Dreamtime

It was an underground prison, and stifling.

It wasn't hot, or damp or drippy, not like a cave or a sewer. What hit me most, and really got to me immediately, was the proximity of the ceiling. At 6'4", I was just brushing underneath. I didn't have to stoop to move, but was doing so anyway, and within minutes my back and legs were tired. This had to have been on purpose, and it was brutally ingenious.

I had no idea how far down we were, but I had the distinct sense that we were underground. It seemed like way down. No sounds from outside at all, no sunlight at all, no indicaitons of the outside world.

There was no smell of filth, no smell of rot or decay. No smell or water or sewage. It was almost dry, the faintest smell of dry concrete powder. The place seemed clean, but I couldn't tell. I could smell a little bit of hydraulic fluid somewhere, and needed to find the source.

The light was faint, just enough to make you squint just a little, but not dark. Already my eyes were gettin tired, and I noticed that little bit of cruelty. Already I wanted to meet the designer; he was someone just like me.

It was all concrete, poured concrete everywhere. There were many large, very large rooms, with no central support beams or columns, just huge, low-slung rooms, with small doorways at each end. And not very many others around. Not a lot of guards, either, but then again, why were they needed, given this place?

I had to find a way out, and thought I'd found a way. It was going to take a lot of dangerous work, and a lot of faith, but what did we have to lose? I had found a corner in one of the huge rooms, hidden by some massive stray block or maybe forty tons, where the walls did not meet in a perfect joint. There was poor meeting, and we were going to exploit it. We'd chip through the wall, however thick it was, to the earth outside and dig our way up the foundation and out. Who knows how long it would take, but it's all we had.

And as I wandered the cavernous spaces, hunched over, I became aware of a metallic clinking. It was something I knew, but faint, and unfamiliar, a soft background. It seemed to be all around, and it just tinked, tinked, tinked away in my head. As much as I didn't want to get my hopes up, it sounded as if someone was outside the walls, chipping their way in. I couldn't figure out why the guards--where were those guys anyway?--hadn't heard and come looking.

And one day (night?) as I passed a small passageway, a connecting corridor to another one of the massive rooms, I saw the dust-streaked point of a cold chisel, squirming from its hole, like some kind of worm. There they were. All I could think of was that there'd be no way to hide it or wait patiently before the guards would notice and intervene. That knowledge was painful, truly painful, to have to sit and watch, just to know that the hole was there, there was something outside, and we were never going to touch it, let alone get out.

But no guards came, and it seemed like seconds, minutes at the most, and there was a shiny new vault door in front of me, all steel and pinions. The guys working on it seemed to be public workds guys, just normal guys doing a job. And they'd just sort of happened to stumble on this gigantic underground concrete obstruction to their work. They were totally wrapped up in how to work around it.

So engrossed were they in their predicament that they didn't even notice me slip past them. I was in a wonderfully new tunnel, large, with a ceiling that was feet--feet!--above my head. There was carpet on the floor, a deep, evocative wine color, and I could feel an unknown spring as I walked, padding. It was wonderful, incredibly luxurious. I was reminded of walking through an airport jetway in the mid-70s, holding my dad's hand, so incredibly far away now, viewed even in my mind as if looking through a cardboard tube.

I rushed up the passage, sloping up. Another scraggly inmate shot past me, soft mutterings coming from him as he gave his all to making it up and out before anyone could find out. I had no idea where I was going, where I was, or what I'd do when I got there. I turned a slight corner to my left, and was on an open balcony. It was a massive outdoor walkway, all along the upper floor of a massive older building. We were on maybe the third or fourth floor, but the building curved around what appeared to be a natural valley, dropping away from us and opening the most incredible panorama of rounded green hills. The sun was low, right in front of me, and I realized I had no idea if it was dawn or sunset. The sun hurt, even on my skin. The other inmate who'd passed me was a tiny rambling speck in front of me, hundreds of yards ahead on the walkway, hunched over from the light as well.

An incredible sense of relief hit me, and I began to weep. It was wracking sobs, the beauty of a world I'd not seen anything of in years, decades maybe. The sun and the piercing impossible blue of the sky were too much, and I couldn't bear to look. Suddenly, too much pain, too much memory of what I'd lost, what I'd been missing, down below inside the concrete.

Manhattan Transfer On The Bandstand

Saw these guys a few months back (http://www.tmtfanclub.com/tmt3.shtml), and have been meaning to write it up, but just got busy with kids, sports, etc.

As always, a great show by consummate musicians and professionals. It was clear they were long familiar with their craft and their art, and comfortable enough with themselves to joke around, to actually have fun, and to share that with an appreciative audience. It was a great show, probably the fifth or sixth time we’ve seen them, and was just as good or better than any time prior.

It was clear that they’re friends. None of it was forced, none of it canned, scripted or fake (like the ridiculous band antics of the last Sting show I regretfully paid money for), either that or I’m the most gullible guy in the world. Sure, they use the same jokes and gags on audience after audience, each new venue a completely blank slate. Can’t blame them for that, as I’ve done it myself. But at the same time, it was clear that they were just plain having fun, singing on their own, drawing out portions for fun, making explorations as they came up, etc. It was a joy to watch them work/play together.

I’m thankful that they’re still together after all of these years. Is it friendship and a desire to continue collaboration, or a purely business-oriented realization that their sum is greater than their individual worth? I hope it’s the former, and from what I think I perceived, I think it’s true. So many other bands have come together for amazing collaborations only to spin apart, ruin a truly wonderful artistic collaborative relationship. But I guess that’s part of the dynamic tension of creativity, who owns what, who leads, who is in charge, etc. But I didn’t get that sense from them, and never have. I’m glad they’ve stayed together and continued to do their work together. Good stuff.

As always, Cheryl Bentyne knocked me on my ass. What a total hottie: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/stores/artist/glance/-/247108/ref=m_art_dp/103-1945598-1716623, http://www.tmtfanclub.com/cheryl.html. My age calculation has her at 51 (I apologize for any gross inaccurary), and she looks absolutely fantastic, just magnificent. I’ve always loved that red hair, her sense of style, wardrobe, that smile, the whole bit. Up there was a deliciously attractive older woman, doing her thing, proud of herself and her work, and it made her all the more sexy. Good on ya, Cheryl. Sorry, but I can't/won't leave my wife for you, but I'd be happy to lay my jacket down in a puddle of mud just to watch you cross.

Their band was a simple three-piece jazz combo, bass, keyboard, and drums. Their voices filled in the rest, but man, did I want to hear that fat, fat sound that would come with a fuller band. I love my jazz electric, with both rhythm and lead guitars, and an electric bass. I like horns, too, and so many of their original arrangements were with really strong horns. That was a big miss, but their arrangements here filled it in just fine.

They did “Killer Joe,” “Java Jive,” “Operator,” “Killer Joe,” “Route 66” as their opener, and of course “Birdland” near the end, along with a ton of other songs. Each of the four got their own time up on the bandstand alone to work their own tunes, and to push their own solo releases. I’ve always really wanted to hear “Speak Up Mambo (Cuentame),” “Soul Food To Go,” “Baby Come Back to Me (Morse Code of Love),” “Mystery,” and a few others, but once again was sadly denied. Oh, well, maybe next time.

I had to ask myself how many times have they sung these songs? They’ve been together since the early 70s, which gives them roughly 35 years together. Take a song like “Tuxedo Junction,” one of their classics: given rehearsals, shows, etc. they had to have sung this song probably 50,000 times. How can you work up enthusiasm for something like that? I applaud them for doing it, and making it truly look like they were still enjoying it (which I do believe).

Also had to wonder: what kind of life do they lead? Tim gave a brief rundown on how he’d rented a car and just spent a day driving through the Virginia springtime, out into the Shenandoah Valley and back. Man, what a great way to exist, to be able to do things like that during the day, then head to the club in the evening for a gig that you know like the back of your hand, the only thing different being the venue. The word “freedom” floated into my head, and I couldn’t help but think that sounded like an incredibly free life.

But then again, I know a guy like that is busy, heavily scheduled, etc. I’m always so curious as to how other people, especially the prominent/famous, live their lives. How much different is it than my suburban existence? Once again, that path is long since closed to me. Those forks in the road were 20+ years ago, and there’s no way to get there. They do their thing, and I do mine.

Check out their new album at http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0002VEXAU/qid=1114690613/sr=2-2/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_2/103-1945598-1716623. Also, you’ve gotta get their anthology release, at http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B0000032VC/ref=m_art_li_9/103-1945598-1716623?v=glance&s=music.

Swing Out Sister On The Bandstand

Saw the group recently at the same local venue of which I've written before. Had never seen them before, not ever, and was highly impressed with a really great, rocking, dedicated show from a band clearly enjoying playing and giving a treat to equally dedicated fans. I was a fan of their music before, and but am even more so now--I've already marked the balance of their CDs to purchase, the next time I go on a buying spree.

Got there with plenty of time, and took what is becoming a more or less usual table for the wife and me. I went with the chili this time, and learned it was a bad choice. No amount of hot sauce could save this dreck, just one step up from Chef Boyardee. Absolute junk, I swear I could taste ketchup in there, at the very least pure tomatoe paste. Bland bulk meat, and no tang of anything, anywhere. No cumin, no salt, no pepper, no spice, no garlic, no onions--just fucking awful. I'll go back to the red beans and rice, I guess.

There was an opener that night, and the remarks of one each Kinnie Starr made it clear she was traveling with SOS as thier opening act. She came out, and looked like a waitress. Had little pigtails on the side of her head, low-slung jeans, the whole post-grunge thing. Small and very young, and very attractive in a pure sort of, ultra-clean young way (how better to describe it?). She then rambled on about some sort of north-central Canadian upbringing, Calgary, her native American heritage, and a "prayer-poem" to open her set. Yeah, from that point on I knew it was going to be flaky. And the promise was fulfilled, many times over.

She blurched away on a far too amped-up electric guitar, trying way too hard to be Alanis. The most memorable thing about her 'electric' work was how her fingers sliding up and down the half-and-half strings were louder than either the chords or her singing. That did nothing for me, although I'm sure there were some folks totally diggin this 'art.' Then she bagged the guitar and had the sound guys play some pre-recorded rhythm and bass bits, over which she kind of danced and did these pseudo-poetry-slam/songs. It was all too contrived, too forced, too much like all of the other neo coffee house glop that passes for original, about love and family, and family and love, and grandma and home-cooked meals, etc. She did one last twirling poem-thingy, in which she said something nonsensical about the US not giving any choice to the people of Haiti (note to Kinnie--what are you talking about, the US intervention in, like, 1993? that was a really long time ago; it's all the UN now, and has been for years. why don't you find a new thing to prattle on about, eh?) and some other junk I've chosen not to remember. Then she was, mercifully, done and gone.

That didn't put SOS onto the stage until 8:15. That's a bit unusual, since the show always starts punctually at 7:30 at this place (way to go, excellent management), and are usually over by 9:30 or so. So, as SOS came on, I figured we'd get a set of maybe an hour at the most, and that would be that.

And I was quite happily disappointed. They ended up playing right up until 10:00, a great, rocking set. All of the oldies, and a couple of songs from the new CD. The band was good, tight, especially the work between the drummer and the bass player. As always, the bass player, the coolest guy in the band, was rocking. I really got a charge out of him, whatever the hell his name was. He was way too cool to get into it, and hardly smiled the whole show, just kept on murdering that gum in his mouth. But man, could he play, and the arrangements of the SOS tunes allowed him to really rock, driving almost every one of the tunes in the set. He even got a couple of great solos, and worked out beautifully on them. Even played the drums for one tune while the drummer did his Brazilian drumset bit right next door.

Corinne Drewery is still looking quite good, although I'd advise her that her frock made her look sort of pregnant, and sort of like mod 70s draperies. Not very flattering, either in the cut or in the pattern. What really stood out were her huge hoop earrings, massive things that kept landing on her shoulders and bouncing about in the most delightfully pleasing ways. They must've been a good 8" in diameter. Very bold, and a great look for her. She can still belt it out, though, and she treated us all to it for the whole show. I did notice her voice falter a couple of times on some of the harmonies, but that was no big deal for me.

One large disappointment was that there were no horns. So many of the SOS hits are horn-driven, even horn-dependent, and there was no horn accompaniment at all. That was a big hole in their sound. That hole could've been plugged with a more robust electronic presence, but all we had was the one guy on keyboards. The second best solution would've been to have another player on guitars, but we only had one guy on guitars, so we had a choice between rhythm and lead, but never both at the same time. Just a little bit more orchestration and a fatter band would've been perfect. Oh, well maybe next time.

They wrapped up the main show at 9:45, 90 minutes after opening. Pretty good. Then they came back and did a 3-song encore, finishing with Twilight World. Great time with a good band.

I'll offer as well that my lovely wife was looking particularly sexy that evening, in a simple suburban-kind-of button-up collared sleeveless shirt. Tight, but not too tight, with that one strategic button left undone (don't know if that was on purpose or not), giving just the perfect amout of view at the edge of her front-clasp black bra, and the tan-to-white transition of her breasts inside. Very sexy, and very nice.

Then home to a Tuesday night, ready for another workin' day on Wednesday.

God Isn't

By way of introduction, I offer a slightly modified passage from Bernard Lewis, quoted in a new book by Kishore Mahbubani: "(Religion) has brought comfort and peace of mind to countless (billions) of men and women. It has given dignity and meaning to drab and impoverished lives. It has taught people of different races to live in brotherhood and people of different creeds to live side by side in reasonable tolerance. It inspired . . . great civilization(s) in which (people) lived creative and useful lives and which, by its achievement, enriched the whole world."
No, I can't disagree with that, hardly at all. Religion in general has been beneficial to many, on individual and aggregate levels, throughout the world, throughout the history of mankind. No argument with that.

But it's also been an incredibly divisive and ugly force, causing untold destruction, pain, and death. No arguing with that either.

It was Jesse "The Body" Ventura, as Governor of the great state of Minnesota who said it best, most clearly, and most directly yet unpolitically correctly when he offered, "Religion is for the weak and ignorant."

Ouch.

I agree with both. God, and religion, all of the deities and spirits and cosmology of greater and lesser heavenly creatures, and the alleged miracles and ridiculously complex doctrine and rules and rituals, all of it is a creation of man. God and all of the attendant hoo-hah is a feeble albeit massively complex and shrill scream of denial into the face of the undeniable microscopicness of our existence and the inevitability of our death. There is no God; he's just an invention to distract us from the crushing reality of death, and the next logical step to: what's the point of even living when I'm going to die soon enough anyway? There is no higher authority, higher power, divine presence, omnipotent and all-seeing entity anywhere down there, up there, or out there. There is no one, no thing, no entity watching over us, taking care of us, guiding us, and promising something else when we expire. There's nothing but this reality and our lives in it, and when you're dead, you're dead.

God isn't.

And why would Man think up something like Gawd? Simple, it's first a reaction to things not understood. How to explain the observed yet unexplainable other than to resort to something that could do it and would want to do it, an intelligence with forethought and power, and then attribute purpose to it. In short, it's anthropomorphization at its most basic level, ascribing human traits and characteristics to the non-human. How easy is it to attribute the truly chaotic and coincidental nature of all existence to the hand of an unseen and all-powerful deity?

Second, creating a god and a religion to go along with the god is a fear-based, denial-driven reaction to the rational and undeniable realization of our meekness, our fingernail-tenuous grip on life as a planet, and our mortality, a puny, futile way to attempt to defeat death and somehow establish human control and destiny over that which can not be altered. In short, it's all fear of death, the inevitable questions about purpose given such a short time to do anything about it, and about denial.

Imagine ancient man (creation is another ancillary myth, naturally), sitting around his sparking fire in the Great Rift Valley of Africa a few hundred thousand years ago, unable to communicate other than rudimentary grunts, grumbles and barks, basic word-noises, there at about 5:05 pm, prehistoric cocktail hour, at the very dawn of rational thought, the dawn of humanity as we more or less know it today. So many things to see and observe, so much time to do nothing but watch and observe. Years of nothing but day and night, the passage of the moon and stars, changing of seasons, and nothing but time (no school, no work, no fields to tend, no TV, no internet, no distractions of any sort other than the occasional wild animal eating the children) to sit and take it all in, and then--so human--to ascribe patterns and context, to catalog and discern similarities and differences, to construct context, and then to start to ask questions about it all. Even before there was spoken language let alone writing, the big questions would come: Why is there fire? What exactly is it anyway? Why do the seaons change? Why does the moon move in an apparent cycle? Why do the stars travel in oblong circles in the sky as the days move on? What is the darkening of the moon, even the darkening of the sun (eclipse)? And more than anything, leading up to the really big questions: why and how is there birth, and then death, and what happens then? Why am I here, and what am I supposed to be doing? What's it all about?

What better way for a barely communicative, illiterate proto-human to conceive of this other than to put it into terms he could understand: a being just like him, only bigger, smarter, more powerful, with a bigger club, a bigger spear, more fire, all-powerful. So there's your Great Spirit. All of the pre-Christian/Buddhist/Muslim cultures had their own remarkably similar concepts of the Great Spirit, tribute to the generic homogeneity of human physical and mental make-up. And whaddaya know, all of those great spirits tended to live in the most clearly observable seats of power and energy. For coastal peoples, the great spirit was in the Big Lake, or in the sea. He was in the local volcano, the thundering waterfall, or for those without these kinds of features, he was in the sky and the wind, from which the most cataclysmic (weather) events occurred in their hihgly bounded lives.

The human mind assigns patterns, assigns attributes and characteristics, even when there are none, in its effort to make sense of what is being observed. Information is nothing without context, so the human mind creates it, often incorrectly, in its struggle to identify, catalog, define, and comprehend. So for the unexplainable, the only possible explanation, given that sheer natural chaos was an unacceptable alternative (and carbon dating was a few dozen centuries away), was that there was an intelligent, all-powerful Great Spirit making things happen. How else to explain a solar eclipse, or an earthquake or flood or tsunami or volcanic eruption? Hell, the causes of these weren't known until less than a thousand years ago, more like less than one hundred years ago (and truthfully, we don't fully understand any of these), let alone the nature of fire as a chemical reaction producting heat, light, and residual matter. How else to explain lightning, tornadoes, volcanic eruptions, red tides, locusts, anything that would occur in the realm of the primitive that was so far out of their bounds of comprehension that the only possible cause could be attribution to something bigger and more powerful than they? How do you think the Christians ended up with Noah's flood, and the drowning of the Egyptians in the vengeful sea?

So religion was born. And as man and his mental capacity grew, so did the complexity of religion, its depth, its origins, its roots, its ritual and dogma. That was the only way to stay ahead of man's growing ability to ask probing and religiously unsettling questions, and then create approaches and methods to finding the exact and undeniable answers (think about the mystery of the Shroud of Turin, debunked only in the last 20 years; think about Copernicus and Ptolemy, persecuted for [rightly] questioning the unalterable, religiously defined place of Earth in the cosmos). Ancient religions, like the people who practiced them, were simple and straightforward, angry God and happy God, sacrifice, ritual and dogma. As reason and science began to grow, as explanations began to be found for the things that were attributed to God for so many centuries, religion had to change, had to keep one or two steps ahead of the populace in order to remain relevant and coherent. And so it did. Ancient animinst religions were discredited and faded as their entire bases for existence went by the wayside, with the rise of the more complex world religions such as Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, and Christianity coming about as belief structures which essentially could co-exist with modern knowledge and an increasingly successful inquisitive humanity.

And increasingly successful scientific inquiry is beginning to prove the main world religions as internally contradictory, inadequately structured and based to remain valid without a serious re-working of doctrinal foundations. Even a hundred years ago one could still more or less successfully argue for Christian creationism. But science, specifically highly accurate carbon dating has proven this to be patently false. A wonderfully idyllic myth, sure, but still completely physically impossible. (I mean, really, believing in Creation? That's a whole 'nother entry on the subject of denial right there. Not faith, no, not faith--denial.) So what is the origin of Man? Yeah, evolution is still a theory, but there's more than enough evidence to show that it's most likely the real thing, the true origin of human beings and every other living thing around us. Tough for many arrogant humans to stomach, and impossible for doctrinal believers to accept because of its fundamental threat to the very basis of their beliefs, but it's almost certainly the truth.

But enough of Creation. Let's get back to even bigger questions, like the nature of religion and God in the first place.

It all boils down to cheating death, ,or more precisely the clawing, screeching, futile attempt to cheat death. Really, what's the point of anythying, of even trying, if all you're going to get at the end of maybe 70-odd years on the planet is the totally empty void of absolute nothing, the complete cessation of all aspects of your existence save for a mouldering heap of organic glop in grotesquely modified Sunday-go-to-meetin' best, in an ridiculously overpriced and poorly sealed vessel in the fetid depths of the earth and the short-lived memory of it in those who cared for you? The only way, then, to have it all make sense, to keep people focused and productive and most importantly in control, was to promise them better than they've got now. The promise is eternal leisure, the most intense physical and emotional pleasure imaginable (on a celestial scale, you pervs--none of that allowed in heaven!), complete and total spiritual fulfillment, union with the Higher Power, total communion with the Great Spirit, reunion with those departed, communication with your dead hamster, Fluffy, etc.

So, for those in grinding poverty, hobbled by disability, cursed with bad luck, famine, pestilence and every other bad thing life habitually and unflinchingly throws at you, what better way to stay focused, and most importantly, stay in your social and economic place than to keep your focus on the delightful, wonderful, enticing embrace of death and all that it promises? What better way to keep Russian serfs at bay than have the Orthodox clergy tell them every Sunday that their inevitable death is so much better than toiling for the fat, rich, well-fed, preening, abusive, murderous, cruel landed aristocracy, if they just keep their place and wait for that sweet release? What better way to keep a billion Indian peasants placid than to have them repeat the mantra that all life is suffering, and that only by behaving oneself can you get anything better next time around? What better way to keep a zillion Catholics in line and procreating unceasingly just like they ought to make it a crime against the Great Spirit to have sex without making a baby, or even to get a divorce from someone you hate? What better way to get a peer-pressured teenage Muslim to blow himself and his future to smithereens than tell him about 40-'leven virgins waiting to pleasure him in every way imaginable in the Great Beyond?

Not too far to go to see how a powerful social and economic elite would actively encourage, support, and strengthen Great Spirit belief systems in order to preserve their class, social, economic, and elite status. I think of royalty, clergy, the wealthy, the powerful, the power-hungry and power-mad, and what they've done and will keep on doing to get what they want and then to get more, and then keep it all. Why do you think ancient rulers were determined by God? Why do you think the President of the United States swears on a bible? Why do you think the coronation of an English monarch takes place in Westminster Cathedral? To make them infallible and unquestioned, naturally. Who are you to question the will of the Great Spirit? You take a shot, literal or figurative, at the Big Leader, and you're taking an indirect shot at The Big Man himself, and that's a good, fast way to earn a bad rep.

This begs the question of those who are in power and all set in the earthly life. Here are a few I wonder about? Do you think Bill Gates longs for death and the divine reward it will bring? Why would the richest man in the world wish for the rewards of death? Why would George W. Bush wish for the promised rewards of death, and the afterlife he tells us he believes in? Does Rupert Murdoch look forward to Judgment Day, and spending the rest of his life with the common folk that he's floated above for his entire life? Warren Buffet? The royal family of England? Any monarch anywhere. More power? More wealth? More notoriety? Nope, not for these guys, in fact they'll be just like everyone else, up there with their white wings and little golden harp. The rich and the powerful, they stand to lose the most in the Great Beyond. Their riches will mean nothing, their power absolutely vanished in the face of the Kingdom of God where there is only one source of ultimate power, control, and order yadda yadda. Why would such a person long for eternity, when the things that make their lives so enjoyable and rewarding right now will not be available?

On the flip side: Would Hitler long for death? Saddam, Pol Pot, Stalin? Given the religious structures, probably not, since they were most definitely headed south. But the (more or less) righteous, how will they enjoy the realm beyond life when nothing they have now will be with them? They'll be reduced to anonymity in the countless billions of human history, a soul-speck in the endless firmament. No moeny, no power, no stature or status, no notoriety, no fame, nothing to make them any more special than the spirit of that quadruple amputee Peruvian street beggar who died at 13. Yeah, I can see Billy Graham and Karl Rove and Madonna signing up for that trip. Give me a break.

And of course, there's that divine punishment for those who step out of line. What better way to mandate an earthly code of conduct and impose rigid moral structure than to promise the exact opposite of paradise to those who step out of line? Again, elites are the ones who benefit from the structure, although truthfully a well-followed moral code of conduct benefits all. Elites benefit from a structured society, predictable and stable, and one in which the downtrodden stay that way because that is their sad and sorry lot, looking forward to the sweet sleep of death and all of the fun that follows.

And in all of this, when does God show up and set the record straight? When does he step in and reward the righteous and just and innocent? When does he reach on down from Valhalla and snatch up a genocidal African dictator and make a global example of him to the entire world, live on satellite feed on American prime time? When does God come down and put his arm around the Greatest Person Alive, give him or her a big hug, look them right in the eye and tell them that because they're so kind and gentle and selfless and pure that he's going to forego the waiting period and beam them right on up to heaven right this second? If he's up there taking care of us, why is there war and famine, pestilence, disease, disability, hunger, poverty, the death of the innocent and beloved? If he's up there taking care of us, why isn't he up there taking care of us? If he's up there and doesn't intervene, and make things better? Why is that? One could get the impression that he doesn't really care, or that he's not really up there. Are we some kind of perverse experiment, little humans in an acrylic ant far through which God peers and chuckles?

At the very least, why doesn't he manifest himself from time to time, maybe every fifty years or so, even every hundred, or a thousand, just to keep him fresh in the species memory banks, for us to be absolutely sure he's up there/out there, looking down and monitoring our progress?

But he doesn't, not ever. There's nothing to clearly, unequivocally show that he's around. There's only faith, another cynical human creation to justify the lack of any kind of proof.

So, the only conclusion I've come to is that God isn't. He isn't up there, or out there. He isn't anywhere. He is not even He; there is nothing. Life is life, a multi-billion-year organic miracle in our isolated little corner of space-time. The universe will end it all one day, sooner or later, and all we can hope is that we've figured out how to move on before then. We are the result of both simple and complex natural forces and factors, acting over periods of time we can't comprehend. Life, that is, the entire sphere of all existence that we can detect and comprehend, is so massive in scale that we don't even know where it begins and ends. We are so small as to be absolutely insignificant, meaningless to anything other than ourselves. That's all we've got, and yet we still fight over patches of land, the color of skin, who has what resources, who wins what soccer game, all matter of childish, ridiculous horse shit. Life is coarse and random and absolutely unflinching in its swiftness and finality. Witness the December 2004 tsunami--that's life, baby. More correctly, that's existence. You wink into consciousness with a miniscule chemical-electric spark in a tiny, yowling ball of wrinkled flesh, and somehow miraculously it manages to glow and run for a few decades, and eventually that charge, more correctly the vessel that holds it, runs down and gives out, and the spark goes out. And that's all there is.

All religion is simply a way to escape this reality. All religion, all that have ever existed is the most massive and detailed act of human denial that's ever been manifested. Religion is a crouching, cowering scream of denial and rejection against the unalterable reality of eventual death, of the return to nothingness from which we all emerged. There is nothing out there to float away to. There is no soul, no unique personal vessel of identity that will find a home anywhere. That vessel is your mind, housed and shackled unfortunately to your body, and when the body gives out, that's just all there is.

If God is out there, up there, around us, watching out and taking care of us, then why are there so many religions? Why have there been so many that have withered and failed? Which is the One True Religion, and why hasn't it been made clear to us which path is the right one? Why would God tease us with so many false choices, and hide the correct one from us? Why would God allow the creation of the Jim Jones death cult, the Aum Shinrikyo cult, the David Koresh cult, and any other foolish and ultimately deadly false religions? That seems to me to be a meticulously cruel thing to do. They can't all be right, and in fact it is a central tenet of all religions to declare their unique claim to total righteousness and the utter corruptness, even ultimate evil of all of the others. How does the One True Religion get this designation, who decides? And what of the others, the outsiders? How do they get the message that they're wrong? Is it a child's fault to be brought up in the wrong church? If all children are born innocent, then what is the process through which they find the One True Religion? And why isn't it made clear?

Given my extreme doubt of the entire enterprise, why isn't God reaching down to help me out? Believe me, I've asked for assistance. I've asked for inspiration. I've asked for direction and an indication of which one is the Right One, which religion is the one that will save me from death. But I've never been given the slightest glimmer of enlightenment. I've studied the religions, and each has beautiful, inspired, lyrical and mysterious enticements, wonderful aspects and practices. And they each have histories of unspeakable cruelty and violence, of ridiculous rituals and practices, of arbitrary restrictions and proscriptions, and equally inane requirements. They eventually cancel themselves out for consideration, so full of contradiction and hypocrisy, the too swift refrain of "Have faith" being the most standard answer in their book.

So what to do? Create my own religion? Call it the Greater Holy Church of the Really Short Divine Spark or something like that? I certainly wouldn't be the first. Look at that ridiculous Aum cult in Japan, the spaceship bunch in California, the Jim Jones suicide cult in Guyana. What is that stuff all about? If God is looking out for us, why would he allow you to first follow, and then murder your family and then yourself in the name of a false prophet? I can see where following a false prophet would be instructive to a certain extent, but to actually kill yourself in that person's name, to go to your just rewards and commit an explicitly stated sin against God for which eternal damnation is promised, how is that fair and equitable? How does God give the average human a sporting chance with that kind of experience? If he's looking out for us, why does he allow this to happen?

A few of my questions about all of this:
What kind of God would allow the Holocaust?
What kind of God would allow the Black Plague?
What kind of God would cause the murderous eruptions of Krakatoa, Tambora, Pinatubo, even Mt. St. Helens?
What kind of God would cause a tsunami that kills 180,000 people? Are all of them worthy of divine punishment? Every single one of them?
What kind of kind and loving God allows sadistic monsters like Hitler, Pol Pot, Stalin, Saddam to come to and hold power?
What kind of loving God would cause the Spanish Inquisition? Or the French persecution of the Heugonots?
What kind of God revels in the ritual murder of its religion's enemies?
What kind of God would allow the Rape of Nanking, and the rest of Manchuria, and Korea, and the Philippines, and Southeast Asia?
What kind of loving God would cause the Rwandan genocide?
What kind of honest and thoughtful God would allow a national leader to invade another country without due cause, killing tens of thousands on both sides?
What kind of God allows September 11th to happen?
What kind of God allows terrorists to murder innocents in his name? And fails to punish them?
What kind of God allows parents to abuse and murder their own children?
What kind of God allows pedophilia to exist?
What kind of God allows Somalian famine to go on for years, or Sudanese Darfur genocide?
Why does God allow nuns to be raped and murdered?
What kind of God allows slavery in any form?
What kind of God creates cancer, and other consumptive, wasting, lingering diseases?
What kind of God allows pedophile priests--MEN OF GOD!--to prey on children for years, and allows their leadership--MORE MEN OF GOD!--to knowingly cover up the actions, for years, without punishment?
What kind of loving God demands blood sacrifice?
What kind of God would play the cruel trick on a parent to demand the sacrifice of a child, only to stop the twisted hoax at the very end?
What kind of loving omnipotent God would create pain, suffering, sadness, and death?
If paradise awaits us, why do we have to be here?
If Adam and Eve were the first and only, wouldn't all humanity be the product of father-daughter, mother-son, and brother-sister incest?
Why does a loving God allow criminals to fleece the old, feeble, and frail out of their savings?
Why does God allow his missionaries to be persecuted, tortured, killed, and in a number of instances, eaten?
In a world which is the Dominion of God, why is it the rich and powerful always do better than the poor and powerless?
How does God allow O.J. Simpson, Michael Jackson, DeLorean, and countless other rich and powerful go free?
Why does a loving God allow expectant mothers to drink and smoke and take drugs? Why does God cripple the newborn with birth defects?
Why does God allow peace activists and peaceful protesters to be killed?
If God is all-knowing and all-powerful, why is there death?
Why does God not show himself, and offer incontrovertible proof of his existence? If he demands and expect our worship, why does he not make that necessity plain and clear?
If God is so righteous and benevolent and just, where is the justice.
If God is so just, why is there more injustice than justice? Why doesn't justice always prevail?
Why does God allow criminals to raise funds and steal church money in his name?
Why does God allow the innocent to be convicted of crimes?
Why does God allow church burnings?
Why does God allow any transgression against or any violation of children?
Why does God allow starvation? After all, we had the whole manna from heaven thing a few hundred years back, right? The whole loaves and fishes thing, right?
Why does God thwart democracy and representative government, and allow dictators to rise to power and remain there?
Why does God allow Marburg and Ebola and tuberculosis, AIDS, smallpox, anthrax, SARS, bird flue, influenza, and all of the others?
Why does God allow torture?
Why does God allow child soldiers?
Why would God create female circumcision and genital mutilation?
Why would God allow Muslim honor killings?
Why woul God allow a thing such as international sex tourism, the subjugation of trafficked persons, the vicious, horrific sexual exploitation of children for profit?
Why does God allow incest?
Why does God allow genocide and mass murder in his name?
Why does God allow a 12-year-old child to become pregnant, or a prostitute?
What kind of God allows a country to drop cluster bombs and napalm on noncombatants?
What kind of God allows a Bataan death march?
Why had God created depression, anxiety, neuroses, mental illness, schizophrenia, psychosis?
What kind of God allows the kind of wicked, foolish, ignorant, ugly, cruel, selfish, dysfunctional people you see on Jerry Springer and similar idiot-cultural vomit?
What kind of God causes plane crashes and ferry disasters?
What kind of God creates Green River Killers, BTK, Ed Gein, John Wayne Gacy, and other serial murderers, and allows them to continue for so long?
What kind of loving God creates tornadoes and hurricanes, typhoons, earthquakes, and tidal waves?
What kind of all-powerful God allows Man to be so arrogant, so selfish, and so stupid to actually make species after species extinct?
Why does God cause people to grow massive 100-pound tumors?
Why does God cause people to burn others at the stake as heretics?
Why does God allow summary executions to take place?
Why doesn't God reward me for my peace and calm and the ridiculous abiding and unconditional love I have for my children?
Why doesn't God reward me for not losing my cool and striking out at all of the roadblocks, obstacles, morons, and frustrations I endure every single day?
Why does God reward a magnificent person such as Mother Teresa with death?
If God is all-powerful, why is there death, with its agonizing sorrow, loss, and separation?
Why doesn't God reward me for tolerating, even helping with my wife's neuroses?
Why doesn't God reward me with a promotion or a bonus, some kind of positive recognition for the work I do?
Why won't God show himself to me?

The answers to all of these questions are simple and singular: because there is no God. Any God, any all-powerful being formed of simplicity and wisdom and kindness and love would not allow the world to operate in the manner that it does. At the very least, the evil and bad would be punished, even if the good were not rewarded. Yet it doesn't happen; it never happens. That's because no one is looking down upon you from on high except the astronauts in the moldy space station. There is no one who cares about you and your situation other than your family and friends, and that's where it ends. Maybe a truly selfless, service-oriented elected official, but I find this pretty hard to swallow. Life is short, coarse, cruel, and random, and that's the only immutable law. There is no life after death; there is nothing after death. Your unique chemical-electric spark weakens and departs its organic housing, and that's that. Your energy is no more, your consciousness evaporatess into its constituent organic molecules, which then do what anything does, deteriorate and decompose. And that's that.

And intelligent design is not your answer. Does anyone really think this is a viable scientific line of inquiry, to ascribe the known and measured and quantifiable to some undefined, unseen, unmeasurable, unquantifiable force/entity? How is this science? It's not; it's a clever and viciously cynical way to manipulate the system of reason and debate to force a retreat of reason and fact. It's an underhanded and fundamentally dishonest way of shoving God and religion down our throats, specifically Christian religion, since intelligent design as stated by those pushing it in the USofA does not merge easily with Islam, Buddhism, Hiduism, Shinto, or any of the others. But then again, that's the way they want it, right? The exclusivity, the single claim to legitimacy and divine ordination? That's what it's about, right? Hey, we've come full circle.

The complexity and amazing variation of life comes from billions of years of movement, growth, adaptation, and catastrophe. Volanic eruptions, meteor impacts, are these all part of intelligent design, the Divine Hand raining down destruction in order to build?

How does intelligent design square with strict creationism? In fact, it does not. Intelligent design seeks to explain complexity and variation as the work of a creator. But if that is the case, then where do Adam and Eve and their incestuous offspring fit in? Was smallpox around in the Garden of Eden? HIV? If yes, then why didn't they get sick? If not, why not, and where did it come from, other than the benevolent Creator in his attempt to creat more diversity and variation in the world?

It's all ridiculous, the time people spend on religion, the ugly vehemence they use to defend it, the upspeakable violence many go to to "defend" their beliefs, when all of it is absolutely, utter bullshit.

I'd love to fall weeping at the feet of The Great Spirit. It would make so many things so much more simple, so clear. It would answer so many questions. But it just doesn't happen. I've been asking, and I keep asking, but the answer is just the hiss of background radiation and the cacophony of all of life all around me.

Happy Father's Day

In the paper, on the radio, and on the gogglebox, it's been nothing but ads for tools, hardware, and dumbass gadgets for the past week. Lame-ass DVDs and sadly predictable action movies. Somehow I don't remember last year's Father's Day period being so incredibly assaultive with the over-the-top appeals to buy Dad the most stereotypical crap in the world, tools and worthless gadgets, just garbage. It's as if every Dad in the world wants another wrench, another stupid, cheapo electronic game, or some idiotic golf accessory.

Me, I didn't want any of that. I got half of what I wanted, hand-made cards and a slightly elevated level of attention from my children. That's my reward, right there. I love that stuff, as hokey as it sounds. It goes right up on the corkboard in my office at home, so I can see it any time I want.

So what's the other half? Nookie, that's what.

I saw no inkling of this in the papers, in the media, nowhere. Where were the ads for lingerie stores, telling the ladies to make Father's Day special? Where were the Frederick's and Victoria's Secret Father's Day special catalogs back in late May? Where were the ads on the TV for sexy underclothing? That's all I wanted for Father's Day, some classy and racy underwear from the Good Lady Wife. I communicated that, as clearly as I could, and I know she heard me. But I was disappointed. I figured I would be, and was not let down in this assessment. She blew it off, just didn't do it. She knew what I wanted, but just ignored it.

Pretty fucking pathetic. I would think most 40-something wives would be pretty happy about a husband who still thinks she's wicked-sexy, hot, attractive, and still undoubtedly a delicious piece of sweet ass. But not mine. For whatever reason, this seems to be a chore for her. The heightened sexual response from the older woman that the media feeds isn't accurate in this case, not at all. It's just a big pain in the ass for her, another task to complete before the blessed relief of bed and sleep. I can understand completely now, and empathize completely as well, with those men who go off-campus and find a woman more willing to indulge them. To hell with young bimbos with pumped-up breasts and rampant immaturity; I'd like a mature, grown woman who's comfortable with herself, and knows how to both give and get. I'd like to go off-camput myself, but won't. Just can't do that.

So, the operative word is "stuck." Or maybe "trapped."

Happy fucking Father's Day. Anniversary is coming up in aother three weeks and I know that's going to be a let-down, too.

Speak English, Goddammit!

The Verbal Advantage ads on the radio start with, "Whether it's fair or not, people judge you by the words you use . . .," and, of course, by how you use them. Too many people today have no interest in correct vocabulary, or proper grammatical usage. It's simple: the better you can communicate, usually the better you'll be understood. And for that rare individual listener or reader who's got a commensurate education and proper discipline in English usage, and who's paying attention, you can really set yourself apart as brighter and more articulate.

So . . . read up, and get your usage and your syntax and your vocabulary right, for Chrissakes:

It's incorrect usage to talk about how an organization, group, or other non-human entity has been "reticent;" this is non-applicable anthropomorphizing. The adjective itself is individual-related, and specifically human in its usage. The adjective describes a person or state or person who does not speak or does not wish to speak. The adjective describes oral communication, not written. When in doubt, use "reluctant" instead.

There is no such thing as "aksing" a question. An "axe," or "ax" is a sharp tool used to chop or split wood. The word "aks" does not exist in the English language. Discipline yourself to speak correctly; the word is "ask," an interrogative verb meaning to pose a question or query, or to make a request. When indulging in this failure, you do set yourself apart, whether intentional or not. You may be making a societal/cultural statement, a bold assertion of affiliation and even defiance. Sure, that's up to you, if you choose to make this kind of statement. For those who pay attention, who are educated, and who make hiring and promotion decisions, though, you set yourself apart as ignorant and unwilling to engage in the kind of intellectual discipline which demonstrates a desire for either basic speech correctness or self-improvement.

There is no such word as "irregardless." The correct usage is "regardless," such as "Regardless of whether Steve is there or not, the event will continue on schedule." Don't confuse this with "irrespective" or "immaterial," both of which are legitimate usage, although the definitions of both are somewhat esoteric and opportunities for use are rare.

"Textspeak" is fine for your cell phone or IM conversations, but it makes you look like a lazy, trendy idiot when you use it in formal written communication. This includes office email. Realize that there’s a difference between formal written correspondence and cellphone or computer chat. Your audience very well may understand what you are attempting to communicate, but you’ll come off looking like a limited, arrogant fool.

It's not "jew-leh-ry," the correct word is "jew-el-ry." You don't talk about the value of a collection of "jewlehs," so why would you talke about "jewlehry?" The word is "jewel," just add a "-ry" on the end.

Same thing with "realtor." This person sells "re-al-ty," so therefore is a "re-al-tor," not a "re-la-tor." Simple discipline, that's all there is to it. When you give in to this common laziness, you come across as a bumpkin. You may be the smartest guy/gal in the room, but when you open your mouth and this inane noise comes out, you prove immediately that you're not.

It’s not “ex-specially;” the word is “especially." That's "eh-spe-shally."

There’s a difference between “insure” and “ensure.” The former is about taking out commercial protection against loss. The latter is about taking pains to make sure that a task is completed.

Get your mind around “lie,” “lay,” and “laid,” realizing that they are all different in spelling and meaning, and that meaning changes within context--they are not interchangeable. The first is verb about telling falsehoods and a physical body in a prone or prostrate position. The second is an active verb having to do with placing an object in a place, with implied caution or care, such as laying a document on a table. There, of course, is the one about the chicken laying an egg, again echoing the implication of caution, given the delicate nature of the egg. “Lay” is also the simple past tense of lie, but only in the prone/prostrate usage, such as, “After the race I was tired, so I lay on the bed a while.” The last is a past-tense verb of “lay,” and also a street slang gerund usage for sexual activity, usually intercourse.

Know your use of italics. They can and should be used for book or magazine titles, or titles of formal works, such as a film. Italics also usually are used for foreign words or phrases, and you don’t use quotation marks, that is, unless you are quoting something. Underlining can take the place of italics. Italics also are used for emphasis in narrative. When writing all in italics, the use of non-italicized script serves the same purposes.

In a bulletized list in narrative text, there is no punctuation at the end of the text. Punctuation within the text, such as a comma or a semi-colon is okay, but there is no period, nothing at the end of the text.

Get your use of “its” and “it’s” straight. The former is a possessive pronoun of something inanimate/gender-neutral. The latter is a contraction for “it is.” The two are not interchangeable, nor are they synonymous.

Pluralization never uses an apostrophe.

There is no such thing as "preventitive." The correct word is "preventive." Drop the extra syllable.

The word is not "lecktrissty;" it's "e-lec-tri-ci-ty." There are two extra syllables in there that need pronouncing. The former is for tralier-trash morons. The latter is for someone who wants to be precise and correct in language usage.

The word is not "supremist," as is frequently heard when people are talking about hate groups. There is no such word. The correct word is "supremacist," originating from the word "supremacy."

I'm no highly trained mechanic for high-end British motorcars, but I think a "Jagwire" is an electrical component you would find in a Jaguar automobile. Or maybe a tracking system that a large feline zoologist might employ. Maybe even an electrical component that someone in the military Judge Advocate General (JAG) corps would use. The car is pronounced "JAG-wahr," or the very, very English pronunciation, "JAG-you-are." Pick one, one of the two correct ones, and use it.

There is no such word as "fustrate." There are a couple that are close, such as "fustian," (highflown or affected writing or speech) "fustic," (the wood of the chlorophora tinctoria, or its dye), and my personal favorite, "fustigate," meaning either to beat with a club or to criticize severely. If you intend to say "frustrate," then pronounce the "fr" at the beginning of the word to make yourself understood. You wouldn't talk about "Fankenstein" this way, especially not to his face. You wouldn't ask for a plate of "fanks and beans" at the church picnic, would you?

What exactly is "foeward?" Is that moving in the direction of an enemy? I think people are trying to say "forward," which is properly pronounced, "FORE-ward." It's pretty simple, really..

Then there's "temperchur." People talk about the weather, and out comes this slurred and lazy slag. The correct word is "TEMP-er-a-ture." Again, it's pretty straightforward, and shows discipline and respect for the language when it's done correctly.

Note that the word "strength," the noun form of "strong," has a "g" in it, just like the noun form, and neither of those is a silent "g." Do not pronounce this word "strenth;" there's no such thing. You wouldn't say, "He's become very stron because of his consistent strenth training," would you? Be consistent, and be correct.

I heard an NPR reporter speaking this morning of "...Congressional staffers being in the mist of crafting the legislation to..." Nope, wrong. Being in the mist is something gorillas do. Pronounce the "d" in the word, "midst." It derives from "mid," meaning to be in the center of, in the middle of, or in the process of.

Heard some she-gomer talking this morning on the wireless about her "frigerator." Sorry there, Brandine, but there's no such word. I think you were under the assumption that you were saying "refrigerator," but you missed that first syllable. Try a little harder next time. Or, you can use the commonly accepted term "fridge."

There are two "L"s in the word "vulnerable," and both need to be pronounced. I keep hearing "vuh-nerable"--wrong. Gotta pronounce that first "L." You can't miss the initial L in describing Mr. Spock as a Vulcan, not without running the risk of a dire insult, although I'll note that Dr. McCoy did just that, inspired, really, at the beginning of the climactic death scene in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan when he asked Spock if he was "out of his Vuh-can mind."

I keep hearing people saying "foeward" when it's clear they think they're saying, "forward." The first syllable derives from "fore," meaning to the front or ahead, so the pronunciation is "FORE-ward." Two r's in there, and both need to be pronounced.

Then, of course, is the gooberrific "POE-lice" and "AM-buh-LANCE." I just love to hear both of these gems, the best part being that they're usually used in concert, even in the same sentence. These are just so good, I can't bear to ask the gomers to let it go, their lower jaws thrust out so prominently, their stained, uneven teeth protruding so jauntily as they stress the wrong syllables, slog through the pronunciation. It's just too good.

This observation naturally leads to a discussion of "fittin'," as in, "Mamma's fittin' to bust a gut over that 'lecktrick bill..." This usage is a mangling of "fixing," as in "preparing to" or "about to..." But some folks just love that down-home yammering that seems to grant the speaker some sort of bottomland cachet, some sort of bib-overall legitimacy. Sure, whatever floats your swamp boat.

I smile when I encounter the pure idiocy of people who say "berfday" when they're talking about someone's birthday. "Berf" is not a word, nor is the alternate spelling, "birf." There's "barf," of course, even "borf," but sorry, "berf" is just plain incorrect.

Then there are the folks who can't get past "fitty" when they're attempting to say the number "fifty." "Fitty" could be construed as an awkward adjective describing someone in a fit, or prone to fits, but is still incorrect usage. Step up a level of education and social stature, and make an effort to pronounce that second "f" in "fifty;" it's not that difficult.

Then there is the enemy catch-all, so popular these days with politicians and Christian broadcasters. It is, of course, terrorism. Note that the word is "ter-or-is-m," four syllables. Unfortunately, our Idiot-In-Chief can't get it right himself, and the mindless rabble that make up the American electorate follow along blindly, naturally. He says, "terr-is-m," leaving out an entire syllable. So, it follows logically, and he's proven it in his public utterances, a person who engages in this activity is a "terrist." Yup, that's the gomer approach to the problem, just shorten it all down. Remember, the root word is "terror," two syllables. It's not "terr."

Same thing with "horror," and not "hor/hore." One needs to pronounce two distinct syllables there, otherwise run the risk of serious insult to an unintended and likely female target. A "hor-ror" movie would be Phantasm or The Exorcist, whereas a "hor" movie would be Pretty Baby, The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, Taxi Driver, or anything with Paris Hilton in it. Ah, but I digress.

And then there's the wonderfully descriptive yet somewhat complex verb, "deteriorate." That's five separate syllables describing a degradation in quality, stature, character, value, or substance. Unfortunately, many lop off a syllable, splurting out "deteriate" instead. No, wrong, no such word. Take the time to say the entire thing, and you'll come off intelligent and well-read.
There's an "r" in the prefix "infra." No such sound, in English, as "infah." So no, it's not "infahstructure," or "infahred." Discipline yourself to make that mellifluous "r" sound, and you'll not make yourself look like an idiot.

Ooh, another good one is the dumbass-sounding "supposably" when one is trying to say "supposedly." One simple mispronounced syllable, and you go from describing the way something should be or is purported to be to some kind of goober-nonsense word.

The leaves on the trees are not "foy-lage." No such word. The word is "foliage," and is pronounced just as it's spelled. One can go with the quick "foal-yej," or stretch it it on out to the more lyrical and refined "foe-lee-ej." Your choice, but at least do it the right way.