Equal To, Not Greater Than

To be equal to, not greater than.

This is an idea contrary to our very nature. A man, when seated next to his dog, is not equal to the dog (although solid arguments can be made as proof of that concept).

Man and dog have different natures; the ‘nature’ of something, that which makes it what it is, is held to account by laws insurmountable by man. Men (and women) and dogs — and cats and trees and birds and flowers and the rocks themselves — have different natures. Place a labrador next to a chihuahua and while the breed is different they share the same nature. Same with male and female.

That having been said, a chihuahua is by far the more comical canine. In that regard it has no equal.

Man, when seated next to his dog is superior to his canine friend. That is part of Nature’s law.

But let’s return to the man and woman.

Why should any man want to be superior to a woman when both share the same nature? Is there not a stronger balance and a more resonant harmony when one is equal to, not greater than, the other?

I’m not stupid enough to think we don’t have differences and disagreements, that we don’t come from widely disparate backgrounds and environments. These things are cause for friction, to be sure, but they are equal to both natures.

Indeed, we have different levels of intelligence and tolerance, different ideas about money and politics, about laughter and passion. Money and politics appeal to our material and corrupt natures. Laughter is a great purger, a perfect means to cleanse the soul of cancerous darkness; passion, in all its exuberant forms, gives our ambitions and higher selves wings and air currents to loft us closer to the touch of God.

I ask again: what elevates one above another?

I make no secret of my disdain for stupid people. Don’t deride me because the fact is I’m right and each of us knows it — stupid people are not figments of our lesser imaginations, they truly exist. A sad misstep in man’s nature to be sure. Perhaps in this regard alone would I consider myself superior to another.

I don’t mean “stupid” because someone doesn’t know what I know. That concept alone can most always make for wholesale improvements on both sides of the fence. We all know the kind of knuckle dragging, mouth breathing brand of idiocy I’m alluding to. [Congress, anyone?]

Notice the important distinction — not empirical but to-the-bone, flat out stupid.

Yeah, I’m better than that person.

I am not, however, perfect. I make no claim to that effect.

I am far more susceptible to the haunts of my demons than to the embrace of my angels. James Madison once wrote that there are no angels among the ranks of men, for if there were we would have no need for government. I petition for the intercession of my angels all the time. Why? Because I am human.

Angels are not to be confused with stupid people (or Congress). Angels are far better equipped to forgive morons. That makes them truly blessed.

I shall never be equal to — nor greater than — angels, certainly not while I still draw breath.

I shall forever be imperfect — for that is my nature.

I shall always seek and hope for the best in my equal. Surely she will be an angel.

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Spinning Blue

Wow moments . . . Most of us get to experience them at some point, whether through some form of service, personal epiphany, or, as in my case, interacting with a favorite author. These wow moments are launched from one extraordinary foundation: inspiration.

This post is (inasmuch as words can be) a blood relative of the post I did just prior to this one, The Breath Of Morning. Give it a quick read if you haven’t already, then come back. I’ll wait.

Last night I sent the following e-mail to an author I have great respect for, and whose books I have thoroughly enjoyed and learned from. I had not the least expectation nor passing thought that I may get a response, much less only an hour later.

I have been tuning in to NASA TV every now and again to see what’s happening on the International Space Station. Today I was treated to something that stunned me. Something of such profound beauty it was practically spiritual.

As I watched it I thought of all the mind expanding things I have learned through your books, of all the places you have been as you have sifted through the history of mankind and the very elements themselves. You have studied the aftermath of matter spewed into our realm from deep within the earth, parsed through the physics of modern day barbarism even at the cost of your own emotions, and traveled to depths below our oceans where the pressure is such that styrofoam cups are compressed to fractions of their original size. You’ve yet to go to space . . . yet.

I watched perhaps only twenty seconds of live footage of the ISS as she floated over 200 miles above the Earth, somewhere over the Middle East. Our home was slowly rotating beneath it. I was struck by the visible speed of its rotation—the ISS is not in geo-synchronous orbit, of course, and the Earth’s movement was, to the eye, slow . . . but there was an indescribable magic to witnessing your home from afar. We are so intricately aware of our terrestrial place that seeing it from a different perspective holds the same kind of wonder and awe as one’s first kiss—heady, profound, and though you are fully aware of its presence, utterly magical.

The dumbest of observations floated to my head as I stared at the orbital scene: Judging by the visual speed of the planet’s rotation it seems that 24 hours passes far quicker than we believe it to.

If only all mankind were able to watch the kind of scene I watched today, perhaps splayed upon an IMAX screen in airports, rail terminals, and government buildings, just maybe we could begin to see how important it is that we find some way to unite. You can’t convince me that as a species humans will ever find a way to love one another respectfully—but we are all we have, as far as we know.

Humbly,
J.W. Nicklaus

Just under an hour later his reply hit my inbox.

Not been into space yet? Actually, lay on your back in a dark clear place at night and you can see immediately that we are already in space. There is no more fantastic place in space to be than on a planet with a life-sustaining atmosphere – watching an electronic civilization entering a terrifying adolescence.

Jupiter is easy to find tonight, near Venus – and there: Europa and Ganymede, each, almost to a certainty, with hydrothermal life in icebound seas.

I had written “Spinning Blue” in the subject line of the e-mail. Yet, in its own microcosmal way, I know for certain a singular denizen of that gorgeous planet had, thanks to the author, his own personal ‘wow’ moment.

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A Nation Panics

One of the ladies in my blog group wrote what thought was an intriguing post. Kate Dolan is an author and history buff, so I always enjoy visiting her blog. She’s wonderfully intelligent and often her posts are thought provoking. Her post “War of the Worlds it Was Not” is a prime example.

Her premise was based upon a national emergency alert test I had not heard about. “This was the first nationwide test of the Emergency Alert System involving about twelve different federal agencies” she wrote—that sounds about right, doesn’t it? A pristine example of bloated government. Twelve agencies. Twelve! It drips with stunning inefficiency.

This isn’t a lead in to a rant. As my fingers dance upon the keyboard I can sense the bile rising; I have digressed . . .

Ms. Dolan continues:

Instead I considered starting online rumors of an impending major disaster so that when the emergency alert kicked on, we’d have a full scale mass panic on our hands like that caused by the infamous “War of the Worlds” broadcast.

She then takes a moment to explain the War of the Worlds broadcast, for those too young to comprehend the enormity of that historic evening in radio history.

Then she goes on to ask for suggestions. What do her readers think might arouse sufficient panic as to equal—or surpass—WOTW?

American society and culture, not to speak of global culture, is dramatically different since that radio show. That premise in itself might make for an interesting blog post, but for now let’s stick to Ms. Dolan’s fun (yet still very intirguing) posit.

Among the comments were suggestions of a depletion of gasoline stores, a viscious virus (ala Contagion or Outbreak), even the woeful deprivation of meat or doughnuts; my mind reels, my body fights to curl into a fetal ball at the thought of no doughnuts.

She wants to consider events which would strike true fear into a nation, not just a fragmented demographic . . . something to make everyone s*** their collective pants.

I, too, would be interested in what others think. And do, please, take a few moments to read Kate’s post!

Here is my reply:

Two things send chills down my spine, events which I believe will happen someday:
• Lack of access to water, or a crippling amount of contamination to it
• Global energy outage

The latter is frighteningly easy to come by—a solar storm of sufficient size, releasing massive amounts of radiation across the electromagnetic spectrum, would (and has in the past) cause a total blackout. Think of everything in your life that is dependent upon electricity in some form and you can see how quickly humanity will devolve.

The hitch here is people would need to pay heed to such warnings of a storm before it hit. We would have only a matter of hours to ‘prepare’. Anyone not paying attention gets to immerse themselves in additional panic from sheer lack of knowledge. Once the storm hits there will be no way to communicate short of riders on horseback and low tech pen and paper.

The former, while perhaps not quite as likely as a global blackout, is entirely feasible. Look at how common droughts are this decade alone. Part of some larger meteorological cycle? In some small way, maybe. But carry the scenario to its absurd extreme . . . get the picture?

Oxygen is fairly plentiful, so we should all be able to breathe; water, however, can be in short supply. Mankind has fought bloody wars over ideas, over metals, over religion — wouldn’t take long for large scale killing over access to water.

Sleep well ;^)

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Only The Young Can Say . . .

Consider, for one moment, the text you are currently reading. Really.

Sit back for a second and try not to read the words as much as look at them. Are you looking at them upon a flat-screen monitor, or perhaps from the technological marvel of a smartphone? Maybe from a laptop, perched at the kitchen counter, sitting in your favorite chair, or propped up in bed?

Now, take a moment to consider your surroundings. I’d bet there are, at minimum, two other gadgets within view—maybe a television, a Kindle or Nook, an iPod, a digital camera, another cell phone.

While these things seem substantially obvious, even absurdly so, they all point to a common denominator which we don’t quickly identify with: our innate need to be connected. Even the coffee machine on the counter speaks not just to our need to wake up, but as a centerpiece for many a social life.

That’s on an individual level, within our own personal sphere of influence or proximity. Expand your imagination perhaps one more degree to the local or community level where you may have neighborhood or town newsletters to stay abreast of what those around you are doing. One more degree to the national stage and we have radio, television, cable, all these outlets that bombard us with information day in and day out.

Now, step back again and think about what technology has completely wrapped itself around all of these?

Did you think of the internet?

From GPS to our cell phones, to streaming radion stations and network feeds, and instant news captured by video phones. We literally walk about, every day, immersed in digitalia.

Back in January 2011, as I listened to news about the uprising in Tunisia, I was struck by how pathetic the attempts made by the government were to cut off access to media and the internet; too often government—our own republic included—fails to account for sheer human will. Such governments, many tyrannical dictatorships, rely on keeping their populace uneducated—essentially a political form of sanctioned stupidity. If the people don’t know any better then they are certainly more apt to believe whatever a regime sees fit to feed it as truth. Large swathes of the Middle East make this profusely clear.

But many of their youth travel abroad to get an education they can’t possibly dream of getting at home. They attend universities in Europe and here in America. They quickly become enamored with our freedoms and prosperity. They are given a chance to see the world as it truly is without the shroud of a theocracy dictating what they should think and feel. Youth, well versed in the binary arts, become a force of mind and power.

Utilizing Facebook and a smartphone they organize rallies and protests. They grasp the veil of ignorance and try to extirpate its white-knuckled grip upon their countrymen. They find a way, even when internet access is locked down, to get word out.

And look at the effect it has had . . .

Tunisia has fallen and an interim government set up in hopes of establishing a more free and transparent kind of system. Egypt has ousted its long-time dictators. As I write this the people of Libya are desperately trying to break the grasp of one of history’s most astute buffoons in Muammar Gaddafi. Bahrain, Yemen, and Syria are currently dealing with roiling discontent of their own. These things are not just news items. These happenings are nothing short of a digital crusade in a land that long has suppressed the Natural Rights of humanity while hoisting the banner of strict adherence to ascetic principles of God; natural rights are considered to be divinely inherent, gifts which each human are born with, therefore the two cannot be treated as mutually exclusive.

Youth are driving this almost cataclysmic change, and doing so by the powers vested in them via technology and education.

I wondered how American youth perceive this power, or if they give the slightest thought to it whatsoever. I put an ad on Craigslist and eBay asking if any were interested in sharing their thoughts in a guest post. I received a number of inquiries, but to date I have received only three guest posts. You will be reading these three over the next week. I wanted to widen the scope of the matter to include not just global events but also the interactive aspect of technology and how it affects relationships, both familial and external.

If you know of someone who would like to participate then let me know! The responses I have received are all from Arizona; would be interesting to get a larger demo-geographic slice of opinion.

Please be sure to come back and see what the next generation has to say about the technology that powers their everyday lives—Abbey Wells, Alicia Triassi-DeMayo, and my son Chayce may just surprise you with how connected they are to both the virtual and real worlds.

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In Short There’s Simply Not A More Congenial Spot

The other night I had a little time before I had to pick my son up from school after his fundraiser meeting. I had spent a few minutes boning up on the lyrics to Golden Earring’s Twilight Zone because I’ve heard it twice in as many weeks, and it was always one of those songs which I had to make up my own lyrics for in parts I didn’t know. I must say that given its time of release it had some odd lyrics: “This is a madhouse, feels like being cloned/My beacon’s been moved under moon and star” I’m going to presume you had to be fairly well off your rocker to truly understand what that means.

At any rate, the name Tommy Shaw popped in my head; I haven’t the slightest idea why, but I was a big Styx fan growing up so I said what the hell and searched on YouTube. Found, as expected, a bunch of stuff (This isn’t about Tommy, per se). There were a series of videos shot on home cameras during appearances he’d made at a few Borders stores across the country to drum up some interest in his recent solo project. Of course the fans who went to see him wanted to hear old Styx stuff, not his new stuff. The really cool thing about him was he was only too happy to oblige and make the fans happy. So he played some of Man In The Wilderness and Foolin’ Yourself. The reaction of the fans was what really resonated within me.

I’d like to step into the Wayback Machine for a moment, and go back to April 4, 1990 (I had to look up the day!). Arizona State University’s Sun Devil stadium holds somewhere around 60,000 people, I think, and it was packed. People of every possible stripe were there: male, female, teens and smaller children, Native American, Asian, Latino, Black and white—and the age demographic was equally spread, though leaned toward mid-thirties or so. Paul McCartney was in town in support of his Flowers In The Dirt album. I’ve never been a huge McCartney fan, but I liked Wings and, c’mon . . . this was one of the Beatles!

There was no distinction between race, religion, or class that night. Sixty-thousand roared and sang along in an incredible kind of harmonic unison. People danced in place during songs like Can’t Buy Me Love. I’d bet a large swath of Tempe could hear every word of Hey Jude as the throng sang. It was one of the most powerful musical experiences I have ever had. For those two-plus hours we weren’t one others genetic competition, we were one unified cross section of America . . . of humanity.

In that Borders store, as Tommy Shaw sat, played, and sang Foolin’ Yourself he didn’t need to prompt the crowd at all to sing in the appropriate places. The chorus would begin “Get Up!” and the crowd would repeat, loudly “GET UP! Get back on your feet/You’re the one they can’t beat, and you know it”. The crowd fell quiet at the right beat in time for Tommy to sing “Welllllll, C’mon!” and the crowd sang “C’MON! Let’s see what you’ve got/Just take your best shot and don’t blow it/Whoa, whoa, who-oa!”

What a fantastically moving thing music is. Something that transcends our individual walls, breaks it down, to let the real human inside us free. If only for a few, brief, shining moments, we can exist in a real-life Camelot.

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Shine On, Harvest Moon

And so, we’re on our way now. Soon enough this post will be dated, but the relevance of all my guest’s posts will never fade. I don’t say that to be in any way self-aggrandizing.

It’s simply the truth.

Our heads fresh off the pillow in the morning, we begin the automatic task of mentally assessing what lies ahead for the day . . . next thing we know, Night has put its hand on Day’s shoulder and our eyes and bodies tell us it’s time for sleep. We hustle through the events of each day, week, month, and year, doing the same thing; living. At some point we all have that epiphany, that feeling that makes us stop and take stock of what all has transpired while we were busy living.

This past week has shown that clearly a good number of us are paying attention, and closely at that. Age doesn’t matter, as I can clearly see that even the youngest among us has closed our eyes and tenderly caressed our angel’s wings. We get why the sun rises and sets, how the moonglow is laced with magic, and where the true heart of a matter lies.

We’re all human, so we all innately have some degree of fear for when, but in the meantime we observe and capture the essence of those important times when when happens before our eyes. We store it for ourselves, and recount it for our posterity.

We are flesh and bone, you and I, but I wish for all you, and yours, that ole’ harvest moon will reside within the most peaceful and important of places . . . our ethereal hearts.

                 • • • • • •

I wish to, once again, thank my guest authors: Aunt Juicebox, Laurie Kendrick, April Pohren, Mckenzie Boltz, and Shoshana Ashley, for sharing their thoughts about love, hope, and their own memories of autumn. I’m also very thankful that so many folks dropped by to read and comment on the posts. It never ceases to amaze me how deeply we can be affected by simply stringing the right words together.

I would like to give all the commentors a copy of my book, but my pocketbook will shout many a foul thing at me if I were to do so. Having said that, I will give all the guest posts this entire week in full to provide for any late-comer commentors, and at the end of the week shall be selecting five folks who stopped by to read and comment to receive a signed copy of my book, The Light, The Dark, and Ember Between.

Thank you all for coming, and do please come back and visit my blog. It’s nice to have the company :^)

Sincerely,
J.W. Nicklaus

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Upon The Equinox

Equinox; is that a cool looking word or what? I feel smarter just saying it.

You’ve heard the word before, but haven’t ever quite understood what it meant, right? For those of you in more seasonal climes, I envy you. Really. Where I live—three feet from Hell—we don’t get to see the slow brush of God’s hand across the landscape. Some dumbass, way back whenever, decided it might be nice to settle in the middle of a friggin’ desert, you know, just for fun, maybe have a few laughs and make a couple bucks by providing w waypoint between the West coast and the continental interior.

You know why this resevoir of dust and cactus is called Phoenix, don’t you . . . that’s right, it has to do with the legend of the Phoenix, the same one that rises from the ashes. How do you get ashes? By burning something, that’s how. If you’ve never felt that kind of heat envelope you, then go stand under a magnifying glass at about noonish, then you’ll kind of understand.

If you’ve never been here, don’t believe the hype. Stay where it’s green and you can actually feel what ‘autumn’ means. Now hold on . . . Lest you think it’s all sour grapes, you should know that Arizona entails much more than just Phoenix; the north country is actually quite beautiful and does heed natures call during this time of year—during the aforementioned equinox.

The equinox, put simply, is one of two times a year when the sun crosses the equator, and the day and night are of approximately equal length. Today, September 22nd, is that very day. As the days get shorter I won’t be joining the rest of you in breaking out the sweaters and jackets, but I will be in awe, as I am every year, of nature’s color palette.

The beginning of autumn is also the beginning of one of the best stretches of the year. The mere cooling of the weather is enough to make us think of the approaching holidays and, if nothing else, the lighter tone which separates this last quarter of the year so very distinctly from the rest. For many it means a time to either go to or welcome family and friends, to share gatherings and meals together. To remember fondly, and conversely, create fond remembrances. Speaking for myself, frankly, I’m not a huge ‘holiday’ person; I more thoroughly appreciate the essence of the holiday season, and of autumn itself. The greater number of us can’t help but be in a somewhat more pleasant frame of mind during this time of year.

In Arizona, we’re just happy that summer is damn near over.

Autumn, more familiarly known as ‘Fall’, has it’s own unique spell it casts. Everything in nature begins the process of gearing up for onset of Old Man Winter, including us. From baseball’s “Fall Classic” to the march to the Superbowl (or one of any number of college bowls) during football season, even sports fans brave cold temperatures to follow their teams—something else we associate with both fall and winter.

• We carve pumpkins and then turn them into pies.
• We endure the seemingly endless onslaught of ads for those • seeking public office.
• Some begin planning very early for the annual Thanksgiving feast.
• Some of us make the yearly pilgrimage to a Christmas tree lot, or maybe even pick one of our own while traipsing through the snow.

People speak of arising in the early hours of Thanksgiving to the scent of cooking turkey. The mere mention of the smell causes some to instantly recall the heady aroma, which itself triggers other memories. You could argue that any other time during the year may do that, but I’d wager the memories of autumn are far stronger.

These recollections, in some manner, center upon those things we individually find special or even endearing. More to the point, they bridge the precipice between our hearts and logical selves. Our better natures warmly bask in the results. We fervently hope for better things during this season, and we track them with the amazing mechanism of capturing and recall of memories. If I may so boldly make the reference, autumn is—perhaps more than any other time of year—the time for us all to warm ourselves over the ember between.

This year in particular also is something of a personal watershed for me. As of October my book, The Light, The Dark, and Ember Between, will have been in public release for six months; the timing was not planned, yet it seems almost auspiciously serendipitous. The spirit of the stories within favorably reflect the very essence of what I’ve tried to impart here about fall.

To that end, I’ve asked several folks to write a guest post for me about what defines love or hope for them—again, in the spirit of the season.

Over the next six days you’ll be hearing from these people whose blogs I’ve read for a while. Some have traveled with me during my previous book tour, four have read the book, one has recently ordered it, two have reviewed it; they all have my book in common, but that’s not why I asked them to guest post for me—I asked all of them because I hold each one in high regard, and have been genuinely blessed to have been put in their path. Some make me laugh, some make me think, but all are just honestly good people. I wanted to ask a whole slew of people, but time considerations (theirs and mine) meant I had to whittle the list down to single digits. I will also be giving away some copies of my book to those who may come from these other blogs and leave comments on each of the posts.

As for my own definition, I can safely say that it’s documented within my short stories. In short, hope and love are many different things to each of us, but it is how we distill them that resonates within like a ripple upon still water.

May this season bring many better things, and continued blessings for each of us. Please join us all this week as we celebrate the human need to balance the light and dark, the gossamer bond we share with nature as our own autumnal equinox.

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A Pin Drop

It is a very rare occasion when I pass along something I received in an e-mail. I don’t get a ton of stuff, but I used to. We all know the feeling of weeding through ankle-deep forwarded jokes and ‘send-this-to-twenty-people-or-you’ll-be-visited-by-some-horrible-fate’ chain notes. Therefore, I feel that anything shared should have intrinsic value. It should be something that at least makes you smile, and at best makes you think.

What you’re about to read was sent to me by someone I used to work with, an ex-colleague and equally proud patriot; so it’s no surprise to me that I received this from him. I have made an admittedly meager attempt to ascertain its veracity, but the message is what’s important.

Those of you who have followed my blog know I tend to lean to the jingoistic side every now and again. Not only should you shroud yourself in a big ol’ flag before reading, but be prepared to nod a lot!

---

At a time when our president and other politicians tend to apologize for our country’s prior actions, here’s a refresher on how some of our former patriots handled negative comments about our country.

JFK’S Secretary of State, Dean Rusk, was in France in the early 60’s when DeGaulle decided to pull out of NATO. DeGaulle said he wanted all US military out of France as soon as possible.

Rusk responded “Does that include those who are buried here?

DeGaulle said nothing in reply. You could have heard a pin drop

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When in England, at a fairly large conference, Colin Powell was asked by the Archbishop of Canterbury if our plans for Iraq were just an example of empire building by George Bush.

He answered by saying, ‘Over the years, the United States has sent many of its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom beyond our borders. The only amount of land we have ever asked for in return is enough to bury those that did not return.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a conference in France where a number of international engineers were taking part, including French and American. During a break, one of the French engineers came back into the room saying “Have you heard the latest dumb stunt Bush has done? He has sent an aircraft carrier to Indonesia to help the tsunami victims. What does he intended to do, bomb them?”

A Boeing engineer stood up and replied quietly:
“Our carriers have three hospitals on board that can treat several hundred people; they are nuclear powered and can supply emergency electrical power to shore facilities; they have three cafeterias with the capacity to feed 3,000 people three meals a day, they can produce several thousand gallons of fresh water from sea water each day, and they carry half a dozen helicopters for use in transporting victims and injured to and from their flight deck. We have eleven such ships. How many does France have?”

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A U.S. Navy Admiral was attending a naval conference that included admirals from the U.S., British, Canadian, Australian and French navies. At a cocktail reception, he found himself standing with a large group of officers that included personnel from most of the represented countries. Everyone was chatting away in English as they sipped their drinks, but a French admiral suddenly complained that whereas Europeans learn many languages, Americans learn only English. He then asked, “Why is it that we always have to speak English in these
conferences rather than speaking French?”

Without hesitating, the American admiral replied, ‘Maybe it’s because the Brits, Canadians, Aussies and Americans arranged it so you wouldn’t have to speak German.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robert Whiting, a gentleman of 83 years age, arrived in Paris by plane. At French Customs, he took a few minutes to locate his passport in his carry-on.

“You have been to France before, monsieur?” the customs officer asked sarcastically. Mr. Whiting admitted that he had been to France previously.

“Then you should know enough to have your passport ready.”

The American said, ‘The last time I was here, I didn’t have to show it.”

“Impossible. Americans always have to show your passports upon arrival in France!”

The American senior gave the Frenchman a long hard look, then quietly explained, ”Well, when I came ashore at Omaha Beach on D-Day in 1944 to help liberate this country, I couldn’t find a single Frenchmen to show a passport to.”

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Annoyance Meme

After writing my post about the Aisle Snatchers I spent some time brooding over other such daily annoyances. It’s really an ongoing process as things that annoy us/me never really go away. For instance, I almost always wake up before my alarm goes off. But even after all these years, knowing what the alarm sounds like, it’s still the absolutely wrong way to wake up. Might as well awaken to the sound of nails across a blackboard, ya know?

As I pondered my list it occurred to me that with each passing year I take on a more curmudgeonly demeanor. I’m not all sour grapes—really. I’m just weary of all you kids and your loud music . . . and stay off my f****g lawn!

See what I mean?

You’ll notice that my Annoyance Meme has a solid foundation supported by the cadre of dumbasses we all must interact with, or at least see, every day of our lives. If you’re not stupid then read on. If you are, well, check your shoelaces, wipe the drool from the side of your mouth . . . and read on!

People who talk aloud to themselves: I know you’ve encountered one, maybe several, in your travels. Maybe you have members of your family like this. No offense, but I won’t like them. No sugar coating on these pearls, people . . .

These types of people are waiting, more likely expecting, you to look up, all so they can engage you in some pointless, other-worldly conversations about things like the nuances of non-verbal ant communication or the hidden tincture of their underwear.

“None for me, thanks. But some guy walked by you about two minutes ago mumbling something about your momma and a pig farmer.”

Honestly . . . if I wanted to strike up an unwanted conversation with strangers I’d think a house of ill repute might prove more fun. I’m just sayin’.

People who haven’t a clue where the hell they’re going:You’ve seen them, braking suddenly then switching lanes without warning. Stupid people are bad enough, but look at the damage they can do if they’re issued drivers licenses! Time for a referendum on IQ minimums as a condition of issuing said licenses. Smart people use public transportation, too. Here’s the thing about them: They know where they want to go. Pretty simple.

Idiots who cross a busy street within sight of a crosswalk: I swear some of these knuckle draggers act like they only moments ago climbed out of the trees. Behold the Genus Stupid and member of Family Idiot. See, these are the people who should be chosen for gene pool culling, and jaywalking suits the job just fine.

‘Rubber necking’: This has been tops on my hit parade of annoyances, with a bullet, for a looooooooong time. This is the kind of activity that separates the wheat from the chaff.

The only time it’s acceptable is if you personally witness the second coming of Christ. Period.

Look, I once saw a car engine engulfed in flames, which frankly was pretty damn cool, if only because it wasn’t mine. But I still kept moving forward with the same velocity I had when I first saw the flames. I didn’t slow down to stare. Rubber necking is plain stupid. It is. I don’t want to hear about how “I can’t help it” or other such claptrap. If you’ve been driving any length of time then you’ve seen a car pulled over by the cops, or a fender bender. Let the authorities handle it—you can’t do much in your moving vehicle, so why not keep moving steadily forward. Why slow down?

Just thinking about the sheer, profound dumbass nature of the act makes me want to check my lawn just so I can yell at someone.

Limp bacon: Not to put too fine a point on it, but sex ain’t all it’s cracked up to be if stuff is flaccid. Crisp is how it’s meant to be. ‘Nuff said?

People who chew with their mouth open: I don’t even need to elaborate on this. If you’re civilized you don’t do it. For those who refuse to join the rest of us know that we can all see the boogers stuck in your teeth. Welcome to Genus Stupid, Family Slovenly.

Mall Dolts: I don’t frequent malls, and this mouth-breather member of the Species Homo Sapiens is one reason why. They often travel in packs, anywhere from four to seven or eight members wide . . . and yes, wide is the correct term. These are typically from the same families who confound me with their grocery cart ineptness. If you read my rant One Side, Folks! then you know who they are.

But in malls they walk side-by-side, eating up walking space and creating human bottlenecks. They’re too damned self-involved in gossiping, talking on their phones, or just being monumentally thoughtless to give the least consideration to those walking behind them. Don’t tell me about “just relaxing” or “being leisurely.” That’s a big steaming pile.

It’s thoughtless and inconsiderate. End of story.

And you know I’m right.

Racism: I have next to no tolerance for this. Let’s all face a truly simple fact of life: Stupid comes in all skin colors, all races, creeds, genders, and nationalities. We all bleed the same . . . well mostly, except those IslamoFascist America-Haters who are in my country getting an education because their own country is too damned morally and politically corrupt to provide one. I’m only too happy to actually buy you a one-way plane ticket just so we can be rid of your ilk. Your God isn’t my God. You people make me want to defecate mouth-first.

Other than that, we all bleed the same.

There’s no need for racism. None. It was wrong from the start.

Make it easy on yourself and do what I do . . . be an equal opportunity hater. Each of us deserves an equal shot, and I’m willing to give you a second chance at currying my favor, but if you’re stupid don’t bother.

And stay the f*** off my lawn!

And that, kids, is a preview of the aging process :^) Let the attitude adjustment comments and e-mails fly!

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Of Books And Angels

One of the best things about having your own blog is you get to dictate the content—it’s your party and you’ll cry if you want to . . . or whine, rant, make fun of others, or indulge in a touch of shameless self-promotion.

So this post won’t contain any breathtaking prose on politics or current events, no mental wanderings on things in my little corner of another summer in Hell Arizona.

See, I’m fast closing in on my first book signing ‘thing’. Next Saturday, July 25th, at Changing Hands Bookstore in Tempe, from 2:00-3:30pm. Should be a good day. I’ll have all new experiences in anxiety and stress at the bookstore, and then afterwards my son and I are going to a Diamondbacks game; the way they’ve been playing chances are I’ll come up bigger at the bookstore than they will in front of a stadium half-full of fans.

Doesn’t really matter. I get to have a bona fide day to carefully tuck away in memory.

In anticipation—and because I think I’d be remiss if I didn’t do so—I stopped by the bookstore to see if my book was on the shelves ahead of the signing:

The Author Events section

In case you missed it . . . my books . . . on the shelf!

Any questions? OOH-RAH! If nothing else I get to see my book on a bookstore shelf. I may not sell a single one that day, but I got to experience something I never thought I would. It was a moment of quiet intensity.

I’d like to ask for your indulgence one moment more. I wanted to share this review—not because it’s another glowing review, but because of something better than that. About three weeks ago I’d sent out a press release and receieved almost thirty requests for review copies. For one in particular, I visited her blog, only to discover she’d very recently had a death in her family. Along with the book I sent a note expressing my sincere condolences. I figured she wouldn’t get around to reading the book, much less writing a review, for quite a while given the circumstances . . . and that suited me just fine. However, within about two weeks she’d written me back stating she had, in fact, read it and done the review. First, here’s the note she sent:

I want to first thank you for the nice note you included with the book you sent for review. Your expressions of sympathy for the loss of my sister were very kind. I am thankful you sent the book when you did. It was wonderful and I needed to read it.

Nice, indeed, of itself. Next, the review she wrote:

The Light, The Dark, & Ember Between is beautifully written, and is an uplifting, thoughtful, intelligent, and heartfelt collection of short stories. Fifteen stories in all, each is so very different and from different points of view. All of the stories bring the message of hope to the reader. This is a book that lives up to what it promises – the message of hope as the “Ember Between.”

I have to say that this book came to me at just the right time. I needed to read it because it reminded me that hope doesn’t just happen. We have to keep our eyes open and watch for it. This is a lovely book that I recommend for personal reading or as a wonderful gift.

By the way, on Amazon she gave it 5-stars, and entitled her comment “Better than 5 stars.” (Remember, this is my blog!)

Her review, of course, is wonderful. But I submit that the higher reason for basking in it isn’t because of what she thought of the book, rather because of what it did for one person—a complete stranger. Should there ever be any doubt or argument about the power of angels? I have the warmest suspicion that the timing of my press release was guided by a power far greater than any visible entity I know of.

Every so often, if we listen very carefully, closely, without remission of heart, we may hear the whisper of an angel telling us we’ve done well. I like her review (of course) but am far more fond of what she’s said between the lines. I managed, in some small way, to make a difference—and I have to say it feels exceptionally good.

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If you’d like to see the rest of the Amazon reviews you can find them here.

I have all the reviews (Amazon’s included) posted at my site, Avomnia.com.

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