Category Archives: MySpace Blog Archive

So we may always be free…

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I could post a diatribe about the significance of today’s date and the implications of what we’ve done right and what we’ve done wrong since the morning of September 11, 2001, but I suspect most of you know how I feel, and we all know how I hate repeating myself when it isn’t necessary.

In some ways we are safer than we were on that day and in others we are more at risk. I seriously doubt that we can ever really secure our society against those who value death more than life. Yet today, five years on, we still walk freely down our streets, still eat at the corner restaurants, and order our latte’s without abject fear of being blown to kingdom come for our trouble. Can it happen? Of course it can. It happens in Israel. It happened in England and Northern Ireland during the worst of the troubles. It happened in dozens of two-bit dictatorships over the years, too. But today, we are still free. We are still brave. And despite the best efforts of a madman bent on our destruction, we are still here.

To borrow a quote from President Reagan speaking at the 40th anniversary of the D-Day invasion: “We will always remember. We will always be proud. We will always be prepared, so we may always be free.”

My thanks…

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I wanted to take a few minutes this evening to say thank you to everyone for their thoughts and kind words over the last week. It has meant more to me than I can tell you.

On a related note, I know I’m starting to feel a little more like my old self because I flipped off an Asian family who cut me off when I went to pick up lunch this afternoon… I’m not quite back in fighting trim, but getting a little better every day. I’ll be ready to crack skulls and eat livers in no time.

Again, thank you all for your support.

Helpless…

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I’ve never seen anything like, nor done anything harder than this week’s wake and funeral for my cousin. They came from across the continent, family I hadn’t seen in years, to stand in a line around the block for just a hug or a handshake, a moment’s respects, and then to shuffle off into the night. The crush of mourners at the church, filling the old sanctuary to capacity and swelling beyond had a certain dream-like quality. Surely it wasn’t possible that so many people had come there, too. There is something about Bach, played heavily on the pipe organ that has the power to both raise the human spirit and reveal the depths of human suffering. A child-sized casket, stark against the lush green of grass and trees just beyond and the forlorn sigh of a father who would never again set mortal eyes on his son, is simply more than a just or a righteous God would allow. Time may dim, but will not erase, these days and these feelings of utter helplessness at a loss too terrible to contemplate. My fervent hope is that his parents endure this senseless suffering and find peace in their time.

No good way…

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At the best of times, there is little good to say about death. Trite phrases as “at least it was quick” or “he’s gone to a better place now” fill the awkward silence. When death reaches out to the elderly or the infirm, we can justify it to ourselves as a clock that has simply run out of time.

When a child dies, there are no good words, no small comforts to provide. There is only unbounded sadness and the deepest grief of a family.

Fizzle…

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This hurricane season as been a bit of a letdown after the intensity of 2005. I suppose it’s difficult to top one of the most damaging storms in human history, but still, throw me a friggin bone here. Ernesto had the wind knocked out of him over Cuba today and should hit south Florida as a tropical storm or a minimal hurricane… Hardly worth crawling out of bed for something like that, really. There is a slim possibility that he could punch out of Florida around Cape Canaveral and head north to Charleston. Moving slow, he could reintensify and do some damage. I’m not holding my breath.

I wouldn’t exactly say I’m rooting for the hurricane, because that would just be wrong, but still, this season has been all blow and no go. So much for new furniture.

Crabs… but the good kind…

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There are precious few traditions that make Maryland a standout among the states. Sure, naming jousting you state sport is good, but there is absolutely nothing more Maryland than blue crabs from the Bay. These crustaceous, bottom-dwelling, cadaver-eaters are unsurpassed for sheer tastiness. Yes, I know, you have to steam them alive, cut off their face, and eviscerate them on the plate for just a few morsels of delicious meat, but still, it’s a small sacrifice of time on our part to enjoy their last full-measured sacrifice. Steam on, yonder caldron, there are warm days left and I’m feeling somewhat peckish.

I had a dream…

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Some people have the knack for recounting dreams they have almost every night. Although I know I dream, I very rarely remember more than a few details of even dreams that I know where intense. Last night, however, was an exception. It was like dreaming in Technicolor… everything was just a little too bright, the people were just a little too expressive, and it was a little too real.

My colleagues and I were sitting in what I can only think of as the courtroom that hosted the Nuremburg war crimes trials of Nazi officials at the end of World War II. The key members of the project team were all there and we were listening attentively to our headphones as the translators repeated the words of the prosecutor, who was one of the senior employees who has opposed the project from the very beginning. As the bill of indictment was read and translated I remember distinctly that “dream” Jeff looked towards the judges’ dais. While faces were indistinct, I was struck by the formal presentation of the flags of the United States, the Army (complete with battle streamers), and the starred flag of a general officer. The “list of complaints” seemed to go on ad infinitum and at length, there seemed to be a question, as everyone in the defendants’ dock pointed to the program manager. I wish I could remember more, but the reading of the grievances and looking at the room in detail seem to have been the crux of the dream.

I don’t generally do a lot of dream interpretation, nor put stock in “what they tell us,” but in this case, I’m willing to make an exception. I’m reasonably sure that it’s just about time to take a nice long vacation

A show about nothing…

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As much as I enjoy spinning yarns about the absolute stupidity that is working in Washington, I am utterly bereft of ideas. Absolutely nothing happened today that is blog-worthy. I could pull a filler story out of draft and flesh it out a bit, but that doesn’t seem quite right either. Better luck next time and please stop by again real soon.

Gloria In Excelsis Deo…

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It’s what I’ve been waiting for. It’s what has eluded me for the last six months. It’s what, late at night, lying in the darkness, I feared would never come. It’s the prize I felt cheated of, the gods of the bureaucracy conspiring against me.

Now, at last, it’s mine. Permanent, undeniable, irrefutable proof that my work has not been in vain. I am promoted. I’ve seen the paperwork and held it in my own hands. I’ve scrutinized every box and am convinced of its legitimacy. I am exhausted, spent, but I am at last happy.

Gloria in Excelsis Deo.

What’s next?

An educated man…

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A dear friend recently gave me a book, The Marks of an Educated Man. The somewhat weighty text, penned by Albert Wiggam, and originally published in 1925 is a remarkable lesson in the fine art of being a man’s man in 1920s style. And lets be honest, when it’s written by a man named Wiggam, it has to be good.

Select chapter titles are:
• You Can’t Sell Him Magic (Jeff’s translation: Nothing good is easy)
• He Links Himself with a Great Cause (Jeff’s translation: To the greater glory of the German people)
• He Builds an Ambition Picture to Fit His Abilities (Jeff’s translation: Accept that some people are just stupid – but even they can dig ditches)
• He Always Tries to Feel the Emotions He Ought to Feel (Jeff’s translation: He’ll only show approved emotions like anger, lust, etc.)
• He Keeps Busy at His Highest Natural Level in Order to be Happy, Useful and Good (Jeff’s translation: Lack of productivity is un-American, so get a real job you useless hippy dipshit)
• He Cultivates the Love of the Beautiful (Jeff’s translation: Hurray boobies!!!)

And my personal favorite: He Knows that Popular Notions are Always Wrong.

It just doesn’t get any better than that, folks. I think I would have liked the 20s.