Author: Kevan

I am indebted to my friend David Gish for this link.

There’s a coffee available for $300/lb called Kopi Luwak. It’s made from the excrement of an animal called a paradoxorus, who climbs around in coffee trees and eats the berries.

“Bottoms up!”

I came across this photo, which I like very much:

Well, I guess that I don’t like the photo all that much, but I certainly like the captions.

Two facts should stand out when considering the Second Amendment. First: it is not a grant of a right. The government does not create rights. Instead, it is a prohibition against the federal government infringing on a right that already exists. Second: the purpose of an armed citizenry was to make government tyranny impossible. Our right to guns is not based on the need to protect ourselves from local punks, it is based on our right to be free from government tyranny.

Jefferson said “The God who gave us life gave us liberty at the same time. The hand of force [he meant government] may destroy, but cannot disjoin them.” Rights come from God and they are intact even when government uses force to deny the free exercise of those rights. The right to keep and bear arms is one of those rights.

I grew up in Houston, Texas. It only snowed once every six years or so, and that snow would melt within a day. This makes me sensitive to people who’ve never seen snow and how it can paralyze a city. Therefore I submit this photo, shot from my front yard.

We lived through the snow and ice.

Eight degrees is nothing to sneeze at; but I successfully avoided all frozen pipe calls, kept my old truck running, escaped the ditches and oncoming cars that awaited me on every side of the slick streets, and kept the fireplace at home stoked and radiating. And the crisis passed.

Now, one week later, it’s 70 degrees in Memphis and the forecast says it will continue for several days.

Eat your heart out, Indiana.

And what does a Fundamentalist get his son for Christmas? Here is Wesley with his new T-shirt and Taurus PT-132 semiauto:

We had a great day at the Barley household this fine Christmas. I was going to go to work, but The Voices said to stay home and clean the guns. So we’re doing our part to spread the message of the angels: “Peace through Superior Firepower.”

Yes, we Barleys live in a world where “gun control” means hitting your target. The Kingdom of God will be a time of universal peace. This isn’t it. In a fallen world such as ours, thugs need more than a smile and an assurance of unconditional positive regard. They need the fear that comes from knowing that their prey might be armed. And if they guess wrongly and attack us, we hope to assist the city of Memphis in its beautification program by eliminating a little of the trash at no charge to the taxpayers.

And should you dislike the idea of shooting an attacker dead, I suggest that, in the event that you happen to be attacked yourself, that you call out for a social worker to counsel the poor, disadvantaged punk who’s about to feed upon you. If that doesn’t work, maybe you should hope like heck that there’s a trained handgunner nearby.

In the final analysis, we are the richest and most free nation on earth because our military forces defeated those who would have enslaved us. People in hellholes across the third world work hard and live carefully, but they still don’t enjoy blessings such as ours. Other people, such as their government or bandits, make it impossible for them to flourish and grow rich.

We are a free people only because other people, evil people, cannot overpower us and steal what we have produced. Such people are out there. Make no mistake, they’re there. The newspaper is filled with stories of such people. The primary restraint against them is firepower.

I have my health and my family. There are a number of millionaires who’d gladly trade places with me, because I’m richer than they. But I can continue to be rich only if evil men are restrained by the fear of deadly force. God bless our military, and God bless all the responsible gun owners who stand ready to defend themselves and their families this Christmastide.

A big ol’ storm has paralyzed the midwest, and Memphis isn’t doing so well, either. When I crawled under a house yesterday morning, everything was fine. When I emerged some hours later, the city was covered with sleet, with more coming down all the time. By the time I set out for home (a fifteen-minute drive under ordinary conditions), it was dark and just at the time when rush hour is worst. It took an hour and a half to get home. Nobody was driving over 20 mph, and most of the time, when we were moving at all, we were going about 5 mph. All of the streets were packed with bumper-to-bumper traffic, as the Interstates were impassible.

Thus it is in the South. We don’t know how to drive in ice and snow, and it just doesn’t pay to spend hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars preparing for a storm that might occur once every three or four years. We have no snowplows, very little salt and sand, and apparently a governmental workforce that isn’t too enthusiastic about getting overtime hours.

Today the roads were iced over. You could drive 40 mph, but you couldn’t stop! So folks were still creeping along like a snail on his way to see his mother-in-law. Combine that with a backlog of plumbing jobs I had to get to and you can imagine why I see little attraction in the song “It’s the *most* wonderful tiiime of the year.”

Ah, remember the halcyon days of working for a plumbing company. I put in for my vacation months in advance; I broke it up so that the days would adjoin my regular days off. I’d put another log on the fire, put my feet up, and let the Company fend for themselves. Christmas was a great time.

Now I can no longer tell the Company to go jump in the lake. I am the company. So I fight the single-digit weather and the icy streets, solving one problem after another, because folks rely on me and turning them down would be the equivalent of throwing them to the wolves.

But it’s still too doggone cold.

Here’s a great video that everyone should view.

These are the words to “Homeward Bound,” the song playing in the background:

In the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows stop their singing and the sky is clear and red.
When the summer’s ceased its gleaming, when the corn is past its prime,
When adventure’s lost its meaning, I’ll be homeward bound in time.

Bind me not to the pasture, chain me not to the plow.
Set me free to find my calling and I’ll return to you somehow.

If you find it’s me you’re missing, if you’re hoping I’ll return,
To your thoughts I’ll soon be list’ning, and in the road I’ll stop and turn.
Then the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its end,
And the path I’ll be retracing when I’m homeward bound again.Bind me not to the pasture, chain me not to the plow.
Set me free to find my calling and I’ll return to you somehow.

In the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows stop their singing, I’ll be homeward bound again.

-Music and Lyrics by Marta Keen

Rhodesia, once the breadbasket of sub-Saharan Africa, has become Zimbabwe, an economic and political basket case. I just learned from a contact in South Africa that Air Zimbabwe is going bankrupt and will soon close. They can’t get enough passengers. It seems that Zimbabweans are now so thin, they can be faxed to their destinations.

Joe Blundo, of the Columbus Dispatch, wrote a fine column on Nov. 24. Unfortunately it is not available on the newspaper’s web site, so I’m reproducing it here. If they sue me, I’ll take it down.

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The flood of American liberals sneaking across the border into Canada has intensified in the past week, sparking calls for increased patrols to stop the illegal immigration. The re-election of President Bush is prompting the exodus among left leaning citizens who fear they’ll soon be required to hunt, pray, and agree with Bill O’Reilly. Canadian border farmers say it’s not uncommon to see dozens of sociology professors, animal rights activists, and Unitarians crossing their fields at night.

“I went out to milk the cows the other day, and there was a Hollywood producer huddled in the barn,” said Manitoba farmer Red Greenfield, whose acreage borders North Dakota. The producer was cold, exhausted, and hungry. He asked me if I could spare a latte and some free-range chicken. When I said I didn’t have any, he left. Didn’t even get a chance to show him my screenplay, eh?”

In an effort to stop the illegal aliens, Greenfield erected higher fences, but the liberals scaled them. So he tried installing speakers that blare Rush Limbaugh across the fields. “Not real effective,” he said. “The liberals still got through, and Rush annoyed the cows so much they wouldn’t give milk.”

Officials are particularly concerned about smugglers who meet liberals near the Canadian border, pack them into Volvo station wagons, drive them across the border, and leave them to fend for themselves. “A lot of these people are not prepared for rugged conditions,” an Ontario border patrolman said. “I found one carload without a drop of drinking water. They did have a nice little Napa Valley cabernet, though.”

When liberals are caught, they’re sent back across the border, often wailing loudly that they fear retribution from conservatives. Rumors have been circulating about the Bush administration establishing re-education camps in which liberals will be forced to drink domestic beer and watch NASCAR.

In the days since the election, liberals have turned to sometimes ingenious ways of crossing the border. Some have taken to posing as senior citizens on bus trips to buy cheap Canadian prescription drugs. After catching a half-dozen young vegans disguised in powdered wigs, Canadian immigration authorities began stopping buses and quizzing the supposed senior-citizen passengers. “If they can’t identify the accordion player on The Lawrence Welk Show, we get suspicious about their age,” an official said.

Canadian citizens have complained that the illegal immigrants are creating an organic broccoli shortage and renting all the good Susan Sarandon movies.

“I feel sorry for American liberals, but the Canadian economy just can’t support them,” an Ottawa resident said. “How many art-history majors does one country need?”

In an effort to ease tensions between the United States and Canada, Vice President Dick Cheney met with the Canadian ambassador and pledged that the administration would take steps to reassure liberals, a source close to Cheney said. “We’re going to have some Peter, Paul & Mary concerts. And we might put some endangered species on postage stamps. The president is determined to reach out.”

The International Chicken Sequencing Consortium reported today that they have sequenced and analyzed the genome of the chicken. If you don’t believe it, this cartoon, which is self-explanatory, will prove it:

This feat is supposed to help scientists in their study of human genetics, since 2.5% of the chicken’s genetics overlap with ours. But you already knew that we were like chickens. For instance, they have feet, so do we. They have a head, eyes, mouth, beating heart, etc., and so do we.

And why are we so much like chickens? According to International Chicken Sequencing Consortium, it’s because those genetic elements were preserved for 350 million years while we and the chickens were evolving from our common ancestor.

The family resemblance is unmistakable:

Col. Sanders, the cannibal, never realized this. He probably thought that God created the heaven and the earth and put the chickens here for us to fry. But, thanks to Darwin and the International Chicken Sequencing Consortium, we know better. The old view, that we’re supposed to eat fried chicken, is now called “speciesism.” It’s now considered wrong (by some of the more consistent thinkers within the leftist intellectual movement) to think that your species is better than another, or that you have a right to eat the other species.

Behold, Mr. Potato Head really is my brother!

One of the topics that arise during this season is “whom do we thank?” That wasn’t a problem in previous generations, but this is the twenty first century and you can’t stop progress; so the question looms large. It wouldn’t even arise if we weren’t inheritors of the Western Christian tradition, which gives us Christmas, Easter, and other nagging little vestigial organs that have to be redefined by the guardians of civil liberty.

One cute suggestion appeared on National Public Radio quite a few years ago. The commentator concluded “we thank ourselves!” Imagine that, a holiday to thank ourselves. I suppose that we could have a holiday to thank one another, but that seems to be what Christmas has become among the revisionists. No, that definition of Thanksgiving will never do.

Another popular choice is that we thank the Indians. Of course, since they weren’t from India, we really should be more accurate and refer to them as aborigines. The easy word was “natives,” but that conjures up the image of semi-naked, spear carrying savages–so we can’t use it any more. Anyway, some of the aborigines helped the Pilgrims, so the mythology behind this choice says that the Pilgrims owed their prosperity to them and threw them a multi-culti party.

The truth is, of course, that this is a holiday for thanking God the Father Almighty, maker of Heaven and Earth, “the God that hath made and preserved us a nation.” The Bible says that every good and perfect gift comes down from Him.

But not all of God’s gifts come directly from him. Many are delivered through secondary means. In the first years of the Pilgrim efforts here, they were devout worshippers of God, but nevertheless nearly died of starvation. God did not intervene on their behalf and provide food. Instead, he allowed them to consider, believe, and implement the system of private property taught in the Scriptures, which they had foolishly set aside in favor of a communistic system imposed by their colony’s sponsors in England. Under the communistic sysem, as reported in a diary,

the young men . . . did repine that they should spend their time and strength to work for other men’s wives and children without any recompense. The strong . . . had not more in division . . . than he that was weak and not able to do a quarter the other could; this was thought injustice. The aged and graver men to be ranked and equalized in labors and victuals, clothes, etc . . . thought it some indignity and disrespect unto them. And the men’s wives to be commanded to do service for other men, as dressing their meat, washing their clothes, etc., they deemed it a kind of slavery, neither could many husbands well brook it. . . . For this community of property (so far as it went) was found to breed much confusion and discontentment and retard much employment that would have been to their benefit and comfort.

They decided to adopt a free-enterprise system of society:

All their victuals were spent . . . no supply was heard of, neither knew they when they might expect any. So they began to think how they might raise as much corn as they could, and obtain a better crop than they had done, that they might not still thus languish in misery. At length . . . the Governor (with the advice of the chiefest among them) gave way that they should set corn every man for his own particular, and in that regard trust to themselves. . . . And so assigned to every family a parcel of land . . . . This had very good success, for it made all hands very industrious, so as much more corn was planted than otherwise would have been by any means the Governor or any other could use, and saved him a great deal of trouble, and gave far better content. The women now went willingly into the field, and took their little ones with them to set corn, which before would allege weakness and inability, whom to have compelled would have been thought great tyranny and oppression.

The diary went on to say that there was never any food shortage once the private property system was implemented.

There’s a time to pray and there’s a time to act. Had they continued to languish in their socialistic lagoon, they would have prayed themselves into early graves. Freedom made the difference for this nation. May God help us to preserve and extend the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity.

Man bitten while trying to convert lions to Christ. I don’t think he got this from the Bible . . .

I predict that my fortune does not lie in political forecasting.

All of the experts thought that the race would be close; I did not. Is it stupid to disagree with the experts? Yes, most of the time, it is. It goes against my grain to say so, but it’s true. It sure was true last night.

We live in a time where it’s difficult to trust anyone. Not only is there the age-old tendency for people to lie in such a way as to serve their own agendas, but we now have the problem of people having to cover their backsides legally or professionally. Hypothetical example: suppose Asians outscore Caucasians on an intelligence test (which, so far as I know, they do). You simply cannot express an opinion that they are genetically superior. If you want to keep your status as an expert and retain whatever professional employment you have, you simply must attribute the high scores to something cultural, even if you believe the opposite of what you’re forced to say. Onlookers learn not to trust experts when they see that going on.

On election eve, 1980, I was selling encyclopedias for a living in Greenville, South Carolina. As I drove out to a home, I heard All Things Considered on NPR (National Public Radio). The reporter was interviewing an expert. “What’s going to happen tomorrow, Buzz?” The expert replied, “Beulah, it’s just too close to call.” Yeah, right. The next day Ronald Reagan won 489 electoral votes compared to Jimmy Carter’s 49.

What was that expert’s problem? I suspect, but cannot prove, that he was a ’70s lefty and simply couldn’t go on NPR and say Beulah, the nation has abandoned us wholesale and the election is over before it even begins tomorrow. That right-wing demagogue Reagan represents a huge majority of America now; he’ll win by a landslide. What’s worse, in a mere 24 hours the Republicans are gonna control of the Senate for the first time since 1955. I could just puke! No, integrity be danged, he was going to swallow hard, keep a straight face, and say what he had to in order to keep his standing: “It’s just too close to call.”

Well, I knew last night that the expert opinions had been against me. I also knew that, apparently, polling has become a fine art and the results are accurate. But I decided to bet it all on a long shot anyway. Kerry seemed like such a poor candidate, I expected the table to tilt Bush’s direction at the last hour and all of the dishes to come sliding his way.

Oh, well; hopefully it’s over now. I apologize to the thousands of readers whom I misled. And I send my condolences to Osama bin Bedsheet, holed up somewhere in Sandyland, scanning the horizon daily for the American messenger that’s going to usher him into the presence of Allah. So long, big guy. I know you tried.

It’s 6:42 as I write. I will again go on record as predicting a landslide for Bush. Currently all I’ve heard is that Georgia, Indiana, and some third state (Virginia?) had gone for Bush and Vermont had gone for Kerry (of course).

If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. Let’s see what happens.

The Bewhiskered One himself appeared on videotape this week urging Americans to elect John Kerry as president. Well, that wasn’t exactly what he said, but you get the point.

He uttered that Michael Moore nonsense about Bush continuing to listen to the children reading their book after he heard of the attacks, and had the gall to claim that those minutes enabled his goons to successfully finish their murders. People who know how leadership functions know that this claim is ludicrous.

Sammy also made the remark that Americans, four years later, still didn’t understand what it would take to make him quit murdering us. All we have to do is the opposite of what Bush has done.

It reminds me of junior high school when the bullies offered terms of surrender to those of us who were weak and wimpy. If we let the Muslims take over the world, impose Islamic law on us, and saw off the heads of whoever they think needs it, then they’ll not fly airplanes into our skyscrapers.

Sounds like a deal to me. Vote for Kerry!

I’m a member of the American Academy of Religion, the preeminent association of teachers of religion in colleges and graduate schools. There’s almost no prestige in this status; I paid my money and signed up. Nevertheless, as a member, I’m in contact with what goes on in the field.

Something came in the mail today that is so typical of AAR-type mindsets, I thought it might be good to record it for posterity. It’s a catalog of new books, and one of the blurbs seemed worthy of comment:

[John Doe] argues that church Christianity is handicapped by two great errors–an interpretation of Jesus the co-equally divine Son of God incarnate and the belief that there is a controlling supernatural world beyond this world. We need to go back and start again from the historical Jesus and his message and create a modern version of his kingdom religion–a religion that is immediate, beliefless, and entirely focussed upon the here and now.

The “two great errors” that this author dislikes are, of course, historic Christianity. It’s what the apostles believed, what the Church Fathers believed, and what Christians, Catholic and Protestant, have always believed. If you’re an average American, you believe it, too.

If you do believe it, I ask you this: do you want to feed your kids to teachers like this at the local Hellhole University, and pay money for the privilege to boot? Let me assure you, I live and work in this field and this guy is nothing strange. Send a kid to a college that isn’t expressly evangelical in its beliefs and you can expect such things to be pumped into his head vigorously.

Adam Young has written a masterful essay on what’s wrong with the modern concept of an American president. Join the revolution; check out the Constitution Party.

I tend to stay on the trailing edge of technological development. I figure that the latest and greatest will always have bugs that need to be worked out, and I don’t care to be the exterminator. I stick with the old methods until the new ones become old. That way, I know that whatever I’m doing has already proved itself.

I have a house full of computers. Most of them were manufactured in the 1980s. They do a great job. For instance, the main machine in my office, with which I run my plumbing business, is a TRS-80 Model 4, slightly upgraded. It boasts 128K of RAM, a blinding clock speed of 4 MHz, two 720K floppies and two 360K floppies. I can dial up and connect to the university where I sometimes teach and, from there, access the Internet (text only). With that machine and others just like it, I produced all of my Ph.D. work in the ’90s.

I’m never one to stay in a rut, though, so I’ve made a recent breakthrough. I acquired a refurbished Palm IIIxe this week. Postage and all, it cost $35, which is about 10% of what the latest and greatest handhelds are running.

This quantum leap in equipment was occasioned by my recent addition of fifty blank 4×6 cards into the file drawer where I keep my job records. My original attitude, when I opened this business three years ago, was “Technology? We don’t need no stinkin’ technology.” I opted to implement the KISS system wherever possible: Keep It Simple, Sewerman. My to-do list was kept on a scrap of note paper in my shirt pocket and discarded at the end of the day. Shopping lists, reminders, notes from phone calls or conversations were all entered into a little notebook I kept in my hip or shirt pocket at all times. Jobs were written on 4×6 cards and tagged with a colored paper clip to signify status: scheduled, awaiting payment, postponed. Completed cards were filed by address and contained a record of what I did at that job, complete with any necessary drawings on the card. Plans for life in general went into a calendar made of blank 3-ring forms bought at the office supply store.

But when I added the last fifty cards into my file drawer, I began to face an ugly fact: that 12″ drawer is now full. I began three years ago with a small box for the job cards. Eventually I went to two boxes: A-L and M-Z. Then I moved to this big “recipe” file drawer. It works really well, especially since I drilled a hole in it and inserted a bolt which I can use as a lock to keep the drawer from sliding out of its case accidentally. But in a few weeks, that box will be obsolete.

You see, I have to take my job records into the house at night and back to the truck in the morning. If I left them in the truck and “something happened,” I’d lose a major feature in my customized, personalized customer service strategy: I know my customers and what I did at their homes. Lugging the big box isn’t too hard, once you learn how and where to grip it (along with the attache case, etc.) But two big boxes? It ain’t gonna happen.

To remain a one-man operation and to maintain close contact with my records, I figure I have to digitize. *sigh*

At first I tried to find a way to do it with the cell phone, but my phones just aren’t that sophisticated and I didn’t want to buy $500 worth of smartphone and accessories along with a big bill every month. So the $35 Palm IIIxe looked like a good place to start experimenting. With 8 megs of memory it can easily hold all of my job records, my customer database, and whatever accounting apps I might decide to run.

This model became passe over two years ago, so it’s just about my speed.

Yeah, one day I’ll rear back in my rocking chair and tell my great grandkids “back in ought-4, I got me my first handheld. You couldn’t talk to ’em; no sir; you had to poke ’em with a little plastic stick and write what you wanted ’em to do. And they didn’t know anything unless you wrote it in first. Had to put batteries in ’em every few weeks. Times were hard back then, yes sir . . . ”

Cats are strange. I’m not a cat lover, but some people are. They’re strange, too.

When I came home from work tonight, I parked my truck so that its headlights were shining on the curb across the street. I saw a cat playing with a mouse. He’d let it run in the gutter for a while, then chase and catch it.

Mouse didn’t seem to like it and ran out into the path of an oncoming car. Attempted suicide, I suppose. The front tire struck the mouse, it flipped up under the body of the car, then the rear tire struck it. I thought that the cat’s fun was over, but somehow the little mouse survived and the entertainment resumed. And you thought that you had a bad day?

Does any other animal kill and eat its playmates? If your dog did that, what would you think? Cat lovers, take heed.

“Is this Kevan Barley? Yes sir, Mr. Barley, I got your name from John Shelton. I’ve heard that you’re the finest plumber in Memphis and I need your help.” The voice on the telephone fairly danced with dynamism and enthusiasm. After a few minutes I said “You’re Ed McAteer, aren’t you?” He seemed a little taken aback and asked if we’d done business before. After all, at his age, memory isn’t what it used to be. I answered “No, sir, it’s just that you are a public figure and nobody else I’ve ever heard speaks with such leadership in his voice. It’s hard NOT to know that it’s Ed McAteer.”

That’s how I met him: I cleaned out his sewer line. As time passed, I’d do several other plumbing jobs at his house. He called once and began by saying “I told someone just the other day that Kevan Barley cannot quite walk on water, but I’ve never seen him more than two inches deep, and he knows where all the rocks are!” I could tell that it was a line he’d used many times before, but I still appreciated the compliment.

Ed was famous for the coalitions he built. He was a “natural salesman” who believed deeply in the fundamentals of the Christian faith and the literal interpretation of Bible prophecy, particularly the prophecies about the nation Israel. He therefore created and led organizations dedicated to advancing those beliefs. I never heard anyone question his integrity, and I never saw anything in him that fell short of absolute commitment to truth. From where I sat, I believe that he had one passion: Jesus Christ as savior of the world.

The Left despised him, called him “the godfather of the religious right.” Who knows what dreams passed through their minds of how beneficial he’d be if only he were on their side instead of on ours? Ed was a man of rare abilities and rare commitment. He made a powerful impact upon his generation.

He collapsed at his home here in Memphis this past Tuesday; died “all at once,” as it were. He was only 78, but at the speed at which he thought and talked and worked, he probably got 120 years of living crammed into those 78.

His funeral is Friday, 10 AM, at the 28,000-member Bellevue Baptist Church, which is in sight of my home. I won’t make it, though. I’ve made too many promises to customers and will be gone plumbing.

But he’ll do fine without me. I suspect that the huge auditorium will be packed with his other friends. I’ll just wait and catch up with him later.

Shalom, Ed.