Because life cannot have been lived to the fullest...

until you've played a game where a yeti whacks a penguin with a baseball bat.

You're welcome.

BTW: 322.9

The secret is to hit bouncers.

Interesting article about the spread of Turkish Islamic schools in Pakistan.

Touting an alternative to the "kill, fight, shoot" (to quote one of the Turks) approach of a lot of Pakistani madrassas.

The Turkish schools, which have expanded to seven cities in Pakistan since the first one opened a decade ago, cannot transform the country on their own. But they offer an alternative approach that could help reduce the influence of Islamic extremists.

They prescribe a strong Western curriculum, with courses, taught in English, from math and science to English literature and Shakespeare. They do not teach religion beyond the one class in Islamic studies that is required by the state. Unlike British-style private schools, however, they encourage Islam in their dormitories, where teachers set examples in lifestyle and prayer.

“Whatever the West has of science, let our kids have it,” said Erkam Aytav, a Turk who works in the new schools. “But let our kids have their religion as well.”

That approach appeals to parents in Pakistan, who want their children to be capable of competing with the West without losing their identities to it. Allahdad Niazi, a retired Urdu professor in Quetta, a frontier town near the Afghan border, took his son out of an elite military school, because it was too authoritarian and did not sufficiently encourage Islam, and put him in the Turkish school, called PakTurk.

It's the work of Turkish Sufi Muslim Fethullah Gülen, currently in exile in the U.S. after clashing with the then-Kemalist government. Not without controversy, Gülen has been a voice of reason for the most part (assuming the alleged quotes are true), and this looks like a welcome project.

Thanks to Terry for the heads-up.

OK--I *have* to see Kingdom of the Crystal Skull now.

Roger Ebert gave it his thumbs up, and won me over with this section:

The Indiana Jones movies were directed by Steven Spielberg and written by George Lucas and a small army of screenwriters, but they exist in a universe of their own. Hell, they created it. All you can do is compare one to the other three. And even then, what will it get you? If you eat four pounds of sausage, how do you choose which pound tasted the best? Well, the first one, of course, and then there's a steady drop-off of interest. That's why no Indy adventure can match "Raiders of the Lost Ark" (1981). But if "Crystal Skull" (or "Temple of Doom" from 1984 or "Last Crusade" from, 1989) had come first in the series, who knows how much fresher it might have seemed? True, "Raiders of the Lost Ark" stands alone as an action masterpiece, but after that the series is compelled to be, in the words of Indiana himself, "same old same old." Yes, but that's what I want it to be.

Exactly. Gotta go.

But The Self-Propelled Boy™ and I are seeing Speed Racer first. He passed his spelling test with a perfect score (after much, much, much, much study and drill). Given that I grew up on the cartoon, I'm only slightly less interested than he is.

Some animals are more equal than others.

One for the memory banks.

On the same day a Senate committee was in high dudgeon over record oil company profits, the Congress passed a farm bill that ensures windfall profits and other taxpayer-funded goodies for agribusiness--to the tune of a nice, fat $300 billion.

Cognitive dissonance much, O Solons of the Beltway?

I have no idea what the problem with Haloscan is.

It appears to be having a moment.

Nothing I can do about it--except suggest that you click on the post link if you want a fighting chance to see, or make, a comment.

It's Rifle-Burying Time!

Der Tommissar takes a certain political blogger out to the woodshed.

The company you keep...

Obama's Catholic Underpants Gnomes.

Phase 1: Get Barack Obama elected!

Phase 2: ?

Phase 3: Pro-life!

Stop beclowning yourselves, guys. Admit that other issues take precedence over abortion for you and have done with it.

At the same time...

...do your best to stem the rush to canonize Senator Kennedy.

All the more reason for the prayers.

Prayers for Edward Kennedy.

A malignant brain tumor. That's what killed my grandfather.

Yes, I know--I have my problems with Ted Kennedy's career and behavior, too.

But he's also a terminally ill old man in his 70s, and several someones' father and grandfather.

As the man leading the Rosary at St. Aloysius today said:

"O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of Hell, and lead all souls to Heaven, especially those in most need of Thy mercy. Amen."

Last time I checked, I remain in need of the same mercy. And so do you.

It worked out pretty well for my ancestors.

Two million Brits have left Ol' Blighty in the past decade.

Actually, the figures may conceal more than illuminate, but it's still interesting.

Still getting my sea legs back underneath me.

Busy.

For some reason, work failed to dematerialize off my desk while I was enjoying my spa weekend at the hospital.

The lawn needs to be threshed and bailed.

Heather and I are making baby steps toward putting the fridge box on the market.

Our stimulus payment has been delayed by a TurboTax glitch.

Our church study history group met for the first time in a couple of months last evening.

I managed to beg off (barely, citing my health excitements) being elected Grand Knight of my Knights of Columbus council. Next year for sure.

I am trying to get Madeleine prepped for her First Communion in June.

Heather and I (and a bored-to-sleep Louis) saw Iron Man on Friday. Go see it--excellent action entertainment.

Oh, and I have a fistful of books I'd like to finish.

So, there you go. Accept what blogging I can gives ya.

I hate hospitals.

So I'm back home.

Anyway, what did I miss?

Not so BTW, thanks for the prayers and good wishes. The battery of tests all came back "positive" in the sense they detected nothing wrong. So, a semi-clean bill of health. Another appointment in late May, and surgery beckons sometime after that.

Our sparkler.

Dinner was finished, and the kids went outside to play in the backyard. Rachel was the last to leave. She walked out on the deck, then paused and said "Oh."

It's an all purpose word for her--declaration, question, understanding, discovery. This time, discovery. She'd found the ready-to-seed dandelion left by her older brother at the door.

As I watched her through the screen door, she breathed on the dandelion, scattering some of the fluff into the air. A delighted giggle, and a pause as she watched the fluff go skyward. Another puff, more dandelion seeds scatter, and more giggles. Eventually, the seeds are gone and she moves on to something else.

But a quiet, magical moment is etched in my memory. I'm so happy and honored she is a part of my life.

Something more positive.

Sunday was a red letter day. D3 and I attended a father-son breakfast sponsored by one of the parishes in our K of C cluster. Every year, they have prizes and every boy walks out with something. This is our second year going, and we had the pleasure of sitting with the same group of guys from last year: Frank, Ronald and respective sons.

You have to buy raffle tickets to win the big prizes, which are the bikes.

Frank's ten year old son Josh has some kind of energy field around him which bends probability in his favor. For the previous four years, he's won a bike. A good kid. Ron's is a nice guy too, but older--about 18 or so.

Anyway, the drawings start and I'm gazing intently at my 18 tickets. Time passes, prizes are doled. Josh gets a 3D kite, a $20 gift card to ToysRUs, and a basketball. Nada at our end, but Dale's holding up well.

Josh walks over and gives Dale the basketball, which Dale thanks him for. Like I said, Josh is a good kid.

The bikes vanish, one by one.

"Now we'll have another drawing for a bike." He reads the numbers. I blink.

Yep--Dale wins a bike! He barely blinks as he gazes at the sleek blue mountain bike. One problem, though no one is complaining: Dale won't be able to ride it for another four years, at least.

So be it--he's delighted.

The drawings continue and Josh wins another couple of things, but his bike streak is broken--to the open relief of Frank.

Near the end, another father walks up and whispers--"Do you think your son would be willing to make a trade?" An eleven year old won a much smaller bike (16 inch wheels) which he isn't going to be able to do much with. "Bring it over and I'll ask," I say.

It's nice--a BMX-like Magna, red and mean looking. And much more likely to be a steed within the next couple of years.

"Dale, would you like to trade yours for this one?"

No hesitation--a dazed nod of delight. A big smile and thanks from the 11 year old. Everybody goes home happy.

Heather has to pick the bike up with the minivan, though, but she's almost as happy as I am.

Wars and rumors of wars.

The Republic of Georgia warns that it is teetering on the brink of war with Russia.

Oh, and soft plastics used for kids' toys mimic estrogen, with all that entails for young children who handle them. A rare thumbs up to the Governator for putting the kibosh on this latest parental nightmare.