Author: Brian

Anyone who liked (or at least read with interest, even if they disagreed) my posts (and here and here) about my views on religion and God*, may be interested in a couple of other blogs on the topic.

First is Church of the Churchless. Brian (no relation) and Laurel write about faith and spirituality in a way that I find fascinating and un-controversial. There’s much to think about in their posts. I don’t want to summarize their beliefs at all, since I’ve only been reading them for a short while, but I like their style and approach. They suggest a new reader start with their introductory post.

From Church of the Churchless I found another blogger, writing at patzivota.com. The author wrote a mathematically-logical post about the non-existence of God that is splendid in its rigor.

I’m adding these two to my blogroll.

* And since my traffic doubled on those days, it seems a lot of you did.

Right before Christmas, I broke down and purchased a new TV. My old one, which was built during the Carter Administration (I believe) and was a hand-me-down many times over, had finally died. Sort of. Well, it had died enough to let me rationalize buying a new one, anyway.

This week, now that Christmas is behind me, and basically paid-for, I decided to upgrade my cable service. Earlier in the week I called Comcast, found out that they’ve priced digital cable with Digital Video Recorder capabilities at slightly less than the analog package. So I took the leap.

When I told my sister about it, she assured me that having TiVo-like abilities would forever change my relationship to the teevee. I wasn’t sure; I didn’t really watch that much teevee, but it would be nice to have the ability to time-shift the few shows I do watch; The Simpsons, American Dad, Family Guy (I’m a sucker for Fox’s Sunday night lineup), Mythbusters (the best science show ever; and Kari Byron is a totally hot geek girl), The Office… Just those. Mostly.

Honestly, the internets tubes are filled with an almost infinite amount of entertainment. Why vege out in front of the teevee when I can surf forever and ever?

I scheduled the cable guy to come out and “un-cap” my digital signal today, and picked up the DVR (a Motorola box with intriguging outputs on the back: SATA, USB, Firewire, along with HDMI, component video, and S/PDIF audio) on Friday.

After a mis-communication about the home visit (which I confirmed with a phone call to Comcast was the fault of Comcast, not mine, and which was quickly straightened out in my favor (thanks, Kyle!) without me having to get upset at all), this afternoon I found myself with digital cable.

Blah, blah, surfing the channels. I saw that “Wayne’s World” was on HBO, and even though I hadn’t ordered HBO, I tried that channel. And a quick message about it being a subscription channel popped up, went away, and I found myself watching Wayne and Cassandra (the amazing Tia Carerre, rowr).

Then, while still playing with the remote, I hit the “up arrow” – and the picture paused! At first, I thought I’d done something wrong. I started hitting the other buttons, to un-stick it, and when I hit the “left arrow” – the movie started rewinding!

Oh. Your. God.

I can pause and rewind teevee?! That’s almost better than sex. Seriously. I searched my brain trying to remember if Tia Carerre had any nude or topless scenes in this movie…

I texted Tracy to share this wonderful news, and she agreed that it was The. Best. Thing. Ever. She said that once you’ve got this, you never want to be without it.

I replied that I’ve only had it for less than a half-hour and I already don’t want to be without it.

And, yes, Lisa – this will almost assuredly change the way I watch teevee.

When my tax refund comes back I’m definitely buying an HDTV…

Picture stolen shamelessly from Digby’s post on Hullabaloo.

Picture stolen shamelessly from KagroX’s post on dKos.


I’m proud to be a liberal, progressive, Democrat today.

This was the first vacation in a long time where I my debts did not increase significantly.

In fact, my total debt only increased by $38.00 because of my vacation.

The rest of the money I spent was all cash I’d saved for the trip. Or, like the plane tickets I “purchased” with frequent flyer miles, wasn’t even out-of-pocket money at all.

Through it all my bills and other expenses all continued to be paid on time and in full.

And I have money for my day-to-day expenses until my next paycheck.

Is this all a sign of financial health? At the least it means, to me, that I’m well on my way to finally getting the whole “money problem” solved. 42 isn’t too late to learn this stuff, is it?

One of the guiding principles of my life is consistency. Rules, laws, ethics and morals, in my eyes, should apply to the largest group possible. If the sauce is good for the goose, then the gander should find it just fine, too. No exceptions. Or, realistically, few exceptions, and then only for practical or material reasons.

I have no problem admitting I’m wrong on matters of fact. Ask my friends. I do it all the time, and I hold in very high esteem those who can do the same (which is one criteria I use for choosing my friends, as well as my intellectual heroes).

But I hate admitting an error on matters of principle.

Doesn’t that seem like a contradiction?

Facts are not open to debate. That’s what makes them facts. Facts are directly observable, empirically documented, events about which there is no question. They’re measurable, precise. Maybe I’m not challenging myself by sticking to the facts? I mean, that’s kind of easy, right? Fact: diamonds are hard. Water is wet. Horses have four legs. Duh. Easy-peasy.

Principles… are personal, more often than not. Even when groups of people all agree to abide by certain principles, there can be honest disagreement about the principles involved, and their priority, and how they’re interpreted and applied to actual people, places and events. Even in the most extreme cases, principles are… messy. Complicated. They’re not black-and-white – they have shades of gray. Charcoal gray.

Like – murder. Murder is wrong, almost everyone can agree with that statement. But there are times when murder is… less wrong. There are many who believe that killing someone can actually be a righteous event. There’s disagreement on when killing someone is actually to be called “murder” in the first place. I’m just touching on many of the complex issues surrounding the whole idea of murder, but hopefully you can see my point. A simple, binary declaration of “murder is wrong” may be nice in theory but it’s a map that doesn’t even begin to cover the actual landscape. In fact, it’s nearly useless as a map except in the broadest sense: I’m going to try to avoid killing other people today.

But what if I’m driving and hit a pedestrian? Regardless of the legal definitions and outcomes, I believe I would feel immense guilt, due to my principles. Guilt that may not be assuaged by the legal process, or the assurances of my friends and family that it was all a terrible accident.

I would find it difficult not to go from thinking “murder is wrong” to “I killed someone” to “I am wrong for killing someone”.

And, again, that’s the simplest case, one of the few clear-cut examples of morality that human life can offer. What about other, lesser moral values? Lying? Cheating on a relationship? Theft?

So much to think about. What do I value and what are the boundaries on those values?

Is consistency the best approach to matters of principle? When does consistency become a demerit, rather than a gain?

Can I, this late in life, begin to achieve some… flexibility?

Just a quick note – I renewed the domain registrations for bamoon.com, brian-moon.com, and lunarobverse.com today, via a French firm called GANDI (I think it’s all in capitals because it stands for something in French; not sure), for another year.

So my site is safe for another year of blobbing. I should do something with the other two domains, though. Someday.

This morning, at 6:30 AM Eastern Time, I was sitting on the hotel shuttle bus, waiting to be taken to the airport.

With me on the bus were 10 members of a high school football team from Anchorage, along with 3 team coaches, along with all of our respective luggage.

The driver asked us where we were going, to determine which terminal at Newark Liberty International Airport to deliver us.

Thirteen boys and men answered geographically: “Alaska.”

One man answered airliner-ly: “Alaska.”

There was a brief moment of comedy while that all got sorted out, in the vein of Abbot and Costello.

Last, quick post before I head off for Times Square.

A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to ring in the new year with …

ONE MILLION PEOPLE.

1. I’m standing at the Long Island Rail Road station in Jamaica, Queens, New York, having arrived in the tri-state area via airplane about an hour previous. It’s about 8:30 PM. I’m waiting for my connection to Glen Head, New York. I’m tired and out of sorts. I’ve only been in New York once before in my life. I’ve got a messenger bag (with the logo of a Seattle radio station on it) and a giant piece of luggage.

   And a guy, tall, dark chocolate skin, sweater and jeans, walks up to me, ticket in hand, staring at the signs, obviously lost and confused. He spots me and approaches. “Is this the train to West Hempstead?” he asks me.

   I shrug. “Dunno. Sorry.”

2. I”m in Greenwich Village, crossing Houston (which is pronounced locally as “HOW-stun”, hands tucked in my pockets, my eyes hooded by my baseball cap, scarf wrapped around my face against the wind. It’s 9:30 PM or so, dark and cold, but this neighborhood is filled with people. The odors from dozens of restaurants fill the air and delight my nose, overpowering the smell of car exhaust.

   I’ve heard people call Portland’s NW 21st Street “Portland’s Greenwich Village” but now that I’ve seen the real thing, the comparison is not appropriate. The real neighborhood is much much more interesting. Maybe in another 100 years Portland’s will approach it.

   A couple pauses, he tall and blandly handsome, she short, thin, dark-haired, Roman nose, crossing the opposite direction from me. I glance up, smile softly, keep walking. She pauses and turns to me. “Is Bleeker Street this way?” she asks, pointing in the direction I’ve just come.

   “Yeah,” I say, in my best New Yorkian accent, “It’s one blawk up.” I surprise myself with how easily the accent, and the directions, come. And they’re both accurate.

   “OK, thanks!” And they scamper off like puppies.

3. Later that same night, I’m walking west along Canal Street, having tried, and failed, to find Ground Zero (I just didn’t go far enough). I guess I should have asked for directions…

   Another generic hip urban couple in their black wool coats, male and female, are walking in the direction from which I came. She looks at me and asks, “Is Little Italy this way?” The boy tugs on her arm and avoids looking at me, his masculinity threatened by having to ask, even by proxy.

   “Sorry, I got nothin’. I’m a tourist, too!” I say with a smile. They walk away.

4. I’m scrambling down the stairs at Penn Station, Saturday afternoon, trying to catch the New Jersey Transit train that will take me back to the airport, and eventually my hotel. It’s the New York Coastal train (I believe) and all I know is that it stops at Newark International Airport, where I can catch a shuttle to the Hilton.

   An older lady, in her late 50s or early 60s, bottle-blonde hair, coming down the stairs with me, looks at me. “Is this the train to Secaucus?” She pronounces it with the accent on the first syllable.

   “Uh, I’m not sure. I’m just taking it to Newark. Sorry.”

   She nods and looks around for a porter or conductor as we reach the bottom of the stairs and the train platform. I hustle onboard and stand near the door.

   The first stop after Penn Station was Secaucus. I saw her get off there. After all the directions I’ve given it’s nice to see that some folks do reach where they’re going, after all.

Up ’til now I’ve been staying at David and Jackie’s house in Glen Head, NY, as I mentioned before.

From here on out, though, I’ll be spending lots of time in Manhattan. My plan from here on out is this:

• Friday night: Spend as much time in Manhattan as possible.
• Saturday pre-dawn: take last train back to Long Island and crash in David’s basement. Sleep ’til noon.
• Saturday noon: Pack. Say goodbyes to David and Jackie and their kids.
• Saturday afternoon: Leave David and Jackie’s place with baggage. Take the train to Newark, NJ and check in to the airport Hilton. Leave baggage in room.
• Saturday afternoon and night: Take train to Manhattan and do everything I can (no specific plans)
• Sunday pre-dawn: Take train back to hotel. Sleep and rest up for another night of partying.
• Sunday afternoon: Go back to downtown with just my cell phone, some cash, and my camera.
• Sunday 5:00 PM: Arrive in Times Square for the New Year’s Eve party. Get checked through the police barricades into “The Pen” (the blocked-off area at 45th and Broadway).
• Sunday 5:00 PM – Past Midnight: Be locked into one spot for over 7 hours as part of a crowd of a million people. Watch the musical acts and watch the ball drop at midnight.
• Sunday around midnight: text and call everyone I know to scream “Happy New Year” at them.
• Sunday until 4:00 or 5:00 AM – wander around the City if I can, staying awake all night long.
• Sunday around 5:00 AM – take the train back to the hotel and check out.
• Sunday 7:45 AM – My flight leaves EWR – Newark International Airport for SEA – Seattle and the end of an awesome trip.

Watch for me on the teevee… I’ll be dressed in black (duh!).