I will write more on this later, but something in the news and in an opinion column came together in my mind this morning. Senator Kerry's wife, Teresa Heinz Kerry; who is she kidding? An editorial page director for the Pittsburg Tribune-Review asked her to explain what she meant by "un-american." She said she didn't say that phrase, and after repeated urgings by the reporter, she told him to shove it.

What she is being praised for from the Democratic forums is her spunk and speaking her mind. What every one of the "praisers" forget is that her entire statement, including her uttering the "un-american" phrase, was recorded on video tape and in reporters notes. But she still denies saying that.

The Moral Compass? A recent article, which I will link later, says that morals and virtues used to be determined by a spiritual yardstick, which was the Word of God. It is the Ten Commandments and more. But what many people in our society are doing is to redefine their virtues and morals, in essence, personally defining what is wrong, which means there are no consequences for what has been accepted as wrong behavior. So, what is wrong to us may be right to some people. And Ms. Kerry, by lying about what she clearly said and defending that right to say what she said, has a moral compass that is smashed and broken.

I would like to see moral honesty and accountability from everybody, but that isn't the practice with many people, including many politicians. Shouldn't this be a basic requirement to trust government?

The CNN article quotes many Democrats as praising Ms. Kerry, seemingly unaware of her gaffe, and more, praising her ability to use diversionary and disarming language when called on the carpet.

Asked about the comment Monday, Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton said she believes that "a lot of Americans will say, 'Good for you -- you go, girl.' And certainly that's how I feel about it." Devine said Heinz Kerry has been a great campaigner for her husband. "She's someone who connects with voters, who cares deeply about issues. And the fact that she speaks what's on her mind, I think it's enormously refreshing. It's something the American people want to hear more of." "I'm sure the nation wants to hear from her because she can lend so much valuable insight as to who John Kerry is, where he comes from and what he believes," Devine said.

I wish we would believe any of them.

'Nuff said for now.

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We spent the day yesterday at the Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield, Massachusetts, and what an interesting day it was. My son, who eats, sleeps and drinks basketball, had a blast. M and I slowly perused the galleries, taking in some of the history, while Andy fast-forwarded to the things he wanted to do, namely play basketball video games and shooting some hoops.

M and I stood on the second floor, overlooking the center court in the hall, where perhaps hundreds of young people (mostly) tossed basketballs at the two baskets on either end of the court. What made this experience surreal is that we were nearly over the backboard, and by just concentrating on the top of the hoop, the effect of basketballs coming into the hoop at a rate of one every second was amazing. It was hard to determine who made a basket sometimes, and other times a ball would knock someone else's ball away from the basket. Andy managed to get many baskets, but was was more amazing was the spirit of cooperation on the floor. One person would throw the ball, it came down into someone else's hands, they threw, and it came down into still another's hands. Sometimes a boy (or girl, though they were seldom in evidence here) would stand nearly under the basket, and catch the ball then forward it to someone else before catching the next. It almost seemed choreographed. I wish I had taken the video camera.

The Basketball Hall of Fame, in its new building, is worth a trip if you are a fan or player.

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Signs you are too busy:

1. The blog doesn't get updated.
2. The yard doesn't get taken care of.
3. The bills don't get paid.
4. The house cleaning goes to pot.

Am I really too busy to get all of this done? Not really, except for number 1. More of the de-housing is being done, with yesterday's work of trimming the hedges and mowing the grass done. My realtor told me on Sunday that some of these things needed to be accomplished, and I am dutifully doing just that. I will be reinstalling some window casings later this week and doing some painting. But now, the rain is coming in and there is more wedding work to be done too.

Saturday, Andy and I went to M's father's home and had a wonderful feast, thanks to her step-mom and father. I haven't had lamb chops in a long while, and these, hot off the grill were exquisite. Andy got to play baseball with M's nephews too.

My fiancee and I are meeting for lunch today at one of the (and probably the best one) restaurants we looked at for a reception. Sixty people is what we expect and their terrace room looks perfect; if we all sit on the floor. Since that isn't going to happen, we've asked the management for some diagrams of how the tables will be set up, since it is an unusually-shaped room. And they have complied, so we're heading there today to sample the food over lunch and try and visualize the room. One thing is for sure; you can't beat the view, and there is a walk-out terrace that looks out at the ocean. And we need to know if the date can be changed. Something we found out on Saturday was that there was another wedding that some of the family wanted to attend happening the same day.

This blog won't be a wedding blog, by any stretch, but you might encounter some of these posts from time to time. Most wedding blogs are written by the brides, so this might be a bit different. And speaking of the wedding (really now, were we?) here's my photographer story.

I am a photographer, one who has done weddings and gotten that out of my system. And something we want for our wedding is a look that doesn't look like wedding photography. So, I used a service from Respond.com that sent out a request for photographers in the local area. I now have at least three to choose from. And I wonder if any of them read my requests, since all of them presented packages (and one displayed his day rate.)

This is what I want: no direct flash, available light or bounce flash only. Few posed shots, for the stand-ups, I want the people in them to be talking with each other, joking and smiling. During the ceremony, I don't want the camera off the bride for a second, to capture the little smiles and expressions that most miss. I don't want albums or web pages with the pictures, I'll take care of that after. Mostly what I am asking for is a journalistic approach, and I'll pay you a day rate and expenses. I'll even storyboard the shots I know we want to have.

The information I have received is kind of funny. A day rate for one photographer is $531, while another says that $300 an hour is a "generally accepted rate." All assume that we are going to order prints and albums, not. Another promises that for $1200, we will get a special deal that is a market test for the area. All I want to do is to hire a body who will follow directions. More to come on this topic.

Have a wonderful day!

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Long-time readers will know that I am moving ahead on several fronts in my life, including selling my house, starting a new business and getting married. The house isn't sold yet (now's your chance to bid on this beautiful home!) but the work continues to bring it to a salable market. My house is a beautiful home, but has over 20 years of stuff in it that must be reduced in quantity.

Today, I said goodbye (almost) to the train table. All 6' by 16' of it. With it gone from the basement, I'll have to begin changing my web site, as I will no longer have the trains running. And looking at the site, with all the other changes being made, it will require quite a bit of editing and pruning.

My tribute to my late wife was a labor of love, and something I needed to do to help me through my grief. It is history now, and with my biography, all in the past; I am ready to move forward into a new life with my beloved. So, my personal web site will reflect some of the changes in my life and that to be.

This won't happen overnight, and be assured that it is hard to do but it is also part of stepping out into a new chapter in my life. So, little by little, I'll be redeveloping Southstation.Org as my hobby site and provider of unique web content, such as the South Station and WRVR New York pages, both unique in the blogsphere. "Out Of The Blue" won't change, dear readers, and it is my hope that you will continue to visit.

God bless and best regards.

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I was going to post the link to the Annie Jacobsen article that continues the story and the fallout on "Terror In The Skies, Again" but Nick at Patriot Paradox has done a great job doing the same.

Here's a direct link to Annie's followup article.

The major news media has caught the story that originally broke with bloggers leading. Michelle Malkin, Glenn at Instapundit.com, and this "refutation" by Daniel Drezner.

It's going to be an interesting summer.

Update: 7/22/2004: The mystery of the Syrian Band exposed.


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My heart is still racing. To think that the presumption of innocence exists when circumstantial evidence is all around is bizarre, and personally scary.

Read Terror In The Skies, Again and come back to tell me your impressions. It is a long read, but worth it.

Thanks to O'Donnell Web and Patriot Paradox for the heads-up.



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The push to make the house more salable continues, as I go through the cellar. But before I do, I check Lileks, as he is doing some cleaning too, and uncovered some "valuable" comic books. Like James, I am not happy about discarding books, as he says, "it feels like you are shaving your IQ." But then there are records (12" discs of plastic with sound on them, kind of a prehistoric compact disc,) parts (to computers, phones, electrical appliances, R2D2,) clothes (so old that Salvation Army doesn't want them,) Christmas decorations (why did I buy new lights every year? And not throw away the old ones?)

Part of this project was to finish installing permanent lights in the cellar, the part behind the locked door (to keep four-year-olds away from the Christmas lights.) I cleaned out much of this area and put the contents into the garage, to make it look more open for the potential buyers. But, a coil of Romex tucked under some books told a tale of a project that needed to be finished.

So, I begin, and in a few hours, three overhead lamp sockets, the attendant wiring and a brand-new switch are ready. I fire up the circuit breaker, turn off the work lamp, and in the darkness, flick the switch.

Click.

Ok, click again. (think about this, if it didn't work the first time, why would I click it again? It's kind of like putting the mail in the mailbox slot, and opening it again to be sure it went down into the box. But I digress.)

So, I turn on the work light, take out the voltage tester, and begin to troubleshoot the wiring I just did. Off with the circuit breaker, on with the circuit breaker, voltage here, voltage there, voltage NOT here. Aha! It comes in here, around over there and out here. But not into the light. I find that a wire nut has not included the wire to the light, so I fix that. Back to the switch, turn the work light off and...

Click.

One light lit. There are three lights.

The circuit breaker goes off and I take the second light apart. It too, has a loose wire. Fix that, and put everything back, turn on the circuit breaker, and flick the switch.

Click. Glorious light. Well, two out of three.

I move over to the third light, loosen the light bulb, tighten it back in, and pull the chain. Click. The light goes on.

(insert sound effects="Hallalujah Chorus")

By this time, I am exhausted, full of ceiling pieces and 80 years of dirt, and I want to take a shower and lie down.

Next: the train table. It's a rainy day, should be a piece of cake. Where's the Saws-All?

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The weekend's here and it is a glorious day at the Blog House. The for-sale sign has never looked spiffier! And darling fiancee is here today for the first time, meeting the folks, yippee! We're going to the Roger Williams Park Zoo in Rhode Island this afternoon, and was going to go to Waterfire, but there is no Waterfire tonight. So, that's another time. Andy is heading to the speedway with his cousins tonight.

This week, I hope to begin disassembling the train table that was featured so prominently over on my web site. I'm giving it away, rather than storing it for the year we'll be living in apartment land. My buddy Stan will take it and hopefully convince his wife that now is the time to start running trains in the basement.

I have begun scanning some of the finest pictures of Vermont that I took back in 1980 and began posting them on my Photoblog. Stop in and say hello! And why I say that is because I'm using a new tool called Hello! which can post the pictures quite easily to the blog.

À bientôt!

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It's time for the weekly Christian Carnival, a collection of important Christian-themed posts from bloggers around the world. Yours truly is represented here also, with this post.

The hostess is Messy Christian, and the page with a ton of great stories and links is here.

If this is your first time to Out Of The Blue, welcome! Pull up a chair and stay a while. And check out my home site in the sidebar. I've been around the Internet a lot longer than this blog!

A la prochaine!

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I suppose I could have saved that title for the first time I ascended in a hot air balloon, but that won't happen anytime soon. I guess the reason I peruse the travel sites on Mondays is to dream about traveling on Tuesday. Oh well.

Marisa Bowes is a writer for Slate, and a member of a frequent-flier list, like many of us are. But how many of you would have jumped (and how high?) for a $61 round trip fare to Iceland? Read her week-long story here.

World Hum has a wonderful story about diving in the Whitsundays, a small chain of "drowned mountains" midway between the Australian coast and the Great Barrier Reef. Fascinating.

I had a great weekend, exploring the Northwestern corner of Connecticut with my fiancee and my son, then barbecuing it up on the south coast of Rhode Island with friends. Have a great Monday!

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I thought I'd pass this along to my gentle readers.

What July Fourth Means to Me By Ronald Reagan For one who was born and grew up in the small towns of the Midwest, there is a special kind of nostalgia about the Fourth of July. I remember it as a day almost as long-anticipated as Christmas. This was helped along by the appearance in store windows of all kinds of fireworks and colorful posters advertising them with vivid pictures. No later than the third of July -- sometimes earlier -- Dad would bring home what he felt he could afford to see go up in smoke and flame. We'd count and recount the number of firecrackers, display pieces and other things and go to bed determined to be up with the sun so as to offer the first, thunderous notice of the Fourth of July. I'm afraid we didn't give too much thought to the meaning of the day. And, yes, there were tragic accidents to mar it, resulting from careless handling of the fireworks. I'm sure we're better off today with fireworks largely handled by professionals. Yet there was a thrill never to be forgotten in seeing a tin can blown 30 feet in the air by a giant "cracker" -- giant meaning it was about 4 inches long. But enough of nostalgia. Somewhere in our growing up we began to be aware of the meaning of days and with that awareness came the birth of patriotism. July Fourth is the birthday of our nation. I believed as a boy, and believe even more today, that it is the birthday of the greatest nation on earth. There is a legend about the day of our nation's birth in the little hall in Philadelphia, a day on which debate had raged for hours. The men gathered there were honorable men hard-pressed by a king who had flouted the very laws they were willing to obey. Even so, to sign the Declaration of Independence was such an irretrievable act that the walls resounded with the words "treason, the gallows, the headsman's axe," and the issue remained in doubt. The legend says that at that point a man rose and spoke. He is described as not a young man, but one who had to summon all his energy for an impassioned plea. He cited the grievances that had brought them to this moment and finally, his voice falling, he said, "They may turn every tree into a gallows, every hole into a grave, and yet the words of that parchment can never die. To the mechanic in the workshop, they will speak hope; to the slave in the mines, freedom. Sign that parchment. Sign if the next moment the noose is around your neck, for that parchment will be the textbook of freedom, the Bible of the rights of man forever." He fell back exhausted. The 56 delegates, swept up by his eloquence, rushed forward and signed that document destined to be as immortal as a work of man can be. When they turned to thank him for his timely oratory, he was not to be found, nor could any be found who knew who he was or how he had come in or gone out through the locked and guarded doors. Well, that is the legend. But we do know for certain that 56 men, a little band so unique we have never seen their like since, had pledged their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor. Some gave their lives in the war that followed, most gave their fortunes, and all preserved their sacred honor. What manner of men were they? Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists, eleven were merchants and tradesmen, and nine were farmers. They were soft-spoken men of means and education; they were not an unwashed rabble. They had achieved security but valued freedom more. Their stories have not been told nearly enough. John Hart was driven from the side of his desperately ill wife. For more than a year he lived in the forest and in caves before he returned to find his wife dead, his children vanished, his property destroyed. He died of exhaustion and a broken heart. Carter Braxton of Virginia lost all his ships, sold his home to pay his debts, and died in rags. And so it was with Ellery, Clymer, Hall, Walton, Gwinnett, Rutledge, Morris, Livingston and Middleton. Nelson personally urged Washington to fire on his home and destroy it when it became the headq uarters for General Cornwallis. Nelson died bankrupt. But they sired a nation that grew from sea to shining sea. Five million farms, quiet villages, cities that never sleep, three million square miles of forest, field, mountain and desert, 227 million people with a pedigree that includes the bloodlines of all the world. In recent years, however, I've come to think of that day as more than just the birthday of a nation. It also commemorates the only true philosophical revolution in all history. Oh, there have been revolutions before and since ours. But those revolutions simply exchanged one set of rules for another. Ours was a revolution that changed the very concept of government. Let the Fourth of July always be a reminder that here in this land, for the first time, it was decided that man is born with certain God-given rights; that government is only a convenience created and managed by the people, with no powers of its own except those voluntarily granted to it by the people. We sometimes forget that great truth, and we never should. Happy Fourth of July. -- Ronald Reagan, President of the United States (1981)

Andy are off to meet my fiancee for the day at Lake Compounce, America's first amusement park in Connecticut. Tomorrow, barbecue and fireworks with some of my high school classmates. All in all, a fitting way to celebrate Independence Day!


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It's a holiday weekend, and I'm cleaning out the minor notes so I can hit the major ones.

I've got to get one of these. But of course, I need to have a retro room to put it in. Julie pointed me here.

Dawn takes on Planned Parenthood's Teenwire advice column with some sage advice of her own (actually, what the Bible says.) Dawn is one of my favorite bloggers.

Kira brings us a story you probably don't want to read. She writes one of the good "Mom" blogs.

James Lileks cleans up and takes us on a tour of the new Minneapolis transit system. And in typical Bleat fashion, he determines that the stations are only three to four blocks apart. Is walking prohibited in Minneapolis or do the designers think the people are too lazy?

Have a happy Independence Day!

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