Hergest Ridge

Another day slips into the past, the list of tasks assigned to it not so. Breakfast, trip to the doctors, pharmacy, store, then another, and another. The whole town is stocking up on supplies, an event akin to those that precede a powerful storm.

It’s nearly September and the last long weekend of the summer. There are those that leave the city for the lakes and need things for the stay, and those that prepare for the coming school year. Across the stores, the combination plays itself out on epic proportions.

An ice cream truck broke down in the street below, or so it seems. The music box sound which the vehicle produces can sound pleasant, but only as long as it’s getting closer or further away. We’re multiple runs into the same tune at volume equal those before, and there still is no sign of it going away.

Before I take another trip across town to celebrate another special birthday, I wanted to leave a quick mark here to keep my writing habit going. One thing I find frustrating about journal like entries is the number of times the English language forces one to use the word “I”. You may have noticed my loathing for I, with recent entries taking a journey through words, phrases and sentence structures that don’t require the “I-columns” for support. Until the time when all my journal like entries can be presented in a style less dependent on I, I suspect I shan’t write many of this type. (There you have it again – two more in just half a sentence! How absurd!)

Happy Birthday, Larissa!

Out of the birthday poems read, some corny, generic, ga-ga, others cliché, stuffy, recycled, none fit. Perhaps that is befitting in itself, considering the occasion. Birthday wishes should be as unique as those to whom they are addressed, and there is very little uniqueness in a set of verses pulled from a book or website.

With most close to me, I have the opportunity to express the well wishes in small bits throughout the year – a method much preferred. But the August 26th birthday is different, as it bears much of the weight of time passed with little opportunity for regular, direct expression.

Of course, the situation does not lend itself to a method of catching up; making up for lost time. With that understanding, sending my best wishes and hoping that they find the recipient in ways unique enough to make up for the lack of originality in the presentation.

Happy Birthday, Rebecca.

Imagine one religion is how the World Church wanted the world to hear and remember John Lennon’s “Imagine”. “John told them that they didn’t understand it at all.” To this day, there are reports that some in the US are broadcasting the World Church proposed version of the song, or omitting the line all together.

From “damned to hell”, to “darned to heck” – it’s probably the best polite slap of reality in situations where the audience is too sensitive towards set and very specific combinations of letters, which, by the way, depend on the context of language (meaning that ass in German – translating to ‘ate’, as in ‘ate a cookie’ – is fine with English speakers so long as not surrounded by English words. Incidentally, the pronunciation and spelling of the English word “ash” is a German curse word, translating back to English as “ass.”)

So what makes a curse word? The set letter combination, or the language that surrounds it?

Nostalgia knocked on the door today, and I invited her in. Taking me to remote corners of the Internet we read about the Bulletin Board Systems (BBSs) of the old days. The journey was limited to PCBoard, but years ago the experience stretched from Renegade, to VBBS to Wildcat! software.

Network 23 BBS was popular for the live chat – up to five could spend 59 minutes per day messaging in real time, then you were disconnected opening the phone line to the next computer calling in. Castle BBS had a lot of popular door games, Sound and Sight BBS a lot of files. Above the Rim was a warez community with Sysops a couple years older than most callers, thus a very cool place to hang out with the older kids – those with relationship and ‘real life’ problems we’d have traded our modems for.

Leaving home for the lake was more difficult the first year after joining the BBS world. The week long adventure came only a couple months after I had connected my first modem (US-Robotics, 14.4 Baud, 16550 UART) to my first PC.

Eventually, calling in turned to receiving calls with the start of my own BBS, Ghost in the Machine (GITM). The phone technician looked puzzled when asked to put in three phone lines, side-by-side, all with a unique number and a sole outlet in the basement. I met and stayed virtual friends with Jan-Ice, Dennis, Katherine, Kubes, Sue, Xavier, Brad, and others, none of which are around today but for that space where memories are kept. GITM BBS received over 54 thousand phone calls, with the daily reaching 111.

These early stages of computering led me eventually behind the scenes of the young Web and the Internet. And while I miss the days of searching for a better init string, adding new files for download, being Sysop paged, and making a new Main Menu… I think the PCBoard disks and manual will stay in the box on the top bookshelf, where they’ve been since the mid 90s.

Just discovered WordPress’ quick link on the dashboard for writing a new post. Still looking for the time and energy to keep up with Hergest Ridge, and the other writing project. There is no easy time to step away from the day to day and start investing in something long term, which might not pan out despite best efforts…

Work is steady and plenty, so are the credit card interests. Just had a long conversation with the company rep regarding the protection I should purchase in case unable to make payments due to illness. I politely declined after being casually told the service is being added (no questions here), and was told it’s a swell plan which can be canceled after a month. Again, I declined and even explained already being over insured. Still told that I am getting the plan added, I asked if it is now a requirement. No. Then I don’t want it. But I bet the next statement will include a charge for it which I will have to call about and remove.

Tried paying a couple folks to help out with the workload, but got nowhere for now. Would really like to have some time to create and release a series of WordPress themes, each theme named after a woman than inspired. Emilie and Vegetal would likely be first. I can think of a few others.

A couple hours of marketing writing await. Design work for clients too. Despite all, another success in stepping back for a moment to do something more meaningful.

Brash Remarks on how the cure takes another life:

• They came with knives, left with guns.
• Bowling for NY, Airborne, a 9/11/01 prequel series.
• Guns in untrained hands, and not just Cheney’s.
• Escalating fire power – competition for more power in an H3 era.
• Cruel intentions: They’re easy to spot. Like Big Foot.
• Judge, jury, trigger man – “Baby on Board” parent decides.
• Harpooning a shark in a pool teeming with dolphins.
  What could go wrong?
• In Wal-Mart’s gun aisle, looking for anti-depressants.
  I’m OK – You’re OK.

Interesting, how the proposed true freedom reduces the bad guys to box cutters, with the nanny ready to feed a lead sandwich – as good or better than the wider highways idea to curb global warming through less idling and waiting. Obviously, one of the greatest human limitations comes from those able to consider a single factor in complex situations.

Heidi Baker has seen food multiply and more than a hundred people raised from the dead, the latter event described by the Christian Broadcasting Network host as “an incredible resurrection power-move by God.”

“We didn’t have enough chicken.” The cook now announced he was cooking fish. “They want chicken, so we prayed for chicken, and everybody ate chicken.” Later, bags and bags of chicken were taken home. Imagine the poor and dying children of northern Mozambique fretting over the Christmas menu. And just how do the poor and starving out there tell the difference between chicken and fish? Miracles abound when Heidi is around.

“It’s documented – god just made more chicken for us. Whether it flew in, or…” The host interrupted and the flying chickens joined the ‘divine secrets’ rank.

Ready for another miracle?

“I looked into the eyes of the girls and asked them what they want” for the girls didn’t want the stuffed toys. They instead asked for beads – stuffed toys are sooo passé in Mozambique, and next year if we cannot bring caviar and iPhones, Westerners might as well take their gifts and keel over in shame and for being useless.

Those ungrateful bastard children were first unwilling to eat fish, and now can’t even say “thank you” and shut up.

“I told my friend to look in the garbage bag and pull out what is there, and there were beads in the bag, because god cares.” Heidi just knew – no easter egg hunt for the beads.

How have these miracles changed how Mozambique sees Jesus?

“They know he is real. Hundreds of hundreds and thousands of syncretistic Muslims are getting saved everyday. We don’t even preach, we just say bring us the deaf, and the deaf person hears and then they just say ‘Yeees, we want Jesus!’ “

The poor of Mozambique need Jesus like the natives of North America needed the blankets from the white man. And we all need Jesus like another hole in the body. The notion of Jesus often maims and kills, with the healing left to the ER. The Spaniards of the roughly 350 years starting 1478 will attest, and 150,000 (an estimate from García Cárcel) people can’t be wrong. (Well, yes they can, but just take my word for it or read the daily news.)

The miracles happen “week, after week, after week, among those in northern Mozambique.” While Heidi is raising the dead with prayers, her husband Rolland “left Mozambique for the United States last November for prayer, treatment and rest. During this time he has been under the care of several doctors and has been meeting with counselors.”

The first one to argue for miracles in a context other than ‘a useful tool to oppress’ gets to wear a very pointy hat, and substitute for the poster in a game of “pin the tail.” As for the modern day con woman Heidi Baker with an historical act, I hope that hell does really exist.