Here endeth the lesson.

Memo to the Gente Fina at the University of São Paulo in Ribeirão Preto: Bem feito, gente! Se ainda precisar de sujetios, me liga!

Chisum Moments

2007-03-29T10:48:00.000-04:00

There comes a time in the life of every person where they come face to face with their own fragile humanity. Nobody enjoys dealing with the fact that, despite the best efforts of modern science and medicine, our society will always require the services of a grave digger.

Most of us receive difficult medical diagnoses in the company of close friends, family, and doctors who (we hope at least) have our best interests at heart. Treatment plans and similar arrangements are discussed far from the glare of the public spotlight – a fact for which most of us are very grateful.

Such is not the case for public figures such as Elizabeth Edwards (wife of Democratic presidential hopeful John Edwards) and W’s Head Spear Catcher, Press Secretary Tony Snow. Both of them have had to deal with the return of cancer – a crucible through which both of them had already passed once before.

My regular readers will already know I don’t hold John Edwards in very high esteem. That said, when the public persona is lifted, he is what I am – a husband and father. Elizabeth is his wife of over three decades – the mother of his children. That side of him I understand and I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t feel something for a man who – somewhere deep inside himself – knows his time with his sweetheart will be shorter than either of them would like. John, may her days be such that there is time for more joy than sorrow.

My heart goes out to Tony Snow in much the same manner. He is a devoted husband and father – titles he cherishes far more than any title or honor he will ever receive. I’m sure in the back of his mind he knew recurrence was a possibility – just not one he ever wanted to deal with. Tony knows what its like to be sick. His attitude is truly one to be emulated.

Receiving a difficult medical diagnosis is a lot like getting “clotheslined” on a football field. You’re running down the field, intent on finding the ball carrier and separating him from his shoulder pads when suddenly you are blindsided by an opposing blocker. Your momentum stops, you see the tops of your shoes in front of you and suddenly you’re on your back on the grass looking up at the bright lights and wondering why you can’t breath so well. (That’s what people tell me anyway. I, of course, never ever got clotheslined. That’s my story and I’m sticking too it.)

Being blindsided by a serious medical problem is a little harder than that. Medical blindsiding usually involves waking up on a very uncomfortable ICU bed to find yourself hooked up to an IV, blood pressure cuff, heart monitor, and one of the medical professions most heinous torture devices ever invented, the foley.

If you don’t know what a foley is, trust me, you really, really, really don’t want to know.

It is in these moments you really have to ask yourself the question posed by the theme song to John Wayne’s 1970 movie Chisum – “Can You Still Keep Movin’ On?” On the playing field, as in life, you really have but two choices to consider. One is to lie there on the field and feel sorry for yourself. In so doing you run the risk of being trampled by a bunch of sweaty guys with spandex pants and bad attitudes. The other choice is to pick yourself up, brush yourself off and stagger back to the huddle to prepare for the next play. The next play comes at you whether you’re ready for it or not.

Both Elizabeth Edwards and Tony Snow have elected to pick themselves up and continue with their lives despite dealing with difficult medical diagnoses. For that effort they are to be commended. Their private battles will be party waged on a very public stage. As someone who has received my own difficult diagnosis – which I won’t go into here – I take strength from their example of courage.

Life, dear reader, is not fair. Any one who tells you different, to quote the Dread Pirate Wesley, is selling something. Life rolls along and my experience has taught me that rolling with it is much better than kicking against it.

Here endeth the lesson.

The Last Room

2007-03-22T15:40:00.000-04:00

There are those of you who have followed the seemingly never ending saga of Cordeiro Manor. Even if you haven’t, I’m sure those of you who have ever experienced any time of home improvement drama can understand the impetus behind this post.

Since purchasing and moving into Cordeiro Manor in 2003, the entire house has been remodeled. If I get really motivated, I’ll update this post with some before and after pictures so you get a better idea of the process. We came into the house after the previous owners had repainted the main and upstairs levels. Normally when somebody repaints a home, it’s a selling point. In our case, the previous owners simply took some beige construction grade flat paint and painted over every wall – outlet covers and light switches included.

Beige is a color which should be removed from all color wheels.

Even after the Contractor Fiasco – updates to be included in another post – there was one room which had remained untouched by the renovations. Yes, it got crown molding along with the rest of the rooms, and yes it got recarpeted as well, but the paint remained. The master plan, or perhaps I should refer to it as the Matron Plan as the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro is the principal author thereof, was for this last room to become Corderinha’s room when she out grew the Nursery.

Yes, I have a Nursery in my home. No Den, but yes, a Nursery.

Well, Corderinha recently turned four and in her not so humble way announced that she was no longer a baby and didn’t like sleeping in a crib. So, as a part of her birthday present, the conversion of the storage room to Princess Central began.

Paint. Lots of paint. Three different colors – Pink, Green, Purple. Three coats of white paint on a bedroom set purchased from a Craig’s List advertisement. Then of course came the decorations. I know nothing about decorations for a girl’s room. Never fear, the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro knew plenty. She came up with great ideas. What does that mean? It means Your’s Truly had to figure out a way to take her ethereal musings and somehow translate them to a physical reality.

Note to self: Block Home & Garden TV. Block The Learning Channel. Persuade ABC to cancel Extreme Home Makeover.

And, in case you were wondering, laser levels are a gift from the Almighty.

So, after much sweat and a little blood, the last room is done. The home I purchased some three years ago bears little or no resemblance to the home I now live in. My seemingly perpetual construction zone is now closed.

Well, mostly closed. I went out on my back deck yesterday to find that the recent high winds blowing through my neighborhood managed to pry loose the metal flue cap – the pipe which serves as a chimney for the furnace and water heater.

Sigh. Now I have to go borrow a ladder and climb up on the $#%&*@! roof.

Guess its time to make sure the life insurance premiums have been paid.

The Long Voyage Home

2007-03-21T10:29:00.000-04:00

I really don’t keep up this blog like I should, but lately I get the feeling nobody reads it but me. I guess that gives me the right to write what I want when I want and for whom I want. But I digress.

Like a few thousand traveling Americans, I was stranded in northern Florida late last week. Seems that the Northeast had a little dusting of snow which managed to throw the entire airline industry into convulsions of panic. In days past such a hiccup would not have taken longer than a day to iron out, but with modern prognosticators and high fuel costs having whittled the US Airways fleet down to the point where every flight is packed any bump in the system causes a tidal wave of consequences.

So I got to sit around in Jacksonville – sometimes in a hotel room, sometimes at the terminal, most time spent in a Panera. After being told for the umpteenth time that my flight would again be cancelled and I would be booked on yet another hypothetical flight at a time and date to be determined, I decided to make use of the only transportation means under my control.

I got in my rented Grand Prix – yes I had already turned the Mustang in prior to the first cancelled flight – and drove the 730 miles by myself. In hindsight, I probably could’ve pulled up to the curb at Jacksonville Airport and charged three other people $300 a piece to go with me, but there is something to be said for solitude.

I don’t know when we became so risk averse in this country. We now put all our faith in weather forecasts which are – by the forecasters own admission – a bet guess. Traveling is a risk no matter how long you look at the sky and try to figure out whether or not you’ll get rained on.

That said, from Jacksonville to DC the weather was downright gorgeous. It was a long drive, but thank God for an Ipod and Audiobooks.

Here endeth the lesson.

Personal note: As I said earlier I don’t really know how many people read this blog. I’m really only sure about one and I haven’t seen that particular reader around these parts for quite some time. I hope you’re well, and yes I do miss your wit and wisdom. Don’t stay away too long.

The Dilemma

2007-03-12T19:57:00.000-04:00

My professional travels have taken my to south Georgia for the week. As the closest airport is in Jacksonville, I had to rent a car to get me to my final destination.

I have never had a good relationship with rental cars. I usually get stuck with a non-descript four door sedan which serves its purpose in getting me from Point A to Point B with little trouble or excitement. Most of the time I go to the parking lot only to spend ten minutes trying to find my non-descript sedan in the sea of other non-descript sedans. You'd be surprised how much a Chevy Malibu looks like a Ford Taurus in the dark.

So today I land at Jacksonville International Airport and go through the motions of getting my checked baggage and finding my way to the Avis rental counter to pick up my non-descript sedan. The rental agent duly took my credit card and drivers license and disappeared behind the wall to get the keys.

He then reappeared with two sets of keys. "You have a choice," he said. "You can take the Chevy Malibu,

or for another $6 per day you can get the Convertible Mustang."

Yes, dear reader, there was my dilemma. Take the non-descript Chevy with the stock stereo system, or pony up the extra cash and get the Convertible Mustang. It didn't take me very long to solve my dilemma.

In the interest of full disclosure, I do own a 1999 Mustang hard top. I love the car. That said, I have come to the conclusion the next Mustang I get will be a convertible. Years ago, H. Jackson Brown, Jr wrote a book for his son who was departing for college. He called it "Life's Little Instruction Book". One of his "instructions" stated:

Once in your life, own a convertible.

After having cruised up I-95 with the top down at speeds to which I will not admit I have come to a sobering conclusion: I need a convertible.

And, just in case you were wondering, Mustangs don't perform well under 80 MPH. They just weren't designed for slower speeds.

Here endeth the lesson.

Cordeiro Unleashed!

2007-03-08T14:10:00.000-05:00

Get Your Monster Name

HT Cinnabari

Nobody's Perfect

2007-03-01T15:26:00.000-05:00

But For George...

2007-02-22T13:20:00.000-05:00

Today is George Washington’s birthday – the day for which President’s Day was originally designed to celebrate. As my political blog takes its name from a term which was originally attributed to Washington by a Heavenly Messenger, I thought it appropriate to take some time this morning to pay tribute to the Father of this great nation.

Most Americans know Washington for his heroic exploits in the Revolutionary War. The accounts of his daring Christmas Day attack on the Hessian forces in Trenton – appropriately portrayed in The Crossing – and his buoying up of the Continental Army’s spirits through the winter at Valley Forge are testaments to the character of the man whose devotion to country outweighed all else.

What is not often said of Washington is the fact he never really sought the power and office which he attained. He was often quoted as saying he would much rather spend his time cultivating his fields and home at Mount Vernon than sit as the President receiving kings and ministers from around the world. I took some time this President’s Day to visit George and Martha’s home and after sitting in the rocking chairs on the porch overlooking the Potomac River it was easy to understand why George would feel that way.

I came across an interesting video today that begs the question “What would the world be like but for George?” What if he had declined his country’s call and stayed on Mount Vernon as a private citizen? What if he hadn’t presided over this nation and the world’s first experiment in government of the people, by the people and for the people? Take a look for yourself:

Washington greatest gift to his country was his presiding over the 1787 Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia. His presence gave a sense of legitimacy to the proceedings through that sweltering summer. He sat in a chair with a sun carved into the seat back – a sun which Benjamin Franklin later declared to be a rising one – and he always believed the best days of this nation always laid before her.

George served two terms as America’s first President. As he left office, he gave what has come to be known as his “Farewell Address”. Since 1862, by tradition, the United States Senate calls on one of its members to read this address into the record on or near Washington’s Birthday. His last words to his country as her President are recorded as these:

Relying on its kindness in this as in other things, and actuated by that fervent love towards it which is so natural to a man who views in it the native soil of himself and his progenitors for several generations, I anticipate with pleasing expectation that retreat in which I promise myself to realize, without alloy, the sweet enjoyment of partaking, in the midst of my fellow citizens, the benign influence of good laws under a free government, the ever favorite object of my heart, and the happy reward, as I trust, of our mutual cares, labors and dangers.

Take some time today to reflect upon the great gift the original Son of the Republic gave to his nation, and what a better place the world is for America's being in it.

Here endeth the lesson.

An Answer To One Of Life’s Great Mysteries

2007-02-06T14:55:00.000-05:00

Like most red blooded American Men, I watched the Super Bowl last Sunday. I make a point of watching it every year regardless of who is playing. The Super Bowl is a celebration of all things uniquely American, and I like that kind of stuff.

I’m glad Peyton Manning finally got his ring. I’ve always liked the guy. He’s very good at what he does. When I played the game, I played on the interior defensive line – therefore I don’t have a lot of respect for Quarterbacks. Other than the Brett Favre of yesteryear, I’ve never seen a Quarterback make a block or tackle anybody. So when I compliment a Quarterback, just know it takes a lot for me to do so.

My respect for Manning pre-dates his first snap as a Colt. He played his college ball at Tennessee and had a phenomenally successful junior season. There was a huge amount of pressure for him to forego his senior year and turn pro before finishing college. Peyton turned down the stacks of greenbacks being waved in his face and finished out his college career. He took a great physical and professional risk to do that, and that’s why I respect him. Now he’s got his ring and can claim his rightful place among the great QBs ever to play the game.

Now, on to the point of this post. Every year I see the champion players and coaches take the field wearing T-Shirts and Ball Caps emblazoned with their team logos proclaiming them to be the champions. These trinkets must be produced prior to game time, so I’ve always wondered what happens to the T-Shirts and Caps proclaiming the loser to be the winner.

Well, Captain Ed has now answered one of life’s great mysteries. The relief organization World Vision takes the merchandise (in this case the Chicago Bears’ stuff) and ships it to the furthest nether regions of Africa with the requirement that the shirts and caps never see the shores of the US again.

No doubt there are some people in Chicago who, after going through the seven stages of grief, will take heart in knowing that someplace in Africa people think the Bears are Super Bowl Champs.

Grandpa Frank’s Last Trail Marker

2007-01-08T12:32:00.000-05:00

For as long as I can remember, Christmas has been a time to go to Grandpa’s house. My Grandpa Frank’s house was the closest thing I ever had to a place to call “home” for most of my formative years. I always enjoyed passing the time with him. I spent many a New Year’s Day in his front room watching college bowl games. It never really mattered who was playing – watching football with Frank was always fun to do.

Frank passed away in July of 2005. My family and I took some time to visit his grave on Christmas day this past year. Frank’s grave is relatively simple – he was never much for self worship. He loved the outdoors and was an avid scouter – a man who was as much at home among the trees as he was in his living room.

Back in Frank’s day he learned the art of trail blazing. This was well before the days of GPS, cell phones, or even two way radios. Scouts and Forestry workers would leave trail markers designating important information for those who would follow. Markers would tell followers about obstacles, food, shelter, and other useful pointers.

The trail marker code is a mostly forgotten one. You can see a few of them here (PDF). Frank left his final trail marker on his headstone.

The symbol has but a very simple meaning. It is left on the trail by the trailblazer to signal his followers that this is the end of his trail. Simply put, the symbol means “Gone Home”.

Longfellow's Christmas Bells

2006-12-22T12:46:00.001-05:00

As we approach Christmas Day, I thought it appropriate to revisit a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow which later became a Christmas Carol. Longfellow’s I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day is widely sung – especially when Christmas Day falls on a Sunday. The carol’s message is pretty simple – take heart for right shall prevail and in the end there will be peace.

The phrase “Peace on earth, good will towards men” has its origins in the first Christmas. It was sung by the Heavenly Host to the Shepherds in their fields as Christ’s birth in Bethlehem was announced with splendor never seen before nor since.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. -Luke 2: 8-14

In Longfellow’s world, he had much reason to despair. As he wrote the poem on Christmas Day 1864 he was mourning the tragic death of his wife and the wounding of his son in a Civil War battle.

No doubt this sorrow was the muse which inspired stanzas three and four – which are omitted from the modern carol:

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound the carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn, the households born
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

After which he gave voice to his despair:

And in despair I bowed my head
“There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

There are no doubt many in today’s America who share Longfellow’s sorrows this Christmas. Peace on earth isn’t very evident today. Nothing I write or express here will be able to change the reasons for their sorrow. I can but offer solace in the final stanza of Longfellow’s carol:

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Peace on earth is something sought after and desired by most people. I dare say it is one of the greatest blessings God desires for his children. Peace is a state which doesn’t exist without people willing to create an environment where it can thrive. Peace is something which must be defended by men and women who stand ready to defend its existence – often by the use of violent force.

While that may sound like a contradiction in terms, if you think about it, the statement is very true.

Perhaps that is why, when Jesus gave his Sermon on the Mount he included a reference to those whose profession it is to create and protect Peace.

Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God. – Matthew 5:9

May your Christmas be a peaceful one – where ever it is you may be.

Here endeth the lesson.

Grinch Is Alive And Well In London

2006-12-20T12:47:00.000-05:00

[Cue Bass Clarinet]
[Cue Thurl Ravenscroft]

From today’s Evening Standard

A primary school has been accused of spoiling Christmas for pupils after a lesson telling them that Santa Claus does not exist.

Children as young as nine were told that only 'small children believe in Father Christmas'.

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch. You really are a heel. You're as cuddly as a cactus, You're as charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch.

The blunder came after the Year 5 pupils were given seasonal worksheets containing various festive classroom exercises.

One began by informing the children that 'many small children believe in Father Christmas'.

It then went on to explain that thousands of letters sent by these children to Santa every year are actually answered by the Post Office.

The youngsters were then asked to write a pretend letter from the Post Office to a child explaining why their requests for presents had been refused.

You're a monster, Mr. Grinch. Your heart's an empty hole. Your brain is full of spiders, You've got garlic in your soul, Mr. Grinch.

Last week a primary school teacher was sacked for telling her young class that Santa does not exist.

The supply teacher apparently decided the pupils - some as young as nine - were too old to believe in Father Christmas.

The teacher, who has not been named, is believed to have told the class at Boldmere Junior School, in Sutton Coldfield, West Midlands: "All of you are old enough to know there is no Father Christmas or fairies. If you ask your parents to tell you they will say there is no such thing.”

You're a vile one, Mr. Grinch. You have termites in your smile. You have all the tender sweetness Of a seasick crocodile, Mr. Grinch. Given the choice between the two of you, I'd take the seasick crockodile.

Mel Barefield, whose son was in the lesson, said: 'The teacher had said to them that Father Christmas wasn't real, Rudolph was a cartoon character and that Christmas trees come from Germany.'

A governor said: 'It's not just Father Christmas that's the problem. We also have issues with things like the Tooth Fairy.

'From now on when a child asks if Father Christmas exists the teacher should say, "I'm not sure. Go home and ask your parents"'.

You're a foul one, Mr. Grinch. You're a nasty, wasty skunk. Your heart is full of unwashed socks, Your soul is full of gunk, Mr. Grinch. The three words that best describe you,are, and I quote: "Stink. Stank. Stunk."

Bah, Humbug!

Here endeth the lesson.

2nd Lieutenant Scott B. Lundell - Husband, Father, Hero

2006-12-19T13:07:00.000-05:00

There are many things about which I could write today – things humorous, things serious, things trivial. I will lay those things aside today to focus on something that actually matters. Thus I humbly ask for your patient attention as you might have the knowledge and/or means for which I’m searching.

There are many reasons to rejoice this holiday season. This season, however, there is a family in West Valley City, Utah who has been given cause to mourn. I’m talking about the family of the late 2nd Lieutenant Scott B. Lundell. As I have previously written, he died in a firefight on November 25th while bravely leading his men into battle against those who would do this nation great harm. The story of Lt. Lundell’s long journey home has been ably chronicled by Lowell the Hedgehog and plugged by the Powerline’s Big Trunk.

On a chain around his neck along with his dog tags was a scripture from the 6th chapter of Isaiah which read:

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" And I said, "Here am I. Send me!

Lt. Lundell’s country called him and he answered. His first thoughts on the battlefield were no doubt for the safety of the men under his command. His last thoughts and prayers were no doubt for the family he was leaving behind.

His family, dear reader, is my concern today. Perhaps it’s because Lt. Lundell and I are about the same age and both of us have young children. Maybe its because I grew up with an Army officer for a father and part of me always wondered if he’d be called off to fight his country’s battles on a far away plain. Whatever the reason, reality will soon set in for Jeanine Lundell and her four small children.

Reality can be very harsh. The Army will do what it can to ease the burden faced by a family whose principle provider is now gone. Ditto for the Church and surrounding community. The resources of the aforementioned groups and individuals are finite and the collective American memory is exceptionally short. The needs which will be faced by the Lundell family will be anything but finite.

The Scott Lundell Memorial Fund has been established at the Mountain America Credit Union. For some unexplained reason, there is no way to make an online contribution to this account. You actually have to get your checkbook out (its that rectangular thing in the bottom of your bag) and send contributions in via snail mail. Yes, that means you have to find an envelope and stamp. Here’s the address information:

Mountain American Credit Union
P.O. Box 9001
West Jordan, Utah 84084
Attention: Olivia
Mark your check "Scott Lundell Memorial Fund."
Why should you care enough to cut a check? Here are a few reasons. In eight years, the oldest Lundell child will start college. Allowing for inflation and a 7% annual increase in average tuition and other fudge factors, a four year college education will cost approximately $71,000 in today’s dollars. Multiply that by a factor of four – I’m not sure of the exact ages of the children – and you start to see my point.

Traditionally, one of the things said to the widow (or designated family member) as the officer presents her with the flag which draped her husband’s coffin are the words “On behalf of a grateful nation…” Well, dear reader, now is the time for you to do just a little more than watch and read.

If this picture does not bring a lump to your throat and a tear to your eye, You. Are. Not. Human. No doubt you will be giving many gifts this holiday season. Maybe you’re well off, maybe you’re not. Maybe you have that account full of money you just don’t know what to do with. What ever your circumstance, remember that someplace in West Valley City there is a family without a father. The father heard his nation’s call and said Here am I, send me. He has now gone to the Mansions of the Lord. It is for us the living now to shoulder the responsibility he left behind.

Maybe you don’t have a checkbook. I know how that is. I hardly use mine anymore too. I’ll help you with that. Next week I will be in the Salt Lake City area. Click on this button

And I’ll drop that same amount (minus whatever Paypal takes out) at a Mountain America Credit Union branch office. I know it’s not much, but it is what I can do.

I would love to be able to someday knock on Jeanine Lundell’s door, hand her a check with a bunch of Zeros behind a rather large number and tell her she doesn’t have to worry about her kids going to college.

When God the Father asked the question emblazoned next to Lt. Lundell’s dog tags - Whom shall I send, there was no hesitation from Jesus when he answered Here am I, send me! When the question comes forth as to who will provide for the children of this fallen soldier, what will you answer?

Think about that.

Here endeth the lesson.

The Annual Family Card

2006-12-14T15:00:00.001-05:00

I apologize for the light blogging of late. I’m going to chalk it up to a very busy life coupled with a general lack of anything I really felt like writing about. Some months I’m a very prolific writer – some months I’m not. You get what you pay for and since I’m not actually getting paid for this, I do it when I feel like it.

Anyway, back to my original topic.

2006 is rapidly coming to a close and with the month of December has come the Christmas cards. I, of course, won’t get around to mailing my Christmas cards out for at least another week or so – but that’s nothing new. With these cards are sometimes included a letter giving the reader an update on the sender’s family and their accomplishments during this past year.

I don’t mean to sound like a cynic. Really, I don’t. Christmas is one of my favorite times of the year. I really get into the swing of things. Having said that, I rank the Year End Letters right up there with Fruit Cake. For some strange reason, some people feel the need to make their family letter glow almost as bright as their resume. Highlights are almost always overblown and accomplishments – no matter how slight – are embellished to the point that an honorable mention in the Chess Olympics comes out looking remarkably similar to a Nobel Prize. Some people even feel the need to write such a letter the font requires a 3x magnifying glass to be read.

Little Eddie amassed nearly 1,500 rushing yards on the football field this year! “But wait,” says I. “Isn’t Little Eddie seven-years-old? You’re trying to tell me somebody actually keeps stats for Pop Warner Football?” I could go on. You get the idea.

One of these years, I’m going to put out a test letter to see if anyone actually reads, let alone believes, the stuff put out in these Year End Letters. I’m going to put out a letter that trumpets the accomplishments of my family. As for me, I’m going to announce my Presidential appointment to an obscure but important sounding blue ribbon congressional panel. Corderinho will have discovered several new species of dolphin. Corderinha will shortly be announcing break-through research which will cure diabetes, cancer, and male pattern baldness. The Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro will announce her selection as prima ballerina for the Bolshoi.

Personally, I think it would be interesting to see a) how many people actually read the spoof letter and, b) how many people would actually believe any of it.

Now if I can just convince the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro to join my evil plot.

Someone Else

2006-11-17T09:30:00.000-05:00

I never thought I’d think of myself as old fashioned. I don’t think I’m old enough for my mindset to be too far out of date. That said, today I’m left wondering how people can go through life in such a self-absorbed fashion they may as well be wearing blinders.

If you don’t know what blinders are, pay attention to the next horse-drawn carriage you see.

Two events have made me start wondering about this.

About a month ago I was returning to DC from Salt Lake City. My flight had been delayed and therefore I arrived a little after midnight at Washington’s Dulles airport. About 1:00 in the morning I was driving down the road when I passed through an intersection. To my left I heard a squeal of brakes followed by the unmistakable sound of metal, fiberglass, and rubber crunching against one another. If you’ve never heard the sound of two cars crashing into each other, its not one you’ll soon forget.

This was a pretty well traveled road, and even at the late/early hour there were several cars in the immediate vicinity. Both cars involved were pretty much totaled. I pulled over to the median and was the first person to arrive on the accident scene.

I was not the first person to pass the accident. Cars went through the intersection, one after another, weaving their way around the debris from the involved cars. One woman was pretty shaken up and the Jaws of Life had to be used to extricate her from her car. That’s another sound that is forever imprinted on my memory.

I stuck around the accident scene until the first responders arrived. There wasn’t much I could do for the trapped woman except attempt to calm her where she was. I did what I could. The thought of doing less never entered my mind. What struck me as odd was the drivers who could witness such a horrific accident and then just drive on by.

Then this morning I was walking to my office when I saw a Chrysler PT Cruiser limping along with a flat front tire. The woman at the wheel was having a lively conversation with her no doubt exasperated husband about her situation. I knocked on her window and asked her if she needed assistance and we proceeded to remove the shredded pieces of rubber that used to be the front tire. All told, it took me about 20 minutes to change the tire.

Note to Chrysler: Hiding the release bolt for the spare tire in the plastic door seal may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but you might want to make it a little more obvious. That would definitely cut down on the amount of searching necessary to release the spare tire. Thanks.

Again, it wasn’t rocket science. Somebody needed help with something I’m halfway good at doing so I did what I could. Nevertheless, people wandered by intent on getting to their destination. Only one other person offered a hand. As he was in a Brooks Brother’s suit and I had already put the donut tire in place, I thanked him for the offer but politely declined.

There is a pervasive school of thought in today’s society that someone else will help. Someone else can offer that assistance. Well, eventually that someone else has to be somebody. People have the choice as to whether or not they’ll be that someone else or not.

I’m not trying to blow my own horn or make myself out to be better than I am. I’m a big believer in the “Reap what you sow” concept. Most of the tires I’ve had to change have been done at night, in the rain, and on a 6% grade. Today’s tire was changed on a flat surface in broad daylight. I do believe, in the end, someone really is keeping score.

I guess some days I’m just glad when adding a little to my score only requires me to change a tire and not move a mountain.

Fear not to do good, my sons, for whatsoever ye sow, that shall ye also reap; therefore, if ye sow good ye shall also reap good for your reward. Doctrine & Covenants 6:33

On Going Home

2006-10-27T00:08:00.000-04:00

As some of my Sitemeter rated 15 readers may know, there are many places in this country that I can call home. I can claim roots in the states of Virginia, California, Utah, Missouri, Washington, Georgia, and Arizona. Add to that a few foreign countries and you'll understand why - when asked by people where I'm from - I usually reply that I'm from the United States Army. Most people get it. Some people don't.

Most of my adolescence was spent in Southern Colorado. Even though it has a place near and dear to my heart, its not a place I often get to go to. It the place I learned to play football, drive a car, and fall in love - not necessarily in that order.

So this week my professional duties required me to journey west to the place of my youth. I landed at the airport in Colorado Springs and immediately discovered something I had taken for granted during my residence. There is no air here. Coming from Virginia (sea level) to Colorado Springs (7,000 feet) is quite a shock to the system if you try any physical exertion what so ever. I'm not sure what passes for breathable atmosphere here, but it isn't air.

I'm always amazed by the beauty of God's Country. The mountains are stunningly spectacular. Pike's Peak towers over them with white capped elevations which seem so close, yet at 14,000 feet its not your everyday hiking trail. Though I lived in Southern Colorado for several years, I've never been to the top. I don't have a fear of heights, its just not anything I ever got around to doing.

It is different driving around town after so many years away. Many things and places have changed, some have remained. Perhaps I'll take some time and write some more about those things later. For now I'll just close with one thought. Its good to come home every now and then, where ever that home may be.

Tag! You're It - Unless You Go To Willett Elementary

2006-10-18T11:37:00.000-04:00

Warning! Rant Ahead!

Elementary School can be a rough place. Anytime you mix kindergarten age kids, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th graders all in the same square block there is a potential for trouble. Kids are bullied, made fun of, teased, and otherwise introduced into the rough and tumble world in which we live. Grade school playgrounds are, more often than not, the place where kids learn that life isn’t fair.

Every kid needs to learn this lesson. They need to learn how to deal with challenges in an environment where teacher isn’t looking over their shoulder every minute.

With the short, and growing ever shorter every year – according to my son anyway, recess periods kids often play short quick games which are often unsupervised by adult monitors. Pick up games of basketball, foursquare, kickball, dodgeball, and last but not least, Tag, have been played on courts and fields since schools began.

Well, in Attleboro, Massachusetts you can scratch Tag, touch football, or any other unsupervised game from kids’ recess activities. Gaylene Heppe, Willett Elementary School Principal and the ultimate approver of the ban stated:

[Recess is] a time when accidents can happen.

Accidents during recess? I'm shocked! Shocked I tell you!

Now I don’t know about you, but my grade school experience wasn’t exactly accident free. I came home with plenty of bumps, bruises, scrapes and other assorted injuries. All of these mishaps can be attributed to one very obvious fact: I was a kid.

The administration at Willet Elementary banned Tag and other games for fear of being sued by some parent whose child comes home with a split lip. I can’t say that I blame them.

There was a time, at least in my memory, when parents just accepted the fact that kids sometimes behave badly and injure (intentionally or otherwise) other kids. If your kid got scraped up playing Tag on the playground, you slapped some bandages on him/her and sent them back to school the next day – often with the admonition to be more careful next time or run faster.

As a society, we are protective of our children. This is as it should be. But there comes a point at which we protect our children from so much that they enter the world unprepared to deal with the realities therein. The educational elite would have you believe playground games are bad. Well, elites can become so inbred that they produce hemophiliacs who bleed to death as soon as they are nicked in the real world.

This world needs tough people who know how to deal with others. These lessons aren’t taught in the classroom. More often than not they are taught on the playground by games kids make up themselves. Life’s hard lessons are best learned early.

/Rant

Here endeth the lesson.

ABC's Monday Night Follies

2006-10-03T07:37:00.000-04:00

ABC has, for over three decades now, had a Monday night tradition of broadcasting NFL football in Prime Time. This night of television has been nearly sacred in the minds of men all over the world. Very little else of interest was on Monday night TV, therefore even if the game sucked guys would watch it. Wives, girlfriends and significant others ceded, reluctantly, that three to four hour block of time to the Gods of the Gridiron.

This season, MNF has moved to ESPN. I don't know what the ratings have been or whether or not viewership has improved. What I do know is that ABC has now created tension in marriages and other similar relationships across the country.

You see, what took the place of MNF on ABC is none other than the quasi-reality unrealistic dating show known as the Bachelor. To sum it up, 25 women throw themselves at a single guy in hopes that, by the end of the season, he'll make one of them Mrs. Bachelor. As far as I know, the Bachelor (as a series) is batting the goose egg on actual marriages.

None the less, for twelve or so weeks, one single girl goes home in tears because she is left rose-less.

Let me say this for the record. I don't watch this show. I watch football. I can't stand the catty estrogen driven fabricated drama inherent in putting 12 women in close proximity one to another. The Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro does watch this show. She gets great date ideas from it, few of which I can ever afford to attempt.

I have, however, been able to successfully guess the finalist in each of the Bachelor series - despite not having watched the show. I simply put on my "Shallow, Self-Centered, Testosterone Driven Guy" hat and pick the girl with the largest...ummm...eyes.

And if you believe that, I've got a bridge in New York with your name on it.

I implore ABC to put the Bachelor in a timeslot which will not conflict with Guy-TV, thereby restoring peace to marriages and balance to the force.

Tucker Carlson - Not Quite The Lord Of The Dance

2006-09-13T08:59:00.000-04:00

Tucker Carlson, the kinda/sorta/not really conservative MSNBC talk show host has decided to stretch his entertainment career just a bit and appear on ABC's Dancing With The Stars.

I've gotta hand it to the guy. I married a very talented dancer and she's spent well over a decade attempting to teach me to dance. Despite her best efforts, I don't dance. It's not pretty. I don't want to discuss it.

I'm afraid Tucker shares my talent for dancing. I'll give him kudos for putting stretching his talents, but that's about it. His first performance was with Elena Grinenko - a professional dancer who wore a bright red outfit that makes the Girl from Ipanema look like a nun in comparison. Newsbusters has the video. See for yourself.

My one encounter with Tucker was a near collision in Times Square during the 2004 RNC in New York. Personally, I hope his ratings improve on MSNBC because I'd hate to see him try and make a living as a dancer.

Remembering Linda M. George

2006-09-11T08:46:00.000-04:00

In the small town of Holden, Massachusetts, there is a headstone in Grove Cemetery which contains the following simple inscription:

Linda George – Daughter, Fiancée

Along with her name is the date of her birth, and the date of her death – September 11, 2001.

Linda Mae George was a passenger on American Airlines Flight 11 on that Tuesday morning in September. She was part of a contingent from TJ Maxx headed from Boston to Los Angeles on a buying trip. I’m sure there were a million things going through her mind as she prepared for this trip – only a few of which had anything to do with the fact she was traveling across the country.

You see, Linda was due to be married to her fiancé, Jeff Pereira within the month. Her whole life lay before her.

I never got the chance to meet Linda, but from what I have gathered about her, I know she’d be someone I’d like to know. In 1992, she graduated from St. Peter Marian High School in Worcester, Mass and continued on to Providence College where she graduated in 1996.

Of all the things I learned about Linda, the fact that she played college rugby impressed me the most. Rugby is the equivalent of American Football without the benefit of pads or helmets. People who play that sport – especially at the collegiate level – have to be strong, quick, and just a little crazy. People seem to remember Linda for the way she played rugby – and that says a lot about the love she had for the game. To honor her legacy, a scholarship fund has been established at St. Peter Marian High School in her name.

Linda was only one of the 2,996 people lost to this nation on that Tuesday morning in September 2001. She, like all the others, had hopes, dreams, wishes, and loved ones. Those who knew her personally and professionally describe her as the friend everyone wants to have once in their lifetime.

The world is a smaller place without people like Linda May George.

Remember.

Steve Irwin

2006-09-05T23:33:00.000-04:00

In the beginning, there was Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. It came on Saturday or Sunday morning and basically consisted of an old guy showing film reels of wildlife footage. Maybe he actually left the studio on occasion and interacted with animals. I don't really remember. What I do remember is the show was about as entertaining as watching golf, grass growing, or paint drying. It was educational and informative, but not very fun.

Today's media has produced a new genre of "Animal Experts" personified by Jack Hannah, Jeff Corwin, and the late Steve Irwin.

Steve Irwin looked and sounded like he came straight from Crocodile Dundee Central Casting. He was excited about animals and their world. This excitement translated well across the medium of documentary style reality television. Steve brought a passion for his work and drew viewers into his world of crocodiles, snakes, kangaroos, lions, tigers, and bears. Oh my! Translated into Australian that would be "Crikey!"

For those of you who have spent the past two days living under a rock, Steve Irwin died Monday after being stabbed in the chest by a Sting Ray. Most everyone agrees this type of injury is rare, and rarely if ever fatal. Just goes to show that when your number is up, you're out.

Steve was always one to get up close and personal with animals most people would be fearful to get within visual distance of. He wrestled alligators and crocodiles, rescued pythons and cobras, and gave viewers a chance to see wildlife they never would have a chance to otherwise. He loved his job and therefore never worked a day in his life.

He had his critics - many of whom complained about his TV antics and his habit of putting himself in close proximity to the animals he was filming. All of Steve's knowledge came from on the job experience. Many if not all of his critics got no closer to the animals they claimed to be experts on than Steve's TV show. Australia Zoo serves as a lasting monument to what one man with a vision can do.

I crossed paths with Steve on Thanksgiving Day 2004 in Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. He was, as usual, having a ball being the consummate showman. That is how I will remember him.

Steve Irwin at Central Park West, Thanksgiving Day 2004

Thanks, Steve, for bringing the Animal Kingdom a little closer to home. Godspeed to you, and prayers for your family. May they always understand you taught the world the true meaning of "Crikey!"

John Mayer's Slacker Song

2006-09-01T12:02:00.000-04:00

I'm not much of a music critic. Some music I like. Some music I don't. Some music I just can't stand. I admire musicians who write their own stuff and are able to perform it live without the benefit of technology that can make Pee Wee Herman sound like Pavorotti.

So, when it comes to John Mayer, I've been fairly impressed with the stuff he's put out since he came on the music scene in 2003. He's won two Grammys, justifiably, for Your Body Is A Wonderland and Daughters. Both songs are top notch and well done.

His latest release, Waiting On The World To Change, is cut from the same cloth as his previous work. I've heard it played on most of the Top 40 stations I'm exposed to. Unlike most people (in my experience anyway) I pay attention to lyrics. After listening to Waiting On The World To Change I came to the conclusion this song was about the Slacker Generation. Here's a sample of what Mayer sings about:

It's hard to beat the system
when we're standing at a distance
so we keep waiting
waiting on the world to change.

It's not that we don't care,
we just know that the fight ain't fair
so we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change

and we're still waiting
waiting on the world to change
we keep on waiting waiting on the world to change
one day our generation
is gonna rule the population
so we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change

I purposely didn't quote the political references in the song - that's not what my post is about - today anyway. My point is pretty simple: People who sit around waiting for the world to change are usually passed up by people who are changing the world.

Memo to John: Life isn't fair. There is no such thing as a level playing field. One would think after a few years in the cut-throat business world that is pop music, you would have learned that by now. The world doesn't reward mediocrity in the same way the public school system does. If, as you say, you and all your friends keep waiting on the world to change hoping it will offer you better opportunities than you currently see, I'm afraid your generation's chance to "rule the population" will come and go with you not in a position to Carpe Diem. Sorry if you're a little light on your Latin. Go look it up.

I'm not much older than John Mayer, but I'm definitely not going to watch the world go by hoping I get an opportunity to make a difference. Attitude creates opportunity.

Here endeth the lesson.

World Trade Center - Movie Review

2006-08-27T10:23:00.000-04:00

I don't go see many movies for one simple reason: It is simpler to amend the United States Constitution than it is to move heaven and earth to the point the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro and I can go to the theater.

When I learned a major motion picture was being made about the story of two Port Authority Policemen who survived the collapse of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, I knew it was a movie I had to see. I'll admit the fact the film was directed by Oliver Stone made me think twice.

You can say what you want about Stone and his crack pot conspiracy theories about the JFK assassination, but you have to admit the man can direct a gripping piece of cinema.

Stone carefully crafts the story of PAPD Sergeant John McLoughlin and Patrolman William J. Jimeno as they endure what can only be described as Hell on Earth. Buried in the collapse of Tower 2, they somehow manage to survive the collapse of Tower 1 and the additional WTC buildings that fell on that Tuesday morning.

It is a story of courage. It is a story of survival. It is a story of hope.

It is also a story of duty. Intermingled with the buried cops is the story of a Marine Staff Sergeant Dave Karnes. Staff Sergeant Karnes had been out of the Corps for some years prior to the attacks of September 11. He watched, as we did, the events unfold on television. He heard the call of his country and didn't wait for the paperwork. He put his uniform on, sped to the scene, and along with another Marine (also not active) climbed the mountains of debris looking for survivors. They found McLoughlin and Jimeno.

This film cannot be accurately reviewed. I cannot here impart the experience of this movie. You have to see it - on the big screen - to get even a small measure of what these men experienced on that day.

Films like World Trade Center and United 93 are few. There need to be more of them. Much more.

Some claim its too "early" for such reminders of September 11, 2001. Such people would like to turn back time and return to an era when Islamofacist Murdering Thugs didn't threaten our very lives and those of the ones we love. Sadly, a return to such an era isn't possible. We need to be reminded of just what happened that day. We must never forget.

Memo to Oliver Stone: Well done. Well done. If the Academy can't see this for what it is, then they really are blind and stupid.

On a personal note: This September will mark the 5th anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Five years is a long time. Yet, after all this time, there is still a 20 acre hole in the heart of Manhattan. How long will we allow the New York City Skyline to be dictated by some cowardly bastard hiding in a cave?

Here endeth the lesson.

Theme Park Lessons

2006-08-24T10:03:00.000-04:00

This year's family vacation has taken us south down the Eastern Seaboard to the Plywood (formerly Sunshine) state of Florida. Carved deep in the stone foundations upon which the Cordeiro family is built is written the rule that expressly states that when visiting a state with a Disney theme park is located, patronization thereof is mandatory.

Hence this post (as you will see below) comes to you via the cramped keyboard of a Blackberry. Apologies for spelling and typos in advance.

Disney has been doing theme parks for over a half-century now. All things considered, they do a pretty good job of it. Somehow they manage to convince people to drop a few bills just to get through the gate and then spend hours in line for rides that last less than 15 minutes. Add another bill or two for lunch and dinner and you could easily a large or two by the time you pick up your Mickey ears on the way out.

Much of the Disney parks are built around the movies produced over the past 50 years. One of the most popular rides is the famous Splash Mountain. Nobody comes off that ride dry. As you may or may not be aware, Splash Mountain was inspired by the movie Song of the South. If you haven't seen it, you're not alone. For reasons I won't get into here, Jesse Jackson and company has made sure that nobody will ever see B'rers Bear, Fox, and Rabbit on the screen again, nor will you see Uncle Remus sing Zipadeedoodah. Say what you want about "racial sensitivity", but I think that kind of censorship is wrong.

As much an attraction as are the rides, the people are often far more entertaining. In no other place will you find a more interesting collection of attire and headgear. This brings me to my next point: After years of patronizing theme parks, I've decided to offer some suggedtions on wardrobe choice, since so many of my fellow park users seem to have such a difficult time with this issue. Here are a few pointers:

1. What you have not all of us want to see. This area is most often violated by the female gender, however I have seen some serious transgression on the male side as well. If there's a possibility its a) too short, b) too tight, or c) makes you look fat - it is or does. Guys - leave the tank tops and cutoff shirts for yard work. Showing up in public wearing a "wife-beater" is just bad form.

2. Hats. Let's get serious here. Do you honestly think you'll eve wear the Goofy Top Hat outside the park? You do realize you just plunked down 20 clams for that piece of felt covered styrofoam. Don't say I didn't warn you.

But, what do I know? I've just spent an hour in the searing Florida sun waiting for a 12 minute ride. So, if you'll excuse me, I've got an appointment with Cordeirinho and a parade.

Here endeth the lesson.
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld

Running Lines With Big Jerry

2006-08-07T10:31:00.000-04:00

With the start of August, the practice fields around High Schools across the country are being filled by young men preparing for the upcoming football season. They will don pads and helmets in a ritual under taken by their fathers and grandfathers before them. They will endure soaring temperatures, bruising workouts, and conditioning drills which - if evaluated by Amnesty International - would be decried as torture.

Some of these football programs will in fact border on the torturous. Its called Three-A-Day's - practices which begin before dawn and end after sunset and involve running until your lungs explode.

I believe it was my senior year when Big Jerry joined our team. Big Jerry was a likeable guy who loved the game of football. He loved it because it gave him a chance to be part of the team. He didn't come by the moniker of Big Jerry by accident. Jerry stood at just over 6 feet and weighed in at easily 375 pounds. He wasn't fast or nimble. He knew he wouldn't start, but that never stopped him from wanting to play. He never finished first in the the sprints, runs, or any other conditioning drills. Neither did I, but this isn't about me. What's important about Big Jerry is that he always finished.

Near the end of particularly scorching day, the denizens of torture - commonly known as coaches - addressed the team and declared that day's conditioning drill would consist of "Running Lines".

The team groaned - collectively. You see, Running Lines consists of forming groups of roughly twenty guys. You start from one sideline, run to the first hash mark, run back to the sideline, run to the far hash mark, run back to the sideline, and then run to the opposite sideline. You do this four times. Six if the coaches decide to use the drill to "build character".

Here's a picture for those unfamiliar with a football field.

The drill takes about 90 minutes to finish. After 90 minutes of wind sprints, even the most fit among us was ready to pass out.

Big Jerry was in the last group of 20 guys. You can probably guess where he placed each time his group finished its rotation. He lumbered across the field each time - never quitting - gasping for breath each time he came across the sideline. The sun was setting when he started his final run from sideline to sideline. He was alone on that field - all others having finished their final sprint. So we watched, some standing, some sitting, some sprawled on the matted grass, as Big Jerry started to lumber back across the field in a very slow jog.

Then he stopped. Hands on his knees, chest heaving. The physical toll in addition to the hotter than hell elements had finally gotten to him. He could go no further.

Then something remarkable happened. A cheer of encouragement came from the side line. One voice, then another, then a chorus of "C'mon Jerry"! "Big Jerry!". Jerry stood there, still hands on knees, seemingly oblivious to what to him must've been faint voices.

I don't remember who went first, but one by one, then slowly the whole team left the sideline and ran to where Big Jerry stood. We grabbed his jersey, shorts and whatever else we could and pushed, carried, and otherwise shoved him across the sideline.

It was, on that day, we truly became a team. We would not leave one of our brethren behind. He may not have been a star, but he was one of us. That day we finished our drill together.

Most of the lessons taught on the grid iron are not seen under the Friday Night Lights, Saturday afternoon sunshine, or the Sunday spectacles. They are learned on the practice field and only understood in hindsight.

Let the teaching begin.

Here endeth the lesson.

President Sterling Watson

2006-08-03T13:44:00.000-04:00

To the unassuming person, Sterling Watson is just another 11-year-old boy with big dreams. Most boys that age have them. Their lives are a book of yet unfilled pages waiting for a story to be written upon them. 11-year-old boys are limited only by what they can dream.

Believe me, dear reader, Sterling Watson has big dreams. In addition to those dreams, Sterling also has terminal cancer.

There are some words in the English language that never should be put together. Two of those words are Pediatric and Oncology. That said, cancer doesn't discriminate.

One of my favorite charities, bar none, is the Make A Wish Foundation. If you're unfamiliar with them, let me summarize their message. They take people who don't have much time left on this earth and make fulfill their biggest wish.

Some kids want to go to Disneyland. Some kids want to be a police officer or fire fighter for a day. To Sterling, those wishes are small potatoes. Sterling wanted the top job. He wanted to be President of the United States.

I won't go into the details of what it took to bring this wish to reality. After all, the Federal Government is involved. But when you're dealing with a kid who might not see his 12th birthday, even slowest of bureaucracies moves with lightning speed.

So, for a day, Sterling Watson became President of the United States. He was taken via motorcade and Blackhawk helicopter to several different federal agencies where he got to be the man in charge. He reviewed the troops at Comney Hall, home of the United States Army's Old Guard. He received a 21 Gun Salute and gave the order for a team of Federal Air Marshals to retake a hijacked airplane. Even with all this action, he still found time to do a presidential lunch - at Ben & Jerry's. Now there's a kid with good taste in food.

The world needs more people who dream big dreams. Who knows what Sterling could do with four years in the White House.

Fare thee well, President Watson. Godspeed.

I'm Glad I'm Married

2006-07-27T11:43:00.000-04:00

File this under "First Dates From Hell".

I have some awful dating stories I should probably write down for posterity, but this one puts any of mine to shame.

Cat's Cradle, Silver Spoons, And Moon Men

2006-07-10T16:00:00.000-04:00

Some years ago, more than I care to admit, I sat in a religion class at BYU. The instructor, whose name escapes me at the moment, was talking about the relationships between fathers and sons and how quickly those boys we now try to keep from burning the house down will be raising sons of their own.

During the lecture he pulled out a stereo and played a song written and performed by Harry Chapin. Its called Cat's in the Cradle. You've probably heard it before. Its also been recorded by Ugly Kid Joe and, to my shock and amazement, Guns N' Roses.

I'll let the irony of that seep in to you for a moment. Ok. End of wide-eyed reflection on music irony.

The rainy season has come to my zip-code and as rain does it has caused my lawn to grow. Growing grass requires that I peform the manly task that has been handed down from father to son for centuries - namely doing battle with the lawn armed with somewhat sharp spinning blades attached to a small gas powered motor.

This year I have brought the now nine-year-old Corderinho out to help me with this bi-weekly battle. As we pushed the mower across the tall grass, a memory of me and Father Cordeiro came to my mind. It was literally long ago, and far away on the Presidio of San Francisco. There was no motor attached to the spinning blades of that mower. Any and all power was provided by pushing the two wheeled contraption across the grass. Needless to say, both Father Cordeiro and I got quite a workout. It wasn't long before I was left to mow the lawn by myself and learned not to let the grass get too long, lest it become impossible to mow.

Now I'm raising Cordeirinho in much the same fashion. The tools have changed some what, but the lessons remain the same. Responsibility is taught line by line, or in the case of the lawn, row by row. Roles change as time passes. The student becomes the teacher. The son becomes the father.

In the eternities, in my humble opinion, our sociality will be much more collegial than it is here on the earth. Grandfathers, fathers, sons, daughters, and mothers will interact in an environment unaffected by age and the limiting infirmaties that accompany it. It is one aspect of the eternities I look forward to, if for no other reason than I'll be able to go fishing with Grandfather Cordeiro, Granpa Frank, and others in my ancestral line I never got to meet.

I enjoy being a father. I greatly appreciate the fact I can talk to Father Corderio about the challgenges inherent in the job of a father. As I was growing up, he took the time to teach me the little lessons I would need when it came time for me to teach my son. Fatherhood is not something that can be effectively outsourced.

And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me,
He'd grown up just like me.
My boy was just like me.

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."

One can only hope.

Boldly Going...

2006-07-04T16:19:00.000-04:00

To paraphrase Jim Lovell, "That, ladies and gentlemen, is how we do that."

Thanks to the brave crew of Discovery and the Rocket Scientists at NASA for the 4th of July fireworks.

July 4th - 230 Years Later

2006-07-03T14:47:00.000-04:00

Yes, dear reader, it was 230 years ago that 56 men - then British Subjects - convened in a sweltering room in Philadelphia's Independence Hall and committed High Treason.

This crime they committed would - given a few different historical twists - have resulted in their own executions and most likely the executions of most if not all of their family members. The British looked on American independence in a very unfavorable manner.

Never the less, they made the decision to "hang together", if for no other reason than, as one signer put it, they would surely "hang separately". What they did took courage. It took guts. It is all together fitting and proper that we as a nation should celebrate this day.

I can find no better words to cite on Independence Day than those words originally put to paper by Thomas Jefferson during that sweltering hot and humid summer of 1776. Many Americans have never read the Declaration of Independence. If you're one of these, may I take this opportunity to remedy this situation now. Read, and learn. Any emphasis is mine.

IN CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776
The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America

When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Â? That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, Â? That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. Â? Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & Perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred. to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. Â? And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

- John Hancock

New Hampshire:
Josiah Bartlett, William Whipple, Matthew Thornton

Massachusetts:
John Hancock, Samuel Adams, John Adams, Robert Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry

Rhode Island:
Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery

Connecticut:
Roger Sherman, Samuel Huntington, William Williams, Oliver Wolcott

New York:
William Floyd, Philip Livingston, Francis Lewis, Lewis Morris

New Jersey:
Richard Stockton, John Witherspoon, Francis Hopkinson, John Hart, Abraham Clark

Pennsylvania:
Robert Morris, Benjamin Rush, Benjamin Franklin, John Morton, George Clymer, James Smith, George Taylor, James Wilson, George Ross

Delaware:
Caesar Rodney, George Read, Thomas McKean

Maryland:
Samuel Chase, William Paca, Thomas Stone, Charles Carroll of Carrollton

Virginia:
George Wythe, Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson, Jr., Francis Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton

North Carolina:
William Hooper, Joseph Hewes, John Penn

South Carolina:
Edward Rutledge, Thomas Heyward, Jr., Thomas Lynch, Jr., Arthur Middleton

Georgia:
Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, George Walton

Here endeth the lesson.

Space Shuttle Discovery (STS-121) Go For Lauch

2006-06-30T11:39:00.000-04:00

UPDATE: We can fly into space, but we still can't control the weather. Next launch attempt is July 4, 2006 at 3:26 pm Eastern. Stay tuned.

The news cycle is a fickle thing. Between SCOTUS rulings, Britney's Bare Boobs, and the World Cup, its hard to keep track of much else.

For those of you overwhelmed by the different storylines of the day, let me point you to one you may have missed. Tomorrow - July 1, 2006 - will mark America's return to space on the wings of the Space Shuttle Discovery.

For most of us, myself included, space travel has been a fact of life. Its something we've become accustomed to - so much so that one television network once declared a trip to the moon to be about as exciting to cover as a bus ride to Pittsburgh.

Missions like Apollo 13, Challenger, and Columbia remind us that space travel is indeed rocket science and those brave men and women who undertake these missions are indeed pioneers on the final frontier. I admire them greatly and hope someday soon they will be permitted to do more than just orbit the earth. I long to see them walk again on the moon and beyond - to truly go where no one has gone before.

So tomorrow, weather permitting, at 3:48.37 Eastern Daylight Time (gotta love the time calculated down to the second) seven astronauts will once again "slip the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God."

Good luck, and Godspeed to the astronauts of the Space Shuttle Discovery STS-121.

The Battle Of The Birds

2006-06-27T21:32:00.000-04:00

As my home has been overrun by the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro's Book Club, I have been relegated to the basement with my two children, Cordeirinho and Cordeirinha. They are currently desecrating the 42" Plasma TV with a showing of The Great Mouse Detective. All I know is it will take several showings of manly flicks such as Master & Commander and Top Gun to return the Plasma to its normal testosterone levels.

As I have seen The Great Mouse Detective one too many times (the number of times being one) I shall regale you with a story that will soon become part of the ever growing volume of Cordeiro Lore. Some is fact. Some is fiction. Sometimes you're never really sure which is which. That's the great thing about lore.

A few months ago I was due to leave my home for a few weeks of business travel. It has become an accepted fact that at least one disaster will strike my home or family while I am away. Realize there is a very broad definition of the term disaster. Usually it constitutes an event which I would be required to handle were I in the same zip code at the time of the event.

Disasters can range from illness affecting one or more of the household members - although the term Complete and Total Disaster usually requires the illness to affect the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro. Then, of course, there are the usual malfunctions of automobiles, computers, and any host of home appliances.

Sometimes disaster strikes just as I am about to leave. Such was the case with what has come to be called The Battle of the Birds.

It was a normal Sunday morning. My flight was scheduled to leave at around two in the afternoon, thus giving me a chance to get the family off to church and then myself off to the airport. I was even going to get a chance to sleep in.

Murphy always has a field day when I try to sleep in.

Around 6 am, the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro shook me out of a dead sleep. "I hear scratching in the attic," she whispered. "Its just the trees against the roof," I said, calmly attempting to assuage her concerns. I don't know why I keep trying to do that. It never works.

"I think you should go up there and check it out." With that pronouncement, I surrendered my sabbath slumber and went to pilfer my neighbor's ladder.

Getting into my attic requires a form of gymnastics that I am very poor at performing. The attic is hot, blown insulation is everywhere, and I have to be very careful so as to not put an appendage through the ceiling of any number of upstairs rooms. After removing the access panel to the attic, I heard a very dangerous sound.

The chirping of birds in an attic is a very, very, very bad thing. That's what I heard when I contorted myself into the attic. Loud, ceaseless chirping. I then proceeded to the source of the chirping. I lifted up a piece of Pink Panther insulation to find a bird's nest - complete with five tiny birds.

There is a God, and He looks after drunks, old ladies, and new homeowners crawling through attics at 6:30 on a Sunday morning. How do I know this? The birds had not yet learned how to fly.

I took a plastic bag from a box and proceeded to pick up the young birds one by one (wearing a pair of thick leather gloves of course - beaks are sharp!) and stuff them in the bag.

"What are you doing?!?" The Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro's head had poked up through the access panel.

"I'm getting rid of these birds!" My answer was short. I was busy stuffing birds in a bag.

"You're gonna kill those baby birds!" Her point was valid, but killing the birds was the least of my concerns.

"They won't suffocate in the time it takes for you to get them outside." Her concern for the birds was knocked down a peg when she had to handle the bag.

The birds were released, unharmed I might add, to the bush next to the front porch. From there we can only hope they avoided the neighbor's cat.

Never let it be said I never did anything for the welfare of small flightless birds.

I Am Maximus

2006-06-20T13:30:00.000-04:00

...at least that's what the Quiz said.

You scored as Maximus. After his family was murdered by the evil emperor Commodus, the great Roman general Maximus went into hiding to avoid Commodus's assassins. He became a gladiator, hoping to dominate the colosseum in order to one day get the chance of killing Commodus. Maximus is valiant, courageous, and dedicated. He wants nothing more than the chance to avenge his family, but his temper often gets the better of him.

Maximus

83%

William Wallace

79%

Captain Jack Sparrow

75%

James Bond, Agent 007

71%

Indiana Jones

71%

El Zorro

67%

The Terminator

58%

The Amazing Spider-Man

58%

Neo, the "One"

54%

Batman, the Dark Knight

54%

Lara Croft

50%

Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0
created with QuizFarm.com

World Cup Fever

2006-06-16T10:37:00.000-04:00

For those of you living in an US-centric world without access to ESPN, the soccer phenomenon of the World Cup is taking Germany by storm. Soccer is a far bigger sport outside the US than it is domestically. Its a fairly easy sport to play and the start up costs are exceptionally cheap. All you need is a dirt field and, two goals, and a ball.

Soccer has never really been my sport. I played it for a year or so as a young lad until I discovered the joys of American-style football. I didn't really pay attention to it again until I ventured to Brazil as a missionary.

Shortly after my arrival in Sao Paulo, my companion and I were being driven back to my apartment by a recent-convert. "Elders," he said, "let's take a little detour. I want to show you something." I, of course, caught little of this due to my rudimentary language skills so I went along for the ride.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

We then came to a main avenue in the city where a celebration was in full swing. I've been to my share of street parties, but this put them all to shame. Sao Paulo has two major soccer teams - the Sao Paulo Futebol Clube (SPFC) and the Corintios. The Corintios had just beaten SPFC for the city title - thus the celebration.

It was quite an experience, many photos were taken, and no, my Mission President never saw them.

Brazilian soccer fans can only be compared to Texas football fans in their dedication to their sport and their team.

Brazilians at Berlin's Brandenburg Gate
Brazil's World Cup victories are commemorated with week long celebrations followed by years of treating the World Cup team with a reverence usually reserved for Deity. World Cup losses are mourned for years, sometimes decades. Rumor has it that a goalie from one World Cup team which lost to another South American rival is still reviled to this day.

There are high hopes for many nations in this year's World Cup chase. Sadly, my nation - short of a miracle akin to that of the 1980 Olympic Hockey Team - will soon be eliminated. France shows promise, as does the home country favorite of Germany.

Personally, I'd bet on Brazil if for no other reason than their players (as a unit) are the Michael Jordans of Soccer. Most of them grew up playing on the dirt fields of their neighborhoods and despite their incredible celebrity still play the game with a love known only to boys who would rather play soccer than eat.

Take some time over these coming days and see what all the commotion is about over on ESPN. You might just learn something about a game which really gathers world attention.

Viva Brasil!

Ghosts of Tinananmen June 4, 1989

2006-06-04T08:29:00.000-04:00

Here they talked of revolution.
Here it was they lit the flame.
Here they sang about 'tomorrow'
And tomorrow never came.

From the table in the corner
They could see a world reborn
And they rose with voices ringing
I can hear them now!
The very words that they had sung
Became their last communion
On the lonely barricade at dawn.

Oh my friends, my friends, don't ask me
What your sacrifice was for
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will sing no more.

-Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Les Miserables

Aboard the USS New Jersey

2006-05-30T10:27:00.000-04:00

Apologies for the light blogging of late. I've been on the road recently, and one of my journeys took me to the City of Brotherly Love, also known as Philadelphia. I enjoy history, so I spent my off hours wandering the city's historic district where the framework of this great nation began to take shape.

During one of my wanderings, I came across a pamphlet advertising tours of the USS New Jersey. My east-coast geography is still a bit on the weak side, so I'd forgotten that New Jersey borders Pennsylvania, but I jumped at the chance to see one of the biggest, baddest, and most feared battleships ever to sail under a US flag.

The New Jersey's history is a long and her decorations are many. Her 16" guns have projected American power in World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Lebanon, and other global hotspots. To help you understand exactly what a 16" shell can do, imagine a projectile weighing roughly as much as a VW Bug being launched from a position at sea, landing miles away in a pre-designated area about the size of your office cubicle - and blowing the surrounding location to smithereens.

No wonder the Marines love these ships for amphibious assault support.

In case you were wondering, this picture is found in the dictionary next to the term "Guns, Big Ass".

My grandfather's generation designed, built, and produced the most effective naval artillery the world has ever seen. Nothing in any navy's arsenal, past or present, has been proven to be more accurate or lethal than these guns.

A side note - there are four remaining Iowa class battleships. Two, the New Jersey and the Missouri, have been relegated to museum status. I have not visited the Missouri, but the New Jersey looks like she could be put to sea on a few days notice.

The two other battleships, the Iowa and the Wisconsin, are currently part of the Navy's Mothball fleet. As of March 17, 2006, both vessels were struck from the Naval Vessel Register as part of the 2006 Defense Appropriations Act. Needless to say, the Marines are not happy about this.

End of digression.

Touring the New Jersey take awhile. Though she may be a huge ship, she's also full of confined spaces and cramped quarters. I'm not a small person, so my skull now has a few more dents in it courtesy of the New Jersey's steel plating. My group was the last to be aboard the New Jersey that day. As we made our way up to the navigation bridge, a museum curator asked us to turn off the active radar and secure the bridge for the night. I'll add that to my list of cool things I've gotten to do.

Ships like the New Jersey are one of the reasons I like history. Its more than just books, dates, and facts. History is made and determined by people - people like those sailors and marines who took their turn in places like the USS New Jersey and stood watch in defense of liberty. You don't get than sense from a book. You need to go where these people were, see what they saw, and feel what they felt. Only then do you begin to understand the "why" behind the dates and places.

Thanks for the living history lesson, Big J.

Here endeth the lesson.

Memorial Day 2006

2006-05-29T21:31:00.000-04:00

Where no mothers cry and no children weep
We will stand and guard though the angels sleep
While through the ages safely keep
The Mansions of the Lord.

Mother's Day 2006

2006-05-14T09:05:00.000-04:00

All that I am or hope to be I owe to my Mother. - Abraham Lincoln

United 93 - A Review Of The Experience

2006-05-10T23:06:00.000-04:00

I don’t do many movie reviews – probably for the simple reason it takes nearly an Act of Congress for me to get time away from life to actually go and spend a few hours in a dark room watching a large screen.

For United 93 I made the time.

For me, the film re-defined the term intense. It was like watching the first 20 some minutes of Saving Private Ryan. The story is told in real time. You sit and watch the events of that Tuesday morning in September. You know how the story ends.

No corners are cut in the telling of this story. Most, if not all, sides of the conflict are explored – from the FAA’s reaction to the heart wrenching realization that the most powerful military on the face of the earth can do nothing but sit and watch the events unfold on CNN like the rest of America.

In the end it all came down to a group of ordinary Americans making the decision to fight back.

The word "No" is a very powerful term in the English language. People say it every day, some more so than others. When "No" is said by a unified group of people seeking to throw off the oppression of others, it becomes even more powerful.

Americans have done a lot of that in their short history. In 1776, 56 men came together in Philadelphia and collectively told the English King George "No." They pledged their lives, fortunes, and sacred honor in the hopes they might bestow the blessings of liberty upon themselves and their posterity. They banded together in Independence Hall to fight what they considered to be worth dying for.

225 years later, Americans again gathered together (not far from Philadelphia) to fight this same battle – this time in the skies over Ohio and Pennsylvania. They gathered in the aft section of an aircraft whose pilot was intent on destroying more of this great nation. They stood up to the Islamofacist Murdering Thugs and said "No." Not on our plane. Not on our watch. They voted. They took a stand, defended this nation – giving the last full measure of devotion not far from the battlefields of the last war waged upon the soil of the Continental United States.

I watched this film and every minute reminded me of one basic fact: I am still angry. Angry at the thugs who came into my country, killed my countrymen, and destroyed part of my heritage. Angry at those who would attempt to excuse such behavior and appease those who want to do more of it.

United 93 should be required viewing for all Americans. It is not a film to be viewed with lightness of heart. It is a film to be experienced, and remembered.

Remember.

Here endeth the lesson.

Strange Things

2006-04-24T13:41:00.000-04:00

Ok, I've been tagged to write a post on six "weird" things about myself. As I haven't written anything on this blog in sometime, mostly due to an attack of employment duties, I figured this was a good excuse to dust off the blog and get back to the regular banter schedule.

So, here goes:

1. I chew my nails. It drives the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro bonkers, but I do it anyway.

2. On my sadly infrequent trips to Brazil, I have been known to smuggle coffee back for my oldest (as in time known, not chronological age) friend.

3. I bake a really mean set of Lion House Rolls. They're almost as good as what comes out of the Lion House, but the Lion House bakers cheat - I just haven't figured out how...yet.

4. I have two home theater sound systems in my home, complete with sub-woofers. One can never have enough bass.

5. If you happen to be a ballerina, I can tell you if your forte turn is done well, or if it sucks.

6. Given the choice between a Porterhouse Steak and an In-N-Out Double Double (animal style), I'll take the Double Double.

Whew! That took some thought.

Happy Easter!

2006-04-16T09:34:00.000-04:00

Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen. - Luke 24:5-6

Elder Helvécio Martins

2006-04-03T08:02:00.000-04:00

It happens during every General Conference, usually during the Saturday afternoon session. Reports are given about the state of the Church - financial audits are generally reported, membership stats are announced, and then an item I usually gloss over: Prominent members who have passed away since the last General Conference.

This year there were several, but one caught my attention. Elder Helvecio Martins, formerly of the Second Quorum of the Seventy.

I met Elder Martins while I was in the Missionary Training Center in the summer of 1990. Yes, I'm old, I know it. He had just recently been called as a General Authority and would be giving an address at the October session of General Conference. He was working on his English, I was struggling to learn Portuguese. My MTC district and his family became very close as both groups struggled with the curse of Babel.

He went on to deliver his conference address "The Value of a Testimony". His conversion story is truly remarkable.

Our paths crossed several times in the ensuing years. Elder Martins is not a man of great physical stature, but like most Brazilians, his heart is incredibly large - outsized only by that of his devoted wife.

I will always remember his devotion to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. So great was his testimony of the work that he made great monetary sacrifices to help fund the building of the Sao Paulo Temple - an edifice which (at the time of construction) he himself could not enter.

Adeus, Helvécio. Vou sentir sua falta, mas sempre lembrarei de seu conselho e seu testemunho. Espero que possa reunir contigo novamente no outro lado aonde possamos trabalhar juntos mais uma vez.

"Muito bem, servo bom e fiel; sobre o pouco foste fiel, sobre muito te colocarei; entra no gozo do teu senhor." - Evangelho de Matéus 25:21

Aqui termina a lição.

Cordeirinho Update

2006-03-10T13:28:00.000-05:00

Well, its been a week since Cordeirinho underwent eye surgery - not the laser type, this was done with really small and very sharp instruments. Yeah, the kind your mother warned you not to stick in your eye.

The Post Op appointment showed the surgery to have gone as well or better than advertised. His eyes now work together, so now its up to therapy to strengthen the muscles.

And, other than looking like a vampire, Corderinho is doing just fine.

Cordeiro Manor updates soon, I promise.

Consultants

2006-02-21T20:08:00.000-05:00

They're everywhere. They want to help. They can change your life, for a modest fee.

Actually, I'm posting this joke here so I can find it again.

A shepherd was herding his flock in a remote pasture when suddenly a brand-new BMW advanced out of a dust cloud towards him. The driver, a young man in a Broni suit, Ray Ban sunglasses and YSL tie, leaned out the window and asked the shepherd, "If I tell you exactly how many sheep you have in your flock, will you give me one?"

The shepherd looked at the man, obviously a yuppie, then looked at his peacefully-grazing flock and calmly answered "Sure."

The yuppie parked his car, whipped out his notebook and connected it to a cell phone, then he surfed to a NASA page on the internet where he called up a GPS satellite navigation system, scanned the area, and then opened up a database and an Excel spreadsheet with complex formulas. He sent an e-mail on his Blackberry and, after a few minutes received a response.

Finally he prints out a 150 page report on his hi-tech, miniaturized printer then turns to the shepherd and says, "You have exactly 1,586 sheep."

"That is correct; take one of the sheep." said the shepherd. He watches the young man select one of the animals and bundle it into his car. Then the shepherd says: "If I can tell you exactly what your business is, will give me back my sheep?"

"Okay... Why not." answered the young man.

"Clearly, you are a consultant." said the shepherd.

"That's correct," says the yuppie, "but how did you guess that?"

"No guessing required" answers the shepherd. "You turned up here although nobody called you. You want to get paid for an answer I already knew, to a question I never asked, and you know jack about my business...

Now give me back my dog."

I know what you're thinking: Ok, Cordeiro, where's the joke?

HT Silus Grok

Cordeirinho

2006-02-20T17:05:00.000-05:00

I don't often comment about family issues here, but every now and then I'll make an exception.

I know I've mentioned before that my son, known here under his Nome de Blog as Corderinho, has had a series of vision issues since he was very young. The Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro and I discovered this after having taken him (at age 3) to a Pediatric Opthamologist who basically informed us that - without corrective lenses - Corderinho is pretty much legally blind.

Since that time we've been working with several different therapists (physical, occupation, visual, etc) to make up for the developmental years lost to his inability so see for the first few formative years of his life. Corderinho is a trooper and if you didn't know his background you'd pretty much think he's just like any other eight-year-old kid.

Late last year the eye doctor told us Corderinho's eyes were not developing together - as normally they would. All that could be done with glasses and vision therapy would not be enough and - unchecked - one of his eyes would begin to drift. There was (and still is) but one solution.

Surgery.

All my life I've been taught (sometimes forcibly so) to keep sharp objects away from my eyes. The phrase "You'll poke, shoot, stab (or otherwise injure) your eye out" is one I'm very familiar with. Now an evidently well qualified, board certified, and otherwise credentialed physician tells me he will do the following to my son's eyes:

Detach the muscles on both sides of both eyeballs and reattach them in the correct place so they eyes begin to work and develop together. No lasers, mind you. Just very sharp small instruments. Corderinho's eyes will be horribly bloodshot for a few weeks - basically looking like a Vampire straight out of the Lost Boys, but other than that his vision should dramatically improve over time.

When you're a kid, there are just some things you shouldn't have to deal with. Surgery is one of them. Personally, I'm of the opinion words like Pediatric and Oncology should never share the same space on a sign. Wishing doesn't make it so, therefore life's not fair sometimes - far too often to the young and small among us.

So, in early March the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro and I will take our first born son to the surgical center, hold his hand as he goes under general anesthesia, and pray the surgeons hands perform as advertised. Cordeirinho's a brave kid, he'll do just fine.

That said, prayers for his recovery are and will be greatly appreciated.

Book of Mormon DNA and Agenda Driven Science

2006-02-17T17:54:00.000-05:00

O that cunning plan of the evil one! O the vainness, and the frailties, and the foolishness of men! When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, for they set it aside, supposing they know of themselves, wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not. And they shall perish. --Book of Mormon, Second Nephi 9:28

The Los Angeles Times yesterday published a front-page story entitled Bedrock of a Faith Is Jolted. It basically delves into the research of Simon G. Southerton, an ex-communicated former LDS Bishop whose worldly profession deals with molecular biology.

I highlight the term ex-communicated for a reason. As a practicing Mormon who has some experience (don't ask, because I don't give details) in church leadership, I can state for the record, it takes a lot to get ex-communicated.

To get into the long and the short of Mr. (can't call him Brother anymore) Southerton's "research" he claims to have disproved the central premise of the Book of Mormon by not finding any traces of Semitic (Hebrew) DNA in the peoples of Latin and South America.

I'm not going to detail the Book of Mormon story. If you really want to know, read it for yourself - don't rely on the LA Times or Mr. Southerton as a source.

I digress.

Shortly put, Mr. Southerton has an axe to grind and he's using science to do it.

Religion and Science have common ground. The most inspiring scientific minds I have known still marvel at the genius of the human body, the incredible majesty contained within a single living organism, and the grandeur of the stars that make up the universe.

The minds of Mr. Southerton, and those who would use his "research" to attempt to bring down all the truth contained within the covers of the Book of Mormon acknowledge no higher authority or intellect than themselves. They would attempt to undermine a book of scripture, the Word of God, using technology and methods the scientific world is just beginning to learn how to use.

Albert Einstein once said "I want to know God's thoughts...the rest are details." If such an accomplished intellect could still be open to the possibility there were things he was not capable of understanding, I submit the Southerton caucus is sadly lacking in the capacity to accept anything on faith.

Faith often confounds those who claim to be wise, who will not accept anything unless it is proven beyond their ability to question. There are things, concepts, and doctrines which - in this lifetime - we will not understand simply because we can't wrap our mortal brains around eternal details.

I commend the Blogfather for his unbiased coverage of this article. A transcript of his interview with the author Bill Lobdell is up at Radioblogger. Thanks, Hugh. The Church has its response to the DNA issue here.

Here's the bottom line. In the spring of 1820, Joseph Smith entered a grove of trees to pray for guidance as to which church to join. One of two things happened in the Sacred Grove. Either what he said occurred actually happened, or it did not. If it did, and I believe it did, than this debate is pointless. Could I be wrong? Possibly. But I'm not going to leave that choice up to a bunch of guys in lab coats standing around a table with steaming beakers of sludge.

Proving the truth of the Book of Mormon via DNA would negate the necessity of the faith upon which the Book is centered. Personally, I think God gets a kick out of confounding scientists. If you want proof of that, go find a Platypus and explain how that animal makes sense.

Here endeth the lesson.

Cordeiro Manor Update

2006-01-20T10:42:00.000-05:00

Many apologies for the lack of substantive posting over the past few weeks. The stage two remodel of Cordeiro Manor is about to begin, and I've been busy pouring sweat equity into the project.

As Spock so eloquently stated (in the Wrath of Khan) when asked for his take on the Genesis Project, "It has always been easier to destroy than create". Thus I have been tasked by the Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro to take up the hardwood flooring that was incorrectly laid by Bonehead Contractor.

For those of you who may have questions about the proper way to lay a hardwood floor, here are some pointers which will cost me about 2.5 large and a lot of sore muscles to learn:

1. Hardwood flooring is laid parallel, not perpendicular, to the floor joist. It is done this way so as to allow the floor to adjust to any settling of the house. Laying the flooring perpendicular to the floor joist will result in buckling. Its not a question of if, but when.

2. When you, or your (hopefully non-boneheaded) contractor begin laying the floor, it is secured to the sub-floor with staples, or some other fastener. These staples are usually applied with a compressed air gun. If your boneheaded contractor starts arming the compressed air gun with staples that are more than 1 inch long, kick him squarely in the crotch and introduce his face to the curb.

Like I said, I've learned these two lessons the hard way.

On the Legal front, Bonehead Contractor came before the circuit court a few weeks ago and attempted (through his shiester lawyer) to claim he had no responsibility for the actions of his Operations Manager. He stated this (in very pathetic testimony from the witness stand) despite the fact the company bears his name and the contractor's license is issued to him. I didn't buy it. The county regulators didn't buy it. More importantly, the judge didn't buy it.

Bonehead Contractor now has a criminal record (misdemeanor though it may be). Civil case to be tried in about a month or so.

On a lighter note, its Championship Weekend. My beloved Broncos host the Steelers this Sunday at Mile High Stadium. The Steelers are a formidable team, let there be no doubt about it. That said, the Broncos are very unforgiving when it comes to opponent mistakes. Champ Bailey won't be nailed at the one-yard line again. Make us proud, boys. Go Broncos!

Playoff Weekend

2006-01-13T13:52:00.000-05:00

Go Broncos!!

Elder Morgan W. Young

2006-01-03T09:44:00.000-05:00

Elder Morgan W. Young, a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was shot and killed by an unknown assailiant late Monday afternoon. He was serving as a member of the Richmond, Virginia Mission along with his companion, Elder Joshua Heidbrink. Elder Heidbrink was also shot and remains hospitalized as of this writing.

Every missionary mother's nightmare just came true for the parents of Elder Young. Godspeed to him, and may the Lord watch over those who have been given cause to mourn in this new year.

UPDATE: Chesapeake Police have arrested and charged James R. Boughton with first-degee murder, malicious wounding, attempted malicious wounding and three counts of using a gun during the commission of a felony in connection with the death of Elder Young and the wounding of Elder Heidbrink.

Evidently the Elders were witnesses to a crime. Wrong place, wrong time. No word on "special circumstances" being attached to the first degree murder charge.

Boxing Day Thoughts on Fruit Cake

2005-12-26T08:22:00.000-05:00

Uses for Fruitcake. There have to be some. I had almost made it through Christmas without having to deal with the dreaded Fruitcake - then, lo and behold, one arrived in a carefully disguised gift bag. It was at the bottom - a store bought variety in a long slim box.

The Ravishing Mrs. Cordeiro and I regarded it with a smile. As I've come to learn, nobody really eats these things. The nutrition label on the box declared the contents to have enough calories, sugar, fat, and dried fruit to feed the population of Honduras for a month. So, as I plan on living long enough to make my New Year's Resolutions, I have to find something to do with this Fruitcake.

You see, I have a long and tortured relationship with Fruitcake. Mother Cordeiro, for more years than I care to remember, insisted on making Fruitcake (from her Grandmother's recipe) to include with the boxes of gifts we sent out every year to various family members. The recipe is very detailed - containing everything from four kinds of nuts to candied and dried fruit one seldom sees outside of a Fruitcake.

Capitalistic wisdom dictates the companies making this stuff, especially the candied and dried fruit, have to make money. Somebody has to buy this stuff. Mother Cordeiro no longer makes the Fruitcake, so I wonder if the Cordeiro Family is responsible for some unemployed fruit candiers someplace in Arizona.

But I digress.

After much mixing, the contents of the mixing bowl look like something one would see in a porcelain bowl after said contents had been processes by a human stomach. The contents of the bowl are then divided into loaf pans for the baking process - baked, then wrapped in aluminum foil. The last words of the recipe are, and I kid you not, "Flavor improves with age."

So, what happens to these Fruitcakes? Some make it to party platters. I'd say some was given to the dog, but I've tried that before and it didn't work out so well for the dog. Here are some of the places I've found the silver packaged Fruitcake:

1. Shelving Materials
2. Door Stops
3. Ballast

That list doesn't include all the dark recesses of the pantry, closets, and other nooks and crannies of houses where similar unwanted gifts are deposited.

Fruitcakes are still being made commercially. This means someone is buying them. If this person is you, get help. Stop the insanity.

Cordeiro Legends - Christmas Advent

2005-12-23T07:56:00.000-05:00

As most of my Sitemeter rated 5 readers may know, I am an Army Brat. For the untrained ear, that means I spent the first 19 years or so of my life hopscotching around the United States, Germany, and Korea as my father was transferred according to the whims of the United States Army.

Thus, my family's Christmas traditions are a patchwork of American, European, and other cultures we encountered during our travels. One tradition we brought back from Germany was the tradition of Advent.

To make a long explanation a little less detailed, Advent is an event taking place during the four weeks leading up to Christmas. Family members gather around the table, light the candles of the Advent Carousel or similar spinning structures and singing Christmas Carols.

Each week another candle is added, and by Christmas Eve the Carousel spins like a ceiling fan.

When this tradition started, Mother Cordeiro was very strict about the type of carols we were to sing. There was to be no 'ad-libbing' of carols like Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer. Elvis' Blue Christmas was absolutely forbidden.

As the years have progressed, the Cordeiro family gathers around the table much less frequently - most years the Sunday ritual is patched together on something resembling a teleconference using the Cordeiro land line and several cell phones. Each family member, going from youngest to oldest, picks a carol. Free weekend minutes make it much easier.

The songs sung have changed with the passage of time. Somehow Elvis was finally allowed in, and the 12 Days of Christmas (complete with live action on each of the different days) is a spectacle to be both seen and heard, as long as you're not offended by a very (and purposely so) loud and off key rendition.

I'm not sure the Germans would recognize their tradition if they were to see how the Cordeiro family has "modified" it. I'm sure there's an anthropological study in there somewhere.

Cordeiro Family Legends

2005-12-13T14:47:00.000-05:00

I've decided to catalog somewhat the various Cordeiro Family Legends. Every family has them, most of them are so embellished by the passing of time they bear scant resemblance to the original event. Some may be lies. Others may be damn lies. You can choose which category they belong to.

Westward Ho!

In the late 1970's and early 1980's my father was stationed in Germany. We spent three years there (stories for another Cordeiro Family Legend post). When the time came for our departure, the packers came and packed up all our stuff (including several full trashcans), the movers came and took the stuff away, and the Cordeiro Family (complete with six children) made our way to the Frankfurt International Airport for our trip back Stateside.

Each was permitted two checked bags and a carry on bag - or two. Mother Cordeiro, being exceptionally astute as always, came up with the brilliant idea of using US Army dufflebags for our checked luggage. Well, two bags multiplied by eight people comes out at 16 dufflebags. Each bag was packed to nearly overflowing.

How we made it to the airport is a story for another post. It involves vomit and an Army uniform, and I'll leave it at that.

The flight home was tricky. We checked our baggage and somehow got all eight of us on the plane. We flew from Frankfurt to New York's JFK, eating dinner over the Pond. Upon arriving to JFK and clearing customs, we found that only 12 of the 16 duffles had made the trip with us. Finding this out took most of our layover time, so we made quite the spectacle trying to make the connection for the flight to St. Louis.

Coming into St. Louis (getting another dinner somewhere over Ohio) we found we had lost another four duffles in the connection. Again, finding this out took most of our layover time, but my father and I had wisely sent Mother Cordeiro and the rest of the younger kids ahead to the gate. The connection spectacle was no less hectic for us - as we ran through the terminal in a fashion reminiscent of OJ Simpson's Hertz commercial. Yes, Simpson was a commercial actor before he became a murderer.

Our final destination was Salt Lake City. When it was all said and done, we arrived in Salt Lake with eight family members, and six dufflebags. All the duffles did eventually arrive - a few one day, others the next, still others took a week or so to make the trip.

Who says Transatlantic Travel isn't an adventure?

Happy Thanksgiving!

2005-11-24T09:30:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving is really the one truly American holiday. It has been celebrated in one form or fashion or another since the very first Pilgrims came to the New World. They gave thanks to God for the bounteous blessings poured out upon them in this place. They gave thanks to their Maker for having preserved them through tribulation and enabling them to find their way through challenging times.

The holiday has changed a lot since its inception. Sometimes it seems to me Thanksgiving gets glossed over during the stampede to Christmas. Personally, I refuse to acknowledge the existence of Christmas until after the leftovers have been sealed in tupperware and the final gun has sounded in the late afternoon football game.

There are many things for which I will give thanks this year. I have a beautiful wife who has loved me through poverty, wealth, thin-ness, and well, not so thin-ness for well over a decade. I have two great kids. I have a good job and a good house (despite the ongoing drama of Cordeiro Manor).

Life, for lack of a better term, is good.

I am mindful of those of my countrymen and women who find themselves far from home, in diverse parts of the world sometimes forgotten in the minds of most people. They put themselves in harm's way to defend that which America will celebrate today. They do this because their country asks them to. Having grown up an Army brat and thus having celebrated Thanksgiving from Seoul to Stuttgart, I understand a little of what these heroes endure - though I will most likely never be exposed to the full hardship of their existence. They are, to me, family, and always will be. I stand in awe of men like Major K. I owe to him and guys like him a debt that cannot be repaid.

So, as we go about celebrating this American holiday, let us remember, for just a moment, the words of Abraham Lincoln's proclamation gave Thanksgiving a date certain:

The year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added which are of so extraordinary a nature that they can not fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever-watchful providence of Almighty God.

In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign states to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere, except in the theater of military conflict, while that theater has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union.

Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defense have not arrested the plow, the shuttle, or the ship; the ax has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well as the iron and coal as of our precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege, and the battlefield, and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom.

No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.

It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole American people. I do therefore invite my fellow-citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next as a day of thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the imposition of the Almighty hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it, as soon as may be consistent with the divine purpose, to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility, and union.

In testimony whereof I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the city of Washington, this 3d day of October, A.D. 1863, and of the Independence of the United States the eighty-eighth.

Here endeth the lesson.