Black Friday

Today is that day when shopping meets crazy sale meets absolute mayhem.

I've always thought it was kind of fun to watch people go absolutely nuts. Of course its also extremely pathetic. You know the spirit of Christmas shouldn't be typified by two suburban housewives playing an obscenity laden tug of war over tickle me elmo or whatever else is the toy of the year.

As such scenes aren't far too common, I was listening to the radio today and heard a sound clip from the archive of about cabbage patch dolls mania from 25 years ago. One lady who lost out on her search proclaimed angrily, "what am I supposed to tell my kids, that Santa ran out?"

My thought was, "How bout you don't get everything you want you sniveling little brat. Enjoy your Barbie doll and sweater from grandma. If you aren't grateful for those gifts I'll take them back and donate the money to the community food closet."

OK, probably not the most sympathetic response, but when did we raise kids that they should expect to get WHATEVER they want WHENEVER they want. I'm guessing 25 years ago, juding from the clip. Maybe if we had taught delayed gratification, thankfulness, and patience we'd be a little better off today in 2008.

Because, as I listened to the radio things got much worse. You've probably heard the story by now. I Wal Mart employee in Long Island was trampled and killed by an unruly mob of shoppers. If you haven't read the story and need to read it yourself to believe it it's here. A witness said the people acted like "savages." I don't know but maybe that's an insult to savages. Apparently as police tried to clear out the store, people tried to continue shopping, unfazed by the dead man. One person responded, "I've waited here all night I'm not leaving."

Something about this scened doesn't exactly ring, "Peace on earth, good will to men."

Sometimes I hate people. That's really doesn't bode well for me in my line of work.

Apparently the anti-Christmas spirit is contagious.

They will know you are my disciples by . . .

. . . your mean right hook?

Seems to me that isnt' quite what Jesus said to his followers. Nevertheless it seems to be the mantra of the religous sects occupying the holiest place in Christendom, the Church of the Holy Seplechure.

Maybe you caught the news story if not you can read it here.

Short version of the story is the Armenian Monks and the Greek Monks got into a brawl over who was allowed in whose area or something. Punches were thrown. Arrests were made. The Israeli police had to be called in to break up the fight.

Anyway, six different Christian sects lay claim to various portions of the church. They don't get along. They're all to busy fighting over their little piece of the pie. This quote from the article proves the point:

The Israeli governement has long wanted to build a fire exit in the church, which regularly fills with thousands of pilgrims and has only one main door, but the plan is on hold because the sects cannot agree where the exit will be built. In another example, a ladder placed on a ledge over the entrance sometime in the 19th century has remained there ever since because of a dispute over who has the authority to take it down. More recently, a spat between Ethiopian and Coptic Christians is delaying badly needed renovations to a rooftop monastery that engineers say could collapse.

I'm sure that Jesus is not pleased. This does not seem to reflect the Man I read about in the Bible, it doesn't seem to be in line with his teaching. I'm sure it's incidents like this that helped contribute to Dan Merchant writing his book: Lord Save Us From Your Followers.

I'd be doubled over laughing over the situation if it wasnt' so sad.

A change in the air

The other day we elected a new President. He ran on a platform of change. I really wish that Mother Nature wouldn't have bought in so wholeheartedly, and immediately changed the weather from autumn to winter. My wife was less than amused. She wrote a blog-letter to our state bemoaning the current situation. You can see it here.

On the other hand, my son and golden retriever were thrilled. They couldn't wait to go out and play in the cold white splendor. Here is a picture of the two of them.

The cat, on the other hand, agreed with my wife. He was less than thrilled. He spent his days indoors dreaming of spring.

Pete

I've been thinking back to High School a little bit this last week. I suppose such reminiscing might produce a series of related blogs. Then again, as often as I blog, maybe not.

It seems to me, that, even as we get older, there is a little part of us that is always back in high school.

I don't know what about that period in our lives is so defining. Maybe its just nostalgia, looking back to when things seemed simpler and easier. At least, maybe that's how it is for those of us who enjoyed that period of our lives. I know some people who hated those four years, and are glad to have left them in the past. Maybe it's different for them. I don't know.

Anyway, when I go the news last Wednesday that one of my former classmates had died, I think it kind of brought "high school Troy" out from the recesses of my mind. I like him. He's younger, more optomistic, full of possibilites, he's a lot less jaded and still has a touch of innocence.

What can I say about "Pete?" He was a year older than me. I remember him first and formost as a friend. He was a football player. He loved football. It really was a pity that his physical gifts weren't greater in that area. Don't get me wrong he did well on the high school team. As well as you could on our (at that time) dysfunctional football team, but he reminded me a little of Rudy, more heart than ability.

Pete was an overacheiver, he was loud, and crude (he told legendary lunchtime stories which are not fit for reprinting). You couldn't have attended my high school those years and not known who Pete was. He was also a loyal friend. Of course he did have some idiosycracies. Like the time he and Steve (anothe HS friend) went golfing and place bets $1 for each hole won. Steve came out ahead by 10-15 dollars. Pete tried to pay off his debt by offering him one of his old T-shirts. Steve was like, "Dude, I don't want your shirt. I want the money you owe me." Pete's answer was something like, "This is a good shirt. its worth at least the money i owe you." Steve's reply was the same as the first time.

Pete loved fishing, he loved the outdoors.

Steve & Pete were the ones who masterfully planned the Senior Class Prank I was associated with. It was amazing. Its a story for another time. A story that doesn't really translate well into subsequent decades, but for its time period . . . well, still one of my favorite High School memories.


I don't think that I'd seen Pete in over ten years, maybe fifteen, when I got the call. I know he had been a teacher in Alaska, he had a law degree, he was teaching in Eastern Oregon, he had even written a book.

It's just not the way things are supposed to end, ya know. Not at all the way I pictured things to turn out when I was still a high school junior and the entire world was in front of us. Pete was supposed to live forever. We were all supposed to live forever. It definitely wasn't suppopsed to shake down this way.

My prayers are with his family.

Anyway I read the newspaper article a few days back. It's probably pointless reading unless you knew Pete. It made me sad.

http://www.eastoregonian.info/main.asp?Search=1&ArticleID=84525&SectionID=13&SubSectionID=48&S=1

I think in the reading I became just a little more disconected with who I used to be, and my memories of back then lost little more of their innocence.