blaming God for the bad but not crediting Him for the good

GodPlayingCards 1500 crop

IT’S QUORA QUESTION TIME AGAIN. This time the ques­tion was about the Cre­ator: “Why do people tend to blame God for the bad but never give him credit for the good?” Even though my ex­pe­ri­ence with my fellow human be­ings who are be­lievers is the exact op­po­site of that, I couldn’t re­sist livening up Quora with an an­swer:

God drops by my house once a month to play Cinch with me and a couple of my neigh­bors from Penn­syl­vania. READ MORE

the newsstand’s “house hippie” heads for woodstock

Woodstock crowd buses 1500 crop

I WORKED ON THIS PIECE FOR A WEEK! I in­tended to pub­lish it on Au­gust 15, 2019, the first day of the 50th an­niver­sary of Wood­stock. But no matter what I wrote or how I wrote it, ei­ther I came out sounding far more con­ceited than I was in 1969 (ah, but I was so much older then) or the whole thing came out sounding like a sappy Hall­mark movie. READ MORE

trump and forbes and the one that got away

TableTennis PaddleBall 1500

I’M NOT FEELING WELL. It could be some late-Summer thing or an ad­vance taste of what the up­coming flu season has in store for us. But it’s a low-grade headache and fever, sore and swollen throat (that makes me squeak when I try to talk, so I don’t) (which some con­sider a blessing), and Grate Grom­mett in Heaven do my mus­cles ache! READ MORE

two men standing in a field, then there was one (on being a left behind)

LeftBehind teddybear2000

MANY PEOPLE with a pro­nounced right-leaning po­lit­ical per­sua­sion have had the ex­pe­ri­ence of meeting me and, perish forbid, en­gaging me in an­i­mated dis­course. Many come away thinking me a li­brull ar­se­hole. So, does that make me a left be­hind?

I found the lovely photo of the teddy bear in the woods at the top of this page on the Reigning Life site ac­com­pa­nying the ar­ticle “Who Gets Left Be­hind” by Jordan Hard­grave. READ MORE

three days after the burial of the beethoven

Joke Beethoven skull

ON APRIL 1, 1827, three days after the burial of the great Ludwig van Beethoven in the ceme­tery at Währing (in north­western Vi­enna, on the edge of the Vi­enna Woods), an ar­dent ad­mirer of the mae­stro’s glo­rious music ven­tured to his gravesite to pay his re­spects. He was quite shocked when he heard what sounded like gar­bled music coming from within the grave. READ MORE

how do you know the neighbors are having sex?


FRIENDS OF OURS and former neigh­bors—let’s call them Bill and Pam—have a pre­co­cious 8-year-old son named Shaun who loves root beer Pop­si­cles. He takes his time eating them to make the flavor last as long as pos­sible. At first, Bill and Pam found this a little an­noying, be­cause Pop­si­cle’s melt and get messy.

But they found a way to use their son’s eating habit to their ad­van­tage: when they wanted to have an af­ter­noon quickie but Shaun was in the apart­ment, they gave him a root beer Pop­sicle and told him to go out on the bal­cony and re­port on all the neigh­bor­hood ac­tiv­i­ties.


it’s an urban myth that husbands never listen to their wives

NicoleKidman red hair 1900

I DON’T SPEND MUCH TIME on Face­book or the other so­cial media plat­forms. I use them to call at­ten­tion to my three web­sites (and soon to be four). Since I spend most of my time writing thises and thats for those sites, I rarely visit the Face­book pages of my Face­book friends.

Some­times I feel guilty about this—you know, being so goram self-absorbed, seeming like I never pay at­ten­tion or never listen to anyone—so oc­ca­sion­ally I take time and visit a friend’s page and make a bunch of com­ments. READ MORE

turning 66 and meeting the trans new me

Dore Lucifer header copy

DARE I WRITE THIS? I sup­pose I’d best: yes­terday was my 66th birthday—I’ve made it this far! This is no big deal to those who have known the West Coast ver­sion of me: staid and rather pre­dictably un­ad­ven­turous. Boring, in fact. (But con­sid­erate, no matter what my ex says!)

But to those who know only the old East Coast ver­sion of me, and re­member the wild and woolly ’70s when I was over-busy sewing my wild odes, may be sur­prised that I have made it to this stage. READ MORE

and here I thought I had a person of interest look

CaviezelJim header

IT WAS NICE DAY, if a bit brisk. Most folks were wearing sweaters or jackets. Not me: I was standing in Half-Price Books in a black long-sleeve shirt. Looking idly ahead. I had stepped aside in the aisle to allow a few cus­tomers who were en­tering the store to move past me.

The last cus­tomer in line was a pretty blonde. She saw me standing there, un­moving, unsmiling—and the latter is so normal for the store em­ployees that I some­times think that smiling is reason for termination—that she made a normal as­sump­tion. READ MORE