Emails

I'm not generally a fan of forwarded emails, but below are two received recently that I thought worthy of passing on. I'll pass them on here instead of via email.

First, from my aunt—

Lovers of the English language might enjoy this. It is yet another example of why people learning English have trouble with the language. Learning the nuances of English makes it a difficult language. (But then, that's probably true of many languages.)

There is a two-letter word in English that perhaps has more meanings than any other two-letter word, and that word is 'UP.' It is listed in the dictionary as being used as an [adv], [prep], [adj], [n] or [v].

It's easy to understand UP, meaning toward the sky or at the top of the list, but when we awaken in the morning, why do we wake UP?

At a meeting, why does a topic come UP ? Why do we speak UP, and why are the officers UP for election and why is it UP to the secretary to write UP a report? We call UP our friends and we use it to brighten UP a room, polish UP the silver, we warm UP the leftovers and clean UP the kitchen. We lock UP the house and some guys fix UP the old car.
At other times the little word has a real special meaning. People stir UP trouble, line UP for tickets, work UP an appetite, and think UP excuses.

To be dressed is one thing but to be dressed UP is special.

And this up is confusing:
A drain must be opened UP because it is stopped UP.

We open UP a store in the morning but we close it UP at night. We seem to be pretty mixed UPabout UP !

To be knowledgeable about the proper uses of UP , look the word UP in the dictionary. In a desk-sized dictionary, it takes UP almost 1/4 of the page and can add UP to about thirty definitions

If you are UP to it, you might try building UP a list of the many ways UP is used. It will take UP a lot of your time, but if you don't give UP, you may wind UP with a hundred or more.

When it threatens to rain, we say it is clouding UP . When the sun comes out we say it is clearing UP. When it rains, it wets UP the earth. When it does not rain for awhile, things dry UP.

One could go on & on, but I'll wrap it UP , for now ........my time is UP , so time to shut UP!

Oh...one more thing:
What is the first thing you do in the morning & the last thing you do at night? U P

Don't screw up. Send this on to everyone you look up in your address book.

Now I'll shut up

And this from one of my favorite mentors at Western Carolina University—

WHAT PETS WRITE IN THEIR DIARIES

Excerpts from a Dog's Diary . . .

8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Milk Bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11 :00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

Excerpts from a Cat's Daily Diary . . .

Day 983 of my captivity..

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets.

Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear in to their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am. Tormentors

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now. . . .

Litterbugs

I've never liked litterbugs. Remember the old commercial in which an American Indian was riding a horse along through a forest? The spot ends with a close-up of his face with a tear streaking down it. Then, if I remember rightly, the camera pulls back to show the area littered with junk and trash. It's ironic that the actor used is named Iron Eyes Cody. First, his eyes aren't iron--they leak with emotion. Second, we share the same name, and if the sentiment expressed in the commercial is his, we're alike in that feeling as well.

I remember sitting on the porch at home with my dad and uncles. They all smoked back in the '60s and '70s, and I'd see them smoke and smoke and then flick their cigarette butts out into the front yard. That bothered me. I think that, for a time, when I started smoking (at a young age), I probably did what I'd seen them do. But it wasn't long before I stopped that. If I were out somewhere, I'd crush or flick the heat off the end of the cigarette and put the butt an ashtray or trachcan. One of my pet peeves for a long time now is to see somebody throw down a cigarette in a parking lot before walking into a store. Better yet--or worse yet--think of those employees we've all seen who have to smoke outside now. They stand near the front door of the establishment where they work and smoke and then flip the butt out into the parking lot and go back inside. I wish I had the spirit of a long-ago friend named Danny O'Lannerty, who, when he saw somebody drop a cigarette out the window of her car at a traffic light, was known to get out of his car, go pick up the butt and hand it back to her--"You dropped this."

This past weekend, my wife and I were going somewhere and came upon a section of road littered with McDonalds. Right in the middle of the road was one of those large bags that probably came from the drive-thru window filled with a family meal. And all around was scattered a variety of sandwich cartons, french fries cups and burger wrapping paper. (I guess they kept their drinks in the car at least.) I can't imagine the mentality that would that would allow somebody to roll down the window and throw all that back out onto the road. This made my blood boil!

Recently I ran across this picture, an artist's rendering of what the Earth looks like from space with all the satellites and debris we've put up there. It reminds me of the area around a parking lot's storm drain after a hard rain. We often imagine Heaven as out there somewhere and our loved ones watching for us. But if this is what they see, I hope they're not looking? Think of the Creator looking on. Imagine God riding among the space junk, a tear streaking down the holy cheek.

Some DC Pics

Cable Man Say,

The wisdom of Larry the cable guy......

1. A day without sunshine is like night.
2. On the other hand, you have different fingers.
3. 42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.
4. 99 percent of lawyers give the rest a bad name.
5. Remember, half the people you know are below average.
6. He who laughs last, thinks slowest.
7. Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
8. The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese in the trap.
9. Support bacteria. They're the only culture some people have.
10. A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
11. Change is inevitable, except from vending machines.
12. If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments.
13. How many of you believe in psycho-kinesis? Raise my hand.
14. OK, so what's the speed of dark?
15. When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.
16. Hard work pays off in the future. Laziness pays off now.
17. How much deeper would the ocean be without sponges?
18. Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.
19. What happens if you get scared half to death, twice?
20. Why do psychics have to ask you your name?
21. Inside every older person is a younger person wondering, 'What the heck happened?'
22. Just remember -- if the world didn't suck, we would all fall off.
23. Light travels faster than sound. That's why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.

This list was sent to me by one of my former professors at Western Carolina University. I'm not normally a fan of Larry the Cable Guy (or Joe the Plumber or Wendy the Waitress or Mott the Hoople), but I thought these would serve as a nice break after the long intensity of the Inauguration experience in Washington, DC.

Tuesday the 20th

So, I was without a ticket for the Inauguration. Having briefly been packed into the crowd at the Sunday concert and having seen the long line around the Cannon Building, I didn't really relish the idea of squeezing into the ticketed area of the National Mall. I'd been thinking this for some time, in fact. Even before I left Johnson City, I'd figured that I would probably find a bar near the Mall and watch the events from there. The more my time in DC progressed, however, the more I knew I had to be there on the Mall.

My roommates in the Rockville apartment got up with their groups in the wee hours of the morning, caught the Red Line by 5:00 or 6:00 and arrived downtown before dawn. Some of the students in my group did the same. The reports I received were that one group didn't even get on the Mall, even after arriving so early, and watched the event on an available jumbotron. One of my students said she was packed into the ticketed area (silver section) but behind some trees, so she couldn't see much. She saw people carried out on stretchers, suffering from hypothermia. She heard frantic parents calling for children lost in the crowd and frantic people suddenly struck with claustrophobia and frantic to get out of the crowd. My friends, to whom I'd given the two tickets, never made it onto the Mall. I don't know what time they arrived downtown, but after standing in a line to get in, they realized three things: 1) they'd moved ten feet in a couple hours of waiting; 2) they had 500 feet to go with only 30 minutes left before the event began; 3) they weren't going to make it in. So, they went with my original plan and found a bar where they could watch in greater warmth and comfort.

I left the Rockville apartment around 8:00 that morning and got on the Red Line easily. As we moved from station to station into DC the train became more and more packed. I was pinned next to the right-hand doors, and the doors were opening on the left at all the stations. I thought they opened on the right at DuPont Circle, but as many times as I'd been through there the past few days, I couldn't remember for certain. Finally, we arrived at DuPont, and indeed the doors opened on the right, so I was the first one off, popping out the doors like a cork from a bottle of red wine. I journeyed up out of the station and began the long walk from there to the Mall.

The streets were packed with people all moving in the same direction, shepherded by police and military personnel. I knew where I wanted to go, so I moved off to the west a bit, to 20^th or 21^st Street. I stopped at a Subway and bought a breakfast wrap and took a last pee.

When I arrived at the Mall, I entered it about halfway between the Washington and Lincoln Memorials. I worked my way along the frozen reflecting pool and through the crowd, past the World War II Memorial and the place where Linda and I had stood for Sunday's concert. I got just far enough over the rise upon which the Washington stands that I was able to see the Capitol. After a long look, I turned and retreated to the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

Once I'd decided that I had to be on the Mall for this event, I knew that this was the place from which I wanted to experience it. Obviously the media had made legitimate (if excessive) connections between Lincoln and Obama. The President-elect had fully participated in making this connection—the train ride over the weekend, for example. But that wasn't the reason I wanted to experience this beautiful event from the Lincoln. I wrote in another recent post—Sunday the 11^th, I think—that the Lincoln Memorial is my favorite. I'm not sure I can explain why. The tremendous statue of the man. His tremendous words on the interior walls. The way his statue has him looking east past the Washington to the Capitol. The history of conflict and change over which this president presided. All of this and more is bound up together to inspire in me something ineffable that tightens my throat and brings tears to my eyes.

So, there I was. I took up a position just between the Lincoln and Korean War Memorials (the latter being inspired by a conflict in which my father was involved). The crowd wasn't too tight. I had a walkway fence to lean back on and a jumbotron a couple of hundred feet in front of me. And now and then the sun broke through and warmed me in spite of the temperature that remained in the 20s.

I put on my headphones and listened to the broadcast on NPR, realizing that I was in pretty good shape here two miles from the Capitol. The NPR broadcasters obviously weren't able to see a jumbotron—or weren't watching one they might have been able to see. A roar would go up from the crowd, and the broadcasters thought it just some spontaneous burst of emotion or excitement. But I could see on the screen that Obama was leaving the White House, where he had been with President Bush. I could see President Carter, President Bush I and President Clinton making their way through the Capitol to the steps where the Inauguration ceremony was to take place.

I was there, and I could sense it all.

Monday the 19th

One day until the Inauguration of President Barack Obama. Two days until I could go home to my family and friends. At times I couldn't tell which I was more anxious for. But every time I thought of the world that we live in and the life that we share on this planet, I felt I could wait one more day for my homecoming. For too long, the United States of America has dictated its agenda to the world, pushing developing countries to progress into the modern Western world at lightning speed (when our own progression through that process had moved at a snail's pace). And we were surprised, even offended, that the seismic shifts we forced led to violence of all kinds, to wicked and irresponsible leaders (many of whom we handpicked). Again, we've dictated our agenda, seeming only to dialog with those who were certain to agree with us, and if they didn't, we turned on them with a "Screw you!" When I thought of these things, I knew I had to be on the National Mall the following day.

I took my time waking up—I don't really refer to it as "sleeping in" any more. The latter phrase, to me, implies being asleep in bed past ten o'clock, and I can't do that any longer. Once I was up and around, I went to FirstWatch: The Daytime Café for breakfast. Then it was back to the apartment for more grading of journals and essays from my group of seminar students. I graded and glanced now and then at CNN, which I had on at low volume. But then CNN suddenly completely absorbed my attention when they replayed Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech from 1963. What a powerful piece of oratory! Of course, it had a lot of resonance that day, as it was Martin Luther King Jr. Day and the day before the partial realization of that dream. I wept.

During the morning I spoke a couple of times to Tiffany in Phil Roe's office. Dr. Roe is my 1^st District's new Representative in the House. Through the help of some kind folks in the Tri-Cities (Jeff A. and Amanda W.) Congressman Roe was giving my group and me 11 tickets to the Inauguration, and by arrangement with Tiffany, I was to pick up the tickets at the Congressman's office on the Cannon Building at one o'clock that afternoon.

A little before noon, I left the apartment and caught the Red Line toward the city. On the way, I was listening to the DC NPR station. A local culture program was on, and the host was interviewing a novelist who writes crime fiction set in the DC area. The stuff sounded really interesting, so I decided that after I picked up the tickets, I'd go to the Barnes and Noble at the corner of E and 12^th Streets and pick up one of this guy's books.

I took the Red Line all the way to Union Station, where I got off and made my way past the Capitol to the Roe's Cannon Building. The line to get in was wrapped around the block, and word was that the wait was more than three hours. So I called Tiffany, who, aware of the lines of people waiting to see their representatives, kindly offered to bring my group's tickets out to me. What a relief! I thanked her and thanked her some more and asked her to pass on my thanks to Congressman Roe, and she was quite gracious. Although I didn't get to meet the Congressman, I figured I could do that some other time when I'm in the city, some time when I wouldn't have to wait three hours in the cold to get in.

So I had 11 tickets. And, counting myself, 11 people were in my group: Taylor, Holli, Nadine and Mimmi from ETSU; Kathryn and Simone from Martin Methodist College in Pulaski, Tennessee; Julie from Belmont University in Nashville; Tara from Guam Community College in Guam; and Marla and BJ from the College of Micronesia in the Federated States of Micronesia. As it turned out, Julie and Tara already had tickets, and Nadine had told me all week that she wasn't going because she couldn't stand the crowds. So, I figured I could use Nadine's ticket, and I called up two colleagues from ETSU, Jenny and Harold, who were in town and offered them the tickets Julie and Tara weren't going to use.

After I got the tickets from Tiffany, I walked to the Mall to meet Harold and give him the two tickets I'd told him that I might have. Then I began a meandering walk through the city, figuring I'd return via DuPont Station when I eventually reached it.

I saw the Barnes and Noble at E and 12^th and remembered that I wanted to pick up a book by that DC crime writer. That DC crime writer? I'd forgotten his name. I'd forgotten all the names of the books he and the interviewer had talked about. I went in anyway and rode the escalator up to the second floor. Directly in front of me was the Customer Service desk, so I walked up to see if they could help me. (Embarrassed by not knowing the name of the author or his books, I had flashbacks to when I worked at Cat's Records in east Nashville. I remembered standing at the counter while a woman stood across from me and said, "I'm looking for this song. I don't know the name of it or who does it, but it's something about love." Or my other favorite: "I don't know the name of the song or who does it, but it's got this bass line that goes b-bum-bum-bum, b-bum-bum-bum.")

As I was asking about the DC crime writer whose name and book titles I couldn't remember, getting a confused stare from the employee behind the counter, another employee came up and in a hurried whisper said, "There's a guy that looks like Bruce Springsteen back in the children's section!" My guy behind the counter got all excited and left me standing there, so I slowly wandered off in the same direction the two of them had gone.

It was Bruce Springsteen, sure enough! He and his wife and bandmate Patti. You can imagine how much I wanted to talk to him, but being who I am—and his being who he is and surrounded by security—I settled for taking up a position in front of a bookshelf where I could pretend to be shopping and still glance over at the Boss now and then. At one point Patti got a telephone call and walked away from the cash register to stand and talk not five feet from me. And when she and Bruce left, they passed right by within that same distance. That was cool.

What was also cool was that when the Springsteens were gone and I really looked at the bookshelf in front of me, there was the name of author I was looking for and all the books he and the interviewer had talked about on the radio.

Back at the apartment that night, I texted my group and asked them to pick up their tickets sometime between eight and ten o'clock. I had nine tickets left and eight promised (I'd committed to giving Holli two so that her sister could accompany her to the big event). And then a little before ten, Nadine showed up to get her ticket—to the event she'd said all week she wouldn't be attending. And so I gave her the last ticket, leaving me without, and went to bed.