S D N R N R

The Tower of Google

2007-06-23T22:18:00.000-04:00

Once upon on a time, a time long, long, long ago, some men had a novel idea:

They said to each other, "Come, let's make bricks and bake them thoroughly." They used brick instead of stone, and tar for mortar. Then they said, "Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves and not be scattered over the face of the whole earth." Genesis 11: 4

However, one thing lead to another and their plans ran a muck:

So the LORD scattered them from there over all the earth, and they stopped building the city. That is why it was called Babel [c] —because there the LORD confused the language of the whole world. From there the LORD scattered them over the face of the whole earth. Genesis 11: 8-9

Once upon a time, but not too long ago, a few men had another novel idea:

"Myself and my partner, Larry Page, were just doing research in managing large amounts of information," says Brin. "That's called data mining, which means finding patterns in them. And eventually we turned to the World Wide Web, which is basically most of human knowledge, all together in kind of a very heterogeneous dispersed form."

Today, however, instead of running a muck these men have been fantastically successful:

In just a few years, the three guys in a garage grew into a company of 1,000 employees worldwide, taking in $1 billion a year. Today, Google is headquartered at a Silicon Valley campus called the GooglePlex.

The Tower of Babel, standing a high, reaching to the limits of the heavens, stood for an advancement of technology, of planning, and of man's ability to master self and nature. Its inhabitants reveled in their glory, free to carry on without hinderance of human tongue. Google, with its mass army of servers executing complex algorithms at unparalleled speeds, pulls data out of networks better then an Electrolux sucks dirt out of hard to reach corners. Enter into "GooglePlex" and we, like the inhabitants of Babel, are free to carry out quests for information without hindrance of human knowledge. No paging through books, cross-referencing of articles or possession of a library card required. Just a few key strokes and click. It's awesome, I love it, and admittedly, I am an addicted Googler. I only wonder, what ruin may someday befall us? And, more importantly - where can I get some help before it comes?

Note to readers: The Biblical references cited above, images, and original draft were all created by way of - can you guess? Google. Maybe it's to late.

Painting is by unkown Flemish Painter circa 1587
Graphic manipulation by John T. Byrne

Change of Stripes in AFC Central

2007-01-24T16:19:00.000-05:00

News Update NFL:

Bengals to debut in 2007 with new team colors.

In a move that the franchise hopes will demonstrate their commitment to excellence both on and off the field, the Cincinnati Bengal’s will be changing from their traditional Orange and Black to stripes of Black and White. The change comes with some mixed reviews. Chris Henry, who led the team with 5 arrests, was delighted by the news, commenting. "I think it is great. Last we year we just seemed out of sink with ourselves. Some of us seemed overly obsessed with certain rules and procedures, and that definitely affected our ability to perform at a high level week in and week out. If nothing else, the new jerseys will free us from masquerading as something we are not."

Will this mean that the once again lowly Bengals can recapture their swagger of the 2005 season? Only time will tell, but one thing is for certain - "Jail House Rock" will be a popular tune in the AFC Central this coming year.

19th Annual Lloyd Thacker Tournament

2006-08-30T00:30:00.000-04:00

The 19th Annual Lloyd Thacker Lacrosse Classic - Monkton MD, August 26, 2006.

Held in honor of Lloyd Thacker who's enduring commitment to the game has helped shape the lives of every player that has stepped onto the fields of LTRC. "The Thacker" brings together some of the best to play, as well as not to play, the game of lacrosse. Although a "competition", the tempo of the day is driven more by fraternity and libation, then by hustling and checking.

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July 7th Celebration

2006-06-23T11:05:00.000-04:00

In celebration of my birthday Willie Nile will be performing in Annapolis MD on July 7th. This event is also being billed as the Corona Rock'n River Cruise, sponsored by WRNR. Tickets are $35.00. You can get a taste of his style by listening to "Cell Phones Rining in the Pockets of the Dead" from his latest release Streets of New York.

More than a quarter century has passed since the release of Willie Nile’s first album, accompanied by press notices comparing him to Dylan and Springsteen. Although Nile never attained the fame of these two kindred spirits, the persevering writer/artist has never stopped making stirring, heartfelt music, which he continues to do on his own uncompromising terms.

In order to reserve seats for what is certain to be a nite filled with SDNRNR go to 103.1 WRNR Rock'n River Cruise with Willie Nile

Bawlmers Best Hon - Hon Festival 2006

2006-06-11T02:49:00.000-04:00

The Baltimore (Bawlmer) Hon (like Bun) Festival is held by the businesses and people of Baltimore's best neighborhood - Hampden. Hon, short for Honey, is a term of endearment still to this day used by the hard working women of America's Charm City.
(In audio, so turn on your speakers)

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From the Digital Archives

2006-06-09T14:14:00.000-04:00

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Welcome Home Sgt. Sean Hunt

2006-02-25T10:49:00.000-05:00

Ballad of the Green Beret
Staff Sergeant Barry Sadler and Robin Moore; 1966.

(excerpt)

Fighting Soldiers from the Sky
Fearless men who jump and die
Men who mean just what they say
The brave men of the Green Beret

Silver Wings upon their chest
these are men, America's best
One hundred men will test today
But only three win the Green Beret

Trained to live off nature's land
Trained in combat, hand-to-hand
Men who fight by night and day
Courage peak from Green Berets

Congratulations to Sean & all who serve to win the war on terror. May our prayers continued to be answered for their safety and for victory against an enemy that serves to only darken and destroy a world of light and life.

A Caribou for a Caliphate

2006-01-24T00:04:00.000-05:00

Article contributed by
David Dvorak
(a.k.a. The Purple Elvis)

As I was filling up my tank yesterday at $2.35 a gallon, I found myself pondering Iran. I wondered how much of my $2.35 was going into the pocket of those fanatical Ayatollah’s; you know the one’s who say Israel should be wiped off the map; and that the Holocaust never happened; and that the United States, you and me, are the wellspring of all evil; yeah those same ones who are a couple months away from building a nuclear bomb. It seemed ironic to me that the money I was giving them for gas, might very well be headed back my or Israel’s way someday in the form of a warhead. Then I wondered, with 6 continents of relatively normal people, why in the hell are we pumping money into these Islamic states, which have declared us their enemy? Then I remembered this map:

You see that little region in the right hand corner of Alaska? That’s ANWR. Now take a look at the little green area in the larger map; this is the coastal plain which has unknown amount of oil-reserves. Finally look a little closer at the tiny red box. This is the proposed development area. That’s it. That’s what all the fuss is about. The conservationalists have deemed this land too precious to drill upon because of these caribou.

The insanity of this, when we are faced with real evil which challenges our very civilization, is just plain Orwellian. I would love for the West to have the option of saying to Iran, “not only aren’t we going to buy your oil till you dismantle your nuclear program, but we are taking immediate steps to block every single drop of oil coming out of your caliphate.” But we don’t have this option, in part because of the caribou. Yeah that’s a great trade, a caliphate for a caribou. -dd

A special thanks from the editor. Dave cannot only mix together some powerful commentary but also some ass-kicking shots!
Visit him on Friday nights at Baltimore's Best Bar - The Gin Mill.
Mention this article and get a free Raz'bo.

Who are you calling stupid?

2006-01-07T18:38:00.000-05:00

"I've been all around the world and found
That only stupid people are breeding. "
-Harvey Danger, Flagpole Sitta

Based upon Mark Steyn's recent article in the Wall Street Journal, It's the Demography, Stupid,I have come to the conclusion that the above, which is one of my favorite lyrics, is false. We, that is the "West", are the stupid ones. Western civilization is in decline, and if you agree with Mark Steyn many, if not all, of the Western European countries will disappear by the end of our lifetimes. What then are we to do to reverse the tide?

A few suggestions:

Open our homes and communities to the influx of immigrants and others who may at first seem different. No need to make this an us against them. Create opportunities for interaction. Demonstrate what liberty, freedom and equality mean in your life, not just in words, but actions.
Have babies. Support policies that promote more babies. Contribute to the growth of other peoples babies.
In pursuing the above, as well as in other areas of your public and private life, act out of love and benevolence. Find and build upon the good and the positive.

There is no guarantee that the result will be a preservation of Western culture as we have known it. However, this is by no means a defeat, only a change, one in which we should find comfort in the faith that what we leave behind will be better then it is today.

John T. Byrne

Merry Christmas 2005

2005-12-21T22:58:00.000-05:00

You better not pout....

You better not cry.....

Better not shout......

I am telling you why...

Santa Clause is
coming........

TOOO TOWN !!

Big White Smile, Big Brown Eyes

2005-11-26T18:06:00.000-05:00

Big White Smile, Big Brown Eyes
by John Timothy Byrne

Our driver pulled the van off to the side of the road. We had arrived in the Cape Flats, a collection of settlements and townships on the outskirts of Cape Town, South Africa. As the engine turned down my anticipation for this moment became a mix of enthusiasm and nervous anxiety. A thin piece of glass is all that separated me from a world I had imagined to be so foreign, yet this neighbourhood felt strangely familiar.

Our guide, a tall, slender, South African gentleman, turned from his position in the front of the van. He had a soft voice, his accent a blend of the King’s English and his native Kosa tongue. In one role as an entertainer, and in another a scholar, he shared his life story. This story, like that of his nation, was a testimony of inspiration and hope leaving the listener with the message that South Africa and its people were moving forward into a new generation triumphantly. It was a message he hoped we would see in the community that we were to soon visit.

Stepping out of the van and into the dry warmth I erected myself. The hardness of the ground awakened my body, the scene before me overwhelmed my senses. Children playing, adults chatting, neighbors shouting at one another, all within the every-day pace of life. Our arrival caused little stir, the intrusion of a handful of white tourists was not so out of the ordinary.

For me this environment was out of the ordinary. It would take me a few minutes to become acclimated, to process my thoughts and decide what to do next. Stepping away from the van, I separated myself from the others, their presence highlighting the disparity between our lives and those of our hosts, a circumstance I hated. Slowly I moved toward the center of the road. With each step my movement became less mechanical. Stopping in the middle of the road, feeling more at ease, I managed to nod hello to the adults gazing in my direction. My eyes moved to their homes, a term I use lightly. Although this was one of the Cape Flats more developed areas, developed meant the homes were one-story with four brick walls, a single pipe with running water and a line for electricity. These were the “model” homes that the administration had committed to build 2 million of in five years. This would be a major accomplishment and a sign of the new era’s ability to move past the horrors and injustice of the past. Instinctively I began to determine the quality of each families life by assessing their individual properties, well kept or not well kept. It was a sixth- sense I acquired years before when as a door-to-door salesman in Baltimore I would determine the households most likely to purchase one or more of my Electrolux vacuum cleaners. Today I did not see any potential buyers, but I did see happiness and pride.
`
In between a few of the homes I noticed what appeared to be businesses. Moving closer I discovered these to be a bar and the neighborhood grocery store. Aroused by the rhythm of the music and enchanted by the chiming of glass bottles, I was drawn toward the pub, my cousin Annie by my side. In only a glance I could see in her eyes an expression of caution, bordering close to disaproval. Speaking without words is a gift of hers and at this moment she was telling me to hold back, if we acted on my thoughts we would not be leaving this place until the next day. A condition neither of us feared, but one that would throw us off of our itinerary for taking in the other offerings of the Mother City.

But I had to act, my body, my mind would not let me leave this place strictly an outsider. This, after all, was not the Smithsonian. I was being given the chance to interact, albeit, only for a few brief hours. I looked back to the market, then over to a group of children. I glanced over at Annie, this time I had her approval, my thoughts in line with our overall plan. Toward the store I went. Passing through the open door I entered into what was a small shop, no isles or walk-in coolers, only chicken wire and a counter separated the customer from the goods. My body tightened, I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. Although we both spoke English the store attendant and I had vastly different versions. It took a little effort but we managed to sort through the confusion. The exchange was made, done deal.

Exiting the store I took a few steps in the direction from which I had entered and was once again the middle of the road. Within moments I realized that things could get a little beyond my control. I would need help and fast, circumstance I had found myself in before, and many times since. This is the predictable consequence when one practices the philosophy of do now and ask later. Thankfully on this occasion my help was readily at hand.

“Is it Ok ?” I asked.
“Of course, the chidren will enjoy a treat.” Our guide replied

We both smiled as the first of the children approached me. As quickly as one appeared there came a second, then a third, soon five...ten...a handful that quickly became a large mass. Stepping forward our guide took command, ordering out the rules of engagement.

“No candy for anyone who acts out” he barked. His voice losing any reflection of the softness I had known.
“All of you in que.... only one piece for each” He finished, sternly.

The children obeyed, hastily moving into order. I think they had been threw this drill before. Soon in front of me stood one child, a line of others behind, each no taller then my waist. The first little hand reached up.

“Here you go little dude, enjoy !” I passed along a treat.
“Thank you sir” he replied, accepting my offer.

The process repeated itself over and over again. After a short time I becaame more and more anxious. Would I have enough?.......Thankfully I did, the children disappearing at the same time as the candy.

Soon the brilliance of day faded into early night fall. We collected ourselves and boarded the van. I settled into my place in the back, reversing the steps I had taken upon landing here. The engine started, we began the slow rumble down the dirt road. I gazed out the back window, my eyes caught upon one target. I struggled to keep it in focus as the distance became greater and greater. Finally the dust took over and distance prevailed, my memory locked on one image - Big White Smile, Big Brown Eyes.

Straight talk on staying straight

2005-11-02T12:32:00.000-05:00

In its October 26th edition the Citypaper published an interview with Tod Lending who's documentary, Omar and Pete, aired on PBS as part of their P.O.V. series. The reporter closes with the observation that veiwers, like himself, will be left asking temsleves what else could be done do to help individuals like Omar:

"This documentary brought into clear light the many difficulties we face as a community when confronting the problems of crime, addiction and poverty. Certainly our community would benefit if more resources were directed to the individuals and programs dedicated to supporting those attempting to make a transformation from person A to person B. However, I am critical of the use of the term disease when applied to addiction. Omar Mason was criticized on several occasions for not to taking personal responsibility for the consequences of his actions. This is difficult for even the average person when overcoming everday problems, therefore we can understand that it is extremely difficult and challenging for an individual with the deep sense of self-centerdness, fear and faithlessness often find in those who are alcoholics/addicts /substance-abusers. Why then add to the challenge and confusion by relying on the concept of “disease” to rationalize what is only learned behavior? Is it not a contradiction to insist on personal responsibility and choice, then, in the next breath, refer to this individual as having a disease? There are several *studies which have found the “disease” concept to be invalid, and, as such, it often becomes an excuse used by individuals as to why they have chosen to break their commitment to change. In the October 26 article it is speculated that viewers will be left asking themselves what more can/could we do. Perhaps if we as a society, in specific the treatment community, would alter the language, and remove this concept from treatment programs, we would see a higher rate of recovery. "

- John T. Byrne. A letter to the Editor , Baltimore City Paper. November 2, 2005.

* Refer to the following for research countering the accepted role of disease in alcoholism/addiction.

http://www.baldwinresearch.com/alcoholism.cfm

Connellsville - Episode 3

2005-10-20T19:50:00.000-04:00

"The Card"

Mrs. Rosemary O' William’s, called "Rosie" by all who know her, sorted her way through the pile of warm, freshly cleaned clothes. This half-hour of time, reserved from 8-8:30 p.m., came and went every Friday. Starting on the first week after their honeymoon, it was only one of a set of regimented duties she proudly took on as the rising political stars better-half. During their 25 years together the collection of Hagar dress slacks, store brand cotton-blend oxford shirts, and Fruit of the Loom under-garments, changed little in style, or amount. As for her duty, although today’s technologies promise "wrinkle free", the guarantees never deliver as advertised. She still takes the extra few minutes to apply an iron and light starch in order to finish the job right.

With each fold and press the disorganized, twisted ball of cotton and polyester takes shape into a neat row of tight columns, each designated by their purpose. One for slacks, one for t-shirts, one for dress shirts; and so on. This transformation from untidy, and unkempt, to that of neat, and uniform, pleased Rosie, her role in the process filling her with a sense of accomplishment. It was 8:20 p.m. as she came to the the last article of clothing, a pair of khaki dress pants. Unfurling them with a few snaps in the air, she laid them upon the ironing board. She began to stroke her hand from the belt line downward to the end of each pant leg, when her fingers came across what whe instantly determined to be a foreign object. Annoyed at having to break from her now automated process, she slid her hand down into the right side pant pocket. There in she felt a thick piece of paper with jagged edges and a rectangular shape. A business card no doubt. How odd, she thought, how could she have missed this during her pre-wash inspection?. Luckily, business cards are of little hazard, unlike the occasional pen, which Marty is known to frequently store away, and, absent minded as he is, forget to remove.

With her hand free, and the card fully exposed from it's hiding place, she was struck by another discovery. Remarkably, this card appeared intact and unscathed. Some how it survived the vigorous washing of the soapy waves, tearing G forces of the spin cycle, and scorching winds of the tumble dry - without so much as a blemish. In this condition Rosie could not help but read the inscription. Unlike the other cards, all of those lawyers, brokers, and executives, each of whom she considered to be self-serving and over-paid, this card belonged to an Artist, Connell Patrick Byrne. This was quite out of the ordinary, and in the mystery of who ?, how ?, and why ?, she decided to place it on the shelf reserved for the other important items.

Without warning, in the moment between thought and action, a sensation came upon Rosie. An intense rush of warmth, like the greeting one receives when opening a hot oven on a cold winter morning, only this was far more intense, and the source unknown. At once it moved around, through and from within her. He knees buckled slightly, the floor seemd to slide out from under her. Shifting her weight to the dryer, she balanced herslf. Then, as suddenly as it arrived, the sensation departed. With the floor once again firmly underfoot, she regained her balance and stood upright. Rosie was at a loss as to the cause of this episode. Searching for an answer, she recalled her doctor’s appointment of only a few days before, one in which she had checked out with flying colors. Having a clean bill of health recently behind her, she reasoned that she had no cause for alarm. Perhaps it was a shock from one of the devices, certainly the dryer made for a likely candidate. It was well past 15 years in age, and she mentioned to Marty on more then one occasion her desire for an upgrade. Confident that she was once again her normal ,50'sh self, Rosie set back to completing the job at hand. It had been a long day, and even with the experience of moments ago aside, she was already tired, and looked forward to a good night of rest.

Connellsville - Episode 2

2005-09-13T11:05:00.000-04:00

"The Mayor"

How long had the needle been on “E”?

Too long for most but not for me - it’s the way it has always been, why should it be any different today?

Luckily, the sign signaled a station within a few miles. Passing it, I sighed a breathe of relief, assured by past experience that on fumes alone I would make it to the oasis safely.

After replenishing my empty tank at the the Gas & Go I made my way over to the local diner. There I sat, my order placed, waiting patiently for its arrival. In but only a few more moments I would inhale the cheeseburger, take care are of my personal "business" and then off to Baltimore. All was going as planned.

“How are ya?” I heard from a few chairs down but apparently directed at me.

“Uh, doing alright” I replied “How you doin?"

“I can’t complain”, The voice now had a face. A pleasant looking man, middle-aged, business casual, but with a bow-tie that gave him an air of prominence.

The waitress delivered my burger and refreshed my coffee. She then turned in the direction of my new friend.

“Fill your cup, Mayor?”

“Sure Betty, take it to the top”.

My first thought had been to get back to my sandwich, but considering this was "The Mayor", I felt an uncontrollable urge to carry-on, for no other reason then that it might lead to something interesting.

“Oh, you’re the mayor, what an honor”.

“That’s right, been Mayor of Connellsville since probably before you were born.”

“Connellsville, how ironic. I have a brother named Connell."

I chuckled in an easy, unnoticeable kind of way.

“Is that right?” he replied. “Good Irishman then I bet.”

“Oh ya, he’s a good Irishman alright”.

The chuckle became a little more heavy and obvious.

“Wouldn't happen to have any town t-shirts would you?"

I imagined Connell brandishing a nice polyester blend with “CONNELLSVILLE” emblazoned across his chest. My chuckle turned to open laughter.

“Nope, can’t say that there has been much of a demand for those”. The Mayor turned away. My question had apparently struck a nerve.

“Oh well, it would have made a nice gift.” It was only a thought though. On this day I figured it best to let "The Mayor" have the last word.

With this I returned to my meal, and, as according to plan, it vanished in a few bites. After cleaning the juicy remains with the last of the french-fries, I pulled out my wallet. In it I came across an old business card. As I looked it over a felt a sensation. It was at once around me, in me, and through me. It passed as suddenly as it arrived. Then, upon recovering my senses, I decided to have a little fun and do some shameless promoting.

Connellsville - Episode 1

2005-07-10T01:48:00.000-04:00

"The Vote"

On the outskirts of Pittsburgh, PA. lies a small town. It’s a community built upon certain traditions: Hard work; God and Country; family and friends. But what was once is no more. Industries that had been the foundation of a thriving economy have come and gone. Today it’s a quiet town. That’s about to change.

Mayor O’ Williams slammed the gavel down, it had been a very long night. But finally, after hours of debate, the town and its board settled on what he hoped would be the start of a new chapter. A chapter that would provide the answer to a dilemma that had been put aside for far to long - how might a small town with limited resources turn-back the steady decline of their economy and community?

It took a several more cracks of the gavel to bring the over–capacity crowd to silence. With their attention once again focused on him he read aloud the results of their labor. The town, in the hours that passed, put forth to the Board for approval one out of the three following motions:

Motion #1: Find a corporate sponsor interested in building a theme park. Sell the naming rights of the town to the corporate entity.

Motion #2: Change the town by-laws allowing for gambling, prostitution, gay marriage and growing/smoking/possession of marijuana.
Motion #3: Build a stadium, offer its use for no-charge, and together with a large sum of money wait for a desperate sports franchise owner to take the bait.

After deliberating, the Board was unable to decided on one motion, and, in order to keep the process moving forward, elected to bring it back to the people in the form of a referrendum. Mayor O’ Williams answered a few rather insignificant questions and much to his relief it appeared that the recommendation of the Board was well accepted. Three weeks from this day the people of Connellsville would go the ballot box to elect their destiny.

The three weeks set aside for discussion breezed by quickly. Finally, the day for the big vote came with an astounding 90% of all registered voters hitting the polls. It was a turn-out that the vote counters had not been prepared for. As the town anxiously waited, a few hours turned into an entire evening, and more. Although early results showed motion #1 far ahead, this would change, and eventually it was to close to call. As the evening passed there was talk of vote rigging, that voting ballots had been to difficult to understand. Others complained that they were unable to make it to the polls on-time. Finally, at 5pm the next day, Mayor O’ Williams heard from the commissioner of elections. It was not the news he wanted to hear. Apparently, although there was a winner by popular count, the town bi-laws required the winner be by a majority. Furthermore, the results were not yet official. Many of the votes were too difficult to read, it was impossible to tell whether a vote had been cast for motion #1 or motion #2. Experts would have to be called in.

What a cluster-fuck he thought. The town people were sittin', waitin', and wishin' for a result. He would have to go before them with something, but what? It appeared that, despite the willingness to change, they had failed to find a path to a new beginning. He knew that a without a real solution a deep sense of hopelessness would overtake the town. He asked himself the same question that others would ask of themselves - had a future of slow decay been set in stone?

For those about to rock -

2005-07-03T19:57:00.000-04:00

WE SALUTE YOU!

A personal message for Sean and our troops.

“In this time of testing, our troops can know: The American people are behind you. Next week, our nation has an opportunity to make sure that support is felt by every soldier, sailor, airman, Coast Guardsman, and Marine at every outpost across the world. This Fourth of July, I ask you to find a way to thank the men and women defending our freedom -- by flying the flag, sending a letter to our troops in the field, or helping the military family down the street. The Department of Defense has set up a website -- AmericaSupportsYou.mil. You can go there to learn about private efforts in your own community. At this time when we celebrate our freedom, let us stand with the men and women who defend us all.”

President George W. Bush
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
June 28, 2005

In the Lab of Life is Science your only Instrument ?

2005-06-02T12:11:00.000-04:00

This is a commentary on an article I recently read:

The End Of Reason
By David Morris, AlterNet. Posted March 31, 2005.
http://www.alternet.org/story/21641/

I agree with a lot of what is said in the article by David Morris.
Confessedly, I am a spiritual person. To be more specific, a
Christian. And, to anyone who wants even more detail, a Roman
Catholic. In his terminology, I am very superstitious.

In the world I live in today the physical is as much a mystery as is
the spiritual. Although the passing of ages has brought revelation
in both. Science being an instrument used to uncover truth in the
physical world, religion being an instrument which we use to uncover
truth in the spiritual. Our knowledge of both is today only a fraction
of what it will be centuries from now. However, I do believe we have
uncovered enough to establish a few Laws or Truths. Thankfully,
according to my understanding of the research, these Laws do not
contradict, they are interconnected. As they are all that we have, they
are enough. The pursuit of answers and explanations beyond these is
a noble and necessary cause, yet, let us not refrain from making
decisions and acting on what we hold as true today.

In my view, David Morris suffers from the same faults as those who he attacks in his article. Relying on the physical laws of science alone will bear the same result as any Christian, Muslim, Jew or Hindu who relies only on their spiritual laws. In either case, the believer is often mis-lead by their own in-humanity, or that of the laws they are following, perhaps even both.

It 's your choice whether you go on to call people and institutions of faith - superstitious. In so doing I hope you agree that those who rely on science alone for their truths and laws are as equally superstitious. In this way I guess we are all a bunch of Gypsies. And a Gypsie I may be, which is OK to me. If not, I might actually whole-heartedlyagree with David Morris or Justice Scalia when, as cited in the article, he so eloquently speaks for all of us Christians.

"The more Christian a country is the less likely it is to regard the death penalty as immoral," he observed. "I attribute that to the fact that, for the believng Christian, death is no big deal."

A Leap of Faith

2005-04-26T06:00:00.000-04:00

The Rev. Bruce Frederick Joseph Springsteen
A piece of treasure rescued from a yard sale in New Jersey.
The owner gave it to me for "safe keeping".

I, and several of my close friends, feel that Bruce Springsteen is the greatest artist of our lifetime. Okay, I do realize this is not a bold statement. His resume is impressive: 17 Platinum selling albums; 12 Grammy wards; 1999 Rock& Roll Hall of Fame Inductee. But what if we were to remove these accomplishments, would you feel differently? We wouldn’t. The accolades mean little to us. You see, the “greatness” I speak of comes from deep within our hearts and souls. It is here that Bruce Springsteen and the “E” street band are forever entwined with our fondest memories. These are the unbreakable ties that bind our friendship and brotherhood. In this light, and sorry U2, there is no close second.

These ties began to form in high school when, driven by the spirit in the night, we would unite in drunken serenades of such classics as "Badlands", "The River" and "Rosalita(Come Out tonite)". With the second coming of the "Born In The USA Tour" we found ourselves camping outside a local Hecht's department store for 5 glorious days. This commitment to the cause earned us the right to participate in a service like no other. On August 5th ,1985, together with 60,000 other students, we graduated from the school of the faithful, Magna Cum Laude. Growin up meant moving on from our local parishes, and, being true disciples, our dedication followed. One friend, upon hearing tickets were to go on sale, hastily left his girlfriend on top of the mountain. We have been tossed out of bars for dancing in the dark. And, most recently, we took our passion overseas, tutoring Paris'ners on what it takes to prove it all night.

Unfortunately, there has been a secession in the rank and file of the faith full. It all began when, in the summer of 2003, Bruce unleashed some rather nasty comments directed at President George W. Bush. However, our collective strength outweighed his indiscretions. We could still find a reason to believe. But, much to our dismay, more rumblings would be heard over the following months. A cloud of concern continued to linger over us. Then, like the shattering of Krakatua, Mt. Bruce finally blew. With his public support of Senator John Kerry, together with the "Concerts For Change", Bruce turned what was once a congregation overflowing with joy and togetherness into an orgy of partisan self interest. A movement driven more by ego and self righteousness, then the exploration of a one man's struggle with the human condition. The result, of little surprise to us, was nothing more then an childish display of political buffoonery. Easily excusable if you're a politician, but what if your a local hero.........?

In a series of emails serious questions were asked between us. Should artists take on the role of politicians? Is Bruce acting out of character? Can I separate my love from the disgust? Answering these required each individual to search his soul, a spiritual journey which lead to the making of some difficult personal decisions. Sadly, the most dramatic of these resulted in the loss of a few of my comrades. They will no longer be present and accounted among those "that have a notion, a notion deep inside" (1). Thankfully, the darkness did not overcome all, the light still shines upon a chosen few. I speak of the true believers, individuals such as my brother Bill, who, some 25 years ago, baptized me in the river. And, as for me, although I do not agree with Bruce's perspective, I understand that his political activism, along with the desire to voice it, is a critical component of his creative talent. Without it I do not feel Bruce would the instrumental part of my life that he is today. For this the others may say I am blinded by the light, and they may be right, but I prefer to call it a leap of faith.

In a few moments I will remove the plastic cover from the latest chapter from the Book of Bruuuuce. Placing the CD into the tray, pressing the play button, I'll listen to the sermon. With lyrics in hand I will follow along with the written word. But, my mind will not be limited to the here and now, certain will I be to reflect on days past, and of the future, asking myself - "If I call and ask him to go will he really turn me down?" Well, I don't think I'll ever find out. I feel no compulsion to go after those that have strayed from the herd. After all, the smaller the flock, the easier it should be to get to the water, right? On this note should you be blessed enough to have tickets to the May 14th Show at the Patriot Center, please consider making a donation to the cause. It's been well over year since I had a drink, and I am die'n of thirst!

This ticket stub is from a pilgrimage
to our "Mecca" made in the summer of 1999.



(1) Book of Bruuuce.  The River, Badlands (V.32-33)

Jonah Speaks

2005-04-14T08:39:00.000-04:00

Jonah Speaks
Artwork by Connell Byrne
Written by Connell, Gary and John by way of the Book of Jonah.

And God Appointed a Worm

So there I was, going about my usual business, happy with life. Had I not just recently proclaimed good news from the Lord to Israel? I thanked God for my happiness. Then, the thing all but fools dread happened. Yes, I tell the truth, I have no reason to lie. It came without warning. I heard the voice. A voice that was at once around me, in me, and through me.

" ARISE , AND GO TO THE GREAT CITY OF NINEVEH AND CRY AGAINST IT! FOR THEIR WICKEDNESS HAS COME UP BEFORE ME!"

Nineveh! That awful place? It was not referred to as the city of bloodshed for nothing, a vile and dangerous place. Well, I had no intention of going anywhere near Nineveh, so I packed up what little of my eager possessions I could carry and made my way to the harbor in Joppa to seek passage on a ship. The farther away from home and God the better. There I paid the fare, joined the crew, and we sailed to Tarshish.

I was surrounded by a crew made up of heathen polytheist, men who worshipped capricious and whimsical gods. During the journey I sat in my bunk alone. My mind wandered like a ghostly ship on an endless sea. I then thought of my former life: my home, my family, the friends I left behind. I thought of God, and I wept until I thought my tears would fill the whole ship, causing it to flounder and sink, taking me down to the depths alone.

I put these gloomy thoughts behind me and was beginning to think that my escape had been successful. But this idea was short lived, for just then a great wind was hurled at the sea, and a terrifying storm came upon us. The sea arose from its depths in towering mountains, and our tiny ship was tossed to and fro with a force that I thought would shatter us completely, so that the sea may devour us.

How long the sea toyed with us I can not say, for my terror had dissolved any sense of time. Realizing we were gripped mercilessly in it's clutch, the crews panic turned to frenzy; each man cried to his own god for help. They threw the cargo overboard in vain hope that the lightened ship could survive the wrath of the storm. Meanwhile, below in the dark, I fell asleep.

It was out of a dreamless slumber that I was jolted awake by the captain shouting at me, " How is it you are sleeping? Get up and call on your god to save us!". I was dragged from my bunk and carried up on deck where the crew cast lots to learn on whose account this calamity had struck, and the lot fell on me. It was then I told them the story of how I came to be a passenger on their ship, and how I had fled from the Lord.

Hearing this the men grew even more afraid. "What shall we do with a man like you ?", they asked.

"Just pick me up and throw me into the sea, then it will be calm." I muttered.

However, the crew could not do such a thing. They tried without hope to row to safety, but the fury of the tempest was against them. At last, tired and desperate, they prayed to the Lord for help and threw me into the sea; only then did it stop its raging.

Down, down, down I was pulled deeper into the abyss. My eyes burned, my lungs could no longer hold back the strength of the sea, my mind swam into delirium. And I thought, " So this is it; I AM GOING TO DIE NOW!".

I awoke in darkness - not just any darkness, but blackness - black as pitch. My body, which I knew was there for I could feel it, was lost in the void. After the shock of my blindness had eased sufficiently, I grew slowly aware of a scent. Faint at first, then stronger until it became a stench, a stench I thought must be the foulest odor ever to assault the nostrils of a man. Here time was only a memory, something I once knew. The rising and setting of the sun held no sway, so I sat in the muck, surrounded by the foul smelling black. And when my reason returned, I fell into a despair. And prayed......

When I had finished praying, my black grave shook violently. I was thrown about with such force that I was cast out of that awful darkness, into the blinding light of day. Only then did I realize what shape my lightless prison held. It was a fish, a great mountain of a fish, it coughed and shook at the shoreline. Then the great beast turned, made its way past the breakers and disappeared beneath the waves. I was clutching at the sand, wave upon wave crashed over me. Salt water poured into my flesh, it left raw and burned by the inner juices of the fish. The pain was unbearable. Overcome by shock and disgust I swooned and fell to the ground. There I lay, as if dead.

I awoke to a voice that at the same time surrounded me and passed through me. It was the same voice that had caused me to flee from my homeland.

"ARISE AND GO TO NINEVEH THE GREAT CITY, AND SAY THIS. 'IN 40 DAYS, NINEVEH WILL BE OVERTHROWN.' "

It was with great anxiety that I went into the city and proclaimed God's coming wrath. For three days, in every corner of Nineveh, I bore witness to Gods burning anger and the approaching doom. Then, the unthinkable happened. Every beast, every man, every woman, every noble, every prince, every member of the royal family, even the king fasted. They put on sackcloth and ashes and turned from their wickedness and violence, so that God would also turn, and withdraw his consuming rage.

Now, when I realized the Lord had sent me all this way, through that horrific storm, and suffered in the belly of that foul smelling monster, just to announce a disaster that would never come, I became angry. "Take my life for death is better!" I said, chastising God.

" JONAH, DO YOU A HAVE A GOOD REASON TO BE ANGRY?"

I pretended not listen and went out from Nineveh. In a spot just east of the city, I came to rest. Gathering together some twigs, branchs and stones I made a shelter. Once completed, I looked down upon the city and relaxed. After a short time I noticed a plant growing in my compound. It's numerous vines and leaves formed a thick canopy above my head. I was very happy about the vine. It not only made for pleasant sanctuary, but I felt a true sense of joy witnessing this fresh green plant thriving in the midst of the burnt-up Tigris plain. It did not last. Come the dawn a worm attacked. There, before my own eyes, my poor beautiful plant was violently pulled down. Mortally wounded, it withered, and died. Then came a scorching easterly wind, the scirocco. Every particle of moisture seemed to be pulled from around me, from within me. I felt my skin being pulled taut around the framework of my bones. The sudden change was physically irritating as well as heavy on the soul. Finally, with the burning sun beating down on my head, I cried out once again for death to come.

"SO JONAH, YOUR ARE ANGRY ABOUT THE PLANT. YOU FEEL SORRY FOR THIS PLANT, A PLANT FOR WHICH YOU DID NOT LIFT A FINGER IN TOIL. A PLANT, WHICH YOU DID NOT CAUSE TO GROW. IT CAME UP OVER NIGHT AND PERISHED OVERNIGHT. "

"I WILL HAVE COMPASSION ON THE GREAT CITY OF NINEVEH, FOR IN THAT CITY THERE ARE MORE THAN 120,00 PERSONS WHO DO NOT KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEIR RIGHT AND LEFT HANDS, AS MANY ANIMALS. SHOULD I NOT BE CONCERNED ABOUT THE GREAT CITY?. "

I was speechless, I felt my whole self melt into a pitiful pool of useless pride. I waited for God to speak again, knowing that upon It I would certainly evaporate into nothingness and be no more. Fortunately, God was again silent.

Spring Forward

2005-04-07T03:00:00.000-04:00

Artwork by Connell Patrick Byrne

The following poem was written by a friend. Although we have known each other for only a short time, our relationship is a close one. Diagnosed with HIV some 25 years ago, he has learned to overcome the fear that death is but only a cold away. I admire him a great deal for the battle he fights is a private one, and few know of his courage. It is something I feel with his handshake, see in his smile, and find in his writing. So, before we say good bye to winter, let us pause and reflect, in so doing we "might" look forward to next year.

SNOW

The snow falls gracefully
as it glistens in the night,
it is a beautiful sight.

A peaceful time when precious
moments are evident to the
soul.

Enduring to the care which keeps
asking for more.

A time of romance when
your first love is an eternal memory.
Maybe in distance,
but never apart.

A time when the snow is most enchanting,
it's untouched.

A time when your heart is right,
your mind follows.

A time when your love flows
as it should.

A time when your thoughts
are deep as the ocean
and far as the stars in the sky

A time when you'd go out
of your way to lend a
helping hand to a friend.

A time when your well liked
and when your gone your
spirit lingers on.

New Title

2005-03-20T01:50:00.000-05:00

I have changed the name from Sex Drugs and Politics to Sex Drugs and Rock & Roll (SDNRNR). A minor change, but one I felt would be more germane to the subject matter discussed and commented upon. I only ask that you not judge a Blog by its Title.

I have some reservations about the change. This statement, a widely used one at that, has come to describe an unhealthy, selfish lifestyle. I'd like to clarify on my feelings regarding this dispelling any misgivings a reader may have toward my intentions.

In order help avoid confusion and provide clarity I will use two archetypes:

Type I :-(
Type II :-)

Type I :-(

Take yourself back, for some this may only be a matter of last night, others may have to go further. Your at a bar, or maybe a sporting event. Maybe a party, or for others, the after/after party. At some point, someone, usually the one who thinks their a "Real Player " or "High Roller", makes the statement...."It's all about sex drugs and rock & roll". Often, but not in all instances, this statement is finished with "baby !". The comment is warmly received, the others in his/her proximity may join in. Its effect, from one to many, directs the focus and sustains the energy necessary to reach the goal.

In this context SDNRNR encourages:

Sex - Getting naked with multiple partners, perhaps simultaneously, repeated as often physically possible.

Drugs - The use of mind altering stimulants, taken in large quantities, repeated as often as physically possible.

Rock & Roll - A proclamation to be a "Rock Star". An ideal role model being Mick Jagger, unattainable for most, it becomes nothing more then a wanting desire to be like Mick Jagger. At best, this goes no further then a momentary sensation of feeling like you are Mick Jagger. In some instances you may impersonate Mick, or at least try to.

In the Type I :-( archetype the SDNRNR mantra develops into a set of values by which to conduct daily life. However, the 24x7 pursuit of realizing satisfaction and pleasure turns into a viscous cycle. One that eventually leads to the inability to be satisfied, enough becomes never enough. Life itself becomes rather unenjoyable when the seeds of your labor never blossom into flowers. The choices made when living within this value system leads to a variety of undesirable circumstance (financial ruin, alienation of friends and family, incarceration) to name only a few of the most common. The worst case scenario is death, either unintentionally, ala Jimi Hendrix, or intentionally, ala Hunter S. Thomsen.

Type II :-)

Look now to the future, you could be at a bar, a sporting event, or even at the after/after party. In your midst, overshadowed by the "High Roller", is the true Rock Star. In many cases this person ends up containing or repairing the damage caused by the "High Roller". In return, the real High Roller receives little to nothing, and, in many instances, finds themselves in a similar situation the next evening, or following weekend.

In this context SDNRNR encourages:

Sex - physical expressions of love such as hand shakes, hugs and kisses. Shared with multiple partners, perhaps simultaneously, as frequently as physically possible.

Drugs - emotional expressions of love and compassion. Shared with multiple partners, in large qauntities, as often as spiritually possible.

Rock & Roll - A way of life proclaimed through actions rather then words. The best examples are found within our immediate community. Since the best examples are our peers, perhaps a co-worker or a neighbor, it is easy to follow in their footsteps for a lifetime. Following in their footsteps brings out a person within yourself thereby avoiding the pitfalls of trying to be someone you're not.

In the Type II :-) archetype we find a set of values that does not require a mantra. Lived 24x7, life becomes rewarding without relying on short bursts of self indulged euphoria. Satisfaction comes without the necessity of doing it all on your own, and is often found by helping others do more. You're not only able to enjoy the fruit of your own labor, but also that of others. Your choices lead to desirable outcomes, you tend to have enough money, plenty of friends and your free to do what you want. There is no worst case scenario.

RETURN

Inauguration 2005

2005-03-15T22:52:00.000-05:00

Inauguration 2005

Inauguration 2005
John T. Byrne

"Ask not what your country can do......", the man, his words, and the day, are foundations of 20th century American culture and politics. A rallying cry, calling a nation to attention, it is considered a seminal speech in our nations history. A distinction earned by those who answered the call and delivered his message to our streets, to nations abroad and places beyond our terrestrial home.

On this day, but only 45 years later, Pres. George W. Bush stands at the pedestal. The audience, a nation matured from the it’s Post W.W. II infancy. Removed are many of the domestic social ill’s that plagued us then, and today, we are unmatched as a world power. Space is a frontier we have pioneered and now share with our fellow man. The speech, its tone, and content, mirrored these changes. It was not super charged with patriotism, nor did it outline radical policy shifts. Perhaps this may draw criticism, subtlety is often unappreciated in politics. However, let us not fail to recognize that Pres. Bush calls to each of us much the same way Pres. John F. Kennedy called to our parents and grandparents. A rallying cry asking us to put aside our divisions, to serve our community and to look beyond our borders in supporting the growth of the naturals rights inherent to all mankind.

Certainly, answering this call is not without its challenges. Our nation continues to grow more diverse, yet the senseless fears that fuel prejudice and intolerance still exist. Affordable health care, long term financial security and the quality of education remain pressing concerns for all Americans. Even greater is the price of answering this call abroad. We are a peaceful nation that must come to accept sending our sons and daughters off to fight and die in foreign countries. Do we recognize these? Can we not overcome them? If no, then why? Are they much different or less significant then the segregation, poverty and red menace that others before us united together to overcome?

The generations before us found the resolve to answer JFK’s call. Can you imagine our country, or our world, if they had turned away? Although circumstances are different today, what remains at stake is the same. Our liberties, freedoms and lifestyle. Public opinion has spoken, the election is over, and 4 more years have begun. It is now up to you and I to find a role in helping shape our nation for the generations to come.