Don't Call It "Awareness"

Okay, so last week, women on Facebook gleefully posted colors as their statuses, counfounding the heck out of us guys for a while.  Turns out it was an "awareness" effort purportedly by the Susan G. Komen Foundation whereby women posted the colors of their bras.  But Komen says they didn't start it, although they were happy to take the credit.

All it made me aware of was how glad I am to be a man and don't have to worry about such things.  This "campaign" had as much to do about breast cancer "awareness" as a PETA protest has to do with actually saving animals.

Every October, we're besieged with Breast Cancer Awareness.  It's all over the NFL.  It's all over towns ("Paint The Town Pink").  And it's a guilt-ridden PR offensive that says If I Don't Wear Pink, I Must Be In Favor Of Breast Cancer.  All sorts of "stars" talk about it as well.  Only the most reclusive women couldn't be "aware" of breast cancer.  But "awareness" isn't the name of the game.  Funding is.

I'm not knocking breast cancer as a disease, and I'm well aware of the effects it can have on women and those around them.  I'm just saying, stop calling it "awareness."  We're aware, already!

P.S.  I'm still waiting for Komen to accept the link between abortion and breast cancer (not to mention abortion and contraception), and to sever its ties with Planned Parenthood.

Sorry, but . . .

I'm not going to shed any tears for a dead lab monkey as long as 4,000 children are "legally" murdered every day with no one shedding tears for them.

A Sense Of Proportion

I mentioned in my Las Vegas trip report that we had a hard time going to Mass Sunday morning because of the Las Vegas Rock and Roll Marathon (and half marathon).  From the Rio, we effectively couldn't go north, south, east, or west without running into a street blocked for the race.  That foiled our plans to go to an 8 AM Mass, so we had breakfast at the Gold Coast, returned to the Rio and checked out, and then made another attempt at Mass, this time at the Strip's Guardian Angel Cathedral.

It took us nearly an hour and a half to get there; the only street we could get onto was Frank Sinatra Drive, which paralleled the Strip and I-15.  Problem was, everyone else in Vegas was there as well.  We found a parking lot where we thought we could park, but a man there was ensuring we couldn't do so.  Eventually, I dropped Sandy off about 10 minutes before Mass was to start.  Driving around the block again, I found the Strip was finally reopened where I could actually get to the cathedral parking lot.

Upon first appearance, I was unimpressed with the cathedral.  The mural behind the altar looked like something out of the Fantastic Four, and otherwise it's a rather un-ornate sanctuary, looking like a converted ski chalet.

But all that didn't matter once the homily started, given by a visiting priest.  He was a missionary, and he told us how in Central America his order was trying to get more children in their schools so they might have a chance at getting out of poverty.  They'd even feed the kids twice a day.

This was news to the poor villager parents who would put their kids to work for 12 hours a day, as soon as they were 8 years old, picking through garbage dumps for anything recyclable so they could make a couple dollars.  The priest mentioned one boy who found something that still looked edible . . . and had to fight off vultures for it.

Needless to say, we were rather generous with the collection for his mission.  And we appreciated the reality check and its accompanying sense of proportion.  We're getting stressed about Las Vegas traffic, and elsewhere, 8-year-old kids are picking through garbage.  And I didn't feel guilt like I did when my mom would tell us, "Millions of kids are starving in Africa!" when we didn't clean off our plates.

(Our smart-alecky response: "Name two.")

Trip Report: Las Vegas

Sandy and I hadn't really had any time away to ourselves since we moved out here, and I had some leave time I had to use before I lost it, so we decided to take a long weekend in Las Vegas, 450 miles southeast of Reno.


December 2: The flight out was nice and uneventful.  I've never seen luggage get dumped onto the carousel as quickly as it did at McCarran International; it seemed almost as if the Clampetts all arrived at once!  That's how I managed to miss my suitcase the first time around.

We made what turned out to be a smart move by getting a rental car from Enterprise, the third Chevy HHR we've had from them in just over a year.  Then before we checked into the Rio (we'd stayed there before), we had lunch at Marie Callender's just down the street.  We each had a special that included a slice of pie for dessert, and we let the way too energetic server talk us into Chocolate Satin.  Wow, was that rich!  Fighting the sugar and chocolate high, we checked into the Rio and slept for a few hours; I had been up all night until then.

That evening, we decided to go check out the Orleans casino not far away.  We'd stayed there before as well, and were actually hoping to go there this time as well, but we got a better deal at the Rio.  We dined that evening at the TGIFridays on site.

Beginning that night, we saw lots of folks in ten-gallon hats, and would see many more over the next few days.  The National Finals Rodeo was starting that weekend.  I thought I saw my co-worker's wife, who was planning to be in town on a girls' trip for the NFR, but 1) she wasn't there yet, and 2) she's not a blonde.  Didn't see her or her friends at all that weekend.


December 3: My in-laws had taken us to the Gold Coast casino across the street from the Rio for breakfast before, so we went there for a most reasonably-priced buffet.  Part of the same chain as the Orleans, the Gold Coast has many of the same amenities, including a 70-lane upstairs bowling alley.

Yes, we spent a good amount of time at the slots.  Some of the ones that were kinder to me included Mystical Mermaid, Money Storm, and Russian Treasure (you can get winning lines both left to right and right to left).  It seemed as if when Sandy was doing well, I wasn't, and vice versa.

We had hoped to swim or take advantage of the Rio's spas, but it was really too cold to do either comfortably, so we didn't.

That night, we made our way to the Venetian to see Blue Man Group.  We marveled at how they managed to communicate so much without saying one word (there were voiceovers).  Also, I had the urge to find some PVC tubing to hit.  Even the announcements before the show were quite silly.  Note: if you don't like thumping bass music or strobe lights, don't go.  You'll be sorry if you don't, however.  It's something that really has to be experienced to be believed.


December 4: Our day started early as we took a tour bus to Laughlin, near the southernmost point of Nevada.  We straggled over to the Flamingo to catch said bus, passing the Donny and Marie store, and looked for a quick bite to eat.  My "quick bite" of a bagel with egg and bacon and a bottle of water cost $12.

On the way, we stopped at the famous "Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada" sign which has a new parking area on the south end of the Strip.  Then we stopped briefly at Hoover Dam, as we had done on a previous trip with my in-laws.  Lake Mead is WAY down, something like 130 feet below normal!  A new bridge will help alleviate congestion getting across the Colorado River.  We spotted a bighorn sheep or two on the rocks above the river.

Rather irksome: Our tour bus driver, a Pennsylvania native, kept calling it "neh-VAHH-dah."  It's "neh-VAA-dah"!  But he did tell us why Boulder City and other towns out west (including Reno and Sparks) have their initial letters on the hillsides: it's because mail used to be flown in, and the letters were all they had to go by to know which town was which!  Now it's done just to keep the tradition alive, and new communities in our area like Galena and Spanish Springs do the same thing.

We drove past a massive solar array south of Boulder City, and then through Searchlight, the small town that inflicted Harry Reid upon us.  Blink and you miss it.

Riding through the desert is a wild experience.  From miles away, I can see where we have to turn, or what town we're driving toward . . . but it still takes time to get there!  It really changes my sense of perspective.  The mountains on either side of the valley were quite impressive.  Wile E. Coyote would have been at home.

The bus then turned east and went downhill to the Colorado River and the gaming town of Laughlin.  It's a smaller version of Vegas, with its casinos drawing folks like the Kingston Trio and the Smothers Brothers.  It's also a lot quieter and less congested, and the Colorado River makes a great setting for it.  We strolled along the Riverwalk in the afternoon, following a lunch buffet at the Edgewater Casino.

On the other side of the Colorado is Bullhead City, Arizona.  We were amazed by how quickly water taxis skip across the river despite an extremely swift current!  Most river rides weren't operating because of the cold weather that day; some go downstream all the way to Lake Havasu City, AZ to take in the London Bridge.  In the summertime, Laughlin and Bullhead City, like Vegas, can get extremely hot.

During the return trip, we watched the movie Radio with Cuba Gooding, Jr. and Ed Harris.  That was impressive, and quite a story.

That night, we partook of the Rio's seafood buffet, a little pricey, but we got our money's worth.  We were disappointed that the Rio had scuttled its famous, albeit campy, "Mardi Gras In The Sky" show for racier stuff.  Also at the Rio, girls will get up and dance at the drop of a hat, and guys will effectively sing Karaoke.  I guess patrons enjoy that.


December 5: We didn't want to eat in the hotel, so we drove out to the Strip and had breakfast at Denny's.  Then we headed over to the Orleans for the Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert.

Apparently, the Las Vegas TSO concert was a late addition to their schedule; as a result, the Orleans Arena was far from sold out, although I'm glad we got our tickets from will call before everyone else jumped in line.  We had lunch with a lady who said the casino workers should file a grievance to prevent smoking in the casinos.  (Ummmm . . . yeah.)

When TSO stuck to their bread and butter of classical-based metal tunes, they were spot on, and the special effects were quite impressive; I've never seen rigging move that much.  But when they chose to tell a Meaningful Christmas Story Through Music, the concert dragged to a halt, although the narrator was quite good.  Still, I forgot just about everything they did in that whole middle section.  The kids behind us didn't help any by yakking through that whole segment; the glares I shot them went unheeded.

By the end, however, TSO kicked back up to high energy and finished strong.  I found it interesting that all their female musicians were young blondes. In retrospect, we probably should have gone to their later concert; we were unable to go to Mass that night, a decision that would come back to haunt us later.

That night, we headed to Las Vegas' old downtown on Fremont Street, getting dinner at the Golden Nugget across from its aquarium complete with a water slide through the middle of it.  We then visited a small old casino that still dealt in nickels (just about all others print out receipts).  In it was a couple that obviously had a few (dozen?) too many.  She appeared extremely amorous at the time, perhaps not wanting to wait to get a room!

We caught the Fremont Street Experience's sound and video show of Don McLean's "American Pie".  The rest of the schedule is on the above link.  Unfortunately, we didn't get any video because our camera's battery was low (sounds almost like an "American Pie" lyric!).  We then searched the souvenir stores for a sweatshirt for Sandy, but sweatshirts without hoods were in short supply.


December 6: We knew this was the day of Las Vegas' Rock and Roll Marathon and Half Marathon, but we didn't realize how much it was going to impact our attempt to get to early Mass.  We were effectively blocked from leaving the Rio to the north, south, east, and west!  So we checked out of the Rio, went to breakfast at the Gold Coast, and tried again to get to Mass.  It took us an hour and a half to get to the cathedral downtown . . . only about three miles away.  But what happened that morning was so profound and sublime, I'm saving a separate post for that.

After Mass, we headed down toward the airport.  We checked out the Town Square Las Vegas shopping center on the south end of the Strip, which featured a Fry's Electronics.  It's an enormous store that puts Best Buy to shame, and we'd never been in one before.  Why isn't there one in Reno or Sparks?  It would clean up!

Then we drove around looking for someplace for lunch.  I overindulged a bit at Claim Jumper, having a large platter of chicken carbonara when a small one would have sufficed.  While waiting to be seated, we met a family from Maryland who were also Ravens fans, although one of the girls was showing a lot more of her pelvic area than necessary.  Turns out the general manager of the Claim Jumper is a Ravens fan too.

We dropped off the rental car and awaited our flight home.  At the airport, Sandy met one of her co-workers who had competed in the half-marathon.  Only when we were airborne did we learn it was snowing in Reno; we knew it was going to be cold, but we hadn't heard about snow.

The pilot told us repeatedly to expect a rough descent into Reno.  I felt like I was awaiting an elementary school fire drill.  The beverage service consisted of water only.  And then we began the descent with the plane bucking back and forth through the winds aloft in the clouds.  I wish I could have been listening to my MP3 player as a distraction.  But we landed safely, albeit not that smoothly because of the snow.  Good job.

So that was our long weekend.  When getting home, I quickly unpacked my suitcase and grabbed a little sleep before heading to work that night in half a foot of snow.

Don't Support The CCHD

Instead of giving to the lefty Catholic Campaign for Human Development next weekend, print out this coupon and put it in the collection instead.

This, this, and this will explain why, as will this site and this Facebook group.

Not So Lonely

I'm happy to report I've gotten off my duff and am socializing more.

I've been to the last two Nevada Wolf Pack games, both victories (yes, Anita, I'm looking at you). More importantly, in addition to Regina Pacis Cantorum, I have now joined the Reno Silver Dollar Chorus to sing barbershop as a tenor.

And LC and I have joined a Why Catholic? group at our parish. It's been good so far.

That should keep me out of trouble for a while, and give me a better attitude toward down time.

Lonely

I wish I had more friends out here. I'm not a partyer like a lot of other people in my profession. And the schedule I work limits a lot of what I can do socially.

I spend a lot more time by myself than I care to. (And no, I'm not blaming my wife.)

The Swarm

On Thursday, LC and I drove from Sparks to Sacramento where we would spend the night before flying to Orange County for the weekend. The going was quite slow on I-80 across the Sierra because of massive reconstruction. We decided to have a late lunch in Auburn at a Marie Callender's, then headed back toward Sacramento.

At first, traffic was better than we expected; most of it was headed east toward Carmichael, Rocklin, and other suburbs. Then we heard on the radio about a big rig accident on I-5 southbound, and saw a consequent backup on the ramp from I-80 westbound to I-5 southbound. We grinned and bore it.

And then they appeared. First a couple, then a few, then dozens, then hundreds, then thousands. Bees started attacking our car and the others on the ramp! Some even tried to sting the windshield. We wondered first whether these could be Africanized bees, and then whether this was a one-time thing related to a traffic incident or a regular occurrence. Most of the other drivers appeared unfazed, except for motorcyclists who weaved their way between the lanes to keep from getting stung.

We reached our hotel which was only about 200 yards from I-5, but . . . not a single bee. Weird.

Youth Mass Purgatory

LC and I were away for the weekend in southern California and had not been to Mass yet. We were driving back from Sacramento, and our flight had gotten in too late to go to Mass there. So we planned to go to a 5 PM Mass somewhere to fulfill our obligation.

We got into Carson City in time for the Youth Mass at St. Teresa of Avila Catholic Community. I guess I go to Youth/LifeTeen Masses every once in a while to remember why I don't like going to Youth/LifeTeen Masses.

Everyone was talking in the sanctuary before Mass, making prayer difficult.

It started off with the senior team members (or some such term, which seemed to be half the kids) standing with their backs to the altar and clapping to the opening song, which was typical "Aren't We Great?" fare. Music was provided by a guitarist, a bass player, and a drummer.

The kids clapped to just about every song, and at the end of each. Applause was the rule of the day here, never mind that it is only at an ordination Mass that applause is allowed.

"Wherever applause breaks out in the liturgy because of some human achievement, it is a sure sign that the essence of liturgy has totally disappeared and been replaced by a kind of religious entertainment. " (Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, Spirit of the Liturgy, p. 198)

Father may have been ill. He left the altar three times and did not distribute the Eucharist. Moreover, he omitted the entire second half of the Eucharistic Prayer! I'm guessing that at any other given Mass, he would not have done so. But more disturbing than that illicit slip was this: Despite the fact that the sanctuary had kneelers, no one knelt during the Eucharistic Prayer.

The Our Father and the Sign of Peace were complete chaos. The kids ran around the sanctuary to find their BFFs to stand next to, and then went all over again to give the Sign of the Lack of Peace. I declined to give it to one girl who was "making the rounds."

I mentioned Father didn't distribute the Eucharist. The EMHCs did . . . using crystal glass to hold the Body and Blood of Christ, which is expressly forbidden:

“...Reprobated, therefore, is any practice of using for the celebration of Mass common vessels, or others lacking in quality, or devoid of all artistic merit or which are mere containers, as also other vessels made from glass, earthenware, clay, or other materials that break easily. This norm is to be applied even as regards metals and other materials that easily rust or deteriorate....” (Redemptionis Sacramentum, Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments)

There was no closing prayer, but there was 10 minutes of announcements. And then the congregation gave itself the doxology!

Bottom line: This Mass had all the reverence of a Miley Cyrus concert. And is it any surprise why so many Catholic teens transition to their twenties and fall away from the Church because they discover to their horror it's not like they thought it was at their precious Sunday afternoon pseudo-Masses?

Now, I'm not bashing the whole parish here: it looks like it's on the right track in many other ways. But Youth Masses really do Catholic youth a disservice, telling them the Mystery of the Sacrifice of the Mass really isn't for them unless it's packaged like a Disney Channel show. Why do so many well-meaning parishes give them a counterfeit liturgy?

Of Dolphins and Cell Phones

I have no idea who the lady snorkeling with a dolphin in this photo is. This is from our honeymoon in Key Largo when we visited Dolphins Plus. She was in the first group, and we were in the second.

It was fantastic swimming with the dolphins in an untrained environment. I dove under to chase a small pod of them, and then they all turned around on a dime and came back at me! I think they did it just to see what sort of reaction I'd have in my heart rate and blood pressure; their sonar allows them to see that. One of the stories we were told was six or seven dolphins once gathered around the waist of one woman. They could see she was pregnant before she knew she was!

Anyway, the woman above was in her late 70s or early 80s. After the 20-minute swim, she said, "I didn't see a single dolphin!" We all pointed out the dolphins paid more attention to her than anyone else in her group. But she didn't know because she was looking straight down. They were all around her!

I do that with my spirituality a lot. I get tunnel vision about how God should work in my life.

Fast forward to last Friday. LC and I went to Western Village Casino for a nice inexpensive dinner at the Vineyard restaurant, and then hit the slots. I fared surprisingly well.

On the way home, I noticed something: my cell phone was gone. I drove back and looked at every machine where I'd played, praying to St. Anthony for his intercession as I did so. Nothing. I called the next day. And the next. And the next. No phone. LC canceled service to the phone. I felt like St. Anthony let me down; I really believed the phone would turn up.

So I punted on Monday and bought a new phone, which fortunately has the same number as the old one. One good thing about this phone: it's smaller and fits in my pocket quite nicely. Every time I've lost a phone, it's happened when I had it on my belt . . . or, as happened Friday night, when I didn't have a belt, but just put it on my waist.

Then it hit me: God gave me the money to get the phone . . . in cash! Duhhhh. I was like the woman with the dolphins, looking in only one direction. God really does work in mysterious ways.

Ten Years And Counting

Since I was last in government service. My final day was September 1, 1999.

While I made some good friends who remain so to this day, I really don't miss government. I could have been there for the next 20-plus years, hating every minute of it. I knew people not much older than me who were literally counting the days until retirement. There's no amount of money that could make me do that.

And what I hated most is it didn't play to my strengths: creativity, spontaneity, humor, extroversion. I can do all that in my current broadcasting career. Oh, I could have stayed and been mediocre; government rewards mediocrity and punishes risk takers. But I was starting to dread going to work, and knowing I didn't belong just weighed me down all the more.

I definitely got paid more -- a lot more -- in government than I have since, with the exception of my six months as a contractor, ending in an unceremonious layoff as the dot-com bubble burst and Y2K became a distant memory. But I don't want golden handcuffs today.

Oh, I wouldn't mind being happy and well paid in my work. But if I have to choose between the two, I'll take happy.

New and Better Countdown Clock

Until President Zero (h/t: Joe of St. T) and his autocratic ways are safely escorted from the White House. It's on the sidebar.

And the Children Shall Lead . . . Us To Gomorrah

The homosexualists are totally in control of the educational establishment. (Remember the staircase back here?)

Today I saw a horrible PSA advocating the eradication of the expression "That's so gay," as if that's the worst thing our kids say or hear said every day. What, no PSAs about not saying the N-word?

Turns out this PSA was produced by the Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network (GLSEN), whom the courageous Peter LaBarbera with Americans for Truth about Homosexuality has been exposing as trying to get an extremist, pro-homosexual viewpoint into our schools. Take, for example, how GLSEN had no shame whatsoever in being graphic with minors at a university forum about "fisting" (NSFW).

What really saddens me is how kids, when they should be being encouraged to use critical thinking, are really just being indoctrinated, getting only one side of the story about homosexuality (and not one word about health risks). They don't take on faith everything the government says, do they? And the schools are letting the mighty Sodomy Lobby represented by folks like GLSEN bully them around. I mean, how dare any student say he or she thinks homosexuality is vile, disordered, a mental problem, or just plain wrong? We're all equal now in this relativistic society. Tolerance Permissiveness is the highest virtue.

I've talked to teens, and whereby they have no problem rejecting the faith of their youth, they'll just as easily accept everything the homosexualists spoon-feed them. So sad.

How did it all begin? The story of my spirituality

Part One of a series

After we returned from the UK in 1972, my parents got involved in a prayer group at their church, and then were directed to a local couple who led them in the Life in the Spirit seminar. From there, they started attending a prayer group called "God's Dwelling" in a parish on the other side of Baltimore, which was ironically my father's boyhood parish.

While my Catholic faith hadn't meant that much to me up to that point (I was 8 or 9), I remember being touched emotionally by certain music pieces, notably a song by the Medical Mission Sisters (whom, sadly, need to be told it's no longer the '60s) and the Godspell tune "Day By Day", which our "folk group" would frequently play for communion. Next thing I knew, I was being taken to the other side of town for the prayer meetings. For a while, I was left in child care, then afterward I'd help myself to some of the punch that tasted like crushed St. Joseph aspirin.

Eventually, my mom and dad had my sister and me go through Life in the Spirit as well. What that was like for me was imitating my parents. Did I have the gift of "tongues?" I didn't know, but I'd heard plenty of other people do so, so I had an idea how to sound like it at any rate. Meanwhile, I started singing in my parish choir, as my older siblings had done. Yes, I was a soprano.

I eventually forsook the tumbling mats and games in the library and began going to the prayer meetings. A couple times, I'd burst out with a spontaneous Scripture, and I found that went over well with those in attendance. They'd all praise God and shout, but I knew this was really an affirmation of me. I didn't get as much of that as I'd wanted elsewhere, especially not in my Catholic elementary school. Most of that is a whole another post, but I will say I always craved being a lector too, and would pester my uncle -- an ordained deacon -- to give me an opportunity to do so. Most of that was self serving and attention grabbing. At the invitation of a classmate, I briefly attended a Sunday night youth group at a Lutheran church in my neighborhood, but I didn't really like it.

When I was 12, I found out we would no longer be part of God's Dwelling. Based on a "prophecy" that smaller groups should join up with larger ones in order to face the "dark times," my parents informed us we would now be part of a new group called the Lamb of God Community, operating out of Timonium.

To be continued

Healthy Shame

Is there such as thing as healthy shame? I think so, but someone I know from the therapeutic community says no. I think this era of feel-good, nothing-is-my-fault therapy has given shame too bad of a name.

I wish the above-mentioned guy could have seen the mom today in Target whose shorts were shorter than those of her kids . . . and left the bottom of her bottom hanging out. That woman needs some healthy shame.