Somewhere Between Jack London And Stephen King Today With A Chance of Ray Bradbury.

My feet are cold. My nose is cold. My dog is cold. Yes, Stormy is cold. I just went to take a picture of the Grim Reaper’s playground (my back yard) and she didn’t even get off the couch when the door opened. It’s too cold to entice even a Sheltie toward the door this morning. She’s saving up the barking for a warmer day.

Taken through the door - too cold to even open it for a photo.

Taken through the door – too cold to even open it for a photo.

Minnesota weather this winter is right out of the annals of fiction.

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I remember reading Jack London‘s books when I was a kid. Fascinated by the fact that the world I lived in wasn’t all that different than his stories of the remote wilderness where The Call of the Wild took place. Ray Bradbury transported me to Mars – cold and inhospitable. Stephen King can bring a scene like this to life as well. Yesterday was a magical Minnesota day – whiteout conditions at select locations within the city limits of Saint Paul. I was not surprised, but I was not pleased, to see the snow obscuring the road and other cars when the wind pummeled its way out of the alley ways and yards. Roofs were a popular source of misery as subzero snow was blown off of garages and down the collars of passersby.

It’s not just ugly and miserable, it’s dangerous. The homeless are in danger of death when it gets like this. If your car breaks down on the freeway you have 10 minutes outside before you risk frostbite. (Makes you rethink the whole concept of a light coat because it’s so darned warm in that car…) Kids are home today, school’s cancelled because of the cold. And the best part? Tomorrow is even colder.

I have places I have to go today. I’d much rather stay camped out in the living room with the immobile sheep dog. But life does go on. Perchance it will be a repeat of last week when the appointment was cancelled due to illness. This morning I suspect the odds are good that the cold will trump all. That would mean I’d be forced to work on a book instead of watching television in a waiting room. Not all that bad a trade.

I’d just like to put the rest of the state on notice that the first person who complains about how hot it is in July will be thrown to the ground and covered with dry ice. There is no reason to complain about our summer heat. It’s the only way we avoid having permafrost around this place.

Final Reminder: Saturday Is CPR Training Day.

I know, I know – blah, blah, blah. I just figure that you’re like me and need reminding. One more time for the flyer and then some humor (*stolen from my Facebook feed because I’m too lazy to write it out twice and I liked what I wrote enough to… never mind*) below that for you.

This is the best deal going for really learning CPR, and it benefits a great charity.

This is the best deal going for really learning CPR, and it benefits a great charity.

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It is now the part of winter where it’s no longer fun in any way. Today it is stupid cold – -18 Fahrenheit. This is the time of winter when the following things happen:

The dog, who lives to bark, runs out and voids all waste in less than 1 minute. Not a peep uttered as it’s too cold to even make it to the fence without freezing your paws.

People start wearing shorts and no hat or gloves to prove that they are tougher than nature. (They will lose – skin, noses, fingertips, etc.)

Norwegians begin to pity us for our pasty skin.

Crazed Minnesotans begin to take hostages at tanning salons in order to skip ahead in the line.

Cars are a uniform scaly gray from the road salt. Pinstriping occurs where you have slipped on the ice and dragged your parka along the side as you crashed to the ground.

Snow is now an obstacle that must be hurdled along many curb lines as opposed to a “nice change of pace.”

Snowshoe enthusiasts press their noses against the window and mutter, “As soon as it warms up a little…”

The travel sites begin to see a traffic uptick that will blow the servers. Inquiries about MSP to anywhere warmer than Oslo flood the internet and threaten to eat up all available bandwidth.

Finally, torture scenes in Lawrence of Arabia begin to look inviting – at least he was warm.

See you tomorrow at CPR training.

That Was A Long Time Coming.

I started writing again the other day. It was a long hiatus since shipping off the manuscript to the publishers last fall and my first serious work on the new book.

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Some authors sit down and just hammer out their work. They write and write until the pages are full and then they edit. I don’t do that in my world. I also don’t plot in detail on paper. I also don’t… I don’t know what I do or what to call it so that people understand.

I know what the book will do in the end. I was forced to put it on paper for a submission last fall, and so I’m able to point to that and say, “I intend to do the following…” Normally I just ponder it in my head. This time there’s some words on a computer outlining the plot in about 100 words.

The reality of it is that I sit and fantasize about what the characters will do. I write entire chapters in my head and file them for that magic moment when I sit down and start the book. Nothing firm, just a lot of brain cells with changes that I hope will index and regurgitate the good stuff.

The first chapter had been sitting around for months. Nothing beyond that was done. Santa took over. But yesterday I sat at they keyboard and started banging it out. Within minutes the characters came to life. The evil ones, the good ones, and all those seeking their path in life. Within seconds friendships formed and I could smell the air in the rooms where they met.

This is a gift from God. I don’t know how many people will ever read the book I’m currently writing. I don’t even really care at the moment. I do know that I’m curious as to how it will all work out when I’m done. Because I’ve learned that my plans go out the windows when I breathe life into the characters.

God had the same problem in the Garden of Eden. I trust Him to guide me in this work. If it ends as well as it has begun, I know it will rock.

Well, back to Prince and his family. Bobby has to talk to Jeff and Omar is getting a suntan. More than that would just spoil it for you.

Thanks for reading this blog. Now, what are you writing about?

Sochi Has Potential – For A Spectacular Calamity.

It is always dangerous to prognosticate on terrorism. You run the risk of looking like a dimwit no matter what your prediction is on any prospective attack. It’s almost digital, zeros and ones: you’re right or you’re wrong.

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I’m old enough to remember the Munich Olympics and the horrendous attack on the Israeli team by Palestinian terrorists. I’m old enough to remember a lot of terrorist attacks: some I participated in after the fact. As an intelligence collector/analyst you had a responsibility to guide your commanding officer’s actions by providing timely, accurate, and factual arguments for your thesis. Sometimes you’re right on the money, sometimes you miss it so widely that you want to crawl under a rock. No matter how it turns out, if you’ve done your homework and keep current on the flow of intelligence you can hold your head up at the conclusion.

That doubt exists because you have to be right every time to be credible, the terrorists only have to be lucky/smart/blessed/shrewd once in a row to be victorious. Truly, and history bears this out, they only have to present a threat that is so dangerous that the defender spends an inordinate amount of treasure and prestige trying to prevent the act that it destroys their economy, the individual event, or the morale of the nation. By simply coordinating the planting of communications intelligence they can fake out the defenders and misdirect the forces standing in readiness. They can also drive away the crowds (and their money) with sufficiently gruesome nightmares planted in the minds of the guests.

That’s exactly what the Islamic (yes, the Islamic, not Lutheran, Norwegian, Brazilian, Navajo, or Australian) terrorists in Russia and the surrounding states have done. There has been an orchestrated series of attacks, and threats of attack, in recent days that have put the world on edge. Not just a little: a lot.

Here is my prediction: whether or not there are terrorist attacks against Russia directly during the Olympics in 11 days, there will be an enormous cost to the IOC (International Olympic Committee) and the Russians trying to prevent attacks and preserve the fluidity of the games. Nobody wants to attend an event where you’re strip-searched at every venue. Nor do they want to find a bomb under their seat. The trick is finding the middle ground. I don’t think that’s going to be very easy for the Russians to do this time.

History has shown the Russian response to terrorism to be very heavy-handed. The apparent view of the Russian security organs (the successors to the KGB) is that you’ve won if you kill all the terrorists, no matter the cost in other lives. Russian security forces have killed more civilians than terrorists in the past few decades with no apologies that I can remember. Winning is the goal. Their definition is very different than that of the United States. We should probably take a lesson from them in being more firm, but they take it to an extreme.

The terrorists are a bloody-minded group that also has little concern for innocents. Innocents don’t exist in a state of Jihad. If you are attending the Olympics in Sochi (as an athlete or a guest) you are contributing funds to the oppressive regime that is Russia. Jihad allows you to use any force needed to glorify Islam and defeat the infidels.

You now have two vicious animals in a small cage. The terrorists can strike any time and any where they want to disrupt the Olympics. The Russians need to crush any attack or face an emboldened enemy. It’s a lot easier for the terrorists to win this one. All they have to do is head fake the Russians into something brutal and it’s “game on” for the ensuing blood shedding.

I’ve wondered what additional United States military units being moved to the area are supposed to accomplish? I really can’t envision the Russians letting our armed forces rescue people on their soil. Nor should we participate in any attacks of retribution. I think it’s a mistake to put more forces in the region: let the Russians do their thing. Stay clear of the blast when it goes off. We’re setting ourselves up for a big fail if this goes wrong.

I also see the potential for this to be a trigger event for other terrorists in the region (and around the world) in the wake of an attack in Sochi. Standing up our forces around the world would be a good idea – just not with the intention of being involved in Russia. Let’s just get everybody focused on the ball before it goes into play. Or, perhaps in this case, the puck before it’s dropped.

Will there be a terrorist attack in Sochi? I don’t know. I’m sure God does, but He’s not letting me in on the plan. What I’m saying is that if there is it will be horrendous for all involved. And if the Russians stay true to their past behavior the aftermath will be even worse for the innocents.

Let’s all pray that it goes off smoothly and the only blood shed in Sochi is from a rowdy hockey game, or an inept athlete who makes a comedy reel of Olympic bloopers with nothing worse than a broken nose. Let’s not kill each other -at least this time around.

There Are Two Kinds Of Movie Fans.

After much thought (about 10 seconds while brushing my teeth) I have determined that there are two kinds of movie fans in this world. I think you might agree.

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The first group are those who worship/adore/own-the-dvd of The Princess Bride. These people know who killed who’s father, the name of the kingdom, etc. They use the metaphors and analogies in their analysis of every book, every other movie, and in the approach they take to their lives. Here’s the trailer:

The second group, the one to which I belong, knows what it means when you say, “Mongo only pawn in game of life.”

Yessir, I’m the Blazing Saddles kind of guy. The movie is in bad taste, has overt sexual themes, flatulence jokes, racist terminology, pot jokes… the list goes on. But it’s a great movie for teenage boys – and that’s who I was when it came out.

I recently watched The Princess Bride for the first time. It was good. Nice movie, nice way to spend an afternoon. I watched Blazing Saddles the other night. Good thing I wasn’t trying to eat or drink, the laughter and tears would have taken me down in a choking fit.

I love strange things, and Mel Brooks was the king of them in his prime. I know all the dialogue to Young Frankenstein. I’m working on it with Blazing Saddles. I can, much to my wife’s chagrin, crack the whip in perfect time to the theme song. I like to laugh and Mel Brooks appeals the the inner me – a Three Stooges addict with a college degree.

You may turn your nose up at the vulgarity of Blazing Saddles. You may not like the point of the movie (that racists are stupid.) You may not even like the cast. Wait, that last one isn’t possible. Madeline Kahn alone is worth the trip to the movie. Beautiful, funny, sharp – she was at her peak in Mel Brooks’ movies. So, you didn’t like the plot or vulgarity. That’s cool. It’s not for everyone. That’s the beauty of this medium of entertainment: you can turn it off when you want.

For the fans of The Princess Bride: I see why you enjoy your movie.

For the fans of Blazing Saddles: let’s get a bowl of dip, some chips and watch it again. It’s been at least 72 hours.