The Greatest Story Ever Told II

Coming this summer, to a theater near you...

Two thousand years ago...

on a hill in Jerusalem...

We thought the story came to an end...

"Oh Lord! Why? Why have you died?!"

But this summer...

We'll discover the truth...

"Mary... He is alive... and I think he's very angry with us!"

"Who John? Who?"

From the Makers of I Know What Film You Saw Last Week and Last 10 Bucks in Pocomo comes the latest Hollywood film, The Greatest Story Ever Told II - Revenge of Jesus.

"But how is it possible? There's no way anyone could have survived that?"

"Whether he was resurrected or rescued by aliens, we'll never know. One thing is for certain. He's back. And there's only one way to stop him!"

Pulse pounding excitement...

"Look out! He's stomping out the vineyard where the grapes of wrath are stored!"

Heart wrenching romance...

"I always knew you'd come back! I never doubted it for a second!"

One thrilling moment...

"You baptize me? No, I baptize you!"

After another...

"My God! What is he doing to the ocean?"

This is one summer film you don't want to miss! Tom Hanks, Angela Basset, Morgan Freeman, Keanu Reeves, and Keifer Sutherland as Jesus.

The Greatest Story Ever Told II - The Revenge of Jesus!

This summer... its judgement time!

(And that, my dear friends, is my short review on X3 - The Last Stand)

Going Through The Paces

My life in a nutshell - come up with idea, play with idea, write idea down, repeat. Internally speaking, I seem to be stuck in this endless loop of wisdom exploration. I will have a sudden epiphany and then spend the next several months exploring that epiphany and then I'll finally feel confident enough to write that idea down as tried and tested fact. It can, at times, feel very routine, as if gaining knowledge and passing it on was just my job and not a wonderful gift that God has given me. During these periods where I feel everything is routine, I often get depressed because I lose sight of the brilliance of life. I realize that this feeling will pass and so, ultimately, all that happens is I wander around feeling like I'm just going through the paces until something jars me loose of the rut I've landed in. That's where I feel like I'm at right now.

At the core of this rut is the idea I can't shake that perhaps I'm not doing what I'm meant to be doing. Last night while reading my Bible, I caught myself feeling very ho-hum about the whole prospect of scripture. For nearly five years I've read a chapter of the Bible every single night. This isn't the first time I've thought that I'd be much better served with sleep than with His Holy Word, but the thoughts have been growing lately in frequency and depth. Last night, I actually wondered why I was doing this. Was I reading the Bible because of the story, or because of the word of God? So much of the old testament can be so darn repetitive to me. "Okay, I get the hint, Israel is bad and you need to punish them but not too badly because of the covenant thing and because you're such a wonderful God who will send His son to deliver them and all people." After you reach such a conclusion, its hard to find anything new in scripture. So, I wondered, What is the point?

It's not just scripture where I've been feeling this. I've come to realize that I will never be Paul and, hopefully, I will never be damned either. So, I'm going to fall somewhere in between. What's the point? I'm not going to be the least and I'm not going to be the best - I'm just going to be an average every day Christian, loved by God, and forgiven for my sins. I can't do anything more to please God except play my role, whatever that is, to the best of my ability.

I wonder if this Crisis of Faith even qualifies as a crisis. You never read in the Bible about people with ho-hum crises'. You never hear John the Baptist say, "I'm wondering Lord if the Dead Sea wouldn't be a better place to baptize people instead of the River Jordan." Or Moses complaining about the font used on the Ten Commandments. Here I am worrying about my reason for reading scripture. Yet, I suspect that more Christians have minor questions about faith than larger ones, and to leave them unaddressed makes our religion dull and our worshipping uninspired.

I know the rut will end and I will rebound. Its just a matter of time. The journey is a long one and for every time you pass spectacular scenery like Yosemite Valley, there is just as much time spent looking at the flatness of Kansas. It can't all be peaks. I just wish to be inspired and to feel God's glory fill me up on a daily basis. Lethargy might not be a sin, but it is surely a precursor.

Friday's Holiday Category

A real quick one for Andy who is leaving to go wi-fi'ing in a campground somewhere... I hope he remembers to bring extra batteries for his 42" Portable Plasma Screen TV as well... ;)

Name three new holidays that America ought to have...


Good luck and I'll see you all next week!

Applications Now Being Accepted

After the first draft of The Thin Line, I was a little wary about sharing it with strangers. The ending was in such disarray that I didn't want them to read it and be disappointed. There were also some serious problems with pacing and motivation. I hesitated to find readers.

I've introduced new characters, rewritten whole sections in the middle of the book, and practically retold 2/3rds of the final act now and have reached a point where I am confident that the problems I had with the first draft are gone. The Thin Line, while needing a little tweaking (spelling, grammar, continuity, etc...), is ready for readers.

Starting a week from today, I will begin taking ten chapters at a time, tweaking them, and then printing them. I will make five copies. I need five volunteers to read these chapters. When these volunteers finish the first ten chapters, the second ten chapters ought to be available for them to read.

Besides people who are just looking for a good summer read, I am looking for readers with the following skills - You must be willing to trash my writing (too many cliches , Will, what the heck are you thinking here? etc...), find copious spelling and grammatical errors, and offer constructive criticism. What I am not looking for are philosophical debates on the meaning of certain ideas, concepts, or scenes in the book (though if you're uncomfortable with a scene or it plays as being entirely unrealistic, that would be good to know).

Though I am confidant that my readers will enjoy my book and find it perfectly written and wonderfully entertaining, I know that I am full of it. Since I have never had a single perfectly written and wonderfully entertaining review in my entire life, to hope that I somehow nailed an 1100 page book on the second try is just a little unrealistic.

Readers will be acknowledged when the book is finally published (so you get to be in that list of thank you's that the author throws out there even though none of us ever actually know who these people are ;) and I'll invite you to the wrap party.

Most agents only ask to see the first or first three chapters. So the first 10 chapters that are read and tweaked will be the most important chapters of my life. No pressure.

If you think you are ready for this challenge, simply respond below. I'll add your name to the list.

Why Should I Care?

Our troops are getting killed in Iraq. The war may have been illegal. We told the world there were weapons of mass destruction when there were none. Our government was slow in responding to Hurricane Katrina. They have been illegally spying on us for years without warrants to protect us against terrorists. The war on terror spins on. Iran is defiant about wanting nuclear power. Genocide rages in Africa. Millions of young girls are sold into sexual slavery each year. The drug trade continues and flourishes. Millions of people are in this country illegally and we don't know who or where they are. I could go on. But why bother? I have no reason to care.

I am not in the military any more. I know nobody that is. So, if they get killed, why should I care? Whether the war was legal or illegal, it doesn't matter to me. I didn't start it. I'm not fighting it. So, why should I care? Whether there were weapons of mass destruction or not is not important. If the rest of the world hates us for illegal aggression, why should I care? I don't know anyone in New Orleans, and I haven't visited there in years. If the city is destroyed by flooding and hundreds of thousands of people are homeless and displaced, why should I care? I'm not one of them. I haven't done anything wrong, so let the government spy on me all it wants. I have nothing to hide, so why should I care? If the government wants to hunt down terrorists, let them. I'm not involved. I don't know anyone who is. Why should I care? What Iran does with its nuclear power doesn't affect me, so why should I care? I don't know anybody in Darfur and will likely never know them, so if they get killed in a genocide, why should I care? I don't have a daughter and my niece is well protected and too young to be taken into sexual slavery, so why should I care that people are kidnapping other children? I don't use drugs and don't know anybody who does. So why should I care whether some people want to continue smuggling this stuff into my country? The illegal immigrants aren't competing for my job. They aren't taking food off my plate. So why should I care where they came from or how they got here? Why should I care about any of it? I have a job, food, shelter, and enough money to live off of for many days to come. I am blessed beyond measure. So what difference does any of this stuff make to me?

I remember growing up in a nation that stood for something - where we were taught ideals about peace, freedom, responsibility, knowledge, and respect. I remember thinking that this nation was the greatest nation in the world, not because of all the great blessings that we had and because we could now lord it over the rest of the world, but because when the chips were down, our nation was the first to respond with offers of help. I remember a nation that did the right thing not for political expedience but because it was the right thing to do. I remember a nation that feared no one and no thing - that stood defiantly in the way of nuclear annhilation and said, "Go ahead - make our day!" I remember a nation that would not bend, nor break, no matter what horrible thing happened to it.

Alas, I fear that that nation no longer exists. But why should I care? I've got mine, and that's all that matters.

Coming To Terms With Vegetables

I am told that sometimes my thinking can be positively primeval. I disagree. (Ugh. Scratch. Grunt. I smash people over head with big wooden stick and drag them by hair to my cave.) The leader of these people, I'll call her... "Mom", for short... suggests that my thinking about these green things that other people eat may be old fashioned. I think she uses too many big words for my limited brain to understand. One of those big words, Vegetables, is particularly alien to me.

However, witch doctor say that I am developing Big Club Elbow and that reason I no bop mate over the head for many moons. He say eating these vegetable things might make future mate bop me instead. Ugh. Me no think that such a bad idea.

Vegetables aren't as bad as saber-toothed tigers. They don't run as fast. They don't try to eat you. And they are easier to catch. But they no taste as good. Even with large measures of cheese and salad, veggies no taste as good as Brontosaurus burger. Me no understand how they attract mates. Me becoming very scrawny and cold when walk on glacier to chase Mastadon. Me no get winded when do fire dance. Me need less dinojuice because me walk everywhere. Me save large amounts of green paper.

Me no pansy, though. Me still like animal flesh. Ugh. Grunt. Snarl. Me still think Dodger Fans whimps! Me still cook fish. Me still drink mead. Me still enjoy football. So, vegetables no change me that much.

Still no mate bop me yet. But me hopeful.

What now?

It took me a little over 4 years to finish writing two drafts of the synopsis and two drafts of the Novel. The last time I finished a project was in the spring of 2001. It took me until November of that year to come up with the idea of writing The Thin Line (and even then I wasn't entirely convinced until after I had finished the Synopsis a year later). Four years is a long time.

I graduated from Idaho State University in two years. I graduated from Jr. High in three years. I was on active duty in the Navy for three years (I only lived in Hawaii for two years). High School was four years. Three years at City College of San Francisco. Six months in Las Vegas. Granted, in terms of jobs, all of the companies I've worked for I've had more than four years now - except Super Shuttle, but that was seasonal employment. The point is, four years is a big chunk of time.

What now? Its easy to look at short term goals. There were a lot of projects I put off to the side while I was writing. I have a store ready for my website that is approximately 25% done. I have a website that has been languishing for three years (though my bag of tricks has grown). I've been meaning to take up the Saxophone. I've got all those pounds to work off (which begins today after a weekend splurge that made me sick - sometimes you have to become a jackass before you can see that Pleasure Island is not good for you ;) I've got a lot of people to see and places to go that I've ignored or delayed. I still have Christmas presents to deliver and birthday presents to buy. T-Ball isn't done with yet. There's an entire youth group summer to plan and a Youth Reunion Dinner to execute. I've got a thousand little projects that need doing. But there is no big picture.

I remember now how antsy I got in the summer of 2001 when I had finished my last project. The thought of a new project consumed me. I drifted from one idea to the next always trying to develop the next goal, the next step on the rung of my ladder of success. All I can say is, the idea is probably right in front of me now, but I can't see it. That thought is encouraging for one reason.

I was driving to work today and I was thinking up various different project ideas (as I've been doing since midnight on Thursday when I wrote The End) and it suddenly occurred to me that the one person that knew what my next project to be had yet to be consulted. I prayed, "God, its all fine and dandy for me to sit here and think up project after project, but what do YOU want me to do?" The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I've been facing this quandry the wrong way again. I always let this anxiety build and it drives me crazy and then WHAMMO! the next project just appears to me one day and I know its the right one. I don't know how I know, I just do. And then I go after that next project with everything I've got.

I can't imagine why God wanted me to write The Thin Line. Perhaps, He didn't particularly care what I wrote, so long as I wrote something. My sister mentions the fact that if she hadn't been dating this real loser, she never would have met her husband. Perhaps, when God wants us to do things that seem contrary to our own health or the health of others, it is for our own growth. The fact of the matter is, it doesn't matter. I wrote it and I never once questioned the idea that it was the right thing to do. And whatever is the next step on my journey, if God has His hand in it, I will know that it is the right thing to do.

So, for now, I will try to live each day without anxiety. I will simply go backwards checking things off my to do list until God decides to reveal His next step to me. And then I will embrace that new goal and charge off in a new direction. Until then, I've got to figure out a way to keep weeding and gutter cleaning as far down on my list as possible ;)

In Compliance

Staying in compliance with new Senate regulations of keeping English as our national language, I thought I'd translate my previous post for those of you with ADD.

In short; The Novel is done.

Thank you for your patience.

And now, let's move on.

P.S. If its now illegal to speak any language other than English, does this mean we can finally get rid of Bush? ;)

The Trial is over!

And I have been convicted.

Isaiah 58
True Fasting
1 "Shout it aloud, do not hold back.
Raise your voice like a trumpet.
Declare to my people their rebellion
and to the house of Jacob their sins.

2 For day after day they seek me out;
they seem eager to know my ways,
as if they were a nation that does what is right
and has not forsaken the commands of its God.
They ask me for just decisions
and seem eager for God to come near them.

3 'Why have we fasted,' they say,
'and you have not seen it?
Why have we humbled ourselves,
and you have not noticed?'
"Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please
and exploit all your workers.

4 Your fasting ends in quarreling and strife,
and in striking each other with wicked fists.
You cannot fast as you do today
and expect your voice to be heard on high.

5 Is this the kind of fast I have chosen,
only a day for a man to humble himself?
Is it only for bowing one's head like a reed
and for lying on sackcloth and ashes?
Is that what you call a fast,
a day acceptable to the LORD ?

6 "Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?

7 Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

8 Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness [a] will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.

9 Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
"If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

10 and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.

11 The LORD will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.

12 Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

13 "If you keep your feet from breaking the Sabbath
and from doing as you please on my holy day,
if you call the Sabbath a delight
and the LORD's holy day honorable,
and if you honor it by not going your own way
and not doing as you please or speaking idle words,

14 then you will find your joy in the LORD,
and I will cause you to ride on the heights of the land
and to feast on the inheritance of your father Jacob."
The mouth of the LORD has spoken.

Last night, at approximately 12:57am, I finished the Novel. Not some nambypamby, its done but I still need to work on it for another year, completion... I'm talking finished. Finito. Done!

I saved all my back up copies and played my last game of Freecell, then I wrote down the stats (Over 2000 wins!) and cleared the game. I wanted to start over with Freecell on the next novel. I was making a clear break. The Novel was done.

I got up from my computer after I had turned it off and crossed over to my room and sat on my bed. I was stunned. A mixture of surprise and elation filled me. Though I had seen this moment for more than three years, I don't think I ever believed I would actually get there. And then, I just realized what I had accomplished and my heart soared and my brain exploded in applause and I could feel my ego expanding like a carnival game balloon.

As it was one in the morning, however, I knew I had to go to work in the morning and I hadn't yet done any of my evening routine. I turned immediately on my bed and grabbed my Bible for reading. I wondered vaguely if I'd be able to concentrate on God's words now that I was the author of a completed book. I said a quick silent prayer, "God, please burst my bubble. Let me know that this is truly over and remind me where I really stand." And then I opened the Bible to my usual spot and read the first verses of Isaiah 58.

Tears welled in my eyes as I read the convicting words. God was truly reminding me of where my novel sat in the larger scheme of things. He had answered my prayer directly, and forcefully, and His words pierced my soul.

So, the trial is over, and I have been found guilty - guilty of neglect, guilty of self-indulgence, guilty of indifference. I will put the Novel aside for a while and begin the new phase of my life. It is done. But thankfully, I am not.

The First Log - Intolerance

Insert Quote Here:

I only just noticed the first log in my eye this morning - it had been making my commutes difficult with this big old sucker stuck there. Perhaps it was the new glasses, or some trick of the light, that finally revealed this honking massive redwood poking out of my eye. I'm not sure, but I'm fairly certain grace had something to do with this revelation.

As usual, it was my ego that pointed it out to me - like it was some sort of trophy. Guess what you've won?! A Brand New Car? NO! A little bit of intolerance! Congratulations! For a split second, before the ramifications settled in, I was actually pleased with myself and my little bit of intolerance. That's just how it goes.

I was driving. I get all my best revelations behind the wheel - usually because I open myself to sin every time I open the door to my car. There was, once again, this slow poke in front of me - one of these annoying guys that waits until the last second to merge (cause, you know, they're in a hurry and you're not) and the second they merge, they immediately slow down. So now I'm sitting behind this guy going 50 in a 65 zone and I'm getting madder and madder and madder because the car I used to be behind is already at work and halfway to his lunchbreak, and finally a lane opens up to pass this guy and what does he do? He accelerates to 70. It used to piss me off to no end, but I've mellowed quite a bit with age. I only cursed him and went 75. But that was when the revelation hit me and my airbags did nothing to prevent this collision.

I suddenly thought, "Hey, Will, the poor guy can't possibly keep up with you. He's a bad driver precisely because he can't see the connections as fast as you can." Which for those of you who are Willspeak impaired means... he's not as smart as you. I accepted this bit of information with pride and replied back to myself, "Poor guy. They can't all be as smart as I am." And that was when the revelation hit me.

They can't all be as smart as I am.

The main character in my book, The Thin Line (coming soon to paperback ;), is a thinly disguised example of my ego blown up to really frightening proportions - I.E. Me, with my ego unchecked. He equates being smarter than everyone with a license to use that intellect in whatever way he can devise to prove his worth. He doesn't seek out a cause for its righteousness sake, but for his righteousness sake. Writing about the idiocy of this allegedly smart character was cathartic - literary group therapy. I thought for sure that I was curing myself of this terrible sin (and its true that I wouldn't make the same mistakes this character makes... but that doesn't mean I wouldn't make different mistakes). But as soon as I thought the above thought, with Pride mind you, I knew that I was still suffering from the same delusions.

I have always been smart. I have always seen things in a way that is clearer than most other people. I can easily make intuitive leaps (not always deductive leaps). The ability to write a book is the ability to simply keep bringing creative problems and solutions to the table combined with the ability to see the world in a way that nobody else sees it. This, to me, is a sign of intellect. You analyze problems and find solutions. It made me a writer. It made me a great intelligence expert. It helped me ace college with a minimum of effort. It has kept me at the top of my game in my career thus far. It is the one trait I have that I can count on again and again to save my bacon. But it has also made me arrogant and intolerant of others with less ability.

I have no patience for people who can't see the obvious connections right in front of their eyes. I am constantly frustrated with these people. During the lead up to the Gulf War 2, I kept telling people - there are no WMD's! He's lying to you! But nobody would listen to me. The fact that I was right is only met in my head with the prideful voice saying, "Of course, you're right! They can't all be as smart as you!" I feel sorry for people who voted for Bush because they couldn't forsee what I saw, that he would be a terrible President. This isn't some sort of psychic gift that I have - its just the use of logic and intellect to take current events and extrapolate them into the future. I.E. Two friends both hit on the same girl - this will end badly, or, Guy into drugs dates girl who thinks she can change his ways - I don't like the odds of this one. Take that gift and play it out on a scale of international politcs and history and you'd be surprised what things you can see coming down the pike. You see, even now, I look to this gift with pride - never mind the fact that I've certainly offended most of you with these last statements. As in, how could you not forsee these things? Oh that's right... You can't all be as smart as I!

The sobering fact of this intolerance, of this log in my eye, is that I am a lightweight intellect and I know it. I am nowhere near as smart as I want to be. I am nowhere near genius level. And yet, these thoughts persist. Ariel is a genius when it comes to making religious connections to everyday things. I envy his gifts. Andy is a genius when it comes to baseball and coaching and he's certainly got the whole career and family thing figured out. My sister is a better writer than I will ever be. Sue has a way of cutting to the heart of a matter that I could only dream about. I could go on and on, but it doesn't help me remove this log.

I'm sure, given time, my intellect could device some means of removing the log. Perhaps a fulcrum or special tweezers or some such. But, of course, I already know the simplest way to remove it is to humble myself, to get over myself, to use my gifts constructively to build up others and not look down my nose at them. As I've said many times before, I con no one but myself. Yet, knowing that and doing something about it are too very different things. Occassionally its good to look inward and see those things that obscure our vision, but its not always an easy thing to live with.

And so, I acknowledge my sin and pray for your's and God's forgiveness, and strive to be a better person. Ultimately, no matter how smart I am, that is all I can do.

My idea of H E Double Hockey Sticks.

I've decided to go to the movies every Tuesday night this summer, shell out my $10 and see whatever film strikes my fancy. Well, last night, I was forced to watch a movie called Silent Hill. This movie, based on a popular video game of some years back, is basically about this ghost town, Silent Hill, that has become trapped in Hell and a mother who goes there to rescue her daughter from the clutches of the Vile One. The scariest thing about this movie was the fact that I paid $10 to see it, but that's another story (actually, early on, there was a really great creepy scene that just abruptly ended and that they never went back to at any point in the film... very disappointing, and I'm not even a horror fan).

That's neither here nor there, however. At the end of the film, without giving away anything, our hero and daughter emerge into a world surrounded by this dense fog (hint: There's a sequel to Silent Hill video game... which suggests that maybe not everything is kosher with the rescue of the daughter). After the movie, I went home, forgot about the whole thing, and went to bed.

When I woke up this morning, I looked out the window and discovered that my house, my neighborhood, and in fact, my entire town was surrounded by this dense fog. I screamed! For my worst fear had finally come to pass... I was now trapped in a lame ass movie for the rest of my life!

Anyone else feel that sometimes they've brought a little bit of their entertainment experience home with them?

Moving On

Forget my position on Iraq or the Presidency of George Bush. America is too important for partisan politics or to get swallowed up by past mistakes, whether they are acknowledged or not. Its time for this nation to move on, heal itself, and prepare for new challenges ahead.

I thought I'd discuss my thoughts on where we go from here. In thinking these things, I am distancing myself from the Democratic party that wants to spend all of its time looking into the past. Bush screwed up. Get over it. Move on. Let's start figuring out how America can regain its place in the world again.

Internationally, we need to bridge the gaps that have been created with our allies and with the rest of the world's governments. We need to not only support the UN's mission, but we need to start playing its game of peace and diplomacy. I see shreds of hope coming out of the Bush administration with regards to Iran - but then Iran is a much scarier foe than Iraq ever was and we need to be cautious here. Let's see what we can accomplish with diplomacy instead of rhetoric. I'm not saying that the UN is perfect, but its the only thing we've got right now to deal with international crisis. Beyond that, we need to strengthen the role of NATO in the world's hot spots. America has got to end its isolationist military policy of the last 6 years. We have allies for a reason. Occassionally, it might be a good idea to listen to them instead of always going it alone. Are we going to end up bearing the weight of combat duties? Sure. But we could have at least convinced our allies to take over our roles in Kosovo or Afghanistan so that we could have freed our troops for action in other parts of the world.

The war on terror has not ended and it will never end until the terrorists give up. They will never give up so long as there is a reason to fight. This is why our war needs to be two part - it needs to be ruthless in its hunting down and exterminating terrorists wherever they hide, and it needs to be extremely compassionate in attacking the reasons terrorism exists in the first place. Extremism doesn't just rise up out of the blue. It is created by a series of tragic events that push a people to the breaking point. We need to intervene before that happens, not mop up after the fact. This, ironically, is where the United States could be great. Not in fighting the war, so much, as in preventing it from ever happening. We need to be the leaders of the world in more ways than just militarily.

I will not speak of particular domestic issues. While I don't agree with much of what the current regime espouses, I recognize their right to espouse those ideals and the laws that govern them. And I hope that they recognize my right to do the same. What I will speak of is the need to end the divisiveness in this nation. There is a serious communication gap between the right and the left. The moderates have all chosen at this moment in history to become self-conscious about speaking their minds and building bridges of understanding and compromise. Its become My Way or the Highway in Washington D.C. and both sides are playing the game. No matter how the election turns out, governing means governing for all the people, not just the ones that voted for you - and that goes for the right and left. We need to seek common ground as Americans and discover our path from that common ground.

To Bush, I would say this. Come clean. If your domestic spying program is really seeking to stop terrorism in the United States, and its working, I'd be shouting it from the rooftops by now. I know you don't comment on current intelligence operations or methods, but there's got to be a way to let people know that it isn't as bad as it sounds. Shrugging your shoulders and saying, "We did nothing wrong," is not encouraging. In fact, it has quite the opposite effect. Address the American people. Stand tall in your resolve. Give us a detailed explanation about what your administration is doing, is planning on doing, and has done in the past in regards to Iraq, the war on terror, and your energy policy. Show us that our misgivings are not accurate, and we'll leave you the heck alone. Its that simple. You are the President. You don't get the luxury of saying, "Its none of your damn business." You work for us, not the other way around.

These are the ways I see this country going forward from here. But I would like to hear your opinions, no matter how crazy you think I am. We can't move forward together if we don't start listening to each other.

A Zippadee Doo Dah Category

In honor of having just paid off my Disney World vacation, I thought a Disney themed category would be apropo.

Describe the three things that visitors to Disney World would like most about the new theme park attraction based on your life...

P.S. Try to be nice. No digs at Disney World at my blogs expense... though some would probably be appropriate (like the Plush Will Doll's available at the Will Experience Store at the end of the ride ;)

The Excitement Within

I wanted to run down the streets, bombed out of my mind, through the snow, crying out, "Hello, mailbox! Hello, streetlamp! Hello, nice men in white coats with tasers!" To me, there is no greater display of the sheer insanity of excitement than the scene near the end of Its A Wonderful Life where Jimmy Stewart realizes that he's not dead and that Bedford Falls is back to normal again. But think about that... who else in their right mind could ever understand what Jimmy Stewart found exciting? "You're excited to be alive... and to find that nothing's changed?"

Excitement is such a personal thing. It comes from within like a spring that bubbles up and overflows its banks - a geyser of energy and endorphins and all sorts of instant insanity. It makes us want to sing, and smile, and act foolish. We can't help ourselves. It is probably the greatest feeling in the whole world. We seek thrills to try and recreate the feeling. But the problem with excitement is that it is such a personal thing - one man's thrills are another man's yawns. The guy who leaps off perfectly good buildings can't understand the guy who spends his entire weekend looking for a particularly rare bird out in the woods so that he can observe it and catalog it. And yet, both feel the exact same kind of excitement. Even internally, sometimes we have no idea what causes us to be excited. We try and recreate those things that made us excited in the past, only to discover that we're not excited any more.

I've come to realize long ago that life, in and of itself, is quite exciting enough without looking for more. Who needs to look for death and danger when that particular gruesome twosome will surely come knocking on your door soon enough? Romantic escapades, thrilling job promotions, exciting days of family life come to all of us sooner or later. We are on a roller coaster already - some milder than others - and we can't get off the ride.

Yesterday, I went to the eye exam and I was giddy to discover all the new machines that go whirr and ping! I've been getting eye exams for more than 20 years and I thought I knew it all. Yet, they sat me in front of a new machine and it checked my vision in seconds (all computer controlled). The Glaucoma test was as simple as two gentle puffs of air (no more water drops full of gravel and laser beams poking your eyeballs!). What a delight! I picked out a new pair of glasses and paid for them and thought for sure that this would be the highlight of my day.

When I came home, though, I whipped out my credit card and went online and paid for my Disney World trip in September. All visions of running around the parks with my niece and nephew and family filled me with exuberant joy! I called my sister (twice) to gloat that I had paid off my trip. I called my Mom and told her as well. I thought for sure that this would be the highlight of my day.

But what kept me up last night, into the wee hours, had nothing to do with either of these things. Instead, as I switched off my computer at 1 AM, I was ready to go running through the streets of Pacifica professing my love for inanimate objects because I had finished editing three more chapters of the Novel. That was what I found the most exciting thing of the entire day! It was remarkable! On a day of so much excitment and thrills, the mundane task of writing was what filled me with joy and excitement! As I finished my journal entry last night, I chuckled to myself as I realized that the entire entry was about writing and not a single word had been spilt about new glasses or my trip to WDW. What a crazy thing excitement is - exuberant beyond measure and completely unpredictable!

Suggestions Needed

Have you ever looked at your schedule and said, "Wow. If only I could get rid of one thing that really takes up all my time?" Well, that's the thing that's looking me in the face. Approximately one week from now, the Novel is done and I have my evenings free for the first time in three and a half years. The problem is, short of starting a crime spree, I really haven't got any ideas about what to do to fill up my new found time. I'm afraid that the answer will be to cut a giant groove in my bed in front of my TV while I watch re-runs for the entire summer.

So I'm looking for some interesting, though not super time consuming, alternatives to sitting on my couch this summer. Any suggestions?

The Home Stretch

After tonight, I will start on a stretch of eight chapters with little or no changes to them, which will bring me within seven chapters of the end of the novel. This is definitely the home stretch for me. The plots have all been laid out. All that's left is the finish.

I've been sneaking up on the finish - trying to disguise how I feel about it by concentrating instead on my upcoming trip to Disney World. When each chapter that I complete is just another chapter, suddenly each word doesn't seem so monumentous. I'm so far beyond human nature at this point, that I've just stopped questioning the logic of what I do. If this is what it takes to finish the novel, then this is what I will do. I'll leave the why's for psychologists to debate after its done.

Had I the time to properly analyze how I felt about finally finishing this thing, the formula would certainly include a large dose of relief. I feel like the guy who has swam across the ocean. He is at first terribly relieved and overjoyed to see the shore, but then remembers that he still has to swim the last miles over the treacherous rocks to reach it. I don't want to stop and contemplate what I'm going to do once the warm sands of the beach are beneath my feet, but I know that resting will take up a large part of that.

Jesus had to know what was coming when He started His ministry. He was almost 30 years old and He knew that His teachings were going to change the world, and certainly bring about His death and resurrection. I wonder how He felt as He approached the end - was He worried about all the things He'd left unsaid, all the lessons that would be forgotten, whether His pupils would actually understand anything, how much pain He was about to endure?

Just as I posted earlier on Reginnings, there is a part of that cycle that we must remember - endings. Barry Bonds' career is winding down. TV shows are ending after long runs. Things come and go with regular frequency. Ariel reminded us the other day about the fragility of life and that our expectancy of life tomorrow may be extremely presumptive. I think we'd all like to end things on our own terms every time. We don't want the good times to end, we all want to make the bad times stop cold immediately. But we are only tiny specks of foam on giant waves that begin and end according to the will of another. Jesus knew the hour of his death and was able to make his death meaningful and the last week of his life extremely memorable. We should all aspire to do the same, even if we don't know when that last week will be.

So as I disappear into the cocoon of writing once again, I hope to finally emerge as a butterfly. The home stretch is a killer, but with faith and grace, we can be resurrected thereafter.

Tnuby - The Art of Blog Word Verification

For those of you who don't know:

Tnuby; Verb; (BWV); 1 - To verify a word's security status on a Blog Word Verification. 2 - Verification of any security status (I.E. I Tnubed His ID and found him to be Cstnloed.) 3 (Noun) - A nickname for Tnubologists (those who verify words for a living).

I read these word verification jumbles everyday and a few stick out at me like a secret language. So I decided to start recording them in a word verification dictionary. If you wish to be a Tnuby like me, simply send us your word verifications and the meanings behind said words to me. Comment on this post. That's all it takes. We'll build up the world's largest Tnubist collection - a wikipedia of tnubified words.

Peace out

POST #150 - A Day Without Questions

Matthew 20The Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard
1"For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire men to work in his vineyard. 2He agreed to pay them a denarius for the day and sent them into his vineyard.
3"About the third hour he went out and saw others standing in the marketplace doing nothing. 4He told them, 'You also go and work in my vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.' 5So they went.

"He went out again about the sixth hour and the ninth hour and did the same thing. 6About the eleventh hour he went out and found still others standing around. He asked them, 'Why have you been standing here all day long doing nothing?'

7" 'Because no one has hired us,' they answered.
"He said to them, 'You also go and work in my vineyard.'

8"When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his foreman, 'Call the workers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last ones hired and going on to the first.'

9"The workers who were hired about the eleventh hour came and each received a denarius. 10So when those came who were hired first, they expected to receive more. But each one of them also received a denarius. 11When they received it, they began to grumble against the landowner. 12'These men who were hired last worked only one hour,' they said, 'and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day.'

13"But he answered one of them, 'Friend, I am not being unfair to you. Didn't you agree to work for a denarius? 14Take your pay and go. I want to give the man who was hired last the same as I gave you. 15Don't I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?'

16"So the last will be first, and the first will be last."

Today, my church belatedly celebrated Cinco De Mayo - which, really, is a rather odd holiday for a church to celebrate. We are an inclusive church, but to be honest, we have no Mexican's in our congregation. Considering that Mexico is predominately Roman Catholic, and we're not, that makes a lot of sense. But, as usual, it being a sunny day and all and perfect weather for a long walk on the beach, I digress...

I was sitting up in the choir loft this morning, singing, and listening to the sermon, and my mind started to wander. I told my former pastor, who had a real poetic writing style, that my mind tended to wander when I heard some flight of fancy that set my mind loose. I never remember what it is that sets it loose, but my mind seems to get frequent flier miles most days - where it will goooooooo... (Sorry, Beatles...)

Anyway, this combination of things got me to thinking about the whole Day Without Immigrants that we just had and I realized that after all this, I was still undecided about how I felt or where I should stand on the issue. A person I love but who has decidedly more conservative politics than I do sent me a blood curdling e-mail that is making the rounds - a piece of isolationist rah rah anti-everybody crap that I couldn't wait to erase and delete. As usual, I left no comment to this person, but read it out of respect for their feelings and also to see what the thinking is on the other side of this issue. Ultimately, this e-mail made me very sad. I was upset about the entire Day Without Immigrants and upset about the entire E-Mail Without Compassion. I was decidedly in the middle. So in the midst of this mental wandering, I somehow managed to send out one of those silent prayers to God for discernment.

You think E-mail is fast? Think again. I'd no sooner thought it, than I remembered this passage from Matthew 20 (though not the exact chapter and verse, which took me 30 minutes to find - God never wanting to make it too easy on me, knowing my lazy tendencies).

I don't think this is spelled out precisely. Its just grist for the mill. But my mind immediately began to interpret it this way. America is the greatest nation in the entire world. We have abundance. We have freedom. We have ideals the rest of the world wants. We have jobs. The first settlers worked hard here and have been working hard here since the foundings of this nation. They feel the most entitled to the abundances of liberty. Then there was the first group of immigrants who found themselves being treated equally, even if they hadn't worked the same amount as the first group - they were there to help. And so on, each succesive generation of new immigrants (no matter how they arrived) helping to cultivate this great nation, to nurture it, to protect it, to provide it with the nutrients of freedom. And now, when we are succesful, we look back at this latest group of arrivals and we say, "How come they get the same blessings of freedom and jobs and everything else as we do? We were here before them. We should get more!"

It doesn't work perfectly, but it does speak to human nature. No matter how good we've got it, we feel we deserve more... or less. I know where I've been in jobs with people only a short time and shared in their Christmas party or company picnic or whatnot and I don't feel as if I've deserved such a gift. But, of course, I was a member of the company and it was a company gathering. This led me to think of a solution to this whole problem that is going to seem counterintuitive to a lot of you.

Instead of a Day Without Immigrants, let's have a Day Without Dash Americans. Let's make our theme this year for the Fourth of July a call to embrace all people who are in this country as Americans. Not African Americans or Chinese Americans or Mexican Americans or English Americans or Martian Americans or Republican Americans, but Americans. The Statue of Liberty calls for this great nation to open its doors - "Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breath free." We are a great nation. We can take the overflow. That's what makes us great. And we are a great people, all of us immigrants of one type or another. So, truly, let's open our doors. Let's embrace all people. But let's make sure we remain the America we all love and adore.

Come, come as you are.
No clothes on your back,
No food in your sack,
Leave it behind and come.

We will clothe you.
We will feed you.
We will find you shelter.
We will let you work.
Leave it behind and come.

There will be no more fear.
There will be no more want.
There will be no more oppression.
Leave it behind and come.

We only ask one thing.
No flags, but our own.
No nations, but our own.
No loyalty, but our own.
Leave it behind and become an American.

God has provided us with so much and as a nation so blessed, we have an obligation to give back. If we are truly a people of faith, then we must trust that God will not let us down. Now is not the time to look inward. Now is not the time to fear strangers, horde food, and keep this abundance for ourselves. That is not what has made us great. Whenever there was a disaster, we rushed to send aid. Whenever a people cried out for help, we did what we could to protect them. Whenever someone said it couldn't be done, we struggled to make it happen anyway. This is the greatest nation in the history of nations. We have done more, seen more, protected more, and meant more to the world than any nation before us. If this great experiment is to continue again, we must not be destroyed from within. I reject both sides of this debate. I reject those who come to this country and want something for nothing. I reject those who want to close our borders and keep it all for ourselves. We can not be so petty or so foolish. Let us look to God for discernment in this and all matters. Let us become a righteous people of the world again.

This ends my 150th blog post. I hope you've enjoyed them so far.

Friday's Top Secret Category

Your mission, should you choose to accept it:

Name three things that Bush saw in the satellite imagery that convinced him beyond a shadow of a doubt that there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq...

This message will self destruct in 10... 9... 8...

If you read this, I may have to kill you - Final Part

Continuing from where I left off...

Lucky and Robert, though they worked in other parts of the building, knew Van Bebber and definitely knew his reputation. They didn't want to leave me or Robert at his mercy. As it turned out, Lucky had already submitted a request to get off base housing. Now with the pressure on, Lucky went out and found an apartment in Kaneohe City near the University and about two miles short of Waikiki. He asked us to move in with him. I told him I couldn't afford rent and he said that was okay, as long as I paid a third of the other bills - which turned out to be only the phone bill and cable.

I thought this was a great deal. Though officially I couldn't move out because I wasn't a petty officer, I was allowed to sleep wherever the hell I wanted. Therefore, I kept my barracks room, but moved to Kaneohe City.

The apartment was beautiful with a gorgeous view of the city looking out towards Diamond Head. But right off the bat, the problems started. It seems the landlord knew nothing about me being there and didn't like the idea of three people being in a two person apartment. I was given the hideaway bed, but I had to make myself scarce during the day (which was not a problem, because I worked nights and slept all day). I was also 17 miles from FICPAC and the bus ride took more than an hour (no direct route). Occasionally I got a ride, but most of the time I had to take the bus. Worst of all, I quickly discovered that in order to do laundry, I had to use the laundry at the base because I couldn't be seen during the day at the apartment building. This, as it turned out, was only the tip of the iceberg.

In general, we had a great time together. We got along really well and Lucky and Robert were the coolest roommates you could imagine. But then, one night, Lucky confessed to us his "back story". It seems that his Uncle was the Don of the Twin Cities (Minneapolis/St. Paul) and that he was very eager to have his nephew join the family business. Lucky wanted nothing to do with the mafia and so, had joined the Navy to escape their long reach. But, apparently, they had not taken kindly to his attempts to thwart his will and had killed his ex-girlfriend and daughter in retaliation. Now the FBI was keeping an eye on him because they were worried that his Uncle was going to make a move against Lucky.

Remember the part where I said, I kid you not. Well, I kid you not. This was the story he told Robert and I. He said that we were being followed and watched, that our phones were tapped, and that they'd probably planted bugs in the apartment. To be honest, it was kind of like living with someone who insisted the apartment was haunted. I never actually saw any FBI or Mob people - was never threatened or questioned. But there were some very mysterious things going on in that apartment which I can't deny. I remember going to see Lethal Weapon 2 and afterwards we were walking back to Robert's car, joking and laughing about the movie, until we arrived at the car and Lucky said, "You remember that part where they placed a bomb underneath the car... that's just the sort of thing my Uncle would do." We all stopped and looked at the car, and very slowly checked it for bombs before we climbed inside. This was the sort of life I lived in Kaneohe City.

Van Bebber pissed off Robert somehow (I don't remember the actual incident) and the next thing I know we went book shopping and bought a copy of the Poor Man's James Bond that explained, amongst other things, how to cause tire punctures that looked like accidents, and how to create potassium cyanide. Robert never really took well to stress, but I actually had to talk him out of buying the ingredients for the cyanide.

Near the end of my apartment sojourn, I was about to head home one day when Lucky found me and said that I couldn't go home because the landlord was having the apartment fumigated during the day. He did offer to take me with him to his Department's picnic which was on the other side of the island. I went with him, took an air matress and slept out on the beach during the picnic. So, I can honestly say that I slept on a beach in Hawaii.

On my birthday, my department boss decided to be nice and sent me home early. Unfortunately, I missed the last bus home for the night and so had to walk from FICPAC to Kaneohe City - 17 miles - in the middle of the night. It was actually a great way to see the city, and not at all scary. I arrived home at sunrise and managed to gain a couple extra hours of sleep, but boy was I sore the next day.

Finally, though, my apartment adventure had to end. The combination of Lucky's Mafia connection, Robert's increasing stress levels, and my lack of ability to get my laundry done on a regular basis, made the thought of living with Van Bebber less insane than before. I informed my roommates that I was moving back to the barracks and then just packed my things and returned to my room.

My timing was impeccable. Since Robert had been allowed to move out, there had been a vacancy in the room since we'd all moved out. It had only been filled a few days before by a former helicopter repair man from Texas. He was a good old boy and he hated Van Bebber as much in a few days as I'd hated him for more than a year. We got along great.

Eventually Van Bebber was promoted to Second Class Petty Officer and moved out (Thank God!) I'd only had to live with him about three months. Our new roommate, Todd, was a know it all, but a good kid. We all got along just fine. As for the rest of the group, Debbie tried to learn how to scuba dive and got the bends. She was in the hospital for months and when she came out, decided to become a stand up comedienne. I'm not sure what happened to Lucky exactly, but I know he eventually got out of the Navy about a year before I did. Robert, unfortunately, lasted until the Gulf War and then he just snapped. All that stress put him in the psyche ward and he was quietly discharged back to civilian life.

I survived the rest of my time in Hawaii, served with distinction to the end of Desert Storm, and then retired from active duty. The rest of my time in Hawaii was actually pretty bland in comparison to the few months I spent in Kaneohe City. Though the events of this story were absolutely crazy, they never jelled in my head as a book idea, because, quite frankly, who would believe them? Even after having lived through them, I look back on this period and wonder if it really happened the way I remember it... or if I imagined the whole thing. But even my imagination is not that good, thus proving that truth is often much stranger than fiction.

If you read this, I may have to kill you - Part Two

Before I pick up where I left off, there are two things you need to know about today's post. 1) I KID YOU NOT - everything you are about to read is as true as I can recall it. And 2) Despite some characterizations in this piece, I want you to know that I truly enjoyed this period of my life, even if it was, at times, scary.

I arrived in Hawaii in April of 1989. Just around the corner of my arrival was the Tiannamen Square Crisis, the invasion of Panama, the collapse of the Berlin Wall, and a little thing I like to call Operation: Desert Storm. But at the time, all was quiet on the Western Front. I stayed in the Enlisted Barracks, down the street from the wharf at Pearl Harbor, and about 100 yards shy of the oil tanks that the Japanese failed to destroy in World War II (thus keeping the US Navy in the war). My office was across the street from the Arizona Memorial in the crater of an extinct volcano. In Hawaii, this stuff is common place.

I met my first roommate within seconds of my arrival. I walked into my barracks room, put my stuff down, and then went to the bathroom. I was greeted by a lizard looking at me from the bathtub. Though I didn't know it at the time, this lizard was a gecko. He lived somewhere in our barracks room and ate all the bugs that tried to get in. In the three years I was there, I saw him only twice more - best roommate I ever had.

My other roommates were Lucky and Robert. Lucky was from Minnesota and Robert was from San Francisco. Lucky was an Intelligence Specialist like me, but had gone through the Admin classes and so worked in a different part of the building. Robert was a DP - Data Processor - and worked in the basement computer department. Lucky was outgoing, likable and really crazy fun. He was a huge fan of ALF. Robert was quiet, intense, and entirely too practical.

I arrived at FICPAC on day one to discover that my Top Secret clearance had yet to come in. I was issued an interim Secret clearance and given a job in the Photo Shop downstairs doing very routine tasks. In the intelligence field, knowledge is prestige. Those with Top Secret or higher clearances are the top guys - they carry around a certain swagger that says, "I know more than you, but don't even think of asking me about it!" I was just getting settled in to the photo lab when I discovered that there were a couple of people at FICPAC that I had known from NMITC - and one of them was Van Bebber. If that didn't make things bad, Van Bebber had already received his Top Secret clearance.

For the next month, I had to be constantly reminded of the fact that he was not only a Petty Officer, but also that he had a clearance. Fortunately, my Chief Petty Officer was a cool guy and knew to take advantage of my lack of a clearance. He enrolled me in two courses over at the Hickam Air Force Base Training Center - both classified - and that kept me away from FICPAC for most of the first four weeks. After that, I received my clearance, (signed all sorts of documents that explained how it was illegal to do wire taps on American citizens without a warrant, but that's another story), and was escorted up to DPIC - my home for the next three years.

Short description of my job - look at satellite photos and report what was on them. That's all you get.

One of the people that came to Hawaii from Virginia Beach was a young lady named Debbie who was quite the hotty (though also terribly annoying ;). She was engaged to another sailor from the class, but they had been separated by the Navy. When she arrived, she was so happy to see someone that she knew that we immediately made plans to take in the sights of Hawaii. We spent the day at the beach, shopping in Waikiki, and eventually having dinner at a fancy German restaurant. In terms of dates, it was by far the most succesful I've ever had - unfortunately, we were both engaged to other people at the time. I especially liked the looks of all the guys at the beach when I escorted her in her flimsy bikini into the water. They were definitely wondering how I ended up with a babe like her.

About a week after this date, my roommates discovered some terrible news. There was going to be a reshuffling of the room assignments. All second class Petty Officers were being moved upstairs together. This meant that Lucky was going to go upstairs. But worse, it meant that a certain petty officer from upstairs was going to come live in my room. Van Bebber had actually requested my room to move into.

This is getting too long to complete today... I'll come back to the story tomorrow in Part III. See you then.

If you read this, I may have to kill you - Part One

You see this movie or sitcom all the time - a normal guy in a strange situation surrounded by kooks and other characters. I can honestly say that this happened to me. It was the strangest six months of my life; so strange that I've really never told anyone about it at all. But that story is actually part two of this little two parter. First, you have to understand what my life was like prior to these events, and that's where Part One begins...

I graduated from Boot Camp just a few days before my 19th birthday. My parents and girlfriend came up to San Diego to witness me standing around and marching. My visit with them lasted only a few hours, however, because I had to be back on base for an early flight to my training school in Virginia. In those short hours between graduation and the rest of my life, I handed Karen a letter that was a preliminary foray into the question of whether or not we would get married. I had spent six nights in a row guarding the bathroom in our boot camp barracks so that I could find some free time to write the letter, but that's an entirely different story.

The next day I flew via Chicago to Virginia Beach, VA and got a ride from there to a Dam Neck, VA military base just outside Virginia Beach. There I enrolled into my training class at the Navy and Marine Corps Intelligence Training Command (NMITC). The first week was spent cleaning, as we waited for our class to form up out of successive arrivals from boot camps around the country. By the end of the week we had 20 members in our class.

The core course of Intelligence training is 8 weeks long and covers the basics - classification, delivering briefings, typing, etc... After the core course is completed, each class is split into one of two groups. There was the Admin. Intelligence Group, and the Photographic Interpretation Group. The Admin. Intelligence Group were the guys you see in all the movies, doing the analysis, debriefing pilots, giving the captain the raw intelligence he needs to guide a ship. It was a 6 week long course with a high drop out rate. At the end of 6 weeks, you could be 90% guaranteed to be headed out to sea on a ship. But, you did get a Top Secret Clearance right away. I decided that I really didn't want to rush out to sea just yet, so I took the 14 week Photographic Interpretation Course.

During my time at the training school I had many friends. Joe and I were inseperable from the moment our class formed. We'd go to movies, hang out, and talk a lot. His uncle was Dan Quayle's personal secretary, though he retired when Quayle became VP. Shoemaker was our ragin cajun and he could make a mean drink. Reed was a goof ball, like me, but more immature. Heidi was the lone girl in our group - she ended up marrying Reed. John was the old man of the group, who'd started on the ship as a seaman and had finally gotten a chance to go to a school and learn a real trade. He was the leader of the class because he outranked us all - he was also a great guy. And then there was VanBebber. Vanbebber was the guy that everyone hated - but probably none more so than me. He was effete, cloying, and an insufferable know it all. But, worse than that, he was a sycophant - always rubbing up to the people in charge whenever possible. If he was gay, it was only news to him.

I took to intelligence school like a duck to water. Without even having to think hard, I aced almost every test I took. P.I. came naturally to me. By the end of school, I had broken the school record for most points earned on tests in the program - actually, I had shattered the old record (this was soon to be a sign of things to come for when I got out of the Navy and went back to college).

At the end of every class, the Navy awarded two bonuses to the sailors selected by their class leader as the most deserving of this honor. The bonus was an immediate advancement to the rank of Petty Officer. After I had aced my last exam and shattered the record, I felt certain that I would be honored with a bonus - it almost always went to the best student. Not only was I shocked when I hadn't earned the bonus, but I was double shocked to discover that Van Bebber had.

To make matters worse, I was visibly upset about it afterwards - talking with my friends, and Van Bebber came by.

"Are you going to cry, Robison?" He taunted. "You know the only reason you didn't get the bonus is because you're a scumbag."

I have never before, nor ever since, had to be restrained by my friends. It was a good thing they were standing there, or I would have beaten the crap out of Van Bebber then and there, right in front of the Captain's office. Fortunately, my friends rushed me out of the building and back to the barracks where I could go to a graduation party and forget about the whole thing.

When I graduated from NMITC I received my orders to the Fleet Intelligence Center, Pacific (FICPAC) in Pearl Harbor, HI. Though not one of the locations I would have chosen, the idea of spending three years in Hawaii was appealing. I was riding pretty high. I had proposed to Karen, who had said yes. I had a new job in Hawaii. And I was finally away from that jerk, Van Bebber.

But, did I mention that the bonus winners also got their first choice of duty assignments? Well, that's a story for Part Two.

Blink (Plugging the leak)

Dear friends, this will be the last story I share with you. Neither will there be any more details of plots or characters coming forth. I just can't take the chance anymore. In one day I've had three reminders of how hungry Hollywood is for original ideas - stealing my ideas left and right. But none is more egregious than the story printed below.

You see, this is my FAVORITE story. I like this story more than even my novel. I wrote it 7 years ago and I just fell in love with the idea and the plot and, I think you'll see, the story is a bit personal for me. So, you'll pardon me if I seem like I'm overreacting.

The Sci Fi Channel has stolen my story (somehow) and has developed it into a new series for their channel. I don't know where they got the story, but they've even managed to rip off the title. I can't possibly prove that I wrote it first - though if you've got a copy of The Best of TAC 1999, you can find this story on page 174. So, if I'm not going to get a pay day out of this, the least I can do is print it here and get it out to the world first before the Sci Fi Channel butchers it and makes it something unrecognizable. If you'd like to know more about their version, its called Blink and you can probably google it on the internet.

That's enough of a preamble. Now, on to the short story... I apologize for the length of this post. The story's only about 8 pages long.

All The Worlds Disappear…
By William C. Robison III

Blink.

Bill sat on the stool with his guitar resting comfortably on his lap and tried not to look gangly. At over six feet, and skinny, sitting on a stool, dressed in slacks, a white shirt, black tie, black shoes, and buzz cut, not looking gangly was a challenge. But then it was 1965 and everyone looked about the same, so he didn't feel too out of sorts.

Somewhere, behind him on the stage, was the rest of the group - The Southwinds. Bill thought that he could almost hear them tuning their instruments, but the sudden blinding spotlight had not only disabled Bill's vision, it had hampered his hearing as well. Bill blinked hard to see the man operating the spotlight. He didn't want to be blind for this gig. Not for the Hungry I.

"Could you turn that light down a bit?" Bill called.

For a moment there was no response. In fact, it seemed as if the entire club was getting quieter and quieter as if someone had lowered the volume on a record player. Finally, someone did respond - with a challenge.

"Mister Robison?"

Bill tried to see who was asking, but couldn't make him out through the light. The voice was not familiar.

"Yes?" Bill responded.

"Mister William Charles Robison… it says Junior, here… is that correct?"

Bill strained to see through the light, but had to shut his eyes in pain after a few seconds. He still could not see the man.

Bill answered cautiously, "Yes. That's me."

"Ah… good," the man replied from the brightness, "Sorry I'm late."

"Late?" Bill countered, "I'm sorry, but late for what? Who are you? I can't see you through this spotlight."

"I'll explain in a moment, Mister Robison. In the meantime, why don't you join me for a drink?"

Bill tried to see what his fellow group members thought of the suggestion, but the light was so bright they were lost in the haze of it. And, besides, he couldn't hear them anymore anyway. They'd probably taken a break from the light. Bill decided to meet the man for a drink.

Bill set the guitar gently down next to the stool, and climbed down from the stage into the rest of the Hungry I. For the briefest of moments, as he stepped from the light, he saw the club as a gutted brick eyesore of a ruin in a vacant lot in downtown San Francisco. But when the light finally left Bill's eyes it was the same old building - only completely devoid of customers. Only Bill and the man remained.

He was a middle-aged man, slightly younger than Bill's father, with the grizzled look of the Depression about him. His hair was black and thinning and his features were sharp in contrast - well defined. He, too, was skinny, of about middle height. He dressed in a good work suit - Jack Lemmon, not James Bond. He was a rather normal specimen of the species, Bill thought, and he seemed to be a good sort. If there had been any question of it, though, the beer waiting on the bar was the final answer. Bill joined the man for the drink.

"My name is Freddy Colangelo, everyone calls me Fred," the man noted.

"Thank you for the drink, Fred," Bill replied.

"I find that it helps," Fred noted.

"Helps?"

Fred seemed to ignore the question and went on, "You might say that I'm something of an agent, Mister Robison."

"An agent? You mean like a talent scout?"

"In a manner of speaking," Fred answered, "You see, I've been sent here to make you an offer."

"An offer? To me or to the group?"

"To you, Mister Robison… though they are involved in your decision, of course."

"I've never worked solo before," Bill responded, "You can sing folk music by yourself, naturally, but its not much fun."

"It's not that kind of offer," Fred noted.

"Something other than music?" Bill wondered as he looked around the empty Hungry I. This was the place careers got started. This was the place of Bill Cosby and Phyllis Diller. What kind of agent came to a place like this to talk to a musician and not to offer him a musical contract? It certainly wasn't for Bill's jokes. Nobody liked his jokes.

"Mister Robison," Fred began to answer, "You are thinking too limited - much too limited. Allow me to open your mind a second."

This was the sixties. They had just gotten past the Beats. Now there were new freaks called Hippies. This man was starting to talk like one of them. Bill was all for having an open mind, but he preferred to open it the old fashioned way and…

Before Bill could stop him, Fred reached out and put his hand on Bill's arm. Suddenly, it was dark.

In a blinding flash of bright darkness, Bill watched his future life unfold before his eyes. It went by so quickly, he hadn't nearly the time to even catch the highlights. He knew it was his life. He knew it looked pretty good. But there wasn't the slightest particular on which to hang his hat. A split second and it was over. Bill sat motionless for a second and then nearly fell backwards off his stool.

Fred caught him but when their arms connected this time there was no reaction. Fred helped Bill back on to the stool.

"What was that?" Bill goggled.

"That was my offer," Fred explained. "Would you care to see it in slow motion?"

"Yes," Bill replied, before he could get up the nerve to ask how it was possible.

Fred said, "You'd better take a drink first - this can be rather disconcerting."

Bill did as he was told and swallowed a large swig of the cool beer. As it settled into his stomach, the beer had a calming effect on Bill as if to remind him that there was a certain amount of normalcy still trying to claim his attention. Bill turned to Fred and nodded.

Fred closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Very slowly, as slow as a teenager trying to slip his arm over his girl's shoulder, Fred raised his hand up towards Bill's shoulder. Bill watched it all the way up to his shoulder. Fred stopped the hand there, right above Bill's shoulder, and held it there for seconds. And just when Bill was about to say something, the hand dropped onto Bill's shoulder in a quick and sudden explosion of fluid bliss.

It went fast forward at first - like a coach watching the marching band at half time while reviewing game tape. It followed Bill as he left the Hungry I and lived his life normally for quite a few many days. Then it slowed down quickly to something approaching normal speed.

And Bill found himself living the moment.

"We heard you sing and were impressed," a man suddenly said, appearing out of the blue right in front of Bill.

As Bill turned around to see that he was at the bar in the Purple Onion and that there was a Scotch sitting on the bar in front of him, he heard himself reply, "Thank you, we enjoy doing it."

Bill pulled back just enough to realize that he wasn't actually involved in this scene but that he was seeing it as if he were. The words were being spoken by this future him, but not by him. As close as he could get, he was still just an observer.

"We were thinking of offering you a recording contract," the man noted, "Do you think your group would be interested?"

"I'm sorry," his future self said, "Who did you say you were again?"

And fast forward… Bill meeting with the group. Bill and the group fooling around in the recording studio. Bill and the group listening as their song is played on the radio. Bill and the group going on tour. Bill and the group playing Vegas. And then slow again…

"I'm Frank Sinatra."

"You are… well, of course you are, Mr. Sinatra."

And then fast, again. Bigger tours. Bigger shows. Bigger crowds. More money. The future Bill never seemed to slow down. He was hobnobbing with his group on stage at Carnegie one moment and skiing Aspen with a Playboy Bunny the next. He aged quickly and the sixties seemed to whirl by him in the blink of an eye and it all looked good. Then slow…

"Come on, Bill… did you really think it would last forever? The group is finished."

The future Bill stood on the balcony of his Sea Cliff home looking out at the Golden Gate Bridge and pondered his future. The present Bill stood behind him and just watched. He had not aged much in ten years. But he was living the good life. He probably should just retire…

Fast again… An agent. A solo album - gone bad. A team up with the Kingston Trio. Guest shots on the Tonight Show. Tennis with President Carter. An arrest in a German brothel - quietly hushed up. New Years in 1980, opening for the Limelighters in Tahoe. Slowing down…

"Have you considered a comedy variety show… like the Smothers Brothers? We think you'd make a great host."

Future Bill stood in the office of some studio executive in what appeared to be a fancy jogging suit. Present Bill was appalled at the audacity of future Bill but the studio exec did not seem to mind.

"I don't really need to work," future Bill pointed out.

"We realize that," the exec noted, "And you could walk away at any time."

Bill in meetings. Bill with writers. Bill interviewing guests. Bill starring in skits. Getting older. Getting funnier. Getting better material. Getting the ratings. Getting the respect. Getting his face and his name on everything from t-shirts to mugs to pencils. Stop.

"As you may have heard, Johnny Carson is retiring," same studio exec, older, "We'd like you to take his place."

The Tonight Show with Bill Robison. Bill loved worldwide. Bill travels everywhere. Bill meets everyone. Bill plays tennis with President Reagan (the actor?), President Bush, President Clinton, and President Bush. He finally marries the studio exec's ex-wife. They travel. Stop.

Kuala Lumpur. Future Bill is quite old. His health is failing and so is his memory. His wife helps him from the jeep and towards the ruins. He stares up at the ancient stairs of the lost city, smiles, and… black.

Bill found himself back in the bar a split second later. He immediately grabbed the glass of beer and downed most of the remaining contents. The beer fought hard against the sudden feeling of confusion that washed over him. Fred stood still at his side and just watched. Finally Bill regained his sense of place and his sense of self and took a deep breath.

"That was some ride," Bill noted.

"The future can often seem exhilarating," Fred noted.

"And all that can be mine?" Bill questioned, "The fame, the fortune…"

"The hard work, the effort, the practice," Fred added, "You would remember nothing of our meeting. You would still have to earn everything."

"But the outcome would be the same?"

"Yes."

"What's the catch?"

"There is no catch," Fred commented. "However, before you decide about the offer I have placed before you, I am required to offer you another choice."

"Like what? President of the United States? Hugh Hefner?"

"You'll see."

Fred reached out again and Bill was more willing this time. In a moment, Fred dropped his hand quietly on Bill's shoulder and this time, life progressed more gradually.

Bill watched as he left the club this time and went home. A meeting of the group was called for the next day and Bill found himself attending.

"We've had an offer to play the Onion," noted Bob.

"The Onion?" questioned the Bill of tomorrow - close enough to almost be Bill today.

"The question is? Do we take the offer?"

"Do we take it? Why wouldn't we?"

They turned it down and broke up at the same time. Bill seemed to recoil right out of the story. This certainly seemed to be the opposite of the life he'd been shown a second before. But life went on anyway. It fast-forwarded. Through college and tests and dates and trips to Yosemite and Reno and Tahoe and then, the next thing Bill knew, he was getting married.

Married? Bill wondered. To whom? She seemed vaguely familiar. And there was a small child. A boy. He was called David. And shortly… another boy - William III. They moved to Los Angeles. And times slowed down…

He was in the kitchen of some apartment. It was dirty and dingy. The smoggy sun shone through the windows. Bill looked around and realized that he lived here. He must not be very successful… and then he saw little William fly by the window. Bill turned his head quickly and saw little William in one of those baby walkers. He was practically flying down the walkway… right towards the swimming pool. Bill ran out the door of his apartment and flew down the exact same walkway towards the swimming pool. He needn't have worried. Little William has stopped at the pool's gate, unable to go any further.

Zipppp… An earthquake? Then a rapid move again, this time to an apartment in Parkmerced. Another child? ANOTHER CHILD? It was a daughter, Heather Noelle. Bill took accounting jobs with Brooks Cameras and watched as his children grew up. Dave went to kindergarten. William went to kindergarten. Their mother dropped out of the picture, something about a hospital. It slowed down…

"Dad?" asked little William, "Isn't mommy in the hospital?"

"Yes," Bill answered. He led the three small children away from the parking structure and across the street away from the hospital.

"Isn't the hospital back there?" Little William pointed.

"Were just going to pick her up a surprise," Bill answered as a shuttle bus pulled up in front of them.

He led them on to the Airport shuttle and they rode to the airport. When they realized that they weren't going to the hospital, their little eyes lit up in excitement, and Bill sensed that these children - his children - were happy for the first time in months.

Time sped up again… more sack lunches, more trips to the doctors, more meaningless, tedious work… Bill's world became his children's. His parents helped but not enough. Bill had moved to a new apartment complex, nearer the church. Bill watched as his world seemed to get bogged down in that of being a parent. But that didn't mean it was all boring. Time slowed down and…

They were on a train. Bill looked around. The three children were fidgeting uncomfortably on the train's benches. They were in some sort of compartment. As Bill tried to read the signs on the windows and walls a conductor came into the room and said something in a strange language.

Bill was startled to hear himself reply in German and hand over a pair of passports. He realized that they were in Germany on vacation. What sort of strange life was this?

"I think Germany is the bestest country in the whole world," Little William was saying.

"It hasn't always been this nice," Bill replied.

"Really?" William questioned.

"Once, a long time ago, there was a war between the Germans and the United States," Bill explained.

"Why?"

"Because the Germans had a bunch of enemies they really hated," Bill said, "A group of people called the Jews. And they used to take these people and burn them up in big ovens."

William's eyes got huge, "Really?"

"Yes," Bill replied, "But that was a long time ago and those people are all dead. But these Germans don't want to talk about it. So let's not mention it to them, okay?"

"Okay."

Fooom! Just as the train entered a tunnel, time sped forward again. They came home to the United States and went back to school. And William began to call himself Will, and David began to call himself Dave, and Heather began to go to school. And Will and Dave were making friends and they all visited their Mom who was in some sort of home and then they were dressing up in women's clothes and dancing with snakes and then there was a new woman, Cindy and…

They sat around the dining room table in the living room of the crappy apartment in Stonestown. Cindy sat across from Bill. Will and Dave and Heather sat at the table, dressed up in Sunday clothes. A big pot of spaghetti sat on the table. They all had a share of the food and Dave and Will were eating quickly and boyishly. Heather had half the food all over her. Cindy had just pecked at hers and Bill ate his, but couldn't help but constantly glancing at Cindy and her lack of an appetite. He was about to say something when Dave opened his mouth.

"Hey Dad," Dave said, "Since we have company over do I get an extra quarter on my allowance for doing the dishes?"

Snap! The fast progress continued. Cindy moved in. Dave went to Jr. High. Will went to Jr. High. Dave went to High School. Will went to High School. Heather went to Jr. High. They moved to a new house, down by the beach.

Stop.

Bill found himself sneaking into his daughter's bedroom. It was early in the morning, but not so early that it wasn't time to be up. Bill stood and admired her. She was spunky. She held her own with the older boys. But that didn't mean that it wasn't still fun to pick on her from time to time.

"Heather?" Bill questioned.

She snorted, but didn't open her eyes.

"Heather? Wake up and come see!"

She rolled over and her eyes slid open slowly, "Huh?"

"Come see! It snowed last night." Bill insisted.

Heather eyed him suspiciously.

"Come see!" Bill said again, "It snowed last night and Paws went out into the backyard and made snow angels."

Heather stared at her Dad for a second, and then she grabbed her robe and followed him out of the room and to the window. There, outside, was nothing but the backyard.

"You must have missed it," Bill said, "It must have melted. Oh well… now that you're up, it's time to get ready for school."

And fast forward again… Dave graduating from High School. Will graduating from High School. Starring in a church musical. Friends. Family. Trips. It all flowed by him at an incredible rate, seeming to pick up steam as he got older and older. And then, it slowed. Heather got married. Will got published. Dave… who would have thought? And then, the vision began to dim.

It ended more gently this time. One moment he was picturing Cindy sitting on the edge of the bed with the dog and then…

Bill opened his eyes and stared out across the bar. Fred still sat next to him and didn't say anything. Bill found himself reaching for the bar napkin and dabbing at his eyes.

Finally Bill found his voice, "Quite a life."

"Really, you can't go wrong."

"What about the others? What happens to them?"

"Hard to say. They either are or they're not. It is of little concern to you. The universe is a big place and has many worlds of possibilities in it," Fred answered.

"And what of these other worlds? These other possibilities? Can I ever visit them?"

"You will remember nothing of these other worlds," Fred explained. "Once your decision is made, all the worlds will disappear in the blink of an eye."

Bill absorbed that thought and nodded.

"But why? What does it all mean?" Bill questioned. "Why me?"

"We all make this decision, my friend. We all must make this choice. And none of us ever remember. That's the way it is. That's the way it's always been." Fred answered. "You only get one shot at this. Once you make your decision, it can not be otherwise. Do you understand what you've been offered?"

"Yes."

"And have you made a decision."

"Yes. I think I've made my decision."

"Very well, then," Fred replied, "When you've made up your mind, just close your eyes."

Bill smiled and finished the last of his beer. He took one last look around the Hungry I and then he closed his eyes.

Blink.

The End


© Copyright 1999 by William C. Robison III

I hope you enjoyed this story. I won't stop writing here on the blog, but this is the last you'll hear any details. I've got to keep these story ideas to myself from now on - at least until I get them published.