A description of my blog. http://www.my-site.com 9110124309244881944 Crazy Like God 2007/03/#9110124309244881944 2007-03-14 It is often said that there are no atheists in foxholes. This is undoubtedly true; what I find remarkable, however, is that there are no foxes in foxholes.

Interlude: Two French soldiers huddle in a foxhole.
Pierre: Any news from the front?
Jean-Claude: No. All is quiet on the western front.
Pierre: Any news from the back?
Jean-Claude: Quiet there too.
Pierre: Do we have any more croissants?
Jean-Claude: Let me check.
Pierre: Well?
Jean-Claude: Sacre bleu!
Pierre: What is it?
Jean-Claude: Foxes! A whole den of cute little baby foxes feasting on our croissants!
In unison: We surrender!

This, of course, never happened. French soldiers are known to have surrendered to marmosets, chinchillas and, in a particularly embarrassing incident, a small bit of dryer lint, but never to foxes.

I suggest, due to the absence of both atheists and foxes, that from now on we refer to holes dug for protection against an enemy in wartime "God-holes." In addition to being more technically accurate, this new appellation would also give rise to a renaissance in the area of battle-scene dialog writing:
"Get your head out of your God-hole and get me some ammo!"

"You call that a God-hole? I've seen 90 year old grandmothers with better God-holes than that."

"Sarge, have you seen Private Sandusky pretend to walk down the stairs into his God-hole? It's hilarious."
I guess you could use that last one with "foxhole" too. Still, just once I'd like to see somebody in a war movie do that pretend stairs thing. That gets me every time.

It was, coincidentally, a Frenchman who said that there is a "God shaped hole" in each of us. (It was either Pascal or Sartre. Google and I aren't sure which one, but either way, he's French. I'm pretty sure you could attribute the quote to either of them at a party and appear equally snobbish and effete.)

Now if there's one thing the French know about, it's their holes. I wonder, in fact, if maybe that "God-shaped hole" line was misinterpreted. French is a notoriously difficult language to translate into English, particularly for Americans who don't want to learn French. Perhaps Pascartes' statement was not an abstract philosophical expression but rather a very literal admonition to the French people to do what they do best: Run and hide in a hole.

In this light, Pascartes can be seen as advising his countrymen to find the nearest hole and hide in it until the trouble passes. What trouble? you ask. Well, the heaviness of being, for one thing, not to mention the whole problem of never being able to get that damn rock up the hill. Oh sure, maybe the danger is all in my head, but what do I have to lose by hiding indefinitely in a hole? Surely far less than if I were to risk being crushed by a large rock.

Wow, all this philosophizing is making me hungry. I feel like I've got a hole in me the size of a fox.

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]]> 691848206224900858 The Adventures of Crash McFarlane in the Blogosphere 2007/02/#691848206224900858 2007-02-05

Crash McFarlane hopped into his iPod, desperate to reach the blogosphere before dark.

The iPod sputtered to life, creaking and shuddering as it soared above the docking station. McFarlane prayed that the batteries would last. If they gave out before he reached the outer blog ring, he’d be stranded in Bluetooth territory when the sporks came out.

Once clear of the ebonic barrier, Crash set the iPod to shuffle to conserve energy. He sailed above the playstation, absently watching the kleenex bots meticulously detoxing the muffin-toppers and zine phishers. He wondered if he would ever come this way again.

The bloggers had made it very clear that they wouldn’t hesitate to TiVo his beloved Wiki if he didn’t return with the emoticon before dusk. He reflected on the irony of the situation: he knew that the power to defeat the bloggers lay within the emoticon itself, but only Google knew how to use it, and only the bloggers knew how to reach the old man. There was no other solution: he would have to turn the emoticon over to them, giving them the power to floam the entire city.

He wished there was some other way, but he couldn’t bear to allow Wiki to be TiVo’d. If the bloggers had given him the choice, he’d have gladly allowed himself to be TiVo’d in Wiki’s place. But they would not be so merciful. If he failed to deliver the emoticon, he would have to live with the fact that he had allowed the Wi-Fi energy of the TiVo device to turn Wiki into a mindless spork. So here he was, doing the bidding of the blogosphere, feeling like a complete palm pilot.

Eventually Crash nodded off, exhausted from hours of web hacking to retrieve the emoticon from the Wintel spamcops. He awoke to the sound of the gentle bling-bling alerting him that the iPod was nearing the Youtube. The tube would take him to the outer blogosphere, where the blogrollers were constantly shoring up the blog ring to protect the blogosphere from spork attacks.

Crash checked the battery levels. Two percent. Just enough to get him to the Youtube gateway. From there, the Youtube would propel the iPod to the blogosphere.

Suddenly the gaydar sounded. The neocon showed two spamcops approaching rapidly from behind.

Crash took the iPod out of safe mode and hit the accelerator. The Wii engines roared to life and the iPod rocketed toward the Youtube gateway. Crash could practically see the battery levels dropping. He wasn’t going to make it.

The gaydar blinged again: The spamcops had launched a volley of Gnutella logic bombs.

Crash looked down, scanning the netscape for a place to ditch the iPod. He spotted a small patch of blue. No, he thought. It can't be. Can it?

As the blue patch grew larger, there could no longer be any doubt. It was a long shot, but it was his only chance.

He jammed the joystick forward and the iPod hurtled downward, toward the Blue Screen of Death.


TO BE CONTINUED...


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]]> 6326169111099156685 Homophilia 2006/11/#6326169111099156685 2006-11-24 Occasionally I will help my seven year old son study for his spelling tests. This is always a struggle for me, because the teacher insists on stacking the spelling word list with homophones (no, not homophobes. They are not teaching my son to memorize the names of famous bigots in spelling class. They do that in history). For example, a recent list included the words seen, weed, there, been, need, where, there, here, and seem. Words such as this tempt me to be extra-helpful by using the word in a sentence, such as "Ben had been here all day, and had seen this scene before." Or "I hear there seems to be a tear in their seam here." I know it's cruel of me, but what do they expect?

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