Sell Hell? A Modest List of Possibilities
From CNNMoney.com: (quote) The Internet domain name Hell.com is scheduled to be sold at a live auction Friday, with organizers expecting bids of more than $1 million. . . . [Hell.com is owned by] BAT Flli LLC, a creative think tank whose founder, 57-year-old Kenneth Aronson, registered the name in 1995 . . . Since then, it has been home to a secretive online community, a project Aronson says will benefit from the proceeds of the Hell.com, which gets about 5,000 new visitors daily, the paper said. Aronson told the Journal he won't sell Hell.com for less than several million dollars. "Hell.com is one of the most powerful brands on the Earth," Aronson said. (end quote)
This raises numerous questions: a secretive community built around "hell.com"? Whoa-ho-ho, now that's a conspiracy theorist's dream. Are the blogs onto this? One of the most powerful brands on Earth? Add in the afterlife and that's a really, really powerful brand. But what about buyers? What use will they make of this domain name?
In the interest of being a helpful soul (and bettering my chances in the world to come), herewith a modest list of suggested uses for the new and, no doubt, improved, hell.com:
www.hell.com/seat=selector--pick your seat for that next 16 hour flight to Japan. Choose from: mother with three children under four with loose diapers and 120 decibel screams directly in front of you; portly man with questionable hygiene and braided nose hair to your left; man who says "so sorry" after sneezing into your dinner entre, repeatedly, to your right.
www.hell.com/healthinfo/customer*service--Get the number for the toll line, 666-666-6666 (666 rings later) "To change your current plan, press 1; to obtain new ID cards, press 2; to obtain authorization for urgent medical services to treat potentially life-threatening conditions, use your touchpad as a calculator and enter the square root of the last four digits of your social security number."
www.hell.com/single!mingle--choose a potential new mate from profiles meticulously verified by terminated staff writers of the National Inquirer to insure that any mentally healthy person who has left his or her issues behind is not included. All photos are approximations of the person's real appearance. Anyone you call will immediately develop extreme dependency needs that only you can attempt to meet without success.
www.hell.com/commute+quest--enter your home address and your work address. Let commute+quest find a route that detours you through one construction delay after another, insuring that you arrive at work shortly before quitting time and that you arrive home shortly before time to leave for work. Includes diagrammed hand gestures and vocabulary suggestions.
www.hell.com/virtualrealtor\homes!--tour, make offers, and finance a new home on-line with guaranteed results! All homes come with full warranties (all provisions voided by incomprehensible legalese in 6 pt type on last page); guaranteed substandard wiring, plumbing, and appliances; flood, fire, and earthquake hazards guaranteed; all neighbors are out on bail for meth, crack, or assault, guaranteed.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
A Clever Democrat Ploy
Michigan Governor Jennifer "Oh, Canada" Granholm recently sent me some campaign literature. I was immediately impressed by another brilliant Democratic Party ploy to make Gov. Granholm appear more like a Republican. In fact, she looks a lot like that greatest of all Republicans, Abe Lincoln. On a really good hair day, at least for Abe. Pretty amazing, eh?
Thursday, October 19, 2006
So What the Columbus Zoo Am I Anyway?
We have a team development project going at work now--using an assessment tool called "Leading from Your Strengths." Some of you may already have done this sort of inventory. Twenty-four questions in about 10 minutes, and then you get a description of your leadership style as represented by one or more of four animals.
Choices are: Lion, Otter, Golden Retriever, Beaver
"So what are you?" gentle readers may ask. Guess.
We have a team development project going at work now--using an assessment tool called "Leading from Your Strengths." Some of you may already have done this sort of inventory. Twenty-four questions in about 10 minutes, and then you get a description of your leadership style as represented by one or more of four animals.
Choices are: Lion, Otter, Golden Retriever, Beaver
"So what are you?" gentle readers may ask. Guess.
Monday, October 16, 2006
A Modest List of Things John Calvin
His favorite jeans?
His favorite college?
His favorite president?
His favorite NFL running back?
His favorite comic strip?
His favorite chemical sequence?
His favorite New York literati?
His Favorite NBA player?
___________________
Calvin Kleins (but not too tight and not too low)
Calvin College (naturally, their sweatshirt with his Calvin Kleins)
Calvin "Silent Cal" Coolidge (30th President of these here United States--Dorothy Parker, who upon being informed of his death, sardonically asked, "How could they tell?)
Calvin Hill (first Dallas Cowboy to have 1,000 yards rushing in a season and a team with great cheerleaders)
Calvin and Hobbes (but just for the philosophical parts)
The Calvin Cycle (featuring his personal obsession--carbon fixation!)
Calvin Trillin (staff writer for the venerable if not creaky New Yorker just because he likes the funny last name)
Grant Hill (of the Detroit Pistons and Orlando Magic, nepotisically relate to Calvin Hill above)
His favorite jeans?
His favorite college?
His favorite president?
His favorite NFL running back?
His favorite comic strip?
His favorite chemical sequence?
His favorite New York literati?
His Favorite NBA player?
___________________
Calvin Kleins (but not too tight and not too low)
Calvin College (naturally, their sweatshirt with his Calvin Kleins)
Calvin "Silent Cal" Coolidge (30th President of these here United States--Dorothy Parker, who upon being informed of his death, sardonically asked, "How could they tell?)
Calvin Hill (first Dallas Cowboy to have 1,000 yards rushing in a season and a team with great cheerleaders)
Calvin and Hobbes (but just for the philosophical parts)
The Calvin Cycle (featuring his personal obsession--carbon fixation!)
Calvin Trillin (staff writer for the venerable if not creaky New Yorker just because he likes the funny last name)
Grant Hill (of the Detroit Pistons and Orlando Magic, nepotisically relate to Calvin Hill above)
What Did Grand Rapids Do To John Piper?
Prominent pastor and Reformed theology meister John Piper recently was quoted in Christianity Today (Sept. 2006) as saying, "I think the criticism of Reformed theology is being silenced by the mission and justice and evangelism and worship and counseling. . . . We're not off in a Grand Rapids ghetto crossing our t's and dotting our i's and telling the world to get their act together."
Hmmm. . . . I work in a Grand Rapids ghetto. I mostly cross my t's and dot my i's, but am occasionally careless in this regard. BUT I don't tell the world to get its act together. Unless I'm driving. So what does that make me? Am I Reformable?
Prominent pastor and Reformed theology meister John Piper recently was quoted in Christianity Today (Sept. 2006) as saying, "I think the criticism of Reformed theology is being silenced by the mission and justice and evangelism and worship and counseling. . . . We're not off in a Grand Rapids ghetto crossing our t's and dotting our i's and telling the world to get their act together."
Hmmm. . . . I work in a Grand Rapids ghetto. I mostly cross my t's and dot my i's, but am occasionally careless in this regard. BUT I don't tell the world to get its act together. Unless I'm driving. So what does that make me? Am I Reformable?
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Sorting Out Religious Priorities
I'm indebted to Uncle Pike for pointing out this Class 1 example of how religion can create whole categories of priorities that have nothing whatsoever to do with the essentials of Christianity--it probably also helps if you know something about church life in Little Bit of Dutch Heaven, a.k.a., West Michigan.
In the 14 October, 2006, "Religion" section of the GR Press was a story about Vos Construction, a local company that just completed it's 150th church building project (a well-deserved "woo-hoo!" for Vos, everyone). Among the kudos for Vos Construction was this comment by a local church that began working on a budget for a new building and discovered--oh my!--they didn't have enough money for a steeple. Enter Vos Constuction.
Direct quote from the pastor: "They helped us get to the point where we could get rid of the nonessentials to allow us to put a steeple on the church."
There you have it--cut out all the non-essential crap, just make sure you've got a steeple, because nothing says authentic Christianity like a steeple. In fact, get two if possible.
I'm indebted to Uncle Pike for pointing out this Class 1 example of how religion can create whole categories of priorities that have nothing whatsoever to do with the essentials of Christianity--it probably also helps if you know something about church life in Little Bit of Dutch Heaven, a.k.a., West Michigan.
In the 14 October, 2006, "Religion" section of the GR Press was a story about Vos Construction, a local company that just completed it's 150th church building project (a well-deserved "woo-hoo!" for Vos, everyone). Among the kudos for Vos Construction was this comment by a local church that began working on a budget for a new building and discovered--oh my!--they didn't have enough money for a steeple. Enter Vos Constuction.
Direct quote from the pastor: "They helped us get to the point where we could get rid of the nonessentials to allow us to put a steeple on the church."
There you have it--cut out all the non-essential crap, just make sure you've got a steeple, because nothing says authentic Christianity like a steeple. In fact, get two if possible.
Monday, October 09, 2006
It Fakes a Village
My week in Rodelheim, Germany, had some of the feelings of stepping back into a Teutonic Mayberry RFD. It's divided north to south by the railroad and there is no road directly across the tracks for several blocks in the middle of town. You have to take the pedestrian tunnel from east to west and in reverse. It serves as the town square in a sense--people coming and going, a coffee and frankfurter stand next to the grocery on the west, a bakery and fruit stall on the east, and pubs and small take-away food shops scattered along the shopping area to the east.
Each morning dozens of people were making the brisk walk or bike ride to the train station. In the evening, folks were stopping at the markets to get a bag or two of groceries--never more than what can be carried home on foot. And from the terraces and balconies of the apartment buildings, clothing attempted to dry in the slanting autumn light. Learning the neighbor's preferences in undergarments would not be difficult nor would most other secrets, I suspect.
Of course, if one was troubled by such thoughts, he (or she) could take advantage of confession at the Catholic church two blocks east of the tracks, conveniently summoning the faithful at 6:15 on Saturday evening for the 6:30 service. I slipped into the last pew, a little embarrassed by the book bag of chocolate bars and a bargain Riesling I had picked up on my way to the apartment and then a little confused as to where to place my feet. The pews had severe wooden kneeling benches built into the pew ahead of me, and I had to decided to either bend at the knees and tuck my feet under or stretch over the kneeler, which looked too causal. I tried to achieve my most correct posture, go for the tuck under, and appear as if I belonged.
It would hardly have made a whit of difference if the service had been in Latin since it was in German, which sounded like all gutturals and z's in the stone-driven acoustics. What kept my interest was the participation of three lay women and two alter girls in the non-priestly parts of the service and the well-paced delivery of the homily by the tall, dark-featured priest who seemed to resemble more a European Cup soccer player than a padre. I wondered if this was now the norm in John Paul II Catholicism (yes, I know he's dead, but his influence will remain for years, if not decades).
Yet appearances to the contrary, it's not the homogenous, happy Mayberry of 1962. One evening I turned the corner coming from the train station to meet several Muslim women emerging from an apartment building. Evidently the weekly Koran study had just ended. Another night, I logged off the Internet cafe computer and then had to wait a few minutes while the young clerk finished up his early evening prayers and carefully folded his beautifully embroidered prayer rug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world--running the shop and keeping the faith--which to him it was.
What brought this into sharper contrast was an evening dinner conversation with a German publishing professional, who in response to my question about Turkish immigrants, began to relate his experience in another nearby town. "They don't want to be a part of German culture. They don't learn the language or pursue education. They don't gain job skills. If their children don't learn in school, then it's the schools fault." And so on. For fifteen minutes. I had obviously struck a nerve, one very close to the surface at that.
Behind my German acquaintance's stark assessment was something we hear echoed in our own immigration debate: fear. Fear of those not like us, fear and resentment of the economic demands of the poor minority, fear that the culture that is "us" will be lost by the inclusion of the "them." And for the "them" I imagine it is in many ways the same: fear that their religion and culture will be diluted and corrupted, fear for their own economic future, resentment of the tantalizing material culture surrounding yet eluding them.
And so they walk past each other, not really talking, just carrying out the routines of commerce and inhabiting the same space but not the same place. And it fakes a village.
My week in Rodelheim, Germany, had some of the feelings of stepping back into a Teutonic Mayberry RFD. It's divided north to south by the railroad and there is no road directly across the tracks for several blocks in the middle of town. You have to take the pedestrian tunnel from east to west and in reverse. It serves as the town square in a sense--people coming and going, a coffee and frankfurter stand next to the grocery on the west, a bakery and fruit stall on the east, and pubs and small take-away food shops scattered along the shopping area to the east.
Each morning dozens of people were making the brisk walk or bike ride to the train station. In the evening, folks were stopping at the markets to get a bag or two of groceries--never more than what can be carried home on foot. And from the terraces and balconies of the apartment buildings, clothing attempted to dry in the slanting autumn light. Learning the neighbor's preferences in undergarments would not be difficult nor would most other secrets, I suspect.
Of course, if one was troubled by such thoughts, he (or she) could take advantage of confession at the Catholic church two blocks east of the tracks, conveniently summoning the faithful at 6:15 on Saturday evening for the 6:30 service. I slipped into the last pew, a little embarrassed by the book bag of chocolate bars and a bargain Riesling I had picked up on my way to the apartment and then a little confused as to where to place my feet. The pews had severe wooden kneeling benches built into the pew ahead of me, and I had to decided to either bend at the knees and tuck my feet under or stretch over the kneeler, which looked too causal. I tried to achieve my most correct posture, go for the tuck under, and appear as if I belonged.
It would hardly have made a whit of difference if the service had been in Latin since it was in German, which sounded like all gutturals and z's in the stone-driven acoustics. What kept my interest was the participation of three lay women and two alter girls in the non-priestly parts of the service and the well-paced delivery of the homily by the tall, dark-featured priest who seemed to resemble more a European Cup soccer player than a padre. I wondered if this was now the norm in John Paul II Catholicism (yes, I know he's dead, but his influence will remain for years, if not decades).
Yet appearances to the contrary, it's not the homogenous, happy Mayberry of 1962. One evening I turned the corner coming from the train station to meet several Muslim women emerging from an apartment building. Evidently the weekly Koran study had just ended. Another night, I logged off the Internet cafe computer and then had to wait a few minutes while the young clerk finished up his early evening prayers and carefully folded his beautifully embroidered prayer rug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world--running the shop and keeping the faith--which to him it was.
What brought this into sharper contrast was an evening dinner conversation with a German publishing professional, who in response to my question about Turkish immigrants, began to relate his experience in another nearby town. "They don't want to be a part of German culture. They don't learn the language or pursue education. They don't gain job skills. If their children don't learn in school, then it's the schools fault." And so on. For fifteen minutes. I had obviously struck a nerve, one very close to the surface at that.
Behind my German acquaintance's stark assessment was something we hear echoed in our own immigration debate: fear. Fear of those not like us, fear and resentment of the economic demands of the poor minority, fear that the culture that is "us" will be lost by the inclusion of the "them." And for the "them" I imagine it is in many ways the same: fear that their religion and culture will be diluted and corrupted, fear for their own economic future, resentment of the tantalizing material culture surrounding yet eluding them.
And so they walk past each other, not really talking, just carrying out the routines of commerce and inhabiting the same space but not the same place. And it fakes a village.
Why German Kids Can Push That Log
Breakfast, as served by Frau Hanzlicek each morning in Frankfurt:
1. A plate of sliced meats, including at least one of the following: ham, salami, summer sausage, ham sausage with fat chunks, soft squishy sausage, and, twice in five days, sliced turkey meat.
2. A plate of cheese, with at least three, sometimes four varieties, including the soft squishy cheese.
3. A basket of bread including a hard roll, two pieces of wheat bread, and a piece of hard, granular bread made from wood scraps.
4. A container of yogurt, also soft and very squishy.
5. Orange juice from a can, judging by the taste.
6. Coffee.
7. A piece of fruit such as a nectarine or peach, but never soft nor squishy.
Breakfast, as served by Frau Hanzlicek each morning in Frankfurt:
1. A plate of sliced meats, including at least one of the following: ham, salami, summer sausage, ham sausage with fat chunks, soft squishy sausage, and, twice in five days, sliced turkey meat.
2. A plate of cheese, with at least three, sometimes four varieties, including the soft squishy cheese.
3. A basket of bread including a hard roll, two pieces of wheat bread, and a piece of hard, granular bread made from wood scraps.
4. A container of yogurt, also soft and very squishy.
5. Orange juice from a can, judging by the taste.
6. Coffee.
7. A piece of fruit such as a nectarine or peach, but never soft nor squishy.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Why German Preschoolers Will Beat Our Preschoolers
On my walk to the train station in Rodelheim, I pass a German preschool and its playground. Surprisingly, there are few typical playground fixtures, such as swings or slides. Instead, there is an obstacle course with short walls, pipes, etc. And (this caught my attention), a log. Yes, a large diameter, 15-foot log. Maybe it's a team-building exercise--"Come, mein children, we must move the log over to there!"
So, ja, sadly, our preschoolers are doomed in the new global market.
On my walk to the train station in Rodelheim, I pass a German preschool and its playground. Surprisingly, there are few typical playground fixtures, such as swings or slides. Instead, there is an obstacle course with short walls, pipes, etc. And (this caught my attention), a log. Yes, a large diameter, 15-foot log. Maybe it's a team-building exercise--"Come, mein children, we must move the log over to there!"
So, ja, sadly, our preschoolers are doomed in the new global market.
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