See what happens when you don't go to church!
Various automotive travails put me a couple of hours behind schedule today, and in order to be able to continue my business, I had to load up screens and biodegradable chemicals and drive north to Ardmore to use their most excellent car wash to reclaim outdated screens. I coat 'em and reuse 'em to print NEW designs. This time of year begins OUR "Christmas season", business-wise. Ball uniforms, convention shirts, spring festival shirts...like that.

I got to the carwash, and...well, let's just say that tonight I feel a kinship with our "Rainbow brethren". As the preacher Marshall Keeble said when queried about referring to everyone as Brother or Sister: "I has 'em in Adam, or I has 'em in Christ."

...got to the carwash, unloaded the stuff, and set to work. As is my wont, I had the back of the van open so that I could hear the CD. Towards the end of my task, I noted two yout's hanging around near the street. I shut the washer off, and got ready to load everything up. I had been listening to the "No Disc" soundtrack from Cowboy Bebop. Now, for the uninitiated,
Bebop is a Japanese anime series about space "cowboys", or bounty hunters. Done in a noir style, it is action-driven, and awash with testosterone. It is scored with a tasty jazz and blues buffet, with some very medieval and
madrigal-ey bits thrown in as garnish. When I turned off the washer, it was to the madrigal part.
"La, La, lalalalalaaa..."
The two stalwarts noted earlier had slouched beyond eye-shot, but I heard them exclaim ere they moved out of sight:

"Hey, yo, FAGGOT"!

I was amused...a bit. I thought for a moment, and called out cheerily

"You'd better tell my wife and four kids!"

Now, I must be frank, and say that I DID feel a brief thrill of fear. I mean, I REALLY hoped that my love of anime would not lead to my being dragged behind some rusty pickup.

I REALLY wanted to yell "Why? Are you LOOKING for one?"

It would be nice to be judged by the content of one's character, rather than by the contents of one's CD player.

Anyone want to bet how they are schooled? Vox? ANyone?

ALERT......ALERT.....ALERT
If you are offended at my quoting accurately from an email I received, DO NOT READ THIS.



Jene Kourtney 04:48 AM 3/23/2004 +0600 7 u r stupid dumbass if u pay retail pri-ce for softwares
(From an email that I received this morning)

Something else before I eat an Atkins-friendly breakfast- read eggs fried in butter- and get to work:
I am ALWAYS charmed when sales types who are trying to extract money from me call me a stupid dumbass. It ALWAYS provokes an instant desire in me to open my wallet. Really. I think that I may do some Aardvark Screenprinting radio spots with this tactic, because there must be scads of customers who would respond in a similar positive fashion. >Angela Anaconda voice< "Get your team uniforms at Aardvark Screenprinting" I will tell them,
"or you will be a stupid dumbass." All this creativity I have WASTED for years, when this simple, direct approach can pry the shekels from their clutching digits.

I mean, WHO wants to be an SDA?

(And yes, I tried the asterisk trick. You would know what it said, anyway, so there is NO point in disguising a letter-or-two)
Besides it made me look like a st*pid dumb*ss.

Y'know, homeschooling has some real perqs. I mean, besides lessening government school propaganda sluicing away the little grey cells. If you'll pardon my being pedantic, homeschool field trips are wa-a-a-ay cool! Momoovark and the two youngers are going to Birmingham to visit the Golden Flake plant, the wellspring of so many bags of sodium-glutted goodness in the Dread Mart of Wal's cunningly named "salty snacks" aisle. Alabama is to Golden Flake as Bert Lahr is to Lays. These kids will be watching the Very Merchants of Doom ply their lipidous trade, breathing air which alone will cause weight gain. Golden Flake. O, to be Young again. Stupid Atkins...

Then they get to go to the Birmingham Zoo, where they will experience Smells of Another Sort. Don't forget to dodge at the orangutan cage...errrrr, HABITAT. The old one is a sharpshooter.

Part of my business involves making buttons, not of pearl or tortoise shell or chintz, but of metal parts, plastic, and snarky sayings. THOSE buttons! Here's one of our latest models:

BLOG:
Let the
WORLD
be your
THERAPIST.

Maybe the 'net is still worth something.

Judgment...what a currently under-rated commodity. There MUST be something good in it, because the folks who never pick up a Bible even to use it as a paperweight ALL know a verse: "Judge not, lest ye be judged". Out of context, with no thought as to the Speaker's intent, but yah, they know the verse! Yet, if the REST of the Bible is to be considered, we are all called upon to make judgment daily: "Am I acting in LOVE toward this person?" "Should I speak thusly...?" Even "Red tie or paisley tie?". We must CONTINUALLY make judgment to get through life.
Perish forbid that we should push the envelope and judge Jeffruy Daumer's alternate eating-style, but here goes:

I heard on the radio today that Paris Hilton was trodden upon by a horsie. She was not injured badly- for which I really am thankful. I wish her no ill. But it brought up an old train of thought. She was on the horsie as part of a Simple Life 2 series shoot. >ACK< Another one we needed?!? But I thought of her, and the Ritchie chickie, and the phrase that keeps popping up in my conversations also came to mind.

Waste of skin.
Waste of (notta lotta) skin.

What does she offer to the world in exchange for life and breath? She poses, and simpers, and can't even survive a day WORKING AT SONIC!!! Apparently she can't even pay adequate attention during...um....close encounters. Self absorbed.

Pray for Paris. Really. She needs Reality to fill her life. Not another reality show.

Just to clarify matters, gentle readers, I am an essentially lazy person. At the very least, a slave to convenience. If you are a Faithful Follower of the Way of the Aardvark (insert Bruce Lee sounds here), then I should tell you that after an initial micro frenzy of linking to the few blogs which I was acquainted with at the time, I stopped. Why? I had links! I did not need a link list to rival the NY phone directory. Shucks...I have enough trouble just doing my OWN posts. (Five a week. Riiiiiight) So please do not feel slighted if you are not on the Aardvark's list. You're not being shunned. Or ignored.

I just haven't done it.

'Cos I'm too lazy to push a "Link to this" button.

How sad am I? Tragically sad.

How bizarre is this? I answered the questions as honestly as one could given the choices, though if you have seen two chop-socky movies you can easily tailor your answers. I guess I have comedy in my soul...



click here to find out which Asian action superstar you are!

You are Jackie
Chan! You like to take risks. You live for the moment. You are a thrill-seeker.
At heart, you're a really nice person.

You are funny, charismatic and full of energy. Although sometimes your goofiness
gets you into trouble, your

drunken boxing skills are fabulous! Just bring a pot of rice wine with you.

Wow! what an intolerable hiatus. I had a VERY busy week preparing for a Starfleet Summit. I am not a member...something like a Ferengi-at-Large. Starfleet? Think of the Rotary Club in Trek uniforms. They are a civic group formed around the kernel (please note that I did NOT say "nut") of the Star Trek universe. They raise money for charity, do PR work for recruitment, and generally have a good old time...with a twist of Vulcan. I have been friends with a couple of Starfleeters for 9 years, and have printed shirts for their local club (or "ship"}, as well as for their regional conferences. Large fun.

The 7-hour drive to the Summit afforded me a chunk of time in which to ruminate.

* Are turn signals now offered only as an option?
* Are the other drivers telepathic adepts, and I'm just missing their intentions?
* Does NO-ONE teach common courtesy anymore?
* Why am I sounding like Andy Rooney?

ALL local municipalities need to do is to tag the scofflaws who refuse to use a turn signal (and so endanger the public),
and there would be no need to raise property taxes, no need to pass new taxes. Let those who insist on to being rude and dangerous in their driving pay for the privilege.

And please note, too, that I said LOCAL, not FEDERAL.

jet: "

I am Jet. I am sensible and commanding. I find myself constantly taking care of those around me. I have an artistic soul. I've had my share of troubles and heartbreak, but I am strong and mature. I'm usually all work and no play. I'm a loving person, but I'm definitely not one for sentimentality. Which space cowboy are you? Visit SelectSmart.com

"

NOTE: This is not one of the threatened "Big 2" posts. You'll know. ENJOY!

And then I put my finger on it. The problem. THAT problem.
Lookit, If I join the Lions Club, I sign up to the PURPOSE of the Club. The Lions sell brooms,
lightbulbs, and do other fundraising for the blind. THAT is the Purpose. The Meetings are not the purpose.
The meetings are to pass on intel, plan strategy, and provide the tools necessary to the Purpose.

It appears that the Church-at least in some quarters- has made an error. For years, the Meeting has been the focus
of interest; what we do, what we shouldn't do, who's in, who's not. Like that. Folks, CHURCH is not the PURPOSE.
Our assembling on the first day of the week, as the apostles and disciples gave example, is to enable and equip us to
fulfill the purpose:

Matthew 28:18-20, "And Jesus came and spoke to them, saying, All authority is given to me in heaven and in earth. Go therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen."

The Lions don't wait for people to walk into their meetings in order to buy their wares. The Lions go from business to business, and set up in the marketplace to accomplish their fine goal.

Perhaps the Christians and the Lions have more in common than is commonly believed!

I am hopelessly behind the times. While I'm certain the fact impinged upon my little grey cells before, I realised last night that there was a NEW "Star Search" series on telly.
The advert crowed that the previous series launched the careers of "Ray Romano and Britney Spears".

SOMEONE MUST STOP THIS RELENTLESS EVIL!

LSDiamond's Den: "
Postatem obscuri lateris nescitis.
'You do not know the power of the Dark
Side.' There are two possibilities: you
are a Star Wars geek, or you are unreasoningly
scary.


Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla"

This was originally posted to the "Black_Rock_1" e-group dedicated to fans of the marionette series "SUPERCAR". Maybe it will be helpful to you to suss out where I come from. If it matters!

Hi, gang.

I am not of the bent where I bare my soul at the drop of a hat, as is the wont of American popular culture nowadays. However, as this is specifically ‘Supercar’ related, I believe that it will add to the discussion, perhaps renewing the human element of our fandom, besides the fun technobabble of which we are so fond.

The time: The *early* 60s. I grew up in a black and white world. I remember falling down out of my crib, trying to climb out and pad into the living room to sneak a chance to watch "The Millionaire". Well, falling out of my crib enabled me to see at least *some* of "The Millionaire" on my Momma's lap! I lived with my mother, who was divorced. ! was the eldest of one.

Another early TV memory was of a series called "The Man and the Challenge" starring George Nader. (If anyone else remembers this series, please speak up!) B & W "Bat Masterson" episodes are amongst my memories, as well as the first SF and fantasy movies that I recall: "It Came From Beneath the Sea" (that *is* the Harryhausen flick with the giant octopus, right?), and "The 5000 Fingers of Dr T", written by Dr. Seuss himself (Most memorable was the combining of various household liquids and things found in a kid's pocket to enable their escape.).

Long about this time, something wondrous came into my life. You might even say "marvel-ous". I discovered ‘Supercar’ on early Saturday morning TV. So intense and immediate was my devotion to this strange little show that I would wake up at the crack of dawn Saturday morning and endure 30-60 minutes worth of farm reports, and Porter Waggoner and his Chuck-Wagon Gang so as not to miss the beginning of ‘Supercar’.

I was completely taken by ‘Supercar’! At Playschool, there was a little yellow plastic spaceship amongst the toys that I would lay claim to as soon as I got there, so that I could play 'Supercar' with it. My mother had an alarm clock which broke, and which had a roll-top face cover. That became the Black Rock lab and its sliding roof doors.

Mindful of the lessons learnt from the Dr. T movie, I would mix cologne, water, dishwashing liquid and other benign household liquids into a 'potion' which I would take outside and pour on the ground in the rough shape of ‘Supercar’, whereupon I would invoke, with all the spiritual zeal a little boy could muster, a miracle, so that when I went outside the next day, there would be a full-sized ‘Supercar’ materialized upon the grass. Apparently, I didn't use enough mustard.

One of my most miserable memories as a child was having been sick with a fever and being very much on the mend Friday night. I asked my mother, who had enforced bedrest upon me, "May I get up and watch 'Supercar' in the morning?" She answered in the negative, but I woke up at my customary time anyway, and lay in bed, whimpering with a combination of frustration and fear. Frustration in that I felt absolutely fine, and fear because even though I felt fine enough to get up, I knew that I would not feel entirely fine if I did so in disobedience to Momma.

No longer a single-parent family: my mother, who had been divorced, married a wonderful man who wrote ripping good children's poetry, alas, none published, and most destroyed in a house fire. For a series of months, perhaps a year or two, (time is not reckoned the same by the young) we had a virtually idyllic life, and of course, there was ‘Supercar’, a fixture of my week.

Well, one day, mother didn't get out of bed. She was crying, and very obviously in pain, and was taken to hospital. Things like that happen, and my stepfather and I 'bached it' until Friday night, when I was invited over to a friend's house to stay the night, and Saturday. To this day, I cannot recall the friend's name. Saturday morning came, and we played with my friend's Bat Masterson cane - it fired caps, and lo, I managed to have a close encounter with a mud puddle, and was an extremely messy little boy. So, his mother took me back to my house to get a change of clothes. Wow! There were cars everywhere, and I thought, "Neat! Momma's come home, and they're having a party!" So, with all being right in the world, I sat on the lap of an apparently familiar lady who was sitting in my customary chair, and I turned on, what else? ‘Supercar’!

Supercar was over, and my stepdad invited me back to the inner sanctum of his and Momma's room, where I learned that there was no party, that in fact, my mother had died, and this was the 'apres funeral' get-together. (I do not share this to instigate discussion and critique over the rightness or wrongness of how they handled dealing with me about my mother's death, and frankly would appreciate absence of commentary on this point. All parties have made their peace, and were going by the best light that they had.)

The Earth continued to turn, but within a week, it turned topsy-turvy, for you see, my stepfather had not legally adopted me yet. Who would think to rush such a thing? He and Momma and I had a lifetime together to look forward to. In swept my "bio" father and his parents. Through legal finaglings, I went to live with them. So in essence, I lost my entire family in the space of a week.

But you know what? Saturday came, and I turned on the television, and there was ‘Supercar’. Not to sound maudlin or to place too much importance to a kiddie puppet show, but in the middle of a life completely turned over in a brief time, I found ‘Supercar’ to be a steady influence, a constant in an overwhelmed little life. Nor do I wish to speak of a TV show in the hushed fervor with which many speak of their relationship with Christ, but I do know that God often uses the weak things, the small things, the childlike things, to help in time of need. I would attribute to ‘Supercar’ the title of a 'tool' which helped a sad, confused and confounded little boy find a bit of stability. (The writings of Anderson, Fennell, and the Brothers Woodhouse are quite good, but I do not think of them as apostolic! :^) )

I also discovered a bounty! Channel 13 ran an episode at one time, and when that was over, I could change to Channel 10 and catch a (usually) different episode there!

This is the 'why' of the place that ‘Supercar’ has held in my life for 40+ years. Stripping away the emotional attachment, I find still that it is my favorite of the Anderson sagas. The writing is mature, witty, and does not condescend. The technical aspects of the series are fresh, and while improvements were made over the ensuing years, well, it seems as though the team had "lost its first love", and what had been an act of creation itself became, over time, a job. But these are subjective critiques.

While the Supermarionation works are not perfect (my kids and I all get the giggles upon seeing the cable that yanks Supercar out of the water, or seeing the shadow of the smoke against the "sky" background in the Fireball XL5 openings), they are done with excellence.

This is my story. It is not meant to depress, but to show how even seemingly trivial things can add up to give life meaning and worth...or at least decorate it a bit. This story is yours. I still love ‘Supercar’, and am thankful for it.

Perhaps some of you have stories...

Full boost!

Weatherly

OK, guys, I am working on a couple of blogs which will probably get spread around. They will not be what they appear, and I ask that when you read the next couple of major entries, please DISENGAGE the past 20 years of poli-cor-speak. The words I use will be what they MEAN. No shades or angles.

Piquing your interest?

The very NEXT post is a reminiscence of a favorite show from my childhood.