Nevada Jack is back!

"Another Modest Proposal and the Local News"

By Nevada Jack

Nevada Jack

Lately, there has been a competition for a one-way trip to Mars going on within our midst as I was reminded of reading this post by a Cuban in London.  A few lucky and crazy members of the human race get to sail through space and land on Mars where they will spend out their days (with obviously limited oxygen and food supplies) wondering what they were thinking while we watch.  Obviously, the desire to be famous overrode any cognitive functions within their brains.

I have never understood our fascination of reality TV or survival shows.  Reality TV seem so unreal.  Survival shows, with the idea of voting people off an island, seems to be the apex of some extreme social-Darwin capitalism that is in conflict with my Christian humanistic beliefs.    But, considering the numbers of people who not only enjoy but make time to engross themselves in such shows, maybe we should give in, marry the two genres, and declare the globe to be a reality TV survival show.  The upside of all this is that instead of competing for a one-way ticket to Mars, we could vote people off the planet.   Then, before the rocket lifted off, we could have the humble but reluctant astronauts show remorse and speak to what they should have done differently or why it is a mistake to send them to the red planet and not someone else.

Just think of the possibilities.  We could rid the globe of bad guys with horrible hair like Kim Jong-un.  We could rid the world of ISIS fighters.  We could rid the world of Miley Cyrus.  We could rid the world of the New York Yankees.   And we could rid the world of a handful of Fox News correspondents as we offer them an “exclusive” on reporting from Mars. 

Perhaps Mars, the candy company, could underwrite this new program through commercials and, as a bonus, stock the rocket with plenty of candy bars. 

I realize that for many people, Darwin and Capitalism in the same category and Christian and humanism in the same category is challenging, but deal with it.  Or, vote me off the planet.  Or better yet, vote Sage off!  Who would you vote off?

Georgia’s Postpones Execution

Sage and I both dislike the idea of with capital punishment.  That was the one thing enlightening about Michigan where we spent a decade.  The state has never allowed the death penalty, a prohibition that goes back to the 1830s.  We have, however, lived in states, like Utah, that carried out the death penalty.  And we spoke out against it.  Now we’re in Georgia and we don’t know what to make of the news that our state postponed the execution of Kelly Gessendaner due to weather!  Gessendaner arranged to have her husband killed and has admitted her guilt.  She would be the first woman executed in the state since 1945.  But the state wasn’t able to carry out its order because of a bit of snow!  Maybe this is a sign from someone higher up than the governor that our state should end this horrific practice.  What's your thoughts?

Saturday Night Live 40 Years Later (or, am I really this old?)

Jane Curtin was one of my
favorite SNL actors

I have a major lecture to prepare, yet I found myself watching the 40^th anniversary of Saturday Night Live.  I can’t believe it has been on that long.  I really haven’t watched it much in the past 30 years but when it first came on, I wouldn’t miss it.  It was blessing to date someone who had an 11 PM curfew because I could be home in time to catch the show.  I have many memories of it: Chevy Chase playing Gerald Ford as he bangs his head on the door of Helicopter 1 and Dan Aykrovd playing Jimmy Carter, the nuclear engineer President tackling, hands on, the problems of 3 Mile Island.  I always liked the political humor, tossed in with good music from my generation.

 Who could forget poor Mr. Bill, the clay puppet who was an apocalyptic “Punch and Judy.”  “Oh no,” he’d cry.  A few years later, in my first stint as a camp director, Mr. Bill made regular appearances in the staff’s campfire skits.  Like many on SNL, Mr. Bill went on to become a major star in other venues.  And then there were the Coneheads…

I also liked the way the show parodied television commercials. Back in the late 70s, there was a commercial about how a car's ride was so smooth a craftsman could cut crystal glass while sitting in the backseat.  Saturday Night Live reproduced the commercial with a rabbi performing a circumcision.  Watching this 40^th Anniversary Show, with clips from the past, I realize the reason I gave up watching SNL was that show was pretty sophomoric, or crude (and often down-right lewd).  After graduating from college, I watched less and less of it.  One episode that I remember had Chevy Chase (or maybe Dan Aykroyd) on a phone call while also handling the evening news.  He was having to explain something (we were only hearing one side of the conversation) and it was pretty obvious that he was talking about oral sex.  It was a few months after my grandfather’s death and I was at my grandmother’s for the weekend and she was watching the show with me.  I don’t know how much she understood, but I expect it was more than I care to admit, but she never said anything about it.  I suggested in the middle of the episode that we turn the TV off and go to bed, but she insisted we continue.  I was very red and hot around the collar. 

Jane Curtin had one of the best lines of the evening, lamenting lamenting how times have changed. “I used to be the only blonde girl reading fake news, now we have whole networks of them."   Jane (you ignorant slut, as Aykroyd called her during their “point/counterpoint section) also had the second best line, saying the show was still sponsored by one of the original supporters, cocaine.  Sadly, there is more truth to this than we'd like to admit and it's one of the reasons some of the best talent was unable to make the 40th anniversary gala, for comedians have yet to master resurrection.

The program went on for three and a half hours, about twice as long as necessary, but everyone and their brother had to make an appearance.  Did they really need Miley Cyrus sing “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover?” Or Sarah Palin popping up in the audience and asking about running for president  (with Donald Trump as her running mate, no less)?  Or Derek Jeter and Payton Manning?  And did Payton really drop the F-word and need to be beeped out?  All in all, three and a half hours of stars patting themselves on the back is a little more than I could take so I did a load of dishes, cleaned the kitchen, and began to check some facts for my talk…

One of the best things, in my humble opinion, to come out of Saturday Night Live was Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi’s film, the “Blues Brothers.”  It is my one of my all-time favorite movies and not only does it contain great music, the movie provided wonderful public service by trashing a multitude of 70-era junk cars.  There were many other movies to spin off the show and a host of the actors went on to become famous.  Would we even have the Daily Show without SNL?  I don’t know, but it now appears that SNL will outlive it!   And after last night, with all the arms thrown out from clapping with the applause cards and patting each other on the back, I’m sure there are some orthopedic surgeons in a financial position to upgrade their boats. 

Loose Ends

A couple of posts back I wrote about the gun debate and reprinted an opinion piece I’d written for a newspaper while living in Utah.  Click here to read the post.  At the time, I said I’d share some of the reaction to my column.  Part of the agreement with writing op-eds is that you were not allowed to write letters to the editor and direct response in columns to letters to the editor were discouraged.  We were only allowed to write on the same topic twice a year.  So, I had to take my licks for the piece I wrote, which was fine.

The first volley came from the mayor of the town of Virgin (yes, Utah has a town named Virgin and, supposedly, Johnny Carson once showed a copy of the same newspaper for whom I was writing with the headlines reading “Virgin Plans a Big Night on the Town.”  I am sure this was an incredible boost to the town’s tourism, but is another story).  Mr. Lee, the town’s mayor began by saying I did not understand Utah gun laws concerning schools, for that students under 21 years of age would not be allowed to possess firearms (he was responding to my sarcasm about it being good thing I wasn’t allowed to have a gun in school when a professor mistakenly gave me an F instead of the A I’d earned).  Obviously, Mr. Lee didn’t catch my sarcasm, nor did he realize that I was old enough at the time to have a concealed weapon permit.  He went on to write about how, after a mass shooting in Australia, all the guns from the good guys were rounded up and destroyed and how the continent had since been rocked by a violent crime wave (he made it sound more like Somalia than Australian).   He also cited a suspicious report from the ATF that suggests between 650,000 and 1 million lives are saved every year by those carrying guns.  I shook my head and slugged it off, but a week or two later I was vindicated.  An Australian citizen had been visiting our fine corner of the world and was shocked at Mr. Lee’s figures and refuted them, citing his sources and giving websites where readers could look them up.   Then, another guy, who identified himself as an 18 year old, took me seriously in my comments about wanting to shoot  a professor and said I wasn’t fit to own a firearm and should sell my guns to someone who does.  He went on to say that I am in favor of victim disarmament.   Obviously, I had touched a nerve and learned that my humor wasn’t appreciated by some.

Two years later, right before moving from Utah, I tried my best not to smirk when I read that Major Lee from the town of Virgin was being indicted for the misappropriation of funds.   

On another topic, I recently wrote about a dream with snakes.  I had a second such dream the other night and this one is more puzzling.  I was at a house where a guy was milking a snake (but doing it in a way that it’s not done with a needle through the snake’s head).  After he finished collecting the venom, he laid the snake out on a table and was showing how tame it was and suggested I come over and pet it.  As I stepped over, the snake saw his chance to escape and slide down the table and under a couch and we tried our best but couldn’t find him.  I decided that I didn’t hang around a room with a poisonous snake who had good reason to be upset was lurking. 

On a final note, although I am not Roman Catholic, I must say that I like what I hear about the new pope.

I am still alive... and my two cent worth on the gun debate

Sorry about not writing much but the weather has been uninspiring (I’ve only been out once on skis and once on snowshoes and the thermometer when I awake over the past week has gone up and down like an elevator.  Last week, we had a minus 11 degree morning followed a few days later by a plus 51 degree morning…  But let’s not talk about the weather. There is something else I have been meaning to write about…  A few weeks ago, I was driving to our capital city for a meeting and listening to NPR.  The guest on the show was Bruce Levine, the author of The Fall of the House of Dixie: The Civil War and the Social Revolution That Transformed the South.  At one point, in the interview, Levine was asked what would have happened to slavery if it hadn’t been for the Civil War and he suggested that it might have continued as an institute into the 20^th Century.  According to Levine (and I think he’s right), it was the hardline position of some Southern politicians to defend slavery as an absolute right (for the owners) without any discussion or compromise that resulted in the ending of the institution.  Had they been willing to compromise, Levine noted that most abolitionists in the north would have accepted a gradual freeing of the slaves that would have taken place over decades. 

This got me thinking, not about slavery but about gun rights.  It seems that this week the gun debate has moved back into the forefront for a short while as Congress has kicked the other hot potato (budget deficits) down the road a bit.  I wonder if the hardline position by the National Rifle Association, who seems so bend on refusing background checks and on the right to sell assault weapons and others that are not needed for hunting or personal safety, will actually backfire.  Will they box themselves into a position like the Southern slave owners, which will eventually lead to a greater loss of rights?  I should acknowledge that I am a gun owner and am proudly NOT a member of the NRA.  While I have no plans on “giving up my guns,” I also think we need to be reasonable about who has access to weapons, where we can be in possession of such weapons, and what kind of weapons make sense for us to own.  

When I was in Utah had had a column in the local newspaper and I satirically wrote about a gun proposal that was being debated (and eventually passed) in the Utah State Legislature.  Maybe in a follow-up post, I’ll share with you some of the responses to both the column and to the whole debate as it related to the University of Utah. 

         

           

Published in The Spectrum, St. George, Utah, January 18, 2002.

Our legislators are at it again.  Since I moved to this state eight years ago, each session of that body, which gathers in Salt Lake during the inversions of winter, tries to outdo each other in liberalizing our gun toting laws.   This year, they’re trying to insure our right to tote guns onto the campuses of our state’s colleges and universities.  This they thought had been worked out back in ’95, when they passed our current gun toting laws.  Since then, there have been battles over whether or not private groups can prohibit the on-site possession of firearms.  Guns are allowed, according to our Attorney General, in universities.  But our colleges and universities are in violation of the law.  All but one college have rules prohibiting students, faculty and staff from toting guns into classrooms, libraries, cafeterias and sporting events.  This gross miscarriage of justice will be a thing of the past if certain legislators have their way.

Earlier this week, Bernie Machen, president of the University of Utah, was called upon the carpet of our state legislature in order to explain why the U is breaking the law. Machen must be a true liberal for he believes academic debates need to be settled with logic and discussion and not the caliber of a sidearm.  Personally, I thought our legislators had more pressing business at hand, such as finding tax cuts in a season of deficits.  And I’m also sure that Machen had better things to do than to sit in a stuffy room and talk about how gun toting students and professors stymie academic debate.

I’ve never had a concealed weapons permit, though I do own a few guns from my squirrel hunting days.  Now maybe I’m a bit naïve, but it seems perfectly clear why we should not allow guns at institutions of learning.   After all, in elementary school I joined all the other boys singing little limericks about the demise of our teachers. We didn’t need to be tempted with the means to carry out such childish thoughts.  And then there was the time in college when a cross-eyed professor transposed my “A” with another students “F.”  I’m sure the other student thought it was manna from heaven, but it was a good thing I didn’t have a gun handy when I opened my transcript. These thoughts may seem silly, but an incident at Weber State in 1993, when a student at a disciplinary hearing pulled a gun and began shooting, remind us of the danger of weapons in inappropriate hands.

If our state legislators are so bent on us all toting arms, they should watch the world news and learn about difficulties the new Afghan government has controlling a country of armed citizens.   Or they should watch video footage from Somalia where everyone has a gun and lawlessness reigns.  If the reason to tote a gun is to provide us with the ability to protect ourselves, these countries are examples of what such protection, when carried to extremes, is worth.

Guns have no business being in our schools, colleges and universities.  I say this as an old squirrel hunter who still has a few guns safely locked away.  And unless there is a reason, that’s where they stay.

Retracing the Titanic's Wake (reporting by Nevada Jack)

Nevada Jack

 On April 10^th, 1912, the Titanic set sail.  100 years and two day later the Balmoral is setting out to follow the Titanic’s wake, with the same number of passengers and hopefully a few more lifeboats.  Retracing the Titanic’s route was the mastermind of a morbid travel agent who had planned to hire a Greek shipping firm with a record of fatal voyages that was more than willing to partner with his scheme.  "The Titanic is so yesterday," according to Miles Morgan.  "Think of the number of movies made about the ship.  This cruise will serve the cinema industry for another century.  Furthermore, there will be boom to the songwriters everywhere.  After all, we’ve all heard that song about some iron freighter named for some unheard of Irishman till we puked.”

Unfortunately, the Greek shipping company connection fell through as all their ships were prematurely out of commission, having ran aground and flipped over or suffered from an on board fires.  In the end, the Fred Olsen Cruise Line (which sounds like they should operate a dance studio), provided the Balmoral for the memorial event.  The ship, despite being a hundred years newer than the Titanic, had to set sail two days earlier because it’s slower!  So much for technology.

In other cruising news, Miles Morgan had planned to offer a reenactment of the clash between the USS Monitor and the CSS Virginia (known by Yankees as the Merrimack) on the 150^th anniversary of their battle of March 9, 1862, but plans were scratched when he couldn’t find appropriate ships.  “This is the perfect battle for a reenactment,” according to Morgan.  “No one died; they just had massive headaches as the shells bounced off their iron.”  Morgan had planned to offer his passengers free aspirin, which wasn’t available at the time of the battle.   Having missed the date for the Monitor and Virginia showdown, Morgan is checking into a possible re-sailing of the Confederate submarine Huntley, which sank on February 16, 1864 (along with its victim) in Charleston harbor.

South Haven (MI) lighthouse

The above photo has nothing to do with the Titanic or a Civil War battle, but I was there on Saturday and decided to post it with Nevada Jack's story.

Shake It Up (Political Reporting by Nevada Jack)

Nevada Jack

 Nevada Jack hasn't been too active since the Bush Administration, but he has finally come out of retirement and decided to throw his two cent into the current political climate in America.  "I'm not looking to do a long term political gig," the furry fellow said when he turned in his copy.  "After all, there are more important things than politics.  Both the regular season for Major league baseball and trout season opens next month."

Shake It Up

by Nevada Jack

Ever wonder why certain characters all seem to be drinking Cokes or Pepsi s or eating Reese’s Peanut Pieces?  Somewhere, some marketing guru paid a producer for the rights to have their product featured on the big screen.  It’s standard practice for manufacturers to pay to have their products highlighted in movies.   Subtle advertising!  The consumer doesn’t even know he’s just paid and outrageous amount of money to watch a commercial.   In a bold move, Henry Liealot, the marketing guru for The Ohio Art Company, makers of the 50 year old kid’s toy Etch A Sketch, came up with a new product placement scheme.  Liealot negotiated a financial deal with Mitt Ronney's aide Eric Fehrnstorm to highlight his company’s product on the campaign trail.  Etch A Sketch sales have skyrocketed, forcing many stores to dig through their back shelves to find extra boxes of the product, which were then dusted off and for the first time since 1969, prominently displayed. 

Most baby boomers have fond memories of the Etch A Sketch as a favorite Christmas or birthday gift from back in the 60s.  The “favorite status” of the gift generally lasted about 48 hours, after which the toy was cast off, only later to be passed down to a younger sibling or sold at a church rummage sale.  Lately, the company has been battling to market its product in a digital age. 

I’ve been amazed at the result,” said Liealot.  I didn’t even think about approaching rival candidates with the idea, but soon both Newt Gingrich and Rick Santorum were playing with their own Etch A Sketches.  In what seemed to be a replay of many baby boomers childhood fights, Rick grabbed Newt’s Etch A Sketch and erased his drawing of the White House.   Newt responded with a sucker punch to Rick’s stomach.   Meanwhile, Mitt picked up another delegate from some far-flung American territory in the South Pacific.  Commentators at all the major news media outlets pondered if it was finally enough for him to put away the nomination.

In response to the success had by the Ohio Art Company, other manufacturers have been quick to start their own political product placement campaigns.   In the board room of Just for Men Shampoo, a debate has been ongoing as to whether they should try to pitch their product to Mitt or Rick.   Newt’s campaign has been proactive, conducting their own a bidding war to decide if their candidate will represent the Double Wooper or the Big Mac.   The Hunger Games producers have supposedly been approached by Ron Paul’s folks for an endorsement.   It does seem like the Republican party is truly the party of big business, but that hasn’t stopped Spaulding, a major supplier of basketballs to approach President Obama for his endorsement.   The President, who was reportedly seen wearing a Carolina blue jersey, told the Spaulding representative to get back with him after the NCAA tournament was over.

A poll conducted by Phew Public Research Foundation showed that most Americans wished politics were like the Etch A Sketch, so they could erase Bush’s eight years in the White House and go back to a time when the country was solvent and hadn’t pissed off half the world.

Nevada Jack's Job Offer

Yesterday, I got this email… The names have been changed to protect the guilty.



Dear Nevada Jack,






My name is Sxyz from Article Writing Services. We have a client who would like to pay you for the opportunity to post some of their content on your website. All of the content is professionally produced and you can select from pieces relevant to your audience.


The result is you get some free, interesting content for your readers while getting paid.


In return our client is asking for one link that they specify at the bottom of the content (no porn or gambling). Feel free to contact me with any concerns or clarifications you may have.


If you would like to see some examples of our content, please email me at sxyz@123.org so we can begin.


Sincerely,


Sxyz


I was aghast. How do I respond? Here is my first draft:


Dear Sxyz,


I’m writing on behalf of Nevada Jack, my little stuffed friend. What makes you think that he would want to pimp out my blog for a few shekels of silvers? Who are these folks who want to write for my blog? And why would my readers want to read them? I know I have been busy lately, but my readers want to read what I write (whenever I get around to it) and not what your writers might want to sell. At least I hope they want to read what I write. By the way, going around my back and trying to get the approval of my Teddy Bear in order to post on my blog is not only deceitful, it’s down-right tacky.


Sincerely,

Sage

Nevada Jack

Now, for those of you who don’t know Nevada Jack, maybe I should properly introduce him. When I first moved west in 1988, some friends gave me this teddy bear to take with me. I started to call him Yukon Jack, after that sweet Canadian whiskey, but as I was working at a camp and using the bear in a children’s program, I decided that name wasn’t appropriate. So I came up with Nevada Jack, as I was going to be spending a year in Nevada. A few years later, I was living in Utah and for a short while I wrote some columns for an underground newspaper. The paper was an attempt to provide an alternative voice and as my satires often poked fun at the dominate culture and religion in the state that has been known for being less than tolerate toward dissent, I started writing under the name “Nevada Jack.” When I started the blog, I decided that sometimes I need a different voice for my satirical posts (which are nearly as frequent as they once were) so I resurrected Nevada Jack. He’s been a good friend. He doesn’t get mad and doesn’t talk back…. What more can I ask?



Birds are now dropping like flies (A Nevada Jack Special)

Nevada Jack reporting

On New Years, thousands of dead black birds were discovered in Arkansas. Nobody seemed to know what was going on. Some thought they were hit by New Year fireworks. My personal opinion is that too many Arkansas kids got shotguns for Christmas. But the carnage hasn’t stopped in the Razorback State. More and more birds are now mysteriously dropping dead out of the sky. Some scientists have suggested it could be lightning bolts frying the birds in mid-air. Or maybe it’s somehow linked to global climate change or some new pesticide. But I think the real villains are bold predators that are cutting across species. This weekend saw three such mass killing of our feathered friends. In Pittsburgh, an assembly of ravens croaked after flying into a steel curtain. And in Chicago, a flock of dead seahawks were spotted on the streets. With both of these deaths, the birds in question were away from their home turf: Baltimore for the ravens and Seattle for the seahawks. In Atlanta, another disturbance occurred with a flock of falcons were found beaten to a pulp. These birds were on their home turf. Have we seen the worst of this aviary carnage? I for one hope so, before it spreads to other members of the animal kingdom. I’m worried, for I’ve heard a rumor that ruthless predators overfed with cheese-curds now have us bears in their cross-hairs. And if we are able escape, I'm afraid we'll run right into a steel curtain.

Breaking News by Nevada Jack

Yesterday evening, Sage and I watched the news reports of Iranian President Ahmadinejad speech at the UN. We saw him wave a Quran and a Bible and talk about how he drew inspiration from both. He also went on to spout much nonsense, such as 911 being a ploy by the American government to help business and Israel. I’m glad our delegates and the delegates of a number of other nations walked out at that point in his speech. BUT, something drew my eye to the Bible the Iranian President was waving. It sure looks like he was holding a Gideon Bible, the type which is found in hotel rooms around the world. I immediately assumed he must have lifted his Bible from the nightstand by his bed. We can only pray that like Rocky Raccoon, Gideon’s Bible will lead Ahmadinejad to a revival. Just don’t hold your breath.

I normally don't do two posts in a day, so I'll leave this one on top for a day, then move the post about completing the AT back to the top.

Nevada Jack's Sunday Morning Rant

While Sage is heading off to church, I thought I'd get a few things off my chest. Sorry, like Sage, I'm gonna keep my chest hair there!

We've gotten sick and tired of hearing about Steve Slater this week. In case you missed it, he was the JetBlue Flight Attendant who cursed out an unruly customer over the airplane’s intercom system, then announced he was quitting, pulled open the emergency door to the plane and slid down the inflated escape slide, purportedly with a beer in each hand. We hope when he receives his last paycheck, in addition to all those fines he’s going to have to pay, JetBlue will also deduct from his salary those two beers—at the outlandish price the airlines now charge customers… Who in the world wants a drink bad enough that they'll pay five bucks for a can of watered down Bud-lite? But that's another issue. What we're really angry at is in the way Mr. Slater has become a sort of anti-establishment folk hero and many bloggers have taken up his cause as he gives new meaning to the country song, “Take this Job and Shove It.”

Both Sage and I are anti-establishment types, but we don’t see Mr. Slater as a hero. As part of a flight crew, he was responsible for the safety of those on board and he deserted his post. In the military, that’ll get you shot. He certainly put his own needs and desires over that of those he was called to protect and serve. And furthermore, if the passenger wasn’t doing what she was being told to do and was aggressive toward him with a lethal weapon (and over loaded carry-on bag), as a member of the flight crew, all Mr. Slater had to do was to call security. Instead of throwing a fit, he could have had the angry customer removed from the plane, in handcuffs. But he didn’t. Maybe he thought this stunt would draw a lot of attention, which it certainly did, but in my opinion, the stunt was irresponsible.


We're not sure why we got so worked up over this; perhaps it has to do with a trend we see where we focus more and more on our needs and less and less on others. It’s like we’ve all become petty little gods. We think only of ourselves and our immediate wants; we look to satisfy our short-term desires and forget about everyone else or what’s needed long term good of society.


A second thing that has gotten us all worked is the anger over Obama for speaking in support of building a mosque in New York City, a few blocks from ground zero. When Sage first heard this story, it was being reported that they were building the mosque at ground zero, the site where Muslim terrorist killed thousands of people. That made him angry, even though it seemed that they might have a constitutional right to build there. But then, when he heard that it was not at the actual ground zero site, but two and a half blocks away, he felt betrayed and misled. I reminded him its not the first time that right-wing bloggers betrayed him by misreporting the facts. These folks are after Obama now, because he says they have a right to build there, which isn’t anything more than “defending the constitution,” and I think there was something in his oath of office that alluded to that being one of his tasks. Like Sage, I’m sick and tired of all these right-winged talking heads spouting off at the mouth on this one. If zoning ordinances allows for a religious building, then it seems to me that they should be allowed to building their mosque or community center. If zoning ordinances don’t allow any religious buildings, then that would be another story. Whether it’s in good taste or not to build that close to Ground Zero is another issue, but good taste isn’t a constitutional requirement. If it was, they would have kept a ban on lite-beer and wine-coolers when they repealed of the 18th amendment.

Nevada Jack's Rant on Religion

While Sage struggles with his sanity and multiple deadlines, and folks not getting things done on time and all kind of other headaches, I thought I’d help the old boy out and write a post for him. This is Nevada Jack reporting…



I "borrowed" this photo from another blogger. I can kick myself for not stopping on one of my trips south and snapping a photo of an icon that's now just scorched metal framing..
One of the funniest things I’ve heard about lately is the demise of the oversized “touchdown” Jesus whose shadow nearly fell across I-75 in Southern Ohio. I know Sage tries to follow Jesus (and between me and you some days he does a better job than others) but thankfully Sage hasn’t fallen for the belief that a bigger Jesus will bring bigger or better blessings. It seems a true follower of Jesus would try to show their allegiance in other ways than building statues that seem to be a total disregard of at least two of the Ten Commandments. That might be okay if keeping 80% was a passing grade, but I don’t think it works that way. A better method of showing allegiance is to spread a little kindness and gentleness. Even Jesus tried not to draw too much attention to him, traveling around on foot, doing good and often telling people not to tell others of the good he did. I’m sure such secrecy drove the early church’s PR folks crazy, but once Jesus ascended into the heavens and was no longer there to keep then straight, generations of do-gooder PR folk have tried to outdo one another, giving rise to what the world didn’t need, another kitsch industry. But a few days ago, in a sign that God does have a sense of humor, that monstrosity rising over the freeway just north of Cincinnati, was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. Or maybe God is just doesn’t have the stomach for tacky statues of his Son. There must be an 11th commandment? It’s unwritten, of course, but goes, “Thou shall avoid kitsch.” If you missed the news of this event, check out this yahoo news report.

On a similar subject, Sage was telling me recently about his conversation with some Zondervan publishing executive that he sat across from at a dinner. He asked this guru of the Christian publishing world about their printing presses and was shocked to learn that they don’t have any. They outsource all their printing. Their smaller runs are still published in the United States, but their larger runs, like Bibles, are all published in China. Sage found this interesting as just a few days later he was talking to two friends of his who are heading for China. They were talking how each of them were going to smuggle 5 Bibles into China. Ironically, having more than five Bibles seem to raise the eyebrows of Chinese customs. There is something strange about smuggling in Bibles (5 or less at a time) that were printed there to start with, but like so many things religious (including that Commandment-breaking monument), money and pride often top piety.

Nevada Jack comes out of hibernation

I’ve decided to come out of hibernation, at least for a day. While Sage sits and stares into his first fire of the season and the snow falls outside, I would like to make a few comments on what the human specie is up to..

First of all, I want to address the fuss over Tiger Woods. I don‘t know what you all were expecting, but the man was just living up to his name. Tigers are always on the prowl. And y'all are making such a big fuss over it. On Thursday, I decided to keep Sage company as he drove to a meeting. He was listening to the BBC news hour and low and behold, they were asking some world famous cricket about Tiger’s recent incident. First of all, I don’t see how this guy was world famous, for neither Sage or I had any idea as to who he was. The only world famous cricket I know is Jiminy Cricket, but Sage corrected me and said that he wasn’t a cricket but a cricketer. Now I know cricketers, you got them down South, they catch crickets and sell them to bait shops, or so I thought. Sage explained that Cricket was a game they played in England and India and a few other places where the British flag used to fly and as far as he was concerned, it was about as boring to watch as golf, which is probably why they were talking to a cricketer about a golfer. This brings me back to this Tiger guy, if you wouldn't obsess so much about him, it wouldn’t be a big deal. And for Tiger, he ought not get too upset at everyone having him under scrutiny, After all, such obsession is why he gets paid the big bucks. If most people didn't care, he and his banker might have other concerns.

Another thing, the Federal Trade Commission is beginning to crack down on amateur bloggers who don’t reveal their profits. According to the ruling, if a blogger is given a product and reviews it, he or she better disclose that fact that they were given a free gift. I know Sage is guilty of reviewing three books that were gifts, one from the author and two from the wife the author. Since he thought this ruling didn’t apply to him, I thought I’d take it on myself and confess his sins. The books are Rob Krosee’s Mercury Falls (he won this book in a contest on facebook) and Martin Clark, Plain Heathen Mischief and The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living. (Another of Mr. Clark’s books, The Legal Limit, Sage actually laid down hard cash to purchased). There you have it, a full disclosure that will hopefully save Sage $10,000 and a few starchy jailhouse dinners.

Of course, if you read the article, it seems that Sage has really been missing out. Undoubtedly, there is great fear in the wine review world that this new regulations will cause the flow of free wine to reviewers to cease. Why hasn’t Sage been reviewing wine? What’s wrong with the boy? Can you get free beers or free whiskey or free cigars by writing favorable reviews? I’m sure Sage would like to know, but he better not talk about Cuban cigars or he'll get in trouble by another agency.

Last winter, Sage decided to install AdSense, with the idea that he’d donate anything his blog made to the local food bank. Of course, he refuses to put any effort into trying to generate revenue, except to have that silly ad in the sidebar that everyone ignores. To date, his lack of hard work has resulted in a total of $8.37 in earnings, which ain’t even enough to get Google to cut a check (you have to have ten dollars to actually get paid). I sure hope someone else is donating to the food bank and not holding out for Sage to save the day. But since Sage enjoys writing and confessing and bragging in these pages, that will have to be payment enough for him.

Ya’ll have a good weekend and keep yourselves warm with this cold weather we’re enjoying.

A Nevada Jack Rant on Palin's Speech

Nevada Jack hasn’t been around much lately, but he’s back being his cynical old self…

I stayed up later than I planned last night to watch Governor Sarah Palin speech. I wasn’t overly impressed. First of all, I felt like I was getting a scolding. We animals know body language and if she’d pointed that finger of hers at me like that in person, I’d gnaw it off and enjoy a snack. And when she wasn’t pointing her finger, she was making a loose fist, another not so good sign for those of us in the animal kingdom. She seldom opened her hands when speaking, which made her look like she was playing her cards close to her chest, but I won’t go there. And was that a snafu when she quoted Harry Reid, from the Great State of Nevada? She said that Harry Reid couldn’t stand John McCain and got a huge applause. Then, after 15 seconds of near ecstasy from that crowd of funny hats, she reinterpreted Reid as saying he meant he couldn’t stand up to McCain. Did she misspeak and accepted the applause and then somewhat correct herself? If so, that’s a cheap trick. As my side-kick Sage has done some community organizing in his life, I resented it when she suggested that such people don’t have responsibilities. They actually have more responsibility than politicians as they have to be accountable to donors who are not forced to support their programs, unlike politicians who live on taxes (The exception to this is the current administration. Instead of taxing now, they just go ahead and spend and pass on the bill to the next generation). After Georgie Boy, listening to Republicans speak about being fiscally responsible is a joke. And then there is her husband, whose great accomplishment seems to be that he’s a champion snowmobile racer. Those things create such a racket in the woods, they disturb my hibernation. Of course, a side effect of racing them is that he’s probably deaf which is a benefit when you live in a house with five, soon to be six, little ones and a wife that’s a politician. What is it with you humans? You have the Democrats whose ticket, counting spouses, look like they walked off a J. C. Penny catalog. And then the Republicans, with their sexy librarian and her deaf husband in a snowsuit, running with that ugly old guy and his hot wife who, like a lot of people with too much money, dresses about as tacky as they come.

A 3-WW and a Parody of the News

Bone's Three Word Wednesday assignment for this week is to write a story using the following words: Knock, Weather and Initial. The weather has turned cold here, but not yet cold enough! I’m dreaming of winter as my 3WW shows…. I’m also dreaming of a work slow-down, but that doesn’t seem to be on the short-term horizon. Yet, things are exciting and going well, I just ain’t having enough time to write what I want to write! Neither am I getting around to other blogs like I want. But I still think of you all and will try to get there soon!
The weather had turned cold quickly as the winter’s initial storm moved in. When I got home from work, I headed out to the woodpile and began to haul wood up onto the back porch. After a couple of trips, the sky darkened and began to spit rain. Retreating inside, I filled the tea pot and put it on a burner and then brought in an armload of wood from the porch and prepared for a fire in the hearth. Under the wood, I placed some loosely crumbled newspaper and a few pine cones. Lighting the fire, I went back into the kitchen and fixed a cup of tea. By the time I came back into the living room, the fire was blazing. I put on a George Winston CD, picked up a couple of books and plopped down on the floor in front of the fireplace. I reclined, leaning against the couch with my feet stuck out toward the warmth of the flames. My dog joined me, laying beside me with his head resting on my thigh. I picked up a book and read a few pages and then closed my eyes and napped. I was lost in another world when the dog raised his head and barked. Then came a knock at the door.


A Review of the News
Politically incorrect reporting by Nevada Jack

Yesterday, the Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to Al Gore. This award is causing great distress amongst many in the current administration.

“Why does he get the prize?” President Bush shouted at a recent cabinet meeting, “The people elected me.”

“Well, actually, Mr. President, the Supreme Court elected you,” Dead Eye Dick Chaney responded. “But don’t worry about it, Mr. President. “What do you expect from a nation that has a national bikini team?”

“Actually, the bikini team comes from Sweden and was created only to advertise beer,” Condi Rice corrected Chaney.

Unfazed, Chaney quipped, “The only thing more disgusting than women in bikinis is pickled fish from Norway.”

In a surprising turn of events and after much investigative reporting, it was discovered yesterday that Fox News had bribed members of the Nobel Committee into giving Gore the award.

When asked about this, an executive with Fox spoke off the record, telling Nevada Jack: “This is great for us; all our conservative talking heads will now have something to rant about.”

Further digging shows that Erik Prince, the founder of Blackwater USA, loaned Murdock and his Fox cronies the money necessary to bride the Nobel official.

“Blackwater has been in the news too much lately,” Prince said, “We needed to do something to take the heat off us so we can continue to make money as my private army makes the world safe for selected capitalism.”

In other news, Larry Craig has been inducted into the Idaho Hall of Fame. His plaque was prominently hung next to door into the men’s room. Rumors are circulating that the Senator for Idaho has been offered a role in the sequel to Brokeback Mountain.

Walmart, in their efforts to dominate all of America, not just coast to coast but from birth to death, has entered into the marriage business. Last week a wedding was held at a store in Ohio.

Most who attended were impressed, but best man Ed Abbey refused to stand up for his friend’s nuptials. “I refuse to go in there,” he said, “I refuse to support Walmart’s intrusion into another area of our lives.”

Walmart Executives were not fazed by such comments.

“We got great plans,” according to one store manager speaking off the record. “Next month, we’re going to offer discounted divorces, cutting the prices of those local blood sucking lawyers. In the future, look to see caskets and “do-it-yourself embalming kits” out next to the lawn and garden supplies, which you can get a shovel to dig the grave. We’re even looking to put a birthing clinic next to the eye center in the front of the store. This will be great. After giving birth, the mother can go to our children’s section and pick up the necessary supplies. We’ll even allow the mother to make an application for her child’s future employment. As a Walmart Baby, they’ll get first shot at the only jobs in town come 2025.”

Sunday Scribblings: Camp Bangladesh

Today’s Sunday’s Scribbling prompt is to write about “decision.” Why do we make the decisions we do? Why did I decide to volunteer to spend a week as a scoutmaster at a scout camp? (Oh yeah, I forgot, I had a kid in the program). As I don’t really have time to work on something fresh, and Diane’s recent post about Girl Scout camp reminded me of this, I decided to dig out something my sidekick Nevada Jack wrote back in August 1999 and rework it (I also had to retype it for I don’t seem to have it stored electronically). I submit this for today’s Sunday Scribblings.

A piece of helpful information: I worked professionally for the Boy Scout program from 1981 till the summer of 1986 when I left the scout in order to go to grad school. I spent the summers of 82-84 in scout camps. In 1988 and 1990, I also ran a co-ed camp in Idaho (it was not related to the scouting program). Then, in the summers of 1999 and 2000, I spent a week each summer with our local troop at camp.



Camp Bangladesh
By Nevada Jack
August 1999

A lot has happened in the fifteen years since I was last in scout camp. Back then I was the Camp Director. After eight weeks in an all boys camp with very few females, I knew the summer was winding down when the camp cooks, who were older than my mother, started to look good. In other to see what improvements have been made to the scouting program, I signed this summer for a week at camp with our local troop. I knew a lot had changed, but wasn’t prepared for what I experienced, especially girl counselors.

Ralph and I and a dozen boys arrived safely at Camp Bangladesh on a Monday morning. It was supposed to be an aquatic camp, but it felt like an overpopulated refugee settlement on the eastern shore of Bear Lake in Northern Utah. Greeting us at the gate was Giligan, looking fresh and neat from his recent cruise on the S.S. Minnow. He wore Navy khaki, we assumed, because he didn’t meet the six foot height requirement for the Coast Guard (and would have been unable to walk ashore if his boat had sunk). Giligan directed us to our campsite and told me to report to the pavilion and check in. On the way, I stopped at the head (euphemism for latrine), where I quickly surmised that the U.N. and International Red Cross Refugee Commissions hadn’t yet inspected this site. At the pavilion, the powers that be lightened my wallet as Robyn gave the troop a tour of the camp. Robyn substituted for our camp friend Randy who was, we later surmised, in the bushes with a female staff member. We never saw Robyn again; some think he got lost in a clump of sage where, unable to see over it, he traveled in circles till he passed out. As for Randy, he and the Misses showed up hand-in-hand half way through the week. We learned then that Randy was quite a philosopher and explained all the world problems as “someone must be smoking something.” We all assumed he was the “someone.”

At the opening scoutmaster’s meeting on the first day, I qualified for the BSA’s “Safety Afloat” certification by listening to a lecture. Little did I realize the camp practiced another form of safety afloat—keeping most of their boats in dry dock. The boats that were fully functioning were generally reserved for staff use. The small sloop named the “Ark” was re-christened the “Love Boat” by our boys who had suspensions as to what the staff did on the boat that they kept safely off-shore and off-limits.

I will forever remember the galley experience at Camp Bangladesh. There were two shifts (called watches). If you’re unlucky enough to be on the second watch, as we were, it was similar to eating in an emergency canteen following a Kansas tornado. Another unique experience was dining in this open air pavilion during a thunderstorm. Paper plates and cuts flew with the wind, ridding the camp of rubbish by sending it all to Idaho. I’m sure it was from such an experience that the shifts became known as a watch, for we watched our food fly away. The day following, they had a knife sharpening contest and the cook took first place. That night we were treated to beef trimmings, and these trimmings were so fine that we didn’t even notice them. Even the camp’s sole vegetarian seemed satisfied. In all seriousness, the night with the gluey noodles made up for the undercooking of the previous night’s rice, things have a way of balancing out in the end. Quality aside, the real problem was with quantity and our neighboring unit leaders resorted to rattlesnake hunting to supplement their boy’s diet. Ralph and I, being more practical, took our boys for milk shakes at the ice cream store on the south end of the lake.

Of course, what goes in must come out, which brings me back to the subject of the rotten white buildings dotting the landscape and were a contributing factor for the outbreak of constipation that struck our campers. The smell of these buildings was so bad that I stopped using flashlights and followed the stench from one to another on the path back to our site. It’s also been noted that along the highway east of the camp a large number of dead skunks have been spotted and they’re all facing east, obviously running across the highway afraid another skunk has already claim the territory when they meet their demise under the tires of moving vehicles.

Our troops strawberry blonde commissioner was Ms. Pope. We could never remember her name so Ralph and I started calling her Hillary, in honor of the First Lady. In addition to serving as our commissioner, she was also the commandant of the dining hall and ruled with an iron fist. Hillary was an electronic engineering technician student at Weber State (Cambridge on the Salt Lake). We found her knowledgeable about most everything except for the difference between a foot and a yard. If she gets that confused between volts and watts, we’re afraid she may be in for a real shock. In addition to her commissioner duties and studying electricity, Hillary is looking for a good Mormon husband who will allow her to stay home and tend to a scout troop. If Robyn hadn’t gotten himself lost in the sage, they’d made a cute couple. Of course, I’m sure Hillary would have wanted Robyn to grow up a bit, but until then they’d be shoe-in winners for a Dennis the Menace and Margaret look-a-like contest. However, I secretly believe that Hillary isn’t interested in a husband, but really harbors ambition to be the first female Chief Scout Executive. I just hope she doesn’t get her sights on the Presidency of the U.S. of A, or our country will never be the same.

There were three classes of staff at Camp Bangladesh. The elite, like Hillary, wore Navy uniforms and look like they just walked out of a surplus store or off the set for a remake of McHale’s Navy. The second tier wear dark green sea scouts shirts and various colored pants. Our favorite in this class was Hot Legs—the blond lifeguard with a nice tanned body fitted into a red one piece swimsuit. When on duty, she looked more like a movie star posing than a lifeguard as she stretched herself out sunning on the pier. I never saw Hot Legs without large sunglasses. She wore them even when the sun wasn’t shinning. Our boys, seeing her without the glasses one day, reported that she had a serious case of raccoon eyes and better keep them on. The bottom rung of the staff hierarchy was the kitchen crew. They didn’t wear uniforms and were obviously selected for their lack of speed and foresight. Or maybe they were pressed into service, like the British did to our seamen before the War of 1812. If that’s the case, they’ve decided as a group that indifference is a subtle way of protest. Or, maybe they really didn’t think we wanted nor needed anything to drink with our uncooked rice until the meal was nearly over. Speaking of drinks, choosing the beverages of one’s choice was another interesting experience. Any other camp would have put labels on the coolers, but that would be too much work for the staff of Bangladesh. We learned that the way to tell what a cooler contained was to look underneath at the color of the puddle on the floor. Since we were the only non-Mormon troop in camp, the dining hall didn’t serve coffee. Suspecting such, I brought my own stove and percolator and fixed coffee every morning. I quickly became popular and found myself having to go into town to find more coffee midweek as all the neighboring Mormon leaders decided to forgo their prophet’s word of wisdom and have a several Cups of Joe a morning with Ralph and me.

Our patch for the week informed us we’ve been on an aquatic land cruise—I supposed it’s a land cruise because most that’s where most of the boats remained. But there were some good things about the experience. First of all, I wasn’t in charge and could blame everything on the camp director, Captain McHale himself. Instead, I passed the hours sitting in my camp chair or laying in my hammock, reading books. Furthermore, our boys averaged three merit badges and only one fight a piece and they all eventually got to sail on the one fully functioning sailboat available for campers. I even got to spend a wonderful afternoon on a Hobie-cat (that was reserved for scout leaders) and am now hoping to break my Valium addiction by the end of the year.
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Sage’s note: Even though I tried to put a light spin all this, from my experience working with the Boy Scouting program in the Southeast United States, I was surprised this camp passed the Boy Scouts of America’s rather rigorous peer inspection program. Their waterfront controls were lacking and I spent less time in my hammock and more time playing lifeguard than I'd hoped. After this experience, I can't image why I decided to again sign up for another year. But the next summer, there was Ralph and I taking the troop to camp. This time we went to a camp in Northern Arizona and it was one of the best run camps I’ve seen.

Another Summer Reading Challenge

Just what the world needs now, another reading challenge.

Here’s what ya’ll gotta do:

1. Commit to read three books by Yankees that take place north of the Mason/Dixon Line during the summer (Summer is defined by the sun in the northern hemisphere: June 21-September 21).

2. Inform Ed of your commitment to join his challenge to Maggie’s Southern Reading Challenge
3. You don’t need to announce your books in advance for we all know Yankees can’t always be trusted to finish what they start

4. Write a book review for each book read, but there is no reason to let anyone know ‘cause most of us don’t care.
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Sage will publish his first book review tomorrow (Tim O’Brien’s July, July)

A Bad Date: A 3 Word Wednesday exercise in fiction

As Sage is preparing to receive his Doctor’s 50th Birthday present tomorrow (the dreaded colonoscopy) Nevada Jack came out of hibernation and participated in this week’s Three Word Wednesday writing exercise. Today’s three words are filthy, guess and convenience. Nevada Jack decided to get inside a women's head and see what her reactions might be to a very bad blind date. The story is fiction and just in case, the names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty alike.

A Bad Date, by Nevada Jack

Nervously, a woman walks up the sidewalk, stopping to turn into a restaurant. Looking at her reflection in the door, she sweeps her hair back, moistens her lips, and takes a deep breath as she straightens her shoulders and marches in. Once inside, in the dim light, she looks around and notices a single man sitting in the corner. He appears deep in through as he looks into his almost empty wine glass, swirling the last swallow around and around. She steps over to his tabled and asks, “Let me guess, you’re Rob?” He looks up, nods and asks, “What took you so long.”

“Sorry, parking is a real problem around here, you know.”

He nods again, holds out his hand while remaining seated, offering her the seat across from him. As she pulls out her chair and sits down, she hears a woman in the adjacent table whisper, “There’s a real gentleman.”

After a moment of awkward silence, she finally sticks her hand across the table and says, “I’m Raney.” He takes her hand, shaking it with the grip and strength Mr. Whipple expected his costumers when they handle Charmin. “I’m Rob.”

“So Rob,” she asks, hoping to break the ice, “I hear you’re a real golfer.”

Yeah,” he says, “just this afternoon I did a quick round of 18 at the Parkside Links.”

“I don’t think that I know that course,” Raney admits, “Is it difficult?”

“You betcha,” he said. Rubbing his right arm, he acknowledged how his tennis elbow played havoc with his game. “I had an especially difficult time on the 18th hole. You know, it’s one of those holes where you have to putt through the rotating arms of a windmill.”

After another period of silence, Raney motions for the waiter and orders a glass of pinot. Rob also asks for another glass of wine. When the wine comes, Rob tips his glass toward Raney, throws back his head and chugs. To the surprise to both Raney and the waitress, whose mouths are gapped open, he pounds the empty glass on the table and asks for another. “Let’s make it something cheap this time,” he tells the waitress. Turning to Raney, he recalls a Bible Story about how in the old days, they served the best wine first, then after their senses were dulled, brought out the Boone’s Farm. “Some people don’t think the Bible is relevant today,” Rob continues, “but what I’ve gleamed from that little parable has saved me hundreds of dollars.”

We’ll, what did you think about the Lakers?,” Raney asks as she wonders if this is just a bad dream and hopes she’ll soon wake up.

“Did you see Kobe’s slam dunk at the end of the game last night. He can really put it into the hoop,” Rob acknowledges. “Reminds me of my doctor, did I tell you I just had a colonoscopy?”

“I think I missed that shot,” Raney admits, shaking her head.

“He got this long snake like thing, part camera and part rotor-rooter, and he puts it right through the hoop,” Rob continues, with hand illustrations to the horror of everyone in the establishment.

The waitress comes over with another glass. This time, he drinks it a little slower as he continues to talk about his recent medical problems.

They both finished their glass about the same time. “You know, Raney, one thing I can’t stand is for a woman to be a lush, you should nurse your alcohol more.”

“Another glass,” the waitress asked as she removed the empty glasses. “How about a glass of water for the little lady, and I’ll take a double,” Rob quickly orders. “Can I at least have a slice of lemon in my water?” Raney asks the bewildered waitress. “I hope you didn’t mind,” Rob says as he turns back to Raney, “I ordered for your convenience.”

“The Angels are hot this year,” Raney says out of desperation. “Did you see that Kotchman’s hit another triple yesterday afternoon? He was really moving when he rounded second.”
“Speaking of rounding the bases, do you know how that rotor-rooter thing makes those tight turns in your stomach? It just slides right around…”

Raney sat in stunned silence as Rob continues to share his experiences, adding every filthy detail and slurring more and more words as downs another couple glasses of wine.

When he finally pauses, gulping down the last of his wine, Raney seizes the moment. “Oh, I almost forgotten,” she says. “Thanks for reminding me. I’ve scheduled my dogs for a colonoscopy this evening. The vet’s changing overtime; I can’t be late, gotta save every dollar I can.” She excuses herself and walks quickly toward the door. Once safe in her car, she puts on sunglasses and a hat and slides down in the seat and waits. A few minutes later, Rob waddles out the door and heads toward a lime green 1970s-something Pinto. He gets in and fires it up. A belch of smoke is released as he swerves out onto the street.

Raney flips open her cell phone and dials. “I’d like to report a drunk driver heading south on…”