Saturday, March 31, 2007

Oh Woe; Oh Woe

Okay; okay! Go ahead and rub it in. Y'all saw it coming, didn't you? Well, why didn't you tell me. At the bottom of each of my posts, there is a little icon labeled comments that can be clicked on to leave me a comment. Did any of you bother to warn me? Hell no.

You knew that Joe the clone was going to end up in the sack with my wife, didn't you? Last night, I had to sleep on the recliner in the den. Go ahead; get your chuckles; I didn't get anything but a sore back. Not much sleep, either. Lying awake trying to hear what the hell was going on in my bedroom, fearing that the worst was happening, and I didn't have to wait very long. About 12:30 am it did happen! I don't hear very well, but I heard that. I'll bet that most of the neighborhood heard it. That wasn't the worst of it; like clockwork, it happened about every hour afterwards until after daylight.

It began about 11:00 pm when we were getting ready for bed. My wife decided that she wanted some ice cream and asked me if I would tell Joe to go to the store. Conveniently, Joe wasn't to be found, so I, being a caring and loving husband, drove the two miles to the all-night market to get my bride a quart of butter-pecan. I made my purchase, decided to drink a cola and talk a little trash with the cute blonde-haired girl that was working the counter.

On arriving back at the house, I noticed that the bedroom light was off. Well, she got sleepy and went on to bed, I reckoned. I put the ice cream into the freezer and went to my bedroom. But guess what. The door was locked, and I heard my wife giggling! She doesn't giggle! I gently tapped on the door and asked her to let me in.

Well, surprise surprise. My voice came from behind the locked door, informing me to get lost. That conniving horse's butt had gone into our love nest and told my darling that he'd sent JOE to the store.

I hollered for the s.o.b. to open the door and get away from my wife. She told me to get away from the door and leave them alone. I tried to tell her that it was Joe in there instead of me, her true love, and that he was deceiving her. She wasn't buying it, telling me to get the hell away or she would phone 911. I kept pleading with her and threatening him. All I got back was more threats from the love of my life, and cursing from good ol' Joe.

After awhile, I kicked on the door and then I heard my wife dialing and talking to the 911 operator. I told her okay, that I would go away, but that she was wrecking our marriage. I heard that louse of a clone laughing as my dearest told the operator to never mind. I knew that I was whipped, as I had no way of proving to her that it wasn't me cuddling with her in our bed.

Now, I'm in one hell of a quandary. I've got to get rid of that wife-theiving monster before he does away with me. Damn, I've never been able to give it a go that many times in one night; probably not in a week.

No, I don't want you leaving me any advice, although constructive comments will be appreciated. I'll figure it out myself, but when I do get my lover back, how am I going to perform like Joe?

Friday, March 30, 2007

Shot Day!—Day Shot?

I'll be taking another shower this cloudy morning; it's the second this week! The first was due to the buzzard sniffing around my house, and today, I don''t want to overly offend the senses of the nurses at the doctor's office.

Getting old, like everything else, consists of trade-offs. For example, I have to use more soap because my belly is larger, but less shampoo is required because of thinning hair.

I'm back from getting my weekly fix. Traffic was typical Friday. Why is traffic so bad on Fridays? This town needs someone that knows how to regulate traffic lights to do their job. They have a so called "engineer" for this. Over educate them, give them a fancy, over-paid job and title, and turn them loose. There was no sense in having to wait through three light changes to get on the main road, especially when there was only eleven cars in front of me.

We may hide behind a persona so as to attempt to fool those around us, but when we fool ourselves, we have become the fool's fool. We are whom we are. -kwa

Thursday, March 29, 2007


Rain showers today.

The rest of the janitor equipment came yesterday, and we are trying to get it assembled. The vacuums should be good for five or more years, and the burnisher for seven or eight.

Completed second draft of a short story last evening. The setting is a battlefield in France during The Great War. This is one of the few stories that I've made up that isn't set in my hills. Following is a snippet.

The Senator assured mom that I would be fine, and twice I've survived being grazed by bullets. But now I'm dying under the weight of this goddamn piss-elm tree, or whatever kind it is that grows in this forsaken corner of perdition, and it all reaffirms my conviction that the crap issued by a politician's mouth has far less substance than puke spewing from a gutter-sot.
© 2007 by Ken Anderson. All rights reserved.

Like I said, it's only a draft.

You can beat me down with your might
You can beat me down with your laws
I will not go to my knees because of your words


Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Joe on the Line

7:00 pm- First time I ever talked to myself on the telephone. Joe spoke so articulately and was very fluent. I am neither one. They must be making him watch MTV or Fox News or C-SPAN. I believe that he is going to be hard to handle when I bring him home.

Feelling GOOD!

4:00 pm- Wow! How wonderful a nap made me feel. The lousy feelings of this morning are gone. It must have been that shot of some kind of narcotic they gave me just before the cloning. I wonder how good old Joe is getting along. Whoops, maybe I am good old Joe. It don't make any difference does it?

Yesterday I wrote that I would emancipate Joe as soon as tax season is over, but I've given it more thought. He will be a perfect organ donor for me in case I get something busted in an accident, or catch some disease that'll threaten my life. I am talking immortality here. If Joe, or Ken, whomever or whatever is still at the clinic, dies from donating organs to me, that's okay. I'll have them freeze what's left of his good stuff for my future needs.

But, if that is Ken at the clinic, will I be causing a murder by getting him killed through organ donating? Doesn't make any difference, as I am now Ken. That which was cloned from me is nothing more than a 260 pound piece of walking, talking, myopic protoplasm. Has no legal rights, whatsoever!

I know. What about my/his/our soul? I can't answer that, at least not in a way that won't offend a lot of people. You'll have to get one of those highly educated Theologians or at least a Philosopher to grapple with that enigma.

Whatever. I still intend for Joe to take over here when he is able. Just for a few days.

I'm going to phone the clinic now, and find out if I can speak with good old Joe. Ought to be interesting.


12:40 pm- I'm back home after having the cloning procedure. It went okay, I guess, although there is a weird feeling around me, as if I no longer know who or what I am. Somehow I feel as if I'm outside looking in at whatever it is that makes me me, and at the same time, the outer world that I sense from inside me is surreal, and I feel disconnected from it. Have I done the right thing? Is this me or am I still at the clinic? Am I a clone or am I the original? I don't know, and it scares me. The mirror tells me that I am as I was before leaving home this morning. Maybe I'm dreaming. I hope I'm dreaming. Maybe I should have given it more thought before making the decision to be cloned. I'm going to lie down for a while.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Cloning for the Betterment of Mankind

With so many addicts of my prose out there needing a daily fix, and in the name of expediency, I've decided to have myself cloned. It's income tax time, and I always go into seclusion about this time of year. I get depressed because I have to do the tax thing without cheating, and then I get more depressed because I have to pay, seeing as how I'm a Patriot and man of high moral fiber. Why torture myself by doing our taxes instead of allowing a professional to figure them? I'm a Sadistic idiot.

Tomorrow, I go to E.T.S.U.'s medical school and have the cloning procedure performed. I will be back in action immediately, but my clone will need a few days for adjustment. At the moment he is created, he will be just as I was, but afterwards, he will have a separate personal life and identity except for one thing; I will own him. His name will be Joseph. I hope Joe doesn't eat much . . .; my candy stash will be secreted.

To keep this blog going at full fury while I meditate and prepare to render unto Caesar, Joe will take over in a about a week from now, maybe sooner. I don't expect that there will be many changes, though.

I thought about having the clone produced from my inner feminine side, but I believe that it would make people
around her ill at ease, although it is something to consider. Just think; having a mate of the opposite sex (or same sex, if that is your preference) that looks like your twin, knows you as well as you know yourself, and knows how you like to have your back scratched. And other stuff, too. I would name her Sally, and oh how tongues would wag!

When the taxes are done for this year, and after we've had a few beers and a laugh or two, I will emancipate Joe. I'm sure he will be fine.

I realize that there are moral questions involved in this affair, but they pale in comparison to some ethical questions concerning the tax laws of our country.

What do you think?

Monday, March 26, 2007

Jessica's Girl

1:00 pm Not too much today. A friend surveyed me via email; very interesting, indeed.

Carolyn came in from the back porch and told me that there was a very large black bird wandering around in our neighbor's yard. I peeked out the window and saw that it was a buzzard, therefore I went and hid, knowing that it was I whom he sought. I had better take a bath.

2:10 pm Carolyn's new cleaning equipment arrived from Ft Worth, Texas. Got to get it unpacked. Buzzard still lurking about.

7:30 pm Had shower. Buzzard nowhere to be seen. Sit on porch for a while.

"Here's a tragedy for you. Jessica's Girl has bronchitis and can't possibly last the night. Jessica's Girl is a horse. Poor Jessica's Girl." -Bette Davis as Judith in Dark Victory

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Up early (for me). All one of my emails have been answered and I've finished my daily Colombian; coffee, not reefer, you hungover potheads. Carolyn is working and I'm alone once more. Going to watch the Lady Vols play Marist at noon on the telly. I hope that Pat has them ready, because Marist has shown that they can beat the best.

The mountains are embraced by their ubiquitous blue haze. I guess that is why they are called the Smokies. My mind is saturated by an even bluer fog. Sometimes everything seems so meaningless, but then, nothing has to have a meaning; it is what it is. We deal with life from moment to moment. The future exists only in our imaginations; the past is entirely in our hearts.
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.
—Johnny Cash

Saturday, March 24, 2007


My today began with cloudy skies that have now turned clear. A friendlier-than-most Mocking Bird is at the end of the porch letting me know that he is handsomer and can sing much better than I. We seem to enjoy being alive this day.

Carolyn is off to Wally World and I'm alone with my thoughts. When the bird leaves my company, I'll listen to some Robert Johnson blues on the outside speakers. I may have to get a personal mp3 player 'cause the neighbors don't always take kindly to my eclectic music. That's what I miss most about country living; solitude.

Now, the temperature has climbed into the low-eighties, and I may have to abandon my perch and seek shade.

"Never forget that only dead fish swim with the stream."-Malcolm Muggeridge

Friday, March 23, 2007

Slow Friday

Slept 'til 10:00am. Got a shot (medical); my nurses take good care of me. Ran some errands for Carolyn.

Did some editing on a story that I began writing about ten yrs. ago. Having a problem making it come together like I want. It's about about belly button lint and the American Revolutionary War (I almost wrote American Revolution, but that came much later, in nineteen-sixties, I believe).

"He hoped and prayed that there wasn’t an afterlife. Then he realized there was a contradiction involved here and merely hoped that there wasn’t an afterlife."- Douglas Adams

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Spring 2007

Under the ever watchful eye of Buddha.

Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Give Me A Hand—Please!

If you ever wonder why it takes me so long to answer the many, many emails from you, my adoring fans and groupies, well . . .!

The ring finger is the only one that touches the keys, and it usually misses the one I want. Takes a lot of editing.

That's not all. About seven years ago, I had a mini-stroke during the night. Woke up and couldn't use my right arm. Next morning it began to tingle, and in a couple of days, the feeling was all back. But one problem remained however; I was stupid. Okay, for those that know me, I was stupider. I knew what I wanted to do, and I tried to pass it along to my hand, but it wouldn't cooperate. I would look at a key on the keyboard, point my finger in its direction, but it would never get close. All I could eat was peanut butter sandwiches, because if I was fortunate to pick up some food with a fork or spoon, I was just as liable to stick it in my ear as in my mouth.

And you should have seen me in action after I downed a few brews. During that period, cameras of any kind ware hidden away.

About to panic and go to see am MD, I decided to wait it out. Smart! Well, it did slowly get back to normal after a few weeks.

I managed to hide this episode from Carolyn, believe or not, and I've never told anyone—as I recollect—about it before this. Why am I doing so now? Slow day with not much to write about; trying to put off finishing income tax; reruns on TV; pure boredom.

Actually, I'm just glad my handsome, manly face isn't distorted like my hands. I'm a very lucky guy.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Dadgum @#$%#*$@% Allergies

Can't see; can't hear; smell pretty bad.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Thursday, March 15, 2007


Imagine a pyramid of bricks. Imagine that the pyramid is, say, about six feet tall or whatever you like. The base of the pyramid consists of a row of well made and solid bricks that we will call the foundation. At the top of the pyramid is a single brick which we will call the culmination. Now let us pretend that this pyramid is the Christian Bible, from the Creation at the foundation, to Jesus Christ standing upon the pinnacle, above whom shines the bright beacon of Heaven. This structure is held together with a mortar adhesive, which we will call faith.

Now, imagine another pyramid; same type brick as the other, but this one is much taller and broader and is cemented together with a mortar which we will call science. Let us pretend that this pyramid is everything that ever was in our universe. At the base is a line of bricks that we will call the big bang, and upon the topmost brick, we stand. Above us is the darkness of the unknown.

The Bible, as best as I can discern from the writings of scholars, tells us that the heavens and the earth are somewhere between 6,000 and 10,000 years old. Science on the other hand, according to its scholars, places the age of the cosmos at twelve-to-fifteen billion years old and the age of the earth as four-to-five billion years.

Obviously, science and creationism are not close on this.

How do scientists determine that the earth is generally the age that they say and not a lot older or a lot younger? Actually, from what I've been able to find out, it is only a guess, but a guess based on the facts of measurements. After all, they say that if it's not measurable, then it's not science. Even with the best of today's technology and minds, a span of about a half-billion years, plus or minus, is as close as anyone can pin them down concerning the earth's age. Surely, billions of years is a very, very long time and largely unimaginable to most of us.

Science has many, many ways to measure things, and a big part of science is trying to figure out how to make better and more accurate measurements. It is never happy with the status quo. Scientists measure the rate of decay in certain radio active elements or in parts of those elements called isotopes. They can judge at about what time-period that rock layers were laid down on sea floors. They have ways of ascertaining the age of plant and animal fossils that are associated with rock strata. There are many other ways of scientific measurement, but determining the precise ages of very old things is not, and may never be, an exact science.

The main thing, at least for this sermon, is that the word of one scientist or group of same working together—no matter how prestigious their credentials—is not accepted as fact. They must precisely explain their theory, and what the measurement parameters they used were and the exact conditions under which they used them. Then, their data has to be independently verified under the same conditions as the theorists used, and it has to be verified by more than one scientist or group. But that isn't the end of it. Even if it is verified, it will continue to be picked apart by their peers until it can stand unashamedly naked in front of a skeptical world. Each of these steps may take years, even decades before the science will be widely accepted as fact.

Now, let's get back to our pyramids. If a single brick is removed, say at the base of each of our structures, what will happen? The one that is stuck together with hard and factual science will probably collapse, and if it doesn't fall, it will have to be torn down and rebuilt. All the joints will have to be secured with new mortar, and any bricks that were damaged will be replaced. A new and maybe stronger brick will replace the one that was removed. The ensuing structure may or may not be sturdier than the original. There is always someone standing by with a chisel, waiting for a chance to remove some mortar or some bricks.

On the other hand, the pyramid that is secured by faith, will keep standing. Why? Because, no matter what your eyes and other senses tell you, no brick has been removed. A foundation of blind faith is as strong and indestructible as the hand of God. If you see a hole in the pyramid of faith, then your faith has been shaken, and that is intolerable. Restoring faith is preferable to repairing or rebuilding the pyramid.

To science, the pyramid of faith doesn't exist, because it cannot be measured. To the faithful, the pyramid of science will just keep on falling every time that it is rebuilt. Actually, that is the way scientists like it.

"Eternity is a very long time, especially towards the end." Stephen Hawking

Wednesday, March 14, 2007


Recently, political behaviorist Bill Maher commented about Al Gore's mansion using much more electricity than a lot of other Tennessee's homes combined. He went on to say that at least Gore's home has electricity, inferring that most of Tennessee is so backward that we don't have modern technology, and in the case of electricity, we aren't up to even nineteenth century standards.

Another slap at Tennessee? Maybe. I don't know what goes on in the minds of other people, whether or not what they say is what they feel. Even so, I thought it was funny, but a few of my fellow Tennesseans felt otherwise and were offended, and years ago, I probably would have been on my high horse, castigating this type of trash talk for perpetuating the perception that we are ignorant and backward.

Hell, we are such. It took my having visited and even living in or near some big cities to figure this out. People in these places don't have the mindset that we have. They don't come near to thinking the same way that we do. It is all because of our history, our values, and our expectations.

The history of our state is rather mediocre I reckon, compared to that of some of the "wild and woolly" western states, such as California with its Spanish heritage, the gold rush, and movie industry. Other states have towns with famous names like Tombstone, Laredo, Purgatory and many, many others. Our area has names like Loafers Glory, just across the hill in North Carolina, and Goose Pimple Junction, just outside Bristol Tennessee/Virginia.

Texans are rightfully proud of their Spanish heritage, cowboys and longhorn cattle along with statesmen like Sam Houston, the Alamo and a whole lot more.*

Colorado has South Park.

In rural northeast Tennessee where I grew up, we didn't have access to an electricity grid until the nineteen-forties, and our house wasn't electrified until 1948. I didn't know that homes had inside plumbing until we went to Detroit in 1950, when I was five years old. Sure, the stores in downtown Johnson City had inside toilets and water fountains (each signed as Whites Only or Negroes Only), but running water inside the house was really luxurious.

Our Tennessee values—for the most part conservative, despite a few dumb-asses like myself—can be summed up as; I'll mind my own business and you mind yours.

Our expectations are to allow us be ourselves. One television celebrity from California commented that the state flower of Tennessee is the satellite dish. Very droll, don't you think? Many of us have such a device (I have two), because we do what it takes. Make jokes if you need to, and I'll laugh with along you.

Our hillbilly backwardness is part of what makes us unique. We are a small part of a diverse nation, and we like it like that. We are what we are.

*Sam Houston, a very colorful person, lived many years in Tennessee, where he was elected governor. The Alamo had a band of defenders that hailed from the Volunteer State, led by Davy Crockett. There still are people with Tennessee roots that are influential in the political and economic affairs of the Lone Star State.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007


Friday the thirteenth comes on Tuesday (TODAY!) this month. Beware! Stay at home; don't even get out of bed.

For Jody Conradt, coach of the Texas Longhorns women's basketball team. You are a true pioneer, a leader by example, and such a class act. Someone will replace you on the sidelines, but no one can fill your shoes. Best wishes from Tennessee, Lady Vol Country!


The following is a snippet from the short story Dan Dan the Holstein Man© that I composed last weekend.

Dan got a few of the seeds started inside the dark tool shed, soon transferring the small shoots to paper coffee cups and scattering them around the outside of the barn. When they outgrew these, he put them into some flower pots that his mom had stashed in the smokehouse. At that time, there wasn't a narc around every corner, and most people being ignorant of what the plants were, anywhere you put them in the sun was a good place. Besides, it was a very rural area and everybody tended to mind their own businesses. Just making sure the local varmints didn't eat his investment took a little time and was taken care of by some carefully manipulated pieces of chicken wire.

When the plants became about eighteen inches tall, he figured that it was time to put them in the ground in a safe place, just in case. And he knew just the place.

The big field was surrounded by a barb wire fence, and in one corner a black walnut tree grew to maturity. Around the tree sprouted a thicket of small cedar trees, various types of briars, a few dogwoods and sassafras, and plenty of honeysuckle to tangle the feet of the unwary. Near the base of the walnut tree, a clan of hornets built their paper nest and they loved their solitude.

The way the land lay, no part of the plants could be seen unless a person went into the heart of the thicket.


The above excerpt copyrighted
© 2007 by Ken Anderson. All rights reserved.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Slow Day

Carolyn got a new pair of pumps today. She didn't really need them, but occasionally people need to shop for the sake of it.

I've ideas for a few more stories to write, but am having trouble putting substance to any of them. Writer's block or more creeping senility? Sometimes all my thoughts tangle into a big knot, and I can make no sense of them for days, at least. My creative spirit is temperamental; it may not show its ghostly self for months or even years, but when it does, I try to glean from it all that I can. Case in point; the story that I wrote over the weekend was the first that I've attempted in more than a year, although I have made some poetry during the time.

Over the weekend, we watched Sling Blade for the first time and it's really a great movie. We also watched Robin William's Man of the Year, which wasn't bad.

"You know, Rick, I have many a friend in Casablanca, but somehow, just because you despise me, you are the only one I trust."

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Another Sunday

JoJo is over today to wash his mom's vans. They are tough for we older folk to take care of. Chris is fretting because her tax return check hasn't arrived. JJ is threatening to get a job. Carolyn has a roast in the oven, and is spending a rare off-day piddling around the house. Squirrels ate some more of her spring bulbs, but after thirteen years of such, she has learned to plant enough for herself and the critters. Fatty was our favorite squirrel, but she couldn't get away from a persistent cat. Every morning in the winter, she would come into the house and get her breakfast of peanuts and Christmas nuts. R.I.P. Fatty.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

Last Day Before DST

Spring time and I'm happy. I finished my short story this morning, and the sun is shining. Carolyn made my favorite breakfast; sawmill gravy, home made biscuits, country ham and crispy fried potatoes, a hard-fried egg, and some strong coffee. Wow! I wonder what she wants. Whatever it is, I'll try to see that she gets it. Maybe it wasn't the healthiest meal in the world, but one like this comes around so rarely. Simple things are the finest things. Excuse me while I get a seltzer.

And hello, Alice. Glad that you are still checking on me from time-to-time. Thanks for your comment on yesterday's post. Yes, you and Fred are the Texas transplants that I referred to.

For the religion part, I don't dislike that as much I do poor science, such as that depicted in the television show. When you have faith, then you have it for your own good reason. At one time, I shared the same faith as you. That show took a huge leap of faith trying to convince a skeptical world that there is any kind of real proof of the programs hypothesis.

Now, when I see obituaries in the newspaper that say such-and-such persons have gone to be with Jesus, in my mind's eye I see them pushing and shoving, trying to get into that little stone coffin. Depressing.

Like I said, the pain is relative. Things like a beautiful spring day, a satisfying meal or a kind word from a friend tends to desensitize the hurt.

"Here's looking at you, kid."

Friday, March 09, 2007


Not much today. Left shoulder pain kept me awake most of last night. Guess I'll have to have a replacement done soon, but the right knee will have to be replaced first. Can't have crutches or a walker putting a lot of pressure on a shoulder prostheses, they say. Having the two hips replaced was a piece of cake. The knee left knee was a whole different story. Much pain and long recovery. The surgery was a week after 9/11, and the replacement still hurts on occasion. The plate in my left wrist is beginning to act up. It's been 20 years since it was inserted, and that is about the lifetime of such things, as I understand it.

When a person has had this ailment as long as I have, pain becomes relative. It's something that I've learned to live with, albeit grudgingly. Sometimes though, the mental pain that accompanies the physical part can be much more damaging. It affects not only me, but the people that I care for the most.

I am working on a new short story that I thought about while waiting for sleep to come, and I expect it to be one of my best. It's about country boys, dope, and milking cows. The night wasn't all wasted, I guess.

For Walt, if you read this. You were right and I removed the two posts. Thanks, Bro.

Peace, and as Dr. Sidney Freeman said on a M*A*S*H television episode, "People, take my advice; pull down your pants and slide on the ice".

Monday, March 05, 2007

The Lost Tomb of Jesus—A Slight Return

This is a continuation of yesterday's sermon concerning the documentary about the tomb of Jesus, which I watched with keen interest. I did not watch the Critical Look show that followed because I wanted a clear picture so that I could make up my own mind.

First of all, I don't think that the show even rates as scholarly.

I have been trained—ever so slightly—in the craft of news journalism. What I saw last night, by today's standards, was about par, especially for video sensationalism. With journalists like Nancy Grace and Glenn Beck on CNN, and anyone that considers himself/herself a journalist on the Fox News Network, I find the documentary okay. After all, the only reason that we have ever heard of them is because they have an agenda that sells ad time for the networks.

But, for real journalism, The Lost Tomb of Jesus, Nancy Grace, Glenn Beck and their compatriots on The Fox News Network, just don't fit in anywhere. And I'm not really disappointed that the show was not a true documentary. It was what I expected.

Mr. Jacobovici failed to convince me that this find was the tomb of the Biblical Jesus. His best evidence is that the names on the coffins are the names of family of Jesus. I am unconvinced that this isn't coincidental. He used only one statistician's say-so as proof. There needs to be more statistical evidence; much more. The inference that I got was that the 1-in-600 ratio could mean that every sixth-hundred tomb dating to that general time could have the same set of names on caskets. There were probably thousands of tombs such as this and many of them would have been in or near Jerusalem. Of the thousands, some could have had the same markings.

I will dismiss his DNA evidence as concluding very little. In fact it actually proves nothing concerning the who-what-when-where-why and how that a news journalist is interested in. I also believe that science takes this general approach when confronted with a theory.

To give Mr. Jacobovici credit, he says that he is offering the show as a possibility and not as fact. Actually, even this cannot stand up to any kind of scrutiny because of the use of actors to portray people and places. As a cop on and old television show used to say, "Just the facts please".

I believe that this show was made for entertainment, at least I will take it as such because it was rather enjoyable. Many more of this genre have been produced over the years, either pro or con of popular spiritual beliefs, and I suppose that many more will be made; at least, I hope so. This drama is no better or no worse than many of them. Bringing to light any evidence supporting or contradicting a controversial subject can be considered nothing but good for all of us in the big picture. If the producers wanted to present the show as possible facts, they should have, in the very least, provided a much greater degree of evidence. Their evidence should have been examined by many more experts in the fields that they used on the show, and all findings should have been placed before the public. They knew that it would raise a controversial stink in the way that it was presented. It seems that they got what they wanted.

One problem that any of them have, pro or con, is that most scientists won't delve too far into the subject because they would have to assume a negative proposition (faith that Jesus is the Son of God) and real science doesn't deal with the ideology of faith, only the facts. A tomb with coincidental markings is just not enough facts.

In the end, I cannot support or deny that the tomb of the biblical Jesus has been found. I can agree with the producers that it is possible. And that is not a leap of faith, because there are no facts that this Jesus or any other is the son of any god.

A five minute news show could have explained as much as this drama did in two hours

Sunday, March 04, 2007

The Tomb of Jesus

Tonight, The Discovery Channel plans to feature a documentary entitled The Lost Tomb of Jesus. This show is supposed to reveal the stone casket in which Jesus' bones were finally laid to rest, along with the caskets of His brother Joseph, Mary Magdalene, and Judah, the purported son of Jesus and Mary Magdalene.

The airing is to be followed by The Lost Tomb of Jesus: A Critical Look.

As I understand it, the main proofs to be offered by the producers are the inscriptions on the vessels, the closely related time period, and some very questionable DNA evidence.

Now, if you are a Christian and take the words of the Bible seriously and as a matter of fact, then all of this is a moot endeavor by anti-religionists to demean the writers of the scriptures and vilify the very existence of Jesus as the Holy Son of God.

If you are a Christian that believes that the Bible is written and placed before us as a guide for our lives, then the idea of Jesus being not only the Son of God and a mortal just like the rest of us is a bit easier to accept.

If Jesus was and is the Son of God, could not the drama of His resurrection be a metaphor for the fact that His soul went to be with the Father almost immediately after His death, whereas the rest of us must wait until the day of judgment to know the final disposition our everlasting fates? The power of God allows for the soul of Jesus to appear before men (and women) as having a body that can be seen and touched; a voice that can be heard. After all, God is all-powerful.

To end this essay, the people that know me know how I feel about Christianity and religion in general. For anyone else, you'll have to wait for another sermon.

Being Old Means . . .?

Being old means that if you have the choice of having sex or having a bowel movement, sex will be preferred but the toilet will win. Guess what I'm doing as I write this!

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