INTELLIGENT DESIGN?

Volumes can be written about INTELLIGENT DESIGN but I am going to concentrate simply on the word, INTELLIGENT. If mankind (a big if) is created in God's image, then God is a hell of a designer, a design that is more of a laugh than anything else. Let's consider this design as a total failure first of all. No intelligent designer would design humans laden with parts, a multiplicity of parts that are subject to pain and failure.

Why not design eyes that work so that over 50% of the population don't need eyeglasses. Or design a heart that works so that heart disease is not the number one killer in the United States.
Why not design a digestive system that works so that people are not bothered by diarrhea, or constipation? Or a brain that functions and does not surrender to addictions, to alcohol, nicotine, heroin, cocaine, gambling and the list is endless. Why the common cold, cancer, chronic pain, back trouble? Why thousands of brain cells that can go awry and lead to Alzheimer's disease?

So who were these people that re-introduced the term, INTELLIGENT DESIGN in our modern era? Oh so clever, a design that was hatched by the true believers to challenge true science and replace it with pseudo science celebrating the phrase as one that would: Mask it's real aim of divorcing it from religion and creationism and building the two words into a more acceptable way, one that would parade as simply a forward thrust into the realm of architectural design that happened to be lauding a designer but they are not telling who it is at the moment.

Meantime, back at the theological ranch, they would circumvent the little thing known as SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE, and sneak into the halls of learning as the legitimate
science challenging the upstart Darwin and his theory of evolution. Alright, alright they finally conceded, we'll have both their, ahem, science and our true science side by side -- while somehow allowing 75% devoted to our side and the rest for evolution.

Your writer, an evolutionary oldster, who managed to evolve into the over-ripe age of 87 all the while relying on reason rather than faith to reach conclusions. Now a word to the faithful; Please don't tell me that "god works in mysterious ways, that she, he it, cannot be questioned, that god loves us all, one in all equally and that all calamitous events were not god's doing but were brought about by sinners. Holocaust sinners? Haitian sinners? The 50 million dead sinners of world war two, sinners?

I welcome all comments, favorable of unfavorable. See you if I see you. The thing is I'm blind in one eye and the other makes a show of seeing but kinda falls short.

BRAHMS 4TH

I was wounded during world war two. Patched up, I was ready to go back to the front. Somehow I was sidetracked and landed up at the home of a wonderful Belgian family and  Brahms 4th. was played.  I listened, transformed, uplifted, warmed, temporarily at peace. I play this piece often. I am 87 years old and plan to hear more Brahms before I die.

I must add a comment written by a "NEPHETULA" regarding Brahms 4th. I was blown over by this person's prose and excitement. Listen in:

This is my favorite piece of classical music! It flows - seamlessly - from one mood and image to another; it breathes, it almost sighs. It queries, it protests, it explains, and it laughs, all the while lilting up and down in a graceful but simple call-and-answer melody with wonderful dynamics. In the exposition, i can almost visualize some unknown hero or heroine's chest heaving while chasing (or being chased) and glancing furtively this way and that, while asking "Which way shall I go?"
I think "Nephetula" (whoever he or she is) and Brahms are going steady.

My extra favorite composers all start with the letter B. I list them in order of my favorites.
Brahms, Beethoven, Bach, Bartok and Berlioz. The B's have it but of course I have other favorites. Stop everything and go to Youtube and start listening.

REACHING EIGHTY PLUS

I AM EIGHTY SEVEN AND I'M NOT AS YOUNG AS I USED TO BE. IN FACT I AM AS OLD AS I AM AND IT IS NOT GOLDEN. I INVITE YOU TO LISTEN TO THE WOES AND TRIBULATIONS OF THE MAJORITY OF US OLDSTERS -- IT SHORE AIN'T PRETTY.

WE TREAD WARILY, VERY WARILY AS WE WALK THROUGH OUR HOMES --- "WATCH OUT FOR THAT CHAIR, THE SOFA JUTTING OUT, THE TOY ON THE GROUND ANY OBJECT CAN BE PERILOUS" --- BENDING DOWN FOR ANYTHING IS A NO NO, WE USE THE SERVICES OF YOUNGER PEOPLE IF THEY ARE AVAILABLE OR USE OUR TRUSTY PICKER-UPPER.

LADDERS ARE FOR FIRE FIGHTERS AND YOUNGSTERS UNDER EIGHTY, EVEN TWO STEPPERS CAN BE HAZARDOUS --- WALKING UP OR DOWN STAIRS WITHOUT BANISTERS TO HOLD ONTO ARE AVOIDED LIKE THE PLAGUE --- CHAIRS ARE DRAGGED, NEVER LIFTED.

HILLS ARE FOR ANTS AND ASSORTED ATHLETES BUT NOT FOR US. ANY HILL COULD SIMPLY BE TOO MUCH --- NO PATHS ARE SAFE WITH OUT TRUSTY WALKERS OR MOBILE CHAIRS, OR A GOOD SHOULDER TO LEAN ON.

OUR EYESIGHT LEVEL IS DOWN, OUR HEARING IS LOWER, OUR THINKING IS SINKING, OUR COPING HAS TAKEN A NOSE-DIVE -- WE TEND TO DROOL -- WE ARE EITHER TOOTHLESS OR RELY ON FALSE TEETH -- WE LOOK AWFUL CHEWING SO WE MAY CALL UPON FEWER VISITORS, BESIDES WE ARE GENERALLY TOO TIRED OR IN TOO MUCH PAIN.

ARE YOU STILL WITH US, MY MY, YOU MUST HAVE THE PATIENCE OF JOB OR YOU HAVE TOO MUCH TIME ON YOUR HANDS. ONE LAST WORD OR TWO AND WE'LL LET YOU NOD OFF. WAIT, WAIT, DO YOU WANT TO HEAR ABOUT OUR COLLECTIVE CONSTIPATION? ANOTHER TIME? OLD PEOPLE LOVE TO TALK, PARTICULARLY ABOUT
THEIR ACHES AND PAINS. THANKS FOR LISTENING.

IS SPITTING FITTING?

I'm looking at the fifth game of the baseball world series and even though I am engrossed in the game, one that looks like the Giants, (my favorite team) is going to win, I begin to see another pattern, a repeated pattern; the entire field is being decorated by pure, unadulterated spit and every player is guilty, a veritable deluge. Are the players unaware of the millions watching? Do they give a damn? Absolutely not, this is simply a rite of passage -- you play the fine sport of baseball and you water the field.

The managers are nervously chewing gum at 60 miles an hour and letting one watery stream fly every few minutes, double dipping so to speak. They must show leadership in the art, one that they are very adept in.

Then there are the old experts in the dying art of "tobacco" chewing. One can see one or two at the plate, a wad nestled in the right cheek, ready to chaw down once they are free to do so. This one time "manly" art is mainly passe now. But one that is not the manly art of unflinching or showing any pain once they are hit by an erring pitch. They take it and walk or run to first base.
They shake it off, not an easy task. That's all folks, see you at the San Francisco victory parade.