A Quiet Sunday's Observations.

1. Making lots of money is overvalued. Freedom from debt and unnecessary financial obligation is undervalued. It's not how much money you make, it's how much you keep after you've paid your bills.
2. All objects attract objects of their own kind. Cars, people, money. No matter where I park someone will park near me.No matter where I sit, someone sits near me. I do not understand this phenomenon.
3. My great grand-kids will have no knowledge of me or my life. What do I know about my grandparent's parents?
4. Everyone deserves "do-overs" in life. But life shouldn't be one do over after another.
5. Nature doesn't dispense anything in measured proportions.
6. Over-evaluating anything produces confusion and disappointment.
7. Contentment is a choice.
8. Being right doesn't justify being annoying.
9. The hurt we receive is the hurt we inflict.
10. Every generation creates its own hierarchy of virtues. 
11. The mob is always wrong.

On the Virtue of Wasting Time.

I have long held the belief that the average American does not have enough respect for the fine art of wasting time.

Before you indict me for being un-American, I do not mean being lazy. On the contrary, enjoyable time-wasting is the result of a life employed with normal work. Nothing makes leisure as enjoyable as work, if you know what I mean.

Wasting time is doing nothing in particular, enjoyably. It may include gardening, cooking, knitting, day dreaming, fishing, reading, sitting by the window, or any host of other things.

Wasting time is not usually television-watching, or browsing the web, or playing video games. Healthy wasted time is contemplative with no primary purpose attached to the action except its enjoyment. It is a nap. A walk. A crossword puzzle. It is fishing when catching a fish is a surprise not an expectation. Sometimes it is just getting bored. (The modern mind needs a little boredom, or a time when all the "alerts" in one's body and mind are put into sleep-mode, and sorry for the computer metaphor).

The high watermark of time wasting has a serendipitous quality to it, like a walk that ends in an enjoyable but unplanned conversation, or a detour into a used bookstore that leads to a book you have long wanted.

Leisure, the word once used for the contemplative times of one's life, is considered by classical philosophers to be a hallmark of an advanced civilization, and is only possible when the necessities of life have been supplied.

But unlike leisure years ago, modern leisure is organized, codifed, and usually has a mission attached to it. Something to give meaning to the action. It is the difference between the pick-up baseball games at the park when I was a kid and the uber-organized Select League baseball today. It is the difference between the average simple wedding of 1950 and the average stage performance we call a wedding today. And socially, it is "networking," (a damnable word) instead of meeting friends at the pub for a pint and a smoke. Even dying can not escape our desire to infuse more meaning into our lives, or so suggests the movie, The Bucket List.

I am not sure all the reasons we are the way we are, but certainly one reason is that our modern ethos equates "success" on earth with success in heaven, as seen in the countless "God wants you to be healthy and rich" religious television broadcasts, and in the non-religious but identical, "Success in Life" programs.  Somewhere in the last few hundred years we have replaced self-sacrifice with enlightened self-interest, the Fiat of the Virgin Mary with the empowerment Ayn Rand. . . but I digress. . .

I know that planning and organization are all good things, as is the accumulation of enough wealth to live a happy life, but the end is the good life not the planning of a good life. One of the joys of living in America is that it just works. I love that about our country and I am continually amazed at how efficient we are. But efficiency is not a god by which all is judged. It is a servant of happiness not its master. Life is not a performance to be captured on video, there is no audience applause at the end of it.  If one can take anything from our Buddhist friends, it is that the moment, the now, is to get our attention.

Our way of living is to video now, experience later. It is odd and I am as guilty as anyone.

But I am getting old and old people have thoughts like this.

----------------------------------------------------------------------
Written with my apologies to the following authors and their books:

Josef Pieper / Leisure: The Basis of Culture

Walker Percy / Love in the Ruins

Max Weber / The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism

Prometheus and the Invisible.

Fire has come a long way since the day of the Promethean gift. I am reading in today's New York Times of a recent experiment to bend light waves around an object so that the object, a beach ball say, disappears -- at least to one's sight.

It was the Titan god, Prometheus, who started man on this quest to conquer his domain, when he, Prometheus, stole fire from the lightning bolt of Zeus and gave it as a gift to mankind. Zeus punished Prometheus because he feared it would make man like gods.

But equipped with fire, we began our first steps to conquer the world around us. Now thousands of years later Zeus' lightning has been harnessed, wired, transmitted, and even re-directed.

We can be not only warm in winter, but cool in summer, well-lit in the day and night, transported without the effort of walking, and entertained without the effort of thinking. All good things but things which give us a false sense of mastery over the natural order.

The grand and insignificant can easily humble us -- a hurricane cuts off the electricity in subfreezing weather, or a couple of birds fly into a jet engine -- either way, and the unforgiving natural laws conquer us. The separation between life and death is literally inches, seconds, degrees, or molecules away. The fragility of our existence is staggering.

The more we conquer this world the more we separate ourselves from its grim reality and the Olympians who can swallow us and leave no trace.

So I am conflicted about science and progress. The good I enjoy, the evil troubles me. And its effect on the mind and soul is "to be announced" many years from now.

Maybe Zeus was right.

A Hard Day's Night

Music appreciation is a very personal concern. The following comments are as objective as I can be -- because, I was a fan, from 1964 and on.

"And here they are . . . the Beetlls."If you are old enough you remember the odd pronunciation of Ed Sullivan as he introduced them to America on Sunday evening prime time television. It was madness. By 1970, when they dis-banded, there wasn't a venue big enough to hold fans for a Beatles concert. It is difficult to imagine a group being that kind of musical phenomenon, now 40 years later. Sergeant Peppers changed popular music maybe as much as Elvis did. Many of us can still recite the entire album by heart, or close to it. The album covers of Peppers, Abbey Road and the White Album are commonly recognized even today. A few of their songs approach a kind of greatness that very few songs reach. Let It Be and While My Guitar Gently Weeps come to mind. This was music that was liked, that was genuine, and which was not just popular with an age group, but nearly defined them. Sinatra and Elvis are the only others that fit that category in the 20th century. More recently, the Dave Matthews Band reminds me of the Beatles, but has never reached the broad popularity that was achieved by the above mentioned three, though I think his music is almost as good.

The Tribute concert at Bass Hall tonight and tomorrow night is kind of ironic considering what the Beatles represented in their last few years of performing, that is, anything but the comfortable lifestyles of we 50 plusers, but it does say, again like Elvis and the Chairman, people will be singing their music and reminding us of them for a long time to come.

I wish them well. "Yesterday, all my troubles seem so far away . ."

--------------------------------------------

1964 -- The Tribute
Bass Hall
August 1 - August 2

"The resemblance was uncanny -- it sent shivers down my spine. It was just like the boys. Never have I seen another group go to such detail. Born again Beatles!" -- Alistair Taylor, former President of Apple Records

Honoring the Normal Guy.

picture from Library of Congress via pingnews



It is Memorial Day. The day we commemorate American war veterans, and particularly the men and women who died in service to their country. Today, family and friends, and maybe a church or neighborhood, will say things like, "remember how he loved football, or how nervous she was on her first date, or how he always fell asleep in church." That is the how we remember our sons and daughters, in public anyway, our more cherished memories we tend to keep to ourselves. No one will author a book, or direct a movie in the name of the soldier we know. They were, one day, normal teenagers, the next in boot camp, then a battle field, and then . . .

This soldier lived a normal life made heroic by an act of duty, or a sense of adventure, or just because he didn't know what else to do, it matters not, he was there in battle. What does matter is his or her acceptance of an obligation to be just a soldier, not a fashionable sensibility in these days of entitlement. No one is little anymore. No one is uncertain. The soldier who dies in service is anachronistic to an age where everything is supposed to be "mutually beneficial."

So here's to the normal soldier, today the rest of us, with admiration, join your small circle of friends.

Maybe it's True . . .

It seems beauty really can save the world, or at least a part of it.

60 Minutes reported on a man in Venezuela who has been teaching poor and at-risk city youth, boys and girls, how to read music, play instruments and perform in a symphony. And not just any music, they are learning classical composers like Beethoven and Bach. The program is called El Sistema, started in 1975 by José Antonio Abreu, and now consisting of 300,000 children, the best of whom perform internationally under the direction of conductor Gustavo Dudamel, himself a former student of Senor Abreu and El Sistema.

The phrase, "Beauty will save the world," taken from a Dostoevsky novel, has been quoted and interpreted by hundreds of writers including Alexander Solzhenitsyn, who said this,

. . . there is a special quality in the essence of beauty, a special quality in the status of art: the conviction carried by a genuine work of art is absolutely indisputable and tames even the strongly opposed heart. One can construct a political speech, an assertive journalistic polemic, a program for organizing society, a philosophical system, so that in appearance it is smooth, well structured, and yet it is built upon a mistake, a lie . . . and one has faith in them—yet one has no faith.

These at-risk youth were never persuaded as to what constitutes a good life, they fell in love with something good, which is what beauty is, and now it seems a couple hundred thousand kids are doing something well and loving it. And in a way experiencing a good, or at least a better, way of life.

The report is worth seeing, especially the little 14 year old girl who plays the trumpet, or the blind boy that plays the violin at the end. If that doesn't get you, you're not breathing. It's all pretty good stuff.

The 60 Minutes report:
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/04/11/60minutes/main4009335.shtml

---------------------------

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
John Keats / Ode to a Grecian Urn

--------------------------

Who Put the Salt in Salt Water?

photo by Patchouly/Flickr

I read once of the possibility, in odds, of the millions of variables necessary to keep life sustainable on earth, just happening as it were, accidentally. It wasn't a bet my bookmaker buddies would make.

It computed out-in-space factors like earth's distance from the sun, the sun's size and temperature, the existence of earth's one moon, the numbers and sizes of planets in our solar system that have gravitational pull on earth, and other more minute aspects of everyday things, like the air we breath, its finely regulated chemical composition, and the fact that the atmosphere protects us from dangerous solar rays.

Then at the beach the other day looking out into the ocean I thought of salt water.

What if the oceans weren't salty? What if they were like lakes? What would that do to the earth's ecosystem? And where did the salt come from? How did nature know what proportions of salt and H2O to use?

We don't appreciate the complexity of things whether distant or near, because like breathing air, many of our actions are involuntary and we don't have to understand them to benefit from them. I just open my eyelid, and I see, and I understand. I never say to myself, open eyelid - see - interpret object. It just happens. It's kind of magical really. But get one teeny chemical disproportion, anywhere in the body, and like a tiny grain of sand in your eye, the whole system breaks down.

I think one can deduce with some intellectual honesty, that a First Cause or Prime Mover is a good bet. The question of who or what that First Cause is another question. But that there is something greater than the universe seems perfectly plausible to me.

Taxi !

I have made no secret of the fact that I have been spending more time in Philly than in Fort Worth. One obvious difference between the two cities is population and traffic density, and wherever you have density, you have taxis, and in Philadelphia, they are everywhere.

Now, I'm fortunate to be able to walk to work. And I walk in the evening. If you walk a lot, you see people waving down a taxi day and night. After a while you group together, in your mind, the more interesting approaches. Here's a short list of the folks I see, and their method:

1. The Business man hail is performed with a slight briefcase rise while looking at the cab and then his watch. It's the least pretentious, most common, and the least enjoyable to watch.
2. The Girls Night Out hail is a fun one. Several ladies stroll out of a club in the evening in their inimitably, giggly-girl way. One is the fun-loving but take charge type who waves down the taxi like waving to a sailor going off to sea. Lots of arm movement with a high pitched "Yoohoooo." No concern for machismo coolness, just bring that sucker to mama.
3. Similarly, there is the Three Guys Strolling out of bar in their, "I think she wanted me kind of way," and all three want to do the hailing. If the first guy hails and fails, he's in trouble. Then guy two steps up and says, "step aside bonehead, let me show you how it's done." If he fails, and the third guy gets the cab, his success makes him top dog until the next competition. We can't help it that's just the way we are.
4. Then there's the tourist, "Is this how you hail a cab?" arm wave. They always look surprised, but especially pleased when one stops.
   
5. There are two annoying approaches. First is the "Girl picks up Guy" hail outside the bar. As the girl drags her prey to the curb, she gives a jerky wave to a taxi after saying, "I'll get the cab." Poor sucker, I think, get out while you can. The other annoying one is the overly stuck on himself guy who hails the cab and gets annoyed when cabs are full and don't respond. I've been tempted to body check his macho ass to the curb as I pass, but I don't. I see a lot of these two.
6. My favorite for observation is the guy with New date hail. The lovebirds step out of a restaurant and guy hails cab like James Bond stepping out of a casino in Monte Carlo. I love to watch this one if the girl responds with "Oh, James" admiration. If the guy doesn't act too much like, "the world responds to my command," but instead acts humbly, and even a little self-deprecating, he scores major points with the girl. I'll often stop walking to finish watching this one.

If you have never hailed a cab on a busy city street, add it to your list of simple pleasures to enjoy before full retirement. My wife and I need a taxi every month or so, and I have to admit that it is a particularly satisfying feeling to step outside one's apartment, raise one's hand in hail fashion and within 10 seconds have a car pull up and a driver who says, "where to?"
"The airport, please" I say, as I open the door for my wife. . . unfortunately, she doesn't seem that impressed.

Random Thoughts on the Bible, Art and Lent.

I use iGoogle as my home page. There are three columns on the webpage: the center column is news and email, the right is the list of stocks in which I am losing money, and the left column is the time and the "gadget," The Bible and Art.

I know many readers have an interest in the arts, whether it be music, film, or one of the many others, and a few in religion. And that some find religion specious at best, others downright repugnant. At the ripe old age of 55, with as many mistakes that I have made and flaws that I have, I am no man's judge or critic.

I do consider myself fortunate to believe, even imperfectly, in the earthly reality of certain religious persons and the revealed stories about them. And because of that, to the arts related to those persons. Like this Caravaggio, Ecce Homo or Behold the Man, a work that deserves some contemplation during Lent.

And fortunate to be a participant in 6,000 years of Jewish, Roman, Greek and now Christian history and culture. I can, as they say, "enter the conversation," a privilege I never forget. And to consider the truth or falsity of the same propositions that men for thousands of years have been considering.

Mozart's Requiem, Shakespeare's King Lear, Beethoven's Ninth, make me think that maybe Dostoevsky was right when he wrote, "Beauty Can Save the World." It is the magnet that attracts everyone. It is Goodness and Truth in the flesh, and it transforms even a casual observer. To bring the thought back to this weblog's theme, to observe a fine meal is one thing, to partake in it is another.

None of this truth or beauty exists in vacuo, without a culture; something else I never forget.

I add these photos of art because I like them, so there you have it -- that and a quarter will . . .

On Hot Chocolate and Cold Weather. To Meg.

One of the joys of being raised in the colder climes was snow.

What is to accomplishment-minded adults a nuisance, and to skiers a medium of thrill, is to children, well, instant Magic Kingdom.

First, God in his most infinite wisdom put the snow season and the school season at the same time of year. So, not only was I playing outside all day, but I was playing outside all day on a day I would have otherwise been sitting in a school classroom. The choice between watching the red, second-hand move ever-so-slowly on the classroom clock or playing in the snow was not a difficult one. The ultimate in good fortune was the winter hat-trick: a big snow one day prior to the Christmas holiday, resulting in one extra day off, plus no homework for 2 weeks, and Christmas right in the middle. Wow. Talk about Peace on Earth.

Another beauty of snow for a child is that it is like playing in dirt without getting dirty. The possibilities of engagement are endless. Snowmen, snowballs, sledding, toboganning, igloo forts, and for the industrious there's even shoveling the neighbors' driveways for a few bucks.

Speaking of neighbors, our gathering place on snow days was the hedge row in Mr. Sincock's yard, strategically situated about 6 feet from Sandra Road. It was there we could crouch down, wait for a snow-slowed cars to roll by, and then bombard the car with snowballs as it passed. If the car stopped for the driver to get out and yell at us, or even better, to get out and chase us, we could, like little field mice, make our escape across Mr. Grady's backyard and then into the endless maze of backyards, secret passageways, and fences. It was never a contest between chaser and chased but the running escape was a thrill.

My sister (Meg) reminded me the other day about my mother's hot chocolate at the end of a day in the snow, and that is what I started to write about, but the snow, I guess it was something I hadn't thought about in a long while. So,

Tomorrow: my mother's homemade, real-milk, hot chocolate at the end of a snow day, and what I did to make it even better.

Honky Tonks & Dance Halls

I happen to like words.

Put a few of them together and you get a phrase, a clause, or even a sentence, the yeoman of language because it is a complete idea with a subject and an action, as in, "Jesus wept." String together related sentences and you enlarge the idea into the form of a paragraph. Relate enough words in sentences and paragraphs and you can write a whole book. Amazing.

All that to say that the lowly word is important. That's preface 1.

Preface 2.
One of the things you learn when you write a weblog is that your readers know more than you do, and if you "wing it" with your words, as I do, you will get caught.

Such was the case in the Gruene Hall post.

Now The Point (I try to have one):
I referred to Gruene Hall as a honky tonk and was informed by reader pkparks that it was a dance hall. And that there is a difference. My mistake. Gruene Hall does bill itself as the oldest Dance Hall in Texas, not Honky tonk. In my defense, Wikipedia defines a honky tonk as "a type of bar with musical entertainment common in the Southwestern and Southern United States." and if you do a search of "dance halls" on Google, the first website on the list is "Honky-Tonk Directory."

That aside, I enjoy these kinds of distinctions and I want to know the difference. If someone can enlighten me, I would be most appreciative.

Pkparks also referred us to the website dedicated to preserving Texas dance halls, here it is, http://www.texasdancehall.org.

Speaking of Yahoo. And Comics.

If you use Yahoo as home on your browser, you notice how they continuously update their news. Decisions for what gets in and what gets moved out is made by a small group of people at Yahoo headquarters. Some news items are there for very brief periods, others stay all day, depending partly on the "hits" it receives, which in itself is an interesting and scary social phenomenon.

A few days ago I noticed, on their news, an announcement of an upcoming Captain America movie. An hour later I went back to find the story and it was gone. I did find it later through on an internet search and was surprised to find that it has been known about in movie-circles for over six months. I recall several conversations with my sons over the years about the viability of a Captain America movie (usually when we are leaving a comic book themed movie) and we have agreed that the mood of the country just didn't fit what Captain America was all about. Maybe we're wrong. I'm going to be as interested in how they present Steve Rogers/Captain America as I am in the movie plot itself.

I hope it works, I wish them well. How the creators will pull it off in the world we live in I don't know. Popular patriotism is not popular. Supposedly, it won't be a strictly period piece, that is, it will move back and forth from the 40's to the present.

As much of a Marvel guy as I am, I think the Batman Begins film may be the best in the comic book genre. And behind that SpiderMan 1. My favorite superhero had the worst movie of all -- and that would be, Daredevil.

The Rules of the Road

Traveling is the great equalizer. Rich, famous, poor and unknown, everyone gets pretty much the same bad treatment. Frequent travelers do get a little better treatment, but only if you are a high mileage traveler and even then the industry has gotten so competitive that frequent travelers get knocked around.

We all complain about crowded conditions, extra charges, and poor service, but cost is driving the industry and you can't have budget flights and premier services. Today, airplanes are just flying bus and taxi-services. They are low cost, easy to access and bad at service. Why? The public prefers low price to high service. I just can't complain about a $200 round-trip flight to Philadelphia when it would cost me $500 to drive and take me 4 times as long. I just shut my eyes and ears and embrace the 3 hour pain.

Here's what I do to increase my comfort and lower my cost:

• Look for "Last Minute Deals". Flights from DFW to Philadelphia (PHL) roundtrip run anywhere from $200 - 600, depending on how early in advance you book and what the demand is. Last week I was looking for a last minute flight from PHL - DFW round trip for a long weekend home. $600. Then I noticed on the Travelocity tab a little button that said, "last minute flights": $315 plus 3-day car. I hit the tab thinking there must be a catch somewhere. But to my amazement, I got a direct flight on American plus a car with Alamo for around $350 including tax. By the way, the American Airlines website showed nothing under $600 round trip.
• I have used Priceline for hotel rooms but don't like them for flights because of the weird flight hours you get.
• Arrive early at the airport and ask for an exit-row seat. The extra foot makes a big difference if you are 6 feet or over.
• Enterprise Rent A Car has great rates, great service, and if they aren't busy they will often upgrade you for free.
• If I'm in a hurry and on business I like Hertz. No waiting in lines, on-line booking and your car is waiting when you arrive.
• Call me crazy, but I wear a coat and tie when I travel and I get treated better than people that don't.
• If possible travel light so that your luggage is above your seat. It saves time and will have your luggage lost eventually if you don't.
• God's gift to the noise sensitive: foam earplugs. Great for the airplane and hotel, and inexpensive. Just try it on the airplane next time you travel. The noise level on an airplane is very high, the earplugs will relax you immediately.
• TripAdvisor. I get a lot of help by reading the hotel reviews on Tripadvisor. One piece of advice though. Not every complaint is legitimate. Look for repeated complaints on the same issue.
• I promise you this: a new low-price hotel is often better than an old high price hotel. In hotels, age matters.
• Check the weather at the departure, arrival and connecting cities: my sister had to go to Des Moines recently and flew through St. Louis instead of Chicago. Good thing, Chicago had bad weather and delayed flights.
• International travelers especially should look into sites like boo.com for advice and reviews. Another interesting site is VibeAgent.com, a kind of of Facebook for travelers.

Finally, some day I'll introduce you to my son and have him tell you about traveling the buses and taxis in Ecuador. You'll never be tempted to complain again.

Today's Suggestion to the World:

Never preface bad news.

Everyone has to deliver the bad news occasionally. When you do, start with the worst part, keep it short, and never preface it with long explanations.

Pretty simple, right? But, we always went to preface the bad news with a, "sit down for a minute, I need to explain something that happened, that probably is not too good," type sentence, which gives the recipient 10 to 20 seconds to consider dozens of catastrophes waiting to befall him. Remember the war movies where two stoic looking military men are walking up a long driveway as mom watches from a kitchen window? She knows why they are coming but the 20 seconds it takes for them to get to the front door and deliver the news are the longest she will ever have. That's what it's like for the recipient when you ramble on about things before getting to the point.

I had some good news to give my wife the other day and I was "prefacing" away to the point where she finally interrupted and said, "Is the end good or bad?" I said "good" and continued with my too-long introduction. Don't do that with bad news.

Say it, then explain it. That way the recipient knows exactly what the subject is.

Do You Read the Newspaper?

In the tradition of separating humanity into two and only two groups on any given topic, I propose the following question:

Do you or do you not read the newspaper (in paper format)?

Please complete the poll to the right.

For the record, I am a "newspaper reader", and may possibly be an, "inveterate newspaper reader". My habit is the following:
1. Fort Worth Star-Telegram
a. Front page: glance the headlines.
b. Local and Business sections: read fairly in depth.
c. Sports: depends on the day and if it is baseball season. Baseball and basketball boxscores.
d. Obituaries.
By the way, the S-T was at the front of the internet news curve. Some of you might remember Startext, a non-graphical interface (like the old Compuserve) bulletin board, that had news, forums, sports scores, etc. When AOL came out with a "GUI" interface to the news and email I think Startext slowly went away. Their new newspaper, on-line-as-it-is-on-paper, is superb.
2. Wall Street Journal
a. Amazing breadth and depth of coverage for business, government and, of course, investing. I look forward to the Friday, House of Worship and de gustibus sections; and Saturdays, Arts and Leisure section.
b. Their letters to the editor are often great reading.
c. Read any Peggy Noonan editorial.

Occasional reading
3. New York Times. The best Sunday edition of any newspaper (worth the $5). Obituaries are the best in the world. I like to read what nonsense editorialist Maureen Dowd is promoting.
4. USA Today - Newspaper snobs don't like it but it's a good newspaper. Their puzzle section is great, and the crossword is slightly easier the Times.
5. Fort Worth Business Press. I usually pick one up at Kinkaids, then get glares from the wife as I side-read it over hamburgers and conversation. Good coverage of local business people and listings of "top 20" in particular industries.

See today's paper, for an article on blogs in and on Fort Worth: http://www.star-telegram.com/metro_news/story/285213.html

Faith, Hope, Love and Good Pasta

This is the weekly, Food and Faith segment. If that sounds about as exciting as watching grass grow, move to the next post, I understand.

The interconnectedness of faith and food is as old as man -- or woman, since it was Eve who first bit into the apple. One can hardly turn a page in the Bible without finding a reference to food and drink: Jehovah rained manna from heaven on hungry, Jewish refugees, Esau sold his birthright for a mess of pottage, and Psalm Twenty-three’s, “he leads me beside still waters...my cup runneth over” are some of the Good Book’s most familiar passages.

In the Christian era, the first recorded miracle of Christ was at a wedding, occasioned by a shortage of wine. One of Jesus’ sermons required loaves and fishes to be distributed before he could begin, and the Last Supper was, well, a supper.

The literary world is no different. My literary friends tell me that a characteristic of the comic genre is that the comedy ends in a wedding or celebration. Something like, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, I think. Imagine that without food and wine.

Find a love story and you are soon to find dinner. It’s just the way we are, food and love are complementary. Which reminds me that, charity, the highest form of love, is often expressed by feeding someone who is hungry. “If you do this for the least of my brethren you are doing it to me.” Just preparing a meal for loved ones is an act of charity.

All of this to say that I hope the materialists never win the battle for the American soul, where food is sustenance and pleasure without faith, charity and community. As Leon Kass puts it in his book, The Hungry Soul, men don't feed at troughs they dine at tables. Something is different here.

Man is not just a complicated collection of molecules. Nor is he an embodied soul. He is body and soul in a mysterious union, and the daily activities of charitable men are holy simply by their doing them. That is, it is not just turning water into wine that is good, but also drinking the wine made from water.

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I Miss The Ticket (the ticket?)

When you are away from home for a while, and when you have lived at that home with a certain routine for a while, you start to miss things. Restaurants, churches, parks, kids, grandkids, and all things local and not transportable. The Ticket (KTCK 1310) is one of them. Yes, I miss The Ticket. http://www.theticket.com
I spent a lot of time in a car in the Dallas-Fort Worth area and they got me through some long, boring stretches. The Morning Musers -- JubJub, Junior, and the occasionally annoying Gordon (yes, I heard you interview Cheech or Chong and you deserved to be hungup on). Norm, whom I have listened to since the "I Am not a Jock Club" (love ya' Norm). I even miss Bob and Dan, even if Dan whines too much. And, of course, the #1 show, the HardLine -- Greggo, Reiner (yes, Reiner) and the old yuck-monk himself, Corby.
A few of my nostalgic favorites:

• The first Compound Radio Week was the best radio program(s) ever.
• Corby's original overcusser, I really did drive off the road, I was bent over in laughter.
• The "Cat, don't tell Reins", fake Greggo call-in, I have played dozens of times, which reminds me that Greg's admission on public airwaves was as good as good gets. Not too many guys would do that.
  
• Fake Jerry and all things fake.
• Norm broadcasting from his kitchen after the operation.
  
• Over the top Gordon when Norm was admitting some temptations he struggles with and Gordon wouldn't let up. I was mad at Gordon but riveted to the radio.
  

I listened while driving because it's a bunch of guys talking about what guys talk about, which is often sports, but also women, food, music, TV, movies, high-tech gadgets, politics and religion. Mostly unimportant, but the conversation is relaxing. Sports for most of us is a way of relaxing from whatever is eating at us; we play it poorly, or did, and like watching other guys play it well, but it's only one interest, which is what most "sports" shows miss. As my son has observed while listening to sports talk in San Antonio, most sports talk shows are hosted by self-important sports guys who talk sports with radio voice but who don't get "it", and the "it" is they sound fake because they are fake. That's true in San Antonio, Philadelphia, and everywhere else I have ever been. I don't listen to the sports shows here, not because they are Philadelphia fans but because the shows lack the authenticity that The Ticket has. I try but at some point I start looking for a bridge to drive off of, it's that bad.
I could listen on the internet, I know, but it's not the same, most of my listening has been in the car. I want to be in a car on a wide freeway, fighting traffic and talking back to the Ticket talk radio. I miss the mellifluous sound of Reins' gravel voice:
"It's five-forty-toooa, and we'll be back . . . on The Ticket, (the ticket?)."
Those were good times. I'll be home soon boys. (hmmm, gay or not gay?)

Food and Faith Sunday: Thoughts on the Obituary.

Everyday, in the morning paper, I find myself reading one or two of the thirty-odd obituaries. I’m not sure why I do this but I do. I have wondered if it is for the simple reason of wanting to see if someone whom I know has died; that has happened only twice in twenty years, so I think it must be something else. But more on that later.
The ritual begins by glancing at the black-ink only photographs and then reading the detail of the two or three pictures that catch my eye. Today, I read the brief stories of three lives: a World War II veteran whose picture is from his younger uniformed days, a handsome, round-faced, black preacher, and a middle-aged mom who died of cancer, survived by a long list of family and friends. These and most obituaries have an abbreviated sadness in the writing, but not always. One recent obituary registered the young man’s nickname as “Cheeseburger”. He looked like someone you would call “Cheeseburger”. I liked him immediately and read about his life-abbreviated. I am sorry to say that every day there are pictures of the unfortunate young, sixteen to thirty years of age. It is painful to look into the photographed eyes of an eighteen year old girl, who is happy and hopeful, but who has ended this life prematurely.
“Mary, Mother of God pray for her”.
I also read and save obituaries of famous people, or unusual people, or people I have admired, or some just because the story is written well. Like Garrison Keillor’s memoir of JFK Jr., whose untimely death in 1999 made national news. I have newspaper clippings with the obituaries of Cardinal O’Conner, the archbishop of New York, Fr. William “Buzzy” O’Neill, my high school religion teacher and retired football coach, who taught us about religion and how to run football's draw play. Alec Guinness, the actor, Guy Boccacile, a friends father that I knew and who knew opera as it was performed in the old country, and Jacky Worth, a childhood and lifelong friend. Bulldog Turner and Angelo Bertelli, two old football players who lived colorful lives the kind that are frowned upon today. And just recently, Luciano Pavarotti, the world's greatest tenor and Madelaine Engle, the author of A Wrinkle in Time. May they both rest in peace.
One sets aside ones political and philosophical bents in obituaries because death is the final event before the dark glass in this world becomes clear in the next. It’s when we admit that our foe was also a friend, we just never told him. Or maybe that he was a sonofabitch, but that he was our sonofabitch.
I guess that’s the reason I like them, they allow us to submit to the old dictum that love covers a multitude of sins. Obituaries are announcements of death and last public declarations of affection and appreciation; but there is more than function that draws the casual reader. They are a way of knowing someone and of conversing with someone otherwise unknown even if that knowing and conversation is one way. For now.

I Read the News Today Oh Boy . , .

Fort Worth Star Telegram. August 8, 2007,
Front Page:

756.

Barry Bonds, on the evening of August 7th, surpassed Henry (Hank) Aaron's home run record set in 1974, which was the record of Babe Ruth set in 1935. The baseball viewing public, for the most part, sighed.
I have no animosity towards Mr. Bonds and the other doped up players who have changed what baseball statistics mean, it's just that when one man passes another man in accomplishment you want the "passer" to be doing it the way same way the "passee" had to. That's the American way. Hank Aaron couldn't have weighed 175. Bond's artificially weighs in at 225. And it's muscle, the kind that gets so big the bones can't handle it and break under the load. Read the Star Telegram Sports section for 8/08/07. Look at the statistics. The home run stats skyrocket when Bonds ballooned up on steroids. Is that fair to Aaron, Ruth and Mays? I think not.
Who is to blame? Bonds? Baseball's Bud (get a spine) Selig? TV money? You and "win at any cost" me? I don't know, but deconstructed baseball statistics tarnish the history, record-keeping, and charm of the game, and something ought to be done to correct it.
My childhood hero was Willie Mays. The best all around baseball player -- ever. If you were starting a team and told you could have any center fielder in history, you would pick Mays. Willie got to 660, all time. The steroided, muscle- bound players diminish what Willie did, and Hank, and Babe. Baseball fans love the numbers that are a part of the mysterious attraction of this game, 60. . . 61. . . 714. . . Aaron passed it fairly to 755, Bonds didn't at 756. Football's different. Basketball's different. There is nothing akin to the numbers and statistics in those games. What's their equivalent to our beloved ERA, Won/loss, batting average and home runs? Tony Romo's quarterback rating? It's just not the same. Now the numbers that we love, in the game we love have less permanent meaning.
The picture above is of my three boys who were with me when Sosa hit 600 at the Ballpark in Arlington, just last month. I hypocritically cheered for him, he was a Ranger rookie and loved by the fans, but all four of us said the same thing. It was a great moment in sports but it wasn't without a sense of "it shouldn't be this way". Sosa is as jacked up as Bonds. Maybe it's just the imperfection of the world within the game I love that is hard to accept. But for me, the Great Game has had a bad day.
For the record:
Here's how the record now stands:
Bonds - 756
Aaron - 755
Ruth - 714
Mays - 660
Sosa - 604

Who Should Read These Reviews (or is it whom)

When I am searching for reviews, whether it be a hotel, restaurant or attraction, I am looking for a reviewer with similar tastes. Makes sense, right? Generic reviews with stars and dollar signs don't help me much and internet sites that promote restaurants for a commission aren't reliable either. If a site has many reviews of the same place I look for consensus, and if there is an email attached to a review I liked, I email the person with particular questions. Everyone likes to share experiences of restaurants discovered. And they are most often answered. But always remember that the reviewer may and probably does place importance on different features. For instance, in hotels: I prefer a hotel with windows that open and is a little off the main thoroughfares. Why? Hotel air is often stale, and I prefer quiet over the sounds of engines racing by. (Westin, La Cantera, San Antonio, is perfect on both counts) If it's quiet, I can put up with a lot of other things. I don't do room service, not just because it's expensive but mostly because it's bad. I rarely eat in the hotel restaurant, unless it caters to outside clientèle as well. And I could do without half the furniture in a room. Now, you are different, you may want a location that is convenient and a room with apple-butter soap, and that is the frustration hotels have to deal with, but when I look for a review I try to find someone with similar tastes. Same with restaurants, my interest is in the meal, obviously, but also, the noise level inside and whether there is a place to walk afterwards. And I like simple, uncluttered tastes, I'm not big on lots of spices. And I dislike the trends in plate presentation. I also prefer locally owned establishments over the massive chains, most of the time. But that's me.
You will find these reviews of interest if you like:
1. Fruits and vegetables in season.
2. Meat that is juicy and not overcooked.
3. Friendly hosts, but not too friendly.
4. Someone that cares whether the food is prepared properly.
5. Spices, marinades that enhance flavor not take over flavor
5. Places not too hip, you pay extra to be on the front end of style.
6. Places with a repeat, local business.
7. Substance over style.
To that final item, I remember driving through Baja California, Mexico and stopping at a little taqueria for tacos. The cook was hand-making the corn tortillas when she noticed some dust on the window sill. She brushed off the dust with the back of her hand a couple of times, seemed satisfied that the establishment was now clean and went straight back to hand slapping the tortillas. I figured a little dust was probably good for me and ate the tacos heartily. They were delicious. That's extreme but you get the point.