THE BITCH

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 sure...you just volunteered...GO!

Cocksucking, ball-licking, punk ass bitch motherfucker...I said that to myself, of course...as 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 step...talk to God...and yes, cussing Him out is still talking...you 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.

Together.

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.

For CHESLIE...KATHY GRIFFIN, MATTHEW SHEPARD, PROPOSITION 8...The PARABLE of The GOOD SAMARITAN Part 2

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.
Cheslie

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.

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 time...like this one:

http://kottke.org/09/08/hubble-ultra-deep-field-in-3-d


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:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Twin_QSO



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 it...it 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. 3.9999...you 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.

Mechanics?

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 means...at 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...

Yes...you 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 me...do you really believe paper you wrote?

Yes.

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