Hypocrisy,

Hypocrisy - I have never considered Stephen King to be a great author. He has certainly attained mass popularity, but I do not consider popularity to be a determinant by which literature, music, or food should be judged. Were it so, a pimple-faced teen flipping patties at the local Burger King would easily outpace Wolfgang Puck as a paradigm of epicurean artistry.

Regardless of Stephen King's lack of achievement with concern to the characteristics of literature or scholarly writing, one pronouncement regarding King's writing must be given him: He is generally accepted as the modern-day master of horror.

Eschewing the parallel drawn by critics of questionable merit between the writings of Stephen King and those of Edgar Allan Poe—truly a masterful author and literary genius—as common sense and a concern for maintaining the integrity of Poe's legacy demand, one must nonetheless accept that King's writings have certainly earned their classification in the "horror" genre.

I admit to having read several of King's books and short stories. I found them entertaining—albeit pedestrian—and agree quickly that his introduction and development of horror themes in his works is that for which he is best known. Although I would not go so far as to consider myself a "fan," I have enjoyed many of his tales.

From this date forward, however, I shall never read anything he produces; nor shall I view any movie based upon his writing.

King is himself a gun owner. He owns several handguns and rifles at his suburban Maine home.

In an essay/rant he recently published, however, his hypocrisy is astounding:

"One only wishes Wayne LaPierre and his NRA board of directors could be drafted to some of these scenes, where they would be required to put on booties and rubber gloves and help clean up the blood, the brains, and the chunks of intestine still containing the poor wads of half-digested food that were some innocent bystander's last meal."

This is an hypocrisy that is mirrored by many of the entertainment industry. It is an hypocrisy founded solely upon the most basic "do as I say—not as I do" ethic that is, unfortunately, rampant currently among those who are purveyors of horror and gore—by which they approach, attract, and entertain their fan base—all the while moronically supporting an anti-gun platform that runs fully counterpoint to their professional lives.

Pay the Piper, Armed and Dangerous, -and- Stupid Criminals

Pay the Piper - woman ordered to pay $80,000 per song for illegal downloads
Armed and Dangerous - cop accused of pulling gun at McDonald's when order takes too long
Stupid Criminals - man unwittingly follows would-be victim to sheriff's office

On this day in history: June 19, 1999 - While taking a walk, horror author Stephen King is struck by a van piloted by a distracted Bryan Smith. King's extensive injuries (broken leg, broken hip, lacerated scalp and collapsed lung) remanded him to a hospital bed for three weeks. Smith would later die in his sleep on Stephen King's birthday.

Born on this day in history: June 19, 1962 - Paula Abdul (1962-) Born in Los Angeles, CA, dancer, singer and choreographer Paula Abdul began as an L.A. Lakers cheerleader and choreographer for Janet Jackson. She started recording in 1990, winning a Grammy. After dropping out of the limelight, Abdul re-emerged in 2002 as a judge on Fox’s popular "American Idol" series.

Scripture of the Day: How great is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you, which you bestow in the sight of men on those who take refuge in you. — Psalm 31:19

Video of the Day: How Catnip Gets Cats High - submitted by Cindy

Imagine my surprise when I encountered this scene while driving to my office this morning! Click to enlarge.

This just in from Chris: 100+ hidden features in iPhone OS 3.0

Fighting Back, New Sheriff in Town, -and- Slow Down

Fighting Back - armed customer foils bank robbery
New Sheriff in Town - Orange County to review concealed-weapon permits
Slow Down - speeders to pay extra for police fuel

On this day in history: June 19, 1999 - While taking a walk, horror author Stephen King is struck by a van piloted by a distracted Bryan Smith. King's extensive injuries (broken leg, broken hip, lacerated scalp and collapsed lung) remanded him to a hospital bed for three weeks. Smith would later die in his sleep on Stephen King's birthday.

Born on this day in history: June 19, 1962 - Paula Abdul (1962-) Born in Los Angeles, CA, dancer, singer and choreographer Paula Abdul began as an L.A. Lakers cheerleader and choreographer for Janet Jackson. She started recording in 1990, winning a Grammy. After dropping out of the limelight, Abdul re-emerged in 2002 as a judge on Fox’s popular "American Idol" series.

Scripture of the Day: Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body. - 1 Corinthians 6:19-20

Video of the Day: Can You Dance Like a 1st-grader? - submitted by Frank

I encountered this scene while passing Corning Lake on the way to my office
this morning. Click to enlarge.

For dinner last evening, we had a user-configured pizza—created from a Red Baron thin-crust pepperoni pizza. I sautéed sliced mushrooms, sliced red onion, and sliced Jalapeños. I sliced cluster tomatoes. I cut cooked bacon into 1-inch sections. Laura removed the pepperoni from the pizza. She spread the mushrooms, onion, and Jalapeño and seasoned with Tony Chachere's More Spice and garlic powder. She added the tomatoes and pepperoni. She covered the pizza with sliced Provolone cheese and scattered the bacon atop it. It was wonderful. Two sliced remained after dining and followed me to my office for breakfast this morning.

Laura documented the creation of the pizza photographically. Tomorrow, I shall feature images of the production of this delightful pizza.

Hot Air, Don't Watch, -and- Watchers

Hot Air - global-warming scientist warned of global freezing in 1971
Don't Watch - Turkey bans access to YouTube again
Watchers - Northern California fire stations under surveillance?

On this day in history: September 21, 1915 - With a winning bid of £6,600, Mr. Cecil Chubb purchases Stonehenge and 30 acres of land at auction. He donates the monument to the British state three years later.

Born on this day in history: September 21, 1947 - Stephen King (1947 - ____) novelist, short-story writer. He is the current master of popular horror stories; wrote "Carrie," 1954; "The Shining," 1976; and "It," 1986.

Scripture of the Day: "May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all." (2 Corinthians 13:14)

Video of the Day: It's JerryTime: The Karate Date - submitted by Cindy

[While I slept} Cynthia called and asked whether I would like to go to the park with her and have a picnic. I said that sounded entertaining and would, indeed, like to do so. She suggested that we meet at her house and travel to the park in her vehicle. I agreed and said that I had a few chores to do and would meet her in an hour. She said that would be fine.

I spent the next hour tending to my chores: I watered the houseplants, took out the garbage and rolled the dumpster to the street for the following day’s pickup, fed the tropical fish in my large salt-water aquarium, and showered. I dressed in shorts, Hawaiian shirt, and sandals, dried my hair, and began the drive to Cynthia’s house.

As I drove, I was suddenly aware that I could not recall where Cynthia lived. I consulted my Pocket PC and quickly found Cynthia’s address. I was, however, unfamiliar with the street and had no idea how to reach Cynthia’s house. I checked my cell phone and determined there was no listing for Cynthia. I consulted my Pocket PC again and found that Cynthia’s listing showed only her email address, street address, and work telephone number. There was no entry for her home telephone number. I returned to my house, got Cynthia’s home telephone number from the Caller ID on my home telephone, and entered this into my Pocket PC and cell phone. I returned to my red Dodge Charger R/T and called Cynthia using the hands-free UConnect feature as I drove. When she answered, I told her I needed directions to her house, and she laughed and said, “You’re kidding, right?” I assured her I was serious, and she gave me directions—speaking in a flat tone that indicated she was displeased that I could not recall where she lived.

As I followed Cynthia’s directions and drove toward her house, I found myself in an area of the city with which I was unfamiliar. I was certain I had never been here previously. Soon, I was at Cynthia’s house. It did not look familiar. The white Chevrolet Tahoe in the driveway did look familiar, however. It had distinctive aftermarket wheels and tires, and the rear license plate looked particularly familiar and said, “CYNDY 1.” Obviously, I was at Cynthia’s house.

I rang the doorbell, and Cynthia quickly answered the door. At least, I assumed it was Cynthia, since I suddenly realized that I had no recollection of what Cynthia looked like or any details about her life! I felt very confused and attempted to hide my confusion with a friendly smile. “Great!” she said. “You made it. I wasn’t sure if you could follow my directions or not.” “The directions were good,” I said. “So you really don’t remember being here before?” she asked, as she motioned me to enter.

I decided to be completely honest: “Cynthia,” I said, “not only do I not recall having been here, I do not recall you at all. I do not recognize you as someone whom I know.” “Well,” she said, “that’s sure flattering.” She was obviously upset. I rued having upset her but did not regret my honesty. “Cynthia,” I said, “you are a particularly lovely young lady, and I am certain that had we met previously, I would not forget you!” This softened Cynthia’s tone and facial expression, and she said, “Well, let’s write it off to too much wine and not enough sleep—on your part, k? I sure remember you. You charmed me totally and made my friend, Heather, green with envy when you played that song I wrote on a napkin and had the cocktail waitress give to you and you pointed right at me and smiled and read my name on the napkin and said, ‘Cynthia, this song’s for you.’” My head began to spin. I had not performed on stage for over ten years! I felt dizzy and walked to a sofa and sat. “How about some Chablis?” she asked. “We don’t need to leave for a while. I’m still getting the picnic stuff ready.” “That sounds great,” I said, relieved by the notion that Cynthia would be occupied in the kitchen, and I would have time to gather my thoughts. She quickly brought me a glass of Chablis and disappeared. I sipped the wine and relaxed and thought.

As I sipped the wine and mused about what Cynthia had said, my eyes fell upon a large tarantula, sitting on the nearby coffee table. It did not move, and I wondered whether it were alive. My curiosity bade me to investigate: I reached out and prodded the creature gently with the forefinger of my right hand. It did not react. “Ah,” I thought to myself, “it is either the product of taxidermy or a particularly realistic ersatz tarantula.”

Cynthia entered the room, carrying a picnic basket in one hand and an ice chest in the other, and said, “I see you’ve met Howard.” “Howard?” I replied. “The tarantula? Is it real and stuffed, or is it just a really detailed toy spider?” “Howard isn’t either one! He’s an AC/DC spider!” “An AC/DC spider? What in the world is an ‘AC/DC spider.’” I asked. Cynthia gave me a puzzled look and said, “Are you serious? You don’t know?” I assured her that I had no knowledge of AC/DC spiders. “Oh, but they’re so popular these days, it’s amazing you haven’t seen one before.” She continued, still looking puzzled, “Howard is a robotic spider. He eats flies, and when he eats flies, he recharges his system from the power in the flies.” “Oh, I see,” I said. It must have been obvious that I did not “see” at all. “Right now,” she said, “Howard is discharged, because there aren’t enough flies in here. I’ll have to plug him in and recharge him.” She put down the ice chest and picnic basket, removed a cable from her purse, connected one end of the cable to Howard’s rear and the other to a nearby wall socket, and said, “This should only take a couple of minutes. Let’s stow the picnic stuff in my Tahoe while Howard recharges.” Off we went to stow the picnic basket and ice chest in Cynthia’s Tahoe.

When we returned to the living room, Howard’s eyes were glowing bright red. “Good,” Cynthia said, “Howard’s all charged up and ready to go with us to the park!” “Great,” I answered. Just as Cynthia unplugged Howard and reached to pick him up, a fly buzzed near him. Howard quickly leaped into the air, caught the fly on his tongue, and noisily devoured it! As he devoured the fly, Howard’s body shook, the hairs on his body vibrated, and his eyes glowed and pulsated—alternating from bright to dim several times. After a few moments, the shaking ceased, and his eyes turned black. Cynthia placed Howard in her purse, and we departed for the park.

The park was lovely. Massive oak trees shaded the picnic table at which we sat. We feasted upon the various delicacies Cynthia took from the picnic basket, sipped Chablis, and enjoyed the sounds of the gentle breeze in the trees, the water in a nearby stream, and birds singing. A fly buzzed near Howard. Howard ignored it. Cynthia saw this and said, “Oh, poor Howard. He’s all run down again!” She took a car adapter from her purse and charged Howard in her Tahoe. A few minutes later, she returned Howard to the picnic table. I had my camera and took dozens of photographs of the park, Cynthia, and Howard.

We continued to enjoy the food and wine and the various sounds of the park. Nearby, a small girl chased after a small puppy. They appeared to be alone. I saw no sign of the girl’s guardian. I turned to remark to Cynthia that the little girl seemed to be alone, and Cynthia was not there. I turned a bit more and saw her walking toward the restrooms. I turned back to see the little girl and the puppy, but they had disappeared. A familiar sound drew my attention to Howard. He was greedily devouring large flies. His eyes glowed bright red and pulsated, and his body shook greatly.

When Cynthia had not returned after several minutes, I walked to the restrooms and called her name. The little girl I had seen previously exited the women’s restroom, followed by the puppy. “Are you looking for someone?” she asked. “I am looking for my friend, Cynthia,” I replied. “She must be inside.” “There’s no one in there,” the little girl said. She and her puppy walked away.

I returned to the picnic table. The ice chest and picnic basket were gone. Cynthia’s Tahoe was gone. Howard was gone. My camera bag was the only item on the table! I picked up my camera bag and walked toward the entrance to the park. Along the way, I encountered friends. They appeared to be preparing to leave. I asked them for a ride and gave them directions to Cynthia’s house.

When we arrived at Cynthia’s house, my Charger was there, but Cynthia’s Tahoe was not. In the driveway was an older Jeep Cherokee. I thanked my friends for the ride and walked to the door. A gentleman answered the door and said there was no one there named Cynthia. He asked me whether the Charger were mine, and when I replied that it was, he asked me why I had parked it in front of his house. “I have no idea,” I said. I walked to my car and drove home.

I downloaded the photographs from my camera onto my laptop. When I viewed them, there were images of the park, the little girl, and the puppy. There were no images of Cynthia or Howard, although I had taken several photographs of them! I sat in my recliner and thought about the day’s events. Soon, I was asleep.

When I awakened, it was dark. The blinking light on the answering machine attracted my attention. I walked to the machine and pressed “Play.” “Hi! This is Cynthia. I just wanted to say I had a great time today, and I hope you won’t forget me again!”

I awakened. It was morning. I was in bed. I realized, with great relief, that it had all been a dream.

The telephone rang. I answered it. It was Cynthia. She asked whether I would like to go to the park with her and have a picnic.

Where's the Beef?, Mommy Dearest, -and- Extra Credit

Where's the Beef? - Ted Nugent rips Paul McCartney for firing burger-eating roadies
Mommy Dearest - mother keeps daughter prisoner without sunshine
Extra Credit - student stages robbery to wipe bad grades

On this day in history: June 19, 1999 - While taking a walk, horror author Stephen King is struck by a van piloted by a distracted Bryan Smith. King's extensive injuries (broken leg, broken hip, lacerated scalp and collapsed lung) remanded him to a hospital bed for three weeks. Smith would later die in his sleep on Stephen King's birthday.

Born on this day in history: June 19, 1834 - Charles H. Spurgeon (1834 - 1892) preacher. His humorous sermons at the Metropolitan Tabernacle drew congregations of 6,000; wrote collections of pithy sayings, "John Ploughman's Talk," 1869.

Today's Video: The Puzzle

For last evening's meal, I made steamed broccoli, brown rice with mushrooms, and pork steaks. I made a marinade with tequila, teriyaki sauce, brown sugar, lime juice, cornstarch, and crushed red pepper. I cut two thick pork steaks from Sunday's pork butt and marinated them for two hours. I sautéed the steaks in the marinade, which thickened into a delicious glaze. The remaining glaze from the sauté pan was drizzled over the rice. It was a delightful meal.