The Lynch Pen

How Do I Hug Thee? Let Me Count The Ways

2012-05-10T20:46:00.001-07:00

How often do you hug your family?

You see, I have seen this tender communication of unconditional love cheapened.

It has evolved into the new handshake.

When the Knicks got over-Heated by Miami the other night, the opponents met at half court to exchange postgame hugs.

No one seemed too happy to be hugging 250 pounds of exhausted Lebron as he dispensed 6 quarts of hot sweat to each hugger.

Yecchhh!

These pro sports hugs have all the sincerity of an apology from John Edwards.

Teens, meanwhile, have turned the hug into the common greeting between acquaintances.

According to a recent survey, hugging is creeping into the business world.

Here's the problem: Outside the home, the hug is gaining.

Inside the home, the hug is fading.

And it's inside the home that it is most needed.

The hug you give your son, daughter, spouse, parent, or sibling is silent therapy.

Your eyes closed, arms tightly around her.

Time stops.

Something powerful flows through you.

You are momentarily safe from all threats, removed from whatever's bothering you.

In the loving hug, you're like a baby in the arms of her mother.

Isn't it strange that the act that says the most to us about love is without words?

My dog Marby doesn't do much from a practical standpoint other than bark at strangers and the mailman.

But she makes us feel so loved with her form of hugs.

She wants to touch us: chin on my knee, sleeping on my wife's foot, or leaning against me just watching TV together.

She somehow knows that physical closeness is therapeutic for her and for me.

There is an Indian mystic called "The Hugging Saint" .

Her name is Amma.

People all over the world line up by the tens of thousands just to get a hug.

Most leave in tears, some kind of dam broken to release pent-up emotion.

My dad's hugs were of the big bear variety, bristly whiskers scratching my cheeks, old spice filling my nostrils.

Mom gently enveloped us kids in an overstuffed comforter kind of hug, so soothing you could fall asleep mid-hug, faint traces of her delicate "White Shoulders" perfume left on my face.

In a couple of days, my daughter is headed off to an Asian trip.

Won't see her again until January.

I'll take her to the airport and just before she heads down Concourse A, she and I will pause.

I won't be able to talk.

Tears.

We will hug.

The universe, just for a few seconds, will consist of her and me and an unbreakable bond of love.

In your family, delete the words for just a minute.

Nothing is as articulate as the loving soliloquy you deliver with your arms bent around those you love.

So hug your family.

Shock the heck out of them.

You won't be embarrassed.

You'll be invigorated.

Shut your mouth and open your arms.

Let two hearts connect.

If you don't, l'll make you hug Lebron.

Yecchhh!

Mr. President, Let Me introduce You To A Real Community Organizer

2012-05-03T20:02:00.001-07:00

His family was beaten daily while armed guards surrounded the rundown hovel the government forced him to call home.

What a bleak existence.

This unlikely freedom fighter, Chen Guangcheng by name, is the most famous lawyer in China.

Whoever thought this blind 41-year-old self-taught attorney would ever overcome his handicap to challenge the most powerful dictatorship on earth?

How did Chen get here?

With the same relentless determination he used to overcome society's attitude toward the sightless, Chen initiated legal actions to protect farmers stripped of their land by the greedy government.

Chen then went after China's holy cow: forced abortions.

He said it out loud: no moral authority should kidnap pregnant women to bloody their wombs with the atrocity of "pregnancy terminations" conducted at gunpoint.

Corpses of the tiny pre-born accumulate in Chinese solid waste facilities.

Chen forced the government to listen to him.

And to the unheard voices of over 400 million children ripped from their mothers strapped to a gurney.

Mengele-esque.

So Chen, the prisoner under house arrest, hatched a plan.

He pretended to be ill for six weeks.

The guards became lax.

How closely must you watch a blind man riddled with infirmity?

He snuck out of his room late at night.

A garden wall was his challenge.

Summoning all his strength, he scaled the wall like Spiderman, landing on the other side, snapping his ankle bone.

Almost one thousand yards away, a car waited.

He hobble-sprinted to the automobile and the escapee's chauffeur, another young dissident, put the pedal to the metal.

In no time, several hundreds of miles later, Chen's chariot of freedom pulled into sanctuary: the American Embassy!

The outraged Chinese government decried the meddling by the Americans.

Meanwhile, the world beheld the breathless daring of this new international hero.

His ever-present sunglasses gave him a certain cachet.

Not since Lech Walessa challenged the Polish Politburo has one man so galvanized millions across the globe.

James Bond was a fiction.

Chen is the real deal.

How will the drama and?

Not well, if our president continues to sit on his hands.

Obama has been no-commenting his way through this saga of courage since it began.

After the State Department announced that it had negotiated Chen's safe exit from the embassy into a police infested Chinese hospital, the Chinese government said nothing had been negotiated with anyone.

So today Chen lives in the medical facility converted into a militarized holding cell to keep Chen under wraps.

A congressional committee talked to Chen live over a cell phone during a committee hearing Thursday.

It was riveting.

Chen pled for help for himself and for his family.

Will it come?

I pray that it does.

Does Secretary of State Hillary Clinton share my prayer?

Does she really want Planned Parenthood to see her assist the world's greatest pro-life activist?

Does President Obama want to help the Communist Party's biggest critic when the White House is hawking American debt in Beijing?

Don't let Chen's story die off.

The speedy driver who took him to the United States Embassy has disappeared, Mafia style.

This is a moment in history, Mr. President.

Seize this moment.

Be like the president who intoned, " Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall."

Stare down the Red Dragon: Don't pet him while you feed him treats of American jobs and American real estate.

You and Walmart are slowly bringing that Dragon to American shores.

Stop it now and use this opportunity to force the Dragon into the bright light of public scrutiny.

Then perhaps the Red Dragon will face the same fate as the Russian Bear: ultimate extinction.

Let's secure freedom for Chen.

And for the world.

Don your sunglasses, Americans.

Pray for presidential courage.

And for a gutsy blind lawyer who hopes the bald eagle will carry him off to freedom for himself and for a world holding its breath.

Lip Locked Ladies Assault Our Values

2012-04-26T19:22:00.001-07:00

Here's another story torn from the pages of "Boiled Frog Misses Slow Incremental Water Temperature Increase".

We are the boiled frog, every day assaulted by the modern culture.

The new Urban Outfitters catalog has found its way into your child's mailbox.

And they waste no time.

Page two contains a photograph of two beautiful teenage girls.

One girl is wearing a beige ankle-length sundress with flats.

The other girl is wearing a knee-length aquamarine and white cocktail dress with platform shoes.

The picture helps display the "Kaleidoscope" dress collection.

So far so good.

The two girls are kissing.

Full lips-on-lips kissing, with ankle-length embracing knee-length, the young lady on the left holding the other one's head in her hands just like Clark Gable and in Vivian Leigh in Gone With The Wind.

Urban Outfitters focuses its marketing energies on teenagers.

Young teenagers.

Do you care?

Or do we just let the cook turn up the flame one degree higher on the stove?

Believe it or not there are people who do care.

An organization called One Million Moms dedicates itself to stamping out exploitation of children in the media.

They have asked Americans to call Urban Outfitters at 18002822200 to record their objection and to cancel their catalog subscription.

In this world in which Ellen Degeneres and Rosie O'Donnell offer friendly peeks into their modern lifestyle, it is politically incorrect to criticize the promotion of lesbianism.

One Million Moms is being accused of hate speech because of their courageous position.

Thank goodness free speech is still protected by the by those few remaining threads left in the fabric of the First Amendment.

It is possible to be a loving and compassionate person who honestly believes that homosexuality is unhealthy and dare I say it, sinful and wrong.

Of course we must love others, including those with gay and lesbian tendencies and attractions.

But it is far from loving to get swept up in the wave of I'm-ok-you're-ok thinking that makes good people feel guilty about criticizing behavior which can only lead to ruin for the most innocent among us: our children.

So hats off to One Million Moms.

The pornography and immorality that passes itself off as advertising these days does not fly completely under the radar.

There are those that are willing to stand up and be counted.

Are you among them?

Or are you sitting in the pot not noticing that the one cooked by the cook is you.

Make your voice heard.

If you get cooked, who will protect your children and grandchildren?

Demolition Can't Destroy True Spirit of Peace

2012-04-19T21:28:00.001-07:00

The second largest nation in the world, India, proclaims its national motto proudly.

"Truth Alone Triumphs"

Unfortunately, sometimes whole nations fall short of this professed ambition.

Recent news from Allahabad, India, tells a disturbing story.

A peaceful ashram in this city of over one million has had the unmitigated gall to refuse to pay the expected freight: bribes.

The Kriyayoga Institute has for many years been an oasis for those dedicated to the Gandhian principles of nonviolence.

Citizens of the USA, Canada, Brazil, and many others join native Indians in quiet meditation.

All religions are welcome.

Christians, Hindus, and Muslims share their quiet dedication together.

The lion lays down with the lamb.

Until the corrupt local police and their bulldozer arrive.

Because this small compound refuses to pay the graft, an entire building was destroyed by an armed mob who crashed the gates and destroyed the structure housing disabled pilgrims.

Local police led the attackers, despite a court order issued to stop such horrors.

If you can stomach it, watch the YouTube video that captures the callous crooks of local government in India.

Go to YouTube and type in "India attacked by India".

Women and children are forcibly removed by the corrupt officials. An American doctor from Florida suffers injuries at the hands of the determined thugs.

The rubble that remains at the site of the residence hall designed for the wheelchair bound is all that is left of the building constructed without the payment of bribes.

This modern Mafia story could come from the pen of the Godfather's Mario Puzo, but it is all too true.

We in America treasure our land as one in which our Constitution guarantees the Rule of Law.

Unfortunately, local life in India is highlighted by a culture of corruption which must be embraced even if you seek something as noble as a respite for the physically challenged.

This occurs on a scale that would make Jimmy DiMora seem like a piker.

Fellow Americans, our brothers and sisters in India are part of our human family.

Will you help?

Send an e-mail to the Indian Prime Minister at manmohan@sansad.nic.in.

Ask him to refer this matter to the Central Bureau of Investigation (the CBI, India's equivalent of our FBI) for a full inquiry.

Let him know that we embrace justice everywhere and that the carnage in Allahabad must stop.

Friends, I stayed at this ashram during my recent Indian excursion.

I am shaken.

Please join me in this international effort.

Peace doesn't just mean the absence of war.

It also means defending truth and encouraging compassion.

"Truth Alone Triumphs"

Shame on you, Allahabad Development Authority.

Truth has not triumphed.

It has been destroyed by a bulldozer.

Let's rebuild it.

Don't cry for them, Argentina: Say Thank You

2012-04-12T21:45:00.001-07:00

This true story is gripping and it happened just last week.

In the City of Resistencia, Argentina, the humid tropical air makes for sticky summer days and winters that are short and only somewhat cooler.

Developed in the late 1800's, this town has grown up, transforming itself from an agricultural to a service economy, the population just a tad smaller than Cleveland, Ohio.

As a result, Resistencia, like Cleveland, has developed as a first-rate medical center where the doctors are top-notch.

That's why Analia Bouter and her husband Fabian resigned themselves to accept God's will.

The outstanding obstetrics staff did all they could but sadly, the little baby girl didn't make it.

One of the greatest medical teams in the world tried its best but that tiny sweet face belonged to a corpse, stillborn.

Mom and dad finally left the hospital, toting an empty car seat, brokenhearted.

Red-eyed, grief stricken.

The time passed slowly at home, but that delicate countenance wouldn't leave their hearts.

Sleep would not come, the vivid image of their dead daughter haunting them both.

Finally, 12 hours after the doctors signed the death certificate, they could take no more.

They had to see her again.

One last time.

Analia brought her camera.

Maybe a snapshot would help preserve the memory that would be all they would have left of the little girl they had named Luciana Abigail.

In silence, they drove to the morgue.

The attendant led them to a room full of little drawers designed for infants who never saw their first steps.

Never shook their first rattle.

As the drawer slid open, Analia reached to open the cover of the little coffin.

She heard something.

It startled her.

A whimper. Crying.

She's alive!

The attendant called 911 and the ambulance raced to that same hospital, the parents singing God's praises.

Incredible miracle.

The parents changed the child's name to Luz Milagros, which translates to "Miracle Light".

The Argentine government has initiated a full investigation of the hospital staff.

The team in the delivery room has been suspended.

"They will have to answer for this", said Rafael Sabatinelli, Undersecretary of health for the Argentine Ministry.

The parents aren't looking to blame anyone.

Why?

They know that talented doctors gave their very best effort.

They just happened to receive the gift of a miracle.

Are we so jaded that when a baby becomes Lazarus, we can't just accept it?

What about you?

Are you open to the possibility?

I hope so.

Be like these parents and not like the bureaucrats.

Miracles do happen and no one's to blame.

Well, there is someone to blame: God.

If you look hard enough, you might find some miracles in your own life.

The marriage that's survived challenges.

A son who has defeated addiction.

A life prolonged despite a deadly diagnosis years ago.

A daughter who has forgiven a flawed parent.

Don't look for someone to blame. Look for someone to thank.

The same someone who gave the world Luz Milagros.

Peace.

What's On Tap for the Anti-Christian Culture

2012-04-05T19:33:00.001-07:00

Lately, our culture has become so crass that examples of abject spit-in-your-face disrespect for people of faith just scroll past our lives almost unnoticed.

It's like that irritating crawl moving from left to right at the bottom of the screen during a cable news broadcast.

Sometimes you have to look at it and realize what's really happening.

I found this one to be outrageous so let's see what you think.

A few months ago a beer company called Stella Artois began to run a series of commercials supplemented by billboards with the following slogan: "It's a Chalice, not a glass."

The television spots feature a glass goblet treated with deep respect because of the golden liquid it contains when the Stella Artois light lager is poured.

For Christians, the word "Chalice" refers to that which holds the precious blood of Jesus Christ.

The Holy Grail referred to the original vessel shared by the Son of Man with his disciples at the Last Supper.

I'm offended.

These advertisements border on blasphemy as they conclude with the so-called "chalice" presented to young men and women at a bar.

Sacrilegious.

Can the Madison Avenue crowd be so insensitive that they are willing to demean one of the most important symbols in all of Christendom?

There are different versions of this commercial and some even go further.

In one edition, the viewer is instructed regarding the proper method of pouring the Stella Artois into the "Chalice".

One step is called the "purification", a clear reference to Catholic ritual.

Unbelievably, the consumer in the next phase is asked to honor the "sacrifice" in serving this beverage.

I also do not believe it was a coincidence that this advertising campaign was released almost simultaneous to the Pope's new directive substituting the word "Chalice" for the word "cup" in the new Catholic Missal.

So what can you do about it?

For those that care, I offer some marching orders.

First of all, boycott the product and encourage your friends and family to do the same.

Our values don't mean very much if we protect them for ourselves but allow others to stomp all over them in some kind of wild dance where the dancers wear stilettos and penny loafers, barely able to stay on their feet in an alcohol-induced stupor.

Secondly, use the commercial as a valuable teaching tool.

Give others the knowledge of your faith by explaining the eternal value of that which is contained in the Chalice held high by the priest in that most solemn moment re-enacting the events of Holy Thursday.

Third, communicate with the folks at Stella Artois and let them know you're feelings.

Believe it or not e-mails and especially handwritten letters are important to the public relations department. You can bring about change.

I cherish what a real chalice symbolizes.

Stella Artois doesn't.

Mr. Bartender, make mine a Bud.

Beer lovers should not stand for such an outrage.

Will you?

Politicians Have To Ponder Surprises Behind The Door

2012-03-29T19:17:00.001-07:00

The other day I saw a story about security costs for big-city mayors.

It's shocking to see how taxpayers spend hundreds of thousands of dollars or more to protect his or her Honor.

Years ago, as Mayor of Euclid, I would be confronted by a personal security concern every now and then.

Three stand out.

My first term as mayor began with layoffs to balance the huge deficit that greeted me my first day in office.

I answered the door one Friday evening at home and before me stood a mountain.

His name was Steve and he was on the layoff list in the service department.

I ushered him into our dining room where he tearfully expressed concern for his ability to support his family.

He could have crushed me with his bare hands.

My wife was worried and called the police.

Not necessary.

Steve left peacefully after a few minutes. He just had to get a few things off his chest.

He had to see the top man.

I get that. Everything was okay.

A second incident was more threatening but almost comical.

After I supported a tax increase (rare for me), I received an interesting letter.

The gentleman who sent it said that he was determined to respond to my tax position by punching me in the nose.

He said he attended my church and would not be deterred from carrying out his objective.

Here's the part that gets weird but also sort of funny.

The letter writer signed the correspondence, provided his address, and even included a photo of himself.

I turned the matter over to the police and the punch never materialized.

This last story really is a cautionary tale for politicians everywhere.

An attractive young woman began attending Council meetings.

She became active in the community, speaking up at town hall sessions and generally and sincerely seeking to influence municipal policy.

One night, I was alone in my office, working on a budget proposal.

There was a knock on the door to the Mayor's office which led directly to the outside parking lot facing the police station.

I opened it.

There stood that young woman.

She smiled and whispered something unintelligible.

I leaned in to understand her better.

She leaned in also.

And kissed me right on the lips.

I backed away, closed the door on her, and called the police chief to report the incident.

It was kind of scary and surrealistic.

It reminded me of the scene in the film The Natural when Robert Redford opens the door and there stands Barbara Hershey with a loaded derringer in her hand.

That night, my wife and I discussed future strategies in opening doors without knowing who is on the other side.

Well, my days in politics are long behind me.

But the truth is that people in political life have to worry about security, from City Councilmen all the way up to the President of the United States.

There are plenty of wackos out there.

Maybe there's one waiting for me at church this Sunday.

Put a peephole in your door, politicos.

It's always a good idea.

From the Mouths of Babes Come Important Lessons

2012-03-22T19:23:00.001-07:00

Lent is a time for introspection and contemplation.

Many of us prepare for the celebration of the resurrection by sharing in the passion of Christ during these 40 days.

One traditional method of participating in the Savior's suffering is by creating some degree of sacrifice in our own lives.

No matter how small, each little thing we deny ourselves helps unite us with the mission of Calvary.

So it was with great respect and reverence that I read through the short essays posted on the walls of Mater Dei Academy in Wickliffe.

The children in the early primary grades were asked to describe their efforts during the Lenten season.

Here are the highlights of a few of these reflections.

James P. wrote, " For Lent, I will not eat suckers because they are unhealthy. I'll give them to my sister who is sluggish and thin."

What a guy.

Mary S. also was concerned about candy. She said, " I have decided to give up gum for Lent. In this way I can give the money I save to the homeless. This will permit me to donate $6.54."

A future accountant, no doubt.

Joseph J. expressed damage control by saying, "I have decided that I will stop insulting people during Lent. That will help everyone I know."

Jacob R. said, "For Lent I am giving up spitting."

That's nice.

Margie W. said, " I am giving up playing the violin for Lent."

So much for practice.

Sometimes habits are hard to break. Mark W. said, " I have decided to give up hitting my brother for Lent. Normally, I hit him every day."

Timothy L. was thoughtful in telling us, "I am fasting during Lent because when I see Jesus, I take dying on the cross seriously. My brother isn't giving anything up but he needs to know that sacrificing things isn't a joke."

Stewart G. tells of a drama in his household.

His paper reads, "For Lent I am going to stop taking other people's stuff in my family because in the end it doesn't go well for me. I don't want to make mom and dad mad. No one wants that."

No one indeed.

David H. demonstrated that sometimes you have to make a choice: " For lent I had to choose between being nice to my brother or giving up pop. I decided to give up pop because it is too hard to be nice to my brother."

Matthew S. provided my favorite one. This is a young man who understands the heart of St. Francis.

He proudly proclaimed, " For Lent I have decided to give up wrestling my dog because it hurts him and makes him limp."

I have the feeling that at Matthew's home, Fido is somewhat apprehensive. The dawn of Easter Sunday may signal the opening bell of round one, with the family mutt stuck in a hammerlock little Matt learned watching Wrestlemania.

This last essay was very short but also very poignant, written by William M.

He said, "For Lent I am going to spend some time talking to my deaf and autistic brother. He likes to talk."

Now that's the true spirit of Lent.

Me?

I'm giving up ice cream.

It's just too hard to be nice to my mother-in-law.

What's It Like When Children Lose a Friend?

2012-03-15T20:12:00.001-07:00

Chardonites are asking about the impact when a young person loses a dear friend.

The impact is significant.

I know.

I lost my best bud Brian Doyle when I was seven years old.

Here's the story.

Brian and I both attended St. Ann School at Coventry and Cedar in Cleveland Heights.

Sometime in 1963 we bumped into each other walking home a fair distance east of our elementary school.

It was not unusual in those days for seven-year-olds to walk a mile or two to get home.

There were two second grade classes at St. Ann's back then, each with almost 50 kids.

Brian and I were not in the same class but that walk home together with Brian became the highlight of my day that year.

Brian and I quickly became fast friends.

Our walks down Stillman Road or Coventry if we were daring became our own road to Emmaus.

Brian's hopes and dreams. My hopes and dreams.

We discussed girls, the scary nuns(Sister St. John terrified us), the foibles of our classmates, and the finer points of blood ball. Blood ball was a ruthless keepaway game played during lunch recess on the asphalt parking lot of our school.

When our routes home finally diverged, Brian went his way and I went mine, day ended.

We never went to each other's houses, so our families never knew about this friendship.

But there was no doubt, Brian Doyle was my best friend in the world.

He knew me and I knew him.

We both had lots of brothers and sisters and we knew that growing up together at St. Ann's held the promise of great times together, loyal friends through thick and thin.

The spring of 1964 came along and our thoughts turned to baseball in the schoolyard and outdoor gym class.

Suddenly, Brian wasn't there.

Our teacher announced that Brian Doyle had drowned visiting a hotel while his family was traveling near Cincinnati.

My soul mate was gone.

I wanted to tell the teachers, my classmates, and my family that I had lost my alter ego.

But I was a second grader.

They didn't have grief counselors for us back then.

It seemed that my friendship with Brian was a secret he would take to the grave.

And I would carry this sense of loss with me, privately, forever.

The whole second grade went to the funeral.

I blended in with all the rest.

Anonymously shuffled through the service, quietly, in agony.

I imagined Brian's fear in his last seconds and shared those moments with him tearfully, he in the arms of Jesus while I plodded along, alone.

I remember closing my eyes and talking to him again.

Well, life moves forward, but Brian makes himself known to me on a regular basis, creeping into my consciousness and into my prayers.

What's the impact on young folks when they lose a friend?

Massive.

Especially if that friend is Brian Doyle.

I cherish those memories.

And I look forward to a reunion in heaven.

That dismissal bell rings and we're bounding eastward on Stillman, adventures along the way.

A friendship to be fulfilled, together, finally.

PEPSI: For Those Who Think (of eating their) Young

2012-03-08T19:44:00.001-08:00

The wolf spider represents a dark side of the animal kingdom.

The wolf spider eats its own young.

Not all of them.

Just enough of them to ensure there is adequate food supply to accommodate the remaining members of the brood.

It's a cruel version of the utilitarian philosophy that the end justifies the means, Mother Nature style.

The Pepsi generation now faces its own form of utilitarianism run amok.

Here's a story flying low on the radar of the mainstream media.

The Senomyx Corporation is a high-tech flavor enhancement research development company.

Senomyx recently signed a $30 million deal with Pepsi to create even more realistic artificial sweeteners.

Maybe Pepsi will one day obtain the Holy Grail of beverage manufacturing: diet sodas that don't taste like diet.

And maybe Senomyx is up to the challenge.

Here's the problem.

Senomyx has discovered that using human taste receptors is the most efficient way to isolate and identify flavor particles.

So where is Senomyx getting these human taste receptors?

From aborted babies.

You read that right.

From aborted babies.

Pro-life groups want Pepsi to discontinue its relationship with Senomyx.

Pepsi shareholders have introduced a resolution to have the second largest cola company in the world distance itself from this macabre practice.

What's next? Lampshades from the skin of those gassed in concentration camps?

Oh yeah, I forgot. The Nazis already did that.

I don't know about you, but my quest for the tastiest diet cola doesn't make me feel warm and fuzzy about using the remains of innocent children to satisfy that desire.

Pepsi has responded to the uproar in typical corporate bottom-line fashion.

Pepsi's consumer relations department issued a blanket e-mail that said we must recognize the trade-off.

The missive emphasized that Senomyx techniques would help create "low-calorie great tasting beverages for consumers."

Well.

Now there's a good reason.

What is wrong with us?

Are we so dedicated to the technology of creature comforts that anything is justified?

We've all heard about the lawsuits over foreign objects showing up in food products.

I just hope you don't find a little piece of a fingernail in a diet Pepsi someday.

A little piece of a very tiny fingernail.

That'd be gross.

It would also be a sign that we've sunk to a new low.

A frightening science fiction type of low.

Dr. Frankenstein meets Madison Avenue.

I don't know about you, but until Pepsi steps away from the idea of fetus enhanced products, I'll be drinking Coca-Cola.

I'll let somebody else deal with that tiny fingernail.

And the moral implications inherent in mixing the big business of abortion with big business.

Lessons From Daydream Believer and the Homecoming Queen

2012-03-01T18:41:00.001-08:00

We all eventually give up on some of our dreams.

It is then that we place them on a shelf.

The shelf of unfulfilled dreams.

Life is often cruel.

That cute girl you loved back in the seventh grade never gave you the time of day.

On to the shelf.

The high school baseball phenom who batted .378 his senior year and pitched two no-hitters!

Until his knee blew out at training camp, ending his chances at the big leagues.

Today he's a foreman for a commercial builder.

Another ambition kept somewhere on that shelf, gathering dust.

Never to be fulfilled.

Here's a little secret about politicians, major and minor.

They all dream about being President of the United States some day.

Then reality hits.

You're too old, too fat, or you just barely have enough charisma to get past the next school board race.

Suddenly it's apparent that the dream ain't happening.

On to the shelf.

The older you get, the more crowded becomes that shelf of unfulfilled dreams.

Too old to be a cop, too old to join the military, too old for the lead role, too old to have children, too old to visit Rome.

It's a pretty sad shelf for all of us I suppose.

I think the best way to deal with your shelf is to keep two rules in mind.

First of all, don't visit that shelf too often.

You obsess over your failures and bad luck.

Those emotional chotchkies will always be there, but they mean nothing today.

Secondly, and most importantly, focus on your new dreams.

After all, we all make adjustments.

No matter what your age, experience, or history strewn with the carnage of disappointments, you can strive for a new horizon.

And oddly, as we age, we tend to find dreams of greater value, even if the glamorous plans of the past have crashed and burned.

The new dream might be to hug your estranged son and tell him you love him.

One more thing.

You may have gloriously already fulfilled a great dream, so take a moment to appreciate it now and then.

Here's what I mean.

The late Davey Jones of the Monkees sang a poignant ballad called "Daydream Believer."

It's the tale of an ambitious young man who marries the love of his life, the beautiful High School Homecoming Queen.

They get married but live in poverty. Despite that, he believes he is living a fabulous dream.

The dream of his continuing love affair with that fantastic woman.

The love is the dream fulfilled.

Billionaires are frequently lonely but the Daydream Believer feels rich, celebrating the joy of life with his true love.

His shelf of unfulfilled dreams may be crowded but he lives for something greater today.

So close the door to that closet where you keep that shelf.

I guess you can take a look at it now and then.

But be more like the Day Dream Believer, searching for new vistas and embracing the truly valuable things and people you have right now.

Life is too short to think about that damn shelf.

Davey Jones is gone, but in his honor, let's strive to be daydream believers, forgetting the meaningless paperweights of the past and instead seeking and appreciating love.

Peace.

Snooty Snobs Snicker at Santorum's Satanic Salvo

2012-02-23T18:44:00.001-08:00

I remember the chill.

Palpable.

Terrifying, just to hear another man's description.

A few years ago I interviewed the detective that broke the Mary Jo Pesho murder case in 1996.

Deranged 17 year old Mark DiMarco tortured, raped, and then murdered this mother of three small children after abducting her at gunpoint at Parma Town Mall.

The teenaged monster described the atrocity with a certain glee, like the insane villain in a comic book film.

Only real.

The hard boiled detective knew the mean streets of the violent inner city.

Despite this, he feared DiMarco because in him, he sensed evil.

Pure evil.

Coldness surrounded DiMarco.

A demonic presence.

The investigator trembled in telling me that he'd been taught about it in Sunday school.

Until the theological theory became a terrifying reality in the interrogation room.

Satan.

When you fear for your children, you fear the predators.

The Mark DiMarco's.

The Detective looked Satan in the face and was afraid.

How about Morrie Rosenbaum of South Euclid?

At age 16, he faced Dr. Mengele at the Auschwitz Concentration Camp.

Relieved to be sent to a factory as contract slave labor (the alternative was the gas chamber), he realized the sadistic Nazi doctor was something other than human.

It was an encounter with the devil himself.

This is not a description.

It's an identification.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church says Satan exists. The New Testament doesn't hide behind political correctness, either.

So why the criticism of Rick Santorum's reference to Satan in a speech to Ave Maria University, a Catholic stronghold?

I guess that in today's modern age of tweets, internet searches, and satellite broadcasts, some hate to admit that there's a God in heaven, saints we petition, and angels that guide us.

But when the shovels cover the place of our burial with cold dirt, the Facebook images we obsess over will be long gone.

Our spiritual life will be all that we have.

A few years ago, Saturday Night Live's Dana Carvey used to spoof the evangelical aversion to the satanic in his role as the "church lady".

It's not really that funny.

Because it is real.

So let's not knock Santorum's religious belief in Satan.

The former Pennsylvania senator has a better grip on reality than the secular cultural icons who whistle past the graveyard, privately hoping their denial of the devil and the deity won't bite them on the keister when the credits start rolling in their life's movie.

Some of these proud disbelievers have a change of heart on their death beds, recognizing at the last minute that they better grab the spiritual life preserver a priest or minister throws them just before all grows dark.

Santorum's not the fool.

Secularists are.

Satan is real and I'm not ashamed to say I believe that.

Guard your children and grandchildren.

Protect your heart from sin.

There's evil about.

Deny it at your peril.

And cut the Santorum's of the world a break.

He may not be such a fool after all.

Just ask Morrie Rosenbaum.

And the family of Mary Jo Pesho.

Irritating and Stupid spend an ordinary day together

2012-02-16T19:42:00.001-08:00

The other day I decided to see if I could document the number of things I encountered that were both irritating and stupid at the same time. These six items presented themselves in one average and ordinary day.

One. Speedway gas stations should never brag about their speed. Speedway has pre-programmed every single gas pump to go into the extra slow barely-dribbling-gas-into-your-tank mode exactly sixty cents prior to pumping the amount you have paid for.

So here's what happens. I pay for $20 in gas and when the pump hits $19.40 this extra high-speed modern technical device starts pumping at a rate slower than Goober used to pump it for Barney Fife.

Cynics will tell you that Speedway has done this so that impatient pumpers will hang-up the pump early and take off just to avoid the excruciating wait.

Two. After my trip to the gas station I went to the dry cleaner where all my shirts are on these wonderful metal hangers. The proprietor informed me that I could not return the hangers for recycling because laws prohibit it as unsanitary.

All that metal is going to waste while Mr. Lee buys new hangers day after day.

Three. Next I went to the grocery store to buy some juice. The phrase 100% juice appears on the packaging for all kinds of fantastic juices, from pomegranate to strawberry to raspberry. With the exception of grape juice and orange juice, whenever the bottle reads 100% juice I've discovered that this phrase means that Apple juice is the majority component.

Pomegranate 100% juice is actually Apple juice with some pomegranate mixed in. Don't be fooled.

Four. Still in the grocery store I encounter several fat-free products that still have some fat in them in the form of oils. The federal government says that anything with less than half a gram of fat per serving can be described as nonfat.

This just means the FDA permits labelers to lie.

Five. Watching a reality show later that evening I noted that producers were bleeping out vulgarities in a ridiculous fashion.

The offending cast member puts her front teeth on her bottom lip and obviously lets out an F bomb. If you can tell exactly what she is saying, what's the point of the bleep?

Watching bleeped out dialogue is now basically the same as actually hearing the words because of the bleeping technique. This is just bleeping stupid.

Six. Later that night the Starbucks menu board reminded me how stupid things can get in the world of yuppie product franchising.

A small version of a drink is referred to as "Tall". The medium edition is called the "Grande" which in Italian means "huge". And of course in keeping with this theme of size names that have nothing to do with size, the very largest drink is called a "Venti", which is Italian for "twenty", nonsensical since the cup actually holds 24 ounces.

Language purists simply ask for a small, medium, or large in order not to be sucked into this stupid highbrow Seattle Niles Crane affectation.

So there it was. The day in which I kept track of things that were irritating and stupid at the same time.

If you've encountered some items that fit in this category yourself, send them to me by going to my blog which can be found at News-Herald.com.

May your day tomorrow not be irritating and stupid at the same time.

It's really hard when you get hit with both barrels like that.

Olympic Hero Helps us avoid Hitler's Horrible Hellish Diet

2012-02-09T21:36:00.001-08:00

Many years ago, Dr. Robert Atkins promoted his low-carb diet by decrying the failures of high starch low-fat diets.

He proved that limiting dairy and meat consumption had only a marginal effect on heart disease.

He was right about that.

Fat limiters are regularly gurnied into the Cleveland Clinic Cardiac Surgery Center for bypass procedures, leg arteries substituted for gunky coronary ones.

Dieters who go low-fat are only slightly less likely to develop the arterial plaques that are at the root of America's number one health problem: heart disease.

Enter the Olympian armed with evidence culled from Nazi despotism.

Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn of the Cleveland Clinic encountered an astounding fact several years ago.

Fat-reduced diets have a limited effect on coronary disease but zero-fat diets eliminate coronary disease.

Esselstyn won Olympic gold in 1956 as part of America's rowing team.

He then launched a career in medicine that led to his remarkable conclusion: a zero-fat plant based diet cures heart disease without surgery.

Cures it. Stops it dead in its tracks.

Esselstyn got hold of a study of European nations invaded by the Germans in World War Two.

The Nazis seized the cows and the chickens, leaving the native population to consume only grains, veggies, and fruits.

While der Fuehrer's minions feasted on butter, eggs, and bratwurst, the embittered captive inhabitants were forced into a diet completely devoid of animal products.

The Third Reich lost the war and the goose steppers clogged their own heartless hearts with animal fat goo.

Heart disease among the invaded fell to zero during the occupation.

Zero: no heart disease.

Post-war Europe got the animal fat back and heart attacks returned as well.

Esselstyn also points to the most comprehensive scientific study of health and diet ever conducted.

This project compared millions of Chinese, some eating nothing derived from animal products and some eating moderate amounts.

The moderatos suffered from angina, high blood pressure, and American-style circulatory blockage.

The heart disease in those meat-free Chinamen?

Zilch. Nada. The unimpeded free flow of blood throughout the body.

Today, Essesltyn interrupts those headed to surgery to see if they'd be interested in this scalpel-free method of unblocking sticky blood vessels.

Modern medicine can't find one bit of evidence contradicting the Esselstyn findings.

Despite this, many see the Esselstyn diet as extreme.

Says Esselstyn: Extreme is opening your breast bone to access your most vital organ for arterial surgery.

Do we really want to be a nation of angioplasties, hacked up chest cavities, and Lipitor salesmen?

Esselstyn is courageous. He's a Cleveland Clinic guy eliminating the need for the Clinic's very profitable cardiac practice.

No eggs and no dairy and no meat equals no heart disease.

If you love your family, read Esselstyn's book Prevent And Reverse Heart Disease.

Copy the chapter entitled Moderation Kills and tape it to your refrigerator.

His video, Forks Over Knives, has gone viral.

By the way, actually adhering to this diet is very difficult.

I am doing it now.

I used to think a good time had to include a ribeye steak and cheesecake.

This pioneer at the Clinic is now revolutionizing healthcare, despite the efforts of our mainstream culture controlled by agribusiness.

Dave Thomas of Wendy's fame had a heart attack at age 64, a victim of thinking that a burger now and then won't kill you.

It will.

Heart disease kills more than cancer, more than AIDS, more than any other condition.

It's simple.

When it comes to eggs, dairy, meat, and fish, go cold turkey.

Cast off the Nazi diet.

It's time to live.

Susan's Scarlet Letter Highlighted by bizarre Capitulation

2012-02-03T09:37:00.001-08:00

A knife in the back.

Not just my back but the backs of children by the millions dozing away peacefully in amniotic fluid, in the place of expected safety, the womb.

The knife enters through an incision in mama's abdomen.

We are at the local Planned Parenthood pregnancy termination center.

Plenty of pain is felt. Excruciating.

And then death.

Hopefully death occurs mercifully before the unborn child is tossed into the baggy for disposal like a used examination glove.

Some burial ceremony, huh?

You see, The Susan G. Komen Society announced just a few days ago that it will not fund Planned Parenthood.

Planned Parenthood performs abortions all over the world but in America they are number one. If they had golden arches, the sign would read "over 37 million served, murdered, and dismembered".

Throngs of Americans rejoiced that with this turn-around in policy, not one penny of the money you would give Komen to save lives would be used to destroy lives.

Many people asked, "Why the about-face ?"

The official reason cited by Komen President Elizabeth Thompson had to do with a congressional investigation challenging the questionable techniques of Planned Parenthood, the largest slaughterer of children since King Herod.

Some suspected that it had to do with the uncontroverted scientific evidence that proves that women who have abortions can expect a higher incidence of breast cancer.

After all, how can an organization trying to eradicate breast cancer lend financial support to an entity that promotes breast cancer through abortion?

Some pro-abortion rights activists accused Komen of bowing to political pressure.

So what happened next?

Komen bowed to political pressure.

Komen made ANOTHER announcement Friday REVERSING the decision to defund Komen.

Thus the knife.

Back stabbing and double crossing maybe OK in politics for some.

But in this case Komen reaffirms its approval of infant death for preborn infants.

It knowingly sends money to a group that promotes breast cancer through this diabolical procedure.

Today I am stunned because Komen has thrown away this special opportunity to speak up for the most vulnerable among us: a child in the womb.

Most importantly, they lost a chance to show courage.

Courage to bring us all one step closer to ending the genocidal atrocity of abortion.

Susan's scarlet letter "A" has not been removed.

It has been highlighted.

The knife cuts into you and me.

It cuts into our standing as a civilized society.

And into the spinal cord of an innocent baby.

Wear that letter, Susan.

America should know what you have done.

Millions of innocent unborns certainly do.

Scarlet Letter's Removal a Cause for Celebration

2012-02-02T19:51:00.001-08:00

Hallelujah!

I'm smiling.

The Susan G. Komen Society announced just a few days ago that it will no longer fund Planned Parenthood.

Planned Parenthood performs abortions all over the world but in America they are number one.

If they had golden arches, the sign would read "over 15 million served, murdered, and dismembered".

Today, with this turn-around in policy, not one penny of the money you give Komen to save lives will be used to destroy lives.

Many people are asking, "Why the about-face ?"

The official reason cited by Komen President Elizabeth Thompson has to do with a congressional investigation challenging the questionable techniques of Planned Parenthood, the largest slaughterer of children since King Herod.

Some suspect that it has to do with the uncontroverted scientific evidence that proves that women who have abortions can expect a higher incidence of breast cancer.

After all, how can an organization trying to eradicate breast cancer lend financial support to a group that promotes breast cancer through abortion?

Some pro-abortion rights activists accuse Komen of bowing to political pressure.

If that's true, let's just embrace the idea of bowing to political pressure.

It's not such a bad thing when truth and justice are creating that pressure.

During the mid-1960s, a President from Texas used political pressure to force the adoption of the Civil Rights Act. Was that wrong?

Of course not. Congress did the right thing in helping to stamp out the vestiges of Jim Crow, even if it did so because of the political threats made by Lyndon Johnson.

With this change, I can help fight breast cancer with this new tool now available to me and my conscience can be clear.

Now I can lace up my Nikes and participate in the Race For the Cure, knowing that with each step I run united with thousands of others to save lives.

With this decision, Komen makes hundreds of products available for purchase to millions of Americans who hesitated because the Society's symbol appeared on labels announcing support for Komen.

I think the product I will welcome back the most is Nature Valley granola bars.

They are simply the best but I've been without roughage ever since Nature Valley announced it was in the Komen camp.

You know that I've been tough on Komen because it sent money to Planned Parenthood in the past.

I've even referred to the Society as "Bloody Susan G. Komen".

Today I thank them because I'll be healthier running in the race and chewing on the oats and honey I've been missing over the last couple of years.

Most importantly, I thank them for their courage.

Courage to bring us all one step closer to ending the genocidal atrocity of abortion.

Susan's scarlet letter "A" has been removed.

And now all of us can wear pink again.

And smile.

A Real Man Feels No Shame When Tears Appear

2012-01-26T19:38:00.001-08:00

Grown men crying.

In some quarters, men are criticized as weak when they cry.

I guess the theory goes like this: A man who is strong has control over his emotions and therefore does not cry.

I'll never forget the first time I saw a grown man cry.

It was my own father.

I was about 9 years old and my father was this remarkable rock. The foundation of our family never wavered regardless of the stress thrust upon him.

And I'm sure there was plenty of stress when you were responsible for supporting ten children and had to figure out how to send all of them to college.

Anyway, Dad was at the dinner table and began to reminisce about Little John, the first baby born to Jack and Jackie Lynch, the older brother that I never met.

You see, Little John lived for only nine months and then succumbed to pneumonia, throwing my mom and dad into a very dark place of which they rarely spoke.

I was deeply moved to see my dad step out of that warm ray of sunshine that seemed to be part of his personality at all times.

I loved that he allowed us kids to see that wound that day and I love the fact that this rare moment taught me that it's okay to cry every now and then.

Speaker of the House John Boehner is ridiculed because the tears flow when he is moved by a sublime idea. Just recently he cried at a special congressional ceremony to say goodbye to retiring Congresswoman Gabby Giffords.

Those of you who followed the career of former Senator George Voinovich know that he cried in public on more than one occasion. I assure you, however, that this only happened when his heart was captured by a special joy or sadness.

Just a couple months ago Euclid Mayor Bill Cervenik broke into tears at his own inauguration ceremony. Few in the crowd realized that the Mayor's brother died that very same afternoon and His Honor was overcome by the contrast between the exhilaration of his re-election and the tragedy of his brother's departure at way too young an age.

When Jesus came to Bethany, Mary and Martha shared their grief over the death of their brother Lazarus and Jesus wept. The Son of Man was a real man in every way.

And he wept.

For my part, I find a certain catharsis in letting it all out.

My heart aches when my children are far away from me. When they tell me they love me. When they get married.

I can't even imagine the feeling of loss when Little John went from his crib to the cemetery. A man that doesn't cry in a situation like that is no man at all.

Truth be told, sometimes an emotional scene in a movie causes me to tear up a little bit.

Did any of you see the scene in the movie Marley And Me where the dad bids a tearful goodbye to his very best friend as he passes away into eternity under the influence of the euthanization drug administered by the veterinarian?

I also tend to choke up during the singing of our national anthem. I think about the young families without dads and husbands because brave American boys sacrificed their lives for our freedom.

So here's a tribute to grown men crying.

We all carry heavy burdens and our heavenly father has equipped us with the plumbing to release some of the pressure when the time is right.

There's no shame in that.

Remember Little John.

My Dad never forgot him.

He remembered.

Tearfully, he remembered.

Figuratively On Fire Over "Literally"

2012-01-19T19:31:00.001-08:00

Pet peeves surface this time of year.

Cooped up inside. Ruminating over what really bugs me.

See what you think of this.

When Tom Brady threw for five touchdowns in the first half of the big game against Tim Tebow and the Denver Broncos two Saturdays ago, the radio announcer breathlessly exclaimed, "The Patriots' quarterback is literally on fire!"

Oddly, I did not hear any reports of Brady suffering third-degree burns or being rushed to the hospital for treatment because of his sudden close encounter with flammability.

That's because what the announcer meant to say was that the New England signal caller was performing so superbly that he was on fire, figuratively speaking.

You see, the word " literally" means "actually".

If I told you that I gave a speech but found the audience to be literally dead, it would mean that the auditorium was filled with dead bodies. Actual corpses. It would be time to call the coroner.

Here's another example.

In 2007 Jerry Falwell said the following in a speech: "This homosexual steamroller will literally crush all decent men, women, and children who get in its way."

Falwell obviously was intending to speak metaphorically.

By using the word "literally" he conveyed the opposite. His words meant that we all should watch out for a giant Caterpillar Tractor driven by Rosie O'Donnell, running us down, our mutilated bodies stuck in the treads of the huge tires.

We have become such an uneducated nation that we don't respect our own language.

The misuse of the word "literally" has become rampant and I would like it to stop.

I want it to stop because I want Americans to embrace the true beauty of our English language.

It is the form of human expression that allowed the blossoming of Shakespeare and the poignant simple elegance of the Gettysburg address.

It is our beautiful language that helped us realize the moral truths found in Huckleberry Finn and the mystical significance of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Rime of The Ancient Mariner.

Only in the English language do you get that certain chill as Humphrey Bogart turns to Ingrid Bergman, touches her face gently, and softly intones, "Here's lookin' at you, kid." Casablanca. Fantastic.

So my friends, let's clean up our use of the word "literally".

Our sloppy use of this word in the media and in ordinary conversation is another symptom of the decay of American culture.

And it's killing me.

Figuratively speaking, that is.

Your obsession with cheap helps build The Great Wall(mart) of China

2012-01-12T19:39:00.001-08:00

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

My recent trip to Asia caused me to do a little investigating of India's behemoth neighbor, the Peoples Republic of China.

Like the proverbial frog that calmly sits in a pot of water without noticing that the cook is making frog-leg soup, we as Americans have gone about our lives distracted by football games and reality shows while our national interest is destroyed by one of the cruelest dictatorships in history.

It's bad enough that the Chinese government's one-child-per-couple policy has resulted in over 450 million abortions carried out at the point of a Chinese military revolver.

The worst part of it is that we are willingly walking into the Chinese buzz saw like zombies under the control of a Mongolian master.

The latest revelations involve the Chinese government's control of the Internet and computer manufacturing.

A few years ago the Chinese government formed a new division of the their military operation dedicated solely to cyber warfare.

On the island of Hainan, off the Chinese coast in the Gulf of Tonkin, there resides a gigantic army of well- trained military who spend all their time hacking into computers and computer controlled security systems throughout the world.

The Chinese have accumulated a list of the most important American military information technology systems and various private computer systems with information critical to our national security.

This conglomeration of vital computer controlled systems is referred to as the GhostNet. The Chinese have directed these government employees to hack into the GghostNet in order to maintain a perpetual advantage over the defense systems of the United States.

The potential is terrifying.

They know as much about White House operations as the Secret Service.

It may be that as of this very moment the Secretary of Defense of the United States of America lacks the ability to control the deployment of computer-controlled rocket systems.

These people are not our friends.

This next item is also quite chilling.

Steve Jobs' beloved Apple Corporation and thousands of other computer manufacturers continue to outsource computer assembly and fabrication to factories in the People's Republic of China.

With the authoritarian government of Communist China regulating factories, it is feared that the Chinese-made computers are all equipped with a doomsday chip buried somewhere in the central processing unit of every computer they make.

This Trojan horse scheme would allow the Chinese government to shut down, monitor, or even take over computer activity at the Pentagon and even that laptop you use at Starbucks to catch up on the success of your fantasy baseball team.

When you support Chinese manufacturing through your purchase of that low-cost product at Walmart, you also lend support to a government that seeks world domination through intimidation and violence.

Remember Tiananmen Square?

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

And then do something about it.

Do not buy products manufactured in China and do not support politicians willing to turn a blind eye to human rights violations in China.

Some worry that the red Dragon is coming.

I tell you that the red Dragon is already here and he stands ready to devour your children. Apocalyptic.

Do something about it before it's too late.

Chairman Mao does not deserve a place at the table of freedom-loving nations.

Stop inviting him into your home.

Pucker up for Patriotic Demonstration of Appreciation (love what we've got)

2012-01-05T20:04:00.001-08:00

Pope John Paul The Great used to kiss the ground of the tarmac as soon as he deplaned in a foreign nation.

My fellow Americans, I ask you to go outside, brush away whatever snow is on the ground, and gratefully kiss the soil of this great republic.

Because of the opportunities and high standard of living in the good old USA, we should press our lips against the terra firma of our own native land.

I just returned from a trip to India.

It is impossible in this single column to list all the ways in which this burgeoning economic powerhouse differs from the United States. Here are a few.

First of all, the distance between the haves and the have-nots is measured in light years in India. The most impoverished Americans live a lifestyle that might be considered decadent in India.

People of wealth in India avert their eyes from small children wandering around naked in streets where pre-teens consider prostitution as a viable and frequently pursued alternative to starvation.

The poorest neighborhoods of Cleveland do not generate the suffocating sense of hopelessness that surrounds you in the squalid ghettos of Calcutta or Delhi.

Mother Theresa wanted to serve where mankind suffered the most. She chose India.

The infrastructure remains virtually nonexistent.

There is no such thing as trash pickup day. You empty the garbage can in the street or in a field where desperate human scavengers recover shreds of things of infinitesimal value and wandering dogs or monkeys take care of the rest.

Sanitary sewage is dumped into the Ganges River, where millions of poor Indians pick up diseases like cholera and dysentery. The Ganges has religious significance to most of the Indian population but I must tell you that the Cuyahoga River is like Perrier when compared to the disgusting waters of the Ganges.

Electricity is very unreliable, even in the big cities. If you desire electric service, you don't make a phone call to CEI. You pay some kid to shimmy up a telephone pole and splice into the existing power line on your street.

That's the way everybody gets electrical service. You never have a bill.

Hot water? Maybe. But don't count on it. No luxurious showers. Just get used to it.

Despite all of these problems, the Indian financial sector is growing even faster than its population. And that's saying something, considering that this nation of 1 billion people produces a new child every second and will soon surpass China in total population.

The economy is growing at a brisk pace because reliable Indian laborers will work long hours at a very inexpensive rate.

It's funny how abject poverty will motivate you to toil diligently on behalf of an American computer company that has outsourced its customer service center to India.

Hopefully the standard of living for all citizens of India will improve as their economy continues to grow. And I hate to see this expansion occur at the cost of American jobs.

Mahatma Gandhi led a peaceful revolt that forced the British to allow Indian citizens to govern themselves.

It's now time for the Indian government to harness the economic growth to lift its citizens so that everyone can live in dignity with decent housing, nutrition, health care, and freedom from exploitation.

In the meantime, we as Americans should realize what we have and thank Almighty God for the blessings we take for granted everyday.

So brush away that snow and give a kiss to this great land.

The land of the untouchables has shown me that we live in a fantastic country.

Chapstick, anyone?

Udderly In Love With The Senior Citizens

2011-12-27T11:01:00.001-08:00

I love old people.

The other day the Men's Choir from our church entertained the residents at the Gateway Senior Community in Euclid.

About an hour before we began, I had the idea of dramatizing the latest addition to our repertoire, GRANDMA GOT RUN OVER BY A REINDEER.

Just a few days shy of Christmas, reindeer outfits were not to be found. The clerk at the costume shop said the only animal available was a dairy cow.

So it was with apprehension that we enacted the tune GRANDMA GOT RUN OVER BY ELSIE THE COW.

My brother dressed up as Borden's favorite bovine, udders prominent and well, you get the whole ridiculous picture.

Few audiences would have known how to respond to such bizarre theater.

Except for this audience.

These folks, average age around eighty-eight, loved it, laughing uproariously.

It was a grand time in the Gateway Social hall that night, walkers banging against the floor in rhythm to the music.

The Men's Choir was enveloped by a collective hug of warmth and appreciation despite Rudolph being replaced by the Great Guernsey.

Only a group of senior citizens would have had the goodwill and sense of humor to let us get away with a gag like that.

That's why I love old people.

I also love them because they tell it like it is.

Perhaps for them, the life left is too short to beat around the bush wasting time dressing up the truth.

Give it to 'em straight.

A famous Catholic preacher told the true story of an old woman who listened to a rather liberal Jesuit proclaiming that modern theology viewed hell as a fiction.

"You don't believe in hell?", she asked incredulously.

"I most certainly do not, madam", he replied.

She looked him right in the eye and said, "You will when you get there."

We called my mother's father "Gran" and we loved to listen to his stories of what Mom was like growing up.

He played piano with superb chord structure up until the day he passed away, despite his loss of sight years previous.

He trained us kids to be Chocaholics like him, always in search of new ways to incorporate the taste of a Hershey bar into a recipe.

He was the oldest person I knew and he embodied fun.

The Chinese revere oldsters. They value their wisdom and experience.

I value their joy.

So should you.

Besides, who else would appreciate the fact that you can't get milk from a reindeer?

Urgent: Read This If You Use A Computer

2011-12-20T23:28:00.001-08:00

Metadata scares the living daylights out of me.

Metadata is something that's been around for a long time but which has only recently come to the attention of the mainstream media and the public in general.

Metadata is information encrypted in every document that you prepare using a computer.

So far so good.

This encrypted information is forever attached like superglue to the document you prepared and it includes everything that may have been included in that writing before it was finalized to your satisfaction.

When you send that document to another person by way of e-mail or any other form of digital transfer, your Metadata goes along for the ride and you don't even know it.

Enter the miners.

Using special software, those receiving your electronic mail can "mine" the Metadata.

The recipient can re-create every single keystroke you entered in the preparation of your document and therefore will have access to all of the earlier versions of your written conveyance.

If you are accustomed to placing comments in the margin of documents for private limited circulation prior to final draft, your confidential remarks can now be viewed by those to whom you are sending the final document.

Imagine the nasty e-mail prepared in the heat of the moment that you edit before you hit the send key. You were relieved that you allowed yourself to cool off and remove the offensive diatribe prior to sending that message.

The object of your erased anger learns what you originally intended to say by mining the Metadata.

Frightening.

In case you doubt whether this sort of thing really happens, read on.

When President Bush nominated Sam Alito to the Supreme Court, his nomination was placed in doubt because of an anonymous and damaging anti-Alito memorandum that made its way into the offices of members of the United States Senate.

Mining the Metadata allowed Senate staffers to determine that the memorandum was actually prepared and sent by members of the Democratic National Committee. Oops.

Here's another one. In 2005 Great Britain's Home Secretary sent an e-mail showing his support for anti-terrorism legislation.

Some sophisticated mining of the Metadata showed that this English politician actually harbored early doubts about the legislation which were omitted in his final draft.

The situation is so serious that the American Bar Association has actually suggested that the best way to communicate is simply by producing a hard copy of all documents and then sending them through the United States mail using that ancient object called a postage stamp.

The Postmaster General of the United States, faced with e-mails cutting into his revenue, is doing cartwheels.

So stock up on your stationery and invest in a few thousand "Forever" stamps.

Your Metadata is following you.

Leave it behind and together we'll save the Post Office.

And perhaps your reputation.

Scientists Looking For Love in All the Wrong Places

2011-12-15T06:17:00.001-08:00

News from the science world recently fought its way into the headlines of newspapers all across the country with the announcement that scientists were close to identifying the "God particle".

Guido Tonelli, spokesman for the European Center for Nuclear Research in Switzerland, said the evidence of such a particle was there in their findings.

For lay people, the God particle is defined as a sub-atomic particle whose presence allows other particles to join together to form an accumulation of mass.

In other words, the God particle would explain how things or objects came into existence at the beginning of time.

Scientists have for years been searching for an explanation of the force that caused randomly wandering subatomic particles to conglomerate into objects instead of just bouncing around the cosmos in their sub-atomic state.

The God particle would therefore help to provide a scientific explanation for creation itself.

Except for one problem: they can't find it.

What they have been able to prove is that since subatomic particles have no intelligence of their own, something must have been present leading to an organized plan generating material things and living things.

It seems to me that these God particle scientists in Geneva have merely proven something that surveys show most of us believe in: God.

Many years ago a scientist by the name of Duncan McDougall used science to prove the existence of the soul. His scientific experiments proved that a human body, upon death, becomes slightly lighter in weight at the moment of expiration.

Dr. McDougall pronounced his data as proof that we all have a soul that departs at the end of our life.

What bothers me is the danger that many will rely on these limited tools of science in order to reach conclusions about the existence of God and the spiritual nature of mankind.

Tumors disappear without explanation frequently after families and friends petition God through their prayers.

Doctors are often left dumbfounded when patients awake from a coma with normal intellectual capacity after an MRI previously demonstrated that the individual had no brain function.

In Canton Ohio you can visit the home of Rhoda Weiss, where you can see the hundreds of photographs and blood stained garments showing the stigmata she endured for many years as a way of uniting herself with the suffering of Jesus.

My point is that you don't have to go very far to find evidence of God.

Have you ever seen a newborn baby?

So while the scientific community is spending millions of dollars at a research institute in Europe, I humbly posit that these learned men and women are, like the song says, looking for love in all the wrong places.

The God particle is inside every single one of us if we would just listen to God's call to be more like him and let the divine within us shine through.

In a soup kitchen somewhere tonight God will manifest himself in acts of kindness shown to a lonely old woman who thought that no one cared for her. The God particle is there.

Just like it was in the manger 2000 years ago, surrounded by oxen and sheep and the mother and father who didn't need Guido Tonelli to tell them that God might exist.

You don't need Guido either.

Do you?

Man Made Machine Might Corrupt Justice

2011-12-08T19:49:00.001-08:00

Let me begin by saying that drunk drivers must be punished as a deterrent to ensure that we keep our highways safe for the rest of us.

But do you believe that it's okay to convict otherwise innocent drivers of this politically incorrect crime?

Welcome to the modern age of DUI prosecution in the Buckeye state.

Ohio recently spent over $6 million to install brand-new portable breath testing devices at police departments throughout the state.

The Ohio Department of Health has determined that the Intoxilyzer 8000 be the only alcohol testing machine used throughout our state in order to provide uniformity in the treatment of those suspected of driving while impaired.

Here's the problem.

It turns out that the Intoxilyzer 8000 is a piece of junk.

The state of Minnesota sued the manufacturer of the Intoxilyzer 8000 because the machine's creator refused to disclose its software source code to allow the state to properly evaluate the accuracy of this device.

In Florida, DUI cases are thrown out on a regular basis due to the inaccuracy of the test results from the Intoxilyzer 8000. The state of Arizona has experienced the same miserable results.

In the state of Tennessee, a task force determined that the Intoxilyzer 8000 did not yield satisfactory results to determine blood alcohol levels. Tennessee won't touch this Rube Goldberg product.

Right here in Ohio Municipal Court Judge Gary Dumm ruled that test results from the Intoxilyzer 8000 will not be admitted in his court until the State of Ohio can present scientific proof of its reliability.

Athens County Judge William Grimm also expressed concerns about the way that smart phone and radio interference distorts the accuracy of Intoxilyzer 8000 readouts.

As if this were not bad enough, the Ohio Department of Health recently expressed in its own website that "no warranties, expressed or implied, concerning the accuracy, reliability or suitability" of data obtained from the Intoxilyzer 8000 can be made by the State of Ohio.

If the state of Ohio is unwilling to rely on the Intoxilyzer 8000 results, should they be sufficient to send you or a loved one to jail?

Here's the real kicker.

When the Ohio Department of Health was in the process of choosing a new testing device for purchase by the taxpayers, Dean Ward served as the head of the Bureau of Alcohol and Drug Testing for the State of Ohio.

Mr. Ward recommended the Intoxilyzer 8000 and millions of taxpayer dollars were expended for the purchase of these useless machines.

The manufacturer, a company called CMI in Owensboro, Kentucky was very happy to win the Ohio contract.

Dean Ward then left his job at the Ohio Department of Health and 13 months later found a terrific new position in the private sector.

His new employer?

You guessed it. Dean Ward is the new Director of East Coast Sales for CMI.

Now I must disclose that as a lawyer I have both prosecuted and defended DUI cases.

I want our streets to be safe from people that turn automobiles into weapons of mass destruction when they get behind the wheel having had one too many.

But we can never accept the idea that justice must be sacrificed at the altar of technology so flawed that entire states and municipal courts refuse to accept the results of that technology.

Especially when that technology has been chosen from a process tainted by the implication of corruption.

Have another cup of black coffee, Ohio.

By the time we learn the whole truth regarding this controversy, you're gonna have a hangover.

Or at least Dean Ward has a machine that says you will.

TSA Script: Airport Screeners Scream"Spread 'em!"

2011-11-30T21:07:00.001-08:00

Here's something that'll make you think twice when you take that holiday trip.

I've noticed over the last couple of years that the airport screeners all across our country do something disgusting that could present a health risk for passengers.

Some of us are selected for an item by item examination of the contents of our carry-on. Those who examine your bags wear those beautiful sky blue industrial gauge rubber gloves in order to protect themselves as they rummage through your belongings.

Here's the problem.

Sometimes the inside of a passenger's bag can be pretty disgusting.

When I was at Georgetown University in Washington D.C., I can remember getting ready to fly home back to Cleveland for the holidays.

I was always running late and figured I could just throw a bunch of dirty laundry in my bag so mom could help me with her professional touch doing the laundry at home the way laundry ought to be done (as opposed to the disorganized bachelor style methods I used living on my own).

So it was normal for me to be tossing dirty underwear, soiled socks, and mildewed bath towels into a humongous gym bag I carted off to the airport.

And I'm sure you've seen the filth inside a bag when someone comes home having done a little camping. Hiking boots that tramped over moose ka-ka sometimes find their way into somebody's American Tourister.

In any case, I have continued to observe that the Transportation Safety Administration (TSA) employees wear those same rubber gloves from one baggage search to another WITHOUT CHANGING GLOVES BETWEEN SEARCHES.

This means that Mrs. Shtoopenheimer's Chanel No. 6.4 could end up on little Jimmy Butler's blankie.

Residue from Mr. Planter's peanut puffs could accidentally end up on my nephew's pillow. My nephew has a peanut allergy.

My real concern is for the gross things that will be transferred from one bag to another.

Remember my bag at the airport during my college days? No hands plunged into my bag should have ever touched the contents of anyone else's bag without being completely sanitized at high temperature.

The Center for Disease Control lists the transmission of germs by hand to be one of the most significant health hazards that we face. Venereal disease, skin problems, and fecal residue are likely stowaways joining you on your trip to your destination because our government just doesn't give a damn.

James Fortenos, Public Affairs Officer for the TSA, was kind enough to send me a copy of the official airport screening policy. The screeners have an official policy that does not require changing gloves between luggage searches.

If you want them to put on a fresh pair of gloves, you have to ask.

This is completely unsatisfactory for two reasons.

First of all, you should never have to ask for something which is a matter of basic health and safety. Can you imagine having to ask the waitress to wash her hands before she handles your food?

Your local health department would never tolerate this TSA practice were they given jurisdiction over such matters.

Secondly, the entire screening process is often so intimidating that passengers are afraid to request anything out of the ordinary.

I think most of us are afraid that asking for special treatment means we'll end up on some kind of list circulated throughout the offices of Homeland Security.

So here's a message to our government: keep your smurfy latex out of my Samsonite until you establish an official policy requiring fresh gloves before you start rooting through my Fruit of the Looms.

Now that's not too much to ask, is it?