Next time, Apple, I'll just Shuffle past your store

I recently bought an Apple iPod Shuffle at Walmart.
Yeah, I know, that's like buying a BMW at one of those low-number, downtown side street used car dealer lots.
But it was new, and I got the service plan with it. So, the Shuffle went "stem up" (an Appleism I invented there). Walmart tells me, "Call this 800 number and they'll set you up."
The 800 number, after a 20-minute wait, says "Oh, just walk into any Apple store and they'll fix you up."
So, OK, the nearest one is at the Fashion Place Mall. I walk in. There's a nearly empty store, but still a young man stands at the front, a gatekeeper. I make the serpentine approach through nonsensical, airport-like chutes, feeling like livestock on the way to be branded.
An apt metaphor, as it turned out.
"I'm here to have my Shuffle repaired or replaced," I say.
"Do you have an appointment?" he sniffs, looking me up and down. I'm feeling like I should've worn slacks, pastel shirt and a sports jacket with some expensive kicks, all of a sudden -- definitely not a hoodie and jeans.
"Appointment? There's hardly anyone here. The service folks said to just drop by, drop this off and you'd fix or replace it," I say, whipping out my service agreement.
"OH. WAL . . . Mart," he smiles with ill-concealed derision. "No, you have to have an appointment, sir," and he waves me toward a nearby terminal.
So, the appointment is made for NEXT Saturday. To drop it off. To be repaired or replaced. Sheesh.
Effete, elitist Apple Jerks.
He wasn't that big, this Apple gatekeeper. I coulda taken him. It's not like he's the doorkeeper at a Queens night club, OK?
But, well, I didn't. It's a one-inch-square iPod Shuffle, for cryin' out loud. And you can be sure, it will be the last Apple product I buy.
Hey, I'm getting older. I'm entitled to unreasonable, vindictive consumer behavior.
Now, if it had been Android, I'd probably have been welcomed into the shed out back, offered ribs and brew, a new player and been offered a look-see at Bubba's classic shootin' iron collection.
... and, I wouldn't have paid $55, either, plus gas, and the irritation.
Grrrr.

Friends, foes and in between: Diamonds in plain sight, or in lumps of mud

Had a nice breakfast with an old friend, former pastor and occasional writing client Saturday, Arni Jacobson.  But friend is how I best describe Arni after a quarter-century of knowing each other.

Good to catch up with someone who just accepts you, flaws and all... and to offer the same back. Over the years, we've explored all facets of those things.

As you get older, you appreciate people more, see them for who they are underneath. Sometimes, the treasure you find is not totally unexpected; you suspected it was there and now, voilà,  there it is, exposed to the bright light of day, in full view. Confirmation.

With others, you have to dig through the mud a bit, pull out that lump of something, wash it off and discover you have had a big old raw, uncut diamond all along.

Each person in your life is a gem to God in some way. If we, as flawed mortals, are able to discover the treasures in our lives by peering under the mundane expectations a lifetime of cynicism brings, we touch the heart and mind of God.

So, as we split a Village Inn breakfast -- I took the scrambled eggs and fruit cup, he the french toast and bacon -- my friend and I talked about what we've learned in our relationships with others -- friends, family, professional acquaintances and colleagues.

It comes down to loving more, forgiving more, and letting resentments go. You come to appreciate, rather than regret the scars. 

I'm a living metaphor for that epiphany.

At least, I do believe I'm getting there.

I'll let you know, from time to time, how that works out.

Common sense is the first casualty of 'gun control' debate

The current "gun control" debate is maddening for its logical fallacies, both circular and "Straw Man" in nature.

I fully understand the angst over the deaths of the innocents in the Sandyhook school shootings and others in the past years.

In all cases, though, these have been mentally ill perpetrators, and in almost all cases, they were using stolen firearms . . . that is, illegally obtained weapons.

Still, some folks are using the shootings as an excuse to "control" legal gun purchases. Some argue for repeal of the Second Amendment, claiming we no longer need it.

Pesky Constitution. Maybe the First Amendment (free speech and expression) should be the next to go? Speak out for the Second, it seems, and you certainly will be slandered and shouted down.

Some insist that "assault weapons" should be banned, when what they really mean is anything that looks scary -- i.e. "military" -- should be banned. The whole term "assault weapons," which applied to civilian models of firearms like AR-15s and AK-47s, etc., is misleading, even dishonest.

The AR-15 is a semi-automatic rifle (one trigger pull, one shot). An M-16, which it resembles, is capable of three-shot burst and fully automatic firing, i.e. a "machine gun." The former is legal, the latter is not for civilian but military use.

I own a .22-cal rifle that holds 20-some shots in a tube inside the stock, a very common weapon for the past 50 years. It is semi-automatic, like most rifles -- except "bolt action" models -- are these days.

Why would that .22 not be an "assault rifle?" Because it doesn't look scary, i.e. it does not have a pistol grip.

So, much of that argument is specious, and simply semantics. Take a pistol grip off the AR-15 and, I guess, it's not an assault rifle any more? Well, it never was.

Then there's the capacity of rifle clips. Some want to limit it to 10 rounds instead of 20 or 30, etc. Really? In Vietnam, my generation's soldiers simply taped one clip to the other, upside down, and it took about a second to flip, lock and load.

Again, a capacity based solution is really an ignorant solution.

But the biggest point the gun control crowd seems to miss is that you can restrict, control, ban, etc. firearms -- but criminals will still have them. That's what a criminal does, after all, break the law. Regardless how many restrictions are passed, all they would do, ultimately, is leave the law-abiding less able to defend themselves.

That is Insane.

But what is also insane is not enforcing background checks for those seeking to buy firearms. Felons, minors, the mentally ill, those with violent records should not be buying firearms. Period.

How anyone could argue with that, I don't know.

Are you listening to that, NRA?

Of church music and the Walking Dead

Had a guest worship band visit today at church. From Athens, GA., Julian Drive is the name.

Nice, hard-driving Southern Rock style. Soulful lyrics, great drummer, lead guitarist, lead singer has good range. . . but he also is a dead ringer for Sheriff Rick in "Walking Dead." 

Slap khaki pants, a badge and slouch hat on him, add couple more days of beard and strap a .44 on his hip and they could be twin brothers. 

An odd image to have in one's head, zombies drifting down the sanctuary aisles amid "Holy, Holy, Holy." It was only a brief mental detour, though. The music was that good. :)

The singer's name is SHANE. Sheriff Rick (actor Andrew Lincoln) has a deputy and best friend named Shane, who unfortunately goes zombie and has to be put down.

Yeah, I have a weird mind. It tends to take little diversions, and at the most inappropriate times.

What can I say? I'm a work in progress.

So, to wrap this up in something of a sane, faith-promoting manner . . . consider that without Christ in our lives, we are all the walking dead. Life and love are in Him.

Maybe the best 'revenge' really is forgiving?

I could only laugh, with not a little bitterness -- tempered by the survivalist humor I've learned to cultivate as an observer of human nature -- when I read of a columnist in my home state of Washington citing commentary on his writings as part of the reason he's hanging it up.
More to the point, Steve Kelley of the Seattle Times referred to the tendency of commenters, protected by anonymity, to slither into the depths of human meanness, cyber-stalking and character assassination. This has become predominant in many of the so-called "public forums" newspapers provide online for their articles.
Most papers have moderators assigned to identify and delete the most egregious comments, and some commenters even get the boot for repeated personal attacks, profanity, racism or bigotry. But it is an easy thing for them to recreate themselves with new "handles" and resume their diatribes.
Such is the case with a former boss of mine. Almost 15 years after I tendered by resignation and left him in his black cloud of impotent rage, the man periodically shows up under various identities. At one point, a moderator at our paper found he had created no less than six identities to comment negatively on every story I wrote.
Each account was terminated and yet he would return. Eventually, his IP addresses were identified and blocked. But it is no difficult thing to change IP addresses, and he has. His most recent identity was that of a faux female, but as always, his bipolar (diagnosed) arrogance was his undoing. Too many little hints dropped in comments here and there.
This time, though, I have asked his account not be deleted. Part of the reason is realization that doing that only feeds his anger and desire for retribution for imagined wrongs. But the larger reason is pity.
His unrelenting hatred, expressed in the comments, gives me regular practice at forgiving. And in a world where so many people act on perceived slights to the harm of themselves and others, at least this is a real, repeated offense.
Life gives us malevolent mysteries, does it not? Instances where we endure the ill-will of someone and never quite figure out, Why?
Sometimes, there is no answer. There is no logic to mental illness, no reasoning with psychosis. So, what else is there to do but forgive?
Maybe Kelley has his own cyber-stalkers and has just decided enough is enough.
As he puts it: “The level of discourse has become so inane and nasty. And it’s not just at the Times, it’s ESPN, everywhere – people, anonymous people, take shots at the story, writers, each other. Whatever you’ve achieved in that story gets drowned out by this chorus of idiots.”
I understand the sentiment. Still, I have to work for a living: Too many people depend on me to just give up.
And, it's just not my nature.
What goes around, comes around. That will happen all by itself; I don't need to push it along.
So, I will continue to forgive. It's been well past Christ's "seventy times seven," in this case.
But the lesson was this: Strike back, hold hatred or offense, and you not only feel the pain of the blow, but you allow it to cripple you spiritually.
And the lesson is this, now: To one for whom much has been forgiven, much forgiveness is expected.
That's me.

Whew. Missed the fiscal cliff. Sorry about the "rich"

OK. No tax hikes for people making $400K individually, or $450K as a family. 

Whew. I was really sweating that. I came THIS close -- a mere 700 percent raise away! Thank goodness there have been no raises at work for several years. I applaud the fiscal insight corporately applied. I do. Honestly.

Well, fine. Not honestly. Sarcasm, dripping and rolling down the chin sarcasm there.

It is good to be employed at all. That is seriously true. I remind myself of that, because so many in my industry no longer have jobs.

They are struggling to survive, while I can whine about years of inflation, price hikes, etc., having shrunk the real dollar value of take home pay by 12 percent or more (not to mention gasoline prices nearly tripled in the past five years, and health insurance premiums more than doubled).

So, dead seriously, I can't feel too much angst for those folks who may have to hold off on that third or fourth car in the garage to pay what they paid when Clinton was president.

Not that taxing the rich does anything to alleviate the fiscal mess our nation has created with waste, fraud, bloated social welfare programs far extended in purpose beyond their original intent, and skyrocketing debt. 

We have to arrive at the point where we realize our government cannot be the nanny for everyone who fails, or in some cases don't even try. We have to allow some consequence for failure. The idea of those who refuse to work, if they are physically able, to avoid the results via the public dole has to be rethought. 

And if Americans are living longer, their work years extended along with their life spans, then does it make sense to have Social Security retirement kick in at an age (65) that was just a few years shy of life expectancy in the 1930s . . . but now is 15-30 years out?

Do we continue to bail out banks and investment firms that game the system, giving millions in bonuses to CEOs who FAIL? Do we continue to borrow to underwrite decades of warfare that extend far beyond their initial, specific goals?

2012: Yes, that is my steel-toed boot in your rear

So long, 2012.
Don't let the door hit you on the arse on the way out . . . because it will be my metaphorical steel-toed boot you feel crushing your nether regions as you tumble yelping into the mists of Time!
Seriously, a friend remarked today that I have had a "terrible" year. Perspective is all, though.
Yes, had to put the folks, suffering Alzheimer's, into an assisted living facility. Yes, had open-heart surgery and now am a Bionic Bob, thanks to a new aortic heart valve.
Yes, survived rounds of layoffs and shuffling at the newspaper where I work. But there it is: SURVIVED.
Neitzsche famously wrote, "That which doesn't kill me, makes me stronger." That, or a version of it, has been a pop music and rap lyric of late, too.
All right, people perhaps conveniently forget that ol' Frederich ended his life nuts, either from syphilis, or perhaps manic-depressive illness that gave way to full-blown psychosis.
This also is the guy who declared God had died, called himself anti-Christ, proposed the idea of Ubermenchen (i.e. Super Men, an idea appropriated by Hitler with rather cataclysmic results).
Frederich also said this, perhaps in honest introspection: "The visionary lies to himself, the liar only to others."
So, OK. I survived. Stronger? Time will tell.
Anxious to make the symbolic leap into a new, hopefully better year? Oh, yes. Happy to be alive, absolutely.
Blessed? Well, that's how I choose to look at it.
And, it is a choice, my friends.
Happy New Year!

Addendum: A hoot of celebration will accompany that boot . . . doctor just called to say I do NOT have lymphoma. Since a swollen lymph node was found two weeks ago, had been waiting on the results of blood and CT scan.  Thanks, Lord.

A condo complex Christmas: It's over, folks.

OK, unless you are Orthodox Christian, Christmas is over now. 

Stop the sickeningly sweet, let's-avoid-reality-while-we-teeter-on-the-fiscal-cliff "holiday" songs. I swear, if I even see Rudolph still nosing around, I just might put one between his eyes, just above that blasted nose.

Take down the tree and lights. Keeping them up does not extend the holiday. Really. 

Your bosses still expect you to show up, the bills still need to be paid and the calendar moves inexorably toward 2013. 

At least, take down the lights on New Year's Day, people. Yeah, that includes you, Bucko, in the next building over . . . yeah, Mr. I'll-Keep-My-Lights-Up-through-Independence-Day, I'm talking to you. 

Oh, and letting your pit bull crap on your third-floor patio does not qualify as "letting the dog out." And kicking Fido's leavings off the patio is not "picking up after your pet," as the HOA requires.

Guess what you are going to find at your door, inside a flaming Christmas stocking? Hint: a lump, but not of coal.

Bah. Humbug.
:)

Christmas: The best gift is generosity of spirit -- and a hug

Merry Christmas, everyone. 
Take time to disengage from the commercial nightmare this holiday (i.e. holy day) has become. 
Take time to hold your loved ones close, to be generous of spirit, to "see" your friends and family by taking memory snapshots of the smiles, and to say "I love you." 
Life is fragile and joy fleeting . . . but every moment spent with love is a deposit in Eternity.

Put the blame where it belongs: within the human heart

Lots of finger-pointing, and not a little hatred being directed these days at the National Rifle Association in particularly, and pretty much anyone who has decided to take defense of their homes and loved ones into their own hands -- rather than depending on overworked and stretched thin law enforcement . . . i.e., gun owners.
I am a gun owner. I have a concealed weapons permit. I took the safety training, and I am proficient, regularly going to a safe, regulated firing range. But I do not, as I've mentioned before, see why anyone needs to full-on military style assault rifle to "defend" his or her person, loved ones or home.
Honestly, assault weapons seem to be a big leap from self defense to an offensive ability more in line with militia movements, which often have political agendas of their own.
But I digress.
There is a lot of debate, and not a little angry name-calling going on, and by folks who, in my opinion, do not have bona fides to speak to any level I feel the need to respect. But I would argue this man, Darrell Scott, has earned the right to be heard.
Not perhaps to be agreed with on every point; but his loss and grief carry a lot more weight we me than some idiot thinking the solution is to strip all law-abiding gun owners of the means to defend themselves -- while, by definition, leaving criminals the undermanned police departments the only ones with weapons. Neither do I think some Bubba with a collection of AR-15s, AK-47s and a bagful of extended capacity clips has the right to speak with authority on the issue, either.
So, whatever side of this debate you find yourself, or if you are in the middle somewhere, I think Darrell Scott has earned a moment of your time.
To read a transcript of what he had to say to Congress in the aftermath of the Columbine massacre, click on this link.
His points, I believe, at least deserve recognition in the wake of recent incidents where madmen have acted to slay the innocent, and perhaps more to the point, the defenseless.