A facebook note from a man who knows what is really going on.

One of my friends posted this as a note. I couldn't help but pass it along. It's really self explainitory and if you don't get it...well...you should be shot.

It reads as follows:

"Sarah Palin is worse for this country than global warming, Al Queda, and Hurricane Katrina- combined! And I refuse to be guilted into thinking otherwise. A dear friend (R-Moritz) sent me a note the other day telling me that my facebook picture was in poor taste and that Sarah Palin was an exceptional woman and candidate. That I should be ashamed of myself for stooping to the level of the GOP by disparaging her good name."

First I laughed out loud. It stands to reason that the left must convince itself not to be “guilted” into thinking something. THINKING something. Some people use reason, some, apparently, emotions. Like guilt. Kudos, sir, for refusing to be “guilted” into thinking something. Since no one asked you to like her, approve of her, or vote for her anyway, I guess it was an easy answer to give. I award zero points to your self-impressed conscience. For all of the back and forth, one thing remains alarmingly unanswered. Between the public posts and the private messages, the above-quoted author has wasted over 3000 words—roughly the length of Sarah Palin’s address last night (34 minutes, give or take)—in defense of his frantic outbursts against Palin, her family, and anyone who wants a second look. Through it all, zero (0, as in one less than one) words have been spent explaining away the left’s central problem with Palin; there is a valid, truly reasonable (read: guilt-free) argument that, at the VERY least in terms of the public knowing what she’s about, what makes her tick, she’s more qualified for the Vice Presidency than Barack Obama is the Presidency. You simply can’t talk about her without talking about him. Because, as Sherrod Brown reminded us, they’re in this together! But not a single, solitary word. Pathetic. THAT just has to hurt. As for me, it again conjures up the sad, bitter cries of angry Democrats moaning, “We nominated the wrong person!” That’s ultimately what this is all about. Frustration. Anger. Disbelief at the recklessness and sheer, naked stupidity of Democrats. My first post about Sarah Palin listed, in abbreviated form, her considerable and impressive accomplishments during her short time in elected and public office.

For those who are unaware:Accomplishment:\ə-ˈkäm-plish-mənt, -ˈkəm-\Function: noun, Date:15th century1: the act of accomplishing : completion; 2: something that has been accomplished : achievement


Achievement. Completion. 3000 words wasted, calling her trashy, calling her daughter’s vagina a clown-car (hilarious…seriously, John Stewart should hear your stuff), claiming (without hyperbole) she is more dangerous than those responsible for the deaths of thousands of Americans in New York, Pennsylvania, northern Virginia, Iraq, and elsewhere, and more dangerous than global warming (which, if we are to heed my friend’s warning, will literally destroy the planet…so…this one is particularly bad). Claiming righteous indignation that McCain would STOOP so low as to assume that women vote according to the vagina (which nobody claimed), that Clinton voters would never be so stupid as to cross over and vote for an anti-choice misogynist (nobody said they would). Plenty of passion, lots of style, but, in a troubling likeness to his party’s nominee, very little substance. Quite a shock to the mind unmoved in reason by the guilt-trips of others. Where’s his achievement? Where’s his completion? What, please tell us, WHAT….FOR GOD’S SAKE TELL US WHAT HAS HE DONE. SOMEONE. Explain to me why he wants to change politics in Washington, why he wants to clean up Washington, but couldn’t find the moral courage to sneeze back at the dirtiest, most corrupt, most entrenched, and least popular Democratic regime in the nation literally in his own home town! It’s not asking all that much, is it? What makes him able to (as in what shows us that he “can”) identify and challenge the status quo in Washington when he couldn’t, he wouldn’t challenge two of the most corrupt governors of his own state in recent American history. Say what you will about Marc Dann, at least the guy went after corrupt GOP bigwigs with passion. Meanwhile, Obama…did what? Now I know he co-authored legislation to retard nuclear proliferation. Again, very courageous. As we all know, stopping nuclear proliferation IS the third-rail of American politics (popular as nukes are amongst the “fokes”). And I know Harry Reid appointed him the point man on ethics rules the Ds were going to make anyway. The way he trumps it up, though, is sort of like Dad letting Jimmy hammer the last nail in Suzy’s dollhouse, and Jimmy claiming he’s a professional builder. But for all this, shall we say, shallow assumption that Sarah Palin is so grossly underqualified and Barack Obama so obviously qualified, there is NOTHING put forward that he has done with his time in office except plan his next campaign. So, upon what can we base our opinions of him?His standard, outdated, ultra-left agenda right out of Johnson's Great Society, of nationalizing health care, skyrocketing payroll taxes (without regard to how they will bankrupt small businesses), empowering teachers unions, heaping more crippling regulation on employers without regard to the consequences for employees, disparaging middle America and middle Americans, their religion, their beliefs and values, the very way they live their life? How much should we take that into account? His embarrassingly transparent political maneuvering on everything from campaign finance to wiretapping? How about the "world opinion" that will swell around his eloquence when he announces we're renegotiating trade deals that have taken decades to build and have required massive concessions on all sides? Since he hasn't authored any major legislation, can we resort to looking at his voting record? Should we take into account that he's the most liberal member of the United States Senate when we hear his claims of "post-partisan"? Should we ask where he's been in "forging consensus," as he likes to say? Should we assume he thinks "consensus" is a synonym for "present," or at least showing up? Really, what do we have?

"Obama could no more disown his pastor than he could his own grandmo..." ...oh...hold on... what? He did? Never mind. Cancel that.

His church? His pastor? His statements suggesting a sharp departure from the black-integrationist we all thought Obama was? His involvement with the Woods Fund of Chicago and his former fundraising buddy, Bill Ayers? I mean, if we really want to delve into the quirks of the Alaskan political scene, isn’t it equally appropriate to ask what it was about Ayers that attracted young Candidate Obama to his home? What exactly it was that Rezco did to make sure Obama got his posh new house? Hillary wanted to know…Can we ask him more questions about cocaine use and our concern about what kind of an example that would set, as a President, celebrity, and father? And you want to play “dirty politics,” as you put it? Well hell, that’s easy. Why don’t we talk about what his religion really is. Why is it, every time someone claims he’s a Muslim he so vigorously denies it? What does he have to be ashamed of? What did they really teach him in those madrassahs in Indonesia? Shouldn’t we be concerned at all about his friendship with a known, unapologetic domestic terrorist and his simultaneous ties to Islam? What about his girls? For a man who knows what it’s like to grow up without a father, does he really want to throw away the next eight years and let his daughters grow up fatherless? What kind of father does that? What about past affairs? This is a guy who couldn't stop himself from hitting on a superior in a professional environment...when else has he done it? He wouldn't let up! She told him it was inappropriate, but he kept chasing the skirt. Are we in for more embarrassing episodes with White House interns? And what kind of first lady will Michelle Obama really be, in as much as it appears nothing this country has done has given rise to her considerably high-expecting pride? Does she even like being an American? Never been proud of her country? And this will be the first lady! What about a million dollars in Obama campaign money to the fringe organization CSI (a parent of ACORN)? Is Obama trying to foster voter fraud for his own benefit? But, no. I honestly couldn’t care less about Jeremiah Wright and all that other crap. And my good friend, and the national press, and the bloggers alike, should all get some perspective, take some deep breaths, and do a little homework. Report news, not innuendo. Report facts, not made-up stories. Have some damned respect. People for public office should not have to provide paternity tests proving to the national media that they’re the parents of their own children merely because some pimple-faced dumbass blogging on DailyKos from his mother’s basement thought that Bristol Palin looked plump in a picture taken two years ago. I hope the above demonstrates how dreadfully easy, and dreadfully crass, "dirty politics" is. News flash: Sarah Palin is a right-wing conservative. My god…what will this country do? Yes, everybody, she is an orthodox ideologue. No one says she a maverick for her politics. That would be stupid, but it is equally stupid to assume that politics (and policy) are all that exist in public servants. We’re not electing laundry-lists of policies, contrary to what Mr. Quay would assert – if we were, nobody would know what the hell Barack Obama is all about at all! We’re electing individuals who have shown us by their words and/or deeds what they can do, and what they will do, with the reins of power (and the phrase "talk is cheap" comes to mind). Policy is a central ingredient. But there’s a reason we don’t elect think-tank presidents but we do elect generals and governors. And here is where she is a maverick. Those disputing that either don't speak English, can't comprehend the apolitical conception of leadership, or both. Of course, that analysis might be a little too sophisticated for those susceptible to be swayed by guilt. So on the other hand, keep it right up. You’re digging your own grave. And at the end of the day when you lose this election, your third in a row, putting a Republican in the White House for the eighth time in eleven tries, and you blankly stare around at the utter wreckage that is your party and wonder, HOW, HOW….HOW DID WE F*** THIS ONE UP?, you’ll remember my voice, among others, at the top of pit, asking, pleading with you to come back and reclaim the moral high ground. And you laughed, literally, out loud.

There was time when the worst thing we said about each other was that the other was stupid. Those were the good old days.

You didn’t disparage Sarah Palin’s good name, my friend, you dragged her daughter, her husband, and her entire family into your pit. Without regard to the implications of everything you said for your own guy. Without regard to decency. You have joined the sea of mindless devotees who accept no criticism, no comparison, no questions. Congratulations on your conversion. But for now you just sound like the bubble-gum chewing, faux-popular girl in high school who knows she’s too insecure to be kind, too unsure of her own to be open to others. And you know what? THAT’S funny.


What can I say...Screw the liberals...

SexyBassoon??

Yesterday during my drive to work, I turned on my customary morning radio show, the “Johnny B.” show on 97.9 FM, “The Loop.” While the humor is crude, the talk is low-grade intelligence, and the issues discussed are of little to no consequence to me, I turn this show on because it makes me laugh and it gets my blood going for the day.
Yesterday’s guest was Rainn Wilson, a Chicago native, who stars as “Dwight Schrute” on NBC’s hit comedy, “The Office.” Recently, he has played the lead role in a movie called “The Rocker,” where he stars as a lousy drummer in a slapstick humor movie akin to “School of Rock.” During his interview he made mention of the fact that he has learned how to play drums and that he had already known how to read music. When Johnny B(randmeier) asked him about reading music, Rainn replied that he had played in band in high school (a graduate of New Trier high school). When Johnny asked which instrument, Wilson promptly stated that he had played bassoon. Then he said something that made me smile for the rest of the day. He said that bassoons were “sexy.”
OH MY GOSH….
DID HE JUST SAY THAT!!!????
He went on to elaborate that the bassoon was a chick magnet. “Think about it,” he said, “you’ve got this long sexy thing coming out from in between your legs, it’s got a low smooth sound to it, what’s not to love about it? It’s totally hot to play bassoon. Any of you young teenage boys looking to get the hook-up, you should seriously think about playing bassoon!!”
It’s a miracle that I didn’t drive off into the barrier. I was laughing so hard I cried, and my abs hurt for an hour. I suppose I should thank Wilson for doing some recruiting for one of the toughest instruments to get kids to play. But still, does he realize what he was saying about the bassoon? The thing sounds like a duck, if a duck could sing. What is sexy about that? Given the liberal nature of New Trier (not my comment-just quoting an old friend), I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that the pervading way of thought could produce something as ridiculous as that.
Still, that gives low wind players like me hope. Maybe, just maybe, playing tuba is sexy too.

So move out of the way Justin Timberlake, look who’s bringing SexyBack now?

Much too young (to feel this damn old)

Last Saturday I turned 24. Hardly worth cheering about. I spent most of the day with my wife. We did have lunch together, but afterwards we headed out to Westmont to help some friends move in. So much for celebration. Was it really 24 years ago when my mother screamed to wake the dead then plopped me into this world?
I must be getting senile in my old age. But am I really that old? I haven’t even garnered a quarter century of life yet! Yet here I am feeling as though I have been through a lifetime’s worth of experiences.
On a positive note, Bethany Lutheran voted to raise my salary on Sunday. Yay!!! That means I’ll be sticking around for a while. Susan says she’s ready to get rid of her choir. I’ll be happy to take it off her hands!
Last and certainly not least, the Penguins staved off elimination last night to beat Detroit in Detroit in triple OT. While I do think that the Cup will be won by the New York Yankees of hockey (the Detroit Red Wings), at least Pittsburg made a series of it. Considering that Pittsburg tied the game with 34 seconds left, I was just happy to go to bed with game tied.
That’ll have the fans in the Igloo (aka Mellon Arena in Pittsburg) chanting, “WE WANT THE CUP!! WE WANT THE CUP!! WE WANT…”

Anybody catch the Garth Brooks reference...anybody?

Driving me mad...

Well I don’t know how you spent the holiday weekend, but I spent it having time for rest and relaxation in the Brew City…Milwaukee. I even got to visit the custard shop from “Lavern and Shirley.” But when it was time to make the trip down to Chi-town again I found my self in a familiar position: fighting traffic.
While I like many things about Chicago, the traffic isn’t one of them, more specifically the people who cause the traffic (aka the drivers). So many people here would be dead if they drove in Alaskan Winters. Jeff Foxworthy once joked that if you could drive 70 miles an hour through whiteout conditions without flinching, you might be Alaskan. While his joke is an exaggeration, it comes with a huge splinter of truth. Alaskans by and large are REALLY GOOD drivers when compared to Illinois drivers. We drive slower, with better control, and we exhibit much less “fear” on the road. Alaskans know how to drive in rain, sleet, snow, and shine. We don’t “jack-rabbit” through stop-lights, we don’t run them, we don’t cut people off, and we don’t flip people off. We are cool, calm, collected drivers. So when I go down the high way and I see guys on “crotch-rockets” popping wheelies, or when people zip in and out of lanes at 100 miles an hour (literally), I get mildly disturbed.
Perhaps it is because everyone is in a hurry here. Gotta beat the rush, and in the process create a rush. In fact when you are in Alaska you can tell who is a tourist and who is a local. Alaskans always pause before they proceed through a green light when they’ve been waiting. People from the “Lower 48” always step on gas when the light turns green. Alaskans know that people can’t always stop in the wintertime (when you hit ice, sometimes stopping isn’t an option), so we always just give it a look before we take off. Try it here in Illinois and the person behind you lays on the horn like he’s got a pregnant wife about to give birth.

The bottom line I wish these folks would learn how to drive something else other than driving me crazy…

Gassed and Gas

Last night I stopped to fill up my tank. Needless to say I had to sign a promissory note to get it (hardly laughable as I am still $50,000 in dept because of college). It was made even worse by the fact that I was tired beyond all belief. Few times in my life have I been as exhausted as I was last night.
It all started about 6:00 PM. I was very excited for our concert. By 6:20 my excitement had faded to tension and angst as about half my band students were late. I am somewhat bitter about that, but hey, I wasn’t going to rock the boat with the boss.
My students never cease to amaze me. They really rose to the occasion last night, playing a piece of music that is far more difficult than they have ever been challenged with. Luckily, they were all about it and they worked hard on it. After our part of the concert was over I sat down and shuddered. It was over.
What followed was an experience in and of itself:
being mobbed at “Colonial Café” by 20 screaming middle school girls…eeeeek….toooooo much estrogen…..
By the time the night was over, I was gassed…the gauge reading waaaaayyy past “E.” But I noticed that I need to fill up, my car, that is. Great…another 10 minutes away from sleep…
So I went to my customary fill-up station and low and behold, the sign which had said $3.97 for regular only a day earlier, now read $4.15…doh…or as Brooke G. once put it, “and there’s a cherry on top.” I put $20 worth in and called it good. I will search for gas tonight…after I get done with this Proclaim gig…hmmm…still wondering what I am supposed to do…
I hope it involves some kind of sleep…

April Showers, Part II: Rain of a different kind

Well, it is still raining outside. The sun did come out but it soon disappeared back behind another wall of clouds and the Good Lord has blessed us with rain to feed the Earth (and the grass) to help it provide its fruits. Currently I am monopolizing the technology in our home; the computer/internet and the TV.
While April showers can bring us May flowers (or tornados). There are showers of a different kind that bring a totally different prize that I am perusing on TV. These showers are ones of sweat, blood, and tears. They are showers of Gatorade mixed with spit, trying to quench the thirst that wells up in the pursuit of immortality. They are showers of ice shavings that fly up off the ice as players jockey for position against each other. They are showers of vulcanized rubber that rain down on unkind iron, painted crimson red. These are the showers that lead down the road to the toughest trophy to win in all sport. These are the showers that bring the Stanley Cup.
For those that might not be of the Hockey-savvy type, the Stanley Cup (hereafter referred to as “the Cup”) is the trophy awarded to the team that wins the National Hockey League (NHL) playoffs. It is unique amongst all professional sports trophies because there is only ONE Cup. It began as an ordinary silver chalice given to the winner of an old time hockey league in Canada in the late 1890’s, paid for by Lord Stanley, a wealthy Canadian mogul (and legend has it, a huge hockey fan). The cup was bought by the NHL in the mid 1900’s (Still the same original cup) to be its own trophy, awarded to its playoff champion. The cup traveled with each person on the wining team for one day after they won it then the teams would have to give it back to be passed on to the next team. This tradition continues today, as the bowl of the chalice has carried everything from holy water for baptisms to the best wine or beer a champion’s ransom can fetch.
You may have caught the word immortality in that second paragraph above. If you are wondering why I used that word it is because that each person on the team which wins the Cup, has his name inscribed on the Cup. Since the Cup is a “roaming” trophy, this person will have his name on the cup…well…forever. Today the Cup has many different bands (levels), with each player to win it still etched into sports lore. The cup weighs nearly fifty pounds.
It is considered the toughest trophy in sports to win because for three months (late March to early June) the players endure a “second season” of the most physically intense competition in sports. Check (an upright body slam or simply a hit) after check, shift (a time when you are on the ice) after shift, grinding away at your body. All of this on ice; cold, unbending, unforgiving; played with wooden sticks and a puck of vulcanized hard rubber. Players know what is at stake and they do just about anything to inch their team one step closer to the “Holy Grail” of sports.
So, as the rain continues to fail outside, I will continue to watch the rain fall on my TV, enjoying each and every drop.

April Showers, Part I: Earthquakes and such

It is raining outside. The sound of thunder has been rumbling in the sky for the past half an hour or so. No lightning yet, but it may well be on its way. Oops…spoke too soon; just saw the first flash. I am glad I got my morning run in early today. This kind of weather unsettles me a bit. Where I am from we are lucky to hear thunder once a summer. That’s not to say that it never storms in Alaska. In fact, lightning sets off wildfires a lot in the interior part of the state. But I live in the South Central. I guess that’s the breaks of living in a state that is really six or seven states all rolled into one.
But I don’t think thunder and lightning unsettles me more than earthquakes “shake up (no pun intended)” Midwesterners. Really, I don’t think any of you “scaredy cats” have anything to worry about. One of my good friends at the LCMS seminary in Ft. Wayne was born and raised in Los Angles…just a hair’s width from the infamous San Andreas fault line. He lived through the quake in 1994 which shook somewhere about eight point something on the Richter Scale.
Time to go off on a tangent here. For those that don’t know how the Richter Scale works, each whole-number increase stands for a tenfold increase in power released by the quake. Thus, a quake that registers 2.5 on the scale is 10 times as powerful as one that registers 1.5. One that registers 3.5 is 100 times as powerful, one that registers 4.5 is 1000 times as powerful, and so on.
So the quake that Dave, my friend at sem, lived through was about a 1000 times as powerful as the quake that rattled our dishes a few weeks ago. It caused significant damage to buildings that were designed to resistant that kind of motion. And the quake lasted for a full 45 seconds. I don’t think the quake here lasted much more than 15 or 20 seconds.
But both of these quakes pail in comparison to the quake that shook AK (Alaska) on March 27, 1964. My dad was a seven year-old boy playing outside when the quake tore through the South Central part of the state. It was about 5:30 in the afternoon on a Friday. He says he remembers the earth buckling and throwing him to the ground and that he couldn’t regain his balance for some time afterwards. He recalls the earth rolling in waves like the ocean does.
In reality the quake lasted about five, terrifying minutes (300 hundred seconds of not being able to move, pinned to the rolling ground). For the beginning and end of the quake it registered about 8.6 on the Richter Scale. But for an entire minute, the Earth shook at 9.2 on the Richter scale, nearly 10,000 times the power released by the Midwest quake a few weeks ago. To put the power of the quake into real perspective it pushed the Matanuska-Susitna Valley 500 ft wider than it had been before. That’s right folks, it took the Alaska Mountain Range (a far northern branch of the Rocky Mountains), and spread it a tenth of a mile wider than it was. Seams small, but were are talking about literally moving mountains!! To make that picture a little more see-able it would have moved about half the Chicago skyline into Lake Michigan. Damage from the tsunamis produced by the quake was reported as far south as CHILE…that’s half the world away in South America!!!
Even more eerie was that fact that this particular Friday was Good Friday. A grim reminder of when the Savior of the Nations hung on a cross on a Friday afternoon. And when he cried out, as He who knew no sin, became sin for us, the Earth shook.
So the next time I hear someone in the Midwest talk about the quake, I might go off the deep end. It wasn’t an earthquake people…it was a dish rattler.
By the way…is that the sun coming out?

Fast fallen is the eventide.

Well, here is my first post. I was told by another blogger that the first one is the most important for getting your blog up and running, so I guess the pressure is on! In college I tinked with a Xanga posting, but it was short-lived. I had much too much going on my freshman year. I have been relatively faithful to my Facebook (I can be found under the title Michael Vasilie in the Concordia Chicago network). I suppose the reason for blogging is to pass along ideas, thoughts, concerns, questions, etc. to those who might care to read. Well, as a very private person who tends to internalize things, this will provide a challenge for me. But hey, if I can learn to communicate like this, it's bound to make me a better communicator, period, right? My wife will love that...excuse the sarcasm. I will warn the reader about a few things up front. I am a Native Alaskan...that's not to be confused with Alaskan Native (no, I have no Eskimo blood in me). But I was born an raised in the 49th state and with that distinction comes a few things that others might find perplexing. The first and foremost thing is my loyalty to family, friends, and coworkers. If you are counted in this fold you can count on a few things. First and foremost, I have got your back. I will jump in front of a bullet, (insert dangerous, fast-moving object here), or anything else for you. Why? Well where I am from that is just how it is. We take care of our own. The second thing you'll need to know about me is that I feel like everything in some way, shape, or form, is my fault...that is, if it goes wrong. If it is good, then something aside from my doing, made it that way. Call it being humble, call it lack of self confidence, call it, well...whatever you like. The bottom line is that I hate to disappoint people, and I hate it when people are disappointed, at me or otherwise. So if I am caught apologizing to you, you can safely presume that I feel like I screwed up in some fashion and it is my way of taking responsibility for it. The last thing you'll need to know about me is that I am a Lutheran Musician. That's a two part title for good reason. First and foremost, Lutheran. Well, Luther would have called himself a Christian so I'll go ahead and say that is assumed. I make no bones about the fact that I think we are as close to "getting it right" as you can...how can you go wrong with the INERRANT WORD OF GOD as your guide? The second part of that is the musician part. My parents both worked when I was a young child (pre-preschool) so I spent a lot of time being raised by my aunt and uncle. In fact, I called my aunt "Mom" before I actually called my real mother that. My uncle, a master of the piano, and the hymnal, would play hymns to put me to sleep, or would sing them to me with my aunt (who was once "Ms. Alaska”). She has a beautiful voice. So I learned to sing the song of the church from a very early age. Not just "Jesus, loves me" as important as that hymn can be, but also A Mighty Fortress, Muede bin Ich, and Thy Strong Word. So music and the Faith were a part of my upbringing.
Well I think that gets the preliminary intro out of the way. It's late. I better get in bed. No wife to cuddle with tonight though. She's in Minnesota. Guess, I'll have to settle for a dream.