Random Thoughts- Do They Have Meaning?

Monday Night Music

Here is a selection of some of the music of the night. Mood music for Fragments of Fiction

Expressway to Your Heart- The Soul Survivors
The Letter- The Boxtops
I Don't Want to Change The World- Ozzy Osbourne
Spiritual High (Part 2) (State Of Independence) - Moodswings
Same Old Lang Syne- Dan Fogelberg
I Go To Extremes - Billy Joel
Baby, now that I've found you - Alison Krauss and Union Station
Missing You - Alison Krauss
Car Wash (Soundtrack LP Version) - Rose Royce
I've got you under my skin- Frank Sinatra
Knock The Cover Off The Ball- The Natural (I love this part of the movie)
She's My Kind of Rain-Tim McGraw
Tales of Brave Ulysses - Cream
Love Reign O'er Me - The Who
The Planets - Mars, the Bringer of War- Holst

Audio Blogging Via Skype

Took two minutes out to put together a quick audio post using Skype. Sound quality is a hair off of the quality generated by using a real phone, but overall it works.

On a side note, it always sounds strange to hear my voice played back for me. It just doesn't sound quite right.

Blog Envy, Springsteen & The Superbowl

It is heading towards midnight and I am sitting in a dark room trying to decompress after a very busy weekend. Radio Nowhere is playing and I find myself trying to decide what it is about Springsteen that resonates with me. I think that it is a combination of the passion and the music. The Boss is not just a performer but a master storyteller.

Just for the heck of it here is a partial list of some of my favorite Springsteen songs:

Brilliant Disguise
Tunnel of Love
I'm On Fire
Secret Garden
Streets of Philadelphia

Everyone of those songs holds special meaning to me. Each of them is tied into a memory or two of a person and or place that has been or still is a major part of my life.

Anyway, Springsteen put on a fantastic half time show. The best artists sound better live than in a studio recording.

I didn't have a dog in this fight, speaking of the game that is. I have been a Raiders fan for more than 30 years, followed by the Rams and then the Cowboys. But the Superbowl is one of my favorite events and it is a guarantee that I'll watch regardless of who is playing.

The game itself was great. All too often we have been forced to witness a blowout in which the outcome is decided long before halftime. Tonight was fun because of how exciting the fourth quarter was.

I played around briefly with the idea of liveblogging the game. I thought that it might be kind of interesting but opted not to. I wanted to enjoy the game as a fan and really participate in it and I knew that liveblogging was going to blow that right out of the water.

But I did manage to check into Twitter and let off a couple of tweets about the game. I am a newcomer to Twitter and still getting my sea legs there. I haven't quite decided what to think about it and that leads into the topic of blog envy.

It is something that I have discussed here more than once and had numerous conversations via email and in person as well. These conversations typically start in one of two ways. A newer blogger asks me for blogging advice or a non blogger wants to know how I feel about other blogs.

For those who haven't received the dime tour let me offer some clarification. I blog for a number of reasons, the most important of which is that I blog for me. I find this to be relaxing, enjoyable and at times therapeutic. I'd love to be paid to do this full time. It would be very cool but I don't have any expectations that this is going to happen any time soon.

There have been times where I have looked at other blogs and wondered why people like them better than mine. They have more readers, they have more commenters etc. Most of the time I don't care, but I am human. There are times when I shake my head and wonder. Reminds me a bit of a time in high school when Ann Stacey asked Tom Stelling to escort her to a dance instead of me. I looked at him and thought that she must have been blind, deaf and dumb.

FWIW, she later told me that she regretted not asking me, but I digress.

Blog envy happens. I sometimes wonder why people stop reading, unblogroll me or stop following me on Twitter. Most of it is curiosity. I wonder what they didn't like. What weren't they getting.

But since I write for myself it really doesn't matter. If you ask for my unsolicited opinion if you want to be a successful blogger you have to do it because you want to. It has to be something that you like or it is doomed. And really, if you don't like blogging why are you here. There are lots of ways to spend your time, don't waste it doing something that you don't enjoy.

Anyhoo, it is after midnight now so I think that is beyond time for me to go wrestle with old man insomnia. This time I think that I know how to beat him. See you in the A.M.

The Inner Workings of Hamas

It is a relatively short time since the hostilities ended and a mutually agreed ceasefire led to relative quiet, relative being the operative term. Since then we have borne witness to the typical mumblings from useful idiots about war crimes and disproportionate response. They are just buzzwords that are used by people who do not understand what they mean and or do not care about whether they are truly applicable.

Today we heard about more violations of the ceasefire by the kindhearted Gazans who are only trying to survive. But what we rarely read or hear about are the tales of how Hamas really operates.

A JPost story helps to shine a light on this area by sharing stories from captured terrorists. In it we learn about how Hamas used schools to fire rockets at Israel, stole humanitarian aid and how Hamas treats those who refuse to assist them. Let's take a moment to look at an excerpt or two.

Nuaf Atar, 25, lives in Atatra, in the northwest Gaza Strip, and was captured by paratroopers on January 11. In his interrogation by the Shin Bet, Atar said Hamas government officials "took over" humanitarian aid Israel allowed in to the Strip and sold it, when it is supposed to be distributed for free.

Hamas set up rocket launchers and fired rockets into Israel from within school compounds since the operatives knew that the Israel Air Force would not bomb the schools, he said.
Palestinians who opposed Hamas's use of their land and homes as launch pads were shot in the legs, Atar added.

and

Another fascinating account was provided by Raji Abed Rabo, a 22-year-old member of Islamic Jihad and resident of the Jabalya refugee camp in northern Gaza. Abed Rabo told interrogators he was recruited into the organization at the age of 17 and began by distributing anti-Israel propaganda.

In 2006, he joined the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine and underwent military training. In 2007 he returned to Islamic Jihad and was recruited to the Jabalya cell. His job was to conduct reconnaissance and gather intelligence on IDF movements along the Gaza border.
He stored weaponry in his house, including roadside bombs, and was knew of a number of tunnels that were to be used to kidnap and surprise IDF soldiers. He also told the Shin Bet about a large bunker that was built under Shifa Hospital in Gaza City and was used as a hideout for a number of senior Hamas operatives during the recent Israeli offensive.

Hamad Zalah, 29, is also a resident of Jabalya and was captured by the IDF on January 12. During his interrogation, he revealed that together with his brother, he was tortured by Hamas at a headquarters in Jabalya for his affiliation with Fatah and his intention to light a memorial candle for Yasser Arafat.

You don't hear about these stories. You don't see the videos of Hamas using children as human shields.

The so called Anti-Zionist crowd doesn't like to share those stories, fine humanitarians that they are. Not like they chased the fine British police down the street or promoted violence at their rallies. Remember the peace loving demonstrators are just humanitarians who fight for peace around the world.

Ok, the sarcasm is growing old but the reality is that there is an appalling disconnect about the cause and effect of the situation in Gaza. Those who cry for Gaza but fail to exhibit the same concern about Israel are sorry hypocrites. You can't sue for peace while supporting the terrorist actions of those who sanction murder.

Crossposted on Yourish.

The Next Time I Visit Ikea

The next time I go to Ikea I have decided that I am going to have some fun. I have decided that I want to replace the store signs with some of my own devising.

As you may know Ikea is Swedish and virtually all of the items in the store are marked in English and Swedish. If you take a look at the Ikea catalogue here you'll see what I am talking about.

Since most Americans don't speak Swedish I figure it should be relatively easy to start an Ikea revolution. How many of the Ikea employees are going to realize that any changes have been made.

For example what would happen if you saw an easel and saw that it was called an Artfouker. It is Swedish, you don't speak Swedish. You wouldn't think twice about it. It should be easy to go through and make a few changes here and there.

Want something for your bedroom? Maybe you need to buy a Floozieliker. In the bathroom you'll probably need to get a Strudelsocker or Coksenhoser.

The kitchen could use a few Meathosen and Gorken.

See the possibilities are endless.

Chasing Ghosts

(Another edition of Fragments of Fiction)

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone.
It's not warm when she's away.
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

and she's always gone too long
anytime she goes away.
Ain't No Sunshine- Bill Withers

It was a little after midnight and the house was dark. Or maybe it was the middle of the afternoon. Since I had installed the blackout shades I really couldn't tell. There were no clocks flashing green numbers at me. Hadn't been near the computer and the cellphone was stuffed inside a pair of jeans that lay crumpled on the floor.

I think that it had been about three days or so since she had given me the news that she was leaving me. The signs had been there for a long time. The happy-go-lucky girl hadn't been around in a long time. Instead there had been some other person that bore some resemblance to the person that I had falled in love with. Every now and then glimpses of that woman surfaced and I remembered that we had a history of far more good times than bad.

It wouldn't be fair to say that the changes were all her fault or that I had played no part in it. She had been asking me to do a little bit more, to give her a sign that I wanted more and I had been reluctant to do so. It wasn't a lack of desire to take the next step, just fear. Fear of the unknown and memories of the pain from the past. That was what had made me drag my feet.

Still she had stuck by my side and tried to be patient. Eventually I had come around and decided that she was right. It had taken me a while to get there but I had indeed made it.

But by the time I got there she wasn't there any longer. Life had gotten in the way. Things had changed, external forces had impacted our world in ways that I should have anticipated but had not.

Suddenly it had become apparent to me that losing her was something that I really didn't want. It wasn't going to be an ordinary breakup. Not this one, not this time. This was going to have a deep and profound impact that would resonate for a long time. I knew that if I didn't fight to keep her that I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

There are people that you have a good time with and people you live a life with. She is someone to live a life with and that I think is part of what made me drag my feet. It might not make sense, but when someone knows you so well that your soul lies naked before them there is a certain fear. It is hard to be stripped bare, to be so vulnerable.

It is not something that men deal with easily. We who have grown up with messages that men do not show emotion or weakness. We who have been taught that the way to handle pain is to do so alone and apart have a hard time accepting that someone could help us. And not just someone, but a person who is willing to love you unconditionally. She who is capable of moving you in ways that no one else can or could.

Well she is someone worth fighting for. And so for a long time that was what I did. I fought and fought to keep her by my side. I was armed and ready for battle, but the fight was not what I was accustomed to. Had I been attacked by a horde of Mongols or a Roman legion I would have been ready and equipped to deal with it. But this was a different sort of fight and it was far more challenging.

And as I chased the ghosts of the past and tried to reconcile them with the present I thought of myself as undertaking some of the same challenges as Hercules. I was fighting my own Hydra, but unlike Hercules I was unable to devise a way to keep the heads from regenerating. At least in the beginning I was.

After a time I came to the realization that this sort of fight was different. And the difference was that she had to go off and figure out some things without me. She had to take some time to see about dealing with things and people that I couldn't be a part of, at least not then.

That was hard. It was a challenge to know that I was still her hero, but that this time the hero wouldn't ride out from the castle to save her. This time the hero would stay behind the castle walls and watch as she ventured out on her own quest.

And so this is how I had come to find myself in this state, brooding and frustrated. She told me that she loved me, said that she wanted me and then kissed me goodbye. And for the past however many days I have had nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.

Alone in the dark I have sat and stared off into the black. Alone and apart I have missed her. At times I have compiled a list of faults and reasons why it was better that she was gone. But at the end of the day I came to the same conclusion that we are better together than we are apart.

My heart and my head are in agreement on this. My gut tells me that given time she will concur and we'll start the next chapter, but I'll be damned if there isn't a dark and empty place inside my chest now.

I gave myself a few days to lie around and be sad, but I am about done with it. It is time for the hero to get a shave and a haircut, not to mention a decent meal.

(Side note. I hate writing these stories and getting interrupted. Totally blew my train of thought. I'll have to revisit it later.)