Right Wing Nut House

Foul mouthed, ignorant commenters have once again ruined it for the rest of my readers. It seems every time I get a link from “Sadly No” or “T-Bogg,” the most vile, insulting, obscenity laced comments are left in moderation.

I’m tired of dealing with them, of looking at them. So I have shut down the comment function on this blog.

What is it about obscenities and scatological vulgarity that it becomes a herculean effort for these mouth breathing troglodytes to avoid them in the normal discourse of everyday language? Are they really that limited in their intelligence that every other word has to be a vulgarity? Don’t they realize that this language isn’t “shocking” as much as it’s nauseating?

No matter. Comments will be closed for the time being. At least until they crawl back underneath the rotten logs from which they slithered to get here in the first place.

I have travelled far and wide in my 53 years, visiting by my own count 37 states and have taken hundreds of trips lasting less than a day to a couple of weeks.

I have stayed in all manner of hotels and motels of varying quality from the beautiful Broadmoor Hotel at the foot of the rockies and the elegant Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco to “no tell” motel rat traps I normally wouldn’t bed down at with a $5 whore but was forced by circumstances to stay.

But the exquisite torture inflicted on me by the Tropicana Hotel in Vegas was without a doubt the most cruel and unusual application of “hospitality” I have ever experienced. Old and smelly, with a disinterested almost catatonic staff along with amenities so niggardly they were damn near invisible, the “Trop” as they call it in Vegas contributed in no small way in making my first trip to Vegas the nightmare it turned out to be.

Blogworld was great. Don’t get me wrong. But nothing ruins a trip more than aggravation. And boy did I get a bellyfull in Vegas.

The flight out and back was uneventful. No complaints about US Airways which was very efficient - especially the electronic check in that had me in and out in less than 5 minutes both ways. Baggage was no problem and was delivered in a timely fashion.

But my troubles started with trying to get an airport cab - along with about 1000 other people. Walking a good 15 minutes from the gate to the baggage claim for starters, they herded us into an impossibly long queue - a couple of city blocks it seemed like - all to wait for 18 cabs at a time to pull up to a number corresponding to a customer.

Now I’ve flown into O’Hare during the busiest times of the year and I can tell you I’ve never waited in line more than 5 minutes or so for a cab. But this was a Thursday morning in November and there were literally hundreds of people waiting in line to get a cab.

It wasn’t that there weren’t enough cabs. It was the god-awful system they used. Only 18 cabs could pull up to the curb at a time and load up which means if there were 3 or 4 hundred people ahead of you, there was quite a wait.

It took me 20 minutes to get a cab.

Off to the Trop for a quick shower and a run out to the Convention center where the panels and seminars had already started. Or so I thought. What I didn’t count on was staying at a hotel where the guests were secondary to the schedule.

Check in time at the Trop was noon. Okay, I’ve been to dozens of hotels that if you get there a little early (it was 11:15 AM) the registration clerk would simply say something like “Let me call and make sure your room is ready” and if it wasn’t, they’d get it ready right quick and within a few minutes you’d have your room.

Imagine my surprise when the clerk informed me that “Check in is at noon,” and then turned away as if I had Ebola. I must have looked ridiculous standing there waiting because when she glanced up from her uber-important paperwork, the look on her face was one of mild amusement - like my boyhood friend Jim used to look when he would use a magnifying glass to set fire to a grasshopper back in the day.

“Is there anything I can do for you,” she said.

“Yes. I need to check in to my room.”

Like a broken record. “Check in is at noon, sir.”

“I see. My room isn’t ready yet?”

“Check in is at noon, sir.” As if her answer explained the mysteries of the universe.

“What do I do? What about my bags? I’ve got a meeting to get to.”

“Check in is at noon, sir. You can leave the bags with the doorman.”

And that, my friends, was that. At least at a flop house, the clerk will suggest you have a nice time when getting screwed. These people at the Trop gave you the shaft without benefit of a wrap around.

After dropping a couple of hundred at their rather indifferent casino, noontime arrives at which point I am charged an additional $6 bucks a night “resort fee” (snort) - as if I’m staying at the International on Maui.

The room is small, dark, and musky - as if the carpet had gotten wet and caught a bad case of mold. The room had torn coverings on the furniture, the lumpiest bed in Christendom, a clock radio showing the wrong time (it was 20 minutes off), and drapes that didn’t draw all the way closed.

I quickly got out of my clothes to jump in the shower when I first realized only cold water was coming out of the bathtub faucet. I turned the cold water all the way off leaving only the hot water on - still icey. I tried turning the cold on and hot off. Uh-uh, nope.

No hot water. No shower. No hope.

I changed my clothes in near darkness (the lights gave off about 30 watts each with the overhead light by the door completely out), trying to stay clear of the open curtains where about 100 people at poolside could look directly into my room and rushed over to the convention center.

To say that I was mad would be incorrect. I was more in shock than mad. And it only got worse.

After the first day’s events at Blogworld I returned to the Trop (waiting an hour for a cab at the convention center), stopping by the desk to tell them my hot water was kaput.

“Are you sure?” asked the Manager on Duty.

The snark emerged briefly. “You’re welcome to try it yourself,” I said with a straight face.

“We’ll get someone on that right away,” he said.

Now “right away” is a nebulous time frame so I told the Manager that since I was planning on going out shortly if he couldn’t give me a time frame.

“We’ll have someone come right up,” he said and picked up the phone.

Actually believing the maintenance guy might get there before I returned to my room (not impossible since I was a 10 minute walk from the front desk), I hurried back.

A half hour went by and no one showed up. Another half hour goes by and I’m starting to see red. For the first time, I allowed the annoyance to come through in my voice when I called the front desk.

“This is Mr. Moran in room 5152. I still have no hot water and I am going out very soon. When do you expect someone to come fix this problem?”

“Our maintenance man is very busy right now. He will try to get to it sometime tonight.”

I hated the idea of someone in my room when I wasn’t there. But it appeared I had little choice in the matter.

“This is ridiculous,” I blurted out.

The maintenance guy never did show up the whole time I was there.

I went to the MGM Grand to play since it was a much nicer casino. Dropping a couple hundred more (but having fun anyway) I returned to my room with the lumpy bed.

The next morning, I was forced to take a cold shower, a bracing experience if you want it. I didn’t but had no choice in the matter. Then it was off to another day’s events at Blogworld, returning around 5:00 PM (after waiting another hour for a cab.).

I thought I’d take a nap before dinner so imagine my surprise when I couldn’t get in to my room. The key didn’t work. I walked the ten minutes back and forth to and from the desk in order to get another key - which also didn’t work.

Back and forth again only to find out that apparently, the hotel had locked me out of my room thinking I had already checked out. I had indeed closed my account out that morning, an old habit born of waiting in line to check out. No problem, I was told. Since you plan to incur no charges, you only have to drop your key off at the desk tomorrow morning before you leave. But the idiot clerk had me checking out rather than simply closing out my account so I was forced to walk a marathon just to get it straightened out.

The nightmare continued when I discovered that the TV only got two stations - the station to order pay per view movies and the local Las Vegas station. All the other attempts to change the channel via remote or manually went for naught.

I didn’t even bother to call the desk and tell them.

In the morning, I decided to call the front desk and find out when the courtesy airport shuttle would be leaving. My final surprise of the trip came when I was told there was no free hotel shuttle service to the airport, that hotel guests were forced to fend for themselves. I sort of lost it when I nearly screamed:

“You don’t have an airport shuttle for guests? Jesus Lord! The Super 8 down the street has a courtesy shuttle!” It’s true. I had seen it.

“No reason to get upset about it, sir. You can reserve a shuttle from one of the private companies.”

“Okay,” I said calming down slightly. “Can you give me the number of one of the shuttle companies?”

“You can find them in the yellow pages under ‘airport transportation,’” she said.

CLICK went the phone. I nearly threw the instrument against the wall.

And there you have it. Uniformly bad service, horrible accommodations, indifferent amenities, and a staff that would have an easy time besting the guards at Abu Ghraib for “worst hospitality staff in the universe.”

The Tropicana will be torn down by 2010 to make way for a “new” Tropicana. Changing buildings ain’t gonna solve most of their problems. They might want to start by teaching their staff some manners.

At least then they probably wouldn’t have bloggers writing scathing reviews of their property.

I’ll be covering the Blogworld Expo for Pajamas Media for the next two days so posting will be light - probably just link to my stuff at the PJ Media website.

If you’re going to Blogworld and want to meet up, leave a message for me at The Tropicana Hotel or stop by the PJ Media booth and leave a message there. Won’t have much free time but I’ll be glad to sit down for a drink.

I’ll also probably do a Blog Talk Radio show from Vegas - most likely on Friday. I’ll try to give a heads up here on the website.

I’m really looking forward to this although with my other duties for Michelle Malkin and American Thinker, I’ll be one busy boy - probably have little time for the casinos. Don’t feel sorry for me though - I intend to get very little sleep…

I’m taking a break from political blogging today since I have two political columns to write later and don’t wish to spoil my mood this early in the day.

It’s getting harder and harder to find something enjoyable to write about when it comes to politics. How many different ways can you write “They all suck?” Or come up with amusing ways to accuse the left of treason? Or the right of being heartless monsters? I’ve exhausted the thesaurus coming up with hateful adjectives to describe the utter stupidity of it all.

Besides, the left hasn’t really done anything treasonous lately which has kind of put a crimp in my style. It is very hard to save western civilization from the perfidy of liberals if they don’t cooperate by doing something totally outrageous and unpatriotic. So I would hope all my lefty friends would get their heads together and come up with some really gross, spectacularly anti-American action like spitting on John Wayne’s picture or something.

I probably won’t have too long to wait if the past is any guide…

And how in God’s name can I maintain my undeserved reputation as a basher of extremists on both sides of the political spectrum if the religious right behaves itself for more than 24 hours and doesn’t call for jailing homosexuals or burning feminists at the stake?

Best leave the former to Obama. As for the latter, Halloween is coming up and maybe someone will mistake Hillary for a real witch. If I was her, I wouldn’t go anywhere near Salem for a few days…

So what’s a blogger to do? I suppose I could write about sports but given the state of my dearly Beloved Bears, that’s a very sore subject at this point. And does anyone beside me really care that the Red Sox won the World Series?

In the past, I’ve given my top tens on a wide variety of subjects; Star Trek, movie villains, movie scores, movie lines. It’s a fun way to pass the time and always gets me in trouble with my readers whose choices are different from my own.

In fact, my experience with ranking Star Trek movies and series reminds me today of writing anything about Ron Paul; the nuts come out of the woodwork and use the most vile, personal language to tell me I’m wrong. The fact that most Paul supporters are reminiscent of Borg Drones is also somewhat relevant, although I’d give the Borg the edge in original thinking.

At any rate, in wracking my brains for something to write it suddenly dawned on me that a list of my favorite heroes of all time (since I did a piece on my favorite villains already) would be an interesting exercise.

What I found to my surprise was that almost all of my heroes are mythic heroes - real or imagined people who represent the best in all of us - the kind of people we should aspire to be; selfless, brave, fair, and with a personality larger than life.

Indeed, some of my mythic heroes are not the most attractive of characters. But their personalities were so gigantic that they dominated their world and had their contemporaries marveling at their deeds.

My choices and the ranking of them is sure to start an good debate in the comments. I have lifted the comment moderation function so that we can get a good back and forth going.

10. John Wayne

Probably isn’t close to most people’s top ten but think about it; is there any other film actor whose personae has leaped beyond the screen and made an impact on the consciousness of a nation? He is both icon and voodoo doll, a symbol of all that is good and evil about the United States depending on your point of view. To this day, he is the quintessential American in many parts of the world.

He was in many ways an unlovely character in the movies. He was loud, brash, given to speechifying and could be ruthless in pursuit of his goals. But he was also generous, fair to a fault, courageous, and self sacrificing. The world could do a lot worse in judging America by the actions of John Wayne in the movies.

9. King Kong

Yes, “’tis beauty killed the beast.” But oh what a beast! Kong has heroic qualities every male should aspire to; he was chivalrous, gentle, emotionally grounded, solicitous of his mate’s feelings and very protective. I much prefer the 1933 Kong to Peter Jackson’s overwrought 2005 release although the latter day ape certainly looks and acts more human.

Kong’s tragedy was in the unrequited love he felt for Fay Wray. It was a relationship that was impossible - not because they were different species but because of his size. And, of course, he could never fit in her world any more than she could live in his. But as a mythic hero, Kong had few equals in film history.

8. Roland

To the Italians, he is Orlando. In Spain, he is Rolando. To a half dozen other European countries, he exists in myth as the ultimate knight. Anyone who garners this much admiration has to make the top ten list.

Some believe Roland was a real person who died fighting the Muslims in the 13th century. If so, I hope he had his magic sword and horn with him when he perished. The Song of Roland may be one of the most inspiring works in western culture. I picture him in my minds eye as a tall, tow headed figure who fought for justice and against oppression.

7. El Cid

Yes, he was a real man (Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar) whose deeds were immortalized in one of Charlton Heston’s greatest roles. A hero in battle for both Spain and the Moors, at first glance, he may not be the most lovely of historical figures. He was vain and apparently something of a thief not to mention his desire to carve out his own kingdom later on in his life.

Ah, but the legend of El Cid is what concerns us. And the mythic Cid was every bit the hero. A tireless fighter for King Alfonso and Spain, he served his King even when he knew his sovereign was wrong - a sign of fealty that was probably not the case in real life but is certainly appealing. The film also depicts the legendary scene of Rodrigo’s death when, after getting shot by an arrow in a battle against the Berber invaders, he makes his wife Jimena promise that he will be at the head of his troops the next day no matter what. Jimena keeps her word after the Cid dies during the night by dressing him in his best armor and strapping him to his horse, sending him out at the head of his troops and leading them to victory.

Defeating an enemy while you are dead would get you on this list even if he had been a real jerk.

6. King Arthur

So much has been written about this guy that even the legends get confusing. In popular culture, you have your choice among a singing Arthur, an ex-Roman knight, an earnest demigod who has the help of a wizard to keep power, or Sean Connery dressed in a real cool blue tunic with Richard Gere not really wanting Julie Ormond but just unable to help himself.

I prefer an amalgam of the legends as portrayed in L’Morte D’Arthur. A great warrior as well as a respected leader, Arthur inspired those around him to be their best and live up to an impossible standard - the effort itself being life’s reward. As far his example of chivalrous behavior and sacrificing himself, their are elements of the life of Jesus in the story that are quite compelling.

5. Robin Hood

The legends and songs have worn well over the centuries. He is an “everyman” hero in that his deeds are used to underscore qualities in many eras from the age of chivalry to the present.

Like Siegfried and unlike Roland, his stories have remained constant through the ages; his love for Marian, the archery tournament, his first meeting with Little John - all the familiar parts of the narrative shown in a half dozen films about Robin Hood were told around medieval campfires and by Troubadours.

4. Samson

My favorite guy in the bible, bar none. He seems so real a person, afflicted with vanity and hubris as well as an independent streak that you kind of get mad at God for punishing. After all, it wasn’t his fault that he lost his hair.

But for making the case of man as mythic beast, Samson wins hands down. Slaying an entire army with the jawbone of an ass? Perfect metaphor for war, don’t you think? And taking your enemies with you when you go is a nice touch.

3. Odysseus

One of the more complex mythic heroes in that his deeds certainly make him a standout on anyone’s top ten list but his faults were equally gigantic. Overweening pride, over confidence in his own abilities (even thinking himself equal to the Gods), and a rather unattractive trickery to his methods all combine to paint him as an untrustworthy but courageous warrior.

But it was his long, eventful trip home after the Trojan War that makes Odysseus one of the most remarkable figures in literature. Taking everything the Gods could throw at him and triumphing in the end (with the help of a couple of friendly deities) pegs Odysseus as one who overcame incredible odds to succeed. And once home, his sweet revenge on his wife’s suitors is one of the most shocking scenes imaginable.

2. Beowulf

The film will be out next month and I’m not particularly anxious to see it given Hollywood’s treatment of classic literature (Brad Pitt as Achilles? Really now!). But the character of Beowulf has no rivals for the sheer power of his personality and awe inspiring deeds.

He not only killed the monster Grendel but Grendel’s mother too! And if the unnamed author had thought of it, it would have been great if he had slain the monster’s father as well so marvelously drawn were the fight scenes.

Defeating Grendel by tearing his arm off after battling him hand to hand for the entire night is just great storytelling. No human weapons had any effect on the the monsters so Beowulf had to rely on his strength and courage to defeat the both Grendel and his mother. The victory made Beowulf an object of worship by the people which, while unseemly, seems about right given the ferociousness of both.

What makes Beowulf stand out for me was the nature of the enemy; terrifying and pitiless. His victory over the monsters remains the most heroic acts of courage in western literature.

1. John Carter of Mars

Surprise! I told you that these were not necessarily the most scholarly choices or even the most logical. These are my favorite mythic heroes and for my number one, I choose John Carter, Edgar Rice Burroughs swashbuckling, impossibly perfect earthling who is magically transported to Mars where for 10 pulse pounding, mind blowing books, he saves the planet as well as his “incomparable” wife Dejah Thoris.

The best adventures are contained in the first three books where his skill as a swordsman and the sheer audacity of his personality unite all the creatures of Mars - 4 armed green men, black skinned men, white skinned men, and the dominant red skins - in a one world government.

Carter exhibits all the attributes of a mythic hero; handsome, strong, protector of the weak, fair minded, decisive, and the greatest swordsman who ever lived. And his wild Martian adventures make a splendid canvass that Burroughs paints his portrait of the perfect hero over. A truly remarkable series of books that has enthralled generations of youngsters since they came out before World War I.

Well, that’s my list. Let’s see you do better in the comments.

My Zsu Zsu is really a remarkable woman. Gorgeous, strong, motherly, and a stand up comedian all rolled into one.

Yesterday, I also discovered that she is certifiable. As what, I’m not sure. Perhaps you can tell me after reading the following.

Sue works the third shift so when she walks in the door at 7:00 AM, I’m always hard at work, blogging away. Yesterday after coming into my office, greeting me in her usual effusive fashion, she disappeared into the living room where I heard her moving around opening boxes and other stuff.

I usually take a break around 8:30 so we can sit and talk for a while before she goes to sleep so you can imagine my surprise when I walked out into the living and saw a clear plastic rectangular shaped box with a black top sitting on the bookcase.

“What is it?” I asked.

“What’s what?” she returned innocently.

I don’t know how well you might know your lover but I know my Zsu Zsu and that look on her face, the lack of eye contact, the slight “I’ve got a secret” smile immediately had my antenna going up. She’s gone off and done something unpredictable again, I thought. I was right.

“That box on the bookcase. What is it?”

“That’s Suzie our Salamander.”

“Our who?”

“Oh, Ricky…”

Anytime your woman uses her little nickname for you it’s supposed to be so endearing you forget you’re mad at her and just stand there as your heart melts like a slice of Velveeta over an open grill. And it almost worked. That is, until I saw the cats.

The youngster Snowball was sitting on the entertainment center already eyeing the little rodent - er, reptile with a hungry eye. Sitting stock still and watching the unsuspecting creature with that laser like cat uber concentration that must of frightened the hell out of our ancestors when meeting up with her distant saber tooth cousins, you could almost see the wheels turning in that remarkable mammalian brain. Fifty million years of evolution, all to have the capacity to formulate a single, serviceable thought:

“Lunch.”

And Aramas was on the coffee table, gathering his back legs preparing to leap onto the bookcase in order to get his dibs in for this movable feast. Now Ari is an old man and not the leaper he once was (although like many of us, he doesn’t recognize his limits and keeps missing what he’s aiming for). I was sure if the old boy tried to make that jump, he’d probably knock the box off the bookcase and not only would Zsu Zsu lose her Salamander to the cats but we’d have this crappy sawdust all over the floor.

“NO!” I firmly told Aramas. He gave me one of those baleful looks cats use when they glance at you as if to say “Are you kidding? Leave me alone, human.” Meanwhile, he jumped down and began to look for an alternate route to his meal.

This is when I turned to Sue and tried to explain. I told her that cat’s are, by nature, curious and that sooner or later, they would find a way to get the little gecko.

“It’s a Salamander,” she sniffed. “I caught it outside in the parking lot after work. It’s mine.”

I asked her what good the damn thing was. At least cats have the virtue of being interesting, even when they’re doing nothing. This thing was ugly, slimy, and had a brain the size of a mouse turd. It was barely aware that it was alive.

I was watching Little Miss Lizard while saying this when, almost too fast for the human eye to follow, the little alligator lunged forward and snagged a cricket in its mouth. One gulp and it was gone.

“Kewl,” I said.

“So I can keep it?” my darling asked like a little girl. (Even if I had said no she would have kept the damn thin anyway).

“It wasn’t a question of me allowing you to keep it,” I said. “What are we going to do about the cats?”

We had temporarily taken our eyes off of Snowball and Aramas (my old girl Ebony is much to ancient and dignified a beast to have any interest in a Salamander) so when we looked, we saw both cats on the bookcase, one on either side of the box. And Aramas was already testing to see if he could get his paw through the hard plastic that was separating him from his repast. The stupid lizard clearly saw Aramas but appeared oblivious to the danger.

“DOWN!” we both screamed at once. Startled, they disappeared faster than you can say “bath time.”

Gently, I tried to tell Sue that eventually, the cats would figure out the only way in to the Salamander’s lair would be either through the top of the case or simply by knocking the whole box on to the floor. Both solutions would mean one dead gecko and a huge mess to clean up.

I could see she was disappointed so I thought I’d cheer her up:

“Honey, don’t worry. You would have gotten bored with this thing after a week or two.”

“Not true,” she said. “How do you know?”

“Sweetheart, the damn thing doesn’t do anything. It just sits there and lies like a rock in the water waiting for food to jump into its mouth. You might have gotten a turtle or something,” I grumbled.

“Well I like her and I’m keeping her.”

I knew that tone of voice. That’s her “I will brook no more argument and if you want some anytime soon, you’ll let me have my way.”

So now we have a Salamander named Suzie whose life expectancy is probably measured in days if not hours. We placed the lizard’s home on top of our planter where we have trained the cats not to go. But given the temptation (and knowing the beasts the way I do) all the conditioning in the world is not going to save the dumbass lizard from ending up as cat fricassee.

I just damn well better be sure I don’t say “I told ya so” when it all goes south.

I have once again opened the blog to comments.

All comments are moderated. The rules are simple; insult me or other commenters, you’re out. Non germane comments will be deleted. If you want to spout conspiracy theories, go visit the Ron Paul website.

Read what I write. Not just the first couple of paragraphs. If it is obvious that you haven’t read my post and comment anyway, your comment will be deleted.

No hijacking the thread to go off topic. Off topic comments will be deleted.

In short, everyone is on a short leash.

Today marks the third anniversary of Right Wing Nuthouse. Looking back on my humble, fumbling beginnings (and my even more humbling present) makes me realize how much and how little has changed in my life as well as the wide, wide world of blogs.

I am a little wiser today, a lot better informed and more circumspect in my language (believe it or not). I’m a little more cynical about some things, less so about others.

Things I’d like to improve upon as they relate to this site: more patience with critics, more posting, a little more fearlessness on issues I know I’m going to get slammed on by everybody.

The blogosphere has changed considerably since I began. There is still much punditry but also efforts to use blogs in ways not foreseen three years ago. Cooperative efforts in covering stories and the use of video are huge changes. Podcasting is also an innovation. And blog radio although I’m not sure where that last is going.

There are several new voices and some who quit for one reason or another. I myself read fewer blogs every day than I did three years ago - no time. And that’s the biggest change of all; I’m making a living writing. Not a good one, but a living nonetheless.

I’ve made many friends over the last three years - and lost many as well. I regard both as my greatest success and my worst failure. Any blogger who writes for any length of time is going to experience the same. There will always come a point where you choose writing what you feel or not. I always seem to choose the former which has gotten me in trouble with friends, enemies, right, left, center, and the janitor down the hall. I’ve riled everyone at one point or another - occupational hazard I suppose.

I am not going to name all those who have so generously supported this site through thick and through thin. There are literally dozens of people, blogs big and small, people both famous and obscure, who I could thank by name and who have lent their assistance by linking often or sending along words of encouragement and advice, or simply reading and commenting intelligently. I can’t begin to express the gratitude I feel. Nor will I be able to repay the many kindnesses extended to me by so many of you.

Enough looking back. Time to move forward. I hope you continue the journey with me.

For the first time since I began blogging 3 years ago, I found it necessary to pull an entire post from the site.

Entitled “The Most Shockingly Dishonest Poll in the History of the Media,” it linked to this poll at ABC News that shows the Iraqis don’t feel any safer today as a result of the surge.

The methodology at the end of the article stated the poll had been taken 6 months ago. It did not mention that they had additionally polled Iraqis in August. I found out that little tidbit thanks to Allah at Hot Air.

Obviously, I erred in my original post that ABC and the BBC tried to put a fast one over on us. I apologize to those who may have been misled by my erroneous information.

Incredible as it may seem, my spam catcher Askimet has prevented more than one million spam trackbacks and comments from appearing on this site. The time period was 16 months.

Caught Spam
Akismet has caught 1,001,123 spam for you since you installed it.

You have no spam currently in the queue. Must be your lucky day.

There are times when the spam is coming in so quickly - 60 to 80 a minute - that site loading slows to a crawl.

When I move to my new hosting company, I hope the spam situation will get better. But I’m not crossing my fingers.

In First Grade catechism, when learning about Noah’s ark, we were taught that after Noah made land and gave thanks, God created the rainbow as a sign; a promise that he would never destroy the world again with a flood.

Not to be overly dramatic about it, but it seems that the Lord, unlike most politicians, is someone you can count on to keep his word. In a very personal sense, Yahweh saw fit to spare my home the ravages of the worst flooding in these parts in 50 years.

It began Friday night when the police showed up at our door along with a member of Algonquin’s Fire Department. They patiently explained that in a matter of hours our house would have 4 feet of water in the living room and it would be best if we packed up and left.

After a few hours of panicked packing and a frantic call to Sue’s son in Ohio asking him to bring his truck, we were fully prepared to leave Illinois behind us and move out to Ohio - secure in the knowledge that our house was toast and that our lives were about to be turned upside down.

But something funny happened on the way to Armageddon. The unbroken line of thunderstorms stretching back hundreds of miles into Iowa suddenly and inexplicably began to miss us. Then, the drenching rains predicted on the heels of those storms - rains that had caused flooding to the west - dissipated in dawn’s early light. Instead of the predicted three inches of rainfall over a matter of hours, all we got was a desultory drizzle.

Saturday morning, the clouds broke. The sun came out. My world was still intact although there was danger as the river kept rising. All day long we were on tenterhooks as the water in our backyard inched toward the house.

To shorten the story, suffice it to say that while taking water in the crawl space underneath the house, the rest of our home was spared. We still have a flooded backyard, but the river has stopped rising - far below its predicted crest - and it appears that barring unforeseen circumstances, we are safe for the time being. More storms are expected Wednesday so it appears that once again we will be on the knife’s edge of disaster. But the river will be down a few inches by that time and as long as we don’t get a real drenching, we should be alright.

Any life lessons to be drawn from the ordeal? If you haven’t learned by the time you’re 50 years old that life can be cruel, capricious, randomly sadistic, and grossly unfair as well as being a joyous celebration of the ability of the human animal to adapt and endure, then there is little hope you will ever begin to understand yourself. As far as being tested, this incident hardly even rates as a pop quiz. But that doesn’t lessen the feeling I get of being a poster boy for that Chinese proverb:

“May you live in interesting times.”