More Word Fun!

A BlogSnax© post

Is it just me or is it weird that the phrases “fill out” and “fill in” mean the same thing? You can fill out a form or fill in a form. Same result. What’s with that?

(Sorry for the terse post. I’m busy trying to get book #10 ready.)

Book burning is alive and… well…

Every year, libraries around the country commemorate (“celebrate” hardly seems like the appropriate word) banned books weeks and months. Everybody knows book banning and burning is the exclusive province of the far right fascistic wackazoids, right? Not exactly. As Ray Bradbury observed in his Coda to “Fahrenheit 451”, possibly the magnum opus on the topic:

There is more than one way to burn a book. And the world is full of people running about with lit matches. Every minority, be it Baptist/Unitarian, Irish/Italian/Octogenarian/Zen Buddhist, Zionist/Seventh-Day Adventist, Women’s Lib/Republican, Mattachine/FourSquareGospel feels it has the will, the right, the duty to douse the kerosene, light the fuse.

Mr. Bradbury knows whereof he speaks as does his fictional Fire-Captain Beatty. After all, that’s his job, burning books. He has allies of all stripes everywhere.

Case in point: Imagine my surprise when I sat down to read a book about a quaint bookstore near Lucca, Italy, home of my forebears, only to discover the liberal feminist author, while decrying the practice of burning books in general, has no problem with it in specific cases. The specific case she not only accepts but endorses is regarding books she has a problem with. Oh, that’s original.

The book in question in her case is the Bible, arguably the most loved and hated literary work in all history. She has taken it upon herself to decide that the book should be removed from the face of the earth, one copy at a time.

How wonderful it would be to steal the books that can muddle people’s values and throw them into the fireplace!

Evidently her opinion that the Bible “muddles people’s values” justifies eliminating a book that has not only created most people’s values, but has been a comfort to billions. But this author says that’s not good enough for her. She says burn’em, so they’re thrown into the fire, a la every autocrat who has ever trod too heavily on this planet.

She had at least one ally/inspiration who actually did it. He stole copies of the Bible wherever he found them, including from friends’ libraries, brought them home and put them to the torch. Why? Because the God he didn’t believe in in the first place refused to answer his prayers. There’s so much inconsistency in that, it’s hard to know where to begin. So I won’t.

I’ll be the first to admit that people have misused the Bible for their own destructive non-Biblical purposes throughout history. The same can be said of a lot of literature. Burn’em all, right? As a liberal, maybe you oughtta start with Ayn Rand. She’s responsible for much of what’s wrong with (at least) the US, IMHO. I’ll bet you’ll find plenty more kindling where she came from.

Hey, if you’re going to broil the Bible, why not also cook the books it inspired? There goes “Brothers Karamazov”, “Pilgrim’s Progress”, “Ben-Hur”, and countless others. Feel free to combust a couple of my favorite writers while you’re at it, Anne Lamott and Frederick Buechner. You have the blaze going anyway, so you might as well toss in some Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. Start down that road and you’ll have enough fuel to heat your home for a good long time.

This character, a self-proclaimed poet, goes on to say:

We shouldn’t burn books, I know. I’d still like to claim it as a symbolic act of reparation though, an irreverent prank a la Pippi Longstocking.

Pippi Longstocking? A prank? Seriously? Perhaps we were only punked by Third Reich, too! I guess that makes it okay. How many librarians would sign off on that philosophy come Banned Books Week?

I shouldn’t be surprised at this author’s hubris. This is another line from the book:

Autumn is also when my daughter, Laura, was born: my very own contribution to the fairy tale, something else I created from nothing–no mean feat.

The author created her daughter. Alone. From nothing. Ex nihilo. So neither the father nor nature/God/evolution (whichever you subscribe to) had any part in her “creation”. Well, with that much God-like power, she should be allowed to do anything she wants, just like a certain former president. I’m sure she’d blanch at the thought of being compared to such a moron/tyrant, but if the orange skin fits…

One more similarity between her and the former Oompa-Loompa-in-Chief who once sullied the White House carpets: Her dubious command of the language. She uses the illogical form, “each one is better than the next” when she means precisely the opposite. Some poet. Yes, English is not the language of her birth, but that’s no excuse for this bit of nonsense; it’s logic, not language. I’m no proficient wordsmith but even I know enough not to write the opposite of what I mean because I’m ignorant of the structure of a sentence. I railed against this very expression and a few other egregious transgressions against the language eleven years ago in this post on my other blog.

There’s actually a lot more of questionable value in this memoir—time prevents me from going into any further detail—but I stopped reading before she made any more brain-dead mistakes or outrageous claims to power over the universe and what I can and can’t read. Bradbury was right. Every point on the political spectrum has a match and is ready to wield it.

Look, lady, you aren’t the first frustrated wannabe authoritarian who’s burnt the Bible and you won’t be the last. Before you ignite the conflagration, I suggest you work on whatever it is that makes you so comfortable with being a hypocrite.

Bike MS: Ride the Vineyard 2024

I’ve been riding in this fundraiser since 1996. For a number of reasons, this is my last year doing it. If you’d like to support me on my swan song, you can click on this link:

Support Rick’s MS ride

Or use this QR code:

This year, I dedicate my ride to my friend Scott, who lost his fight with MS on November 29, 2023. The old saying is that MS doesn’t kill, it just destroys lives. In truth, sometimes it destroys lives then takes them all the same.

This one’s for you, Scott.

The NFL Blame Game

A BlogSnax© post

It’s football playoff time. Like a lot of guys, I spend (too) much of my weekends watching overpaid, overhyped, often overweight men pound each other into the artificial turf in pursuit of their big dream: dating Taylor Swift. No, not really. Well, yes, really, but the other dream: a Super Bowl©® championship, which entitles them to wear an immense, cumbersome, ostentatious ring causing their knuckles to drag on the ground for the rest of their lives. But at least they can flash them when making commercials for Subway©®.

One football scene that always amuses me is when there is movement at the line of scrimmage before the ball is hiked. The flags are thrown and action stops while referees confer about whether the offensive line had a false start or the D-line was offsides. Meanwhile, the players on the field blame each other. Seriously, it’s hysterical to watch mountainous men wagging their fingers at each other. “It’s not my fault, Mommy! He made me do it!”

Case in point (pun intended) is this screenshot from the Ravens/Texans game on 1/20/24:

No doubt the refs counted the number of fingers and made their decision based on that. Or maybe they responded as any frustrated parent of juveniles would, yelling, “Kids, stop arguing or we’re going home right this minute!”

By the way, on an only tangentially related note: Football was made for watching on TV.* At the stadium, it’s cold, it’s crazy, and you can’t really see the game. Unless you like to be surrounded by drunks painting their faces and chests and wearing pirate, S&M, animal, or other insane attire like rejects from a junior high costume party, stay home where you can eat anything you want anytime you want and at reasonable prices, see endless replays from every possible vantage point (including that of a slug crawling along the goal line), and you can easily get to the bathroom whenever you want. (Never underestimate the value of an easily accessible bathroom.)


[*On the other hand, baseball was made for viewing live. There’s nothing like sitting in the sun in a non-obstructed view seat, hot dog and favorite beverage in hand, while the greatest sport ever leisurely unfolds before you.]

Happy Gripesgiving!

A BlogSnax© post

In Disney’s delightful 1951 adaptation of “Alice in Wonderland”, the following discussion takes place:

Alice: I’m sorry I interrupted your birthday party…

March Hare: Birthday? Hahaha! My dear child, this is not a birthday party!

Mad Hatter: Of course not! Hehehe! This is an unbirthday party!

Alice: Unbirthday? Why, I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand.

March Hare: Its very simple. Now, thirty days have sept- no, when… an unbirthday, if you have a birthday then you… haha… she doesn’t know what an unbirthday is!

Mad Hatter: How silly! Ha ha ha ha! Ah-hum… I shall elucidate! Now statistics prove, prove that you’ve one birthday.

March Hare: Imagine, just one birthday every year.

Mad Hatter: Ahhh, but there are 364 unbirthdays!

The same can be said of Thanksgiving. It takes up 1/365th of the year. The rest of the year is spent complaining and griping. Why not make it official and declare every day except the fourth Thursday of November to be “Gripesgiving”?

All this is put forth with tongue firmly embedded in cheek, of course. But we probably do gripe about 365 times more than we give thanks, so this isn’t as far-fetched an idea as you might think. We should either celebrate consistent with our behavior or reverse that ratio. (Try this idea to get things started.)


[Confession: I thought I’d come up with this original thought but it turns out many others have used the same idea. Oh, well. It was new to me. And maybe to you.]

TV and toilets

A BlogSnax© post

Random thoughts on a random day. One for every single day of the year! So far.

Have you seen the ads for the “Golden Bachelor”? They break new ground in hyperbole, hubris, and downright lying. It was proclaimed to “make history”. With such a status, you can understand why they claimed that it was “all anyone can talk about.” Is it all you’re talking about? I’m pretty sure I could watch it (God forbid) and not even think about it, never mind talk about it.


I’m not a fan of the vertical toilet paper holder as shown here. As Cynthia Tobias would say, “What’s the point?” As far as I can tell, it attempts to address only one problem: the controversy over whether the paper should come over the front or the back. Unfortunately, it merely swaps that dilemma for an even more perplexing one: left or right. (Yet another illustration of “Rick’s Law of the Conservation of Woes“.) That answer will likely depend on whether you’re a conservative or liberal. Meanwhile, the solution to the horizontal controversy is irrefutable: the paper should come over the front. End of discussion.


[As I typed the title of this post, it occurred to me that it makes an editorial statement in itself. Both of these household appliances are often filled with crap. Fortunately, the latter is rarely filled to overflowing. The same cannot be said of the former.]

Neverending Thanx…

Once more reviving my old “Thanx” posts. (See here for a full description of the genre.) Making a Thanksgiving post once a year on the eve of the holiday is wildly inadequate. As a friend recently told me, it should be thanksliving. He’s right. G. K. Chesterton was on target when he said,

I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.

In that spirit, I offer this woefully skimpy inventory, from the sublime to the ridiculous to the ridiculously sublime:

  1. God (Good start, huh?)
  2. My extended family (most of whom will be together on Thanksgiving)
  3. Eight years with St. Matthew
  4. Small and large groups
  5. Jigsaw puzzles
  6. Bucket list bike trips
  7. One good leg
  8. Unexpected encounters, calls, and visitors
  9. Grace
  10. Learning lessons, even the hard ones
  11. New City Microcreamery
  12. Isaiah predicting today’s news
  13. MS Cure is back in business!
  14. Burger Night at State Road
  15. Sitting on the beach in mid-November
  16. Ari’s grotto
  17. The trapeze and fear of transformation
  18. Ground Round Reunion
  19. Uncle Beef
  20. Nashoba Brook Bakery
  21. The Sheriff’s Meadow
  22. The blessing of generosity, no matter which end of it I’m on
  23. Lessons and Carols and Jenna
  24. Rosewater chicken sandwich and lemon pound cake
  25. Accessible vans
  26. Lexie’s Lemonade
  27. 45.5 years
  28. “The Quiet Girl”
  29. Answering the call
  30. Memory so bad that rereading books is a pleasure
  31. etc. etc. etc. …

Look, I know the great majority of these are obscure beyond reason, but they’re understood by the bless-ee and the bless-er and that’s all that really counts.

I wish you and yours a happy and grateful Thanksgiving!

Speaking of Speaker…

Many people were relieved when the House of Representatives finally selected a Speaker of the House. I, for one, was not. Writing about this could sound as if I’m boasting, but it’s my duty as an American citizen to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth… as I see it… which could mean anything in this culture. And the truth is…

I was fourth in line after “Mike Johnson” (yeah, like that’s his real name) to be nominated as Speaker.

Yes, it’s true. The Republicans were working down a list according to qualifications. After McCarthy, Scalise, Jordan, Emmer, Bergman, Hern, and a swarm of other no-names who either couldn’t get the votes or dropped out (because they couldn’t get the votes), “Mr. Johnson” was elected before the next names on the list were revealed.

Now it can be told.

After “Johnson”, Attila the Hun’s name was to be put on on the table. Sadly, even though he had secured the votes to be elected, someone had the audacity to point out that Mr. Hun had been dead for 1570 years. He lost six votes after that fact was revealed, which was enough to put his election into question. This came as a major disappointment to Republican presidential favorite Donald the Hun.

Another Trump preference was the next candidate on the roster. Milburn Pennybags, a.k.a. “Rich Uncle” Pennybags, mascot of the popular Parker Brothers board game, Monopoly. He has a few key character traits in common with the presumptive Republican nominee: First, he’s two-dimensional, possibly one dimension more than Mr. Trump. Second, he appears to be rich but his money isn’t real. Finally, he never shows up on the “Pay Income Tax” space.

The final name on the list before me was Bozo the Clown. He was never a serious consideration because Mr. Trump rejected him on two counts: (1) He’s afraid of clowns and (2) Bozo is considered too much of an intellectual (“a egghead”, as Mr. Trump puts it) who wouldn’t appeal to mainstream Republican House members.

That would have brought me to the front of the line. The fact that no one knows who I am certainly worked in my favor. It’s not clear whether I would have been able to muster the votes to be elected but I’d give it my all, which is all a guy can do.

If, Heaven forbid, I failed to be elected, a small selection of the many names that would have come after me were Captain America, Gumby, Taylor Swift, the World’s Largest Ball of Twine, Popeye the Sailor Man–never underestimate the draw of a man in uniform–and Goofy… or was that Dopey… or “Mike Johnson”? Six of one…

Repost of autumnal biking perils…

A BlogSnax© post

It being autumn, and me being slothful and uninspired, it’s fitting to recycle a post from my old blog, Limping in the Light. It’s appropriate not only for the season and seasonal activities but also because, sadly, I’m limping again. 😦

(Note that the original post was published in spring but this particular activity is more common in the fall.)