Thursday, December 31, 2009

My Wife is a Bitch VS Clint Walker...and the Winner is?

Writing tends to be a very solitary business. I know there are some people who write in teams, but for most of us, it's one on versus the blank page. So, writing teaches you a lot...not only about the subjects that you write about, but also about yourself. I have continued to learn more about myself this last year or so since I started writing this blog. Some good things...some not so good. But I've learned. I have also learned even more about people out there in the world.

I have written on a wide range of topics: religion, politics, fact, fiction, family stories, entertainment, etc. All of the experts say you should stick to one basic topic if you want to be successful and build a following, but I obviously haven't. Doing so may have cost me some readers, but I am a man of many diverse interests and I would like to think that most people are the same way. So I have, and will continue to write on a wide range of topics.

I have had hits from all over the United States and all over the world. Every continent but Antarctica (come on you Antarticans, get on the job!)and almost every country. This has been one of the most surprising elements to me about my blog: the wide range of my readership. But, there has been something even more enlightening than that...the topics people have chosen to read.

My number one blog in readership has been...My Wife is a Bitch, which most readers have come to after googling...are you ready? MY WIFE IS A BITCH! Not for my blog mind you, but probably to find some like minded man who is pissed off at his wife. That is why most of those hitting that article don't stay...once they find out it's a loving tribute to my wife, they leave. The second most popular really surprised me: Clint Walker...maze of memories. I've had a couple of thousand people come to read that one. Most have stayed and read it, then read other articles on my site. I hope Mr. Walker gets word of this and learns how not only great an impact his life has had on people, but how long lasting. I know he did on mine.

Time to move forward in life, and into next year. So, with that in mind, I'm asking all of you to come and visit my radio blog
The inaugural show is Tuesday, January 5Th. Come and listen to the Dumb Ass...and I pray all of you have a great New Year...

Monday, December 28, 2009


We've been re-watching different seasons of Lost in preparation for the final season starting Feb 2nd. It's very interesting to go back and watch episodes from the past with the knowledge you have see things that you didn't see before. Some of it may be come into play, some of it may not. It will be interesting to see.

When I wrote the first part of this post, I asked a lot of questions, hoping to spark some debate. This time I'm going to give you what I think could be some answers...although I'm probably wrong about most of them.

Here goes...

I believe that the main thrust of Lost is : Predestination VS Free Will. It is a question that has tormented mankind from the start of recorded time. If you go back to my first post and read the passage from the Bible in Romans Chapter 9, you get one part of God's answer to the debate: God chooses who He chooses. That leads most people to believe that predestination rules all...that we have no true free will. I have never agreed with that...not completely anyway. Go and read the book of Esther in the Old Testament, in particular chapter 4 verses 11-17. According to that passage, the outcome, IE Israel's being saved, is predetermined. It's going to happen. However...who gets the credit for saving Israel is up in the air. It could go to will definitely go to someone else if she doesn't act...but it's also possible that others have already passed on the opportunity to save Israel. Esther acts...she is given the credit. She chose to risk her life. She didn't choose to be Jewish. She was chosen, by God, to be part of His family. Keep that in mind.

What am I saying, then? That Lost, like the Bible, teaches that we are predestined to be on one side or the other, but what we do on that side is up to us? That although the final outcome is already fixed, those who get credit is still up in the air? That we have total free will in our choices in how we serve?

Yes...and no.

Consider the case of Jonah. Told by God to be the first missionary. His message to the people of Nineveh? You suck, and God is going to kill you...all of you. Great job. No wonder he bails and tries to get away. But, does God let Jonah choose not to serve? Hell no! That God guy is pretty damn persuasive when He wants to be. Storms, big fish swallowing Jonah, puked on the, Jonah still had his free will. God, however, persuaded Jonah to go anyway. Why? Couldn't God get someone else to go? Of course He could. God chose to have Jonah go. Again the question is why?

If we are chosen...if the final outcome is already set...then what is the purpose of this life? I liken it to boot camp. A lot of people try and get on the job. Very few make it to the Academy. A lot of those that do make it quit. The DIs stress you out, because they know what kinds of situations you are going to face. They want you to be as prepared as possible. It's rough, but if you make it through you are ready for the job.

Now, on to LOST...

Who is the Man In Black? I'm going to go with Esau...Jacob's brother. He was the one who should have gotten the birthright and the blessing. He sold his birthright to Jacob for a pot of stew (remember Jacob in LOST offers MIB some food, which MIB sarcastically declines). Jacob cheats Esau out of the blessing. (I don't know that we've seen that on the show yet...however, that could be what is going on between them on and off the island)

MIB, Esau, decries the fact that he wasn't "chosen". Not his fault. If only he could do it over again, he'd do it differently. So, like a game of backgammon, they continue to play...using people like pieces. Moving them forward. Having them taken out of play. Putting them back in play farther back on the board. Jacob believes the outcome is determined, no matter what moves MIB makes. Even coming back as another player! His loophole. Jacob has foreseen this move. He has brought people to the island to counter MIB's move...not only in this time, but back in 1977. One group or the other can change the playing field. Perhaps both.

What does that make of our players? Pawns in a giant chess game, being moved against their will? Or, willing participants without knowing a game is even being played?

Are they Esthers? Or are they Jonahs? Or both?

For some, coming back to the island is the only thing they want to do. Others must be persuaded. In the end, they all come back...only to be divided upon return. Why?

What is the island? I believe, I hope, that it is the Gate to the afterlife, to Tartaros, and not Tartaros itself. Eden, Paradise on one side...and torment on the other. It was guarded on one side only...only one way in. No way out. Those who have crossed are the whispers. They can on occasion be seen, like Samuel the prophet by King Saul. But, for the most part, they are in the shadows...heard but not seen.

There are many alternate theories, of course. One involves true time aliens...from a planet that orbits our Sun every 3600 years. This theory would have Jacob and MIB be two of those aliens who have been left behind. Playing a game that they started back during the time of the Sumerian kings. (Sumer should be pronounced SHumer, or...Shem-er) They were considered gods by the people of their time. All of them went back to their planet the last time it was close...3600 years ago. And now...the planet is coming back...

They're coming...

Just food for thought.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Guest Blogger: LACY BLAKE

Of all the things I love in life, here is what I love the most: Mom's holiday or just for the hell of it chocolate chip cookies. Rocket's breathing slowly in and out putting me to sleep. Open conversation. Holding hands. Smiling. Going to the park very early or very late when no one else is there and swinging. Not thinking, just swinging. Feeling like if I closed my eyes and let go I would continue flying and never have to stop. I love the rain. It's home. The gentle pittering and pattering on the roofs or the windows puts me completely at ease. I love my family. My Mama. My Daddy. I miss him. I miss her too, but I talk to her everyday. I can't talk to him or I get sad and homesick. I hope he doesn't think it's because I don't miss him. I often worry that it does. Nobody holds you like Daddy holds you. Nobody smiles, laughs, smells, looks, plays, talks, dresses, dances, or makes you feel safe like Daddy does. God, I miss him. We can get so mad at eachother, and he's still one of the things in this world I love more than anything. Like a hand print on my heart. For good. I love homecooked food. Christmas icicle lights. Being bundeled up, and being able to see your breath when you talk. I love snuggling. Being close. I love sharing things with someone you couldn't possibly share with someone else. I love that trust. I love comforting arms telling you "It's okay." when it really isn't. Arms that hold you when you need them. I love the security that I feel in those arms. I love performing. I love not having to be myself. To escape the boundaries this world puts on me and being someone I am not. I love to make people feel I love to get so caught up in the moment I leave myself and can hardly remember what I'm doing. I love to be free. I hate that through all of this that for everything I've come up with that I love I can come up with two things that I don't.

The end haha

I'm starting to fall in love with writing. You were right.

Sunday, September 13, 2009


Early, 1982. I'm going through the Sheriff's Academy. My leg is already for shit. I went and asked the deputy that led PT if there was anything I could do to help it. The guy was in his early fifties. Six months earlier, he'd had heart surgery...and then he's leading all three classes(junior, senior, and reserves at night) in PT. Every day. So, like I said, I ask him if there's anything I can do about my leg. The guy was a stud. If anyone would know, it would be him. His response:

It's just these pussy three mile runs we're going on right now. Once we get up to a man sized run, like six, eight miles or so, your legs will stretch out...mine do the same thing right now. You'll be fine.

They said if you could walk, you could run. I could walk...and I was highly motivated.

The day after I asked him about it, my DI came up to me during the daily run. Right along side. Just looked at me for a while. Then he asks me:

Your leg botherin' you, Wonder Bread?

Sir, No Sir!

Then don't be botherin' my PT instructor again. You got that?

Sir, Yes Sir!

We had a routine for PT everyday. Stretch. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Run. We started at three miles. We were at four then. Working our way up to twelve. At the end of each run, we'd slow to a walk in the parking lot. Two laps. Then into the gym for stress-recovery-stress:25 seconds of as many push-ups as you could do, followed immediately by 25 seconds of as many sit-ups as you could do, followed by 25 seconds of as many three count squat thrusts as you could do, and finally, 25 seconds of as many jumping jacks as you could do.

Then you got a 30 second rest...and did it all over at 20 seconds. Then fifteen.

By the twelfth week we were doing 60 seconds, 55, and 50. It didn't matter who you were. It didn't matter how great of shape you were in. If you gave it everything you had during stress-recovery-stress, you were done when it was over. Couldn't even lift your arms over your head to take your shirt off before your shower. Your buddy had to do it for you, and vice-versa. And, you only got five minutes to get out of your PT gear, shower, and be back in uniform in formation.

That two lap walk to cool down at the end of the run was huge. You really needed it.

Starting that day, I no longer got it.

In 1982, the Los Angeles Sheriff's Academy was located at Biscailuz Center in East LA. It's set on a hill. Every day, at the start of our run, we would head out of the parking lot down a serpentine road. On the final turn you looked up and saw what we affectionately referred to as, "The Bitch." It was a road that ran up a hill bordering the Jails on the west, the freeway on the east, and Sybil Brand women's jail on the north. It went up at about a forty-five degree angle for over a hundred yards, leveled for about ten, and then went up again at an even steeper angle for another hundred and fifty or so. There was a gate at the top of the hill, connecting Biscailuz with Sybil Brand. The gate was unlocked by a DI when we got there, and locked behind us after we went through.

Every time.

It was a security risk. That's why it had to be a DI to unlock it...and a DI to make sure it was locked behind us.

Every time.

But something changed that day. We get in the parking lot. Cool down walk time. Psyching up for stress-recovery-stress. My DI comes up to me as we're marching.

Cadet Blake!

Sir, Yes Sir!

I don't think DI Massey locked the gate after we went through. I need someone to check it and make just volunteered...GO!

Cocksucking, ball-licking, punk ass bitch motherfucker...I said that to myself, of I took off down the serpentine road. The Bitch was waiting for me when I turned the last curve. Smiling at me. Whispering. Telling me, in a very soothing voice, to just quit now. There was no way I could do it...and even if I did, I'd never make it through stress-recovery-stress after that anyway. Just quit.

Her voice was soft and cool. Silky against my heart. Seductive.

I told her to go fuck herself, and started up the hill.

I don't know how I made it up there that first time. I tried to keep my head down. Not look. When I finally did look up, I wasn't even halfway. I could feel my knee swelling. Grapefruit size by now. And the Bitch kept whispering sweet nothings into my ear...or was it the wind? Or my own tortured soul...

I finally made it to the top. The gate, of course, was locked. Tighter than Massey's sphincter. I turned around and headed back down.

They were kind enough to wait for me in the gym. Very thoughtful. My DI didn't want me to miss out on the full Academy experience. By the time we were done, I could barely walk. My knee was the size of a cantaloupe. But I didn't limp. Got showered. Waited for EOW. When we were dismissed for the day, I went to the soda machines. I hate sodas. But I was hurting. I bought two Squirts. Drank one on the way to my car. Nursed the other while I sat there and smoked. Tears ran down my face from the pain. I couldn't bend my leg because of the swelling. I thanked God for getting me through it. I thanked Him it was a one time thing.

I didn't hear Him laughing.

Next day we're walking our laps after the run. Here comes my DI.

Cadet Blake!

Sir, Yes Sir!

I don't think DI Massey locked the gate after we went through...

And off I went again. Cursing him under my breath. Cursing God. Cursing the Bitch. Cursing the sweet whispers...

Everyday after that, the same thing. We started with over two hundred people. We lost sixty-five by the end of the second week. More each week after that. By the sixth week, people started to get the handle on things. Everyone but me. I was still checking the gate. By this point, we were up to about six and a half to seven miles on the run. My knee...well, it didn't look good. Still, I kept making it.

And the Bitch kept try to seduce me.

Seventh week. We're walking in the parking lot. I'm waiting for my DI. All of a sudden, they take the class back up to running speed. They start everyone down the serpentine road. The class turned the corner...and looked up at the Bitch.

Half of the class quit before we ever started going up. Just quit. Almost all of the rest quit within the first fifty yards. When we got to the half way point where it leveled off, there were only three other cadets still running besides me. My DI was waiting there for us. He turned the other three back around and sent them down. He smiled at me.

Check the gate, Blake.

Sir, Yes Sir!

And I did.

I'd like to tell you it stopped after that. I'd also like to tell you that I look like George Clooney, but unfortunately, my pictures on the blog. So, I won't lie about either one.

I had people after me while I was going through the Academy. Two DIs in particular. My DI wasn't one of the two.

I'm pretty sure that if I hadn't been running up the Bitch all of those weeks, I would have dropped just like most of the others. That would have been all either of those two DIs would have needed. But, because I'd been doing it, it was no big deal to me.

Don't get me wrong. I never liked it. It always hurt. I almost always cried in pain before I went home. But, it didn't beat me. They didn't beat me. I made it. And, I'm not certain that I would have...if I hadn't been put through the shit first.

We all go through things in our lives. Some, much worse than others. We all have our own version of the Bitch. It's hard to think about it being to your benefit as your running up it...when your legs ache...when you have the dry heaves...when you think you can't take even one more step...and you know that stress-recovery-stress is waiting for you...if you make it.

James chapter one does NOT say that the testing of your faith works patience. Bad translation. The Greek word is for Endurance. Patience is passive. Endurance isn't. It's work. It makes you stronger.

God wants you to be as strong as you need to be for what's coming. He's not doing you any favors letting you sit on the couch eating Bon-Bons if you have a marathon coming.

And this life isn't just a marathon. It's an obstacle course, gauntlet, marathon. And God wants you to do more than finish.

He wants you to win.

You get down when you're running up the Bitch. You get angry. Frustrated. Mad at God. That's all OK. It's normal. But, you don't have to run alone. We're running together. So, when your sucking wind...and you don't think you can take another to God...and yes, cussing Him out is still aren't going to shock Him. He expects it.

Then call up a Buddy. Go have a beer together. Howl at the moon together.

Don't run alone.

You can always talk to God.

And, you can always talk to me.

We'll beat that Bitch.


Saturday, September 12, 2009

Human Cockroaches

Cockroaches are disgusting. They'll
do almost anything to survive. A cockroach can live for up to a week after its head has been cut off. Most cockroaches are nocturnal and only come out at night. Any sign of light and they scurry away.
Human cockroaches are far worse. Once they take an interest in you or your family, they can't seem to ever let it go. They hide in the shadows and do everything surreptitiously. They live off of others, mainly through causing pain and suffering. They have no feelings for anyone or anything but themselves. They are filthy, vile, heartless and cruel. And, they are cowards.
The one main difference between the insect and the human varieties?
The human cockroach can't live for up to a week without its head.
I have had trouble recently with a couple of human cockroaches. They think they are clever. Smart. They believe they have been able to keep what they have done, and are doing, in the dark.
They're wrong. The evil deeds of these human cockroaches always come to light.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009


I found this post when I was searching for the Matthew Shepard video that Kathy had on her show. I must say that I am not a religious person. However, I am coming to realize the true message of Jesus.

My family never went to church so the only source of religious knowledge I got was from my (now ex-) boyfriend and some Christian friends of mine. They would constantly tell me that being gay was a choice and that it was a sin. Having a gay cousin and witnessing him growing up, I can say with certainty that being gay is no choice.

I think this is what initially turned me off to Christianity in general. The lack of acceptance and compassion was not appealing. This was in high school.

Now, I'm heading into my last year of college and I am starting to embrace Jesus. Not the "televangelist" version, but the Jesus that I know in my heart to be compassionate and understanding. Thank you for reaffirming that Christians can actually be Christ-like. I have to read the bible further to really understand Him, but He really does seem very different than what I understood Him to be.

With that being said, if he were to come back, I sincerely feel that we, as a society, would shun him. He would be standing up for equal rights and the homeless and hungry. The "Christians" that I know would call him a faggot and tell him to get a real job, if not worse.

Sorry for the long post, but you've really inspired me to educate myself further and it's so great to know that people like you are teaching their children the real lessons of the Bible. Thank you.

I get discouraged, just like anybody else. Frustrated. Angry. Bitter. As some of you know, I've had my work stolen over the years. Twice made into movies. Once more to add to a movie. No money. No credit. Nothing. I ask God why. He says nothing.

But, I have other discouragements. The work I do for Him. Not usually the best jobs. I get the Ezekiel jobs...after others have passed on them. Nobody likes Ezekiel jobs. Fewer people like Ezekiel. It's been hard on my family. Lonely for them. You rarely see positive results.

Sometimes I want to quit. Not just my writing. Working for God.

Then, I get a letter like Cheslie's.

A letter like that makes it all worthwhile.

I didn't teach her anything. Didn't tell her anything she didn't all ready know in her heart. God loves her. She loves Him. They have a relationship. It's personal. Private. Full of questions...and love. The way a relationship should be. Getting to know each other. All God had me do was reassure her. Let her know that what she was reading in the Bible was true...not what the "Christians" around her were telling her.

She's right.

They're wrong.

About a lot of things.

What would it be like if Jesus came today in the same ministry that He did two thousand years ago? Where would He go? Who would he see? What would He do?

He'd be at abortion clinics.

But not out front with placards of dead babies.

He'd be at the back door...with His arms open wide. Loving these young women. Comforting them. Accepting them.

He'd be active on Gay/Lesbian issues.

But not at rallies with signs saying, "God hates faggots"...and worse.

He'd be at Aids hospices...with his arms around the sick. He'd heal them. Every one of them.

And they would love Him.

He would encourage gay and lesbian couples to take in the children that others didn't want. So that those children could have a home. A home where they would be loved...valued...cared for...wanted. And they would love Him for it.

He would shame the churches, especially the mega-churches, into feeding the hungry and providing shelter for the homeless...instead of spending millions on fancier pews, private jets, and fancy clothes.

And then they would turn on Him...because He ate and drank with "sinners". The would mock and ridicule Him...and crucify Him.

And who would weep for Him then?

The women who had abortions that He comforted. Those with Aids that He healed. The Gays and Lesbians that he loved and accepted. The homeless and the hungry that He cared for.

The rejected of society...and the rejected of the Church.

People like Cheslie.

And people like me.

When I read Cheslie's letter, I cried. Not just because it touched the deepest parts of my soul. I cried because it made my heart break.

How sad is it, that God has to send Cheslie through this Rube Goldberg contraption of circumstances to find someone to reaffirm for her that what she believes about Him in her heart is right?

How much sadder that He has to send her to someone like me?

If you're a Christian, put your picket signs down.

Forget about politics.

Stop hating.

Start expressing the Love of Christ to those around you. Your life might be the only Bible they ever read. Your speech, your actions, might be the only examples of Christ that they ever see.

When times are so desperate in the Church that God has to send someone to me from thousands of miles away, just for simple love and acceptence, it's not just a shame.

It's a tradgedy.

Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful that God loves me enough to let me be involved.

But how many people...people close to Cheslie...must have passed on the job for it to get to me?

Cheslie thanked me.

But my thanks, and my prayers, go to her.

Thank you Cheslie. May God Bless you and keep you...and all of those that you care for. If I don't get to meet you here...I'll be looking for you in Heaven.

Your letter was like a cool drink of water on a long, dry journey. My wife and my children read your letter. It made them cry too.

And they thank you.

Friday, August 14, 2009

The Hubble Ultra Deep Field...Gravitational Lensing, Superluminal speeds...and the mind of God

My father-in-law is one of the smartest men I know. He is always studying...searching...learning...questioning. I try to do the same, so he sends me interesting links from time to this one:

Go and watch it...then come back.

Wow. Pretty incredible, isn't it?

I was drawn to astronomy, and then all of the quantum fields, at a very early age. I wrote a paper on gravitational lensing, and its implications on whether the universe was finite or infinite,expanding or static...and whether or not it might have started to contract already.

That was in 1970 when gravitational lensing was still just a theory. Actual proof didn't come until observation of so-called Twin QSO SBS 0957+561 in 1979 confirmed it. (You can find out about it here:

That led me to a second paper, one that I labeled "The rubber band effect". Basically, it had to do with the hypothetical outer limits of the universe causing a snap back of the mass towards its own center. This "snap back" could, in theory, cause the collapse to approach, and then pass, the speed of light. Our knowledge, or ability to prove such an occurrence, would depend on the point at which acceleration passed the speed of light. If it occurred late enough in the collapse, there might have been enough time for the light from the farthest galaxies that began to move inward to reach us before it was too late. If it occurred too early, we would never know it was coming.

Picture a train, speeding away from you, its tail lights fading in the distance. Now imagine that train going faster and faster, until it hit some unknown outer boundary that caused it to sling shot backwards. How would you know? First, you might see/sense that the distant train was slowing down. It might even appear to hang momentarily between going forward and heading back. Then you would see the lights on the train begin to get brighter and brighter as the train grew closer. But, what if, at some point, the train began to move faster than the lights? When would you know that the train was getting close?

Not until it ran you over.

Both papers were filled with the requisite formulas. Both were met with eye rolling and quiet derision by everyone in the department. By that time, at fourteen, I was laughing called "The rubber band boy"...except for one professor. He took me to lunch not long after.

His opinion mattered a great deal to me. He had told a story my first day in class that I never forgot.

I know most of you won't continue taking classes in astronomy. For most of you, it is elective class. You must take to graduate. I know how boring elective class can be. I go to small school back east...I don't know if you ever hear of called MIT. I must take music appreciation class as elective. I do very bad in class. Only get B. Teacher teach only to those who know music. Not the rest of us. So, I try to do different. Make class fun for everyone. Not too deep. You have questions, you ask. I make time for all.

I looked up his CV later that day. Dual Doctorate from MIT. At Twenty something. His GPA was on file. get the idea. That B in music appreciation was the only grade lower than an A he ever got. So smart he made me feel like amoeba slime. So personal and caring, he made me feel I belonged. We had become close in the years I had been there. So, I was flattered and happy that he wanted to take me to lunch. A little apprehensive as well. I needn't have been. He was as caring and kind as always.

He had, of course, read both of my papers. He felt that each had merit. That I had merit. But not the wisdom that comes form experience.

Your papers are very good. Make people think. Too much.

What's wrong with that?

You make them think about things they don't want to think about. They are mechanics, not philosophers.


I will tell you story. My grandfather tell it to me many years ago, before I come to this country to study at MIT.

Long ago, men realize they live in a house. House is very nice. Perfect for them. But they know they not build it. Where does house come from, they ask? At night, lights come on. Some of the people worship the lights. Then, the mechanics come. They study the lights. Watch how they work. Follow cord down to plug in wall. Lights are not Gods, they say. Power for lights come from wall. People ask how power gets in wall. They worship wall sockets, wall and lights. Mechanics study for long, long time. They take wall apart. Find wires. Follow wires to outside wall where two BIG wires come into house. Wall sockets, wall and lights not Gods, they tell people. Power comes from these two big wires. People worship big wires. The people believe that someone had to make the house...the wires, the lights. Mechanics get mad. They tell people that the house, wires and power have always been there. There is only the house.

Finally, after many years, the mechanics go outside. At night. All of the people talking about who made the house drives them crazy. They look around. There are many houses. Many lights. Hundreds of them. The people marvel. Who made so many houses, they ask? No one, say the mechanics. They just are.

More years go by. A group of mechanics walk out of the neighborhood. Up a hill. Look around. There is a whole city beneath them. Millions of lights. They are afraid if they tell the people, they will really believe someone must have made it all. But, a wise old mechanic calms them. He tells them to bring the people out to see the city. Once they see it, most of them will believe whatever the mechanics tell them.

He is right, of course. The people are overwhelmed. They can't even plug in a lamp, let alone understand where the light comes form. The mechanics are smarter. They say the city has always been there: it's always been there. They say their house is just a small, insignificant house in a big city: the people believe them. Oh, a few still believe that someone made the city...but most just want to enjoy the lights and warmth of the house. Not think.

You talk about God. They can't laugh at you. You know too much. So, they make small jokes. Rubber band boy...and they hope you go away. Study something else.

What do you think?

I do not believe in God the way you do. I don't know if I can. I would want to ask Him things...not about the house, or the city...about the people. If I were God, I would not make people that do what...bad things. Very bad things. But, I have seen too much to believe that everything just is. Big Bang, Big Crunch...Big Bang, Big Crunch...for always? No. I think maybe I believe in Einstein's God. Something is out there. Something made the city...the house...the people. Something. But what, or who? I don't know. I'm just a mechanic...

Not hardly. Is that why they hate my papers?

Some...not all. You don't understand what your last paper least, what it means to them.

What does it mean to them?

If you are right, if snap back can go faster than light, when could rubber band have started snapping back?

Anytime, I guess.

So, when could it hit?

Anytime... see now? Your face says yes, you do see. If whole universe could blink out, anytime...without warning...what will make people in the house play nice with each other? The mechanics may love chaos as theory for universe...not for their own lives. Survival of fittest? Mechanics not very fit, and we know it...I think.

You think people everywhere would just go nuts? Riot, steal, kill...all of that?

Why not? If no one built the house, the city...who will make them clean up what they break? Especially if it's all going to break soon anyway. Now, you never tell you really believe paper you wrote?


Then why you not afraid it happen tomorrow? Or today?

The answer is in my Bible...I don't think it will happen for at least a thousand years or so...but we might see signs soon...I don't know.

I hope you are right. In the mean time...I will work on the lights, like a good mechanic...and keep my questions to myself. Your God has a strange sense of humor.

I left the department not long after that. I was already a heretic at church...didn't need to be one in physics as well. Besides, they never even talked about, let alone wanted to play, sports. And they never, ever talked about girls...God's most glorious creation.

If you live in a city, like I do, it's hard to really see the stars at night. But, I grew up part time on a reservation in Northwest New Mexico. The way you could see the stars there...I go back in my mind...and marvel...

People used to ask me, how I could believe in God, knowing what I knew...

My answer back then was the same as it is now...

How could I not?

Hebrews 11:1&2

II Peter 3:10-14

Friday, July 31, 2009


You might think with titles like, crippled ex-cop and Scripture-based/pay-refusing minister, I might not be someone who would be a fan of Kathy Griffin...and you would be wrong. Her show, "My Life on the D-List", is one of my fact, it's one of the few shows that we make a point of watching together as a family. Her combination of rapier like wit, pathos, and self-deprecating humor are intoxicating...a blend of Don Rickles, Rodney Dangerfield, and Mae West. Quite the combo, that lady.

So...we were watching her last show a couple of days ago. It had to do with Gay marriage, Proposition 8, and personal activism, for those of you who may not have seen it. Powerful, moving, and still funny. It enabled my beautiful wife Cherish and I, at its conclusion, to reaffirm some very important lessons to our 13 year old son: Compassion, tolerance, and equality under the law. Fortunately, he, like his older sisters, take after my wife. You notice I said "reaffirm", not teach. All of these traits are things that he already possesses...still, it never hurts to remind your children of the right way to handle things in this hate filled world.

The images from the show left such a strong impression on me that it became the topic of our weekly Bible Study group last night. I had prepared a number of Scriptures, but it was my wife, of course, who supplied the best one during our discussions. LUKE chapter 10:25-37...The Parable of the Good Samaritan, which we'll get to shortly. The images that I remember most vividly...that made the strongest impression on me, were...the tears streaming down the faces of the homeless young people she was mentoring as they watched the special on Matthew Shepard...and the pain and agony etched on the faces of the couple in Sacramento who weren't able to have health care for both because of their inability to get married. One of course, did have health care through his work. His partner(just typing that feels should be husband) was denied benefits in the face of a crippling disease. Their love for each other...sorry. Words are inadequate. Watch the show. Watch it, and tell me those two men don't truly love each other. I shudder to think what would happen if my wife were denied for those same grasp on Christianity can be extremely tenuous at times.

This is, first and foremost, a Constitutional issue. The Framers of our Constitution were very emphatic in their wording.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
You'll notice it doesn't say,, unless your a woman...unless you're a person of color...unless you practice a different religion...or, unless you're Gay. Now, I know a lot of people think it should. A lot of people, over the history of this country, have acted like it said some, if not all of those things. Some, unfortunately, still do. Those clauses, however, are not there. Never have been...and I pray to God, never will be. Remember these haunting words by Martin Niemoeller:
First the Nazis came…
First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out —because I was not a communist
Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out —because I was not a socialist
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out —because I was not a trade unionist
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out —because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me —and there was no one left to speak out for me.

Simply as a Patriotic those who have learned the lessons of history, we should be against this denial of basic civil rights...and more importantly, denial of basic human dignity. They may come for your group next.

Which brings me to point number two.
Shouldn't we, as Christians, oppose Gay marriage?


See how simple that was. Should be the end of the discussion. It's not, however. All across this country, Christian Churches are doing the greatest disservice to their Savior possible through their hate filled speech and actions. Now, if that speech, and those actions, were directed against the majority of well known televangelists who prostitute Jesus like He was a $20 hooker, I wouldn't mind. I have always believed that Dante was wrong. There are ten circles of Hell, not nine...the tenth being reserved for pedophiles and most televangelists.

Why then, is there such hate speech directed at gays, people who've had abortions, etc. from the Church? Some of it is Fear...but mostly ignorance. Not ignorance of the world. Ignorance of the Scriptures.

Wow, Chris...hold on just a second. Who are you to say that other Christians are ignorant? Who do you think you are?

Nobody. Just a dirt bag...saved by Grace. But a dirt bag who reads his Bible...not commentaries. A dirt bag who taught himself Greek and Hebrew, because he had trust issues about what he was taught. A dirt bag who has never allowed himself to get paid for doing God's that I can have the freedom to say, and write, what the Bible actually teaches without fear. Fear of losing my job. Fear of being ostracized. Fear of being disliked. I am fortunate enough to answer to only two people: God, and my wife. That freedom allows me to remind my fellow Christians of the following few items:

The Hebrew and Greek words translated "sin" are the terms archers used for "missing the mark", IE, not hitting the bulls eye dead center. God's shooting requirements? Every shot has to go through the same hole in the middle of the target, without even touching any of the paper. Every shot. That means, every word, deed,, for those of you Christians out there who have a real nice grouping around the bulls eye, and think you're God's gift to Himself, and humanity...screw off. It's a pass/fail test...and you failed, just as miserably as me...and I've shot more than targets.

Romans 3:23 says everybody missed the mark...and failed. That's right...even you.
Romans 5:8 says that God had Christ die for us while we were missing...the operative word being US...not me, and you maybe, unless you're a_____fill in the blank of the group you love to hate. US.
The Scriptures teach that, "...nothing can separate us from His love."
They also teach that, "...He will never leave us, or forsake us."...although I know sometimes, at least to me, it feels like He does.

The Scriptures teach us to " each other." To, " our enemies." I'm still working on that one. Not doing too well, but I'm working on it. Still have the urge to shoot mine. Always feel like I did a good job when the body count is it zero at the end of the day.
The Scriptures say that we should, " our neighbor as our self."

For those of you about to rationalize your way out of, or through this, it's time for The Dumbass' handy-dandy Bible lesson of the day.(I should trade mark that...and start printing buttons saying, "Proud to be a Dumbass"...but I'd be the only one wearing them.)

Let's go back to LUKE chapter 10:25-37, shall we? If you've never been part of one of my Studies before, be warned: They aren't for the vernacular tends to slip when I'm passionate or in pain...and I spend all of my waking(and most of my non-waking) hours in both...So, here we go...

The Televangelists of Jesus' day were always screwing with Him. Trying to make Him look bad in the eyes of the common people because He was eroding their support...especially their financial support. All of that, "Give unto Cesar" crap...what was He thinking? Idiot. They would all get together and try and come up with questions that He either couldn't answer, or would look bad no matter how He answered. The smartest minds of their day against a lowly carpenter. How hard could it be? Yet, if you read the Book, He serves them...every time. Must have been frustrating for them. Wish I could have seen it.

Anyway, they've already come at him on this issue at least twice. (Mark 12:28-34 and Matthew 34-40) Nailed them both times. Now in Luke, they've got the right answer...His answer. So, when He asks the question, a lawyer feeds Him back His own response. "Love God the best you can...and love your neighbor as yourself." Jesus tells the guy good job...but that's not enough for the, he asks the question, "Who is my neighbor?"

If you want to read those passages before I get going, go ahead...I'll wait. Done? Good. Now it's time for the Dumbass' handy-dandy parable updater(available for your love gift of only $99.95 at

First of all, let's change all of the Jewish characters in the story to Christians. So, the guy going down the road who gets jumped, beat up, robbed, and thrown in a ditch and left for dead is a well known, local Pastor who supports Proposition 8. He preaches about the evils of "those gays", leads demonstrations, etc.

Now, the first guy that comes by is a world famous Televangelist. You know the type. He's preached that AIDS is God's punishment on those Queers...prophesied(without much luck)that God would wipe out the homosexuals by fire in 1999, etc. He sees his brother protester in the ditch and thinks," Hey, what an opportunity. I can blame this on the fags, get more money...and it will be even better if he dies. Better get my sorry ass out of here before those robbers come back." He scurries away, sphincter as tight as a three year old's grip on a lollipop.

Guy number two comes along. He's a Deacon in a mega church. Helps set up the rallies for prop 8, even hand prints some of those lovely signs, like...GOD HATES FAGS...QUEERS GO TO HELL...DYKES ARE DAMNED, you know, all of those clever, catchy slogans of Christian love. He sees the guy down in the ditch and thinks, "He must have some secret sin in his life, or God wouldn't have let that happen to him. Probably a fag, I'll bet he's a closet queen himself. If I try and help him, I'll probably get AIDS as a punishment from God. Better run." And, he takes off down the road.

Finally, someone else comes up the road. It's Matthew Shepard. He sees the man in the ditch. Recognizes him. This man spit on him at a rally and called him horrible names. It would be easy to just turn and go...but Matthew can't. It's just not in him. He goes down into the ditch. Bandages the man up using his finest clothes. Takes him to an emergency room. Gets him treated. Takes him to a hotel. Pays for his room, his food, and his treatment...and leaves his credit card. Tells the hotel manager to put any other charges for whatever the man needs on his card.

Now, Jesus asks who the real neighbor is...not to hard to tell. Then He tells the lawyer to act the same as Matthew acted.

I never knew Matthew...but I've read a lot about him. Everything I've read...everything I've heard about him tells me that being the "Good Samaritan", even to someone that hated him, was exactly what he would have done. You can find out more about Matthew, and find out how you can help at The Matthew Shepard Foundation:

There is another name I could have easily used as the Good Samaritan, although I'm sure she would try and deny it...and that's Kathy Griffin. If you would like to show your support for Kathy...for all of the things that she does for others, go to:

Buy some of her stuff...go to a concert. Watch her show on BRAVO. You can write to the folks at BRAVO here: Tell them you love her show and want it to stay on...forever.

Lastly, this is to my Christian brothers and sisters. It's time for us to start taking the stands we're supposed to be taking. Time for us to start showing, and sharing, the love of Christ the way we have been commanded. Time to stop the hate.

Try, each day, to find a way to be a Good Samaritan. Try and be like Maggie...we need more people like her in the world...God damn it!

Monday, June 29, 2009


I was greatly saddened, as were millions of others, when I heard of Michael Jackson's death. We watched, as a family, the early coverage. It soon became apparent that the media was going to do what it usually does, so we turned off the coverage. My oldest daughter, Crystal, has a couple of Michael's DVDs(she's a big fan). We put one on and watched...amazed again at the genius of the man.

Kobe Bryant has also been in the news lately, due to the Lakers winning the NBA championship...and Kobe winning the Championship series MVP.

I am a crippled ex-cop...a minister who refuses to be paid for his work for God...and a writer.

What could I possibly have in common with these two now tragically dead too soon?

I like to tell stories to illustrate a point...true ones, if possible. It may not seem like the story I'm going to tell has anything to do with the topic, but trust me...I'll tie it together at the end.

My oldest daughter, Crystal, was born in 1977. The doctors' knew something was wrong right from the start, but they wouldn't say what. I overheard two nurses talking late in the afternoon about what a "shame it was for that poor baby". They tried to deny they were talking about Crystal when I confronted them, but she was the only baby there. They referred me to a doctor. He told me that they suspected Crystal had a "minor" heart problem, but it would be easily fixed with surgery. They were going to transfer her to Children's Hospital of Orange County(CHOC) that evening.

I couldn't ride in the ambulance with her, so I tried to follow in my car. It was an unusually foggy night, and I lost them. I finally found my way to the hospital, and, after many wrong turns, found her. She was in Pediatric ICU. I was allowed to go in and feed her every two hours. I stayed up all night.

I had just finished feeding her around nine the next morning when I was told her new doctor wanted to meet me and discuss her condition. The nurse sat me down in the ICU, just a few feet from Crystal. The Dr. came over and sat next to me. He asked what I new about my daughter's condition. I told him what I had been told: minor heart problem, but easy to fix. The following was the rest of our conversation.

Shit! Stupid God Damn idiots...

What's wrong?

I don't know why they...OK, here's the deal. Your daughter has a condition called Tetralogy of Fallot. Basically, four different things wrong with her heart. There are two basic courses to follow. One is immediate surgery. Her odds with that are 50-50 at best. The other is to wait...give her an opportunity to get stronger...but her odds that way are 75-25 against.

What would you do?

We have the best in the world here...her surgeon helped to pioneer the surgery...


We just did the same surgery yesterday on a little boy. A little older than your daughter...bigger...stronger...better chance to survive. The surgery was a complete success...couldn't have gone any better...but the little boy died on the table. Just too weak.


The only thing keeping her alive right now is the usually closes right after birth. If hers closes, by the time we know it's takes a couple of hours to set up an OR for this type of surgery. She'd be dead before we could start. You're the only one who can make the decision before that happens...and you have thirty minutes to decide.

I stumbled out of the ICU. Down in the elevator...outside. I was crying. The only people I trusted, that I could depend on, were my parents. They were 1100 miles away at the Mission in New Mexico. I didn't know what to do. I collapsed on a bench. Prayed. My gut instinct was to have them do the surgery.

I didn't hear Orson Wells voice...or John Houston's. Just a small, still voice.

If I want her to come Home, there's nothing they can do...if I want her to stay with you, she'll stay...give her the time.

I had never gone against my gut feeling at that point in my life, without it blowing up in my face. But I went with that voice. I made a vow to God: I wouldn't leave the hospital until Crystal way or the other.

I stayed at the hospital for the next eight days. I was afraid to go to sleep, because her blood oxygen and other counts could change at any time. I didn't sleep for the first five days...went in and fed her every two hours. Talked to her...sang to her...and cried.

The morning of the sixth day, I finally stretched out on the couch in the parents' lounge after her four AM feeding. The next thing I knew, I was awakened by a vacuum cleaner at about 6:10. I rushed to the scrub room, upset with myself that I had fallen asleep. I could see her little incubator through the small window in the scrub room as I washed with betadine. Her incubator was empty. I rushed into my gown and into the room.

There was a note attached to the incubator...but no Crystal. None of the nurses knew where she was. The note said, "Call social worker." I used a phone in the ICU. The social worker asked me for my religious preference for Crystal. I cried.

"When did she die?"

"Die? I just need the information to complete her insurance forms..."

I slammed down the phone and went through the room like a madman. I finally found Crystal around a corner in the far end of the room. The late shift had moved her so they could clean her incubator. Someone forgot to tell the day shift nurses.

I can guarantee you that never happened anyone.

Three days later, I took Crystal home. There were numerous mad rushes to CHOC's emergency room over the next two years...I almost lost her a few of those times. She had the corrective surgery right after she turned two. Her condition was far worse than they originally thought. They told me they would only call me away from the waiting room if she...

I got called away two hours into the surgery. I shuffled slowly to the phone at the desk. Picked it up.


A slow, southern drawl on the other end.

"Hi...Crystal's dead..."

I dropped the phone and slid to the floor. The phone swung slowly back and forth inches from my head. The woman on the other end was still talking, but I was numb. Finally, I took the phone back to my ear.

"What happened? Was she just too small still, or...?"

"What do you mean? Nothings happened. I just wanted to know if you wanted someone to bring you some coffee or..."

I won't repeat what I said to that poor woman from Georgia, but suffice it to say, she never called anyone "dad" in that drawl of hers again...only "father".

The operation took twice as long, and they couldn't fix everything.

They told me she would never live to see thirteen.

Crystal is thirty one now. Every day with her is a blessing.

That was, at that point in my life, the worst set of experiences I had ever faced.

I have faced far worse ones since.

Some of you who read this blog know me. Some of you may feel that you have come to know me through my writing. If you're new to this blog, read TWO DOGS over on the side bar. It will give you an idea of my temperament.

Now, I want you to picture me going through those times with Crystal...and having the press following me...hounding me...filming everything I did...everything I said...sticking cameras and microphones in my face.

Trying to take pictures of Crystal.

By the time I was done, the paparazzi would have thought that Sean Penn was Mother Theresa.

Someone would have been hurt bad...or dead.

Picture the worst moment of your life...go ahead, get it firmly in your mind.

Now, picture have the press covering you, as you go through it...covering you the way that Michael Jackson has been covered his entire life...or Kobe.

Every mistake, real or imagined. Magnified a million times. Every private moment, every agony...

My work has been good enough to be stolen...more than once. One of the movies made from my stolen work did over $200 million. Another resurrected an actor's career. But...there's a reason why my work has never sold. Only God knows the reason why.

But, if I had to guess...

I'd say the He wanted to keep the body count down.

Kobe may be an arrogant prick...or, he may be a saint. I don't know. But, cut the guy a little slack for his mistakes.

As for Michael Jackson...

I hope he has finally found the peace that eluded him his entire life. I hope that the vultures leave his children alone. They've suffered enough.

And I hope that God allows Michael's version of Heaven to be...

The second star to the right...and straight on till morning.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Answered...and Un-Answered Prayers

We all get discouraged from time to least I know that I do. That's why I haven't written for a while.

The director who asked for my screenplays hasn't read them...or the numerous one page treatments he asked for. I allowed that to get to me. Un-Answered prayers. Yet, in my heart, I know the Lord has His reasons. He had His reasons when two of my previous ones were stolen and made into movies. He had His reasons when other works of mine have been stolen and incorporated into movies. He has His reasons.

And yet, we doubt Him...from time to time. At least, I do.

And then, in His Grace, He allows us to see His majesty...and then we wonder why we ever doubt Him at all.

My daughter Lacy got a call last night from a dear friend of hers...and ours. A very fine young man, whose privacy I will not violate. He's the kind of young man you would want to be a part of your family:

Kind, strong, extremely intelligent, brave, loyal, thoughtful...just a few of the qualities that he possesses.

His mother has had an illness. That's all you need to know. We; Lacy, my wife, myself, my son and our other daughter, have all been praying for her. This fine young man was considerate enough to call last night to let us know that his mother was dramatically improved.

What a wonderful answer to prayer.

If God gave you the choice...

Between your wildest dreams...

Or the life of the mother of someone you love...

Which would you choose?

Pretty easy, isn't it?

And yet, in my selfishness, I forget...

Thankfully, God reminds me...

And I thank Him.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

TO B(roadcast) or not to B(roadcast)...That is the question...

I need all of your help.

If you read yesterday's blog, you know that Cherish and her friends did their first radio blog cast. Cherish has been after me to do one of my own.

The question is: should I or not?

I could do one strictly on the Bible...kind of an anti-Bible Answer man...just the scriptures, with no pontificating...or tithing...

Or, I could do one that is more like my blog...

Some Bible, some conspiracy, some family stuff...a little bit of everything. I would love to hear from all of you to see what your thoughts are. I do have some broadcast experience, so it wouldn't be too huge of a stretch.

So, leave comments telling me what you think...and then I'll let all of you know soon.

Monday, May 4, 2009


That's right...I said it...

And so are her friends!

All right, all right, calm down...

They want to be called bitches.

In fact, Cherish and two of her good friends, Cindy Bruckart and Bridget Pilloud, have started their own radio show, aptly titled:
3 Bitches can find their first, and upcoming episodes here:
Bridget is an Intuitive animal can find her here:
Cindy is a certified professional dog trainer, and owns two doggie can find her here:
My lovely wife is a recognized leader in dog nutrition, as well as the owner of THE DHARMA DOG, a one of a kind Dog Boutique...which you can find here:
Their first show, yesterday, was incredible! Each of these bitches(ladies) brings not only their years of experience to play in fielding questions...they also bring their own unique personalities to the table...which makes listening a sumptuous buffet to the ears.
The show itself was informative...funny...compassionate...witty...and just plain fun. As someone who has done countless hours on air, I can tell you that most professionals don't come off nearly as well as our proud Bitches! If you're looking for answers to pet questions...good entertainment...or, if you just want to howl with the Bitches...
This is the show for you!
Tune in...send them a line...and get ready for a great time...
I give 3 Bitches Barking 4 paws, two ears, and one tail...way, way up!!!!!
Way to go Bitches!!!!!!

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

If you have to knock somebody down...Chance and the Bully

Sorry I've been gone for a while...

Each member of my family; my wife, my daughters, and my son, are my heroes. Each of them have done things so out of the ordinary, and/or beyond the call of duty, that they continually lift my spirits...and give me stories to tell.

The world would be a better place if we never had to fight to protect ourselves or those who can't defend themselves...of course, the world would be a better place if I looked like Denzel Washington or Brad Pitt and had Bill Gates' money...but that's not happening either. We are required to fight sometimes...which brings me to my story...

My son Chance is a wonderful young man. Great son, brother, friend, you name it. He's the best. Good natured and kind...he has always looked out for others. This story goes back to when Chance was in kindergarten.

Chance would come home every day from school and go straight to the bathroom...where he would pee for about five minutes. (the boy has my bladder) Cherish and I got concerned when he told us he couldn't go at school. We took him to a urologist, but he checked out fine. One day, a few weeks later, Chance finally told me why he couldn't go at school. There was a boy in his class who waited in the bathroom for the other boys. He was literally twice their size, and would push, hit, or kick them if they went in.

I went to the school to meet with the Principal. I was shocked to find out that the Principal was completely aware of the problem...and so was the entire staff. This boy (who was two or three years older than the others in the class) had also assaulted the teacher, kicking her in the stomach while she was pregnant. I couldn't believe he was still in the school.

The mother apparently knew how to "play the system." She threatened lawsuits at every turn. The boy had already been kicked out of more than one school, and now the district had backed down. He was supposed to be supervised by an adult attendant at all times, but the mother protested...and won. Now, everyone was afraid of this boy.

I told the principal that if the district wouldn't let him do his job, I would take care of the problem myself...and, to quell his fears, I didn't mean going after this boy myself. I told him that I was going to teach Chance how to take care of himself...and that I better not hear one word about it if Chance fought back.

Chance and I went for a walk that night. I told him about a circumstance in my own life growing up...and the advice my father had given me.

Walk away from any fight you can...but if the other person won't let you walk away...then you knock them on their ass...and don't let them get up. Every time they try to get back knock them down again.

Chance looked at me a little dubiously. This boy was literally twice his size. Chance had seen the boy kick and hit his teacher...two other teachers...and the principal...all with impunity.

But I was his Dad...and I told him he could do it.

There was quite a commotion at school the next day when I went to pick Chance up. A group of boys from Chance's class ran to meet me at the door.

Chance kicked his ass, Mr. Blake...Chance really laid him out...Chance beat him up good...

The boys were very excited, to say the least. Chance came walking out of the Principal's office a minute later...followed by the boy and his parents. Obviously, the boy's parents had been called...and I hadn't. I wasn't sure what to make out of that. The Principal brought Chance over to me.

Is Chance in trouble?

No. Not at all...


I don't think I've ever seen a more perplexed, confused look on some one's face in my whole life, than was on the face of that boy. He kept staring back at Chance as his parents were dragging him out of the school, like Chance was an alien with eight eyes, five legs...and purple. Just bewildered.

I asked Chance what happened...

I just did what you told me to I in trouble?

Not one bit stud...not one bit.

The principal called me later that afternoon. This was the story he gathered from the boys who were in the bathroom.

Afternoon recess. All of the boys are supposed to wash their hands before going back to class. All of them are outside of the bathroom...because they know the bully is waiting for them inside. No one moves. Finally, Chance hunkers down his shoulders and marches in. The rest of the boys follow...waiting to see Chance get beat up.

Chance goes to the sink and starts to wash. The bully comes over and taunts him. Chance just keeps washing. The bully pushes him.

Don't do that again.

Oh yeah? What you gonna do about it?

Don't do it.

The bully laughs as he pushes Chance away from the sink. Chance takes both hands, steps forward, and puts them square in the bully's chest...just like I taught him. The bully goes down...a surprised look on his face. He starts to get up...and Chance knocks him down again. Apparently, from all of the boys' stories, this happened at least five or six times. Finally, the bully just sat there...stupefied.

One of the boys had run to the Principal's office when it all started. The principal told me he ran as fast as he could to get there, fearing for Chance's safety. He was pleasantly surprised to find Chance standing over the bully...yelling at him to try and get up again.

The bully never came back to the school. The parents transferred him to another district. I felt bad for the kid...but not bad enough to have my son be afraid to go to school.

Sometimes, your only choice is between being intimidated...and being the intimidator. Not a hard choice, as far as I'm concerned...especially for my wife and children.

I'd like to tell you that Chance became a hero at school after that...but that's not how life works. All of those boys, many of whom were bigger than Chance, were embarrassed to see someone else take a stand. You see, as long as no one does...then no one is really a coward...but as soon as someone stands up for what is right...the majority who have stood back have no excuse. The telling moment was when the bully pushed Chance...and no one came to Chance's aide. There were at least fifteen other boys watching. Three of the boys were almost as big as the bully. Any group of three or four of the boys could have put a stop to it...but, just like adults, no one wanted to risk getting hurt.

Chance has taken other stands since then that have cost him...cost him a lot. He has stood up for a friend...and then have his teacher try and screw him over...and the friend turn his back on him.

Still...he always tries to do what is right...knowing that it will probably cost him. That is the truest test of courage...and character.

A father could never ask for a better son...

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Hopes and Dreams

There are many things that we hope and dream about as we grow up...

What we would like to do...where we would like to live...who we would like to marry...

I was lucky enough to marry the woman of my dreams...

I'm still working at what I want to do, and hoping for a good outcome...

I still dream of living in Hawaii someday soon... wife and I share our ultimate dreams together...

And that is for our children...

That they may be happy...and have the opportunity to chase their dreams...

Our daughter Lacy is about to finish her first year of college at AMDA(see my links)...

She has done so well, that she has earned additional scholarships for next year...

Most importantly to her mother and I, however...

She is becoming...

She is becoming all that she has hoped to be...


She has always been what every parent dreams of...

The best daughter in the world...

She comes home next week...

And I can't wait to see her...

Tu Padre Te Amo Bene Sai...Bene Sai...

Friday, April 17, 2009

The maze of memories...CLINT WALKER and CHEYENNE

I was flipping the channels a few weeks back and heard the start of this...

Suddenly I was a very young boy, sneaking out of my bed to do something I knew was very, very wrong.

We bought our first "Big" TV in 1960 when I was four. The old TV was put in my bedroom, with one caveat: don't watch it after bedtime.

I still remember that old TV set. It was about four feet tall and three feet wide. The screen was maybe nine inches or so across. There must have been a dozen knobs across the front, but the only ones that I think worked were off/on-volume and the vertical/horizontal controls. The small antenna was on top, and you had to turn it to try and get a picture. I needed a small stool to reach it.

My bedtime was seven o'clock back then. All of the good shows started after that, of I would patiently as a four year old can, for my parents to think I was asleep. Then I would pull the small foot stool out from under my bed(carefully hidden behind a stuffed animal), turn the TV on, and adjust the antenna to get the best picture I could. It was magic.

I had a few shows that I loved. Disney, of course. The Flintstones. Alfred Hitchcock(yes, I've always been bent). Red Skelton. Bonanza. Have Gun Will Travel( Richard Boone was soooooo cool...and talk about another iconic theme song ) Maverick( another great theme song )And of course, Cheyenne.

Clint Walker brought something unique to the screen...and to a four year old boy. He was larger than life(6,6" tall with a 46" chest and a 32" waist), and ruggedly handsome. But there was something else. He made me feel safe. I liked Paladin, but I always thought that he might shoot me as well as the bad guys. Not Clint Walker. There was something in his eyes that made me feel that I would never have to worry about that from him. That soothing, deep baritone voice conveyed assurance. That's a very nice thing when your four years old.

That was almost fifty years ago.

And yet, at the sound of that music...

I'm four years old again...sneaking out of my bed to the TV.

Music is an amazing thing. What it does to your memory is even more amazing.

I've always believed that teaching, especially the most difficult topics, should be done to music. Why? Music is a key to memory. Don't believe me? Recite the pledge of Allegiance. Get through without stumbling? try the Gettysburg Address. Any luck? Probably not.

Now, turn on your radio(or your computer's music) to what for you is an "oldies" station. Depending on your age, that could mean songs anywhere from the forties to the nineties. Now listen for a while. Eventually, a song will come on that you haven't heard in forever...and you'll remember most, if not all, of the lyrics.

Why does music have such an impact on us? Not just on our memories, but on our emotions? I think it has to do with the harmonics of the human body, and the way sounds resonate within those harmonics. Our bodies are bio-machines that run on chemically generated electrical impulses. Harmonics have a huge impact on, and interaction with, electrical impulses.

But enough technical talk...I didn't start this blog for that...

My miner's flashlight is lit. I pull the covers back...oh, so slowly. The coarseness of my father's Navy blanket scratches my skin...almost like sandpaper. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and look down...the drop seems enormous. I will myself over the side, praying the sound of my feet hitting the floor won't give me away. I freeze, like a statue, at the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. The 91 freeway hasn't been built yet, so the night is still...except for the crickets. The sound recedes, and I creep softly to the TV. The light from the small screen pierces the darkness. I adjusted the antenna earlier, because I knew what I wanted to watch tonight. The sound is on so low, I can barely hear it. Then, it begins...

Cheyenne, Cheyenne where will you be camping tonight? Lonely man, Cheyenne, will your heart stay free and light? Dream, Cheyenne, of a girl you may never love Move along, Cheyenne like the restless clouds up above.

The sound carries me away...

The wind that blows, that comes and goes, has been your only home. But will the wild wind one day cease and you'll no longer roam?

I'm on a mesa, overlooking the mission school, in my mind...

Move along, Cheyenne, next pasture's always so green. Driftin' on, Cheyenne don't forget the things you have seen, And when you will settle down where will it be? Cheyenne... Cheyenne!

And now I'm back there again...a small boy...full of hopes...fears...dreams...

Now...think of your own memories...close your eyes and drift back...

Where will you be camping tonight?

Sunday, April 12, 2009


Flipping the channels this morning...Rick Warren, author of the Purpose(porpoise) driven life, Obama's new pastor(pimp) is on Fox his Easter service...

Really? A news channel broadcasting a man who prostitutes scripture for his own gain?
A man who teaches that you have to choose God, because he didn't choose you?
You have to choose to be a part of God's family?


Did you choose your family, or were you born into it?

What does Jesus tell Nicodemus in John chapter three?

You must be born from above(the proper translation of the Greek word, Ano)

So...just exactly what the heck did you have to do with your physical birth? were just along for the ride...same with your spiritual birth...

What we choose, is what we're going to do as a member of His family, and when...

Not very empowering, which is why no one popular is teaching it today...

Very humbling...but liberating...

God does the heavy lifting...

You don't have to Find Jesus...He isn't lost...

You don't have to Accept Him...He doesn't need your blessing...

You don't have to help Him get His work done...He's pretty good at it...

I had planned an Easter blog on the actual days of Pascha...the Last supper on Tuesday...Crucifixion on Wednesday...rising from the dead Saturday night...should have done it...I do it every year...

Now I see this blasphemous opportunist teaching people that God needs them to accept Him, so they can change the world the way He wants it to be...and it's on a cable news channel...

So, here's my question for you...

Do you believe in an Omnipotent God...or an impotent one?

My God doesn't need my fact, when I try and help, I'm just in the road and make the work harder for Him...

But He lets me try...because he loves me...of course, this doesn't jibe with most Pastors today...

I will always remember having this discussion with a Pastor many years ago...his response?

"...that's fine for someone like you, Chris...I consider myself, however, a fine instrument for God's service...He needs me for His work..."

Any God who "needs" me to get the job a God who would be too inept to ever save me...

Have a nice Pascha(Easter)

Thursday, March 19, 2009


"I respect that divinity within you that is also within me."

That is the meaning of namaste...taken from the Sanskrit namah and te, literally, I bow to you. It is a greeting of respect. The position of the hands, palms together, fingers pointed upward, denote the feet of the divine(the right palm) with the head of the follower or devotee(the left palm). It symbolizes the concept of divinity in all, and submission to one another.

Something rather lacking in Lost, wouldn't you say?

Nothing very Eight fold path about what the Dharma people, or the "Others" have been practicing. Which leads me to...

What does Sawyer know?

That was my main question throughout, and after, last night's episode of LOST. I think it should be the most important development on the show to date...and I'll tell you why.

First of all, to those of you who are followers of the show, I want to ask you a question. How many of you have screamed at the TV at least once when one of the main characters gets some time with a character that has way more information that they do...and never asks them a friggin question? Come on now...doesn't that drive you nuts? Cherish and I have complained about that for years now. One thing either of us would do, and I think most of you are the same, is ask someone...




Anybody else, or just Cherish and I? Now, back to topic.

Sawyer is in, what appears to be, the most unique position of any character on the show. He is one of the original surviving members of the 815ers. He has knowledge of the future(in particular, the Purge) that the Dharma people don't. He has jumped back and forth throughout time and seen things(like the statue), that some of the Others, and maybe even Richard, haven't. He has, over the last three years, had access to Juliet's knowledge of the Others and Richard. He has had access, as chief of security, to most, if not all, of Dharma's plans and secrets. He has also had, at least twice a year, the ability to go to the mainland on the sub.

Sawyer was a con man. The most valuable thing to a con man is information. Information leads to knowledge. Knowledge is power. What did he say to Jack?

"All you did was react...I'm thinking..."

"I heard that Churchill read a book a night...even during the blitz..."

Here are some Churchill quotes that Sawyer might have read over the last three years...

A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on.

A prisoner of war is a man who tries to kill you and fails, and then asks you not to kill him.

Battles are won by slaughter and maneuver. The greater the general, the more he contributes in maneuver, the less he demands in slaughter.

Continuous effort - not strength or intelligence - is the key to unlocking our potential.

Everyone has his day and some days last longer than others.

For my part, I consider that it will be found much better by all parties to leave the past to history, especially as I propose to write that history myself.

History is written by the victors.

History will be kind to me for I intend to write it.

I always avoid prophesying beforehand, because it is a much better policy to prophesy after the event has already taken place.

If the human race wishes to have a prolonged and indefinite period of material prosperity, they have only got to behave in a peaceful and helpful way toward one another.

If we open a quarrel between past and present, we shall find that we have lost the future.

It is a good thing for an uneducated man to read books of quotations.

It is a mistake to look too far ahead. Only one link of the chain of destiny can be handled at a time.

Let our advance worrying become advance thinking and planning.

Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

Play the game for more than you can afford to lose... only then will you learn the game.

Study history , study history. In history lies all the secrets of statecraft.

Sure I am of this, that you have only to endure to conquer.

The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you can see.

To build may have to be the slow and laborious task of years. To destroy can be the thoughtless act of a single day.

True genius resides in the capacity for evaluation of uncertain, hazardous, and conflicting information.

War is a game that is played with a smile. If you can't smile, grin. If you can't grin, keep out of the way till you can.

We are masters of the unsaid words, but slaves of those we let slip out.

We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.

When the war of the giants is over the wars of the pygmies will begin.

One ought never to turn one's back on a threatened danger and try to run away from it. If you do that, you will double the danger. But if you meet it promptly and without flinching, you will reduce the danger by half. Never run away from anything. Never!

Think about those quotes in light of the plot of LOST...then think about Sawyer. What is he? A con man. He didn't want to leave the island. He had nothing to go back to. Now he finds himself in an unusual position. What is the first thing he did in 1974? Con Horace about being shipwrecked. Remember the episode, "The long Con?" Sawyer's closing monologue?

"How 'bout you listen up, because I'm only going to say this once. You took my stuff. While I was off trying to get us help, get us rescued, you found my stash and you took it. Divvied it up; my shaving cream, my batteries, even my beer. And then something else happened. You decided these two boys here were going to tell you what to do and when to do it. Well, I'm done taking orders. And I don't want my stuff back. Shaving cream don't matter; batteries don't matter. The only thing that matters now are guns. And if you want one, you're going to have to come to me to get it. There's a new sheriff in town, boys. Y'all best get used to it."

Don't you think Sawyer would have started a plan, which he would improvise as he learned more? The return of his friends, however, might put a crimp in that plan...speed it up, or change it completely.

Think about how the barracks, where Christian met Sun and Lapidas. Do you remember there being any Dharma signs, photos, paperwork, etc...before? No. The Others had removed all traces of Dharma in "Otherville" after the purge. Why are they back? Did someone, or something alter the timeline?

I still think that Widmore is the real bad guy...more on that on another post. If so, who would Sawyer side with? Widmore's group...or the "Hostiles"?

What has he been planning?

What does he know?

Is he hiding Rose and Bernard?

What were his plans before Jack, Kate, et al arrived?

What are they now?

If you were in Sawyer's position...what would you do?

Whose side would you take?




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Christopher Blake is a loving husband...devoted father...minister...crippled more than a little rough around the edges...