tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21273701381978440232011-08-31T03:45:41.141-07:00What is this bizarre, wonderful rock we live on? It's managed to survive billions of years and outlast millions of species. Now it's our turn; the reign of humanity. Are we up for it? Can Earth and Humans coexist?Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.comBlogger161100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-43689475617236952232010-07-27T18:08:00.000-07:002010-07-28T07:26:40.391-07:00

Journal entry July 26th Jill is dead and I don’t know what to do.  They came late last night, hidden in the darkness of the blackout curfew that our “liberators” instituted two months ago.  Not that their “don’t be out after sundown” rhetoric has kept the most insistent of us from sneaking out to wreak havoc.  That’s why they came for us last night.  I’m sure of it.  Our neighbors have been

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-51114419584204777852010-04-22T08:12:00.001-07:002010-05-11T11:15:01.399-07:00

Every time hear the term Tea Party, I hear this song in my head.  Yes, I blame my kids. What is this populist movement “sweeping the nation” known simply as the Tea Party Movement? How did it begin? The Right Name for the Job?By all accounts the Tea Party name is a nod to the Massachusetts rebels of 1773 who, in an act of defiance against new British taxation laws, disguised themselves as

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-22271941422044389782009-06-01T22:28:00.000-07:002009-06-02T07:50:18.021-07:00

I've always enjoyed a variety of music genres. In preparation for the summer season, I've spent the greater part of a month searching for new summer music. It's been a while since new tunes have found their way to my eardrums, and I've been eager to explore the [sound]waves, so to speak.In my musical journey of self exploration, I came across a song on the radio that just sounded...well...

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-17577403544545111312009-05-31T09:27:00.000-07:002009-05-31T15:34:47.647-07:00

Yesterday, as I stood beside the open driver's side door of my car watching the scene unfold, I was reminded that, for the sake of safety, individual men lacking any mitigating circumstance are looked upon with a leery eye when interacting in public. I was in the Costco parking lot, making my way through the sea of parked vehicles to the one recognized as my own. An older woman and young boy (

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-40994707365768284132009-03-25T10:37:00.000-07:002009-03-25T10:40:06.210-07:00

Until February this year, I was a coffee nut…or maybe coffee bean, to use a more appropriate metaphor. I'd begun innocently enough with the occasional cup my senior year of high school, but my beverage of choice at that time was something more of the carbonated persuasion. Coke. Mountain Dew. Perhaps the occasional Jolt Cola when I could find it. Coffee wasn't my beverage of choice; it just

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-14714909948334347622008-11-22T16:41:00.000-08:002008-11-23T11:38:26.311-08:00

I don't know how, but that's what opponents of same sex marriage tell me. "Allowing homosexual couples to marry will destroy the institution of marriage," they say. That's a real shame. I enjoy my marriage, and love my wife very much. It's disconcerting to know that someone else can destroy my marriage just by getting married themselves.I've heard this often enough that I finally asked (on an

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-55577778969584919472008-11-12T05:44:00.000-08:002008-11-14T21:13:29.394-08:00

"Do you ever get rabid thoughts?" asked my seven-year-old daughter in a rather serious tone as I tried again to tuck her into bed last night. We'd stayed up a little late to watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown on DVD, and as a result she was a little energized by bedtime. (I would be concerned by the degree to which she laughed at Lucy yanked the football away from Charlie, but my

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-18452651960196712942008-11-09T16:52:00.000-08:002008-11-11T13:46:15.664-08:00

"You furnish the pictures and I'll furnish the war," responded New York Journal publisher William Randolph Hearst via telegram to artist Frederic Remington, upon receiving word that all was quiet in Cuba. Embroiled in a turf battle for readership, Hearst and rival newspaper publisher Joseph Pulitzer of New York World began campaigns of article writing now referred to as Yellow Journalsim.Yellow

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-55429552908931489622008-08-27T08:53:00.000-07:002008-08-27T09:12:56.510-07:00

Meditation is a mental exercise that I've been grappling with since I was but a wee lad frolicking in the world of hippy parents and the Age of Aquarius. My mom was the first to attempt the arduous task of teaching an eight-year-old what meditation was and how to accomplish it.I was swimming in the apartment's community pool with my friend John on one of the countless hundred-degree summer

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-17183043999689904042008-06-27T10:52:00.000-07:002008-08-27T09:11:10.483-07:00

What's in a name? I never learned in school why the Greeks called their highest god Zeus while the Romans across the street called the same deity Jupiter. They sure don't sound the same as we learned them. I wondered about it, and even asked a few times, but the school answer I got was ambiguous: "Because they spoke different languages." I nodded my head, maybe even uttered a quiet, "Ah, of

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-33995895496872344942008-06-17T09:24:00.000-07:002008-08-27T09:11:29.116-07:00

This Father’s Day, my seventh, seemed different than the previous six. I wasn’t enthusiastic about celebrating it. It didn’t feel like a special day. It didn’t feel like it should be a special day.The idea for a day to celebrate fathers came to life in 1909’s Spokane, Washington. While listening to a Mother’s Day sermon, Sonora Smart Dodd thought of establishing a day to honor her father and

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-22159228636238907702008-06-13T16:15:00.000-07:002008-08-27T09:11:42.350-07:00

Today was the last day of First Grade for our daughter, a jam-packed two-hour flash in the pan of a day. We're still not sure why they bothered to bring students and faculty in for so short a time. I'm only slightly joking when I suggest the school has to pay the state back for any pre-paid days they don't use. It's the cell phone plan of education systems: "What do you mean we don't have

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-43551478322370241382008-06-10T23:46:00.000-07:002008-08-27T09:12:03.261-07:00

If you’re a fan of the old NBC series Friends, you may be familiar with this concept. In one particular episode, Joey defies Phoebe to undertake a completely selfless act, meaning she cannot receive any benefit from it, including personal happiness or achievement. The show’s writers then pursue Phoebe for the remainder of the half hour as she tries without success to not feel good about doing

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-65889946742998578382007-12-30T22:02:00.000-08:002008-11-13T12:31:18.845-08:00

Happy Holidays to everyone!Some of you may recall that last year our daughter, Jay-Bean, was a roiling tempest of questions about Santa Claus. It was also the year that she decided she would stay up all night to see him. All of this inquisitiveness piqued the interest of the "man in red". To answer many of her questions, he left a special book about himself and his history. Then, because Jay-Bean

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-82157750368591378872007-12-29T22:08:00.000-08:002008-01-01T11:53:12.632-08:00

(Originally posted November 22, 2006)No, I don't profess to be a reincarnated Ben Franklin or Thomas Jefferson. The Founding Fathers are a brotherhood of men around the world united by the single goal of puting an end to violence against women and children. It began with a public declaration on Father's Day 2003:"We call ourselves Founding Fathers because we intend for this crucial beginning to

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2127370138197844023.post-555702119466028602006-12-30T19:46:00.000-08:002008-11-13T12:31:19.722-08:00

I wanted to share our Santa story with you all,This Christmas, my five-year-old, Jay-Bean, has been merrily curious about all things Santa Claus. How does he get down the chimney? Does Comet really have a sensitive gastrointestinal tract? What is the maximum velocity of Santa's sleigh at full capacity, and does he recognize international transportation regulations? You know, the typical

Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140515091594294026noreply@blogger.com0