Friday Fodder

Just a few random musings for a lazy Friday...

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A weather haiku I dashed off just now:

Nature Doesn't Do Calendars
Nice having winter
Cold, wet, windy, snow, blowing
But isn't it Spring?

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So the U.S. Navy has taken a giant step forward into the Star Trek future, and has installed a working laser - called LaWS, for Laser Weapons System - that has supposedly been 100% accurate in taking down attacking drones, because no matter how they fly, they're not faster than light.

Here's a video released by the Navy in the last day or so.



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And here's a cute little animated GIF sent to me by former list member Dianne F. ... my daughter wonders if this cat is naturally talented or if there was training involved. Your thoughts?

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Mark's Musings is published on a periodical basis - right now on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays - but that may change without notice. Find me on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/markmusings. This blog is considered to be a digital periodical publication and is filed as such with the U.S. Library of Congress; ISSN 2154-9761. Spending the weekend with my Dad. See you Monday!

Word Rescue

You know how every year this or that group comes out with their annual list of words that should be banned, or phrases we never want to hear again? (I believe I have run those type of lists. Here. And here.)

Well, the clever folks at Wayne State University - just a click of the big hand south of my home - issue annual lists of words that have fallen out of favor and deserve a second chance.

Words like:
Cerulean ... Dragoon ... Mawkish ... Natter

These are words, say the WSU Word Warriors, that are "some of the English language's most expressive - yet regrettably neglected - words."

You can find the complete list, with definitions, here.

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WORDS THAT MAKE MY STOMACH PLUMMET
As seen in "The Writer's Almanac"
by Mira McEwen

Committee Meeting.     Burden Of Proof.
     The Simple Truth.          Trying To Be Nice.
Honestly.   I Could Have Died.     I Almost Cried.
         It's Only A Cold Sore.
It's My Night.       Trust Me.       Dead Serious.
I Have Everything All Under Control.
              I'm Famous For My Honesty.
     I'm Simply Beside Myself.           We're On The Same Page. 
         Let's Not Reinvent The Wheel.
For The Time Being.    There Is That.
              I'm Not Just Saying That.
I Just Couldn't Help Myself.                   I Mean It.

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Mark's Musings is published on a periodical basis - right now on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays - but that may change without notice. Sliding your mouse all the way to the right where you see that sliver of black will get you a few more links and ways to follow me and/or find out when a new post has been published. This blog is considered to be a digital periodical publication and is filed as such with the U.S. Library of Congress; ISSN 2154-9761.
 

With No Apologies to Clement Moore

My daughter finished up her Segment I driver training yesterday, which means I have once again pretty much become a passenger in my own vehicle. All part of the parenthood process.

And I apologize for the spotty e-mails recently. I've been working on a couple of long, tough projects to finish before Christmas and by the time I remember I still have a post to write, it's 10:00 at night! So I've just been updating the blog here. Check down below to catch up on anything you may have missed.

Finally ... Merry Christmas!

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CHRISTMAS POEM
By Pastor Zachary Bartels

'Twas 750 years before Christmas and all throughout Judah
There were idols aplenty (of Baal, not Buddha)

The Assyrian Empire was everywhere feared
Led by Tiglath-Pilesar, whose name was quite weird

King Ahaz had buckled like the belt on my khakis
And the great nation Judah became boot-licking lackeys

They abandoned the covenant and the God who had made them
And looked to Egypt for help, which had been ... umm ... forbaden.

Their enemies were mean, they were kickers and spitters
So the people lost hope, like a bunch of lame quitters

The Devil was happy; he was pleased! He was winning!
With the king a big wimp and the people all sinning

And so, without hope, they gave in to these Gentiles
As Isaiah had prophesied, a couple of exiles

The south off to Babylon, the North to Assyria
('fore that massive Diaspora from Spain to Siberia)

Could there be hope again for this covenant people?
It seems the Old Testament's in need of a sequel

For 400 years, not a peep from a prophet
God withheld the big bomb, not quite ready to drop it

Then about A.D. 1, God said, "Now, let's get to it
And reverse the great curse that came down when they blew it"

The arrangements all made and the stage all prepared
The Virgin conceived and the census declared

And up in the heavens, God let loose with his Spirit
(He doesn't say "Ho ho ho" -- when He laughs you feel it)

"On Raphael, on Michael, on Uriel, on Gabriel
Operation Immanuel will kick off in a stable"

Salvation is coming; Satan's curse is deleted
The people redeemed and the devil defeated

Old Satan was cooked -- with potatoes and gravy
How horribly embarrassing -- to be trounced by a baby

So into the darkness was born a great light
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night

[written by Pastor Zachary Bartels; used with his permission]

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WEBSITE of the WEEK: Trent Hamm writes a blog called "The Simple Dollar," as well as two books. Both book and blog contain very practical and down-to-earth advice on finances, and how to simplify your life. Today I'm highlighting his December series, called "Out with the Old, In with the New." Begin at the bottom of the page, read up, and when you get to the top, go back to the bottom and click "Newer Posts." Then do it again.

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Mark's Musings is available via an RSS Feed, a Facebook Note, the Amazon Kindle and via e-mail each weekday (usually). Subscriptions are free. ISSN 2154-9761.

Look at Me

Ah, the ol' schedule caught up with me again this week, leaving y'all without an e-mail post today. My apologies.

And, for some reason, this song has been stuck in my mind the past day or so. I wrote it "back in the day" when I was doing that sort of thing regularly.

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LOOK AT ME

I'm a child, look at me, I am growing wings
Butterfly, floating free on the rising wind
I could share it with you if you'd only see
How He holds all our tomorrows
In a moment

I'm a dream, look at me, I am coming true
I could be everything, if you only knew
How I long to be part of your heart and soul
And we could hold onto forever
In a moment

People can be such a lonely autumn
But winter never frightens those
Who know the spring
You can never find peace of mind
In the moonlight
But morning sun puts all your doubts to wing

I'm a song, look at me, I'm a serenade
Everything you would want in a grand parade
But I'm just passing through and it won't be long
Until I'm changed into forever
In a twinkling

(short acoustic guitar solo)

And people can be such a lonely autumn
But winter never frightens those
Who know the spring
And you can never find peace of mind
In the moonlight
But morning sun drives all your doubts to wing

I'm a child, look at me, I am growing wings
Butterfly, floating free on the rising wind
I could share it with you if you'd come with me
And we could lose this life together
In a moment


(words and music copyright by Mark Raymond; from his "Simply Divine" recording)

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WEB SITE of the WEEK: List member and fellow blogger Zach Y. turned me on to http://swagbucks.com/. It's a search site that pays you "swag bucks" for using it, as well as for many other things. With those bucks, you can purchase gift certificates to online retailers, or spend them on "swagstakes" where prizes such as an iPad or Amazon Kindle are given away.

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Mark's Musings is available via RSS Feed, a Facebook Note, an Amazon Kindle and via e-mail each weekday (usually). Subscriptions are free. ISSN 2154-9761.

Coffee 23

Pretty nice mosaic pictured above, eh? Well, at least if you're using HTML in your e-mail browser. Blog readers can see this picture (and three more below) just to the left. This was created at the "Aroma Festival at the Rocks" in Sydney, Australia.

It is, of course, the Mona Lisa. What makes this worthy of Mark's Musings is that it was made with 3,604 cups of coffee. Black, with cream (no mention of sugar), some latté, some with just milk and no coffee ... but, yeah, coffee.

Think I'll go make some.

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BOOK OF COFFEE
Chapter 23

Caffeine is my shepherd, I shall not doze.

It causeth me to wake from deep dreaming.

It leadeth me beyond the sleeping masses.

It restoreth my buzz.

It leadeth me in the paths of consciousness for my day job's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of addiction, I will fear no cat naps, for thou art in my thermos.

Thy cream and thy sugar, they comfort me.

Thou preparest a carafe before me in the presence of a barista.

Thou anointest my day with pep; my mug runneth over.

Surely richness and taste shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of Maxwell forever.

[Syman Says via Ed Peacher's Laughter for a Saturday; edits and some rewrites by Mark Raymond]

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WISDOM for YOUR WEEK: "So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." (1 Corinthians 10:31)

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Haiku for Today

Bumped into a busy 24-hour cycle here, troops, so just some homemade haiku today.

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HAIKUS FOR TODAY

Facebook friends? Lots. But
Do I really need to know
You're in the bathroom?

Ella, Frank, past greats;
On American Idol
Would they win today?

On global warming:
Would it hurt to live greener
No matter your views?

The big game is big.
The commercials are bigger.
Super Bowl Sunday

Oscar's Big Party
Why can't my teenager see
Nominated films?

[written by Mark Raymond]

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WONDER for YOUR WEEK: If a poet writes one poem and then another, has he put himself in reverse?

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P.S. - Before I get a lot of mail, yes, I *do* realize that this year's nominees have several films that my daughter could see. Did see, in fact. I was speaking in generalizations.

Mark's Musings is available via RSS Feed, Facebook Note, Amazon Kindle, and e-mail by clicking here.

Rhopalic Contest

As I typed the date for today's post, I realized that 30 years ago today I moved to this part of Michigan. Wow. I think I just felt an artery harden. Or maybe it was a root. I seem to have put down a few.

Hey, I learned a new word recently: "rhopalic." It basically means something that gets subsequently longer. It was first applied to poetry where each line of the poem grew longer, but was then also applied to the number of syllables in a word. The Washington Post Style section recently held a contest to come up with a sentence where each subsequent word was one *letter* longer than the last. Here are a few results that tickled my fancy.

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Go out west, urged Taylor swiftly.

My bra fits lower, darnit, because gravity's heartless.

The weak vegan senses: Sauteed reindeer satisfies completely!

King Midas dreamt, feeling giltless.

Palin writes notably readable biography: Republican womanifesto.

"I Am Sam, Play Again" ... Seuss's rhyming revision refreshes "Casablanca."

U Nu, the only Burma leader elected, provides countless palindrome enthusiasts interminable entertainment.

"Oh, you heel!" cried direly injured Achilles.

"I do," she says. Groom silent.

I am not with child, merely heavier. Imbecile.

[selected from the Washington Post Style Invitational]

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WONDER for YOUR WEEK: Is it mere coincidence that "silent" and "listen" are spelled using the same letters?

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More Limerick Fun

Two hundred and one years ago today, Edgar Poe was born, the son of two actors. However, both his parents died of tuberculosis when he was a small boy, and he was taken in by a wealthy Scot merchant named John Allan, who gave Poe his middle name.

He was sent to a prestigious university in Virginia but fell in with the wrong crowd and began drinking and gambling. Disapproving of his ways and career choices, his foster father eventually threw him out of the house, and he began living with his aunt, supporting himself by writing anything he could. He even wrote a "how-to" guide for seashell collecting.

He began writing for a new literary trend - magazines - and came to calling himself a "magazinist." He wrote humor and satire, and made just $4-$15 per magazine article, and nothing when the article was reprinted, as many of them were. Eventually he married his 14-year old cousin, and when he found out that she also had tuberculosis, just like his parents, he began to write darker and more grotesque stories.

At one point, he and his wife were so broke, they had sold nearly everything they owned to a pawn shop, and were living on bread and molasses. As he watched his wife's health grow slowly worse, he wrote the horror fiction and poetry for which we now consider him famous. Edgar Allan Poe was widely reprinted in France, where he inspired a generation of French poets and authors, and is now credited in this country for inventing both the detective story and the psychological horror story.

With thanks to The Writer's Almanac.

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FUN WITH LIMERICKS

On the poor turtle depression befell.
To a psychologist his troubles he'd tell.
"You are simply too shy,"
Said the doc, "And that's why
You should really come out of your shell."

Quasimodo was hurting a bunch.
His doctor thought his spine had gone "Crunch!"
"Something's wrong with your back,"
"Doc, what makes you say that?"
The physician replied, "Just a hunch."

Actress McLaine lived out in the West
And had an ongoing request.
When she made a joke,
Her friends then all spoke,
As one, they said, "Shirley, you jest!"

The repair man worked many long days
On the bathroom scale's faulty displays
When folks stepped on the scale
Their faces turned pale
As they saw the error of their weighs!

With key in ignition I'm thwarted,
My "DieHard," I fear, has departed.
For it would appear
I have no charge here
Dead battery? Don't get me started!

[JokeMaster]

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WORDS for YOUR WEEK: "If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." (Leonard Cohen)

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Limerick Fun

I am so late posting this, let's just do a joke today.

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FUN WITH LIMERICKS

The State of Virginia evokes
A lesson they say is no joke.
If a boat you should row,
Use a hardwood - you know -
Don't row a pine, Roanoke.

Once a gambler in debt far too deep
Was in need of a way to live cheap.
So he planted by hand
Lots of crops on his land;
Now he just has to weed 'em and reap.

Won't you please use the word sense requires
To precisely explain your desires.
When you put on a wheel
You'll find lug nuts ideal;
Using dough nuts just puts on spare tires.

There once was an old man of Esser
Whose knowledge grew lesser and lesser.
It at last grew so small
He knew nothing at all.
And now he's a college professor.

[JokeMaster with help from Wit and Wisdom]

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WISDOM for YOUR WEEK: "Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds." (Deuteronomy 11:18)

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Music

You ever hear the saying, "You're dead to me"?

Turns out that's what the people who run the Grammy Awards said to Polka Music last week.

It has officially been eliminated as a competitive category for that hallowed music industry award.

Polka is dead.

Long live polka.

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"MUSIC"

When I was a child
I once sat sobbing on the floor
Beside my mother's piano
As she played and sang
For there was in her singing
A shy yet solemn glory
My smallness could not hold

And when I was asked
Why I was crying
I had no words for it
I only shook my head
And went on crying

Why is it that music
At its most beautiful
Opens a wound in us
An ache a desolation
Deep as a homesickness
For some far-off
And half-forgotten country

I've never understood
Why this is so

But there's an ancient legend
From the other side of the world
That gives away the secret
Of this mysterious sorrow

For centuries on centuries
We have been wandering
But we were made for Paradise
As deer for the forest

And when music comes to us
With its heavenly beauty
It brings us desolation
For when we hear it
We half remember
That lost native country

We dimly remember the fields
Their fragrant windswept clover
The birdsongs in the orchards
The wild white violets in the moss
By the transparent streams

And shining at the heart of it
Is the longed-for beauty
Of the One who waits for us
Who will always wait for us
In those radiant meadows

Yet also came to live with us
And wanders where we wander

[by Anne Porter from "Living Things: Collected Poems" copyright 2006 Steerforth Press; as reprinted with permission in The Writer's Almanac]

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WORD for YOUR WEEK: So where does this word "polka" come from and why do we have both polka dots and polka music? Turns out the word is originally from Poland, where it was the feminine form of "polock" - literally a Polish woman instead of a man. Some sources think it may also be an alteration of the Czech word "pulka," which meant "half" and was used to describe the half-steps in a peasant dance popular in the early 1800s. The dance - and the word - migrated to England in the mid-1800s and the dance step began being called a "polka dot" due to the deliberate stamping of the foot instead of a more elegant step. The dance and the words were caught up by fashion designers who used the term to describe the dotted fabrics they were creating.

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Trees

Tomorrow is Earth Day.

So many clicks at that site, so little time, I know....

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WITH APOLOGIES TO JOYCE KILMER

I think that I shall never see
An e-mail lovely as a tree

A tree whose roots are full and deep
That seek for nurture while I sleep

A tree that looks at God all day
While I and keyboard slave away

A tree that may in summer bloom
Right outside my PC's room

Upon whose branches snow will set
While I still browse the Internet

These posts are written by fools like me
But only God can make a tree

[written mostly by Mark Raymond, based on the 1914 poem, "Trees" by Joyce Kilmer]

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WORDS for YOUR WEEK: "There are no passengers on Spaceship Earth. We are all crew." (Marshall McLuhan)

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The TV

Although his birthday was last Thursday, today is the day we have chosen to nationally celebrate Martin Luther King, Junior's birthday. Government employees, bank workers, and what's left of our auto industry probably have today off.

It's also the 200^th birthday of Edgar Allan Poe (Postal Service releases stamp honoring him). He was a minor writer and social critic until his poem, "The Raven" was published in the New York Evening Mirror in 1845. Then he became an "overnight" celebrity and children would follow him down the street shouting, "Nevermore! Nevermore!"

So I decided to take my own swipe at this classic, skewed for a slightly different subject, and abridged so as not to bore you too much.

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THE TV
"Paid Programming"

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I sat there weak and weary,
Watching many a quaint and tired episode of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly dreaming, suddenly there came a screaming,
As if of someone yelling, selling items from a store.
" 'Tis some sad commercial, and the salesman's a bore"
Was what I muttered, sore.

Presently my ire grew stronger, hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your sales pitch I deplore;
But the fact is I was dreaming, and so loudly you came screaming,
And with your scheming you disturbed my slumber's gladsome snore,"
I spoke right at the TV - here I looked upon the floor -
The remote to find, and end his store.

But the TV, sitting lonely, in the dusty corner only
Kept on slamming, slamming me with paid programming.
A respite I did yearn, but to each new channel that I turned,
Was yet another salesman, scamming,
Selling, screaming, dancing, shamming,
To my ears my fists flew, damming.

And the TV, unrelenting, hawks its wares of new inventing,
No matter how much I sit venting words of lowly scoff.
To my bed I think of going, if I can't find one channel showing,
Something else; I'll watch e'en a rerun of pig at trough.
But finally I stand, shake my head and give a cough.
Touch the remote, and turn it off.

[written by Mark Raymond w/apologies to Edgar Allan Poe; copyright 2009]

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WORD for YOUR WEEK: With a tip o'the Mark's Musings cap to Rob Kyff, "The Word Guy," let's look at how the adverb "only" can change the meaning of a sentence depending upon where it's placed:

Only I poked him in his eye with my stick.
I only poked him in his eye with my stick.
I poked only him in his eye with my stick.
I poked him only in his eye with my stick.
I poked him in his only eye with my stick.
I poked him in his eye only with my stick.
I poked him in his eye with my only stick.
I poked him in his eye with my stick only.

So use your "only" choices carefully, pilgrims.

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Heart Lessons

Here are some words from author William Goldman, and his memories of the first time he ever saw "Porgy and Bess."

"My family went and we sat there and if you don't know the story, it's about this cripple, Porgy, who can't walk, and he gets around on this pathetic goat cart, towed by a scrawny goat, and we're someplace in the Deep South. Porgy is hopelessly in love with Bess, a beautiful woman, but weak. Toward the end, Porgy is sent to jail (he saved his friends by murdering the village monster) and while he is there, Bess is wooed by a pusher, Sportin' Life, who, using drugs as a lure, steals her away, takes her to New York City, which is the other end of the universe as far as anyone in this village is concerned.

"Porgy gets out of jail, and I am dreading the moment when he finds out Bess is gone. I mean, cripples don't win beauties in this world, not unless they are very rich indeed, and Porgy is a beggar. So he is out of jail and I am so scared for him, his life is over, how is he going to survive his loss, and he chitchats with the villagers and then he says it -- where's Bess?

"No one wants to answer but finally he finds out ... Bess is gone, she is gone forever, gone to New York City.

"Silence in the theatre. Then Porgy says these three amazing words:

" 'Bring my goat.' "

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LESSONS OF THE HEART

Love is not the latest ballad on the radio
It is the song of a lifetime

Love is not the size of the rock on the finger of a girl
It is the size of the rock you move to repair the relationship

Love is not the fairy tale that ends with "happily ever after"
It is the very real hand that wipes away the tears

Love is not to be found in the spotlight
It is waiting in the shadows

Love is not winning the argument
It is listening with an open mind and an open heart

Love is not flowers or candy
It is truth and honesty

Love is not a treasure you find
It is a commitment to the quest

Love is not expensive restaurants
It is the sacrifices made to feed a child

Love is not the dream come true
It is chasing the nightmares away

Love is not the success of money
It is the failure to find fault when you have none

Love is not the perfect picture
It is acceptance of all the flaws

[from MountainWings - with a few wee, tiny rewrites from yours truly - via Molly Rhea's Quotes of the Day]

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WORDS for YOUR WEEK: "Love is a symbol of eternity. It wipes out all sense of time, destroying all memory of a beginning and all fear of an end." (Author Unknown)

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