The Final Frontier

Since the days of the Wright brothers we’ve built increasingly complex machines to carry ourselves into the sky. The Marine Corps recently announced the deployment of the MV-22 Osprey, a cross between a helicopter and a fixed wing plane. The Osprey is difficult to fly and dangerous to land, having claimed several lives during its test program. Aircraft and even starships are complicated devices worthy of our respect, and no one knew this better than Montgomery Scott of the U.S.S. Enterprise.

Scotty’s expertise in aeronautical engineering is widely acknowledged, but many don't know that James Doohan served as a pilot during World War II. Originally a captain in the Royal Canadian Artillery, Jimmy was machine-gunned at Normandy on D-Day. Following his convalescence he was assigned to 43 Operational Training Unit, Andover, England, where he earned Air Observation Post Pilot’s wings. Doohan’s intended assignment was to direct artillery fire from the air, but his unit was posted to Holland, where he flew non-combat missions for the 666 AOP squadron of the Royal Canadian Air Force. Jimmy had already been shot six times, so nobody complained, least of all Doohan.

Five years earlier, hundreds of Americans knowingly broke the law with the tacit approval of the U.S. government when they crossed into Canada to join the Royal Canadian Air Force. America was officially neutral at the time, but many Americans, including a young man named John Gillespie Magee, Jr. heard about the Battle of Britain and decided to forego a formal invitation to fight the Nazis.

Magee was only 18 years old when he entered flight training, and in less than a year was assigned to 412 Fighter Squadron at Digby England, where he flew the Supermarine Spitfire. He quickly rose to the rank of Pilot Officer while flying missions over France and England. Shortly before Magee was killed in a mid-air collision at the age of 19, he composed this famous poem which came to mind Saturday as I watched a rocket carry the remains of Captain James Doohan into space:

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth

and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things

you have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung

high in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there

I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

my eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,

I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace

where never lark, or even eagle flew -

And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod

the high untresspassed sanctity of space,

put out my hand and touched the face of God.

James and John both risked their lives fighting tyranny, and young men and women still climb into dangerous machines today, slipping the surly bonds of earth to defend liberty. Like Magee, some will not come home alive. I like to think though that for one glorious moment Saturday, John’s soul and the souls of all pilots who’ve given their lives for just causes met their brother James when he soared into the sanctity of space, and that together they all joined hands, and touched the face of God.

American Idol '08

A debate, according to the Miriam Webster dictionary, is a contention by words or arguments, either the formal discussion of a motion before a deliberative body according to the rules of parliamentary procedure, or a regulated discussion of a proposition between two matched sides.

Presidential candidates never really debate anything. Instead, they provide canned answers as they attempt to avoid gaffes while watching for a “Bentsen Moment,” when they can slip their opponent a fatal zinger like “You’re no Jack Kennedy.” (News Flash: neither were you, Lloyd).

There were no profiles in courage Thursday night, since everyone played it safe-- everyone except for Senator Gravel, whose idea of fun must be tap-dancing in minefields.

When Joe Biden said “Look Brian, this is no game show,” (referring to the congressional discourse about Iraq) he inadvertently described exactly what we saw Thursday: an elaborate production consisting of eight contestants and a host. The only thing missing was a new car for the winner and parting gifts for the losers.

More use of the “show of hands” feature could have easily trimmed 30 minutes from the show. For instance: “How many of you think President Bush is a colossal boob, and that we should get out of Iraq by this time next week?” “That’s eight correct answers for 100 points apiece, next question…”

Fair or not, when I see a southerner like Edwards running for president, I immediately compare him to Jimmy Carter. Personally, I think electing Carter president was a big mistake, but no one can deny that Jimmy is a decent man, and a man of means who can easily afford $400 haircuts if he didn’t find the idea morally reprehensible. So you’re running for president and get called out on national TV for fiscally irresponsible haircuts-your response is to reminisce about your father’s shame at not being able to afford a meal for his family in a restaurant? Here is my interpretation of Edwards’ weirdly triumphant conclusion: “I want every American to have the same chance as me-- to make so much money that they too can afford to squander it on vanity.”

Barack Obama gave us the answer to the question “How many presidential candidates does it take to screw in an energy-saving light bulb?” “Just one, as long as it doesn’t throw too much light on my dealings with slimy real estate developers.”

Bill Richardson admitted that he declined to call for the immediate resignation of Alberto Gonzales because, like Richardson, Alberto is Hispanic. Bill earnestly added “At least I’m honest.” Well, honest racism is better than dishonest racism, I suppose.

Chris Dodd exemplified what is wrong with our electoral process. I told my wife that I found Dodd unexpectedly articulate. We have reached a sorry state indeed when we’re pleasantly surprised to find that our elected officials can walk and chew gum at the same time.

Dennis Kucinich once again showed America that he has the persistence of a fly buzzing around your head while you mow the lawn in the blistering heat of summer. Much like yard work, picking a president is hot sweaty business-- the fewer flies, the better.

That pretty much covers the seven dwarfs, which leads us to Snow Whitehouse. Hillary was asked to respond to polls which currently indicate the majority of the public has an unfavorable view of her, and her response was that she considers this to be a perverse form of flattery. The public detests me? Elect me! $400 haircuts? Money well spent!

Join us next time, when the Republican candidates appear on American Idol ’08.

God help us all.

Our Hearts Are With You

Today our nation is forced to face the carnage at Virginia Tech without our Poet Laureate of Melancholy, Kurt Vonnegut.

In Vonnegut’s novel Slaughterhouse 5, Billy Pilgrim watches a World War II bombing attack in reverse, as planes fly over Germany, sucking the bombs out of the ground and then returning to their bases in England, where the bombs are unloaded and disassembled, their explosive contents separated into harmless minerals which are then carefully hidden in the ground so that no one will be harmed.

Reality of course only runs forward, or fast forward. There is no reverse or pause on the VCR of life, and done bun can’t be undone. Vonnegut was an anachronism, a gentle soul who tilted against the windmills of mayhem down here on Asylum Earth-- but even Kurt knew that once the bombs are truly dropped and the bullets are really fired they can never be taken back.

South Korea’s Foreign Ministry today reports their country “in shock beyond description” after learning that the suspect in the Virginia Tech shootings was a South Korean native. Their ministry official for North American affairs conveyed his condolences on behalf of the South Korean people, expressing hope “that the tragedy would not stir up racial prejudice or confrontation.”

Here is what Vonnegut would have said to that: “What, are you nuts too?”

What happened yesterday had nothing to do with South Koreans. It was simply the act of a mentally unbalanced individual with amazingly unfettered access to guns and ammunition-- an angry young man whose name just happened to be Cho, but could have just as easily been Joe, Bo, or Moe.

So it goes.

This is the world we have made for ourselves. We leave loners alone instead of drawing them close. We consider violence as both a means of entertainment and a reasonable solution to our frustrations. Many of us foolishly assume that the racial or religious identity of a madman defines and condemns their race or their religion.

The Hokies of Virginia Tech know better though:

Techmen, we're Techmen, with spirit true and faithful,
Backing up our teams with hopes undying;
Techmen, Oh, Techmen, we're out to win today,
Showing pep and life with which we're trying;
V.P., old V.P., you know our hearts are with you
In our luck which never seems to die;
Win or lose, we'll greet you with a glad returning,
You're the pride of V.P.I.

Hope endures, and life endures-- even when luck turns bad and tragedy rolls up onto our doorstep. V.P.I. lost something immeasurable yesterday, but today they have reminded us of their faithful spirit and their undying hope for the future. So here’s to glad returning, and the pride of V.P.I.

Fahrenheit -455

With the attention now being given to global warming let’s all stop and consider our planet’s perilous surroundings using science instead of media-driven frenzy-- which we should reserve for determining standards of acceptable public demeanor.

Earth, of course, is surrounded by space, and as Khan contemplates his revenge in Star Trek 2 he reminds Kirk of this inarguable fact of physics: it is very cold in space. Exactly how cold is dependent on several factors, so for the sake of brevity I will include only enough science to leave you entertained and slightly more educated.

Scientists measure the temperature of space with a standard we dimly recall from high school physics: Kelvin. The temperature is dependent on several factors including how “empty” space is, since regions with planets and stars like our sun have a different temperature than other areas of the universe, which don’t have much in the way of celestial stuff except for maybe a stray comet or two.

Generally, the accepted average temperature of space is approximately 2.725 Kelvin, which translates to a very brisk -270 degrees Celsius (not including the wind chill factor). For those of us who stubbornly cling to the old fashioned ways of measuring things, the average temperature of space is an incredible -455 Fahrenheit, which brings us to the point of this brief discourse.

Our sun has a finite supply of fuel. It may well burn for thousands of years, or it could go out before Sanjaya on American Idol. And if it does my friends, global warming will suddenly become an excellent idea, so we should all lay in a large supply of firewood, and keep our planet nice and toasty-- just in case.

Farewell Kilgore, Godspeed Kurt

Planet HD 209458b, as photographed by

NASA's Hubble Space Telescope- a giant

gaseous planet with a hot and bloated

atmosphere that currently is evaporating into space.

Scientists at Caltech recently released studies which theorize that plants on other worlds may not be green since the color of a planet’s photosynthetic organisms depends on the type of star the planet orbits and the makeup of its atmosphere.

Scientists of course have the imagination of a houseplant. Green is a human term given to our earthbound perception of a wavelength of light which happens to fall on our own puny planet.

Any decent science fiction writer can imagine incredible worlds where plants are sentient beings that change their colors like earth’s chameleons or cosmic mood rings. How do we know for certain there are not intelligent plants on Mars right now, which wisely choose to remain invisible, knowing humanity’s penchant for eating every living thing on our own planet?

Caltech should have consulted the late great Kilgore Trout, the noted science fiction author who penned numerous stories about the fictitious planet Trafalmadore. Trout theorized that the planet’s inhabitants communicated by farting and tap dancing. Now that’s using your imagination!

Farewell Kilgore Trout, Billy Pilgrim and Eliot Rosewater… and goodbye to you too, Mr. Vonnegut. All I can add is this: “Tap tap tappity-tap BLATTTT,” which, of course, is Trafalmadorian for “Thank you Kurt, from the bottom of our colons.”

Groundhog in the Morning

They say we're young and we don't know
We won't find out until we grow
Well I don't know if all that's true
'Cause you got me, and baby I got you

In the 1993 movie Groundhog Day, weatherman Phil Connors woke up every morning to the iconic Sonny and Cher song playing on his alarm clock. Connors was forced to live the same day over and over again, until he eventually redeemed himself by abandoning his selfishness, choosing instead to treat those around him with respect instead of contempt. As each day of Phil’s life repeated itself, Bill Murray’s portrayal of the cynical weatherman Connors showed us someone who learned from his previous mistakes and grew as an individual until he finally realized we all are defined by how we treat those we meet every day from the very moment we awaken.

Today’s news is full of righteous indignation and abject apologies. Donald Imus is the latest public figure to say something outrageous and now he awaits his fate as America’s collective cultural jury debates his crime and determines his ultimate punishment. While Imus has done many good things in his life I am disinclined to weigh them against his faults since I screw up on a regular basis myself. Judgment is not mine, and those famous words ought to be on the minds of all folks weighing in on this argument, particularly members of the clergy.

What do you think Imus might have said if the Rutgers team was in his studio that morning? My guess is he would have seen them as individuals and not the nebulous entity “Rutgers Women’s Basketball.” He would have treated them with respect because how can you look a young woman in the face and call her a whore unless you are a pimp, or worse?

One of my professional colleagues is an African-American who I respect immensely. I never trade ethnic jokes with Ray because getting to know him over the years has helped me understand what he’s comfortable with in terms of humor. I’m also lucky to have two very close friends who are Jewish, each with an incredibly liberal sense of humor-- but every time I banter with them I carefully consider my jokes in light of what seems reasonable based on our friendships. The real trick is to see others as individuals and not as a faceless race or religion before you open your big mouth and say something stupid and hurtful.

The lesson that can be taken from the Groundhog gospel of Bill Murray is this: Wake up! Get to know those you meet every day, and treat them as you would like to be treated yourself. Each new day affords us the opportunity for self-improvement, unless we choose instead to see our shadows and crawl back into our holes for more winter and less sunshine.

Hot Dog? No, Bratwurst!

Every dedicated dog owner is convinced they’ve been blessed (or cursed) with the world’s cutest or smartest or smelliest dog. There’s just something about pooches that invites canine enthusiasts to wax eloquent over their clever collies or their stinky spaniels, and since we have the world’s smartest dog I just can’t help but lord it over the rest of you.

Tailspin is our Border Collie Labrador mix. It’s also possible he’s got some Bernese Mountain Dog in him, but he’s not telling. (Frankly I’m scared to ask him; since he might answer). He may not be able to actually tell time but he understands there’s something about the clock on the mantle that determines when he’s to be let outside at night-- so it’s slightly unsettling when he sits downs and stares at the clock promptly at 10:00 p.m.

Unfortunately his cleverness coupled with his lab-fueled appetite has landed him in trouble more than a few times. Most recently, the case of the missing Italian beef was solved when the guilty party defecated on our neighbor’s lawn. (Hint: it wasn’t me). In years past, he has eaten; several sticks of butter, bratwurst stolen from the barbeque, and a torpid squirrel. I once called him “Zorba the Greek” for days after he ate an entire package of feta cheese. Usually his digestive system can handle even the toughest squirrel, but occasionally he gets an upset stomach. We know this because he paws the cabinet where we keep the antacid when he needs a Tums.

His eclectic eating habits eventually led to a case of gingivitis, ably treated by our vet. While sedating the dog, Doctor K. asked me what he’d been eating. “Oh, the usual,” I replied,” Buttered bratwursts and feta cheese.” After his treatment, Zorba tottered groggily to the jeep, where I juggled doggy toothpaste and cotton swabs with my car keys while opening the door. Throwing everything onto the back seat, I helped Tailspin in and closed the door-- right before he lay down on my car keys triggering the locks. Thank God he didn’t hit the alarm button too, since he immediately went to sleep and the horn would have disturbed him while I waited for the locksmith to arrive.

The thing about Border Collies is that they want to herd things-- like the people they live with. Tailspin is smart, but he doesn’t understand the concept of sleeping late on Saturday morning. If we’re not up early enough to suit him, he paces and whines until we relent and get out of bed. Well, last week I made the mistake of attempting to be funny and told him to leave us alone, go pour himself a bowl of cereal, and watch some cartoons. Later that morning, I walked back to my office which is directly behind the kitchen pantry. On the floor was a half-eaten box of Puffins cereal. Once the dog realizes that the remote control can be found under the couch cushions maybe we’ll finally be able to get some sleep. “Honey, I just had the strangest dream about Scooby-Doo…”

Surely You Jest

Duluth, Minn.-
The Edgewater volcano, which had been dormant for over a year, erupted last week in a fiery show of flames and smoke. Startled tourists were evacuated to nearby facilities by local authorities. Molten material was clearly visible on the left flank of the volcano following the eruption, which resulted in no reported casualties.

While everything you read above is true, certain facts were omitted to turn an otherwise mundane story into a mini-hoax. The ersatz volcano was constructed over a year ago during a $20 million dollar remodeling project at the Edgewater Hotel and Waterpark. A malfunctioning speaker within “Mt. Edgewater” burst into flames, which quickly spread to the frame of the structure.

Ideally, an April Fool’s hoax should contain a kernel of truth to lure the trusting rube into a web of deception. Once the victim is ensnared, his natural curiosity, passions, fears, or greed can then be used to maximum advantage.

Porky Bickar of Sitka, Alaska used the fear of death by volcanic eruption when in 1974 he successfully convinced his neighbors that the long dormant Mount Edgecumbe was about to blow. Having too much time on his hands and unlimited access to used tires, Porky clandestinely hauled several hundred to the nearby volcano’s crater, where he lit them on fire, resulting in a roiling plume of dense black smoke clearly visible to the residents of Sitka below. Porky could have made a fortune in real estate that day-- but he wisely hid until after the smoke cleared.

Porky's classic prank was listed at #14 of the top one hundred hoaxes of all time, at the Museum of Hoaxes: http://www.museumofhoaxes.com/hoax/aprilfool/index A few more examples which illustrate that the natural traits of the gullible are their own Achilles heel:

Most of us would happily witness the landing of the space shuttle except that Edwards Air Force Base is located in a California desert, and not nearly convenient as say, a small regional airport like Montgomery Field in San Diego. When local deejay Dave Rickards announced in 1993 that the shuttle had been diverted for an emergency landing at Montgomery, thousands of curious rubes immediately headed for the field, forgetting there wasn’t even a shuttle in orbit at the time. (Since my dad kept his plane at Montgomery for many years, I can report to you that runway 10L/28R is 4,577 feet long, far too short for shuttle landings). Rickards’ employer was billed by police for traffic control expenses, and thousands went home dejected but wiser.

Greed featured prominently in the 1998 Baltimore Gold Rush. Radio station WQSR announced that the decking of the historic ship Constellation had long concealed a box of gold coins which had recently been found. In a truly magnanimous gesture, the Constellation Restoration Committee voted to use only a portion of the treasure to pay for repairs and decided that the rest of the coins would be given away first come, first served to Maryland residents presenting a valid driver’s license. Hundreds showed up brandishing their licenses, unaware that the Constellation Restoration Committee had been disbanded in the 1970’s.

Nothing stirs passion like politics, so when the electorate was informed by National Public Radio that Richard Nixon (tanned, rested, and ready) was seeking re-election in 1992, thousands of listeners jammed the NPR switchboard with calls of outrage. Later in the show it was admitted that the audio clip of Nixon’s new campaign slogan "I didn't do anything wrong, and I won't do it again" was delivered by comedian-impressionist Rich Little.

So, on this April Fool’s Day, remember that not every erupting volcano is real, be aware of the shuttle’s location at all times, realize that no committee which votes to give away gold can possibly exist, and most importantly, never trust anything you hear from politicians running for president.