Luddite Lefties

Hurricane Katrina has hit.

The levees that protected New Orleans have failed.
And an American city is pretty much obliterated.

The rest of us are seeing gasoline prices spike. Besides a lot of hand ringing, what can the government do?

Lots of things:

1. Suspend federal and state fuel taxes. That would cut the price of gas by fifty cents a gallon. After all, shouldn't government take a hit as well during a crisis?
2. Suspend federal regulations that force refineries to produce multiple gasoline blends. Reduce the number of gasoline formulations and you will improve distribution and supply.
3. Eliminate restrictions that have stifle the construction of oil refineries. There is plenty of crude oil. There is not enough of refined product.
4. Issue permits to drill in restricted areas like ANWR and the Florida coast inside the 75 mile limit.

I believe the President could do most of this by executive order. While these might not be permanent changes, it would buy some time until our elected representatives (or morons take your pick) to pass legislation to make these changes permanent.

If this sounds radical to you, then I might suggest that you have bought into the limits-of-growth and woe-is-me attitudes currently dominating the Democratic Party. The doom and gloom leftist agenda has no vision (unless you believe that we can grow our own food; walk everywhere we need to go; conserve our way to prosperity) and no hope.

What I suggest is a solution that has mile stones and measurable results.

Does this mean I think we should rely on oil forever? No. But shale oil extraction, coal gasification, E85 fuels, methane and hydrogen are not the primary sources of energy in our economy.

Should we work at developing new technologies? Of course, but we need to get the courts and government out of the way. They are not solution, but the hindrance towards energy independence.

Greta was Giddy

Last night I clicked away from the Rams/Lions massacre to check on the news. I shouldn't have been surprised, they were talking about Hurricane Katrina.

Greta was positively giddy as she rambled through a list of mayhem, death and destruction. They showed film footage of New Orleans under water and Greta told us that Mississippi was getting clobbered.

You could almost her the giggling in the background!

I guess it was a welcome break from reporting on missing persons. Alas, Greta hasn't had much to go on since Michael Jackson avoided the slammer, and how many ways can you repackage the Natalee Holloway tragedy?

About 107 at last count.

The rest of the cable vultures were pretty much on the same track.

This is the problem with journalism today--they wouldn't know how to report good news if it landed in their laps. The If-it-bleeds-it-leads crowd would have little to talk about if it weren't for natural disasters, high profile Hollywood trials and runaway brides.

Most of the time, the 24 hour cable news cycle is little more than clanging cymbals and banging gongs.

Yawn. Back to the Rams/Lions massacre. Hmmmm, the Lions better get a line in front of Joey Herrington...

What Can Brown Do to You?

The Ripper and I office together. Perhaps, office is too strong a word. I work and the Ripper alternately drools, sleeps and begs cookies. Did I mention, the Ripper is a 75 pound Black Labrador Retriever.

UPS usually delivers one or two packages every week. The truck has a distinctive sound, and the back gate goes up with a rattly-roll.

When the Ripper hears the UPS truck drive by, his ears perk up and he growls tentatively.

The UPS man doesn't even have to stop, he just has to drive down the street.

Should we actually have a delivery, the Ripper is hopping up and down. All four paws levitating above the floor, and his ears flapping in the air. The hair on his back is straight up and a full, throaty bark fills the air.

It's not the UPS Man's fault that the Ripper wants to eat his truck.

Once the package is delivered and the truck is gone, it is time to let the Ripper out the office door. He bounds in a full gallop--the kind where his front paws are behind his back paws. He bolts to the edge of the invisible fence line.

After carrying on for a few minutes, the Ripper trots back to the office door. A satisfied I-showed-him grin plastered on his muzzle.

Season of Hope

Preseason football, sigh. The off season was spent upgrading the defense, trading Randy Moss and selling the team.

Three games ito the preseason, the Vikes are 2 and 1. I'm still waiting to be impressed by the new and improved defense (it's better, but not great) and I shudder as a first team offense that seems to self destruct in the red zone.

But! It is the season of hope. We haven't played any games for real, and no one has uttered that foul phrase. "There's always next year."

Vikings fans have reason to hope. The hated Bears lost their QB for most of the season, but Rex will probably make it back for the last game of season and the Vikes will make him look like a super star.

The Lions are going with Joey Harrington as their QB. We continue to pray for Detroit's annual self-destruction.

Farve continues to lead the Pack, but he's a year older and the Cheese Head defense resembles Swiss Cheese.

I know I should listen to my buddy Brian, who admits, "I can't watch them. They drive me crazy."

If the season goes down the crapper again, maybe the new owners will fire Tice and company, and maybe, just maybe, they'll hire a real coach.

Ah, the season of hope--another blissful moment of self-deception.

Critter Tales - 1

We used to have two cats (research assistants actually) named Nicki and Missy. Nicki never cottoned to the idea of a second cat in the house and tended to make her displeasure known.

They had two perches in my office, holding court from their lofty spots, they rarely had anything to do with one another.

I was merely the human who made sure they had something to eat.

I should have realized something was up when I found them in the bathroom scrunched together with their tails twitching in perfect syncopation. I had come to use the facilities.

"Do you mind?" I asked.

Of course, they minded--they were cats.

I opened the toilet lid and this sopping wet squirrel bolted up and over the three of us. I stumbled back unsure what was attacking me. When I regained my footing, the squirrel and cats had vanished.

With visions of squirrel guts scattered over the living room carpet, I rushed after them.

I found them racing about in a wide circle, unsure of who was gaining on who. Suddenly, the squirrel vanished under the sleeper sofa.

"You might have said something, " I chided them.

They just glowered at me, waiting for me to move the sofa so they could continue their chase.

I tipped the sleeper sofa up, and the race was on again. The squirrel did not have much to worry about when it came to Nicki, she was slowing down in her later years, but Missy had a record of delivering trophies to my office door.

They started doing laps again.

I finally opened the sliding glass door in the hopes the squirrel would streak into the night. It took a couple more laps over tables and chair, before the rodent vanished into the night.

Nicki and Missy skidded to a stop, saddened by the end of their game. They scowled collectively in my direction, then went their separate ways.

Play it Again

In the late seventies, I attended college--a fine liberal establishment that cost a bundle.

Economically, those were dark days.

1. Gas had doubled overnight, because the United States supported Israel during the 1973 October War.
2. Tricky Dick Nixon had imposed wage/price controls and established a new federal agency called the EPA. Talk about bad ideas.
3. Jerry Ford promoted his WIN button (Wip Inflation Now) as if happy thoughts could rally the economy.
4. Jimmy Carter wrapped himself in a ratty cardigan and spoke of a national malaise. LOSER! (Green Bay Packer fans thought he said mayonnaise.)

It is hard to believe the country survived long enough to elect Reagan.

Anyway my little pea brain was being crammed full of notions like Limits of Growth and the Club of Rome. If they had been right, we'd all be living in huts today and starving to death.

I was having pizza with my dad, and I told him, " The world was going to run out of oil by 1984." Or "We're going to have by really small cars so we conserve our way to prosperity."

Dad gave me one of those you-poor-senseless-bugger looks, and probably wondered at the heady chunks of money he was coughing up for tuition.

I might tell you he calmly explained things to me, but Dad never explained anything calmly (he was Italian and needed to use his hands).

"Puss [he had many names for me, everything from schnook to pussycat]," he said, "the world has had a five year supply of oil for last 80 years." Point: We're not going run out of anything by 1984.

"Conservation is a nutty idea, technology will lead us out of the current problem."

Technology? I wondered if the Luddite profs in PolySci Department had thought about that. Obviously not, because the same tunnel-vision moles are saying the same things today.

By the way, one of those Luddites was the late Paul Wellstone.

Dad was right and my profs were wrong, and you know what, Dad is still right: Technology and ingenuity will see us thru this current rough spot.

I'll keep my SUV - Thank You

The Knowsley Safari Park is place in England where people can drive their cars through the park and see all sorts of animals. Lions, tigers, wildebeests (I finally figured out a place to use that word!) Critters that can put a hurt on you .

For the most part, the animals ignore the curious humans. After all they've got it pretty good. Regular meals, health care that sort of thing. Isn't socialism wonderful?

Lately the lions started acting a bit differently. They've taken it into their heads that Smart Cars and Mini-Coopers might be fun to chase.

Lions you say. Big teeth and claws to match, playing tag with itsy-bitsy cars that don't go very fast. This doesn't sound like a game that lions can lose.

And they've banned guns in England!

I think I'll keep my gas guzzling SUV, the V8 under the hood and my carry permit.

After all it is a Safari Park.

Character Test

"Be Strong and Courageous!" The exhortation is repeated four times in the first chapter of Joshua.

We never know when our mettle will be tested, but in those moments one's true character is revealed. One of those times came for me in January 1997. I was driving my dad home from the doctor's office. The prognosis was not good.

Cancer! A simple word that can tilt your world upsidedown. January is a cold time in the north. The lush summer green is washed out by snow and denuded trees. I did not know that the next six months involved three operations, five weeks in the hospital and those 20 final days at the nursing home.

I had a choice to make.

I knew people (born again, church-going, Bible-reading people), who blamed God when the scourge touched one of theirs. In one case, a young widow with young children; the other the loss of a son. They blamed God for sin and death.

It is easy to blame God.

I had a choice to make. I had young kids who would watch and learn over the ensuing six months.

There are no road maps for this treacherous stretch of life. Emotions come fast and hard. The choices come down to blaming God or grabbing on for the ride.

Courage? I don't know about that.

Strength? Not mine.

I leaned on the Shepherd during the hard times in 1997. I know bitterness dogged my steps. Anger greeted me every morning. Despair was my companion. Like a simple child I held onto the Shepherd's robe and we walked thru the valley together.

Storms like this come all at once. There are no warnings. It is best to know the God of the Universe and take Him at his Word.

Alaska is Melting!

Alaska is Melting! So proclaimed the Drudge headline.

This is news?

I'd expect Alaska to thaw out, after all it is summer.

The purveyors of these dire warnings are Senators Clinton and McCain. When 2 United States Senators who have no idea what they are talking about make end-of-the-world type proclamations, I started shaking in my Mukluk boots.

These United States Senators seem to spend most of their time on Sunday Morning news shows. What do they know about the price of gas? Nothing.

Hillary went so far as to say that some of the fishes had little bumps. My goodness, Slick must have been right when he told us, "She's the smartest woman in the world."

It has been a warm summer and oil prices are soaring. The obvious conclusion is that global warming is real and it is all George Bush's fault.

Any time one of the prima donnas in the worlds most dysfunctional body speaks up, the chances for error are enormous. A hot summer is evidence of global warming. A cool summer is evidence of global warming. Teddy Kennedy imbibing is evidence of global warming.

And it is always the fault of those rascally republicans.

Yawn.

The eco-freaks are in need of new scare tactics.

The El Camino and the Camper

Long ago in a suburb not too far away, my parents used to have a 1970 El Camino. This was a vehicle that put a truck bed on a car chassis, better known as a mistake.

Anyway, my mother found a place in Osseo that would custom build a camper. Being as this was a car chassis, the pseudo-truck bed was really small and when you threw in wheel wells, it was basically not existent.

The camper was a marvel of micro-engineering, costing who knows what. The shysters that sold this thing to my mother threw in a couple of cable jacks to facilitate getting this thing on and off the El Camino.

Remember it was truck masquerading as a car or maybe the other way around. So it would be unsightly to run around town with a camper bolted into the bed.

"If you ever lose your grip on the cable jacks [when you're taking the thing on and off] the handle will spin around and break your wrists," warned the shyster.

A real sweetheart!

We went camping every week end. I got proficient in loading and unloading the camper. It fell to me to make sure the cinder blocks got placed under the camper--real comforting feeling when 500 pounds of wood and plastic is dangling overhead.

My other task was to guide the El Camino under the camper. That meant I had to crank [using the cable jacks] the camper up higher than the bed, then guide the El Camino backwards under the camper.

I had dreams that one day the El Camino might hit a cable jack bring the camper crashing down.

My mother had this thing for dust so she kept the windows rolled up tight, and she never checked her mirrors, so guiding her left and right as she backed the El Camino towards the camper was a real challenge.

Finally, lowering the creature (I mean camper) was always interesting. Either the wheel wells were in the wrong place, or it was crooked, or it required a quick run followed by slamming on the brakes.

I have no idea what happened to that camper, but I hope it was something serious.

Land for Peace

This week Israel enforced the abandonment of Israeli settlements along the Gaza Strip.

For those of you who have forgotten, Gaza is a thin strip of land won during the Six Day War in 1967.

The idea here is that by giving land to the Palestinians, there will be peace.

So far, Israel continues to give back land and the fine folks running Hazbollah, Hamas, Islamic Jihad...blah, blah, blah continue to recruit, arm and produce bomb vests.

At this rate, Israel will run out land long before peace is achieved. The only peace the bomb-making thugs, who nibble away at Israel's borders, are interested in is the total annihilation of Israel.

This a bad idea that sounds good, but it will only get more people killed and precipitate a nasty war. But like so many liberal, do-gooder ideas, it sounds good and the policy architects had the very best intentions.

Goat Rodeo

My Bride decided that we no longer needed the sleeper sofa--a wonderul piece of furniture constructed from cast iron and steel.

She arranged with a charity to come by and pick it up. My task was to get it to the curb.

No problem! I'd forgotten how much it weighed.

My son and I wrestled the sofa through the front door. He looked down the drive to the far off curb, voicing the concern, "We're going to carry it the curb?"

Have you lost your marbles!?!

I told him we would stick in the back of the Expedition (Eat your hearts out you Eco-Freaks!). The sofa fit with room to spare. We delivered it the curb. Mission accomplished!

Right?

Wrong.

The charity never showed up. Maybe they knew how much this monster weighs. So we shoved it back into the Expedition, and off I went to donate it to the Good Will.

The fellow in receiving looks over my treasure. I tell him its in fine shape (it really is). We start unloading it and he discovers it is a sleeper sofa.

"We don't take these," he informs me.

"You don't?"

"Policy," he explained with slight British accent.

I'm starting to get a bit desperate. Off to web I rush and look up the Salvation Army (they'll take just about anything). They had a map plotting the location of the drop off warehouse. I guess I expected the people running the website to generate accurate maps.

Following these directions led me to the topless bars downtown. I circled several times, before I found another building marked Salvation Army. It was buttoned up like Fort Knox, and assessing the neighborhood, I figured retreat was the better part of valor.

Back to the maps! My new location took me by the bottomless bars into the warehouse district and eventually to right location.

They started making noises like they wouldn't take this wonderful sofa off my hands, and I started looking around at bridge underpasses where I could dump it.

In the end they took it.

"Do you want a receipt?"

I shook my head, smiled and gunned the Expedition back to my sedate suburb.

ET in Jogging Shorts

Gear is important to sports. For a long time, I pooh-poohed the idea of needing anything but shoes, shorts and shirt to go running.

A year ago, my bride gave me a pedometer and a heart rate monitor. It was off to the races!

Stats, gizmos and measurement--just the thing for a nerd in running shoes!

A year later finds me decked out with Omron pedometer that is smart enough to discern running from walking; head phones tuned to talk radio or music; New Balance running shoes; a Camelback hydration system and (drum roll please) a Garmin ForeRunner 301.

After hearing all the stuff I hang on my body for 3 - 5 mile run, a buddy said, "So you look like a space alien."

It must be the antennae on the head phones.

The Garmin Fore Runner is a combination heart rate monitor / lap timer / GPS / mapping system / calorie counter. There may be a Swiss Amry Knife in there too.

Thank goodness for the mapping system. In twisty suburbia and unfamiliar park trails, it is real easy to end up somewhere else. Last Saturday I hung a left and ended up running into the next suburb over.

That was a long run back to car, but at least, I knew how to get back to the car.

Baby Proofing the Office

The conversation went something like this: "I'll have to start baby proofing the house," announced my bride of 27 years.

"Yeah, but what are you going to do about dad's office?" asked my daughter, a mom of 3 days.

I've been in my present home office for 15 or 16 years. It is much better than the bend in the hallway on way to the old laundry room. I basically pile and file things, and there is an eclectic mishmash of things reflecting hobbies, my business and the lives of my research assistants (2 cats deceased,and 2 dogs--one still with us). So there are doggie bones and toys scattered about as well.

My bride assured me it would be 7 or 8 months before Jada started to crawl. As I surveyed my realm (the only part of the sprawling estate that is truly mine), I realized I should have started cleaning up once I learned of the pregnancy (I'd lost close to 9 months).

There are computer cables and power strips (I haven't figured out what I'm going to do about those).

There there is my coin work bench. I need to get the backlog catalogued and put away by Christmas.

Right.

There are the boxes of ammo and magazines for various rifles and pistols tucked in a corner and on top of a shelf (most of the guns are locked in the safe). But I sure can't leave the ammo anywhere near Jada's reach. Well, I figure I'll plan several trips to the range to alleviate that problem.

Consummables you know.

So I started on the far desk--the one that followed me from my days outside the laundry room.

I start plowing through a slight backlog of first day covers (2 or 3 years worth). I'm making fine progress and the hound (my current research assistant) is nosing around all the goodies that I am unearthing.

I open up a cabinet door and find a box. Stamped prominently on the side is warning label marked: EXPLOSIVES.

Some forgotten treaure! Alas no, merely several years worth of old stock statements.

Gee, I hope the shredder holds out.

Life as a Drug Lord

We own property in a fast growing suburb--part of a farm now hemmed in with town houses and single family suburbia.

My mother calls, announcing, "The cops called today. They said we have marijuana in the old pasture."

"Hmmm," I say. So I wander into my pony's old pasture. The pony has been gone some 15 years now, and I start poking around. Sure enough, there are several fine looking, ten foot tall marijuana plants. "Yep, the cops are right."

"Are you sure?" my mother demands. "How do you know what marijuana looks like?"

"You just do. It's not that hard."

So I make arrangements with the local cop shop to come by and pull the plants out. After all it was their idea in the first place. They did a quick survey and found couple of plants down at one end of the pasture. "This won't take long," says Don the cop, who drew pot-pulling duty.

I waggled my finger and point out my healthy crop that's striving and thriving.

"Oh," he says.

Ninety minutes later, Don tells me they think they took out 4000 plants. No wonder my old pony led such a happy life.

Welcome to the world Baby Girl

Today was a great day.

Our first grand daughter arrived at 6:22 PM CDT. A healthy 7 lbs 7 oz and 19 1/2 inches long.

I think about a moment like this, back to when I had kids. My father hated coming to hospitals, but he came to see his grand children.

I am blessed that I have lived long enough to see my grand children and God willing, I may even see my great grand children.

Yes today was a great day!

Intelligent Design - well duh!

The President came out in favor of teaching the intelligent design theory along side evolutionary theory.

Intelligent Design Theory suggests that life and certain aspects of the universe were designed by an intelligent agent.

Dare we say God?

An evolutionary dare not open this avenue of thought, because it leads to alternate theory that basically kicks the legs out from under evolution's wobbly premise--that all life just mutated into complex life forms.

Anyone ascribing to intelligent design is branded a neophyte, luddite or worse (a denizen of the religious right).

Us denizens are simply asking for equal time. It is the evolutionists who seek to suppress a different theory.

Did you see that word: THEORY. They are both theories. Only generations have been taught that evolution is fact. It works right up there with Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.

Quit putting out Crap!

The same story that has run all summer wil run agaiin this week. Hollywood is dismayed at the decline in ticket sales. There have been 2 movies this year that were worth the price of admission: BATMAN BEGINS and REVENGE OF THE SITH.

Beyond that, the summer has been a massive disappointment.

There was WAR OF THE WORLDS, starring Tom Cruise and based on an improbable premise. It made INDEPENDENCE DAY seem marvelous. But once again Hollywood knew better and strayed from the original material.

The FANTASTIC FOUR spent a great deal of time on character development and ran out of time to really make DR DOOM into a criminal master mind. He came off as bully with bad skin.

Then there was the horrendous THE ISLAND. This movie had a great idea, trememndous talent and a director who only knows how to make chase scenes that blur across the screen. They wasted one of the best plot ideas of the summer, because Michael Bay didn't understand that it wasn't a chase movie.

Hollywood pushed DUKES OF HAZARD, HERBIE FULLY LOADED and BAD NEWS BEARS. The problems here are self evident.

They spent $100,000,000 on STEALTH and managed a paltry $13,000,000 the first week.

If Hollywood wants to make money, then produce something that doesn't insult our intelligence.

Working up a lather

President Bush exercises on a regular basis. He jogs, mountain bikes and does some free weights. This makes him a object of ridicule for the media elite. Obviously, the left has nothing better to do than throw stones. Imagine if they really had something to write about.

My attitude is great. I wish more people emulated his workout ethic. Of course, I could be biased as I run, do karate, full contact sparring and shoot guns on a regular basis.

But I live in fly-over land, so my opinion doesn't count.