April is National Poetry Month. The 11-year-old is working on Haiku.

His first flip attempt

I love lobster claws
In them I cannot find flaws
They chop like big saws

I told him haiku wasn’t a rhyming verse. Somehow poetry and rhyming are the same for some. Then

Honey-nut Bunches
Taste good when you crunch them hard
It’s breakfast de-lite

Haiku was always my favorite. The simplicity of three lines; the first with five syllables, the second with seven syllables, and the last with five syllables have provided me (and some comrades) with hours of pleasure. My favorites always ended in questions.

A rainy spring day
Oatmeal with dates and apples
Catholic or crunk?*

Try it, it’s fun.

*unresolved controversy, just how many syllables are in Catholic? “Kath-lic” or “Cath-o-lic”? Everyone says three but me. I went with the majority (and it worked for my poem).

I must comment on this. This is for therapeutic purposes only. The only thinking is my incredulity–but really why does this stuff continue to shock me? Maybe that’s the thought for the Doc on this one.

All Things Considered, March 30, 2006 — The city Dillingham, Alaska — population 2,400 — has eighty that’s EIGHTY!) surveillance cameras installed around town and at its port. The cameras were purchased with grant money from the Department of Homeland Security. Hear entire sordid tale here.

These cameras might be useful, according to the locals. Maybe they can save people who are drunk and fall into the harbor. Three people have drowned in the past 15 years. If you want to see what the community cameras see, click here. (There is still a bunch of snow on the ground in Alaska.)

So, here’s my question. OUR HOMELAND SECURITY DOLLAR$ NEED TO GO THERE??

I was trying to explain this to the 11 and 14 year olds.

ME: There’s this town in Alaska. It’s small, like 2,400 people and they have EIGHTY security cameras.

14-year old: Do we have that many in D.C.?

ME: Yeah. Like what’s that about? I can’t even remember the name of the town…..

14-year old: That’s the point.

ME: Hunh?

14-year old: That’s the point, they spent all these homeland security dollars and you don’t even know the name of the town. Now that’s a big terror threat? Have you heard of New York? D.C.? San Fran? L.A.?

‘Nuff said.

If the enemy of my enemy is my friend, then what is the friend of my enemy? What if the friend of my enemy is my friend, too?

Would that be Pootie-Poot?

Going into Iraq with little international support now appears to have spawned international support for our “enemy” in Iraq. More unintended consequences.

While we were bashing the French (freedom fries anyone?) and the Germans (remember “Old Europe?”), the President views into the soul of Vladimir Putin showed him a man he could trust. But the Russians had their own interests in Iraq, including oil.

A prior President, President George 1, may have warned President George 43 that this was a dangerous, and maybe even naive, way to do business. President Washington cautioned that nations, including our allies, will always act in their own interests–no matter the “friendship.” This warning is not simply about isolationism, but a realistic assessment of the engine of international relations.

It’s said that #43 is a man driven by his “gut.” That’s okay for starters, but looking into the eyes of a man does not show what his brain will do. And it’s no way to run a foreign policy.

So is the friend of my enemy my enemy? Wait, it’s beginning to sound like high school.

One Thousand, Five Hundred and Seven.

MDVII

1,507–that’s the number of text messages for the 14-year-old last month.

If he distributed them by one message a day, he could cover 4 years, 1 month, and 17 days.

This averages to about 60 messages a day. But, he said that some days it’s alot more than 60. I guess that means that some days he had less than 60.

Translates to $147 in overages since he only has 100 messages in his plan. Ouch!

The solution, according to said 14-year-old, is for me to buy him unlimited text messages. The other solution, according to the parent, is to tell Sprint to cut off SMS service.

He said that he would pay for the messages. I said that since he didn’t have a job, it is my money going from my hand to his hand and then back to my hand. He didn’t see a reasonable alternative.

Who says I have to be reasonable?

Let it be known and acknowledged that I have an opinion on most anything. So when I go to the eye doctor and he says “Which is better, this one or this one,” I must force myself to say “Same.”

So when it comes to Science Fair, I bite my big ole’ tongue for the duration. It’s supposed to be the work of the student, but the student keeps asking for MY OPINION.

HIM: Which of these to you like better.
ME: (knowing that I need to SHUT UP) Which one do YOU like?
HIM: Well, I prefer this one.
ME: Sounds great.
HIM: But which one to YOU like?
ME: I think that they are both good.
HIM: But which would you pick?
ME: I can see advantages and disadvantages with each. I think you made a good decision.
HIM: What do you like about this one?
ME: [offers some detail]
HIM: What about this one?
ME: [More mumbles about detail, but really like the one that he didn’t chose better]
HIM: So, which one do you think I should use?
ME: You pick.
HIM: So, you don’t care?
ME: Of course I care.
HIM: Well…
ME: Okay, I like the other one better but I think you made a good choice. And you should put it right over here on your tri-board, underneath this other thing, and then you might want to think about how you described your data…..

I suck.

We had to go to the office supply store for a display board for the upcoming Science Fair [sample]. I walked out $71.36 poorer.

How does this happen?

I will tell you. Sharpies. Plain and simple, Sharpies. We walked by the display and there, on the display wall, to the right of the highlighters and to the left of lesser pens were,

The Sharpies. [click here for their techno-inspired interactive demo.]

Drawn like a moth to the flame, we zeroed in on the 8 pack of –hold on, are you sitting down?– NEW RETRACTABLE SHARPIEs. Two shades of red, green, and blue. One black and one orange. And RETRACTABLE. The 14-year-old checked and they were indeed permanent markers with a safety to prevent premature dry-out.

Into the cart with the NEW RETRACTABLE SHARPIEs, and to the checkout $14 poorer.

Dinner conversation was everyone vying for their preferred color.

The 11-year-old: “Can I have 2? The light green and fun blue?”

The 14-year-old: “Hey, I wanted the light blue!”

Me: “They are all mine!”

The Spouse: “Those are retractable. They are going to dry out.”

Chorus of Believers: “Nu-unh. See the safety?”

Are we sick, or what?

Compare and contrast. MC Hammer is blogging and a bunch of lame middle-aged white guys are doing the Hip Hop version of the Full Monty. (Sorry about the advertisement before you get to the “meat.”)

I am not quite sure how I am relating these. Hammer time is actually a brilliant buzz builder for an upcoming CD. Excellent, excellent marketing. But the surprise is that Hammer has something to say about baseball and hip hop. Also a link to a new video with an up-to-date mix.

Now the “Blues Brothers-garbed” white “hip-hop” dancers are quite a contrast. I kind of, sort of, guess that four flat-footed guys stiffly gyrating to Candy Shop shows that hip hop is for everyone (?!?). But then maybe it shouldn’t be.

No, really, Toto, there’s NO place like home.

For me, it kinda seems like bizarro Oz going back to Warren. It is a place that is familiar but still very foreign.

I spent most of my first 18 years there, but none of my adult life. So when we took the weekend pilgrimage to the homeland to visit grandparents and the Sib, I realized that I didn’t know what to do there. Where to eat. I knew the streets and where they went–come on it’s simple enough, 8 Mile Road, 9 Mile Road, 10 Mile Road…14 Mile Road, you get the idea.

Going to Mom and Dad’s house is also both familiar and strange. The furniture isn’t the stuff that I grew up with. There is a familiar wackiness. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so wacky when I was living it, but now it is something that I have come to appreciate. Even to embrace.

I used to think that Glinda the Good Witch and Auntie Em were the same (like Ms. Gulch was the same as the Wicked Witch). But that’s not right either.

My loyal reader reminded me that my thinking on justice was derailed. I got stuck on thinking about the messenger and neglected the message.

I think that might have been the messenger’s point.

I need to do more thinking on his central idea–that eradicating extreme poverty is not charitable. It is justice. Charity is easy. We are a generous species. Charity makes us feel good. Justice is hard. It hits you right in the face in a not-so-feel good way.

Under a justice and human rights argument, we are required to look critically and systematically at all the feeders of poverty. A square look from my happy middle-class American view at the huge disparity between wealthy and poor. Luck of birth? Access to capitol? Debtor versus creditor nations? The business of health care? Human dignity and choices.

The idea is important. It requires a different approach to poverty. Bono spoke of our economic, public relations, and security interests to address development issues in Africa or Haiti. Or in the United States.

Thanks, reader, to get me back on track. I have more thinking to do on this. I have some doing to do, too.