I Hate The Middle East

Somebody's needs to say it, might as well be me. I really, truly hate the Middle East. The entire region is like an enormous infected boil on the backside of civilization. It's a dusty, dirty, violent cess pool of dysfunction. The place has been giving the world a headache for my entire lifetime, and centuries before I ever came along. It's like a thousand year old Hatfield v. McCoy feud only instead of horses and muzzleloader rifles, they have camels and nuclear weapons. Throw in religious extremists, ritual beheadings, wailling walls, temple mounts and beat up Toyota pick up trucks and you've got the Geo-political version of a hit reality television blockbuster...Survivor Tel Aviv.

Yes, I know about the cultural and historical significance of the place...cradle of civilization and all. And yes, I'm aware that Israel is there, the birthplace of our Lord. I'm reminded of this salient point roughly 50 times a month at my church, where it seems they are rounding up volunteers to go tour the Holy Land every week. We are shown slides of barren hillsides, each indistinguishable from the next..."and this is the Mount of Olives," intones the speaker, "an indescribably moving experience!" I'll take his word for it since the only way you're getting me on a tour bus full of Christians touring the countryside of Israel in 2015 is at room temperature.

Every day of my life there has been some sort of "Middle East Peace Initiative" going on, usually with the United States hip deep in the middle of the thing. And every day of my life, there has been no peace of any kind in the Middle East. This despite the heroic and tireless efforts of two generations of would be peacemakers. Several of them have won Nobels, but still no peace. In the past, what happened in this vast wasteland was of huge strategic importance to us since we desperately needed the region's oil. Now, not so much, (thank you, fracking!). 

Now we have ISIS, the latest and most convincing argument against Evolution. This group of anonymous barbarians has brought back Middle Ages style savagery and combined it with 21st century technological innovation. This unholy alliance has resulted in a series of slickly produced snuff videos depicting the gruesome deaths of a parade of alleged "enemies of Islam." Watching them is to be reminded that while all men may be created equal, they don't stay equal for long.

Our President seems uniquely ill-equipped to be a wartime executive. His heart doesn't seem to be in the effort to confront ISIS. I watched him give his speech yesterday at yet another conference at the White House decrying something called "violent extremism." He tried his best, but to hear him talk you could be persuaded that ISIS would go away if only they had better job opportunities. It was all very strange, the kind of speech you would expect him to give at the Urban League or something. 

Part of me is glad that he is so reticent. Part of me thinks that the Middle East deserves what it gets. Despite the best efforts of generations of diplomats, if they insist on killing each other with box cutters, then have at it. That may sound cold and uncaring, and perhaps on some level it is. But at some point the people of the Middle East will have to become responsible for the dysfunction of the Middle East. 

The sooner, the better.

Snow Memories

Snow. The mere suggestion of it in a weather forecast used to produce within me giggling excitement. Snow meant the possibility of a day or two being commuted off of my school sentence. Then later when I became a father it meant a day off of work that I could spend building a snowman with my kids.  Now it's just frozen precipitation that piles up on the sidewalk and my driveway. There are no kids to bundle up. There's just me trudging out in the mess with a shovel, and the horrible idea that maybe Lucy would love a chance to play outside without the leash.

I was at least half right. She indeed loved playing outside without the leash. 

The problem started the second I began removing the snow from these steps. The loud scraping noise of shovel on bricks, made worse by the amplifying qualities of 8 inches of snow sent her into a wild fleeing panic! Lucy soon discovered that she very much enjoys running free in the neighborhood with me in pursuit. 

I'm sorry. I so much more prefer this.

I guess the problem with snow is that it reminds me of some of the best memories of the past. Listening to Alden Aaroe reading the school closing lists on WRVA, "...Accomack, Albemarle, Alleghany, Amelia..." in that fabulous baritone voice of his along with a couple of pitches for the WRVA shoe fund. Bundling up my kids and spending a morning making a snowman and sliding down the hill in our front yard was about as much fun as fathering gets. Watching them cling to their cups of hot cocoa afterwards is a picture that I'll never forget.

 Snow is very much like Christmas. With children, it's magical. Without children, it's an overrated intrusion into the comfortable routine of life. With a lunatic dog, it's a little of both.

Our Weekend Trip

Our Columbia weekend is now at an end, and with a few notable exceptions, Lucy was fabulous. This was our first real car trip with her and we had no idea of what to expect. With her track record of neurosis we were prepared for the worst, fears of non-stop whining and projectile vomiting dancing in our heads,(we took Pam's car). Instead, she sat bolt upright in her seat for the first hour of the trip staring out the window, shaking like a leaf, but making no complaint. About the time we crossed the North Carolina line she finally laid down. Then, just outside of Roanoke Rapids, we stopped at the Halifax County Visitors Center to take her to the coolest place ever...a dog run! This was a large fenced in yard, one for small dogs and one for large dogs, where you just turn your travel weary dogs loose and let them run and rip in an open field. Lucy met two other dogs and had the time of her life

chasing tennis balls for fifteen minutes. When we got back in the car, she immediately laid down and slept all the way into the parking lot of Jon and Kaitlin's apartment! Thank you, Halifax County.

I had never seen the apartment before, except through pictures. It was so much larger than I was expecting. They have done an amazing job decorating and furnishing the place. It looks like they have lived there for years, so cozy and welcoming. Watching the two of them acting as host and hostess made me quite proud. I think after 27 years, I can stop worrying about my daughter!

Now, about those notable exceptions. Lucy wasn't nearly as impressed with the apartment as Pam and I were. WAYYYYY too many pillows for her taste! So high was her nervous-o-meter, in 48 hours she only managed to eat one full meal. The one thing we brought with us that we thought would reassure her...her bed...she wanted nothing to do with. Instead, for the first time in her life, she insisted upon sleeping in the bed with us. On the bright side, whenever we left her alone in the apartment she made no messes and tore up nothing, a great relief.

Her big event was the trip to Jon's employer, Congaree National Park. It was very cold, but sunny and there was a 2.5 mile hike along a boardwalk pathway deep into the great swamp. Besides the fact that Lucy insisted upon greeting  every pedestrian we encountered with her famous high five maneuver, Lucy had a blast, not once attempting to launch herself into the muddy depths below. There were two unfortunate incidents, both involving senior citizens. First, Lucy encountered her first wheelchair person, a kind and friendly elderly man who wanted to get to know this lovable dog, only to be treated to Lucy's first and only low growl and bark of the day. Embarrassing. Then a bit later, I let out
the leash a bit too much, allowing Lucy to catch up to an older and very unsteady man ahead of us. Of course, Lucy introduced herself with a cheerful jump and before I could reach her, had wrapped the leash around the old guys legs. Only divine intervention prevented the man from a face-plant and broken hip.

The trip home went even better. Instead of it taking her an hour to settle down, she was asleep in fifteen minutes. All things considered, the trip was a raging success. There will be many more in the future.

Am I a Writer or Just Nuts?

There are so many times when I wish I would have paid better attention in college. Especially that creative writing class I took my sophomore year. Back then I tried really hard to listen and apply myself, I really did. But I would start every class determined to make it through to the end fully engaged, only to find myself staring out the window 15 minutes in wondering why it is that a curve ball is so hard to hit, or why we call black light "black" when in fact it's purple. Anyway...where was I? Oh yeah, creative writing class. If I would have paid closer attention, maybe I would have learned something useful about the writing process. That way, I would know whether or not the way I write is normal or totally whacked. For any of you out there who are writers, please feel free to enlighten me.

I wrote a novel two years ago called "A Life of Dreams." It is currently hanging out in my Dropbox account waiting for me to do something with it, and the wonderful and talented Denise Roy is probably wondering what the heck I'm doing letting it sit there, but that's another story. That story started out with nothing more than an idea of what it might be like to be a gambling savant. I sat down one night at my laptop and started typing, having no earthly idea what the story would be about. Eight months later it was finished. It was as if it wrote itself. All I had to do was make myself available to the keyboard of my computer and my fingers would be taken over by this mysterious force. Well, now I'm writing a new novel, but this one is being written entirely in my head. I have yet to type a word. It started with a single sentence that popped into my head one day when I was on the treadmill at the gym. So far there are three characters, a bizarre yet coherent plot and some fine conflict...all floating around in the vast empty spaces of my head. Every time I think about sitting down and committing the thing to paper, it all gets convoluted and starts to fall apart.

So, what I would really like to know is what is the proper procedure for writing?  Is there more than
one way to do it, or is there a plan to follow that makes it easier? Secondarily, am I an idiot? If you are a writer, or a Psychiatrist I would appreciate any advice you could provide.

Thank you.

Lucy...My Psychotic, Bigot-Dog.

It seems that every day we discover some new wrinkle in our dog's legendary neurosis. You all know of her skittishness, particularly her fear of the randomly raised pillow. Well last night, this...

After dinner, Lucy was snuggled between Pam and I on the sofa acting an awful lot like a normal, well-adjusted pet. We were watching the second episode of " Better Call Saul" and when I say "we" I do mean "we." Lucy loves television. Suddenly there was a scene in Saul's cramped office where he starts sliding his desk across the floor so he can open the sleep sofa. Lucy perked up and began feverishly sniffing the air. Pam and I glanced at each other. Lucy then launched herself off the sofa and ran over to the television for a closer look. About that time, Saul lifted the first of the pillows from the couch. Lucy ran from the room, horrified to discover that not only do her owners lift pillows into the air with no warning, but the little people in the shiny flat screen do too!

Later, after the pillow crisis had passed, she returned to watch some more. About the time she was calmed down and relaxed on the sofa, there appeared on the screen a tight shot of two black actors having some sort of intense conversation. Immediately Lucy beat a hasty retreat, this time with a low soft growl, making her the second consecutive Golden Retreiver we have owned who has a problem with African-Americans. Great. Introducing her to the citizens of Columbia, South Carolina should be a real hoot!

Pray for us.

2016 Presidential Candidates. The early view....

It's February of 2015 and you know what THAT means...the hot stove league for the 2016 presidential election is upon us. Yes, only in America does it take two years to run for an office that allows the winner to serve only four years. Of course, there won't be an actual primary with real votes being cast for a year or so, but crucial work is being done by all the serious candidates as we speak. That serious work being the hiring of campaign strategists and the solicitation of truck loads of cash. It's an unseemly business but somebody's gotta do it. And before you start with how money is corrupting the process, let me point out that if we wind up spending 6 billion in the 2016 election, that will be roughly equivalent to what we spend on lawncare every year, so give it a rest.

The Republican field is huge and not very diverse. Since the party has finally given Sarah Palin the bums rush, there aren't any women. However, there are two minorities that I know of, Ben Carson and Bobby Jindal. The rest are white guys, some of whom are VERY white. Then there's Donald Trump who is an alien, so at least the field is "universally" diverse. At this early stage of the proceedings, I have no informed opinion on the candidates, but since when has having an informed opinion on anything prevented me from offering one? I have limited these opinions to one word modifiers due to time constraints:

1. Jeb Bush...genetics
2. Bobby Jindal...catholic
3. Mike Huckabee...hick
4. Scott Walker...accomplished
5. Chris Christie...fat
6. Ben Carson...doctor
7. Lindsey Graham...please God, No! ( sorry, that's three words)
8. Rick Perry...glasses
9. Ted Cruz...volcanic
10. Rand Paul...long shot
11. Marco Rubio...young

As far as the Democrats go, they are determined to cement themselves as the party of women by currently offering three female candidates, Hillary Clinton, Elizabeth Warren, and Joe Biden. At some point I'm sure that a Democratic man will be cojoled into throwing his hat into the ring. Perhaps John Kerry or Al Franken.

It's going to be a long 21 months...

Thanks, Netflix!!

I'm not a television guy. Generally speaking I would rather read. But things are changing here at Casa Dunnevant with the arrival of the single greatest advancement in home entertainment since the piano...Netflix.

Now that the nest is empty and Pam and I don't have the weighty responsibility of parenthood draped over our shoulders, we have been freed to eat our dinner in the den while watching a series of wonderful television shows, all of which come to us courtesy of Netflix and the Bristish Empire. There are no insufferable commercials, and if we wish to watch a second episode we just press play. The fact that most of our favorite shows come from Great Britain is a curiosity. Although American television is more slickly produced and the actors much more attractive, they simply cannot compete with the story-telling, acting and intelligence of their British counterparts. Of course, there are exceptions to this broad statement. If you want a riveting chase scene or gun play or scantily clad babes, then American television has no peer. But if you want smart, witty characters with something to say, stories that make you think, and characters to actually care about, check out any of the following:

1. Foyle's War.  Set in a coastal town in southern England at the outbreak of WWII, it's the story of a detective too old for the army who must stay at home solving crimes while his country is fighting for its life. Most of the crimes are related to the war effort, black market theivery and whatnot, but Foyle still feels that he isn't doing his bit. He hires a spunky and adorable girl to be his driver and the
relationship  that developes between the two is amazingly sweet without anything approaching trite or clichéd. But it's Foyle himself who carries the show. Soft spoken and older man handsome, his keen and curious mind is fascinating to watch. He doesn't actually say much which adds to his appeal. We watched all eight seasons and every climatic arrest scene was pulled off without the brandishing of even one weapon.

2. Downton Abbey.  Enough has been said by me about this wonderful drama. Lush, beautiful to look at, the show is simply chocked full of characters that you will care deeply about.

3. Doc Martin.  Another seaside location in Cornwall provides the setting for this comedy without a laugh track. It's the story about a gifted London surgeon who developes a phobia at the sight of blood and must give up the knife and become a general practitioner in the mythical village of Portwen.
Although the good doctor is medically gifted, he has truly horrible people skills and lacks the ability
or inclination to tell a convenient or social lie. There's a word for this...RUDE, and he has it in spades. Despite his wretched manner, he finds himself attracted to the lovely school head mistress and watching their relationship blossom is like watching a slow motion train wreck. The lead actor is fortunate to be British because he would never land a lead role in an American series since he is truly and indisputably ugly, almost Shrek-like. Actually it's part of his charm and in a weird way makes
him sympathetic.

4. Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries. This is a production from Austrailian television about a beautiful heiress in Melbourne during the roaring 20's who becomes that rarest of breeds...a lady detective. This show is where the Great Gatsby meets Amelia Earhart. Phryne Fisher is adorable with her short bob haircut and astonishingly gorgeous clothes, as she proves as equally adept at seduction as she is at brandishing her gold plated pistol or climbing a trellis or speeding along the back roads in her fabulous car. She developes a thing for the local police detective, an incorruptible, by the book sort of
guy who she always seems to be annoying. The stories are wonderful, and the supporting cast all bring their own charms to this delightful production.

Ok, that's enough to get you started. You're welcomed.