A couple of LOL's

When military ordinance is fired at an enemy target and explodes on impact it is because the firing mechanism is in the head of the projectile...

or at least that's how it's suppose to work.

Isn't it?


Photo from Epic Times
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By the way...
Do any of you know Ty Down or Matt Holder?  They were last seen taking a left-hand turn off of Gilmer Avenue...  We were told not to be overly worried for they stand a good chance of a soft landing.

Photo from Epic Times

Christmas...it's as much a part of us as the day is long

Christmas, The Tradition

by Norman E. Hooben

 

Christmas Night 1777

For lack of a better description I borrowed the following line to establish the mindset of an American tradition:

“Most cultures have traditions, customs and beliefs that have been passed down through the ages and although some traditions alter slightly to suit modern day living, many stay the same and are an important link to the past and our ancestors.”

Whether we like it or not, Americans have rooted themselves in things that without, would have taken us down a different path to where we would not be today.  It’s been 238 years since our Founding Fathers laid down the principles for which we so proudly prevailed since.  Judeo-Christian principles, whether you like it or not! 

Christmas is a Christian tradition and comes from the words, “Christ and Mass.”  Without the birth of Christ there would be no Christmas…and without Christ there would be no Christians.  So let’s get over the idea that Christmas is not a part of us.

Christmas has been celebrated each and every year since the landings at Plymouth and Jamestown…and continues today.  It did not attain holiday status until President Grant signed it into law…and we lived with that until now.  Now we have un-Christian-like secular progressives trying to destroy that which has been a part of us since the beginning.  And although I personally celebrate the birth of Christ at this time of year I have that inbred principle that links me to our past…Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and you too President Grant, Merry Christmas!

The Obama Doctrine

An Awakening...he is the best I have to offer

My Heart on the Line
By Frank Schaeffer
The Washington Post



Frank Schaeffer

Before my son became a Marine, I never thought much about who was defending me.  Now when I read of the war on terrorism or the coming conflict in Iraq, it cuts to my heart. When I see a picture of a member of our military who has been killed, I read his or her name very carefully.  Sometimes I cry.

In 1999, when the barrel-chested Marine recruiter showed up in dress blues and bedazzled my son John, I did not stand in the way.  John was headstrong, and he seemed to understand these stern, clean men with straight backs and flawless uniforms.  I did not.  I live in the Volvo-driving, higher education-worshiping North Shore of Boston.  I write novels for a living.  I have never served in the military.
It had been hard enough sending my two older children off to Georgetown and New York University.  John's enlisting was unexpected, so deeply unsettling.  I did not relish the prospect of answering the question, "So where is John going to college?" from the parents who were itching to tell me all about how their son or daughter was going to Harvard.  At the private high school John attended, no other students were going into the military.
"But aren't the Marines terribly Southern?" asked one perplexed mother while standing next to me at the brunch following graduation. "What a waste, he was such a good student," said another parent. One parent (a professor at a nearby and rather famous university) spoke up at a school meeting and suggested that the school should "carefully evaluate what went wrong."
When John graduated from three months of boot camp on Parris Island, 3,000 parents and friends were on the parade deck stands. We parents and our Marines not only were of many races but also were representative of many economic classes. Many were poor. Some arrived crammed in the backs of pickups, others by bus. John told me that a lot of parents could not afford the trip.

We in the audience were white and Native American. We were Hispanic, Arab, and African American, and Asian. We were former Marines wearing the scars of battle, or at least baseball caps emblazoned with battles' names. We were Southern whites from Nashville and skinheads from New Jersey, black kids from Cleveland wearing ghetto rags and white ex-cons with ham-hock forearms defaced by jailhouse tattoos. We would not have been mistaken for the educated and well-heeled parents gathered on the lawns of John's private school a half-year before.
After graduation one new Marine told John, "Before I was a Marine, if I had ever seen you on my block I would've probably killed you just because you were standing there." This was a serious statement from one of John's good friends, a black ex-gang member from Detroit who, as John said, "would die for me now, just like I'd die for him."     My son has connected me to my country in a way that I was too selfish and insular to experience before. I feel closer to the waitress at our local diner than to some of my oldest friends. She has two sons in the Corps. They are facing the same dangers as my boy. When the guy who fixes my car asks me how John is doing, I know he means it. His younger brother is in the Navy.
Why were I and the other parents at my son's private school so surprised by his choice? During World War II, the sons and daughters of the most powerful and educated families did their bit. If the idea of the immorality of the Vietnam War was the only reason those lucky enough to go to college dodged the draft, why did we not encourage our children to volunteer for military service once that war was done?
Have we wealthy and educated Americans all become pacifists? Is the world a safe place? Or have we just gotten used to having somebody else defend us? What is the future of our democracy when the sons and daughters of the janitors at our elite universities are far more likely to be put in harm's way than are any of the students whose dorms their parents clean?
I feel shame because it took my son's joining the Marine Corps to make me take notice of who is defending me. I feel hope because perhaps my son is part of a future "greatest generation." As the storm clouds of war gather, at least I know that I can look the men and women in uniform in the eye. My son is one of them. He is the best I have to offer. He is my heart.