The Crusty Curmudgeon

Friday in the wild: January 27, 2012

2012-01-27T21:44:00.000-05:00

It's Friday! Here's a compendium of bloggy goodness from the past week.

Scott Adams describes how both Barack Obama and Newt Gingrich set off his "non-believerdar":

It's starting to look as if Newt Gingrich will be the Republican nominee. If so, this might be the first time two non-believers ran against each other for President of the United States.

What?

Oh, that's right: You still think Gingrich and Obama believe what's written in the Christian Bible. I understand why you think that. After all, both men say they believe in god, and they do churchy things. The trouble is that Gingrich and Obama both set off my non-believerdar. (That's like gaydar for non-believers.)
[Read Non-Believerdar]

Adams then goes on to say that he doesn't really believe in "non-believerdar" (or gaydar, or any other -dar)—it's just his feeling that both candidates profess some sort of Christian belief for its utilitarian value in getting votes. And you know what? He might be right. Though I'd probably concede that Gingrich, as a convert to Roman Catholicism, actually believes it to some extent: squishy evangelicalism would play just as well, if not better, in the Bible Belt.

Last week, Alan Shlemon asked on the Stand to Reason blog whether Jesus' apparent silence on homosexuality actually meant anything. This week, he continues the series, asking whether homosexuality really is the worst sin imaginable:

Christians don't just think homosexuality is the worst sin. We act like it too. Christians who rarely cite scripture suddenly invoke Bible verses when the topic comes up. We get uneasy when gay men come to church, but we gladly welcome post-abortive women. We’ll move a lesbian who sits next to other females at youth group, but we won’t separate girls who gossip.

It's no wonder the culture thinks Christians hate homosexuals. We give their behavior a unique status: the worst sin of all. And because homosexuals are committing the supreme evil, we treat them like pariahs.
[Read Is Homosexuality the Worst Sin of All?]

I'll just add that Jesus said there was a sin that was unforgivable (Matt. 12:31), but it's not the sin of which Paul said to the Corinthian church, "such were some of you. But you were washed" (1 Cor. 6:11).

Chris Rosebrough attended the Elephant Room conference this week. Rather, he tried to—but upon arrival was informed that he was no longer welcome and would be arrested if he didn't leave. Nonetheless, he posted on the theological weaselliness¹ of "Bishop" T. D. Jakes:

Jakes' full answer was this:

One God—Three Persons. One God—Three Persons, and here is why . . . there . . . I am not crazy about the word persons this is . . . most people who follow me know that that is really. My doctrinal statement is no different from yours except the word. . . .

Driscoll completes Jakes' sentence by filling in that "one word" and its [sic] the word "Manifestations."
[Read Theological Sleightof Hand at the Elephant Room]

"Manifestations" is, of course, the usual way that Oneness advocates try to avoid the traditional Trinitarian language of one God in three distinct Persons. Jakes is trying to play to his audience and sound properly Trinitarian, but he can't get away from his own sect's jargon. As Rosebrough adds: "See what a difference just one word can make?"

On Twitter, James White posed one good question that would settle Jakes' view of the nature of God unambiguously: "Did the Son, as a divine person, distinguishable from the Father, exist as a divine Person prior to the birth in Bethlehem?" I'm not holding my breath.

Credo provided a good reminder that two valuable resources are available for free for the download: an audiobook of J. I. Packer's Knowing God from ChristianAudio, and Timothy George's lectures on the theology of the Reformers. The Packer book, at least, is only available for the remainder of January. Grab it while you can: it tops the list of extrabiblical, Christian books that I recommend to friends.

Desiring God Blog pointed to an article by Richard Pratt on the Ligionier Web site, about how proverbs are not promises:

Now, we need to be clear here. The proverbs commend certain paths to family members because they reflect the ways God ordinarily distributes His blessings. But ordinarily does not mean necessarily. Excellent wives have good reason to expect honor from their husbands and children. Fathers with integrity often enjoy seeing God’s blessings on their children. Parents who train their children in the fear of the Lord follow the path that frequently brings children to saving faith. But excellent wives, faithful husbands, and conscientious parents often endure terrible hardship in their homes because proverbs are not promises. They are adages that direct us toward general principles that must be applied carefully in a fallen world where life is always somewhat out of kilter. As the books of Job and Ecclesiastes illustrate so vividly, we misconstrue the Word of God when we treat proverbs as if they were divine promises.
[Read Broken Homes in the Bible]

And so, until next week, I bid you adieu. Enjoy.

Footnote

¹ I have my doubts weaselliness is a word. But, dang it, it should be.

And now . . . this - Jan. 27/12

2012-01-27T18:54:00.001-05:00

A woman plans to marry a partially demolished building in Seattle on Sunday.

Even though cranes have already started demo work at 10th and Union Warehouse, Babylonia Aivaz reports "I'm STILL Getting Married."

"Yes, I'm in love with a 107 year old building!" writes Aivaz on the wedding invite page on facebook.
[Full Story]

There is a positive to this: since the building is on it last legs anyway, by the time "Babylonia" comes to her senses and decides to marry a person, she won't have to fight a messy divorce—who gets the little sheds, and all that.

Amazingly, someone in the media thought this nitwittery was newsworthy. And the affirming, encouraging comments on the Facebook page are hilarious as well, perhaps unintentionally.

How many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died?

2012-01-27T17:22:00.001-05:00

A lightning review of The Road by Cormac McCarthy (New York: Knopf, 2006). Hardcover, 256 pp.

In the near future, a catastrophe (which I inferred to be a nuclear holocaust, though McCarthy has suggested it was an asteroid strike) has left almost nothing alive and covered everything in blowing ash. Civilization has broken down; only small scavenging bands roam the ruins. Many have resorted to cannibalism.

A man and his son struggle to travel to the ocean with their meagre possessions and small stash of food. They are alone in the world: the boy's mother committed suicide shortly after the disaster. They have a gun, but only two bullets. The man realizes that he is dying, but nonetheless he still wants to reach the coast, protect his son from the evil around him, and assure him that they are the "good guys."

The Road has been described as Cormac McCarthy's masterpiece. I’m struggling to understand why. Its repetitive storyline lacks plot: man and boy are starving, find food, eat food, man and boy are starving. Lather, rinse, repeat. To McCarthy's credit, he has an accurate view of human nature as fundamentally evil. Whether or not civilization would completely crumble as the result of such a disaster thankfully remains to be seen; I do know that more local-scale catastrophes have not resulted in the complete breakdown of society. The Road was a quick read (a couple of hours), but in the end, rather disappointing.

Sanctity of Life Sunday in the wild: Jan. 22, 2012

2012-01-22T19:06:00.000-05:00

Today is the 39th anniversary of the infamous Roe v. Wade decision of the United States Supreme Court, which legalized abortion on demand citing a supposed right to "privacy." Thus it is also commemorated in many churches as Santity of Life Sunday, as normally the third Sunday of the month would be the one closest. National Sanctity of Human Life Day was originally proclaimed by Ronald Reagan, and the tradition has since been continued by both Presidents Bush, but not either Bill Clinton nor Barack Obama—which really tells you all you need to know about the powers-that-be of the Democratic Party when it comes to the issue of unborn human life. In Canada, our lack of abortion restrictions is due to the R. v. Morgentaler decision of January 28, 1988, not Roe, so Sanctity of Life Sunday may get a nod in Canadian churches, if that. Nonetheless, American policy and tradition tend to have an effect on Canada as well.

Typically at around this time of year, the blogosphere starts to buzz a bit with life issues, and so I've decided to highlight a few of the posts that attracted my own attention over the last few days.

Sex-selection abortion plagues countries such as China or India, where the preference for boys over girls, coupled with ideological or economic considerations (such as China's reprehensible one-child policy) make the destruction of the unborn fairer sex virtually inevitable. In China, there are currently around a million men who will never be married: there simply aren't enough women.

Andrea Mrozek of ProWomanProLife (probably my favourite pro-life blog right now) cites a recent National Post column by Fr. Raymond J. de Souza, in which he writes of sex-selection abortion:

The world has more or less gotten used to it, and it is almost never raised as a matter of international concern. Particularly notable for their lack of interest is the abortion-rights community in the West, which seems willing to sacrifice literally millions of little girls in service of the abortion licence.

In other words (as Andrea's title says), we know about it, and we don't care. She adds:

I’ve been asked multiple times over the past days what the solutions are to eradicating sex selection abortion. The fact is that in a permissive abortion regime, there are none. And the people who could end the permissive abortion regime don’t want to, ergo, they really don’t care about missing women.

[Read Sex Selection: We've Known About It, and We Don't Care]

Andrea also took on another column, this time by André Picard of the Globe and Mail, arguing that sex-selection abortion is a "complex issue with many nuances." Some choose them because they value boys over girls, some because they want to "balance" their family. See? It's complicated!

Andrea's response:

[I]n the words of one friend who emailed me his frustration, sex-selection abortions are not nuanced and complicated. They are pretty damn simple. I want a boy. I carry a girl, therefore I terminate girl’s life simply because I want a boy. Wow. Uber f*&ing [sic] complicated. Soooo nuanced! How do we keep up?"

[Read Oh So Nuanced]

Snarky? You bet. But as I've heard Scott Klusendorf say, while the decision to have an abortion or not might be psychologically complicated, it is not really morally complicated. If the unborn are not human beings, the decision to have an abortion needs no justification. (In other words it need be neither psychologically nor morally complex.) However, if the unborn are human beings, then the decision to have an abortion can have no justification. It matters not whether you value boys over girls, or simply want to have one of each: either way you are killing a blameless human being. It's simply wrong, either way, and "nuance" be damned.

Speaking of Scott Klusendorf, he and his colleague Jay Watts of the Life Training Institute wrote a very good defense of incrementalism at the Gospel Coalition blog:

First, how does it follow that because we can't save all children we shouldn't try to save some? Pro-lifers are not the ones compromising when we support incremental laws aimed at limiting the evil of abortion. Rather, the abortionist is compromising because he's forced to give up the current status quo—namely, that any child can be killed at any point in pregnancy for any reason. Whenever we chip away at that status quo so that some lives are saved, we are not compromising, we are improving the moral landscape. Make no mistake, we do not intend to stop chipping away at the legal protections for abortion until all children are protected in law. But until that day comes, we will work to save as many as we can given current legal restraints. . . .

[P]ersonhood advocates should be careful about making claims about pro-lifers compromising the cause. Was William Wilberforce guilty of "compromise" because he supported defunding the slave trade before it could be effectively banned? Was Abraham Lincoln a great compromiser rather than a great emancipator because he worked incrementally to end the American version of that monstrous evil? We have never stated—nor have we heard Greg Koukl, Francis Beckwith, or any other pro-life thinker who favors the incremental approach—suggest compromise on the complete humanity of the unborn or the inhumanity of abortion, even in so-called hard cases. What we suggest is that we accept legislation that represents a compromise from the other side for the purposes of saving lives right now. The law is compromising, not us. The law is 100% on the side of the pro-abort position right now. Movement in the pro-life direction represents compromise by our foes, not by us.

[Read Moving Pro-Life Legislation Forward: The Need for Prudence and Civility]

Half a loaf is better than no loaf; it's because pro-lifers were unwilling to accept some restrictions instead of all restrictions on abortion, that we have no legal restriction at all in Canada on abortion. Too often, I think, the contrast between "personhood" and incremental legislation is presented as a false dichotomy. It's not either/or: if the latter is allowed to do its work, the former will follow. Ask Wilberforce.

A week ago I noted the loaded nature of the referendum questions proposed for this year's CUSA election cycle at Carleton U., particularly the one proposing to ban student pro-life clubs. Well, the student newspaper the Charlatan spotted it too. Not surprising, since finding a logical fallacy in this set of questions was like finding hay in a haystack.

Some students on campus are upset because they feel these questions unfairly single out individual groups, but the problem with these questions goes much farther than that.

Is Carleton Lifeline's sole mission to disseminate inaccurate information to students? Is Carleton's lone gun club, the Firearms Association of Carleton University, really promoting gun violence by allowing Carleton students to lawfully learn about and use guns? The wording of each referendum question suggests this is the case.

The claims made in each question are not verifiable fact. Each question is loaded with the value judgments of their creators.

[Read Revamp the Referendum]

Russell D. Moore writes about the necessity of the Good News being preached to the consciences of those who have committed a horrible act:

Speak directly to these people. To the woman who has had the abortion. To the man who has paid for an abortion. To the health care worker who has profited off of tearing apart the bodies of the young and the consciences of their parents.

Speak clearly of the horror of judgement to come. Confirm what every accusing conscience already knows: clinic privacy laws cannot keep all this from being exposed at the tribunal of Christ. When the Light shines, there’s not enough darkness in which to hide and cringe.

But don’t stop there.

[Read The Gospel in an Abortion Culture]

At Desiring God, Brent Aucoin draws the obvious parallel between abortion today and slavery in the 19th century:

Christians were the first to proclaim the humanity of the slave, and according to historians such as Bertram Wyatt-Brown and James Brewer Stewart, evangelical Christians formed the backbone of the abolitionist movement. Few if any evangelical Christians today believe it was wrong or inappropriate for Americans to crusade against chattel slavery in antebellum America. So, if it was appropriate and right for Christians to denounce slavery and seeks its demise in the 1800s, then why is the same not true for abortion in the 2000s?

History shows us that slavery, like abortion, was predicated on the assertion that certain persons were not fully persons. The same faulty reasoning, the same erroneous assertion, the same myth that fueled the enslavement of millions 160 years ago has reared its ugly head again to justify the murder of tens of millions of unborn babies. History has here repeated itself.

[Read Racial Slavery and Abortion in America: How History Repeats Itself]

Also at Desiring God, John Piper has made a free ebook available of three of his abortion sermons. While I have not read this yet, I have heard Piper preach before on the subject and he is top-notch, so I would expect the same. I may use this as a preface of sorts for Bloodlines.

Albert Mohler, almost always a clarion of moral reasoning, writes about the normalization of abortion in American culture:

Rarely do we see abortion defended in such unvarnished terms—"a decision so vital it was worth stopping that heart." Merle Hoffman goes on to explain how she can speak of abortion so directly. She has, she tells us, no conception that life is sacred.

"Abortion is as American as apple pie." Hoffman made that statement in a recent interview about her book. She laments that abortion is the cause of shame in some women and that shame attaches itself to abortion in the large culture, even now. In her view, if women would start talking more honestly and directly about their abortions, the shame would be removed and women would discuss their abortions like they speak of "a bikini wax."

[Read "Abortion is as American as Apple Pie—The Culture of Death Finds a Voice]

This is probably hopelessly optimistic on the part of Hoffman, however: it seems to me that whenever poor-choicers try to normalize and legitimize abortion (e.g. by live-tweeting an abortion in progress), they almost always wind up on the defensive—as they should be. The rest of us still have functioning consciences, even if the most radical have sold theirs out.

Finally, Greg Koukl dismantles the "violinist" argument of Judith Jarvis Thompson: originally published in the early 1970s, and still the most coherent argument in favour of abortion rights. It still fails, of course:

Not only was the argument compelling, but Thompson made a stunning concession when she acknowledged the full personhood of the unborn. Having conceded what pro-lifers were trying to prove, she short-circuited their argument from the outset.

My first impulse was to throw in the towel. The argument couldn't be answered, I thought. This is often the case with carefully worded philosophical treatments. At first glance they appear compelling. On closer inspection, though, the flaws begin to show. In this instance, the problems with Thompson's argument are fatal.

[Read Unstringing the Violinist: Dismantline a Common Argument for Abortion]

Normally, I'd close an "In the Wild" post with an invitation to "Enjoy." That really doesn't seem appropriate for such an unpleasant, albeit vital, topic. So, instead, let me invite you to read, and appreciate.

Superman Saturday: Beat up a Filipino for truth, justice, and the American way!

2012-01-21T22:52:00.000-05:00

Tonight, Superman returns! And not in the bad, Brandon Routh kind of way.¹

When we last left our heroes, in September, they were left hanging in the middle of an exciting radio serial. Clark Kent was on the scene of a high-rise fire, when as Superman he rescued secretary June Anderson, trapped in the offices of the North Star Mining Company. While being treated in hospital, she was then stabbed by Bart Penderton and Joseph Dineen, officers of the company. June knew that Penderton and Dineen were swindling investors in the worthless North Star gold mine, and had entrusted the incriminating documentation with her brother, the captain of a munitions freighter, the Madison, currently steaming down the East Coast.

Back at the offices of the Daily Planet, Pemberton posed as a North Star investor and tricked Kent into telling him where the papers were. He and Dineen rushed to intercept the Madison. They forced Captain Anderson into the hold at gunpoint and started a fire that would destroy the Madison, along with the evidence against them. Fortunately, Superman learned he had been tricked, and arrived on the scene just in time to rescue the captain from the hold and the bundle of papers from the safe, moments before the ship went up in a fiery explosion.

Tonight, we conclude the adventure of the North Star mine with the final two episodes, starting with . . .

Episode 14: The Plane to Canyon City (1940/03/13)

But before you get caught by spoilers . . . Listen!

The scene shifts immediately back to Perry White's office, where Captain Anderson (whose first name is Vince) puzzles over the circumstances of his own rescue: found afloat with a life jacket, but no memory of how he got there. Perry chalks it up as one of those "mysteries of the sea"—where, apparently, cause and effect are meaningless. (And this was nowhere near Bermuda, either!) Clark Kent hands over the oilcloth with June's papers in it, claiming he got them from a friend of his in the Coast Guard. Captain Anderson immediately demands the name of this friend and reports him for stealing evidence from a crime scene. On second thought, that doesn't happen. Instead, he marvels at the power of a high explosive to tear through a ship but leave a bundle of papers unharmed and floating on the surface like a . . . "Dead fish?" offers Clark, not helpfully.

The papers are, indeed, evidence that Pemberton and Dineen are swindlers and the North Star mine is worthless. However, they haven't been seen since the explosion. June recalls that Pemberton and Dineen have a house with a Filipino servant, and Clark decides to pay a visit and see what he can turn up, though White chides him for playing detective instead of reporter.

As Superman, Clark swiftly flies over to the house, changing back into his civvies before ringing the bell. The Filipino houseboy answers, and steadfastly refuses to answer any questions, all in an accent that sounds entirely unlike any Filipino person I have ever known. This is 1940, so I suspect the actor simply reverted to a generic Dark-skinned Person Not From Around Here-Ese accent, that we're going to hear a lot of in the future. We will learn later that the houseboy's name is Cita or Seeta, or however it's spelled. I have no clue whether that name is any more Filipino than his accent.

Of course this isn't enough to stop Clark Kent, intrepid reporter. So as not to attract attention by kicking in the front door, he changes into his bright red-and-blue outfit and flies up to the roof, where another skylight falls victim to an act of super-property destruction. Superman again confronts Cita, who invokes the Castle Doctrine and shoots the intruder, with the usual results. Fortuitously, the phone rings. It's Pemberton. He wants Cita to mail him an envelope of traveller's cheques to Canyon City, Idaho. He also asks whether anyone else has been at the house, which Cita denies, fearing that he might otherwise become yet another victim of skylight-related violence. Superman overhears the whole conversation, firmly threatens further beatings if Cita says anything about him, and flies away, chuckling about scaring "that Filipino houseboy out of a year's growth."

Back at the Planet, Clark and White reason out that Canyon City is near the North Star mine. Pemberton and Dineen don't realize that the papers were found, and so they plan to blow up the mine to destroy all the evidence. White orders Kent to hire a fast plane and go to Canyon City with the Andersons. Kent warns White not to call the police in case he tips off the crooks. Understandably, White wonders how his mild-mannered reporter will handle himself if he runs into trouble. "Who do you think you are, Superman?" Ha! Irony!

Flying to Idaho, the plane becomes lost in a snowstorm. Then, bad goes to worse as the wings ice up and the plane becomes uncontrollable. The pilot would normally descend to warmer air, but can't, as they're over the mountains and would run the risk of turning into airplane pâté. There's nothing for it but for Clark Kent to crawl out on the wing and de-ice it by hand. The plane suddenly plunges. June looks out the window and screams: Kent is gone!

What are Pemberton and Dineen up to at the mine?

Has Clark Kent fallen to certain death?

No, really, has he?

Stay tuned for the next exciting episode . . .

Episode 15: Left to Be Killed (1940/03/15)

Listen!

The plane carrying Vince and June Anderson, and formerly Clark Kent, is out of control and spiralling toward the ground and certain death. Suddenly it slows down and stops: the passengers and pilot find themselves safely on the ground! Then, Clark pops his head in and asks, nonchalantly, if everyone's all right. June, who thought he was dead, becomes hysterical. Oh no, Clark reassures her, he just hung on "by an eyelash," and congratulates the befuddled pilot on his flying. He notices that they're close to Canyon City, at least, and heads off to see if he can find a car to get everyone into town.

It must be awfully hard for Clark Kent to pretend not to be Superman. The only way he can excuse his super-feats without giving away his identity, is by pretending to be a timid reporter with great big iron ones. This is his second blatant act of aircraft-related badassedness.

At the mine, Pemberton and Dineen are making their nefarious plans when they are interrupted by the town sherriff. His name is Bailey, and he talks with a stereotypical Irish accent. He is in cahoots with the two crooks, and he comes with news: Clark Kent was seen around town and is probably on his way there. Pemberton instructs Bailey to chase down Kent on a ruse, and then take him for a ride, if you know what I mean. He does this, leaving the Andersons with the car. (No idea what's happened to the pilot in the meantime.) As they light a fire to keep warm, Pemberton and Dineen jump them and take them back to the mine.

Bailey drives Kent somewhere quiet and remote, and pulls a gun on him. As Kent escapes into the darkness, he shoots him. "I never miss," he says. "That's what you think," says Superman, and takes care of him and his car before whooshing back to the mine. Underground, he can hear Pemberton and Dineen talking. Not wasting time finding his way through the labyrinth of the mine, he just smashes his way through the solid rock. The two swindlers have rigged the mine to blow up in seconds, leaving the Andersons behind to die in the blast. Superman smashes his way to them, grabs them both, and leaps directly up the shaft before the explosives go off.

On the surface, Clark Kent reassures June Anderson, who is claiming to have been rescued by a "Superman." Vince Anderson captures Pemberton and Dineen. Clark shows them some rocks from the mine: the explosion exposed a vein of pure gold. The worthless mine is good after all. Huzzah! Clark Kent then leaves to pick up the sherriff, and then phone the newspaper, because June's Superman is the "best story of the month."

And that's it. Although the last episode, at least, was somewhat weak, overall I enjoyed this story, if for no other reason than its amusingly outdated treatment of minorities, and the fact that Supe manages to save the day even after being a bit of a dimwit for the first four episodes.

It's interesting, also, that although Superman is still a bit of a mystery, the legend is starting to circulate: Perry White and June Anderson both call him by name, and it seems that Clark now feels the time may be right to write a news story about him.

Next time: We run into some old friends.

Footnote

¹ Now the red boot's om the other footnote: Actually, to be honest, despite multiple issues with Superman Returns that I might get into one of these Saturdays, I did quite enjoy it.

Additional notes on reading

2012-01-21T00:32:00.000-05:00

It's hard to tell sometimes, but I am—or, at least, used to be—a voracious reader.

As a young child, I'd read anything I could get my hands on, from classic literature (The Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland) to modern children's literature (Walter Farley, Gordon Korman or Beverly Cleary) to genre fiction (the Bobbsey Twins or Hardy Boys). I'd blitz my way through three mystery novels in a summer afternoon. I'd have to make two trips to the library. My parents would worry for my eyes and suggest that I watch more television.

It's not my fault. They taught me to read before I set foot in a school.

This is a habit that I kept all the way through to the end of high school (having once read the entire curriculum of a grade-13 English course on a school field trip, including the optional books). It was only once I was away from home and at university that I found the pressures of my required curriculum seriously eating into my recreational reading, which was more or less limited to summers and co-op work terms, when I had sufficient free time (or plenty of time on the bus). Paradoxically, transferring to the English department from Engineering made it worse: my reading workload increased, but not necessarily becaue of books I wanted to read.

In my last year, I got sick of this, and in September 1996, I resolved that, come hell or high water, I was going to read one novel per week over and above my required reading for that year. And I managed it, although I don't know what had to give way. Sleep, maybe.

This is a habit that I kept up for a number of years afterward. I wasn't in school, but I was in the workforce, and for a significant number of years I lived and worked on opposite ends of Ottawa—which meant two hours every weekday of otherwise-useless reading time.

And yet, starting in about 2005 or so, my reading volume took a nose dive. I don't know why, but somewhere along the line I stopped being a reader and started being a viewer, getting my entertainment more from movies than books for the first time. And, then, starting in about 2008, I discovered that podcasts had taken over from movies as my primary source of information or entertainment—again, at the expense of the printed word.

This year, I plan on reviving the one-novel-per-week policy. It's been far too long, and there are too many books going unread. My "rules," such as they were back in 1996 and onward, go something like this:

Each calendar week, I will start and, if possible, finish a novel.
Selections should vary somewhat in style, genre, authorship, etc. from week to week. (For example, don't read two Stephen King novels consecutively, unless there's a good reason.)
The week starts on Monday, to allow Saturday and Sunday for catching up, if necessary.
If a novel is finished early, use the remaining days of the week to read non-fiction instead of another novel.

These rules served me pretty well, and managed to keep a balance between genres and subjects. I've added one more task to the curriculum: blog something about everything I read. Sometimes this will be a full review (of 1000 words or more), but for the most part will be "lightning" reviews: roughly speaking, whatever I can write in about 250 words and/or half an hour. This isn't meant to be a detailed book review or analysis, so much as a first impression and an excuse to write. I've posted a number of these over the last few weeks, as I work my way through the Christmas reading blitz.

If you'd like to follow along with my reading, the most recent books in my list are in the sidebar, or you can follow the entire year in my Google spreadsheet. If you want to know what I recommend (or don't), I have a master blog post indexing all my reviews: not only books, but also movies and the occasional album as well.

And, of course, in September I'll be doing my usual moratorium on science fiction: this year, I plan to revisit the Canadian literature I didn't get to when I used this theme back in 2005.

Finally, CBC's annual Canada Reads debates will be broadcast February 6-9 on CBC One. For the first time, the annual search for Canada's must-read book focuses on non-fiction. I will be paying attention to the debates, though frankly the selections on the short list don't turn me on (although the thought of Alan Thicke defending Ken Dryden's The Game certainly is intriguing).

Happy reading!

Friday in the Wild: January 20, 2012

2012-01-20T21:43:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the inaugural FitW of 2012! You may have noticed that my blogging output has increased somewhat over the last couple of weeks. Here's hoping that's permanent. Bringing back my weekly compendium of stuff frm the rest of the blogosphere is, I hope, a symptom of this "second wind." Since it's been awhile, this post goes back two weeks instead of the usual one.

Phil Johnston takes on Mark Driscoll, Ed Young, and the never-ending fad of risqué evangelical sex teaching:

[E]vangelicals have been complaining for decades that we don't talk enough or hear enough teaching about sex. From the point of view of many non-evangelicals, sex is about the only thing evangelicals have demonstrated a serious and sustained interest in for the past 40 years. As early as 1977, Martin Marty, a liberal religious scholar, referred to the trend as "Fundies in their Undies."

So the premise that evangelical churches are in desperate need of more and more explicit instruction on sex techniques is a risible falsehood.

But evangelical leaders who aspire to be at the vanguard in this trend have to keep looking for even kinkier ways to contextualize their Kama Sutras and spice up their "sexperimentation."
[Read Evangelical Exhibitionists]

I almost never know what to make of Mark Driscoll. He seems to alternate between periods of brilliance and stupidity. These days, he's more the latter than the former.

Albert Mohler remarked on the 70th birthday of physicist Stephen Hawking:

The very fact that Stephen Hawking has reached his 70th birthday is an astounding fact in itself. Hawking, perhaps the world’s most famous scientist, was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis [ALS], more commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, at age 21. That disease usually leads to death within three years of diagnosis, making Hawking’s almost half-century experience with the ALS all the more amazing. . . .

Stephen Hawking is a complex thinker and a man of tremendous personal courage. He has changed the way many scientists look at the world, and he has been a sharp critic of what he sees as inadequate scientific work. His life and thought deserve the close attention of thinking Christians precisely because of his stature and the intellectual and theological challenge posed by his thought. Hawking’s writings and lectures make clear the pretensions of modern naturalistic science. God is simply ruled out of bounds, and there is no place for a personal God within the materialistic universe.

Thus, in Hawking’s view, heaven is just a fairy story and our flickering and brief lives are just accidents of cosmology.

We can only hope that this is not Stephen Hawking’s final judgment on these questions. Hawking’s worldview leaves no room for a personal God, but Christians firmly believe and know that a personal God indeed knows Stephen Hawking.
[Read What Breathes Fire Into the Equations? Professor Stephen Hawking at 70]

(Since I can't give up a good opportunity to plug my alma mater, I'll just mention in passing that Hawking also holds a distinguished research chair at one of its major research centres. Also, a UW physics prof recently split an electron. Well, a simulated one, anyway.)

James White has responded in writing to Roger Olson, an Arminian so doctrinaire that, when asked whether he would continue to worship God if Calvinism were shown to be undeniably true, he recently said no:

It is just here that the convinced Reformed believer must part company with Roger Olson. It is a foundational separation that goes to a much deeper level than Olson's "your god is a moral monster" accusation. It goes to whether we, as creatures, have the right to set up standards that determine what is acceptable and unacceptable for God. Does God's revelation of His nature and actions in the universe determine the truth about the God we worship, or do we set the "limits" of what will be "acceptable" to us before we are willing to render worship? Aaron was silent before God when God struck down Aaron's sons (Lev. 10). Job learned that man has no right to question God and set up standards outside of His revelation (Job 40:3-5).
[Read Can we Judge the Morality of God? A Response to Roger Olson]

As he so often does, White hits the very heart of the matter.

My favourite Webcomic is Darths & Droids, a spoof of the Star Wars series that treats it as though it were being made up on the spot, as the storyline of a role-playing game. If you were ever watching a Star Wards movie and wondered why you occasionally had to suspend disbelief and let a large plot hole float past you like a piece of debris in an asteroid field, now you know why. Last week, the authors hit the milestone I've been waiting for: they started the original trilogy after finishing the three prequels. (Incidentally, I have just added Darths & Droids to my blogroll, along with the geek-friendly xkcd.)

Tim Challies kicked off a series of "Visual Theology" with a cool infographic of the ordo salutis. For his next trick, can he pull off William Perkins' version?

In honour of MLK weekend, John Piper released a free PDF of his book Bloodlines: "one of the most autobiographical books I have written." I never read Piper without coming away better for it; Bloodlines is being fast-tracked onto my reading itinerary.

Piper recently also delivered an interesting talk on the life of Augustine. One of these days, I'm going to do that series on the Confessions that I've been putting off since about 2007.

Jeff Robinson at Credo magazine wrote an article about John Calvin and evangelistic zeal:

Contrary to popular evangelical opinion, Calvin’s theology, including his subscription to predestination, is anything but anti-missions and evangelism. The entire concern of the Reformation was the recovery of the heart of the gospel, justification by faith, so that lost humanity might come to a saving knowledge of the one true God.

Calvin’s exegetical writings make it clear that his theology has no kinship with inclusivism and, to the contrary, views Christ as the only way to reconciliation with God, a truth that must be proclaimed promiscuously before lost humanity.
[Read The Evangelistic Nerve of John Calvin]

Robinson doesn't add, but could have, that once Calvin was able to stop battling City Hall in 1555, Geneva became a major centre of Protestant missionary zeal, especially to Calvin's home country, France. It was also from Geneva that the first Protestant overseas missionaries were sent out, to South America.

Stand to Reason's blog answers the common claim that since Jesus never said anything about homosexuality, he must not have opposed it on moral grounds:

First, it’s not certain that Jesus never said anything about homosexuality. The Gospel writers didn’t record everything that Jesus said – only what they thought was important to their audience. Indeed, most of what Jesus said (and did) was never written down. John 21:25 says, “And there are also many other things which Jesus did, which if they were written in detail, I suppose that even the world itself would not contain the books that would be written.” It’s possible Jesus did talk about homosexuality, but the Gospel writers didn’t feel it was necessary to include it in their accounts.

Second, it’s clear what Jesus would have said about homosexuality if asked. Jesus was an observant Jew who, like all Jews living under the Old Covenant, was bound by the Mosaic Law. That’s why He often referenced it (e.g. Jesus references the two greatest commandments of the Law in Matthew 22:37, 39). Therefore, if He was asked what He thought about homosexuality, He would have cited the Levitical prohibitions (Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13) that unequivocally state that homosexual behavior is a sin.
[Read Did Jesus Never Say Anything About Homosexuality?]

That would be all for this week, if not for the fact that this Sunday is Sanctity of Life Sunday in the United States, as well as the 39th anniversary of Roe v. Wade. I've still got a few bookmarks left over on that issue, so for the first time, I'll be doing a special pro-life Sunday in the Wild. See you then.

And now . . . this - Jan. 20/12

2012-01-20T14:31:00.000-05:00

So it's come to this

Students in Utah may have voted to urge on their sports teams with the battle cry "Go Cougars!"

But the school district has overruled the popular choice because it claims it would be insensitive to women. . . .

While cougars—the large mountain cats—are prevalent in Utah, the principal Mary Bailey worried people would also be reminded of the popular culture use of the word to describe sexually aggressive middle-aged women who attract younger men.
[Full Story]

Good grief. Political correctness has gotten to the point where we're actually worried we'll offend 40-year-old Twimoms and Beliebers.

Despite the humour of the situation, the story does have its less-obvious darker side:

Ballots were sent out to 4,300 kindergarten through eighth grade students in Draper communities that will feed into the school. Two hundred seventy-three wanted Cougars, 180 wanted Diamondback, 171 wanted Falcons and 141 wanted Raptors. . . .

While student input was taken into consideration and appreciated, she added that it was always the board's intent to make the final decision.

The moral of the story? Voting makes no difference. Hope these kids don't take that to heart 10-15 years down the road.

Yay, SOPA strike!

2012-01-20T00:37:00.001-05:00

This just in:

One of the world's largest file-sharing sites was shut down Thursday, and its founder and several company executives were charged with violating piracy laws, federal prosecutors said.

An indictment accuses Megaupload.com of costing copyright holders more than $500 million in lost revenue from pirated films and other content. The indictment was unsealed one day after websites including Wikipedia and Craigslist shut down in protest of two congressional proposals intended to thwart online piracy.
[Full Story]

Interesting that this should happen only a day after Wikipedia don black to protest a pair of American anti-piracy legislation proposals. Neither the Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA) nor the Protect IP Act (PIPA) are anywhere close to being law—indeed, it appears that the strike managed to persuade many federal lawmakers against it. I share the ambivalence about SOPA that Scott Adams posted a few days ago (though for different reasons, obviously).

But seeing SOPA's effective defeat on the same day that the Feds bring down a major site enabling online piracy makes me ask: Just what did we need SOPA for, again?

Predictably, retaliation was swift from the torches-and-pitchforks faction of the Net, as Anonymous reacted by hacking the Web sites of the Department of Justice, RIAA, MPAA, and other government and media corporations. Most of them don't look very hacked at the moment, though. Pretty effective, guys. I'm reminded of this xkcd comic.

Sigh. Anyone else remember when Anonymous were masked anti-Scientology™ protesters instead of anarchic cyber-terrorists?

I don't remember, I don't recall, I've got no memory of anything at all

2012-01-19T23:00:00.000-05:00

A lightning review of The Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum (New York: Marek, 1980). Hardcover, 523 pp.

An English doctor living in southern France nurses a man back to health after he is fished out of the water. He has been in a serious fight, suffering multiple injuries including gunshot wounds. Unfortunately, he also has amnesia: he cannot remember who he is, nor how he came to be floating in the Mediterranean. The only clues to his identity are his fluency in multiple languages and skill with firearms, as well as a card surgically implanted under his skin with the number of a Swiss bank account.

Jason Bourne (as he learns his name is) tries to access the account, unwittingly setting wheels in motion. Someone wants Bourne dead. A lot of poeple, actually, and most of them seem to work for the same international hit man. Allied with a female Canadian economist he originally held hostage before they fall for each other, Bourne must solve the mystery of his own identity so he can figure out why the assassin Carlos wants to kill him.

I have wanted to read The Bourne Identity for a few years, ever since seeing the 2002 Matt Damon movie. Unfortunately, Ludlum's novel has been on constant reserve for years. Fortunately, this was not the case in my hometown (where, with a population of 6,000 people and 31 years since publication, everyone who wanted to read it has had ample opportunity). So it became part of my annual holiday reading blitz.

It would be easy to dismiss The Bourne Identity as derivative: a superspy with the initials "J.B." battles a larger-than-life villain as the bodies start to pile up. H even introduces himself as "Bourne, Jason Bourne" once. Ludlum certainly characterizes Bourne more as a JamesBond than, say, a Jack Ryan or George Smiley. Bond himself is even struck with amnesia in one novel. However, for Ian Fleming's famed secret agent, it's not the books major plot device. (Bourne resembles Bond in one other way: apart from a few surface details, the movie bears little resemblance to the novel of the same name.)

The Bourne Identity's main prolem is that it is overlong and repetitive. If it were a quarter or a third shorter, it would have the potential to be a real nail-biter. As it is, it runs out of steam somewhere in the middle. So instead of being great, it's just OK. But I'd try reading Ludlum again.

Open for business

2012-01-18T00:01:00.000-05:00

Chew it, SOPA Strike.

It started from this tropic port, aboard this tiny ship

2012-01-17T21:20:00.000-05:00

A lighting review of The Caine Mutiny by Herman Wouk (New York: Doubleday, 1951). Paperback, 498 pp.

Rebelling against his over-ambitious and overprotective parents, Willie Keith joins the Navy during World War II. After a rocky start at officer's school, in which he gets a reputation as an immature underachiever, he receives a commission aboard the USS Caine, a WWI-era destroyer converted into a minesweeper. Conditions aboard are hellish, morale is low, and in Keith's estimation, the captain is negligent. For Captain de Vriess' part, he thinks the same of Keith after he mislays an important coded message for three days.

De Vriess is soon transferred to another post. His replacement is Commander Philip F. Queeg, whose strict, by-the-book command style is just what Keith thinks the Caine and its crew need. However, the ship's officers and crew soon become disillusioned with Queeg, who deals out harsh discipline even for minor infractions, blames the crew for his own ineptitude, and obsesses over tiny details while neglecting more important matters. For example, while dressing down a crewman, the officer of the deck and morale officer Keith for the crewman's untucked shirt, he neglects to order the helmsman to correct course, resulting in the Caine steaming full circle and cutting its own tow cable. Queeg had previously blasted the same helmsman for making needed course changes without express orders.

The ship's executive officer, Steve Maryk, learns of an obscure naval regulation that allows for a captain to be removed from his post if he is mentally ill and incapable of command. With Queeg becoming increasingly irrational and paranoid, Maryk begins logging his actions. It's only a matter of time before he or the other officers of the Caine withstand Queeg to his face.

Herman Wouk based this classic novel on his own experiences on a similar minesweeper-destroyer during WWII. He notes, in a disclaimer, that the captains he served with were honorable men and the mutiny aboard the fictitious Caine is not based on any real-life events. It's less a war novel than a coming-of-age novel, as Willie Keith matures—as a naval officer, a lover, and a man. I could find no fault with The Caine Mutiny of consequence. Read it!

The 1954 movie starring Humphrey Bogart as Queeg is also worth noting. It is generally true to the novel, though abridged. It also makes Queeg into a more morally ambiguous character—in Wouk's novel, it's clear that Queeg is paranoid, incompetent, and manipulative. In the movie, by the time of Maryk's court martial, you start to feel sympathy for Queeg, as though he is more sinned against than sinning.

I'm a cowboy, and on a steel horse I ride

2012-01-15T17:27:00.000-05:00

A lightning review of Dead or Alive by Tom Clancy (New York: Putnam, 2010). Hardcover, 848 pp.

The Emir is the mastermind behind the Umayyad Revolutionary Council (the terrorist organization responsible for 9/11 in Clancy's fictional timeline). He is on the most-wanted list of the Campus, the clandestine intelligence organization founded by former president Jack Ryan. The Campus operates outside the law, its budget does not appear on any government books, and it holds a small stack of pre-signed, undated presidential pardons. Jack Ryan Jr. works for the Campus as an analyst and, unbeknownst to his father, as a field agent along with his cousins Brian and Dominic Caruso, and former Rainbow Six operatives John Clark and Domingo "Ding" Chavez.

As the Campus hunts the Emir down, he is in fact secretly living in the United States, planning a large-scale terrorist attack that involves obtaining scrap components from old Russian naval vessels.

Meanwhile, Jack Ryan Sr. contemplates another run for the presidency, dissatisfied with the way his successor has handled the economy and the War on Terror.

Dead or Alive has the elaborate criminal plots and familiar characters that are so characteristic of a Tom Clancy techno-thriller. In and of itself, it's a decent story. However, since the elder Ryan became President in Executive Orders, Clancy's novels have become virtual wish-fulfilment fantasies, with Ryan (or the Campus) standing in as Mary Sues. The didactic, how-I-would-run-things elements have, since then, weakened the stories as a whole (excepting the intense Rainbow Six. Dead or Alive sets itself up neatly for a sequel (which Clancy's latest, Against All Enemies is apparently not). This was an enjoyable enough read, but I yearn for Clancy's glory days of Clear and Present Danger or The Sum of All Fears. I also wonder why he has started working with co-authors (Grant Blackwood for this book and its predecessor, and Peter Telep for the latest), since I don't perceive that the style or substance of his novels has changed much. Is this perhaps how he manages to crank out one of these 2-inch-thick volumes twice a year?

Two qualifications you apparently don't need to be a CUSA councillor

2012-01-12T17:43:00.002-05:00

The Carleton University Students' Association (CUSA), the student union that can't make up its mind whether it's a Gestapo or Politburo when it comes to its pro-life subjects, is at it again. They have released proposed referendum questions for this year's general election. Not every proposed question deals, directly or indirectly, with the issue of abortion or campus pro-life clubs, but #4, specifically, does:

Are you in favour of banning groups such as Lifeline, the Genocide Awareness Project, Campaign for Life Coalition and other organizations whose primary purpose is to use inaccurate information and violent images to discourage women from exploring all options in the event of pregnancy from Carleton University campus?

This particular vendetta against campus pro-life organizations goes back 5 years, when campus women's groups complained that a debate on the legality of elective abortion was held on campus. CUSA immediately passed a motion declaring itself "pro-choice" and denying funding and resources to "anti-choice" student organizations. Carleton Lifeline, the pro-life organization that sponsored the debate, was decertified as a student club, although it was reinstated the following term. In October 2010, some members of Lifeline were arrested for setting up the Genocide Awareness Project in the Tory Quad, a prominent outdoor public space, instead of the obscure lecture room they were offered. A month later, the club was decertified again, though they were told they could be reinstated if they rewrote their reconstitution to be effectively pro-choice. The trespassing charges against the arrested students were thrown out; a lawsuit against the school is pending.

Apparently fed up with dealing with campus pro-lifers who won't just roll over and play pro-choice, CUSA has now elected simply to try and ban pro-life thoughtcrime wholesale.

Non-qualification #1: English skills

Proposed question #4 now has one of my favourite examples of a misplaced modifier: the alleged purpose of the pro-life groups is "to discourage women from exploring all options in the event of pregnancy from Carleton University campus." Apparently, the very campus itself is a real Lothario. The question should have been written, "Are you in favour of banning groups from Carleton University campus . . ." It's a bit awkward, but still grammatical, and much clearer that female students don't risk their virtue merely by setting foot on the grounds.

The next question reads:

Are you in favour of rescinding the levy of the Carleton Academic Student Government (CASG), a group whose sole purpose is to elect students to departmental boards, but spends half of their annual budget on honorarium?

I learned about the difference between singular and plural in the fourth grade. Admittedly, that was probably years before any of CUSA's current councillors were born. Nonetheless, I'd expect someone who was accepted to university to know that a group spends its budget, and they spend it on honoraria or, if there is indeed only one, an honorarium.

Non-qualification #2: Critical thinking ability

The ability to detect nonsense—and, more significantly, the ability to avoid using it—should be a prerequisite for anyone who desires to set policy for a large body of people. Obviously, though, the ability to think rationally is not a requirement for CUSA, as these ridiculously biased proposals demonstrate.

Question 4 is a transparent example of the fallacy of the complex question, also known as the loaded question. It poses as a simple yes/no question, but it actually contains an additional presupposition that is assumed to be acceptable to the respondent. In this example, the presupposition is that campus pro-life clubs' "primary purpose is to use inaccurate information and violent images to discourage women . . ." Now, if I were a pro-choicer and an eligible student voter, I might very well agree with that assessment, in which case I might simply find it unremarkable and vote anyway. But what if I don't think Lifeline, GAP, and CLC are up to no good? In my mind, then, the question would be based on false premises, and I could not truthfully vote either Yes or No.

The Writ of Referenda is full of these leading questions. In order to honestly vote on many of them, students have to swallow questionable premises presented as plain facts: for example, that BAE Systems and Northrop-Grumman are complicit in illegal war activities, or that a club that promotes target shooting is discriminatory. (Whether any of these presuppositions are, in fact, objectively true is beside the point—but they are far from settled questions.)

None of these questions are, as yet, on any ballot. Nomination requires signatures of 1,000 or 10% of eligible voters, whichever is fewer. Hopefully, students at Carleton are endowed with better sense than the buffoons that govern them. They deserve better than to be manipulated like this.

(H/T: LifeSiteNews and Carleton Conservatives.)

And now . . . this - Jan. 11/12

2012-01-11T16:26:00.000-05:00

Ever since 1998, when The Wedding Singer first resurrected Journey's "Don’t Stop Believin'", the 1981 arena-rock anthem has achieved pop-culture permanence . . . although there is one spot where the arms always collectively falter, even if for just a moment: Southeastern Michigan. . . .

East Side? Sure. It’s where Eminen spent his adolescence. West? Home to the original Motown Records. Southwest? Best Mexican food in the state. But South Detroit is as fictional as the Shire of Middle-earth.

[Full Story]

I—I think I've stopped believin'. (sob)

(H/T: Five Feet of Fury.)

Got a feeling 2012 is gonna be a good year

2012-01-01T15:54:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year, Faithful Reader!

I just took a look back at my blog resolutions from last year. Then I laughed. I'm not going to make any this year.

On a more positive note, the official blog-post count for 2011 was 74. For the record, the last time I broke 100 was 2006, but this was the second most productive year since then. I also have a small backlog of posts that I may roll out in the next week. That, in itself, is a good sign. I think.

Have a happy and prosperous 2012, folks.

365, err, 366 days and counting

2011-12-21T17:37:00.001-05:00

This is it, people: The bona fide, for-real, I-mean-it-this-time Big One.

Today is December 21, 2011: exactly one year until the end of the Mayan Long Count calendar. This calendar starts measuring time at a mythical creation date of August 11, 3114 BC, upon the completion of 13 b'ak'tuns (1 b'ak'tun = 144,000 days, or roughly 394 years). Another 13 b'ak'tuns will be completed on December 21, 2012.

This is the date that has caused so much hysteria amongst the lunatic fringe and on late-night talk radio, such that it is popularly taken to be an end-of-the-world candidate (the premise of the Roland Emmerich explosion-fest 2012). In reality, it's just another example of fin-de-siecle hype of the same kind that plagued us a decade ago when the Western calendar rolled over to 2000. Somewhere out there, gullible people will believe that the Mayans had special insight into the future that other cultures (who managed not to go extinct) do not, or that freaky things happen every time someone's historic calendar resets to 0.

In 1982, a planetary alignment was supposed to trigger the "Jupiter Effect," in which the combined gravitational pull of the rest of the solar system was purportedly going to trigger earthquakes and other catastrophes. Apart from schoolkids running around at recess screaming "Doomsday!!!" nothing happened. In 1988, Edgar Whisenant published a book titled 88 Reasons Why the Rapture Will Be in 1988. When the Rapture failed to arrive on schedule, he followed it up with an updated 89 Reasons a year later, before fading into well-deserved obscurity. On New Year's Day, 2000, the Y2K bug was going to end civilization when all the computers were terminally confused by the two-digit date "00" and turned into bricks. Since the Millennium bug was caused by a known engineering oversight, it was easily prevented, and actual computer errors amounted to a minor inconvenience. Planet X was going to speed past Earth in 2004 and cause all sorts of mayhem. Not only did Planet X fail to appear, but it failed to exist. Harold Camping predicted the end of the world for September 1994, May 21 and October 21, 2011, with predictable results.

As for December 21, 2012, this, too, shall pass unremarkably. In the meantime, however, get ready to be inundated with all the mass panic you can stomach.

I wonder whether the Mayan calendar accounted for leap years? I'd hate for the world to end a day prematurely.

All we want is life beyond the Thunderdome

2011-12-18T23:10:00.000-05:00

A lightning review of Under the Dome by Stephen King (New York: Gallery–Simon & Shuster, 2009). Trade paperback, 1074 pp.

Chester's Mill is a quaint little Maine town of 2,000 people just north of Castle Rock. Without warning, an impenetrable and invisible dome suddenly descends upon the town, trapping the locals inside (and causing the deaths of several). The dome admits air and water, but nothing else: food supplies are limited, and the only electricity comes from propane-powered generators. The crisis leaves used-car dealer and Second Selectman "Big Jim" Rennie without significant opposition in the town, and he makes a power play to consolidate his control, stacking the police force with his cronies, and hoarding what remains of the propane for the meth lab he runs behind the Christian radio station.

Meanwhile, the military is trying to solve the dome problem. They appoint Iraq veteran and fry cook Dale "Barbie" Barbara as their liaison, and put him in charge of Chester's Mill. He is also tasked with finding the source of the dome. Rennie, with his influence threatened by Barbie, frames him for a string of murders actually committed by himself and his son, Junior.

Under the Dome has Stephen King's usual archetypes, including the likeable take-charge everyman, corrupt officials, and well-rounded local colour. And with local druggies stockpiling weapons and explosives, you know that it will inevitably end poorly for the town. All in all, the novel is a worthy read from King, and not dissimilar to his early epic The Stand. However, the payoff at the end doesn't quite measure up to the 1,100-page buildup.

Incidentally, someone (connected to King, his publisher, or otherwise, I don't know) has put together a typical small-town Web site for Chester's Mill and some of the local businesses from the novel. Nice attention to detail, guys!

Earnestly contending for the doctrine of the omniimpotence of God

2011-12-09T18:37:00.001-05:00

(Or, reason #2,827 why Molinism sucks.)

I saw this article from William Lane Craig excerpted first on Triablogue last week. In the intervening week, it's made the rounds around to the usual suspects in the blogosphere as well. So, as usual, I'm a little late to the game. Nonetheless.

Craig is a Molinist. Molinism is a philosophical attempt to reconcile the biblical truths of divine sovereignty and human moral agency. Not only is this an unnecessary exercise, it seems to me—if I believe in scriptural inerrancy, then I am bound to accept both, given that both are taught unambiguously in the Bible—but it simply isn't a very good one. Molinism claims that God knows what choices free creatures would make in any set of circumstances, and so, out of all the possible worlds, he created the one in which everyone freely made the moral choices that he wanted them to. Put another way: God (being a gentleman who would never barge in) must not affect the will of the creature directly, but he will herd the creature into the necessary circumstances to obtain the desired free-will choices.

That's some "freedom."

Molinism, as well as anything else, demonstrates my oft-repeated aphorism, that bad theology (or, in this case, philosophy) leads to worse theology. As Dan Phillips points out, it makes you wonder how Craig can maintain his reputation as a top-shelf Christian apologist when his philosophical presuppositions compel him to make such suborthodox claims about God.

You [Craig's correspondent] suggest, more plausibly, I think, that that there are no persons whom God could have created who would under all circumstances reject His grace for salvation. Maybe you’re right; but how can you know? I just don’t think we’re in a position to make those kinds of judgements. You talk about the insanity of unbelief; and yet such persons are all around us, people who have heard the Gospel again and again, who have the Bible, who have read apologetics material, and yet who refuse to believe. . . .

How do you know that God couldn’t put together a world in which the unreached are people who wouldn’t bend the knee under any circumstances? In fact, this hypothesis has real implications for other issues like the wider problem of evil. For example, maybe only in a world involving scads of natural and moral evil could God arrange the sort of world we’re envisioning. Maybe His desire to achieve an optimal balance between saved and lost overrides the benefits of a world with less natural and moral evil. . . .

Your pun on Sophie’s Choice (a choice between two bad options) reveals that you haven’t yet grasped the theory of middle knowledge, for God doesn’t create such a choice for Himself. The counterfactuals of creaturely freedom which confront Him are outside His control. He has to play with the hand He has been dealt. (Emphasis added)

The passive voice of that last sentence—"He has to pay with the hand He has been dealt"—implies that someone other than God can tie God's hands in some circumstances. Who or what is this Dealer? Should we perhaps worship him/her/it instead?
Yet, I'm sure that Craig and other Molinists would nonetheless affirm, rightly, that Yahweh is indeed the Supreme Being. In other words, is it God himself who deals the bad hand, but having done so is then powerless except to let the [poker] chips fall where they may?
How does this square with the Bible's description of God as the one who "works all things according to the counsel of his will" (Eph. 1:11)? All does mean all, or so I've heard, correct?
Put another way, doesn't this mean God can, in fact, create a rock so big he cannot lift it?
Is it the case that some human beings would never come to saving faith in Christ, under any circumstances in any possible world that God could actuate?
How does this square with Jesus' statement that "all things are possible with God" (Mark 10:27)—spoken specifically about the salvation of a class of individuals? Again, does all mean all, or doesn't it?

Sheesh. I thought we Calvinists were supposed to be the fatalists.

Nyuk nyuk nyet

2011-12-08T12:45:00.000-05:00

Pass.

The night Santa went crazy

2011-12-06T18:00:00.000-05:00

Happy St. Nicholas Day.

St. Nicholas of Myra is the prototype St. Nick: a Byzantine bishop of the fourth century renowned for his generosity. In particular, he is known for his gift to the three daughters of a pious Christian man: impoverished, they were about to resort to prostitution to make ends meet. Nicholas, anonymously and under cover of night, threw three bags of gold through the family's window, one for each daughter to use as a dowry.

Acording to another, less well-known tradition, Nicholas was present at the Council of Nicæa, in AD 325. The council had met to deliberate the theology of Arius, an Egyptian heretic who taught that Christ was not equal in substance to the Father. Arius himself was present at the Council to defend his views. Supposedly, Nicholas—an ardent defender of the orthodox position that Christ was the eternal Son of God, of the same substance as the Father—became increasingly incensed as Arius continued to expound upon his heresy. Finally, he lost it completely and slapped Arius across the face.

For this offense to the dignity of Church proceedings—and for hulking out in front of Emperor Constantine, to boot—Nicholas was stripped of his rank and thrown in jail. Legend says he received a vision of Mary and Jesus, who vindicated him and restored to him the symbols of his office. When Constantine heard of this miracle, he formally reinstated him as bishop as well. Because of this, and other supposed miracles attributed to St. Nicholas of Myra, the traditional liturgical calendar celebrates his feast day today, December 6.

So, have a happy Slug a Heretic Day.

And now . . . this - Nov. 24/11

2011-11-24T19:41:00.000-05:00

An Ottawa-area brewery will no longer deliver beer door-to-door after a complaint from another unnamed brewery, according to its Facebook page.

Steve Beauchesne, who co-owns Beau's All Natural Brewing Co. in Vankleek Hill, south of Ottawa, wrote a blog post Thursday detailing the shutdown. . . .

The original plan included a team effort with Operation Come Home, an agency that runs a resource and program centre for homeless youth, where at-risk youth would deliver the beer for a fee. That money would then go to a shelter.

[Full Story]

Not to malign Beau's, or their good intentions, but somehow it surprises me that no one put the brakes on this scheme because, "Hey, we're giving large quantities of alcohol to homeless kids," before a government agency intervened.

This is a test of the Emergency Blogging System

2011-11-23T12:16:00.000-05:00

Had this been a real emergency, this post would have gone to Twitter, Facebook, and, hopefully, Google+ one way or another.

Do not panic. That is all.

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

2011-11-11T11:00:00.002-05:00

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

I've commemorated Remembrance Day on and off on this blog, and although I've quoted parts of John McRae's poem—arguably one of the best known of all Canadian poems—I don't think I've just let it stand on its own. On this November 11, the first in 10 years on which Canada is not at war, it just seems fitting.

One word: Bwahahahaha!

2011-11-07T11:38:00.000-05:00

Just received in my email:

Office Of The U.S. Secretary Of State
Committee On Foreign Payment
Resolution Panel On Payment
Washington Dc

Attention: Beneficiary

I wish to use this medium and my office to inform you that your CONTRACT/INHERITANCE Payment of USD10,500,000.00 only from CENTRAL BANK OF NIGERIA has been RELEASED and APPROVED for onward transfer to you via ATM CARD which you will use in withdrawing your funds in any ATM SERVICE MACHINE in any part of the world, but the maximum you can withdraw in a day is USD$10,000 Only.

The United States government has mandated the CENTRAL BANK OF NIGERIA, to send you the ATM CARD and PIN NUMBER. Therefore You are advised to contact the Head of ATM CARD Department of the CENTRAL BANK OF NIGERIA for further instructions on how to dispatch your ATM CARD to you. . . . .

Thanks for adhering strictly to these instruction and once again accept my congratulations.

Best Regards,
Mrs. Hillary Rodham Clinton

Well then. If Hillary Clinton herself (whose email address, it seems, is glitterx3bugg@aim.com) says I've got an ATM card worth 10.5 billion coming to me, who am I to argue?

Sometimes you just have to wonder about the average IQ of these Nigerian 419 scammers. Or, just as likely, the people who actually fall for this crap and keep them in business.

And tomorrow is Saturday

2011-10-22T21:27:00.000-04:00

And, not surprisingly, still wrong.

It's Friday, Friday, all gonna die on Friday

2011-10-21T20:00:00.009-04:00

It's October 21: the no-really-for-real End of the World as predicted by doomster Harold Camping and his Family Radio organization.

Anybody dead yet? I mean, other than those of you that an actuarial table could guess about?

Didn't think so.

Can't wait to find out what Camping, Family Radio, and their remaining followers—whom I presume to be fairly sparse by now—have to say this time. As I noted a few days ago, Camping's certainty about the end of the world appears to have waned somewhat, and his prognostications are filled with an increasing number of weasel words. The question remains, then: Will Camping finally admit that he was wrong, and repent of 20+ years of misleading Christians? Will he simply allow today to pass in silence? Or will he, once again, refuse to acknowledge his error, discover some new "truth" in the Bible that he has previously overlooked, and recalculate for yet another Judgment Day still in the future—which date, in all likelihood, he will not see from this side of eternity, thus saving himself a fourth round of embarrassment?

For the record, I wrote this on Oct. 19 and set it to post today, Friday, October 21. The world has not ended today, nor will it. In the 0.00000000000000001% chance that I'm mistaken, I'm willing to look very silly for eternity. I am just that confident. Chew it, false prophets.

Science-Fiction Free September VII update

2011-10-09T19:51:00.001-04:00

Hadn't realized, until today, that I'd gotten lazy and let the end of September slip by. I'll frequently let the reading program slip into October, but generally by the end of September, I am thinking about how it all went.

To recap: Every September, I impose a personal moratorium on the reading of science-fiction books, because they are the mainstay of my reading habits for the rest of the year. It's an opportunity to broaden my horizons. This year, I decided to tackle a number of books that I had started at one point, but hadn't yet finished, in order:

Dead or Alive by Tom Clancy
Under the Dome by Stephen King
Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
Bleak House by Charles Dickens, time permitting

For the first week or so of September, I finished off the book I was reading: L. Ron Hubbard's wannabe epic cum Scientology allegory Mission Earth. Once that was out of the way, I hastily switched up the order, out of convenience: since Les Mis was on my PalmPilot, it was easier to carry to work and read than the three-inch-thick Clancy tome.

Guess what I'm still reading.

OK—I knew this book was long. I just didn't realize how long. How very freaking long. Its word count is somewhere in excess of half a million words. By way of comparison, the King James Version of the Bible is around 800,000 words. The whole Bible. Printed, Les Misérables comes in at something like 1400 pages.

I missed this fact of history because I never got to pick up and weigh a copy in my hand. I'm reading an electronic edition I downloaded from Project Gutenberg; it's no bigger than a fraction of the capacity of my Palm.

The upshot: I started this book at approximately 10% completed. On Friday, I passed the 38% mark. In other words, it's taken me the better part of a month to read one-quarter of it. At this rate, I'll be reading Hugo until Christmas.

You know the problem? It's all the diversions. Hugo was not content to tell the story of Jean Valjean's redemption and his flight from the monomanaical Inspector Javert against the backdrop of the June Rebellion of 1832. No, he has to spend entire books (Les Mis was published in five volumes, each subdivided into books and then chapters) on little literary excursions: for exampe, his (admittedly vivid) retelling of the Battle of Waterloo, the history of an ascetic religious order, and the life of a Parisian gamin (street urchin). I'm in the middle of this last excursus now, having just started Volume 3: Marius.

I mentioned back in September that I had read an abridged edition: that was about an inch and a half thick itself, and I think it did away with all these sidebar discussions. Back in 1862, Hugo and his publisher took part in what has been called the shortest correspondence in history. Hugo, wanting to know how his book was selling, telegraphed: "?" His publisher replied: "!"

Imagine how Les Misérables might have been different if his editor had seen the cinderblock-sized manuscript on his desk and telegraphed: "?!"

And now . . . this - Oct. 9/11

2011-10-09T11:17:00.000-04:00

Anyone wanna buy a—Oh, never mind

A 50-foot-long bridge in western Pennsylvania has been stolen, and its owners say they're baffled by the crime and have no idea who took it. . . .

A state police report says the 20-foot-wide span in North Beaver Township went missing between Sept. 27 and Wednesday.

The bridge was made out of corrugated steel and valued at about $100,000. Thieves used a blowtorch to cut it apart, presumably to sell it for scrap metal.

[Full Story]

The most surprising thing in this story? They can't pin down the date of theft. That means it took them over a week to notice.

A parable, somewhat modernized

2011-10-07T17:30:00.003-04:00

Jesus told them a parable, saying, "A company founded by a brilliant inventor produced plentifully, and he thought to himself, 'What shall I do now, for the tech world will soon be clamouring for newer and better gadgets?' And he said, 'I will do this: I will tear down my offices and stores and build larger ones, with huge glass walls, and there I will sell wafer-thin laptops and smartphones and media players and tablet computers. And I will say to my soul, "Soul, you have business plans laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry."'

"But God said to him, 'Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the wonderful tools you have prepared, whose will they be?' So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God." (Luke 12: 16-21, very loosely paraphrased)

In no way is my gratitude for Steve Jobs' creativity diminished by his vaguely Eastern-ish spirituality.

Nonetheless: all the creative vision in the world will not pass muster before the Almighty on the day of reckoning. What does it profit a man if he changes the world but loses his own soul?

Steve Jobs, 1955-2011

2011-10-06T18:34:00.000-04:00

Arguably the greatest technology innovator of the 20th century (and one who will no doubt be remembered for his contributions to the 21st) has passed away: Steve Jobs, the visionary co-founder of Apple.

I'll admit up front that I've never been a hardcore Apple cultist. I used an Apple II computer in elementary school (along with Commodore PETs and C64s) and had an early look at the original Macintosh at a 1984 science fair. I wrote my first co-op education work report on a Mac SE as a first-year engineering student. I may even still have the diskette, though I don't know if I own any computer that can read it anymore—and I don't even remember what format the file was in. I used other Macs off and on throughout university, most notably at the school library where the entire catalogue system was migrated to Mac II's in about 1996. I use a current Intel Mac model at work, as well as my boss' iPhone, and I've had an iPod since 2007.

So Apple, though not my primary choice of platform, has been part of me since the beginning. For regular, everyday computer use, though, I'm still a regular user of Linux and Windows rather than OS X. That being said, when I bought my first copy of Windows 3.0 back in 1991, it was because it made a DOS PC work like a Macintosh. The influence of Steve Jobs lives on, even in his competitors' products.

Captain Camping rides again . . . probably

2011-10-05T15:51:00.000-04:00

Yes, it's only 15 days left to the "This time I really, really mean it" Judgment Day on October 21. And Captain Camping isn't letting something silly like a debilitating stroke stop him from keeping on purveying his end-of-the-world heresy. In a recent audio message posted on the Family Radio, he said:

We would have not been able to be used of [God] to bring about the tremendous event that occurred on May 21 of this year, and, which probably will be finished out on October 21 that's coming very shortly. That looks like it will be, at this point, it looks like it will be the final end of everything.

We must believe that probably there will be no pain suffered by anyone because of their rebellion against God. This is very comforting to all of us because we all have children, and we have loved ones that are dear to us that we know are not saved, and yet we know that they'll quietly die, we can become more and more sure that they will quietly die and that will be the end of their story. Whereas the true believers will quietly receive the new heaven and the new earth. . . . [T]here's going to be no big display of any kind, the end is going to come very, very quietly, probably within the next month it will happen, that is, by October 21."

[Source]

A few notes:

Harold Camping, you weren't used of God to bring about the "tremendous event" of May 21. There was no tremendous event on May 21.
That's an awful lot of weasel words: It "looks like" the end of the world will "probably" happen "within the next month." In fact, it's a far cry from the sloganeering that accompanied the "tremendous event" itself: "The Bible guarantees it!" trumpeted Captain Camping and his billboards. Doesn't sound like much of a "guarantee" this time around, does it?
No pain? Whatever happened to all the tremendous upheavals and earthquakes that were supposed to accompany judgment day? I would think those would cause a not inconsiderable amount of pain and suffering. Now it's just going to "quietly" happen with "no big display." I suspect that Captain Camping is still trying to weasel out of his inevitable failure: having predicted that no big signs will accompany the end of the world, therefore when no big signs occur on October 21, this will of course be proof that the end of the world has indeed happened. ("Spiritually," of course!)

Seriously . . . Harold Camping, you lying weasel, just shut up already. You're only making it worse for yourself.

And now . . . this - Sept. 25/11

2011-09-25T22:25:00.001-04:00

Oh no! Moosaholism is becoming a major Scandinavian social ill:

A homeowner from Storebro in northern Kalmar County arrived home on Wednesday night to find his garden littered with bits of apple and other signs that an elk had been partying in his back yard, the local Östran and Barometern newspapers reported. . . .

While police and the hunter failed to meet up with the prank-playing elk, they did eventually find the family's swing set, propped up in a tree deep in the woods about 500 metres from their home.

[Full Story]

Yeesh. They'll be driving drunk and trying to pick fights outside orchards, next.

Are the unborn "individuals"?

2011-09-22T11:48:00.000-04:00

As is my occasional wont, I got into it again today with the usual crowd of pro-choice folks tweeting their bumper-sticker slogans on Twitter. Today, the argument was that the unborn are not "individuals," by virtue of the fact that they depend on the body of another human being to survive.

You'll note that this is a functionalist definition of the term. Functionalism defines a person (or a human being or individual, as the case may be) by their function or behaviour: in other words, how human you are depends on what you can do, not on who or what you are.

Contrast that with the primary definition of "individual" as given at Dictionary.com: "A single human being, as distinguished from a group." A fetus certainly does meet this definition: a DNA test would rule out her being one of her mother's body parts, for example.

Aha, my Twitter opponent countered, but what about twins, then? Identical twins have identical DNA. Was I arguing that they are not individuals?

First of all, this missed my point, which was that they are individuals with respect to their mother. Fetuses are not body parts. What they are in relation to each other, on the other hand, is beside the point. (And even the fact of identical DNA is not so cut and dried.)

But nonetheless, I decided to press this question just a little farther. What do you do with conjoined twins? Take, for example, the Hensel twins, who share several vital organs. Abigail and Brittany Hensel were not separated at birth because of the unlikelihood of one twin surviving. They are highly coordinated and have learned to walk, swim, drive a car, and even type, even though each twin controls one arm and one leg. They are absolutely dependent upon one another for survival.

Are they individuals, I asked? Repeatedly. I got a lot of filibustering and personal abuse. What I did not get, however, was an answer.

Despite the necessity of the Hensel twins' functioning together, they are individuals. They have different likes and dislikes. They have different tastes in clothing, such that their joined garments are specially tailored to express their individuality. They each had to earn their own driver's licenses. So despite their dependency on each other's bodies for survival, they are indisputably individuals. And that is according to a functionalist definition.

How human you are does not depend on how dependent you are on another human being. Abigail and Brittany Hensel are not each half-human or half-individual because they could not survive separately. And neither are the unborn because they cannot survive outside the womb. The facts of life simply do not square with glib pro-choice rhetoric.

And now . . . this - Sept. 12/11

2011-09-12T21:35:00.000-04:00

Or . . . just eat less HP sauce

It has enlivened countless fry-ups and given a kick to many a plate of bangers and mash.

But yesterday HP Sauce fans complained that their favourite brand had been left tasting "bland" and "disgusting" after a cut in salt to meet health targets.

Hundreds of readers contacted Mail Online to say the sauce just isn’t what it used to be, saying they were simply sprinkling their own salt on top or switching to other brands.

[Full Story]

The situation is obviously dire. There's only one possible solution: more bergamot.

Superman Saturday: June is bustin' out all over

2011-09-10T22:58:00.001-04:00

Dadadada-dada! Saturday!

We last left Superman waiting to learn the fate of an unidentified girl who had, in the course of a day, been trapped in a burning high-rise, then stabbed by two men posing as her relatives. Also, Superman did a number of things that were not very clever. Fear not, Faithful Reader, for the Man of Steel's bonehead streak continues this week as Clark Kent continues to investigate the . . .

Episode 12: North Star Mining Company (1940/03/08)

Listen!

Despite being nearly burned alive and stabbed in a single day, the girl's injuries were light, and she is now well enough to grant Clark his long-delayed interview. And since the script now calls her by her name, June Anderson, I will do the same.

June reveals that it was indeed her bosses, Bartley Pemberton and Joseph Dineen, who stabbed her. It turns out they are swindlers: the North Star gold mine is worthless, and they have been bilking their investors out of their savings. June discovered this, but on the day of the fire she had been caught by Pemberton and Dineen. She admitted that she knew what they were up to, and tells them she has removed incriminating papers from the file and put them in a secret location that only she knows. This was all Pemberton and Dineen needed to know: if an "accident" should befall June, there is no fear of reprisal. They tied her up and left her in the burning building.

June had bundled the papers and given them to her brother, who is the captain of a tramp steamer, for safekeeping in the ship's safe. Just then, the nurse comes in and informs Clark that an orderly knew that Pemberton and Dineen's car was still in the parking lot (since the police in Metropolis obviously keep hospital orderlies informed about ongoing police investigations). Clark, changing to Superman, flies over to the lot and finds the car. Ripping the door off (and thereby illegally interfering with a crime scene), Superman searches the car for clues, but finds only two handguns in the glove box. These he crushes, destroying any fingerprints that might be on them and contaminating them with Clark Kent's. (Bonehead count: 4) He flies away when he is spotted, and returns to the Daily Planet.

At the Planet building, Clark is visited by a Dr. Ambrose, an investor in the North Star Mining Company, who becomes upset to learn that he has been swindled out of his life's savings. Nonetheless, Clark reassures him that they have evidence against the swindlers. Just then, Perry White comes in and tells Clark that they have located June's brother: his ship, the Madison, is sailing down the coast to Charlotte. Ambrose thanks them for their time.

Back at the hospital, June tells Clark that her brother will turn her papers over to the police when he reaches Charlotte. Clark tells her about Dr. Ambrose's visit to the newspaper, and June becomes alarmed when she recognizes him from his description: he was Pemberton in disguise, and Clark had told him everything they knew. (Bonehead count: 5)

Superman flies down the coast in search of the Madison. Meanwhile, Pemberton and Dineen have hired a fast cruiser and caught up with the steamer. They fake a distress call to compel the sailors to bring them aboard

As much as I enjoy this story, it doesn't show off Superman at his brightest. In fact, this plot line has advanced beyond an episode and a half only because he has done exactly the wrong thing on multiple occasions. Fortunately, for the next little while at least, he doesn't do anything too idiotic.

Will Pemberton and Dineen find June Anderson's papers?

Will Superman intervene in time?

Is dimbulbery his newest superpower?

Find out, in the next episode!

Episode 13: The Steamship Madison (1940/03/11)

Listen!

Pemberton and Dineen's phony distress call has gotten them on board the steamship Madison, captained by June Anderson's brother Vincent. He is understandably angered by their actions: not only is a false distress call a crime, but the Madison is in government service transporting munitions. They claim they have been sent by June to retrieve her papers. Captain Anderson is, understandably, suspicious. Suddenly he finds himself at the wrong end of a pistol, as Pemberton and Dineen drop the charade and go for the brute-force approach. When Dineen can't break into the ship's safe, they compel Anderson to take them to the ship's hold, where they lock him in and start a fire. If they can't retrieve the papers, they'll destroy all the evidence, and the Madison too. Sailors frantically abandon the ship, and Pemberton and Dineen also escape in the general confusion.

Meanwhile, Superman spots the Madison on fire and swoops down. He realizes that the captain is still trapped inside the ship, and smashes his way through the hull into the hold. He rescues Captain Anderson (who has conveniently passed out), wraps a life preserver around him and drops him into the water near the lifeboats. Returning to the ship, he breaks into the safe and retrieve's June Anderson's bundle of papers before bashing his way out again.

Down on the water, the crew of the Madison rescue the captain and row for their lives just as the ship explodes . . .

There's a pattern evolving in these Superman stories that is starting to become apparent. In his first adventure, he foils the Yellow Mask, who was, for some unstated reason, attempting to sabotage the American railway system. In the next story, the Yellow Mask, under the alias of "Professor Schmidt," steals an atomic death ray. Finally, Captain Anderson is in command of a tramp steamer, shipping munitions for the U.S. government.

Of course, this was 1940, and there was a war on, although the U.S. wasn't yet involved. Officially neutral, and still nearly two years before Pearl Harbor, the U.S. was nonetheless building up its own military forces, and at the end of 1940 would become the "Arsenal of Democracy" for Allied powers in Europe and the Far East. The scriptwriters never mention the war, but it's not hard to speculate that it's the historical backdrop for many of Superman's adventures in these years. It explains a shipload of munitions easily enough, but possibly also why railway saboteur "the Wolfe" has a Germanic name, and why the Yellow Mask adopts a German alias to steal the atomic beam weapon.

Speaking of munitions ships, the explosion of the Madison should have ended this story then and there. Munitions ships don't just catch fire and blow themselves apart. They do this. While Superman would have gotten away with the papers (maybe—in these days he was tough, but not invulnerable), Pemberton and Dineen would likely have been vaporized in a mushroom cloud—thus obviating the need for incriminating evidence—along with Captain Anderson, the remainder of the crew, and any nearby towns.

But since there was no mushroom cloud, what became of Pemberton and Dineen?

What will Superman do with the papers?

What will he do next to prolong this crisis unnecessarily?

You know you can't wait to find out next week!

And now . . . this - Sept. 10/11

2011-09-10T08:07:00.034-04:00

Hey, it's 11/10/09! (And had it occurred to me an hour ago, I would have written this post at 08:07. So I couldn't resist back-dating it.)

Back to basics

What does the phrase "drunk moose, monkeys, and stupid criminals" mean? It was the thought that ran through my head that day in 2003 when I decided to start a blog.

It was a dark, windy and rainy night when Per Johansson returned from work to his home in Saro just south of Gothenburg, Sweden.

"It was raining really bad. In the wind I heard something screaming with a very dark voice," Johansson told CNN. "At first I wondered if it was the crazy neighbors, but then I heard it again and went and checked. I saw something really big up in a tree in my neighbors' yard and it was a moose. It must have been drunk after eating fermented apples and as it was reaching out for more fruit it must have slipped and fallen into the tree."

[Full Story]

At last we have the answer to the age-old question: Can mooses climb trees? When they're really, really drunk, they can. Getting down . . . not so much.

"At first I wondered if it was the crazy neighbours." As they used to say on Tales of the Riverbank—that's another story.

Public nudity, the San Francisco treat

I'm having trouble deciding whether this is intentional, or Freudian. Nonetheless:

In the San Francisco Bay area where tolerance is king, it is a rare politician willing to clamp down on citizens who let it all hang out.

But San Francisco Supervisor Scott Wiener stepped into that position earlier this week when he introduced an ordinance that would require nudists to cover their seats in public places and wear clothes in restaurants. . . .

Wiener, who represents the Castro neighborhood, said he hears from merchants who fear the public displays may drive away customers, hurting the business' bottom lines. . . .

California does have legislation against indecent exposure. But the law is lenient enough that it has barely affected San Francisco's current coterie of flaunters.

[Full Story]

Some days, the jokes just write themselves.

Earl Grey: Now even more overpoweringly perfumey

2011-09-04T22:50:00.000-04:00

Now, I like Earl Grey Tea— I have done since my second day of university when I bought a mug of boiling water and a bag of Bigelow's Earl Grey, without knowing what I was getting into. (And I was still a couple weeks away from knowing anything about Captain Picard or his hot beverage of choice.) My favourite brand of Earl Grey has always been Twinings, but if this is true, then I very well may end up looking for a new brand:

Charles Grey, the second Earl Grey, gave the world many things, notable among them the Reform Act of 1832, but most of us remember him as the man they named a kind of tea after. Earl Grey is a brilliant tea; even its name conjures up both class and softness (most teas taste like they should be called Baron Harsh), and its taste—bergamot, by and large—is unique yet not too disturbing for the British palate. . . .

Twinings' bizarre plan to change the flavour of Earl Grey seems a misguided one. It has added more lemon and more bergamot to make it even more "wonderful." Leaving aside the fact that only in the world of tea-producing have the words "more bergamot" and "wonderful" ever been combined, you do feel that they have, how can I put it, gone barmy.

[Full Story]

Also coming soon: New improved Guinness! Now with more melon flavour!

There's an apropos saying. It starts, "If it ain't broke . . ."

Superman Saturday: When we kiss, ooh baby, it's fire

2011-09-03T20:16:00.000-04:00

After last week's triple feature, I return this week to the regular two-episode format and a new adventure for Superman: a tale of danger, intrigue, and frankly enough super-boneheadedness that I'm actually going to keep count as we go. Let's just say it's not Superman's finest hour.

When we last left our heroes, Clark Kent as Superman had just defeated the megalomaniacal Yellow Mask, by deliberately colliding a plane with his to prevent him from destroying the Daily Planet with atomic Science! Clark returns to work the next day, presumably to bask in adulation for saving everyone's lives. Immediately, a photographer named Mike rushes up and informs Clark and Perry White that the Sterling Building, one of Metropolis' largest, is on fire and there's a girl trapped on the 20th floor . . .

Episode 10: Fire in the Sterling Building (1940/03/04)

Listen!

Clark pleads with White to let him cover the story, and Mike says that the fire marshal believes the fire might have been set. Meanwhile, Lois pops in for some gratuitous put-downs.

Mike and Clark hop a cab and head for the fire. Mike wonders what Lois has against Clark. Apparently she's smitten with Superman after he rescued her from certain death after being thrown out of an airplane.

They arrive on the scene and ply the fire chief for information, but he tells them nothing. However, he has called in a fourth alarm, so Clark phones in an update to the Planet while Mike stakes out a good vantage point for pictures on a balcony across the street. White warns Clark and Mike to be careful; "I don't take many chances," Clark retorts. Yeah, deliberately causing a midair collision and parachuting out of the flaming wreckage is just another day at the office for our favourite "mild-mannered reporter."

Joining Mike on the balcony, Clark spots the girl on the 20th floor. Taking advantage of a cloud of smoke, he changes to Superman and smashes his way into the Sterling Building. He spots the girl hiding in a closet (a nicely subtle reminder that Superman is able to see through solid objects). Quickly Superman wraps the girl in his cape, carries her through the flames, and smashes his way out again. He leaves the girl in a back alley, changes back to Clark Kent and goes off to find an ambulance doctor. He brings one back, along with the fire chief and Mike, and explains that he found the girl in the alley; she must have escaped herself somehow. The fire chief is skeptical, as he and the battalion chief had spotted Superman flying out of the building. (Bonehead count: 1) Then, the girl comes to and begins babbling: "Stop them, catch them!"

And thus begins Superman's latest adventure. It's got excitement and a daring rescue. Superman breaks as many windows in this episode as he has in all the previous ones altogether—but, to be fair, this time he's saving a life instead of just dropping in unannounced. For a mystery man trying to keep a low profile, he doesn't go too far to keep his existence a secret this time, jumping out of a burning building in front of a whole crowd of gawkers. This isn't the most boneheaded thing Superman/Kent will do in this story, though: it's a veritable comedy of errors. Wait 'til you hear the next episode or two. Finally, I don't think Lois Lane shows up again for the rest of this story; I can only guess that her pointless appearance at the beginning of the episode was necessary to meet some contractual obligation toward actress Joan Alexander.

By the way, just remember that in the continuity of the radio program, this is all still taking place only a few days after Superman popped out of his teeny-tiny rocket ship and saved the day for Jimmy and the Professor. (The program itself had only been on the air for about three weeks by this time, too.) It seems to have taken him all of about 30 seconds to assimilate himself into human culture. I have to assume that at some point, Clark Kent must have gone into the archives after hours and gotten himself up to speed with a little super-speed-reading.

Who is the girl?

Was the fire deliberately set?

Will the next episode title give away the ending again?

Episode 11: The Stabbing of June Anderson (1940/03/06)

Listen!

Clark Kent is waiting in the hospital for the girl to revive and shed some light on the Sterling Building fire, and hopefully identify herself, since no one has apparently read the title yet.

In the meantime, two men are driving the hell out of Dodge. They listen to the radio, as the news reports that the fire started on the 20th floor in the offices of the North Star Mining Company. The district attorney is attempting to interview our nameless girl, who is the former secretary for the company, hoping she can shed some light on the situation. Even though she's still unidentified, they have somehow figured out that she's the secretary, instead of, say, the cleaning lady.

The two men in the car are also wanted by the police: they are Bartley Pemberton, president of the North Star Mining Company, and Joseph Dineen, treasurer and VPO. Realizing that the girl might finger them as the perpetrators, they quickly turn around to take care of her—deciding to pose as her uncle and cousin and visit her in the hospital.

Back in the hospital, Clark is still waiting. A nurse informs him that the girl's injuries were light, but she is drifting in and out of consciousness, mumbling warnings about two men in a car. (How does she know they're in a car?) The nurse tells Clark that he probably has about an hour before the girl wakes up, so he steps outside, changes to Superman, and flies off. To look for two men in a car. In a city. (Bonehead count: 2) Of course, Pemberton and Dineen aren't trying to escape the city, they're trying to get back in. They park at a pay lot near the hospital, informing the attendant they won't need more than the first hour. That same hour that Superman is using to search for two men in a car leaving town.

Superman has searched 500 cars and, of course, not found anything. Hoping to strike pay dirt with car #501, he spots another one with two men in it, swoops down and stands in the middle of the road. Unfortunately, it's a police car, and he nearly causes a wreck. (Bonehead count: 2) Quickly, he starts anew his ongoing crime spree by evading arrest, flying away with several police bullets in hot pursuit.

Back at the hospital, Clark Kent starts flirting with the nurse again, and learns that the girl is being visited by two relatives; the nurse bent a rule to let them in. It seems that two strangers claiming to be an uncle and cousin and demanding to visit an unidentified Jane Doe, who also happens to be the principal witness to a possible crime, raises no suspicion in today's modern nurse. Clark smells a rat, though, and begs her to let him in to talk to them, tempting her with a write-up and picture in the paper. Suitably bribed, the nurse agrees and goes in to check on the girl.

Guess what she discovers. Go on, guess.

Of course, if Superman hadn't flown off for an hour on a wild-goose chase, he might have been able to head her "relatives" off in the hospital. (Bonehead count: 3) "How badly is she hurt? Is she dead?" demands Clark. "I don't know, she's unconscious!" the nurse answers. (If she was conscious, someone could just ask her if she was dead, I guess.) Kent phones in an update to the Planet rewrite desk.

Have Pemberton and Dineen silenced their secretary for good?

What does she know that would drive them to commit arson and murder to keep her from talking?

Does anyone other than the scriptwriter know her name?

Sit tight . . . all will be revealed in next week's exciting adventure!

Friday night downtime

2011-09-02T21:54:00.000-04:00

Now is the time on the Crusty Curmudgeon when we dance.

Friday in the wild: September 2, 2011

2011-09-02T20:55:00.000-04:00

Ha! It's actually Friday this time. No unnecessary delays, no accidentally falling asleep at 8 pm, blog article unwritten. Nope . . . just doing what I set out to do. Such a refreshing change from the usual, which I like to call "failure."

If you've ever wanted to write a novel but didn't know where to begin, the Art of Manliness blog had what I think is a helpful article on how to begin:

Many men have dreamed of writing a novel. Perhaps you have been told by a teacher that you have a knack for writing. Maybe you’re an avid reader and you think you could do just as well as the authors of the books you enjoy. Or perhaps you see writing a book as a challenge for yourself.

The good thing is this: anyone can do it! Nothing is stopping you from firing up your laptop and hammering away to create the caper of the century. There is no barrier or cost to entry. All you need is paper, pen, and the will to succeed.

[Read How to Write a Novel]

I had intuited many of the same steps myself, in the past. Hasn't resulted in any novels, yet, though.

Over at the Gospel Coalition blog, Collin Hanson wrote an article about the death-but-not-death of postmodernism in the West:

Christians tend to think of postmodernism as a revolution in philosophy and ethics. This view of postmodernism—an all-encompassing, coherent alternative to the arrogant certainty of modernism—stands on shaky ground. Postmodernism has always been applied selectively and often resembles a hyper-modernism, not a radically new enterprise. Indeed, postmodernism can only be explained in relation to its predecessor. The postmodern schools of art and literature represented a scattered protest against the conventions of modernism. The London art exhibit’s curators explain:

The modernists wanted to open a window onto a new world. Postmodernism, by contrast, was more like a broken mirror, a reflecting surface made of many fragments. Its key principles were complexity and contradiction. It was meant to resist authority, yet over the course of two decades, from about 1970 to 1990, it became enmeshed in the very circuits of money and influence that it had initially sought to dismantle.

Here we see several key elements of what has led so many Christian observers to take notice of postmodernism. We have grown skeptical of grand theories that purport to explain the way things were, are, and will be. Unlike modern schools of thought—say, Marxism—we recognize the complexity of human motivations. We have learned to live with contradiction, to embrace paradox.

[Read Postmodernism: Dead but Not Gone]

Nathan Finn at the new blog Credo posted another good article on William Carey:

History influenced the missiology of Carey and his associates. Scholars argue that the Moravians, David Brainerd, and John Eliot were all taken into consideration when Carey, Joshua Marshman, and William Ward drew up their famous Serampore Form of Agreement. In other words, Carey and friends understood that there was nothing new under the sun and they wanted to learn from the successes and failures of missionaries who had gone before them. History was used in the service of cross-cultural evangelism and church-planting.

[Read William Carey's View of History]

Stuff Christians Like had a pretty funny article about sitting in church near someone who can sing. "Why aren't they in the choir?" Having an OK voice myself, I get this a fair bit. It's embarrassing. My singing isn't that good; that's why I bury it in the choir.

Finally, with communion coming up this Sunday, I really enjoyed what my pastor wrote on his blog this week, after finishing up radiation treatments (he's OK):

If you’ve never been through radiation treatments for cancer, the whole notion of ringing the bell may seem a bit strange. What could be so meaningful about clanging a steel triangle? When I was starting my treatments, I didn’t see loads of meaning in the ceremony. But by the time it was my turn to ring the bell, I could hardly wait.

The cancer patients at Radiation North will tell you there’s something very symbolic, almost sacramental, about ringing the bell. The music announces that radiation is finished. As you ring the bell you remember and you celebrate.

[Read The Bell and the Bread]

Until next week . . .

And now . . . this - Sept. 2/11

2011-09-02T17:24:00.000-04:00

At least they didn't call him "big-boned"

Super-fit schoolboy Lewis Wighton-Turner, 11, is a member of a swimming club, a football club and a rugby club, and also goes cycling in his spare time. . . .

But admin worker Diane, 47, was stunned to receive a letter shortly afterwards informing her that her son was considered clinically obese and advising her on possible lifestyle changes to improve his physical health. . . .

"They could see he wasn't obese. Lewis said the woman from the NHS taking his measurements was obese herself, so that's a confusing message."

[Full Story]

While there is arguably no creature on this earth more obtuse than a government bureaucrat, even they have to have their own village idiot. Behold: the British government bureaucrat.

And now . . . this - Sept. 1/11

2011-09-01T20:59:00.000-04:00

Enough is enough . . .

Never mind ants in your pants, what about snakes and tortoises?

That's what authorities at Miami's international airport said they found inside the trousers of a passenger as he tried to board a flight for Brazil.

The U.S. Transportation Security Administration said the man had seven exotic snakes and three tortoises wrapped in nylon bags that had been stuffed into his pants.

[Full Story]

I've had it with these bleepity-bleep snakes in people's bleepity-bleep pants!

Well, come on, what did you expect me to say? But at least it wasn't monkeys.

Science-Fiction Free September VII, 2011

2011-09-01T14:41:00.000-04:00

It's September 1 . . . and so it's time for the annual moratorium on reading science-fiction books. (Read that title again: "Science Fiction Free September Seven, Two Thousand Eleven." Just rolls right off the tongue. Plus, SFFS is a palindrome. What more could anyone ask?)

SFFS came about back in 2004, when (after keeping track of my reading for the previous year) I realized my literary input was woefully lacking in anything other than SF. I decided that I would set aside a month to read anything but SF (apart from finishing a book already in progress), and planned out a selection of works to read. That first experiment was a success, and it also led to my reading Yann Martel's Life of Pi—my review of which is still one of the most popular posts on the blog, at least according to the search engine hits I get. So SFFS was a success, and in subsequent years I would celebrate it with various themes: Canadian literature, Victorian literature, and so forth. I have two restrictions: no science fiction (and preferably no fantasy either), and it should be something I haven't read before (since the whole point, after all, was to broaden my horizons!).

Of course, success has been varied, and I don't think I've ever succeeded in reading everything I set out to. So this year, I'm setting my sights a little lower. I'm going to finish as many books as possible that I've started, before moving on to something else:

Dead or Alive, by Tom Clancy. This was given to me for Christmas. I finished about 3/4 of it by spring, then got caught up in some required reading and never got round to picking it up again.
Under the Dome, by Stephen King. Recently given to me by a friend as a "birthday" present (he didn't really know when my birthday was). For some reason, I have a real phobia about reading later Stephen King books. I have intended for years to read them all in order before starting on his newer books, but never got farther than Pet Sematary. The result is that with the exception of Dreamcatchers, I've never read any of King's books later than The Green Mile in 1996. And this is the guy I claim is my favourite author? Sheesh . . .
Les Misérables, by Victor Hugo. In a sense, I've both read this before and finished it—I was hospitalized for a week in 1996 and, with nothing better to do, read an abridged edition from the hospital library. (Frankly, it was the only book they had that I was even interested in, so I'm glad my stay wasn't longer.) However, I've not read the complete novel. I started it earlier this year and got as far as Hugo's description of Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo.
Bleak House, by Charles Dickens. Actually, this will turn out to be a re-read, since I started it about 12 years ago and only got about five chapters in. Still, the story intrigued me enough.

So there you go. I think I'll actually post a progress indicator of sorts in the sidebar, too. Wish me luck!

Superman Saturday: Science! goes crash

2011-08-27T22:29:00.000-04:00

Oh yes. It's Saturday, and that means it's time to sit back and appreciate all things old, cheesy, and low-budget. Real life took priority last weekend, but to make up for it, this week we have a Superman Saturday Triple Feature, comprising an entire story from the radio's Adventures of Superman.

In our last episode, Superman had just saved the Silver Clipper train from certain doom at the hands of the Wolfe and his henchman, Keno Carter. Now, back in Metropolis, Clark Kent has earned himself a permanent job with the Daily Planet thanks to his breaking the railroad sabotage story in his first week on the job - indeed, his first week on Earth!

However, instead of a shiny Employee of the Month plaque on the wall, Clark has earned himself an enemy and a bomb threat, from none other than the shadowy figure behind Keno and the Wolfe—the Yellow Mask! Since his plot was foiled by a reporter, he plans on taking his revenge in true super-villain style: blowing up the entire newspaper. By 6 o'clock the next evening, the Daily Planet building will be rubble . . .

Episode 7: The Atomic Beam Machine (1940/02/26)

Listen!

As police scour the Daily Planet for bombs, in a deserted part of town, Dr. Sven Dahlgren is entertaining an "unexpected visitor" in his laboratory. He warns Professor Schmidt not to touch the windows or metal fixtures, as the laboratory is electrified. Dahlgren has received threats due to his latest invention: an atomic beam that disintegrates matter by canceling the atomic forces holding it together. Dahlgren, sick of violence, wishes his weapon of mass destruction to be used only for peaceful purposes, so he is keeping it a closely guarded secret. Except, of course, for unannounced visiting professors, to whom he is all too happy to demonstrate it by vaporizing a drinking glass and a small steel ball (both of which disappear with the sound of breaking glass).

Suddenly, Prof. Schmidt, whose voice actor sounds like Sir Bedevere in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, reveals himself to be none other than the Yellow Mask, threatener of great metropolitan newspapers! Pulling a gun on Dr. Dahlgren, he steals the machine, announcing his intention to use it to become "supreme ruler of the universe"—no doubt twiddling his mustache as he says it. Mwa-ha-ha! Dahlgren calls for help from his manservant Michael, who arrives too late.

Back at the Planet building, the police have found nothing. It's 4 pm, and with only two hours left until the Yellow Mask makes good his threat, Perry White introduces Clark Kent to his nemesis, whose initials are L.L. No, it's not Lex Luthor. It's Lois Lane, girl reporter! Right from the start she is unimpressed with Clark. When his super-hearing detects a low-flying plane outside, she takes him for a yokel unused to the sounds of an urban environment where there is no shortage of aircraft flying overhead. White then sends Lois out on a job. "A good job?" she asks, hopefully. "No," he replies—Dahlgren has called the paper to report the theft of his machine, and White wants an interview.

Clark suggests to White that the building be evacuated, but White doesn't want to look stupid if nothing happens. Apparently he's not too worried about looking stupid if something does. Just then, the phone rings. It's Dahlgren, and he wants to warn White that the Yellow Mask had threatened a paper when he stole the machine. (Too bad it didn't cross his mind to warn them the first time he called.) Suddenly the phone line goes dead. Clark realizes that the threat against the Planet isn't a bomb: the Mask intends to explode the building with Dahlgren's machine, and the plane he heard was probably spying out the area. Lois might be in trouble. Enduring some ribbing from some jealous Planet staffers, Clark ducks into a locker room and changes into Superman, jumping out a window and flying off to rescue Lois and Dr. Dahlgren.

Ah, yes, the 1940s, back when scientists worked for the good of mankind instead of scrabbling for grant money, and a tweed jacket, mustache and pipe earned you instant respect. Dr. Dahlgren isn't merely involved in science; he's into Science!, which creates wonderful technology out of pseudoscientific handwaving and little-understood technology like "atomic power" and "infra-gamma rays." The Scientist! is hopelessly optimistic, and even when he creates devices of enormous destructive power, he cannot conceive of them being used for evil purposes. (Alfred Nobel invented dynamite as a safer alternative to pure nitroglycerin for blasting; supposedly, he actually couldn't imagine that someone might want to build bombs with it.) It's notable that this episode aired in February 1940, in between the two seasons of the New York World's Fair, which celebrated all kinds of technological wonders.

Will Superman reach Lois in time?

What danger lurks at Dr. Dahlgren's laboratory?

Will the Yellow Mask return to steal the user manual?

Stay tuned to find out!

Episode 8: Fuel (1940/02/28)

Listen!

As this episode begins, we overhear a radio conversation between the Yellow Mask and Michael, Dr. Sven Dahlgren's servant. Aha! This explains why Michael was so useless in the previous episode: he's been working for the bad guys all along!

Lois Lane has arrived at Dr. Dahlgren's laboratory as well, where she is interviewing Dahlgren about the theft of his atomic beam. Fortunately, he assures her, the machine is useless: it turns out it was loaded only with two of the steel cylinders needed to power it, which Dahlgren had used up in his demonstration for "Professor Schmidt"! Dahlgren has apparently invented an atomic-powered weapon that is powered by steel. Surely this Science! is wonderful stuff. Dahlgren still has an older version of the machine and a supply of cylinders, which he keeps in a wall safe in a strong room of his laboratory. Lois thinks all this heavy security will "certainly make a story." For a man worried that his invention could be perverted into a weapon of mass destruction, Dahlgren sure likes to blab about his security arrangements.

Superman arrives at Dahlgren's lab, somehow recognizing it because Lois' car (which he has not seen before) is parked outside. His super-hearing, which can hear radio waves, hears another conversation between Michael and the Mask. "Who's Michael?" he wonders. He changes back to Clark Kent and knocks. Lois, thinking Clark has come to horn in on her story, is peeved. Dahlgren reassures Clark that the Daily Planet is now safe. Clark asks if Dahlgren knows anyone named "Michael," and Dahlgren identifies him as his servant, before going to get his other machine from the safe for a demonstration.

Lois chides Clark for what she perceives as cowardice, running away from the Daily Planet in the face of certain death. Clark tries to call the office, but (as Lois snarkily reminds him), the phone doesn't work. Clark then discovers that the phone lines are cut—and, since Michael is working for the bad guys, now they know, too, that the stolen machine won't work.

Suddenly, the steel doors to the strong room close tight! Clark and Lois overhear the voice of Dahlgren warning Michael to stay away from the safe, before there is an explosion. Clark sends Lois to get the police, and with her out of the way, makes short work of the steel doors and revives Dr. Dahlgren. Michael has blown the safe and escaped through a hole in the wall with the cylinders. Just then, the Yellow Mask's voice is heard, through a Dictaphone system built into the wall. (Apparently Michael has bugged the entire laboratory.) He reminds Clark Kent that it is 5:30 pm, only half an hour to certain doom, and "the Yellow Mask always keeps his word."

I've got relatively little to say about this episode. It seems a bit like filler, basically setting up the resounding conclusion in the next show. If you're observant, however, you may have noticed that although the Yellow Mask threatened to blow the Daily Planet "into a thousand fragments" two episodes ago, he has only just now obtained the necessary means of doing so—with only 30 minutes to spare. Say what you like about him; he's got chutzpah.

Will Lois bring help in time?

Can Superman save the Planet?

Will the building explode with the sound of breaking glass?

Don't miss the resounding conclusion . . .

Episode 9: Threat to the Planet Building (1940/03/01)

Listen!

Only 30 minutes left until the Daily Planet building is destroyed by atomic Science! Dr. Dahlgren's servant has escaped the laboratory with extra ammunition for the Dahlgren atomic beam. And on the way out, he has also grabbed Lois Lane, who was told by Clark Kent to go for the police. (Way to go, Clark!). The Yellow Mask decides to keep her for insurance: if Clark tries to interfere again, Lois is dead. They head for the airport.

The explosion at the lab has attracted the police, so it turns out Clark actually put Lois in danger for nothing. To avoid them, Clark runs to an upper floor, changes to Superman and flies out yet another window, heading for the Planet building to warn Perry White to evacuate it. Meanwhile, White takes a phone call from the Yellow Mask: he is holding Lois Lane hostage, and if anyone tries to stop him, Lois will "leave my company without a parachute." Just then Clark arrives. Learning that the Mask has Lois, he immediately tells Perry to call a nearby airfield and have a plane warmed up; he is going to be there in eight minutes. Again, he ducks out of sight and transforms into Superman, and not having time to open a window, commits another act of property damage by crashing through one.

I wonder whether contemporary audiences spotted the irony of Superman flying to an airfield so that Clark Kent could hire an airplane to chase the Yellow Mask?

It's five to six, and the Yellow Mask, Michael, and Lois are in a plane over the Daily Planet building. Michael spots another plane following them. It is, of course, being piloted by Superman, intent on scaring them off. With two minutes remaining, the Yellow Mask instructs Michael to descend upon the Planet building. "Please observe, Miss Lane, once again the whine of the atomic generators," he gloats, as he powers up the Dahlgren Death Ray of Peace. (For the record, Science! sounds like a small electric shaver.) With the other plane almost on top of them, the Yellow Mask makes good his threat and throws Lois out of the plane—just as Superman perpetrates an act of destruction upon his rented plane, ramming the Mask's plane with his own, then diving over 1000 feet to rescue the plummeting Lois.

Oh, heck yes.

The next day, at the Daily Planet, Perry White tells Lois that they all owe their lives to Clark Kent: he crashed his plane into the Yellow Mask's and jumped out at the last minute, parachuting safely to earth, just as Lois did.

Read that again. The staff of the Daily Planet think Clark Kent went kamikaze on another airplane in mid-air, then parachuted to safety.

This is what the "mild-mannered reporter" tells people to cover up the fact that he's Superman.

A lot of the fun of this radio series comes from the "mystery man" aspect of the Superman mythos that was still current in the early 1940s: Superman is a kind of urban legend, and he wouldn't "go public" for a few more years. Right now, Clark Kent has to change into Superman secretly, while dismissing his existence publicly. So he has to come up with a lot of excuses for his sudden disappearances. Sometimes—this being an ur-example— the excuse is less plausible than just admitting he's Superman.

Anyway, back to the story at hand. Lois doesn't remember the parachute, vaguely recalling being snatched in mid-air by a man in a red cape. As Clark arrives at the office, she gives him the cold shoulder. White informs Clark that nothing of the Yellow Mask was found in the wreckage of his plane. Just then, a call comes in about a fire at the Sterling Building. There's a girl trapped inside. Clark Kent quickly rushes off to see if he can help . . .

Was this the end of the Yellow Mask?

Can Clark arrive at the Sterling Building in time to save the girl?

Will he have to reveal himself as Superman?

Or will he just make up another daring feat of bad-assery?

Find out next week!

Saturday in the wild: August 20, 2011

2011-08-20T13:38:00.002-04:00

I must say, it has been an interesting week in the blogosphere - more than usual, even.

Timothy George wrote a piece about William Carey, whose 250th birthday was August 16 this year:

In those days, missions was a naughty word, something obsolescent, restricted to the days of the apostles long ago. But Carey read the Great Commission differently. "Go ye," he said, "means you and me, here and now." He challenged his fellow Baptists to respond to this call, to "expect great things from God, and attempt great things for God." The result was the first missionary society organized by evangelical Christians with the aim of carrying the Good News of Christ to all parts of the world.

[Read William Carey at 250]

It's sad (and a little ironic) that Carey's "Deathless Sermon" has not survived. Wouldn't you love to read the homily that touched off the modern foreign missionary movement? Carey is significant to me, for two reasons: the first adult Sunday school class I taught was on his life. (I also wrote the first iteration of Carey's entry on Wikipedia).

Smashing Magazine posted an article about typographic etiquette. While I wouldn't follow all their advice uncritically, I learned a few things, and I think I'll be trying them in future articles. (H/T: Tim Challies.)

Jeremy Pierce lampoons the inevitable leftist hysteria about "Dominionism" that crawls out of its hole every time a more-than-vaguely Christian candidate seeks high political office:

I've determined that there's a political faction out there that needs a name, because it's a group of conspiracy theorists with a particular agenda that's becoming somewhat influential, and it's achieving its agenda fairly well. Its agenda is to discredit mainstream evangelicalism by confusing it with extremist figures who have nearly zero influence on much of any importance. I'm going to call this group the Dominionismists, because their whole agenda depends on this fictional line of thought called Dominionism [sic].

[Read Dominionismist]

Joe Carter also followed up.

One of the hotter topics this week in the Christian blogosphere was John MacArthur's ongoing series on the "Young, Restless and Reformed" (YRR) crowd, particularly his article from last week titled "Beer, Bohemianism, and Christian Liberty," a broadside against the tendency within that movement to treat beer as "the principal symbol of Christian liberty."

Of course I myself am no stranger to ales, and I would take issue with MacArthur's teetotalism in that I don't believe it is biblically mandated. However, in all the resulting controversy about alcohol, it seems his main point has gotten lost:

This tendency to emblazon oneself with symbols of carnal indulgence as if they were valid badges of spiritual identity is one of the more troubling aspects of the YRR movement's trademark restlessness. It is wrong-headed, carnal, and immature to imagine that bad-boy behavior makes good missional strategy. The image of beer-drinking Bohemianism does nothing to advance the cause of Christ's kingdom.

And amen to that. I recently did a study of Titus: Paul's instructions to his protege for planting churches amidst the carnal culture of Crete. His repeated admonition to Titus was to teach the locals to set a good example by being "sensible" - not to be "incarnational" and imitate the Cretans. As he also teaches in Romans 14 and 1 Cor. 10, Christian liberty also involves a heavy dose of discretion, knowing when it is appropriate to temporarily curtail liberty for the sake of others.

That said, there was an interesting side issue raised by Mark at Here I Blog, regarding the revisionist history surrounding the composition of ancient wines:

In discussions like these two items always seem to come up. Item one, a point which MacArthur makes, is that the wine in biblical times was not like that of what we have today, but it was diluted to the point of making intoxication difficult. This has been called the "two wine theory." Item two follows the first stating that those who drank undiluted wine in early times were considered Barbarians.

[Read Alcohol: Of Greeks and Barbarians]

Justin Taylor posted an interesting bit of cultural background on 1st-century Palestine that sheds some light on Jesus' dealings with the scribes and Pharisees: 7 Differences Between Galilee and Judea in the Time of Jesus.

A "Manly Guest Contributor" to the Art of Manliness blog wrote about how to decorate your "man room." In short: it should be comfortable, of good quality, and personal to you. The author tends toward a more traditional man's study (think Teddy Roosevelt), but I'm sure the general principles could still also be directed toward something a little more, say, Gen-X. (My ideal man-cave desk, for example, would be geared toward not only writing and studying, but also computing and music.)

Steve at Triablogue spotted the works of John Owen online - probably the most significant of all English theologians.

Finally, if you think this looks good . . . it was this morning's (late) breakfast. And it was. Have a good week, folks.

A milestone I missed

2011-08-14T22:33:00.000-04:00

So it turns out this Friday was the 30th anniversary of the IBM Personal Computer, the prototype of the modern desktop PC that we all know and love.

Back then, an IBM 5150 computer came with an Intel 8088 CPU running at a whopping 4 MHz, two 5-1/4" floppy disk drives, no hard drive, and a 12" monochrome, 80x25-character monitor. Its base RAM was 16 KB. Yes . . . kilobytes. Graphics? Well, the Lotus 1-2-3 spreadsheet made pie charts.

I actually used one of these in my first summer job, between high school and university. I was compiling survey results at my local public library, and had to switch between WordPerfect and Lotus. With two floppy disk drives, you had to boot the computer into DOS with one drive, then swap the PC-DOS disk for the WP or Lotus one. The other drive held the data floppy. It was a pain, but it was still a superior system to the Commodore 64 I used at home. Thirty years later, of course, the C64 still has nostalgia value. The IBM PC? Not so much - probably because we are still using the same machine today, though it has evolved subtly over the years, and is obviously orders of magnitude more powerful.

But, still - I do like to play a round or two of Sopwith every now and then . . .

Still not too late for some good summer reading

2011-08-14T13:00:00.003-04:00

NPR has posted a reader-selected list of the 100 top science-fiction and fantasy books. Since a) it's been a long time since I posted a book list, and b) SF is my thing, here it is. What I've read, I've bolded, and added a few comments here and there.

The Lord Of The Rings Trilogy, by J.R.R. Tolkien
The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy, by Douglas Adams
Ender’s Game, by Orson Scott Card (most of 'em)
The Dune Chronicles, by Frank Herbert (most of 'em)
A Song Of Ice And Fire Series, by George R. R. Martin
1984, by George Orwell
Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury
The Foundation Trilogy, by Isaac Asimov (and also the posthumous prequel series written by the "Killer B's": Benford, Brin, and Bear)
Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley (Required high-school reading, of course)
American Gods, by Neil Gaiman
The Princess Bride, by William Goldman
The Wheel Of Time Series, by Robert Jordan
Animal Farm, by George Orwell
Neuromancer, by William Gibson
Watchmen, by Alan Moore (Does a comic book really belong on this list?)
I, Robot, by Isaac Asimov
Stranger In A Strange Land, by Robert Heinlein
The Kingkiller Chronicles, by Patrick Rothfuss
Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut
Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley
Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?, by Philip K. Dick
The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood
The Dark Tower Series, by Stephen King (Not yet, anyway. What kind of horrible Stephen King fan am I?)
2001: A Space Odyssey, by Arthur C. Clarke
The Stand, by Stephen King (My favourite book by King.)
Snow Crash, by Neal Stephenson
The Martian Chronicles, by Ray Bradbury
Cat’s Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut
The Sandman Series, by Neil Gaiman
A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess
Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein
Watership Down, by Richard Adams
Dragonflight, by Anne McCaffrey
The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress, by Robert Heinlein
A Canticle For Leibowitz, by Walter M. Miller
The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells
20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, by Jules Verne
Flowers For Algernon, by Daniel Keys
The War Of The Worlds, by H.G. Wells
The Chronicles Of Amber, by Roger Zelazny
The Belgariad, by David Eddings
The Mists Of Avalon, by Marion Zimmer Bradley
The Mistborn Series, by Brandon Sanderson
Ringworld, by Larry Niven (and the sequels)
The Left Hand Of Darkness, by Ursula K. LeGuin
The Silmarillion, by J.R.R. Tolkien (Half of it, at least.)
The Once And Future King, by T.H. White
Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman
Childhood’s End, by Arthur C. Clarke
Contact, by Carl Sagan (A rare case of a movie being better than its novel.)
The Hyperion Cantos, by Dan Simmons
Stardust, by Neil Gaiman
Cryptonomicon, by Neal Stephenson
World War Z, by Max Brooks
The Last Unicorn, by Peter S. Beagle
The Forever War, by Joe Haldeman
Small Gods, by Terry Pratchett
The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant, The Unbeliever, by Stephen R. Donaldson
The Vorkosigan Saga, by Lois McMaster Bujold (Falling Free, at least.)
Going Postal, by Terry Pratchett (I've read most of the Discworld series, but not this one in particular.)
The Mote In God’s Eye, by Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle (And its sequel, The Gripping Hand.)
The Sword Of Truth, by Terry Goodkind
The Road, by Cormac McCarthy
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke
I Am Legend, by Richard Matheson
The Riftwar Saga, by Raymond E. Feist
The Shannara Trilogy, by Terry Brooks
The Conan The Barbarian Series, by R.E. Howard
The Farseer Trilogy, by Robin Hobb
The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger
The Way Of Kings, by Brandon Sanderson
A Journey To The Center Of The Earth, by Jules Verne (I may, someday, take an old co-worker's advice and do a Web page or blog series on Jules Verne's many bad endings to his novels.)
The Legend Of Drizzt Series, by R.A. Salvatore
Old Man’s War, by John Scalzi
The Diamond Age, by Neil Stephenson
Rendezvous With Rama, by Arthur C. Clarke
The Kushiel’s Legacy Series, by Jacqueline Carey
The Dispossessed, by Ursula K. LeGuin
Something Wicked This Way Comes, by Ray Bradbury
Wicked, by Gregory Maguire
The Malazan Book Of The Fallen Series, by Steven Erikson
The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde
The Culture Series, by Iain M. Banks
The Crystal Cave, by Mary Stewart
Anathem, by Neal Stephenson
The Codex Alera Series, by Jim Butcher
The Book Of The New Sun, by Gene Wolfe
The Thrawn Trilogy, by Timothy Zahn (Interesting to see a tie-in to a movie franchise make the list - these three Star Wars novels really are that good.)
The Outlander Series, by Diana Gabaldan
The Elric Saga, by Michael Moorcock
The Illustrated Man, by Ray Bradbury
Sunshine, by Robin McKinley
A Fire Upon The Deep, by Vernor Vinge
The Caves Of Steel, by Isaac Asimov (as well as its numerous sequels)
The Mars Trilogy, by Kim Stanley Robinson (the first one)
Lucifer’s Hammer, by Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle
Doomsday Book, by Connie Willis
Perdido Street Station, by China Mieville
The Xanth Series, by Piers Anthony (Well, I tried, once.)
The Space Trilogy, by C.S. Lewis (Of course!)

Out of 100, I've read 46. Interestingly, though science fiction is my preferred genre, I still haven't read a majority of books on the list. On the other hand, this is still the largest number of any top-100 list that I have read - part of the reason I impose a moratorium on SF every September, to broaden my horizons a bit.

Some notable omissions from the list, in my opinion: Frederik Pohl's Heechee Saga (Gateway and its sequels); Philip K. Dick novels other than Androids (for example, Valis or A Scanner Darkly); or Tad Williams' Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn trilogy.

(H/T: Siris.)

Superman Saturday: Playing with the train set

2011-08-13T23:00:00.021-04:00

This week on Serial Saturday, Superman wraps up his first radio adventure! So tie a red towel around your neck, grab a bowl of your favourite brand of whole-wheat cereal flakes, and tune in . . .

Episode 5: Locomotive Crew Freed (1940/02/21)

Listen! [MP3]

In this exciting episode of The Adventures of Superman: Another spoiler title.

As you will remember, Clark Kent intended to lure out the perpetrators of the railway sabotage plot by using himself as bait. Conspicuously lurking around the hideout of Keno and the Wolfe, he is not disappointed: they grab him and drag him into the basement, where they have built an interrogation room complete with reinforced walls and "aids."

Keno, working Clark over, frustrated that he can't make him talk. Then the Wolfe comes in and orders it to leave him alone; whatever Clark knew, it doesn't matter now. Clark demands what he means by that, so the Wolfe (a non-genre-savvy supervillain) reveals their plan: just as they didn't find the locomotive that went missing last episode, they won't find the Silver Clipper, "crack train of the West Coast Railroad," either. Clark is to be sealed into their vault, built out of concrete and three-inch-thick steel, and left to die. They clobber him unconscious and leave for the road to San Joaquin, 20 miles out of town.

Of course Kent was merely faking; he bides his time, until Keno and the Wolfe are out of earshot. Then, he transforms to Superman and goes to work smashing his way out of the basement. He finds a skylight on the top floor, and crashes through it on his way up, up, and away. This will not be the last skylight to fall victim to a super-act of vandalism. Understandably, Supe didn't want to be seen on the street, but he couldn't have quietly slipped out the back door instead of blasting through a glass roof?

Keno and the Wolfe arrive at the scene of the crime. Schooner Canyon was the location of a mining camp, until a dam was built and the canyon was flooded to create a reservoir. The camp had a railway line leading to it, through a tunnel and down the canyon wall. The branch line, though abandoned, still leads to the water. The Wolfe's men sabotaged the switch to divert the engine through the tunnel; it is now a thousand feet underwater. Fortunately, the engineer and fireman jumped clear just in time. Unfortunately, the Wolfe has schackled them to the rocks above the tunnel. When they are dead (presumably of exposure), he will leave their bodies by the tracks: creating an unsolvable mystery. The same fate awaits the Silver Clipper and its passengers. Keno again balks at the thought of mass murder, but the Wolfe taunts him for his cowardice.

While Keno and the Wolfe are talking, they think they hear the sound of rushing wind, or wings. Keno thinks he spies a man in a red cape flying around the scene; it calls to his mind what the Western Limited conductor had said. The Wolfe dismisses it. But Superman has overheard this entire conversation, and speeds over the tunnel to rescue the injured train crew. Fortunately, we learn, he can see in the dark - and through rock! He frees the men from their bonds, and leaves them at a nearby ranch house.

Meanwhile, the Silver Clipper is now 20 minutes out of Denver; the whistle blows in the distance . . .

Not too much happens in this episode; it's mainly a setup for the finale. However, we do learn something new about Superman's powers: he has night and X-ray vision, though he doesn't seem to use the latter.

Can Superman warn the authorities and get back in time to rescue the Silver Clipper?

Will he finally rescue the Silver Clipper?

Listen again nextime for thrills! Suspense! Climax!

Episode 6: The Silver CLipper (1940/02/23)

Listen! [MP3]

The Silver Clipper is on its way to San Joaquin Pass and the Wolfe's trap. Meanwhile, Superman has changed back to Clark Kent and gone to the chief of police. He tells the chief to rush to the crossing at San Joaquin and apprehend Keno and the Wolfe. The two injured train men, now at a nearby ranch, will be star witnesses against them.

Now, in last episode's cliffhanger, the announcer asked whether Superman had enough time to rescue the two men and get back in time to save the train. He didn't mention anything about paying a call at the local sheriff's office en route.

Clark then calls Perry White back at the Planet, and convinces him to stop the press because he's had a break in the railroad story. For some reason, White had thought Clark was dead. However, Clark reassures him that he'd only been "tied up in a cellar, but I broke out." Yep. Just another workday for Clark Kent, cub reporter. White asks if Clark's heard the rumours about the flying "Superman," but Clark brushes them off.

Did I mention that there's a passenger train about to be diverted off the main track and into a thousand-foot-deep watery grave?

Clark finally manages to tear himself away from his phone conversation, and as Superman flies back to the San Joaquin crossing to rescue the train. Keno and the Wolfe are hiding in the tunnel waiting for the Silver Clipper to arrive. In five minutes, the tunnel will be a "most unhealthy place . . . Something resembling the end of the world, Keno. Screaming brakes, rending steel, billows of steam! Yes, decidedly we should move, my friend. Come." (I would love to meet the guy who wrote that dialogue, and buy him beer. Sadly, he's probably dead.) With only minutes left, Keno and the Wolfe go to the tracks to observe the mayhem from a discreet distance.

Superman arrives at the junction with only a minute to spare. He quickly resets the switch and, for good measure, tears up some of the branch track. He is spotted by Keno and the Wolfe, who take a few shots at him, with the predictable results. With the Silver Clipper bearing down upon them, they run for their car. Superman has thrown the switch in the nick of time, and the train safely barrels through en route to Salt Lake.

The two villains have sped away in their car, but Superman quickly catches up with them and stops their escape. He picks them both up with one hand, and with the other he commits yet another act of wanton property damage on their car, making it look like a crash. With police on the way, he warns them not to try to sabotage another train and flies away. The police arrive and recognize them as the men Clark Kent warned them about. Keno, hysterical, pleads to be put in jail if it will keep him safe from Superman. Clark, who has joined the crowd, congratulates the chief on capturing the saboteurs.

Back at the Planet, White congratulates Clark for a job well done and promises him another assignment. Again he asks about the rumours of a "Superman," and again Clark dismisses them as an urban legend. Just then the phone rings. It's the shadowy figure that has been behind the Wolfe all along - the Yellow Mask! Because of Kent's meddling in his train plot, he threatens the Daily Planet with certain destruction in 24 hours!

And thus ends Superman's first adventure on Earth. Despite plot holes you could drive an Art Deco streamliner through, I quite enjoyed it. The Golden Age-era Superman reminds me a lot of the character George Reeves played on television in the 1950s: more likely to get into a punch-up with gangsters than use godlike superpowers in an epic confict with a campy supervillain.

Who is the voice on the phone?

Who is this Yellow Mask?

Aren't those just the same question?

Tune in again next week, when Science! threatens the Daily Planet! Also, Clark Kent meets another indispensable member of the newspaper staff . . .

FridaySaturday in the wild: August 13, 2011

2011-08-13T17:59:00.002-04:00

Haven't done this in a while. (Hey, any excuse to keep blogging.)

R. C. Sproul Jr. had an interesting take on the question of Norwegian mass-murder Anders Breivik's religion:

Do Christians commit murder? Of course they do Is there some magic number, somewhere between one and a hundred where we can draw a line? I think not. Christians do not, however, murder freely, continuously, without repentance. They do not give themselves over to their sins. If they do, they no longer commit such sins, but practice them, showing their profession to be less than credible. Remember that, quite apart from the reality that we are all guilty of unjustified anger against our brothers, it is likely that your church has a number of saints who have murdered - some aborting their babies, others encouraging their wives, daughters, girlfireds [sic] to abort their babies.

[Read Says Who?]

I might quibble with this or that in Sproul's details, but in the main I agree with him, and cringe a bit every time some murderer or radical is automatically disavowed by Christians. We are all, as Sproul says, sinners. If a regenerate person could commit, say, software piracy, assault, even adultery in a moment of weakness, then why couldn't he commit murder?

So, do I believe Breivik is actually a Christian? Nope. From what religious statements I've seen excerpted from the 1,500-page rant he called a "manifesto," he has cultural ties to the church and a vaguely deistic view of God. This isn't the "no true Scotsman" fallacy, where I pronounce Breivik an apostate based on my opinion of his performance evaluation. (And yes, I do agree with Sproul on the distinction between committing and practicing sins.) Breivik is not a Christian, because the religion he claims to hold is not Christianity.

Meanwhile, the elder Sproul posted on Moby Dick:

Its greatness may be seen not in its sometimes cumbersome literary structure or its excursions into technicalia about the nature and function of whales (cetology). No, its greatness is found in its unparalleled theological symbolism. This symbolism is sprinkled abundantly throughout the novel, particularly in the identities of certain individuals who are assigned biblical names. Among the characters are Ahab, Ishmael, and Elijah, and the names Jeroboam and Rachel ("who was seeking her lost children") are given to two of the ships in the story.

In a personal letter to Nathaniel Hawthorne upon completing this novel, Melville said, "I have written an evil book." What is it about the book that Melville considered evil? I think the answer to that question lies in the meaning of the central symbolic character of the novel, Moby Dick, the great white whale.
[Read The Unholy Pursuit of God in Moby Dick; H/T Ligonier Ministries Blog]

Moby Dick is the most classic novel I've ever railed to read. I first tried in grade 8, and got several chapters in, but found the antebellum English prose a little too daunting for a novel of its length. Tried again in university - my girlfriend had a copy in her library - but managed only to reread the first chapter. (After I had transferred to the English program, had I taken 19th-century American lit instead of 20th, I'd probably have read it by now.)

That's all for now. See you next time.

Signs of the times

2011-08-11T23:24:00.000-04:00

A hair-thin electronic patch that adheres to the skin like a temporary tattoo could transform medical sensing, computer gaming and even spy operations, according to a US study published Thursday.

The micro-electronics technology, called an epidermal electronic system (EES), was developed by an international team of researchers from the United States, China and Singapore, and is described in the journal Science. . . .

The wireless device is nearly weightless and requires so little power it can fuel itself with miniature solar collectors or by picking up stray or transmitted electromagnetic radiation, the study said.

Less than 50-microns thick - slightly thinner than a human hair - the devices are able to adhere to the skin without glue or sticky material.

[Full Story]

It's in Revelation, people!!

Finally, Science! has given us the ability to make a mark on the hand or forehead. The One World Government and cashless society so clearly spelled out in the book of Revelation is surely almost upon us. Indeed, prophecy is being fulfilled, in the very pages of our newspapers.

A pet peeve

2011-08-07T16:30:00.000-04:00

Achtung!

[dons Grammar Nazi jackboots and Schirmmütze]

I must draw to your attention a new threat to the purity of our mother tongue: the unrestrained use of the term deconstruct, as seen, for example, in this review by Kevin DeYoung (which is pretty good, and you should read it anyway):

Evangelicals can make the mistake of thinking the Bible says everything about everything. They can also be guilty of majoring on the minors or forcing the Bible to address matters it never meant to address. Smith is right to deconstruct these tendencies.

Deconstruction is a form of literary theory, founded in the 1960s by Jacques Derrida, who famously wrote, "il n'y a pas de hors-texte" ("there is nothing outside the text"). He challenged the assumption that words have a stable reference point outside of other words (there is no objective link between a word and the object it symbolize). Words can only be defined with other words, which can only be defined with other words, and so on and so forth. Nor is there any such thing as authorial intent; that, too, lies outside the text. To deconstruct a text, then, is to abandon all assumptions about meaning, and construct new meanings through new coinages, wordplay, and so forth: finding conflicting meanings for the text and unraveling the points it purports to make.

When DeYoung points out a few inconsistencies in Christian Smith's arguments (e.g. that "biblicism" doesn't work because evangelicals can't agree on essentials, yet Christians ought to get together and agree on essentials), he is in fact deconstructing Smith's argument by exposing areas in which it is incoherent. However, when he concedes that "Smith is right to deconstruct" wacky Evangelical Bible-reading tendencies, it appears that he is using the term deconstruct in a different way. I haven't read the book, but from reading DeYoung's post, it doesn't appear to me that Smith is saying it's impossible to find the Evangelicals' meaning. It's implied that he does understand their meaning. He just finds it foolish.

When you are tempted to use deconstruct when you mean something like analyze, rebut, or criticize, please use another word: for example, analyze, rebut, or criticize.

That is all.

Superman Saturday: Superman's first challenge!

2011-08-06T23:00:00.051-04:00

Where we last left our hero, he had just arrived on Earth after an unexpectedly long rocket ride from the doomed planet of Krypton. Despite being crammed into a toy rocket as an infant and adrift in space for 20-plus years, having no outside knowledge of Krypton or Earth, Superman arrives with fluency in English and a superhero costume in his size. Even with no money, no experience, no Social Security number and a suit he probably stole off a guy in an alley, he scores a job as a cub reporter for the Daily Planet.

Now, Superman-as-Clark-Kent is off on his first assignment: to cover the threats made against trains in the West, and specifically, the Silver Clipper, "crack train of the West Coast Railroad," which a shady figure named the Wolfe has warned will never reach Salt Lake City after departing Denver.

So put on your Superman Underoos and listen to . . .

Episode 3: Keno's Landslide (1940/02/16)

Listen! [MP3]

The airport being closed due to fog, and with only 24 hours before the Silver Clipper meets its doom, Clark Kent decides to skip the TSA groping and fly out West under his own power as Superman.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the Colorado wilderness, our villains are languishing in a cabin: Keno Carter, "gunman, gambler, bad man of the Southwest," and the "shadowy" Wolfe, Maker of Ominous Phone Calls. Keno has just planted explosives on the railway tracks in anticipation of another train, the Western Limited. While Keno is apparently OK with sabotaging the rail system, he balks at the deaths that blowing a train 300 feet down a cliff will cause. The Wolfe, however, is not so scrupulous, and he reminds Keno (in an effete Eastern accent) that his job is to obey orders. Aha - so the Wolfe gets his orders from even higher up.

Superman, who is also following the Western Limited from the air, spots Keno by the tracks. Somehow, he recognizes the gear in his hands as a charging battery for dynamite blasting - such gear apparently being rather common in Kryptonian rockets. Realizing he has to act quickly to save the train, he swoops down and boards as Clark Kent, intending to stall the train by being thrown off when the conductor finds out he has no ticket. Unfortunately, he overplays his hand: the conductor decides to give Clark the benefit of the doubt for the time being, lest he write a hit piece for the paper.

So Clark goes for plan B: he pulls the emergency brake cord. This is, of course, not legal. So far, in his short time on Earth, Superman has destroyed a trolley car, mugged a guy for his clothes, and now illegally stopped a train. Obviously, it's going to take some time for the Man of Steel to evolve into the big blue Boy Scout we all know and love.

Clark suggests that he deserves to be thrown off the train for his bad behaviour. The furious conductor threatens him with jail time. But then the dynamite goes off and drops 20 tons of rock onto the tracks, but thanks to Clark, the train is unharmed. In the general confusion, Clark slips away, changes to Superman, and clears away the rock.

In the meantime, Keno slips into the crowd and discovers that Clark Kent, reporter, is responsible for saving the train. Nonetheless, the Wolfe assures him, with 20 tons of rock on the tracks, the Western Limited isn't going anywhere soon. Of course, it leaves immediately. The Wolfe and Keno quickly run for their plane to get to Denver, continue with their nefarious plot, and take care of Kent.

All in all, this isn't a bad start for Superman's first real adventure. There's a credible challenge - saving trains is one of those things Superman does a lot of. And there's a decent antagonist, in the duo of the thuggish Keno and the ruthless Wolfe.

Mind you, I'm still going to have a bit of fun for the next little while wondering where Superman got a working knowledge of Earth culture.

How is the Wolfe going to deal with Clark Kent in Denver?

Who is the Wolfe getting his instructions from?

Will Superman straighten himself out, or continue his life of petty crime?

Don't miss . . .

Episode 4: Kent Captured by the Wolfe (1940/02/19)

Listen! [MP3]

Having arrived in Denver without further incident, Clark Kent files a story about the rockslide with the paper and pays a visit to the railroad's division superintendent. Meanwhile, the henchman Keno is down because he doesn't understand how the rockslide completely failed to stop the train. The Wolfe admonishes him for failing. When Keno insists he didn't fail, the Wolfe suggests that he should be committed along with the conductor of the Western Limited who insists that a man in a blue outfit had singlehandedly cleared away the rockslide and repaired the tracks. (Ha! Irony!)

The Wolfe has done some checking into Clark Kent, and is surprised that he got out West so quickly. "He musta flown," suggests Keno. (Irony!) Nonetheless, they want to know what the railroad is planning, so Keno is sent to the superintendent's office disguised as a messenger, to deliver a telegram and overhear as much of the conversation as he can.

In the district office, the railroad superintendent and Clark ruminate some about the rumours of a "Superman" that have circulated after the rockslide. Clark dismisses the rumours as fantasy (irony!). It's easy to forget that in Superman's earlier years, he was very much a "mystery man": a costumed vigilante who operated outside the law and in secret. (Remember in Episode 2 how he warned Jimmy and the Professor not to tell anyone about their rescue.) In 1940, Superman was treated as a sort of urban legend, and it would actually be several years before he "went public" and became such a visible symbol of Metropolis.

In his news story, Clark had hinted that he knew more of the story than he had reported. He knows that the bad guys are following him around Denver, and he intends to use himself as bait by making himself conspicuous. "Mild-mannered reporter." Riiiight. His friends, at least the ones who don't know his real identity, must think he wrestles grizzly bears made of piranhas, for fun. As we'll see in future episodes, it must be tough for Superman to pretend he's not Superman.

Now Keno arrives in his messenger outfit and leaves the Wolfe's telegram: a cryptic message, again threatening the Silver Clipper. Kent thinks that the telegram and messenger are faked, and it will also lead right back to the perpetrators. Just then, a phone call arrives: the Superintendent is shocked to learn that a locomotive and tender have vanished without a trace. The message is clear: the same fate will befall the Clipper.

Clark goes out to "hunt wolves," hops out a nearby window and, as Superman, follows Keno back to his hideout. Keno spots him outside the house (again dressed as Clark), and he and the Wolfe plot to capture Kent and drag him into the basement, where they have a steel vault to lock him in and plenty of "aids to conversation."

This episode was mainly filler, and the title pretty much gave away the ending.

What has happened to the missing engine?

How will Clark Kent face the Wolfe's torture?

Could I write that last question with a straight face?

Find out next week!

Introducing: Superman Saturdays

2011-07-30T20:00:00.032-04:00

I've always loved Superman. It goes right back to my childhood, thanks to reruns of The New Adventures of Superman and (of course) the Super Friends on Saturday mornings. My small collection of comic books included a few Superman issues. I think that 1978's classic Superman: The Movie, starring the redoubtable Christopher Reeve, was the first live-action movie I saw on the big screen. And I was a fan of Smallville for at least the last five years of its 10-year run. (Never watched Lois & Clark more than a couple times, though.)

During my university years I became vaguely aware of an old-timey Superman radio serial, because of a midnight program on CBC titled Night Camp. (Night Camp was also my first experience with Ella Fitzgerald, incidentally - double plus!) However, I only recently discovered archives of the show on the Net; something like 1100 of 1400+ episodes are still extant. And so I became hooked on Superman in all forms of media: print, radio, television, and film.

Also growing up, Saturday afternoon was the day for old and bad movies, usually sponsored exclusively by a manufacturer of adjustable beds. This is how I discovered The Planet of the Apes and its various sequels, and of course Godzilla, my one guilty pleasure. Clearly, Saturday was the day set aside by God for relaxation and the enjoyment of B-grade entertainment.

The Adventures of Superman certainly fit that bill. They're wonderfully silly. They reflect an era when the Last Son of Krypton spent his non-working hours punching up crooks and rescuing fair maidens from burning buildings instead of the more epic challenges posed by villains like Doomsday and Darkseid.

Hence, "Superman Saturdays." In honour of wonderful silliness, I am devoting part of my weekend to the appreciation of pulp. From time to time it may be "Serial Saturday," if I feel like digressing. But for the most part, Superman - especially old-timey Superman - just never gets old.

So gather around your radio console with a tasty and nutritious bowl of Kellogg's Pep, and look! Up in the sky!

Episode 1: The Baby from Krypton (1940/02/12)

Listen! [MP3]

"Boys and girls! Your attention please! Presenting a new, exciting radio program, featuring the thrilling adventures of an amazing and incredible personality! Faster than an airplane! More powerful than a locomotive! Impervious to bullets!"
"Up in the sky, look!"
"It's a bird!"
"It's a plane!"
"It's Superman!"
"And now, Superman. A being no larger than an ordinary man, but possessed of powers and abilities never before realized on Earth. Able to leap into the air an eighth of a mile at a single bound! Hurtle a 20-story building with ease! Race a high-powered bullet to its target! Lift tremendous weights and rend solid steel in his bare hands as though it were paper! Superman! A strange visitor from a distant planet! Champion of the oppressed! Physical marvel extraordinary who has sworn to devote his existence on Earth to helping those in need. As our story begins, we ask you to come with us on a far journey - a journey that takes us millions of miles from the Earth, where the planet Krypton burns like a green star in the endless heavens . . .

The planet Krypton is doomed - doomed, I tells you!

According to its chief scientist, Jor-El, possibly in as little as a week, Krypton will be drawn into the sun and torn apart. Their only hope is to evacuate the planet and settle the Kryptonians on Earth. This news does not go over well with the Kryptonian ruling council, which mocks Jor-El and dismisses his dire predictions. He announces that their blood is on their own hands; for his part, he will look out for himself and his family.

Returning home, Jor-El completes a prototype spaceship which he plans to fire at the Earth. If the test is successful, then he will build a bigger ship capable of carrying himself, his wife Lara, and their infant son Kal-El. Suddenly, huge subterranean earthquakes announce the imminent destruction of Krypton. Jor-El urges Lara to get into the prototype, but she insists instead on saving Kal-El. As Jor-El, Lara, and the rest of Krypton dies, the spaceship and its tiny occupant escape.

Superman debuted in Action Comics #1, which devotes a single page to his origin story, and a mere frame to his Kryptonian heritage: mentioning only that he was rescued from doom when his scientist father put him in a rocket and sent him to Earth. So this radio episode may very well be the first time that Superman's origin is explained in any great detail. In fact, it's very similar to the prologue of 1978's Superman: The Movie - it lacks only Marlon Brando as Jor-El, condemning General Zod to the Phantom Zone.

Krypton, we are informed, is "millions of miles away," and on the other side of the sun from the Earth. Apparently it's within our own solar system and visible by telescope. How Jor-El intended to see if his rocket test was successful is not explained in detail; does his "high-powered telescope" see through the sun?

Second, we learn that the Kryptonians are a race of supermen "advanced to the absolute peak of human perfection": to get somewhere, they need only step as far as they want, whereas we puny Earthlings can step three feet at the most. This premise is consistent with Superman's original origin story, but at odds with its later evolution, in which Superman's power comes from Earth's lighter gravity and the radiation of its yellow sun. Jor-El proposes evacuating the population of Krypton to Earth. Did the scriptwriters think through the implications of thousands or millions of Supermen immigrating to Earth?

I just have to keep reminding myself: This is a children's program. We're supposed to thrill to the amazing adventures of the Man of Tomorrow, not think too hard about it.

As a further point of interest, Lara was played by Agnes Moorehead, best known for her later role as Samantha's mother Endora on Bewitched.

Will baby Kal-El's rocket make it to Earth?

Or will this be the shortest radio serial in history?

Stay tuned for the next adventure!

Episode 2: Clark Kent, Reporter (1940/02/14)

Listen! [MP3]

Not surprisingly, the baby Kal-El's flight to Earth is successful, if a bit longer than anticipated: by the time he arrives on Earth, he's a grown man. Since Jor-El expected to watch the prototype rocket land on Earth through his high-powered telescope, he apparently expected the trip only to take a few minutes or hours. Instead, it took something like 20 years - by which time, both Jor-El and his telescope would have been clouds of superheated gas. So we'll have to chalk up the rocket test as a failure. Kal-El survives anyway. Luckily, he apparently has no need of food, air, or in-flight entertainment on his 20-year journey.

Arriving on Earth, then, the adult Kal-El emerges from the rocket and immediately flies away to explore, and ends up "hovering with his curious power" over a highway somewhere in Indiana. The prologue of the first episode had said only that he could leap an eighth of a mile into the air - again, consistent with the comics of the day. This Superman is capable of true flight, another apparent first for his radio incarnation, of which there were several, as we will see in the future.

Meanwhile, a local, identified only as "the Professor," is going into town: taking his son Jimmy to the fair on a trolley. While the motorman is getting a drink of water, the trolley begins to roll downhill, out of control. Fortunately, Superman swoops down from above, rips the roof off the trolley and pulls the Professor and Jimmy out before it crashes. Hang on - were we not told, in the first episode, that he can "hurtle a 20-story building with ease"? Was he unable to drag a mere cable car to a stop, or lift it off the tracks? Superman's career of gratuitous vandalism begins right from day one on Earth.

In return for the rescue, Superman requests that Jimmy and the Professor promise to keep their knowledge of him secret. (No doubt he waved the wreckage of the trolley under their noses.) He also asks for advice: he is a stranger to Earth, so how can he best learn about humanity? The Professor suggests that he get a job at a "great metropolitan daily" as a reporter. Jimmy adds that he can't get a job dressed in Superman's blue tights and cape, and suggests he take an Earth name: something nice and inconspicuous, say, "Clark Kent." Superman thanks them for their help, warns them again not to reveal his new identity (possibly adding, "You wouldn't want to meet with another unfortunate accident, would you?") and flies off.

This exchange raises a whole bunch of plot holes. Superman knows he comes from a planet that no longer exists. Yet he cannot remember his own name? How did he learn English? How does he know what a newspaper is, or what a reporter does? (I know, I know, it's a kid's show.)

At the Daily Planet, in the office of the editor, Perry White receives a phone tip on a story out West concerning railroad sabotage, in which a man named "the Wolfe" may be involved. Here we have two more radio firsts: in the comics, Clark Kent originally worked for the Daily Star, and his editor was George Taylor. Perry White would be introduced to Action Comics later in 1940.

White bemoans the fact that he is shorthanded whenever a big story breaks. Fortunately, Clark Kent has been been waiting around the Planet offices, hoping to talk to White about a job. Here, again, I pause and ask: Is he sitting around the city desk in his Superman jammies? If not, how did he acquire Earth clothing? Did he stroll into a menswear store in the aforementioned jammies and buy a suit? What did he pay with? Did he mug a helpless victim in a back alley and steal his clothes? (It's just a kid's show . . .)

Since Clark has no experience, White tries to brush him off. However, he gets a phone call from the Wolfe himself, threatening that something bad will happen to a train called the Silver Clipper en route to Denver. Clark uses his super-hearing to eavesdrop on White's phone call, pretending that he is familiar with the railway situation. Impressed, White decides to take a chance on him. He tells his secretary, Miss Smith, to get Clark a cash advance and plane tickets out West. However, the airport is closed down because of fog. Miss Smith leaves Kent to wait in an anteroom while she finds his cash. She warns him to stay away from the window, as it is 20 stories up.

Kent decides he can't wait, jumps out the window and flies away as Superman. Here, I gave a little silent cheer. Forget the legendary phone booth; Supe almost never used one anyway. The window trick has always been my personal favourite way that Clark Kent would quickly change to Superman. He jumped out of the Galaxy Building in the first Action Comic I ever read.

However, then Miss Smith returns, and sees the open window. Since no one saw Clark leave the anteroom, she assumes the worst. On that note, the episode ends.

Superman was played by the legendary Bud Collyer, already a major name in radio by the time he took this part. Collyer had a bit part in the first episode, but here he makes his debut as Clark Kent/Superman. He shows that he gets the dual identity: when he plays Clark Kent, he pitches his voice in a high tenor range, but when he changes to Superman, his voice drops considerably. You really can believe that Clark Kent and Superman are two different people. Of all the various incarnations of the character, only Collyer and Christopher Reeve played Superman's dual persona so well.

I've "complained" a bit about some of the plot holes, and I'll do so again, for a little while, at least. No doubt the producers wanted to get right into the adventures, without fiddling around too much with a plausible origin story for Superman. So now that Supe's somewhat awkward transiton to normal Earth life has been taken care of, let's just get on with beating up bad guys.

Will Superman arrive in time to save the Silver Clipper?

Did Jimmy enjoy the fair?

Will Clark Kent's repeated defenestrations force the Daily Planet to weld the windows shut?

Don't miss the next exciting installments!

I've something to see, can't help myself, it's a new religion

2011-07-18T21:28:00.001-04:00

A few days ago I received the latest number of "The Riplinger Report," the occasional email newsletter of KJV-only spinmeister (meisteren?) G. A. Riplinger. The lead article was an announcement of "[o]ur new KJB evangelist, Stephen Shutt":

Our outreach is expanding with our radio show, hosted by KJB evangelist and missionary Stephen Shutt (who is married to our daughter Bryn Riplinger Shutt). . . .

Stephen worked in Christian radio for over three years and was functioning as the station's chief operator, when he left to serve the Lord as a KJB evangelist for us and a missionary for Bearing Precious Seed and Local Church Bible publishers of Lansing Michigan.

The last I heard, the evangel was still repentance and faith in the living Christ, who died and rose from the dead to redeem sinners. I've met plenty of KJV-onlyists over the years for whom the "perfectly preserved Word of God for the English-speaking peoples" was their first article of faith. But I think this the first time I've met someone who openly proclaimed himself an "evangelist" and a "missionary" for the cause. Riplinger has been grinding away at the same street organ for ages, and she's gone further and further off the rails with each book.

In any case, the "good news" of the King James Bible is not the Gospel of Christianity. It's a new religion. We could call it KJVanity. Chop off the first two letters, and it's not far off the mark.

Meanwhile, in the same newsletter, Riplinger promotes a petition "to alert publishers that we do not appreciate their tampering with the spelling and orthography of the KJB." Apparently, some publishers have taken it upon themselves to revise the text to Americanize or modernize the spelling. Horrors!

It's amusing. KJV-onlyists continually harp on the "copyright" bandwagon, asserting that God's Word should not be copyrighted, and the KJV (unlike the modern versions) carries no copyright, so it can be printed and distributed freely. Yet when a publisher actually treats the KJV like a public-domain document, suddenly Riplinger and her trained monkeys act like it should be copyrighted and they are the de facto copyright holders, dictating to editors what they may do with the text. You gotta laugh.

And now . . . this - Jul. 13/11

2011-07-13T16:58:00.003-04:00

You know, for every intelligent and reasonable atheist, there are probably a dozen of this guy:

An Austrian atheist has won the right to be shown on his driving-licence photo wearing a pasta strainer as "religious headgear." . . .

Mr Alm said the sieve was a requirement of his religion, pastafarianism.

The Austrian authorities required him to obtain a doctor's certificate that he was "psychologically fit" to drive.

[Full Story]

I'm all for this, with one proviso: As the pasta strainer is now on record as a religious requirement, then Austrian authorities should require Alm to wear it while behind the wheel, and fine him if he's caught without it, as he would be if he did not wear required corrective lenses. If the state must recognize your public idiocy, then allow the state to enforce it.

(H/T: Casey.)

Dear "markshriv"

2011-07-06T12:33:00.001-04:00

Thanks to your repeated spamming of my blog with John MacArthur-related comments having nothing to do with the subject matter of the posts, you are now officially persona non grata here.

Continue, and I will take the matter up with Blogger.

That is all.

Canada is . . . 144

2011-07-01T21:33:00.000-04:00

Happy Birthday, Canada. Again. We made it through another year.

Canada Day 2011 is special, because for the second consecutive year, we have members of the royal family present. Prince William and his new wife Kate were in Ottawa today, delighting the usual crowds of tens of thousands. (We can forgive the silly hat. She's purty.)

My longstanding Canada Day tradition is to post a patriotic song. Apparently, Will has brought Kate to Canada to show off one of his favourite places. This seems like as fitting an excuse as any to show off this year's song. Given that it's being sung by a Kenya-born Englishman, I don't know whether it technically qualifies as "patriotic." But if Roger Whittaker can sing like this about the greatest country in the world, then how could you not bring your princess to see it?

Previous Canada Day songs:

Harold Camping suffers a stroke

2011-06-13T15:22:00.000-04:00

Uh-oh.

Harold Camping, Family Radio evangelist whose prediction of a May 21, 2011 Rapture failed to materialize, has had a stroke, according to the Oakland Tribune.

A neighbor told the newspaper that Camping suffered a stroke Thursday and was experiencing slurred speech as a result.

[Full Story]

Obviously I'm not privy to Camping's medical history, but I have often wondered if Camping's slow and occasionally slurred speech wasn't caused by a prior stroke. So this news doesn't surprise me somehow.

Of course I don't wish evil on anyone, even false teachers. So I pray for Camping's recovery.

I do have to admit, though, that the little Scott demon on my right shoulder wants to see him live at least until Oct. 21 22.

Brigette DePape's 15 Minutes, 2011-11

2011-06-06T12:35:00.001-04:00

So by now the entire country's seen the pictures of the idiot who decided to abuse her position as a Parliamentary page, causing an insignificant disruption in Friday's Throne Speech in Ottawa by holding up a "STOP HARPER" sign in the Senate chamber. She was, naturally, promptly removed and sacked:

Gomez and Morticia DePape, Brigette's parents, were unavailable for comment. However, her brother Pugsley informed this blog that he was happy that they would have more time now to build weapons of mass destruction together.

Jack Kevorkian, 1928-2011 (about time)

2011-06-03T14:43:00.001-04:00

"Death Man is dead." - Vic Weems, Mystery Men

Serial killer-posing-as-medical-doctor Jack Kevorkian, who is believed to have assisted in over 100 suicides, died today, apparently of a pulmonary thrombosis while hospitalized for pneumonia and a kidney ailment.

Ironically, there was no other right-to-die advocate handy with a suicide machine.

Kevorkian once told Time that his medical specialty was death. Well, now he's had a chance to observe it firsthand. And made the world a better place by his leaving it.

And now . . . this - May 31/11

2011-05-31T12:49:00.000-04:00

Yeah, this makes sense

The evacuation of a smoke-filled passenger train in a Hokkaido tunnel Friday night was delayed by a company requirement that fires be visually confirmed before action can be taken, it has been learned.

The accident occurred on the JR Sekisho Line of Hokkaido Railway Co. (JR Hokkaido) in Shimukappumura. After its fifth car derailed and apparently caught fire, the Super Ozora No. 14 express train made an emergency stop in the 685-meter-long Daiichi Niniu tunnel Friday night.

JR Hokkaido's operation manual requires that train staff visually confirm a fire before any steps can be taken, but the thick smoke that filed the train and tunnel prevented such confirmation.

[Full Story]

Yes, you're not seeing things. The explanation was that they couldn't confirm the existence of a fire because of the thick smoke.

I'm guessing that "where there's smoke, there's fire" doesn't have a Japanese equivalent . . .

It's time I had some time alone

2011-05-21T18:00:00.001-04:00

0
HOUR

!!!

So . . . anyone feel that earthquake?

Anyone?

Bueller?

Birthday party, cheesecake, jelly bean, boom!

2011-05-20T07:00:00.003-04:00

1
DAY

. . . DIE

Update: On last evening's Open Forum program, Harold Camping made his swan song. There will be no program tonight, as he will (understandably) be spending it with his loved ones. No doubt it's a few hours of respite before the arduous task of watching the Mother of All Rolling Earthquakes unfold on CNN. The Rapture will be televised, after all.

Whether Camping will return to the airwaves after his inevitable humiliation, however, remains to be seen.

Meanwhile, you might find it interesting to watch the YouTube videos of EzekielThirtyThree3, who has been documenting Harold Camping during these last few weeks of the world. The quality of the documentary is actually pretty good. But I can't decide whether he is sincerely chronicling the end of the through the eyes of its chief prophet, or if he's a disgruntled Family Radio employee documenting the last gasp of an old fool who didn't learn his lesson from his first failure in 1994. The over-the-top, dramatic low camera angles of Captain Camping preaching from a large pulpit look to me like some kind of Triumph of the Will pastiche.

Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline

2011-05-19T07:00:00.001-04:00

2
DAYS

. . . GONNA . . .

A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies

2011-05-18T07:00:00.001-04:00

3
DAYS

. . . ALL . . .

Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn

2011-05-17T07:00:00.001-04:00

4
DAYS

. . . WE'RE . . .

World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed

2011-05-16T07:00:00.001-04:00

I'm going to listen to Open Forum every day this week. It's bound to be quality entertainment . . .

5
DAYS

THIS IS IT . . .

Six o'clock, TV hour, don't get caught in foreign towers

2011-05-11T13:25:00.000-04:00

My friend Ian directed me to this TV news item that was broadcast only a few days ago.

So, Harold . . . we can know the day and the hour?

Captain Camping is hilariously specific: he says that Judgment Day will begin at 6 pm starting at the International Date Line.

Cool. So God's eschatological timetable respects modern time zones, including an imaginary (and completely arbitrary) line, devised because on a spinning globe, it has to be the next day somewhere. I guess that makes Sandford Fleming a prophet. Who knew?

It's a bit confusing what Captain Camping meant, though. Did he mean that the Rapture would occur all over the world at that time? In that case, it will be 2 a.m. in the morning on May 21 here in Ottawa (and the rest of Eastern Daylight Time), and we'll all miss it, unless we go barhopping and drink to the Millennium. Or did he mean that God will do the Wave across the globe, laying down earthquakes at 6 pm local time? That, at least, will make for 20 hours of interesting news before it's our turn.

If nothing else, it's clear that Camping is still making this garbage up as he goes along. Hilariously, he insisted that there is no possibility of being wrong this time. I wonder what he'll be saying on May 22?

Meanwhile, it's still

13
DAYS

until
Captain Camping
Crashes
Calamitously

Left of west and coming in a hurry with the Furies breathing down your neck

2011-05-08T15:05:00.002-04:00

Can the
Camping Cultists
Climb Up from
the
Chaos and Confusion
of the
Certain Confutation
of
Captain Camping's
Calculator-Crazy Claptrap?

Find out in
13
DAYS

13 days until May 21, 2011. That's a very unlucky number - for Harold Camping, the pretend prophet who just can't predict the end of the world right, even on the third try. On May 22, the world will see him for the fraud he is, when the Rapture fails to happen on schedule.

Tell you what, Harold. If you're so convinced of your numerological noodlings, write up a binding contract to sell me all the assets of Family Radio on May 22 for the sum of one dollar. If you really have the courage of your convictions, you already believe that you'll need neither the money nor the radio network. Right?

The fact that, so far as we know, no one has made such a deal yet, speaks volumes about Camping's honesty. I think that deep down inside, he knows better than to believe his own drivel.

A blogger's political dream

2011-05-03T13:39:00.000-04:00

No, not a Conservative majority after 5 years of minority governments. (Though that's finally nice too.)

But given my choice of blog colours: How many people can honestly say that the entire country matches their drapes?

In one way or another, every party leader made history in last night's election:

Stephen Harper, for finally winning a clear majority in Parliament and for winning a third consecutive victory - a feat only accomplished by two other Conservatives before him, John A. Macdonald and John Diefenbaker.
Jack Layton, for finally propelling the NDP from Canada's perpetual also-ran party at the national level to a formidable opposition. And for turning the Bloc Quebecois into a big, smoking crater.
Michael Ignatieff, on the other hand, for not only losing his own seat, but reducing the Liberal Party to a mere 34 seats - the first time ever that the Liberals have not either been the government or the Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition.
Elizabeth May, for finally succeeding in getting a Green Party candidate elected: specifically, herself. I guess I can't complain about the Greens being unelectable anymore. (Irrelevant is still on the table, however.)
And finally, Gilles Duceppe who, in addition to losing his own race, led the Bloquistes to a resounding defeat on the night that Quebecois decided they no longer wanted to be represented by a separatist party with no hope of gaining real power unless they allied themselves with federalists.

Ignatieff and Duceppe have both since announced their resignations as leaders of their respective parties. Like Paulie Gatto in The Godfather, we won't see them no more.

Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn

2011-05-01T22:19:00.002-04:00

The countdown continues:

20
DAYS

until the
Camping Cult
Culminates
in
Confusion
Consternation
and
Chagrin

While hunting up the billboard image in the previous post, I also came across the following graphic, and noted its coincidental date:

I don't know who Sara and Mike are. All I can say is, get used to disappointment, you unfortunate souls. Heh.

It's the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine)

2011-04-26T12:00:00.007-04:00

I don't know how great it is, or whether it starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes and aeroplanes, but as of today, it is:

25
DAYS

until the
Coming Credibility Collapse
of the
Credulous Cult
of
Captain Camping

Why 25 days? Because 25 is 5 squared, and a square has 4 sides just like there are 4 gospels, and 5 is the number of fingers on a hand, and it was a giant hand that wrote on the wall that Belshazzar's days as king of Babylon were numbered, just like the world's days are numbered, and since Jesus spoke in parables, you should just shut up and take my word for it since it is so obviously biblical.

Also I accidentally overlooked 40 days (which is biblical), then 30 days (which is an even month), and 28 days (which is 4 weeks), so I had to get back on track somehow. So we'll just ignore that.

Are you wondering what the heck I'm going on about? Harold Camping is a Christian radio teacher based in California, who has become notorious for predicting the end of the world. First it was going to happen in September 1994. When that didn't pan out, Camping claimed he had corrected his calculations and it was actually going to be in 1995. The outcome was predictable. Meanwhile, he started teaching that the Holy Spirit had departed from organized churches, and that the only true believers were the ones who stayed at home and listened to him on his radio station, Family Radio.

While Camping's earlier prognostications pretty much slipped under the radar (apart from an unfortunate appearance on the Larry King Show), he has now become infamous for his latest prediction: the Rapture will take place on May 21, 2011, with the end of the world to follow in October. His notoriety this time around is largely due to his followers, now unencumbered with churches, spreading his gospel in public and on social media, which of course did not exist back in 1994. (The commercialization of the Internet is probably the one thing most responsible for levelling the playing field and giving crackpots an equal voice amongst the sane.)

But a .000 batting average predicting the end of the world hasn't stopped his most devoted followers from preaching his gospel of the coming judgment by renting billboards, handing out tracts, and plastering tacky signage all over their recreational vehicles. One billboard even encourages you to "Save the Date!" That's right, you should mark the end of the world on your calendar, just like Fred and Nancy's wedding. (Which you will not be attending after all, as it is unfortunately on May 28th.)

How does Harold Camping come up with this crap? It defies description, but is basically an extreme form of allegorization that involves a lot of number-crunching. Since, as he argues, "Jesus spoke in parables," apparently that means that all the normal rules of hermeneutics are out the window, and he can interpret the Bible to say whatever he wants. I call him "Captain Camping" for his superpowered ability to twist the Scriptures with his bare hands. I've posted previously about the oddball way he arrives at his conclusions. James Swan also posted yesterday on Alpha and Omega Ministries' blog about the apparent backstory behind Camping's "depart out" teachings concerning the churches.

Of course, I have complete confidence that if indeed the Rapture were to happen on May 21, it has nothing to do with the correctness of Captain Camping's convoluted calculations. And if God indeed has the sense of humour that he is so often credited with, I'd like to think that he'd already have nudged the date a few years down the road anyway, just to spite old fools who don't know when to keep their mouths shut.

They will look on him whom they have pierced

2011-04-22T23:01:00.002-04:00

In Zechariah 12, the prophet has an oracle concerning a future invasion of Judah and Jerusalem. But, he says, the tables will be turned against Judah's enemies: Jerusalem would be a "cup of staggering" (12:2) and Judah a "flaming torch among sheaves" (6): small, but it will consume the nations that surround it.

God is a warrior. He fights for Israel - saving Judah first because of their dependence on Jerusalem, and protecting Jerusalem itself. God's power is such that Jerusalem's weakest citizen will be, as it were, a warrior like David. And thus will God destroy the enemies of his chosen people.

And then, Zechariah says, God will pour out a grace upon them the like of which they have not seen, and Jerusalem and the house of David will "look on me, on him whom they have pierced," and they will mourn, like one mourns over the death of a child (12:10). The sins of the nation are as if they have run God himself through with a spear. But even when they forgot him, he did not forget them, and he will grant them the grace of repentance.

Five hundred years later, the John witnessed the crucifixion of Jesus. He saw his rabbi, whom he had followed for three years, run through by the spear of a Roman soldier. And John writes that Zechariah 12:10 was fulfilled in that act: "they will look on him whom they have pierced" (John 19:37). As he died, Jesus was looked upon by his kinsmen, his mother and her sister; and his friends, Mary Magdalene, John, and others who knew him and watched from a distance. Whether Jesus' other disciples were present isn't specifically said. It seems unlikely. Some of the rulers were th ere too, mocking Jesus and taunting him to save himself (Luke 23:35). Literally, he was looked upon by his fellow countrymen who pierced him. Some of them, like Joseph of Arimathea, looked upon him with penitence instead of scorn.

But this time of mourning has not yet come for the Jews, although a few of them have turned to Christ, along with untold Gentiles. This situation led Paul to ponder whether the promises of God had failed (Rom. 9:1-6) No, he concluded: some had obtained them, but the rest were hardened (Rom. 11:7), and because of their stubbornness God's grace had come instead to the Gentiles for a time. But once the Gentiles have been brought into the Church, God's mercy will come again to his people Israel (Rom. 11:25).

The time will come when all the families of Israel will look upon Jesus their Messiah and mourn for their sins. That time is not yet. It is, I pray, not far away.

Rejoice greatly!

2011-04-17T23:30:00.001-04:00

The three post-exilic prophets - Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi - ministered to the people of Israel after their return from exile, while the rebuilding of Jerusalem (starting with the Temple) was under way. Their message was a call to repent from unrighteousness and religious complacency, and return to covenant faithfulness to their God - who, although they had forgotten him, still loved them and had not given up on them.

The message of Zechariah in particular is much fuller. He calls not merely for repentance and restoration in the present circumstance. Rather, he offers a prophetic glimpse into the future. Though through struggle, God's purposes would be worked out, good would triumph over evil, and God would establish his Kingdom forever.

In chapter 10, Zechariah pronounces God's judgment on the nations surrounding Israel and Judah: in particular, Syria, Phoenicia, and Philistia. It's called "the burden of the word of the Lord," but though the responsibility rests on Zechariah to deliver it, the message is so positive that it must be a joy to deliver. The nations that have oppressed God's people - these seemingly powerful and indestructible kingdoms - are to be judged themselves. Jerusalem, on the other hand, will be protected: encamped all around, as it were, with God's ever-watchful eye.

Thus, the prophet tells the children of Zion: Rejoice greatly! God has promised to protect Jerusalem and make his home there. In fact, he is coming now, marching toward Jerusalem from the north where he has conquered his foes.

This king is righteous: he will do justice, and the right will triumph. He is victorious, having been delivered from his enemies and prevailed over them.

More significantly, he is humble. Elsewhere, Zechariah describes the Messiah as God's servant (3:8), a common messianic figure of speech, used most notably in Isaiah 40-55. He comes into Jerusalem riding on a donkey. In the Middle East, princes rode on horses, especially if they arrived as conquering heroes. In Israel, there was a prophetic aversion to war horses (see, for example, Isa. 31:1). A humble donkey was an appropriate mount, therefore, for a king who comes in peace.

Today is Palm Sunday, the first day of Holy Week, commemorating Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem. It certainly doesn't seem very triumphant, knowing that in a few short days, Jesus would be dead, crucified by his enemies. But when he arrived in Jerusalem, he was greeted as a returning hero. The multitudes paved the road with their cloaks and with palm fronds, and shouted "Hosanna in the highest!" (Matt. 21:8-10). At Jesus' direction, his disciples had procured the use of a donkey colt to ride into the city. Matthew affirms that this took place to fulfill Zechariah 9:9:

This took place to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet, saying, "Say to the daughter of Zion, 'Behold, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, the foal of a beast of burden.'" (Matt. 21:4-5)

The Gospel writers, all of whom record this event, give the impression that procuring the donkey was a spontaneous thing. But I see no reason to doubt that Jesus had made the arrangements beforehand. He knew that the people of Jerusalem would be familiar with Zechariah, and understand the significance of his entry in this fashion. He was not merely fulfilling a prophecy by "coincidence"; he was openly declaring himself to be the anticipated messianic king.

Zechariah's prophecy continues to say that the king would "speak peace to the nations" by defeating their chariot and war horses, thereby establishing universal rule (Zech. 9:10). It is ironic that the Prince of Peace, arriving in peace on the back of a donkey, will make global peace only by destroying the nations' ability to make war.

We need only look to the news that continually comes from the Middle East to see that this part of Zechariah's oracle has yet to come to pass. I do not believe that any human agency will ever reconcile those ancient enemies. They might, at best, facilitate a temporary truce. Nothing short of divine intervention will ever bring permanent peace to that or any region.

But there is another peace that the Prince of Peace brought to Jerusalem: not peace between nations, but peace between God and men. Christ's triumphal entry was triumphal not merely because he entered the city in the fashion of a king. The atoning blood that he shed on his cross, a few days later, truly reconciles God with his people. Zechariah wrote that God would take away the abominations of Philistine pagan worship, and that a remnant of them would be like Israelites (Zech. 9:7). God's salvation is not for Jews only, but for his chosen people in every tongue, tribe, and nation: Philistine and Jebusite, Jew and Gentile, Palestinian and Israeli. In Christ, all can be bound together as brothers.

looF lirpA

2011-04-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

.rorrim a deen t'nod uoy ,siht daer nac uoy fI

.lla si tahT

Nemo theta own: the answers

2011-03-17T20:00:00.002-04:00

Last week I posted about some fun a friend and I had with his computer: when we discovered that Windows' speech-recognition system was less than stellar, we decided to sing to Word and see what happened. I posted the results and encouraged you to try and guess what the songs were. Here are the answers:

"Fly Me to the Moon" by Frank Sinatra
"Amazing Grace"
"Supercalifragilisticexpialadocious" from Mary Poppins
"Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash
"Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin
"Mad World" by Tears for Fears
"Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats
"All My Loving" by the Beatles
"Danny Boy"
"One More Minute" by "Weird Al" Yankovic

My friend Aaron saw these on Facebook and got the first eight quite quickly. On the other hand, "Danny Boy" was severely obscured by the software, and admittedly "One More Minute" is fairly obscure.

Maybe I'll try this again sometime. Anyone for Shakespeare?

Happy birthday, Dead Ron: part 2

2011-03-17T19:00:00.003-04:00

This past Sunday marked the 100th birthday of the late science-fiction author, cult guru, and all-round con artist, L. Ron Hubbard. (I have already posted the first part of this biography; read it first!). Hubbard had been a penny-a-word pulp fiction author, but it was difficult to make ends meet writing lurid science-fiction stories. When he was hard up, Hubbard was known by his friends to have remarked: "If a man really wanted to make a million dollars, the best way to do it would be to start his own religion."

So he did.

Ron the cult leader

Scientology evolved from Dianetics, the self-help therapy that Hubbard had invented in 1950, and for a couple of years had become a major fad. If Dianetics was supposed to address the human mind, then Scientology was for the human soul. According to its doctrine, we are all spiritual creatures called "Thetans" inhabiting physical bodies. Sadly, after eons of traveling from body to body (Scientology teaches the reality of past lives, and its cosmology goes back trillions of years and even greater orders of magnitude), we have forgotten about our true nature as spiritual beings. Through Scientology, we can regain our awareness of ourselves and become "Operating Thetans," possessing all the extraordinary abilities that we have lost, including talking to other forms of life through telepathy, leaving the body at will ("exteriorizing"), and controlling physical reality with thought. Many of Scientology's advanced "sacred scriptures," which Hubbard developed over time, are exercises that are supposed to develop these powers and re-establish the right relationship between the Thetan and the physical world.

The most infamous bit of Scientology teaching is "Operating Thetan III," which describes the so-called "Incident Two." 75 million years ago, the emperor of a Galactic Federation, a despot named Xenu, solved overpopulation on his planet by freezing its inhabitants and shipping them to Earth in spaceships resembling DC-8 aircraft. He dropped them into volcanoes in Hawaii and detonated them with atomic bombs. This disembodied the Thetans (of course!), and Xenu captured them with some kind of electronic device. The Thetans were then restrained and forced to watch movies, which implanted a sort of racial post-hypnotic suggestion that ultimately manifested itself in the form of 20th-century British culture. (For some reason, Hubbard never explains why Xenu couldn't just have shot his excess population.) Some of the Thetans became confused when they were exploded in the volcanoes (naturally!), and instead of finding a body of their own, attached themselves to someone else's. These "Body Thetans" are spiritually detrimental and need to be audited away in order for the Scientologist's spiritual condition to improve.

In short, then, Scientology teaches that you are a spiritual being with god-like powers that don't work because you trapped in a body, stuck with the psychological problems of millions of reincarnations, and infested with the spirits of murdered space aliens.

Dianetics had been successful, but Scientology was all the more so. Hubbard was soon making a quarter million dollars a year. He purchased a mansion in Saint Hill in England, which became his permanent residence as well as Scientology's international headquarters, where Scientologists could come and take courses. No longer writing pulp fiction, Hubbard turned his pen to promoting Scientology, producing such bizarre books as A History of Man and Have You Lived Before This Life?, books so weird they should be regarded as classics of pseudoscience.

In 1953, the Hubbard Association of Scientologists was converted into a full-blown religion: the Church of Scientology. Its executives began describing themselves as "ministers." Some even took to wearing clerical collars.

Soon, the new "church" began to have run-ins with the authorities. At the height of the Cold War, with nuclear hysteria running high, Hubbard had invented a vitamin supplement he called "Dianazene," which he claimed would "run out radiation" and even cancer. This caught the attention of the Food and Drug Administration, which raided a Scientology property in Washington and seized its supply of Dianazene. In 1963, the FDA again raided the Church of Scientology of Washington, seizing a number of e-meters which it claimed were misleadingly labeled. Eventually they were returned, on the condition that a label be affixed disclaiming any medical or diagnostic function. The IRS began to investigate the tax-exempt status of the Church. A Board of Inquiry in Australia excoriated the doctrines and practices of the Church and effectively banned Scientology: "Scientology is evil; its techniques evil; its practice a serious threat to the community . l. . and its adherents sadly deluded and often mentally ill," read their report. As for Hubbard himself, the Board questioned his sanity.

Because of the perceived "persecution" of his religion, Hubbard became paranoid, seeing a massive conspiracy arrayed against Scientology, including the government and the psychiatric profession, which he had hated ever since they had dismissed Dianetics as quackery. To defend the Church against these attacks, he instituted a system of "ethics," meaning a witch-hunt against anything that might call any word of his into question. Scientologists were interrogated on the e-meter, asked if they had ever had any negative thoughts about Hubbard. Offenders might be declared "suppressive persons," that is, enemies of Scientology, and expelled. Church faithful were instructed to "disconnect" from family or friends who opposed Scientology. The infamous "Fair Game" policy declared that suppressive persons could be dealt with by any means necessary, including dirty tricks, lying, or lawsuits, with no disciplinary measures taken. It became policy to discredit and destroy anyone who opposed the Church publicly - especially in the courts, which Hubbard said could be used very effectively to harass critics. The Church has never shaken this reputation for being a lawsuit-happy organization.

Ron the "Commodore"

In 1967, to get away from the various conspiracies that were out to get him - and the occasional government agency that probably was - Hubbard took to the seas again. The Church had acquired a small fleet of three oceangoing yachts. Hubbard "promoted" himself to the rank of Commodore and set sail in command of his personal toy navy, crewed by a new, elite group of Scientologists known as the Sea Organization. The Sea Org toured the Mediterranean, promoting Scientology and offering courses aboard ship. Hubbard had a group of young girls clad in short shorts, the Commodore's Messenger Org, that catered to his every need. Despite being away from the persecution of land-based bureaucracy, Hubbard's paranoia continued to increase. For example, if he smelled soap on his clean laundry, he would fly into a rage and accuse everyone of trying to kill him. He instituted a new system of discipline, assigning offenders to a condition of "liability." They had to wear a dirty rag around their arm, run everywhere, do menial labour, and live on inferior food and limited sleep. After a storm severely damaged the Royal Scotman, Hubbard's flagship, he assigned the entire boat to liability: not only did the crew have to wear the dirty rags, but a dirty tarpaulin was tied around her funnel as well! Soon, more drastic disciplinary measures were developed: "overboarding," which is exactly what it sounds like. In Corfu, Hubbard and the Scientologists were expelled after the local authorities became convinced they were attempting to take the island over. In Morocco, the Church became entangled in local politics when they began training the secret police to use an e-meter to spot suversives. In France, the Church was indicted for fraud, and there was a real chance that Hubbard might be arrested and extradited. And in Lisbon, rumours circulated that the Royal Scotman (now named the Apollo, one of Hubbard's attempts to ingratiate himself with the Greeks on Corfu) was a CIA spy ship, sparking a riot that damaged or destroyed a good deal of the Scientologists' personal property. Meanwhile, in Great Britain, the government banned Scientology students from entering the United Kingdom and declared Hubbard an undesirable alien.

Ron the unindicted co-conspirator

For a while in 1972-73, Hubbard lay low secretly in New York, having left ship to avoid the threat of extradition. His paranoia began to reach new lows. He believed that a very secret international conspiracy existed to attack him and Scientology. He called this cabal the "Tenyaka Memorial," claiming it was run by a group of former Nazis. Thanks to the Freedom of Information Act, he knew that the government had a lot of files on Scientology, mostly negative. He concocted a plan, code-named "Operation Snow White," to infiltrate government offices and launder the files, thus foiling the Tenyaka Memorial. The idea was to get Scientologists employed in key positions in various government agencies, where they would have access to Scientology files and be able to steal or destroy anything that painted the Church in a poor light. The scope of this espionage plot was huge, spanning more than 100 government agencies in 30 countries, including the IRS, FBI, American Medical and Psychiatric Associations, and the RCMP. The operation was carried out by the Guardian's Office, a department of the Church tasked with protecting Scientology's interests. Mary Sue Hubbard was in charge of the GO.

The threat of extradition was soon lifted, and Hubbard returned to the Apollo. However, by about 1975, he had apparently had enough of the sea life again. The Church secretly purchased property in Clearwater, Florida, in the name of two fictitious corporations. This real estate was to become the Church's land base. Understandably, the people of Clearwater were less than thrilled that their town was secretly being bought out by a notorious cult. Then mayor Gabriel Cazares, who had pried a little too deeply into the identity of the shadow corporations buying land, was targeted for Fair Game: the church went so far as to attempt to frame Cazares by implicating him in a hit-and-run accident in Washington, D.C. The driver was a Scientologist posing as a reporter, and the "victim" was a key operative in Operation Snow White.

This operative, Michael Meisner, was the one who blew the whistle on Operation Snow White. Meisner had been working in the IRS and nearly caught by the FBI. He had been living in hiding in Los Angeles, but becoming more and more anxious, until finally he contacted the FBI and cooperated with the grand jury that indicted that was investigating Operation Snow White. Eleven high-ranking Scientologists were indicted and convicted, including Mary Sue Hubbard. Ron himself was named an unindicted co-conspirator, but was not tried. While Mary Sue went to jail, Hubbard went into hiding. She never saw him again.

By this time, Hubbard was living anonymously in a trailer in California, his location and identity known only to a select few trusted associates. With little else to do, he returned to writing fiction. His "comeback" was 1981's Battlefield Earth, an 800-plus-page doorstop about an alien invasion of Earth in the year 3000, and the resistance movement led by an Earthling named Johnny Goodboy Tyler to reclaim the planet. The red-haired, musclebound hero on the dust jacket bore a not-too-coincidental resemblance to Hubbard. The story itself contains a thinly veiled attack against Scientology's archenemy, the psychiatric profession. The book became a bestseller under dubious circumstances: it is believed that the Church itself bought huge numbers of copies. Bookstores reported receiving boxes of the book with price tags from other bookstores already affixed.

However, only a few years later, Hubbard outdid even this ponderous potboiler with his final work, the ten-volume "satire" Mission Earth. If Battlefield Earth was a doorstop, then the collected tomes of Mission Earth would derail a train. It is, to be generous, about eight volumes too long. The story is of an alien mission to Earth to save the planet from self-destruction, but which is deliberately set up to fail by an evil agency within the alien government, to further its own agenda to acquire power. Whereas the social criticism of Battlefield Earth was fairly subtle (relatively speaking), the "satire" of Mission Earth was about as subtle as being clobbered with a sack filled with ten cinderblocks. Essentially it is an extended rant against all of Hubbard's and Scientology's perceived enemies, and a veritable apologia for Operation Snow White. The novel was so different from what Hubbard had written previously, that some of his author friends suggested it was not really his own work. However, Robert Vaughn Young, the former Scientologist and close Hubbard associate who had edited the series, said that it was genuinely Hubbard's work. His own contributions consisted primarily of choosing the best breaks between volumes, suggesting the overall narrative device of a computer-translated confession by the story's chief antagonist, and writing the essay on satire that served as the book's preface.

Only the first volume of Mission Earth was published during Hubbard's lifetime. On January 24, 1986, L. Ron Hubbard died following a stroke. Bizarre right to the end, his death was announced to Scientologists by saying he had promoted himself to admiral, dropped his body, and continued his research into the mind from a higher plane of existence.

Ron and me

I became aware of L. Ron Hubbard as a teenager - as an avid science-fiction reader, I had read Battlefield Earth and enjoyed it somewhat, and also all the volumes of Mission Earth as they were published, apart from the first few that were already in print by the time I found them on the library shelves. Meanwhile, I had also become aware of the Church of Scientology through various media stories I had read or heard on the radio. However, I'd never made the connection between Hubbard and Scientology.

That changed with the publication of Bare-faced Messiah, an unauthorized biography of Hubbard by Russell Miller, published in 1987. I read a story in the paper about the Church attempting to stop its publication, and Miller's subsequent vindication in the courts. It turned out that the true story of L. Ron Hubbard was more fascinating than anything he had made up about himself. A few years later, I acquired my own hardcover copy of Bare-faced Messiah. The newspaper clipping is still folded into its front cover.

In honour of Hubbard's 100th birthday, in the coming weeks I will be reading Mission Earth for the first time since my teens. As I go, I will blog reviews and analyses of each volume. This will not, I hope, kill this blog once and for all.

Let the first meeting of the L. Ron Hubbard Literary Appreciation Society come to order!

For more information (and a disclaimer)

Lest anyone mistakenly think that my fascination with Hubbard the man translates somehow into a favourable opinion of the religion he founded: that is emphatically not the case. When I was still in university, I created a Web page about Scientology which, though it hasn't been updated since 2001 and is woefully behind on current events, still accurately reflects my opinion of the Church. My preferred nickname for Scientology is "the criminal cult" - which happens to be literally true in Canada, thanks to the organization's conviction for its involvement in Operation Snow White.

Many good books have been written about the history of Scientology and Hubbard. A number of these have been put online. The "Big Three" are considered to be:

Bare-faced Messiah by Russell Miller, which I consulted extensively while preparing this and my previous post.
A Piece of Blue Sky by Jon Atack. Atack, a former Scientologist, concentrates more on Scientology itself than Hubbard personally, and his own experiences within the cult. Like Bare-faced Messiah, the Church challenged this book in court, but was defeated (only a single sentence was required to be expunged from the UK edition).
L. Ron Hubbard: Messiah or Madman? by Bent Corydon. This book was effectively co-authored by L. Ron Hubbard Jr., Hubbard's estranged son by his first wife, who had since assumed the name Ronald DeWolf. He had been a Scientologist in the early days before their falling out.

Operation Clambake has been a clearinghouse of information about Scientology for 15 years - and, unlike my own site, is still active.

Happy birthday, Dead Ron

2011-03-13T23:45:00.002-04:00

Today is the 100th birthday of L. Ron Hubbard, pulp-fiction author turned cult leader. At least, it might have been, had he lived this long, instead of turning to a life of fraud and crime, going into hiding, and living out the last few years of his life as an ill-groomed, low-budget Howard Hughes before dying of a stroke on January 26, 1986 with his circulatory system pumped full of psychiatric drugs.

(Coincidentally, January 24 of this year was also the 25th anniversary of his death. While I have always enjoyed celebrating Dead Ron Day with a pint and a reading from Russell Miller's biography Bare-Faced Messiah, the milestone escaped me until it was too far gone to deal with in a timely manner. Stupid math.)

Hubbard the man has fascinated me for years, because the actual details of his life are every bit as oddball as the stuff he made up.

Ron the teenager

Lafayette Ron Hubbard was born March 13, 1911 in Tilden, Nebraska. His official biographies typically exaggerate the details of his youth, as they do most of his life. It is claimed, for example, that he was made a blood-brother of the Blackfoot Indian tribe (for no apparent reason, and in any case the Blackfeet have no such rite) and that his uncle owned a ranch a quarter the size of Montana (he was a veterinarian, not a rancher, and he owned an acre of land and a few farm animals). He claimed to have traveled extensively in the Far East absorbing Oriental wisdom from sages and priests. In fact, his father was a Navy officer, who was stationed in Guam for a time, and Hubbard did have occasion as a teen to see some of China while visiting his parents in 1928. At the time he didn't seem so impressed with Chinese sagacity: his diaries remarked that the Great Wall would have made a decent roller coaster, and that "the trouble with China is, there are too many chinks there."

Ron the dropout

After high school, Hubbard enrolled in the engineering program at George Washington University. After two years, he dropped out because of poor marks, due to his preference for gliding, sailing, and writing tales of adventure about himself over studying. This didn't stop him later from claiming to be an engineer - and a nuclear physicist, based on his taking a single course in atomic and molecular physics, in which he earned an F.

Ron the hack storywriter

However, by this time Hubbard felt he had found his niche: writing stories for the pulp magazines. He was a prolific author in multiple genres: Western, crime, adventure, and of course science fiction. He was one of the most prolific authors of the so-called "Golden Age of Science Fiction," beginning in the late 1930s. (Martin Gardner wrote, in Fads and Fallacies in the Name of Science, that for a time in his career Hubbard increased his productivity by using a modified typewriter with extra keys for common words, and typing onto a continuous roll of paper to avoid having to change sheets.) He was a friend of John W. Campbell Jr., the legendary editor of Astounding magazine and chief architect of the Golden Age. His association with Campbell would become important later in his life.

During this time, Hubbard wrote some works that are now considered classics of the SF and fantasy genre: Fear, Typewriter in the Sky, and The Final Blackout. But despite his genuine accomplishments in his writing career, Hubbard was still not above exaggerating the details, claiming also to have become a Hollywood screenwriting legend who revived the careers of both Karloff and Lugosi. His screenwriting credit comprises a single serial, The Secret of Treasure Island. He wrote a novel, titled Excalibur, that he claimed would revolutionize the world, and that it was so mind-blowing its first few readers went out of their minds. It never found a publisher.

Ron the "war hero"

In 1941, Hubbard was commissioned as a lieutenant junior grade of the U.S. Naval Reserve. When the U.S. entered World War II, he served in both the Atlantic and pacific. He would later claim to have been the first casualty returned to the United States from the Pacific theatre, and to have been a highly decorated war hero. In fact, he was not wounded in action, and never earned a Purple Heart or any other decoration apart from the routine service medals awarded to every serviceman.

After his commission, Hubbard was initially assigned to a post in public relations, where he attempted to sell navy stories to magazines, unsuccessfully, so the Navy assigned him instead to intelligence. After Pearl Harbour, he was sent to the Philippines, but annoyed his senior officers so much that he was sent back to the States before he even arrived. After a short stint censoring cables, he was put in command of the refit of the USS YP-422, a fishing trawler being converted to a harbour-patrol gunboat in Massachusetts. He was relieved of this command before the boat ever left the shipyard, because he got into an altercation with another officer.

Next, Hubbard was transferred to the Pacific, where he was put in command of the USS PC-815, a submarine chaser. On the boat's shakedown cruise, he claimed to have encountered two Japanese submarines lurking off the coast of Oregon, which, with the aid of observation balloons and a few other ships, he engaged over two days, bombarding the supposed subs with dozens of depth charges. The sub never existed; Hubbard and his crew had spent two days fighting a known magnetic deposit.

Only a few days later, Hubbard blundered again. He unintentionally steamed the PC-815 out of San Diego and into Mexican waters, where his crew practiced firing the ship's guns in the direction of the Coronados Islands, provoking an official complaint from the Mexican government, As a result, Hubbard was again relieved of command and assigned a desk job in San Diego.

Rather than try to do actual work, Hubbard immediately complained of a series of fictitious illnesses (and one real one, an ulcer) and spent his time in the hospital. He told his family that he was recovering from war wounds.

In 1944, Hubbard had one more chance to see action at sea, as the navigation officer of an amphibious cargo ship, the USS Algol. Life aboard this ship during its shakedown cruise was completely uneventful, and Hubbard applied (and was accepted) to the School of Military Government at Princeton. It seems that by this time, he was weary of the sea. The day before he left, he reported to the officer on duty that he had found a Molotov cocktail concealed in some cargo on the dock that was to be loaded onto the Algol. Why he was skulking around the cargo, or how the "saboteurs" expected an unlit Molotov cocktail to do any damage, was never investigated. Hubbard would later claim that his time aboard the Algol was the inspiration for the Henry Fonda movie Mister Roberts.

Hubbard finished the war in Princeton, attending Naval Training School, meeting with a group of science-fiction authors in Philadelphia organized by Robert A. Heinlein to brainstorm ways to counter kamikaze attacks, and spending time in hospital with a variety of minor and made-up ailments. He was released from active duty in 1946 as a lieutenant second grade. (The Navy routinely promoted him to lieutenant commander about a year later, and Hubbard resigned his commission in 1950.) According to Hubbard himself, he had spent the war being constantly bombed, blown up, shelled, shot, sunk, crippled, and blinded. Meanwhile, his last ship, the Algol, saw action in the Philippines and Okinawa, earning itself two battle stars. Ron was a pretend war hero, because he had squandered the chance to become a real one.

Ron the Satanist

After the war, Hubbard hit some difficulties. He had been married since 1933, but the marriage was on the rocks. His wife, Polly, refused to move with their two children to accompany him in California. Hubbard, electing to remain in California, moved in August 1945 into the rooming house of Jack Parsons, a rocket scientist and co-founder of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Parsons was also a notorious occultist, a follower of Aleister Crowley. Together, Hubbard and Parsons experimented with occult sex magic rituals intended to invoke Babalon, the "Mother of Abominations." Meanwhile, Hubbard also became involved with Parsons' girlfriend, Sara Northrup. This did not stop the three of them from forming a business partnership for selling yachts. Parsons suspected that Hubbard was swindling him, and that he was going to steal his money, his yacht, and Sara, and go on a world cruise. Legal action followed, and the partnership was dissolved. In August 1946, Sara Northrup became Hubbard's second wife. She did not know that he was still legally married to his first. Nor did Polly realize he had married again: she filed for divorce on grounds of desertion in 1947.

Ron the pop psychologist

Hubbard and Sara had little money, so he took up writing again as a means of support, along with attempting to persuade the Navy to increase his disability pension because of yet more invented ailments.

In 1949, after Hubbard's name hadn't been seen on a byline in some time, rumours began to circulate that he had developed a new groundbreaking philosophy, a "science of the mind." Hints were dropped by John W. Campbell about something big. Finally, the May 1950 issue of Astounding included an article by Hubbard titled "Dianetics: An Introduction to a New Science." This was followed up by a full-length book, Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health.

The thesis of Dianetics is that all of man's problems (aberrations) stem from traumatic engrams, or memory imprints. Engrams are recorded in the subconscious "reactive mind" when the victim is unconscious and subjected to pain. Later, part of the engram is cued by a similar experience, and the other parts of the engram are re-enacted as mental or physical problems such as kleptomania or asthma. The cure for engrams is a therapy called auditing, in which the patient, or "preclear," is asked questions that are supposed to help him recall engrams hidden in the reactive mind, and transfer them into the conscious memory bank of the analytical mind, supposedly the part of the brain that does all the thinking and computing. It becomes a normal memory and causes no further harm. (Later, Hubbard invented a device to make auditing easier and more "scientific": the e-meter, a sort of crude lie detector built out of a circuit intended to measure electrical resistance.) The goal of Dianetics auditing is to produce a Clear: someone who is rid of his engrams and no longer troubled by them. Hubbard claimed that Clears were free of mental and physical aberrations and could exhibit such abilities as freedom from sickness, as well as improved vision, memory, and intelligence.

Despite being ignored or savaged by the press and the medical community, Dianetics was an instant bestseller. Science-fiction fans began auditing each other, and notable SF personalities such as Campbell, Theodore Sturgeon, and A. E. van Vogt became disciples. The Hubbard Dianetics Research Foundation opened in New Jersey along with a number of branches.

However, it wasn't long before the cracks started to show. The vaunted benefits of Dianetics failed to show: the supposed first Clear, presented in Los Angeles, couldn't even remember the colour of Hubbard's tie when his back was turned. Leaders in the Dianetics community had personality clashes. By the following summer, the Foundation was closed. However, Dianetics was reprieved when a millionaire named Don Purcell agreed to bankroll a new Foundation in Wichita. Purcell and Hubbard soon had a falling out. Moreover, the Wichita Foundation was held liable for the debts of the original New Jersey one, and went bankrupt in 1952. Hubbard established a "Hubbard College" elsewhere in Wichita to continue to promote Dianetics while he and Purcell fought in court over intellectual property rights.

Meanwhile, Hubbard's second marriage was also failing: Sara filed for divorce in 1951 citing bigamy as well as physical and psychological abuse. She settled with Hubbard and gained custody of their daughter (whose paternity Hubbard would later deny) in return for retracting all the terrible things she had said about him. Following the divorce, Hubbard married for the third time, to a staff member named Mary Sue Whipp. She was 18; he was 39.

With the ongoing dispute over Dianetics in the courts, Hubbard decided to respin the therapy as a spiritual discipline. He rebranded it under a new name: Scientology.

To be continued . . .

Soup of the evening, beautiful soup

2011-03-11T15:33:00.000-05:00

I hate thaws. For the third time in a month, Ottawa is in the middle of an onslaught of warm and wet: melting snow coupled with rain. The result, unfortunately, is a wettish basement, thanks to runoff water filling up a window well and seeping into the house.

I've been unable to make a grocery run for a couple of days because I had to stay home and make sure that a sump pump we've installed in the well operates properly, and so for last night's dinner, I kind of had to scrounge and improvise. Actually, it turned out all right, and I thought I'd share the result.

Scott's Hastily Thrown Together Vegetable Teryaki Soup

Serves: 1, adequately.

2 cups chicken broth
1/4 Spanish onion, sliced
1 cup baby carrots
1/2 cup rice vermicelli
1 egg
Parsley, red pepper flakes, powdered ginger, and teryaki sauce to taste

Put the chicken broth in the pot and bring it to a boil.
Meanwhile, slice/dice the onions and carrots however you want.
Prepare the rice noodles in a separate pot, and strain when they're done.
Add the vegetables to the broth. (You might want to give the carrots a head start, since they will take longer to cook; otherwise, by the time they're done, the onions might have liquified!)
Season the broth with the parsley, red pepper, and ginger.
Let the soup simmer until the vegetables are cooked through.
Add a few dashes of teryaki sauce for colour and flavour.
Toss in the cooked rise noodles, and give the soup a stir.
Break the egg into the soup. Leave it long enough for the whites to set before serving.

All in all, it turned out very well - not bad at all for something made with the odds and ends I had on hand. The carrots were done to perfection, the peppers and ginger added a bit of bite, and the teryaki sauce gave it some sweetness and saltiness. I was inspired by a can of Campbell's "Teryaki Beef Noodle and Vegetable" that I picked up last week, and thought I could do something similar. If I could improve it, it would be by adding some meat, or perhaps using fresh parsley, pepper, and ginger instead of dried (This wouldn't change the steps much, except to put the parsley in at the end instead of the beginning.)

(For 10 Crusty Bonus Points^TM, name the source of the post title.)

Nemo theta own

2011-03-09T16:19:00.000-05:00

I was at a friend's place last night, and we discovered that his Windows 7 laptop has speech recognition built into the operating system.

In itself, this isn't new. I believe Windows XP had this capability available, and Apple OS X has always had voice recognition at least for navigation, if not for dictation. And voice dictation was built into OS/2 Warp 4 in 1996, although it was pretty unreliable and needed a top-of-the line PC of the day to operate.

It surprised me that 15 years later, although you no longer need a bleeding-edge computer to use it, the technology doesn't seem to have gotten much better.

After getting a little frustrated trying to use the software to do something vaguely real-world (e.g. dictating a letter), we decided to have some fun and sing to the computer. This was much more fun, because we could basically just sing the lyrics naturally and not worry too much about being understood.

Here is the gobbledygook that came out of crooning 10 songs into the mike. Some of them are more obvious than others, to say the least. Can you guess what each song was? (Hint: Say the sounds out loud and listen for recognizable patterns, rather than concentrating too hard on the actual words on the screen.)

Fly an aide to the Moon let me play among the stars let me see one spraying is like gone to the zoo ma as in other wounds: I’m an allusion sick baby kiss Maine
Amazing grady’s of sweep those the owned that sues the rents by the Iowa and swell as long as the now owns the OS bland the Nile high as soon
Super televangelist against the halitosis even though the senate is something quite atrocious if you say it loud enough these are only some precocious super televangelist against the halitosis
Loans a burn and saying and it may ICS of fiery rating by loaned by while desire a cell into the ring of fire on a slough in to a button ring of fire and I went down down down the flames when the ectf added Barnes burns blooms the rating of fire the rating of via
There’s an ad who Schoen all the glitz is is go out and she’s body eight and a stairway to have the wins she gets so there she knows if the store is ironic moons with the words she can get what she came Feuer
Only around me of some manner phase is one of the places warn the faces bright and early for that and the raises going nowhere and going nowhere in and then I find that kind of funny I find it kind of said screens in which I’m dying of the past and have them and I find it hard to tell you I find it hard to say when people run in circles it’s a very very the move
We condense if we want to weaken leave us ends Bia in the zoo sandstone Bentsen is they don’t dance well there no friends of mine and I say we can go where we want to play so they will never signed in the connect like we come from out of this worldly through one side be high and we condense we can then say everything’s edit control we condense we can dance we’re doing it pulled a poll
Close your eyes and Otis soon to a mob rom is to rename then the holloway’s be true new and then while humble way Ahmed home every day and I’ll send a mile of moving to new
Wooed any boon of the time it’s the time it’s the home and from glinted land and down the mountain’s the aid those summers gone and all those laws that the reunion to zoom to zoom must code and a host of a but calm the back land summers and the men who hoe when does that newsflash then why was no new two is I’ll be then & shy and the inch a new mood any below the code any below the AL and love you so
When I lose better and be the goat of the myth of Bia and that you found a brand new that the use science and then I’m not you the name so would pool doing and the mood of my Rolodex and to lower all you have picked Susan two who and add button down the Ma Alsop where we used to have known this week as this reminds me of you who are

Have fun. I'll post the answers in a couple of days.

Westcott and Hort, the most evillest evil villains in history ever

2011-02-21T20:33:00.003-05:00

Five years ago, I wrote a post about my experiences with KJV-only nitwits, basically outlining how they use the 19th-century biblical scholars and textual critics, Brooke Foss Westcot and Fenton John Anthony Hort, as a sort of dumping ground for every imagined evil possible.

Now we can add yet another sin to the cup of wrath stored up for them:

[19th-century Baptist preacher Charles] Spurgeon was and is one of my favorites. Although he claimed to be calvinist [sic] he also believed in free will and sinning away the day of grace. He also claimed that calvanism [sic] started with westcott [sic] and Hort. He defintely [sic] was not a calvinist [sic] that thought you didn't have a choice in the matter

No. really.

Although it's difficult to know where to begin dismantling this pack of nonsense, the word "anachronism" does float through my mind. "If it started with Westcott and Hort, why is it named after Calvin?" also occurs.

The poster claims that she thinks she saw this "in his Soul Winning [sic] book." Not likely. I think Spurgeon knew better.

And now . . . this - Feb. 16/11

2011-02-16T23:19:00.003-05:00

Some more of that brilliant science the Brits seem to excel at:

Ancient Britons were not averse to using human skulls as drinking cups, skeletal remains unearthed in southwest England suggest.

The braincases from three individuals were fashioned in such a meticulous way that their use as bowls to hold liquid seems the only reasonable explanation.

The 14,700-year-old objects were discovered in Gough's Cave, Somerset.

[Full Story]

"Say, Wulfstan, that's a pretty good head you've got on your beer."

And now . . . this - Jan. 19/11

2011-01-19T23:29:00.000-05:00

A bizarre decision to ride an inflatable doll down a flood-swollen Yarra River in Australia blew up in a woman’s face yesterday when she lost her latex playmate in a rough patch.

The incident prompted a warning from police that blow-up sex toys are "not recognized flotation devices."

Police and a State Emergency Services crew were called to the rescue when the woman and a man, both 19, struck trouble at Warrandyte North about 4.30 p.m. Tuesday.

[Full Story]

Nothing to see here, folks, just another outing by the Australian Deliverance Re-Enactment Society.

Friday in the wild: January 14, 2011 - The triumphant return

2011-01-14T22:24:00.001-05:00

Years ago, when I both blogged more and read more blogs, I used to do a Friday roundup of the most interesting posts I had found in the previous week. My hope is to revive the habit, starting this week, and covering my little corner of the blogosphere from the beginning of the new year onward.

One of my favourite Christian bloggers of past years, David Wayne, has decided to call it quits, more or less. Having recently suffered from cancer, his blog became a means of updating readers on his health status.

Still, though I sometimes wonder about the value of things I have blogged and deeply regret much of the time I have wasted online I am particularly grateful to so many of you who have read this and have encouraged me over the last few years. It probably goes without saying but I was devastated when I found out I had cancer two years ago. My family and church family was the greatest help in those days, but all of you who expressed encouragement and concern online were a great help, especially knowing that so many of you were praying for me. In fact, all of the comments here and on FB, along with many e-mails, were a huge boost for my family, you encouraged them as they tried to encourage me.

[Read Happy New Year, Time to Shut 'er Down]

Meanwhile, David's set up a new blog on Wordpress in case the thought strikes him to post something again.

I love war stories, and Fred Butler passed on a good one about how the Americans acquired its first Zero fighter and used it to devise tactics against Japanese airmen:

Koga’s Zero, rebuilt, was the first flyable Zero fighter acquired and tested in the United States. A scant two months after Bauman took the photo, the plane had been shipped 2,800 miles to North Island Naval Air Station in San Diego and repaired, and it was revealing profound military secrets in the air.

[Read Koga's Zero]

Frank Turk wrote an open letter to Donald Miller following an appearance on CNN. I give it a B+ for sarcasm. Having now torqued off both Miller and Derek Webb, Frank has resolved to write one letter for every week of the year.

As I said to Derek Webb last week, if more actual Christians spoke to CNN, they'd be improved for it. Thanks for your faithful witness, and for your renewed view of the Gospel. I was worried that, after your last 3-4 books, you had given up on the faith and were looking for something unreal and unfulfilling. I'm pleased to say I was wrong, and I ask your forgiveness for doubting you.

Unless I have misunderstood . . .

[Read Open Letter to Donald Miller]

Tim Challies spotted Marvin Olasky's review of the new 2010 NIV for World magazine. I think I like it better than him.

Fred Butler critiqued a Chick tract, "No Liars in Heaven," for employing a fallacious argument against modern Bible versions:

The deletion of the word “yet” [in John 7:8] makes Jesus to be a liar, because after he tells his brothers he is not going up to the feast, he goes up anyways. Oddly, no where in the entire tract is the KJV named as the one Bible that contains ALL of God’s Words. It is quite a subtle ploy on the part of Chick to avoid mentioning the KJV, or any other modern Bible translation.

[Read No Liars in Heaven]

Screw Loose Change posted that Gabrielle Giffords' would-be assassin was a 9/11 truther, thus lending further support to my theory that you can't just be one kind of crazy at a time. Overall, in fact, they also point out that the truthers have racked up a higher body count on U.S. soil over the last 9 years than al-Qaeda.

What exactly does the Globe and Mail mean by "un-held Liberal riding," anyway? No bias to see here, folks, move along.

Share and Enjoy. See you next week.

And now . . . this - Jan. 12/11

2011-01-12T21:55:00.003-05:00

Another resounding triumph for government bureaucracy

A cross-border kerfuffle over a popular chocolate treat nearly cost a Winnipeg woman a $300 fine and saddled her with a bureaucratic headache.

Lind Bird was recently stopped at the U.S. border and selected for a random search of her vehicle. She was warned she could have faced a fine after the customs official found - and seized - her $2 Kinder Surprise egg as illegal contraband.

Bird learned U.S. authorities have banned the candy because they come with a plastic toy inside that could, if eaten, choke a small child.

[Full Story]

See, this is why the U.S. has never successfully invaded Canada, or even tried since 1812. Even our candy is booby-trapped!

(Since obviously my American readers have likely never seen this tasty menace to society: a Kinder Surprise is a hollow chocolate egg, a little larger than a chicken egg, consisting of an outer shell of dark chocolate and an inner layer of white chocolate. Concealed within the egg is a little plastic capsule, which contains a tiny plastic toy that you put together yourself. It's kind of like a party cracker that you can eat.)

But wait, there's more:

As trivial as the border seizure may seem, Bird said the U.S. government has sent her a seven-page letter asking her to formally authorize the destruction of her seized Kinder egg. . . .

The letter states if Bird wishes to contest the seizure, she'll have to pay $250 for it to be stored as the two sides wrangle over it.

Option 1: Waste precious time filling out huge form informing Americans that yes, indeed, they may destroy $2 contraband egg.

Option 2: Give government ridiculous storage fee not to destroy $2 egg.

Of course, simply buying a fresh egg is cheaper either way, and it's just so tasty.

This can't be good for the universe

2011-01-05T20:55:00.003-05:00

Uh-oh:

David Tennant, the tenth Doctor Who, is to marry Georgia Moffett, the daughter of the fifth Doctor Who, Peter Davison.

[Full Story]

OK, here's the problem. According to the old Fifth Doctor serial Mawdryn Undead, meeting and touching a past or future version of yourself would "short out the time differential" and cause a big explosion. So you can only imagine the results of marrying the daughter of your previous incarnation, and having yourself as your father-in-law. It'll make those family holiday gatherings a bit awkward, to say the least. ("Would you pass the mashed potatoes, please, David?" "Sure, Peter, just let me get these huge lead gloves on.")

Perhaps the Blinovitch Limitation Effect can help?

Then again, maybe it is just a TV show. All the best in the future to the happy couple.

And so it begins . . .

2011-01-01T20:22:00.003-05:00

Sigh. One day into the new year, and Ottawa's already chalked up its first possible homicide:

Ottawa police are investigating a suspicious death in New Edinburgh.

Paramedics were called to an address on Stanley Avenue after a man was discovered lying in the driveway. He had no vital signs, paramedics said.

[Full Story]

Of course, we're not alone: Toronto and Calgary have also already chalked up a chalk outline. But Ottawa? Never mind someone getting offed on the first day of the year, I think you can usually count the total annual homicides on your fingers.

Remember when you could go at least a week into January in Canada before someone got murdered?

My blogging New Year's resolutions for 2011

2011-01-01T15:27:00.003-05:00

I'll give myself this credit: I am generally faithful in posting my annual "State of the Blog" on New Year's Day. Even if I'm generally unfaithful in carrying out my intentions.

This I do at least to remind myself and you Faithful Readers that I'm not dead, I'm not suffering a double amputation of my arms that prevents me from typing, and I haven't forgotten about either this blog or the dozens of others that I try to follow regularly.

In fact I haven't been as idle as it might appear. In addition to this blog, I started two new ones in an effort to stratify some of my pet subjects:

The Perpetual Newbie: Personal rants and raves about Linux and other tech I happen to use to try and get things done.
KJV-Only Fallacies: This is a new version of a site that used to be hosted on Geocities before it was folded, and I'm gradually reintroducing those essays along with some new material.

And of course Sacra Eloquia, my Bible study blog, is not moribund, all evidence to the contrary. I plan on finally finishing my study of Galatians by spring and then soon moving on to something else, this time in the Old Testament.

I've got a few minor layout changes planned for the Crusty Curmudgeon in the next little while that should keep a little more up-to-date on what I'm writing, and where.

I've complained before about losing interest in regular reading, but this year my recreational reading has finally improved after several slack years in which my free time was taken up with movies and podcasts rather than books. What I read does have a tendency to inform and inspire many of my other activities, so I take this as an encouraging sign for my personal productivity in 2011.

So here are my blogging resolutions for 2011:

Up my blogging rate considerably. Instead of once monthly (maybe), I intend to post at least something twice per week to this blog, at least once per week to the Perpetual Newbie and the KJV-Only Fallacies blog, and to complete two biblical books at Sacra Eloquia and have a third well under way by year's end.
On this blog, post something of theological value, as well as substance, at least once every two weeks.
Also on this blog, post something specifically pro-life at least once a month.
Link to more stuff other bloggers are writing. (This obviously means, read more stuff other bloggers are writng. Yay!) Revive my old "Friday in the Wild" series. Try to comment on someone else's blog daily.
Commit to my old goal of one recreational book per calendar week - Sunday to Saturday, starting tomorrow - and post a review of all of them, even if just a 250-word "lightning" review like I wanted to do last year (but, naturally, didn't).
Blog my way through at least one important theological or philosophical work this year (and maybe one of each in coming years? Let's see how the first one goes).
Do the usual, nominally annual revamp for September 4.
Whenever I catch myself thinking, "Gee, that would make a great blog post" or "Say, I really ought to be blogging more," actually do something about it instead of just feeling guilty.

Is this doable? Course it's doable, if I want to. And I intend to. And for those 20-odd people who still drop by here daily: Stick around, Faithful Reader. I hope that 2011 is a more productive year, blog-wise.

Happy New Year!

2011-01-01T00:00:00.001-05:00

It is now officially 10 months, 10 days, 11 hours, and 11 minutes to 11/11/11 11:11.

That is all.

Dear John

2010-12-08T23:38:00.001-05:00

Who's bigger now?

Leslie Nielsen (1926-2010)

2010-11-28T23:09:00.004-05:00

Canadian comedic actor Leslie Nielsen died today after a bout with pneumonia. He was 84.

Today, Nielsen is probably best known for his deadpan comedic roles, especially in Airplane! and the Naked Gun movies. But he spent the first part of his career as a serious dramatic actor on both film and television. It was his second film role that made him famous: starring in 1956's Forbidden Planet as John J. Adams, a James Kirk-type spaceship commander. (Forbidden Planet - one of my favourite science-fiction films - was one of the main inspirations for Star Trek, which just goes to show that Canadians make the best starship captains. Oh, and Firefly too.)

A little-known fact outside of Canada is that Nielson's older brother Erik was a longtime Member of Parliament for Yukon and a Cabinet minister during the Conservative governments of the 1980s. This relationship was named in the (in)famous mockumentary The Canadian Conspiracy as the connection to a Canadian government conspiracy to subvert American media.

Rest in peace, Lt. Drebin.

And now . . . this - Nov. 27/10

2010-11-27T17:27:00.000-05:00

Don't cross her, she might turn it off

After billions of years the Sun finally has an owner - a woman from Spain's soggy region of Galicia said Friday she had registered the star at a local notary public as being her property.

Angeles Duran, 49, told the online edition of daily El Mundo she took the step in September after reading about an American man who had registered himself as the owner of the moon and most planets in our solar system.

Hm. To quote Ben Kenobi, "Who's the bigger fool, the fool or the fool who follows him?

But wait, there's more.

Duran, who lives in the town of Salvaterra do Mino, said she now wants to slap a fee on everyone who uses the sun and give half of the proceeds to the Spanish government and 20 percent to the nation's pension fund.

[Full Story]

Sounds like a luractive deal, at least until the waves of skin-cancer lawsuits start rolling in.

And now . . . this - Nov. 19/10

2010-11-19T13:58:00.001-05:00

Welcome to sunny Floriduh

A man who bought a foreclosed Florida home may have found the former owner's body when he discovered a corpse in the garage.

Mortgage lender Wells Fargo sold the home Wednesday. Neighbors told authorities that the woman had "disappeared" some time ago.

[Full Story]

Which just raises the question: Does anyone ever bother to check foreclosed houses before selling them? Or do they all come with a complimentary corpse?

Meanwhile, on the stupid side of the continent . . .

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's . . .

Vigilante justice has come to Seattle, and the caped crusaders drive a Kia.

Seattle police say a group of self-described superheroes have been patrolling the streets at night trying to save people from crime. They call themselves the Rain City Superhero Movement and say they're part of a nationwide movement of real-life crime fighters. . . .

Investigators identified nine people dressed in costume going around Seattle after dark. A police source said the characters go by Thorn, Buster Doe, Green Reaper, Gemini, No Name, Catastrophe, Thunder 88, Penelope and Phoenix Jones the Guardian of Seattle.

But don't listen to Captain Ozone or Knight Owl, police were told. They're apparently not part of the group.

[Full Story - and you really want to read the whole thing]

It's all fun and games until the crooks form the Rain City Supervillain Movement and level the city with an atomic death ray.

The student brownshirt infection spreads to yet another school

2010-11-19T10:02:00.004-05:00

As a Waterloo alumnus, I remember the good old days when UW was a bastion of political apathy. Sure, we didn't give a crap, but at least we didn't have to occupy stages to tell everyone. It seems that in the 13 years since I graduated, K-W has become a bastion of radical nuttery.

After cancelling her appearance due to vocal protests, the University of Waterloo has apologized to an author and the audience that had gathered to hear her speak in the Humanities Theatre last Friday.

Journalist and columnist Christie Blatchford cancelled her scheduled appearance on Friday night, where she had planned to discuss her new book Helpless: Caledonia's Nightmare of Fear and Anarchy and How the Law Failed All of Us by vocal protests. She had been invited to speak on campus by the university bookstore.

Blatchford's book chronicles government action during 2006 protests in Caledonia, Ontario. First Nation protesters had demonstrated against efforts by a corporate land developer to build on land that the protestors claimed they are entitled to due to rights laid out in treaties with government. Members of KW Anti-Racist Action (ARA) took the stage following a teach-in that was held regarding the topics surrounding the book.

[Full Story]

So the WatCops couldn't handle three ignorant waifs? Please. These people thought it made sense to cry "racist" to protest an author presenting a thesis that the government has failed to treat all its citizens equally. I'm sure a couple of security guards with grade 12 educations could have thrown them into utter confusion.

And while we're at it, let's also weep for the state of graduate education:

[Protestor Dan] Kellar said he took a role in protesting against Blatchford's appearance in the academic setting of UW, as he feels she is a non-academic figure. "This is an academic setting and she has no place coming here to talk in an un-academic fashion," he said.

As opposed to the eminently "academic" action of occupying a stage in protest to stifle the free exchange of ideas, that is. Oh, brother.

Last Chance U.'s student goobermint does it again

2010-11-18T19:45:00.001-05:00

Well, you can say one thing for CUSA: at least they're being consistent. Whether they're voting to decertify any campus club that disagrees with official pro-choice dogma, calling pro-life advocates Holocaust deniers, or cancelling charity events that raise funds to find cures for diseases that don't kill enough minorities or women, you can usually count on the Carleton University Student Association to hop on the hot-air balloon of stupidity and drift up into Cloud Cuckoo Land.

On Monday, CUSA voted again to decertify Carleton Lifeline, the campus pro-life club, as the National Post reports:

Carleton University’s official student association has banned the Ottawa institution’s anti-abortion club, offering it just one way to get back into good graces: support abortion rights.

On Monday, the Carleton University Student Association (CUSA), decertified Carleton Lifeline for its anti-abortion views. It told the club that being against abortion violated CUSA’s anti-discrimination policy, but that it could get recertified in a day or two.

"We invite you to amend your constitution to create one that respects our anti-discrimination policy as laid out above," wrote Khaldoon Bushnaq, CUSA’s vice-president of internal affairs. "If you are able to resubmit a constitution that meets our criteria by Thursday, November 18th we will be able to certify your club for this semester."

[Full Story]

Translation: "By all means the pro-life group can have its status back, just as soon as it stops being pro-life." Nice club. Shame if something happened to it.

As club president Ruth Lobo points out in the article, Lifeline hasn't had an issue with CUSA since 2007. If they havent changed their constitution, then obviously CUSA's complaint about it not meeting policy is bogus. The last time Lifeline was decertified, it was a knee-jerk reaction to a debate held on campus a month earlier on whether elective abortion should be legal. This time, decertification comes a month after some Lifeline members were arrested for "trespassing" (on their own campus) for displaying the graphic Genocide Awareness Project. It looks to me that the CUSA's accusation of "discrimination" by Lifeline is a fig leaf meant to cover up CUSA's own discrimination against students who refuse to toe the line of official orthodoxy. (If GAP showed bloody images of dismembered Palestinians instead of dismembered fetuses, would we even be reading about this?)

A blog I read earlier today (and unfortunately can't find now, to give proper credit) put it well: CUSA discriminates against opinions contrary to its own policies, then through compulsory fees, compels pro-life students to discriminate against themselves. I guess we'll see in the next few days whether the usual public pressure at CUSA's idiocy makes them blink. Again.

Science Fiction Free September Wrap-Up

2010-10-03T19:42:00.001-04:00

Well, my yearly moratorium on reading SF has come to an end. Once again, my batting average is about .500: with three books on the roster for the month, I finished one and got about halfway through the second. Of course I'm aware of the irony that my goal was to finish books I never finished in school . . .

If you ever need proof that it pays to enrich your word power, read Jane Eyre. I think my vocabulary is probably somewhat larger than most people's, but this book was one that challenged it more than anything I've read since my teens - including Chaucer and Shakespeare! Examples:

I felt how - if I were his wife, this good man, pure as the deep sunless source, could soon kill me, without drawing from my veins a single drop of blood, or receiving on his own crystal conscience the faintest stain of crime. Especially I felt this when I made any attempt to propitiate him. No ruth met my ruth.

ruth: pity or compassion. Ha! I've always wondered who Ruth was, that want of her would make a man lack mercy. Little did I know that the word actually existed in the English language, even though it's directly related to the meaning of the biblical name (which is Hebrew for "compassion"). "To rue" is the verb form, which is still in (somewhat) common use, at least in pretentious villain-speak: "You'll rue the day you ever faced me!"

And speaking of girls' names, Rochester frequently calls Jane Eyre "Janet," which, I learned, is a diminutive of Jane or Joan. Jane is a female form of John: like Ruth, a Biblical name, which means "God is merciful." Considering that mercy, forgiveness, and restoraion are major themes in Jane Eyre, it wouldn't surprise me that this was a deliberate name choice by Brontë for her title character.

"Oh, dear papa, how quiet and plain all the girls at Lowood look, with their hair combed behind their ears, and their long pinafores, and those little holland pockets outside their frocks - they are almost like poor people’s children!"

holland: linen treated with oil and starch to make it opaque, used in such things as curtains or tags. And, apparently, orphans' clothing.

Half reclined on a couch appeared Mr. Rochester, his footsupported by the cushion; he was looking at Adele and the dog: the fire shone full on his face. I knew my traveller with his broad and jetty eyebrows; his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of his black hair. I recognised his decisive nose, more remarkable for character than beauty; his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler; his grim mouth, chin, and jaw - yes, all three were very grim, and no mistake. His shape, now divested of cloak, I perceived harmonised in squareness with his physiognomy: I suppose it was a good figure in the athletic sense of the term - broad chested and thin flanked, though neither tall nor graceful.

physiognomy: the art of determining character from the features of the body or face. Brontë apparently had some measure of belief in this, judging by the number of times she appeals to it in her descriptions of characters' appearance. There was no shortage of odd superstitions in the 19th century.

"I thought you would be revolted, Jane, when you saw my arm, and my cicatrised visage."

cicatrix: scar tissue. Rochester lost his sight and his right hand, and his face was burned, while rescuing his servants from the fire that destroyed Thornfield Manor. Hence his concern that Jane might find his disfigured face repulsive. Of course, as she points out, he was never that good-looking to begin with . . .

"Is she original? Is she piquant? I would not exchange this one little English girl for the Grand Turk’s whole seraglio, gazelle-eyes, houri forms, and all!"

seraglio: a harem. At this stage in his life, Rochester had already pretty much had the whole seraglio. And just a little farther on:

"I’ll be preparing myself to go out as a missionary to preach liberty to them that are enslaved - your harem inmates amongst the rest. I’ll get admitted there, and I’ll stir up mutiny; and you, three-tailed bashaw as you are, sir, shall in a trice find yourself fettered amongst our hands: nor will I, for one, consent to cut your bonds till you have signed a charter, the most liberal that despot ever yet conferred."

Flirt.

bashaw: a self-important person. I really have to start using "three-tailed bashaw" in regular conversation.

Jane Eyre was Charlotte Brontë's first published novel. She published in 1847 under the pseudonym Currer Bell, because of a taboo against female writers. There was no small discussion amongst critics of the day whether the novel had been written by a man or woman: as I recall from my classes, the prevailing opinion was that "Bell" was, indeed, a man. It is hard to believe, reading Brontë's genteel prose, that Jane Eyre was considered quite coarse at the time. Nonetheless, it was a runaway bestseller, and it wasn't long before Brontë was free to publish under her own name. The novel is semi-autobiographical: while not an orphan, Charlotte Brontë was the daughter of a clergyman, went to a harsh boarding school, and worked as a schoolteacher and a governess. Unlike Jane, however, she married the clergyman instead of the rich libertine, and he didn't have a madwoman locked in his attic.

After Jane Eyre, I started to fight against the Philistines with Matthew Arnold's Culture and Anarchy. In this classic series of essays, originally published in periodicals before being collected into a single volume in 1869, Arnold is arguing for the pursuit of perfection through culture, which he famously defines as achievable via "sweetness and light" (i.e. beauty and thought). I'm currenty about midway through it, and even though the month is formally over, I intend to at least finish. It's heavy going: full of allusions to "Philistines," "Jacobins," and others. I understand the allusions, but (at least in the case of the Jacobins) lack the historical context to grasp the significance for Arnold's purposes.

However, reading through Arnold reminds me of how little I enjoyed reading the Victorian essayists. Apart from Jane Eyre, I had no problem finishing the novels in my Victorian prose course: Oliver Twist, Tom Brown's School Days, and Phantastes - a batting average of about .850. With the essayists, on the other hand, I finished John Henry Newman's "Tamworth Reading Room" and John Ruskin's Unto This Last, dropped Thomas Carlyle mid-way, and never started Arnold - thus batting about .650.

Anyhow, another year is over, and as always it was fun and enlightening. But I'm in the mood for some good, escapist reading again.

And now . . . this - Sept. 20/10

2010-09-20T22:14:00.001-04:00

Police in New Zealand burning off seized cannabis were left red-faced when a change in the wind sent smoke billowing over a primary school, it was reported Tuesday. . . .

It said St Joseph's School principal Peter Knowles noticed the smoke on Friday morning and complained to police, who immediately extinguished the fire.

[Full Story]

In the meantime, however, the school's music and art programs enjoyed a temporary surge in popularity.

SFFS Update: Week 1.5

2010-09-16T13:50:00.001-04:00

Little short reading for the first half of this week: only chapters 21-24. But they were longer than the average thus far: the entirety of Jane's visit to her hated dying aunt takes up Chapter 20, for instance. Granted, it was 13 years ago, but I'm beginning to think I failed to read more of Jane Eyre than I recall.

In subsequent chapters, we learn that Mr. Rochester is to be married to the snotty Miss Ingram in four weeks. This leads to an altercation in the garden when Jane returns to Thornfield Hall, of the Slap Slap Kiss variety (sort of), and they each finally profess their Undying Love for each other. The engagement to the stuck-up Miss Ingram was all a ruse to make Jane jealous.

Then, a chapter follows of this sort of thing:

"What do you anticipate of me?"

"For a little while you will perhaps be as you are now, - a very little while; and then you will turn cool; and then you will be capricious; and then you will be stern, and I shall have much ado to please you: but when you get well used to me, you will perhaps like me again, - like me, I say, not love me. I suppose your love will effervesce in six months, or less. I have observed in books written by men, that period assigned as the farthest to which a husband's ardour extends. Yet, after all, as a friend and companion, I hope never to become quite distasteful to my dear master."

In the immortal words of Pepe le Pew: Flirt.

So four weeks' hence, Rochester and Jane are set to be married. I can't possibly see what could go wrong!

SFFS Update: Week 1

2010-09-11T20:58:00.001-04:00

After one week of science fiction-free reading: 20 chapters of Jane Eyre down, 18 to go; roughly halfway through by page count. I'm not as far behind as I thought, as the beginning of the week was slow reading, and I've picked up the pace considerably in the last couple of days.

Oh, yes, this is late Victorian literature, all right: it's hip-deep in orphans. Not to mention wicked foster families, abusive schoolmasters, gruel, and innocent waifs dying of consumption. I would be rolling my eyes at the piles of clichés, if I didn't know that books like Jane Eyre were the ones that started the clichés.

To this point, Jane has been sent to a charity school for orphaned girls. After finishing school she becomes employed by wealthy bachelor Mr. Rochester, serving as governess to his young ward Adele.

There's a sort of love triangle, and a mystery: someone in the house tried to set fire to Rochester's bed, and attacked one of his house-guests. Oh my. I hope there's not a mad woman in the attic!