Below are some of the words to a song I re-discovered recently.  While not a big fan of the band (The Waiting), I have to say this is one of my favorite songs in modern music:

If I raise my hands /
Just to lift the shade /
Will I reveal a sky heavy & gray /
Will last night be a memory sweetly fading /
How I hate a morning starting out this way /
On these lonely raging mornings /
I would whip You if I could /
But You’re on the mighty side of strong /
And the perfect side of good /
If I raise I my hands /
Will You grab me by the wrists /
And will You try to pull me from the fray /
And even if my fingers join together into fists /
Will You hold me firmly anyway /
Because I would try to escape You /
But for everyday I’m sure /
You’re on the huge side of big /
And the holy side of pure /
Ok here what I say /
’cause I raise my hands in surrender today /
Ok, here I will stay /
hands in the air /
saying, have Thine own way /
If I raise my hands /
So weak & thin & frail /
Will You reveal the light of mercy in You eyes /
If I cry to You gently will my feeble whisper fail /
Or will it find its way to a reply /
Because now that I’m exhausted I think I’m ready admit /
That I’ve spent all my resistance on someone I can’t resist /
Ok here what I say /
’cause I raise my hands in surrender today /
Ok, here I will stay /
hands in the air /
saying, have Thine own way /

... there’s a little bit more, but that’s the part of the song that speaks most clearly to me. =)
  Have a great day.

  I don't know exactly why this caught me off guard.  I don't recall ever being a big fan of The Jeff Healey Band, altho' thanks to fellow guitar players (Dave K) I was familiar w/ Jeff's music.
  I know he was a terrific guitarist & by all accounts a fabulous human being.
  Despite not having really thought of Jeff Healey in recent years I have to say it's sad to hear he's gone.
  A raised coffee cup in salute to Jeff & life well-lived.  For his family; prayers & shared grief.

Want to know about Jeff & his story?  Try the link below.  I promise you won't be disappointed.

www.jeffhealeyband.com

... among other authors (e.g. Rudyard Kipling).  I'm not a particularly big fan of science fiction/fantasy altho' I enjoy it for it's own entertainment value.
  That said, there are times when authors seemed as if they were saying something above & beyond the basic plot of their story.
  H.G. Wells was one of those guys.  A treatise on the moral message of his more popular books may be a topic of a future entry here.  For now a recent MySpace exchange brought to mind Wells' book "The Time Machine" (not to be confused w/ the adequate if lacking Hollywood adaptation starring Guy Pierce &  -why-oh-why- Jeremy Irons)
  The substance of the e-conversation was the value of struggle.  The idea that while hardships/trials/tribulations are no fun, the fight itself has benefits beyond winning or losing: strength of character, shaping personal philosophy/worldview, etc.
  With that in mind, I offer this excerpt from the aforementioned tome:
"I grieved to think how brief the dream of the human intellect had been.  It had committed suicide.  It had set itself steadfastly towards comfort & ease, a balanced society w/ security & permanency as its watchword, it had attained its hops - to come to this at last.  Once, life & property must have reached almost absolute safety.  The rich had been assured of his wealth & comfort, the toiler assured of his life & work.  No doubt in that perfect world there had been no unemployment problem, no social question left unsolved.  And a great quiet had followed.  It is a law of Nature we overlook, that intellectual versatility is the compensation for change, danger & trouble.  An animal in perfect harmony w/ its environment is a perfect mechanism.  Nature never appeals to intelligence until habit & instinct are useless.  There is no intelligence where there is no change & no need of change.  Only those animals partake of intelligence that have to meet a huge variety of needs & dangers."  The Time Machine, H.G. Wells 1895
  There are other passages of other books: New Testament books of Romans & James to name a couple.  However, those seem to speak to people w/ a more 'infinite' frame of mind.
  Well that's it for this edition of "Doc Shoots His Mouth Off."  I'm off to fold laundry, guzzle coffee, & finish reading "Kim" by R. Kipling.
  Well-wishes & prayers for all y'all.

brought to you by the number 32 & the letter 'B.'  i.e. the MPDS code for 'down & out unknown cause' (32-Bravo) usually an inebriated individual.

  My partner were on duty for a 0700-2000 shift on Halloween when we were dispatched for the above mentioned 32B.  We arrived on scene just ahead of Alb. Fire Dept & started a slow recon of the area for our patient.  Not finding anyone, we were about to clear when a portly lady dressed as a butterfly complete w/ wings & antennae flagged us down.  She said the guy we were looking for was crazy & ran off "... that way ..." & we ought to chase him down.
  We assured her we'd look for the guy & left.  As we drove away we noted the irony of some lady dressed like a bug telling us to chase down the crazy guy up the street.
  This might be filed in the "funnier when you're actually there" deptartment. =)
  Anyway, it set the tone for the rest of the day & I, for one, appreciated it greatly. =)

One might also say, "The Easily Amused 'Medic & That Which Amuses Him" ... altho' that's harder to fit in the subject line.
  I'm not entirely sure if this is really funny or I was caught in a somewhat unguarded moment.  In any event, the following items provided much needed mirth at the time.
  From the American Airlines' SkyMall catalog:
1. A battery powered nose hair trimmer.  Besides the fact this thing runs on two 'C' cell batteries (?!?! ... you could do your own turbinate reduction w/ that kind of torque/horsepower)  this gizmo's highly touted features included two-three 100 watt 'headlamps.' =)  I suppose they presume you're going to use a mirror to see where you're going rather than run this thing up to a depth of two knuckles.

2. "The lightest / smallest R/C airplane ... $400.00" ... Que?  The sheer price-per-ounce is mind bottling (thank you Chaz Micheal Michaels).

  When my ambulance partner & I get posted to "mid-west", I like to stop at a local eatery called "Golden Pride."  They have the best breakfast burritos & cinnamon rolls.  They also offer a lunch special: '1 peace chicken, 1 rib, side & drink for $$$$' ... 1 peace chicken. =)  I kid you not.  It cracks me up everytime. Reckon that beats a war turkey anyday.

  I'm on the verge of turning 36yo.  While I've really never had attacks of the  "Introspective Blahs" common to my peers, I had an experience last week that suggested perhaps I've passed a few years 'round these parts.
  Slightly more than a week ago I took my Nat'l Registry- Paramedic (NREMT-P) written exam (more on that later).  While putting my riding gear in a provided locker, I felt a twinge in middle of my lower back; roughly L3-5 area.  It wasn't anything that seemed to require my immediate attention so it was duly logged as something to worry about later.
  However, the longer I sat through the exam, the more uncomfortable my back became until, at the end, I stood to leave.  The pain was so immediate & serious that it took my breath away for a moment.  I still managed to walk out, ride the motorcycle home, ascend a couple flights of stairs & get to bed.
  The next day was even worse.  I brushed my teeth by bracing my forearms on the sink.   If it hadn't been so painful I'd have laughed at the absurdity of it all.
  At some point I happened to glance up & suddenly noticed, to my chagrin, that I could see the top of my scalp through my hair.
  Hunched over the bathroom sink, trying to brush my teeth, my back killing me, my hair thinning to a disturbing degree, & my 36th birthday around the corner.  I had a sudden feeling that my personal warranty had given out.
  And yet, it's not all unhappiness & discontent.  My back loosened up after a day or so & the general outlook seemed cheerier on a lot of things.  My brother, may his tribe increase, suggested that I was merely becoming Real.
  W/ that thought in mind, I offer the following, perhaps overused but nonetheless personally poignant, excerpt from 'The Velveteen Rabbit.'

  The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others.  He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches & showed the seams underneath, & most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces.  He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast & swagger, & by-&-by break their mainsprings & pass away, & he knew that they were only toys, & would never turn into anything else.  For nursery magic is very strange & wonderful, & only those paythings that are old & wise & experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.
  "What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room.  "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you & a stick-out handle?"
  "Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse.  "It's a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for  long, long time, not just play with but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
  "Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
  "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.  "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
  "Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
  "It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse.  "You become.  It takes a long time.  That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.  Generally by the time you are Real, most of you hair has been loved off, & your eyes drop out & you get loose in the joints, & very shabby.  But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
  "I suppose you are Real?" asked the Rabbit.  And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.  But the Skin Horse only smiled.
  "The Boy's Uncle made me Real,"  he said, "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again.  It lasts for always."

  So there you have it ... I'm becoming a Real boy.  
  Talk at you again soon.

So it's been a while since I wrote; last December if I read my history correctly.  There will be something to bring the blog up-to-date soon.  Stay tuned.

  The first day of October is, to me, a day a day of beginnings as well as  endings.
  October 1st is the birthday of the 126th Military Police Company (NM Army Nat'l Guard).  Little more than a year after the unit was 'stood up' I had the pleasure of deploying to Iraq w/ them as one of their medics.  I offer a toast to the men & women of the 126th MP's past & present, esp those who shared in the daily 'atta-boys' & 'oh-sh##s' of our time in Baghdad.
  The first day of October is also the day of endings.  During our tour in Iraq, one soldier, SGT W., of the 126th lost his life.  I didn't know him personally.  I want to be clear that I'm not aligning myself as a close friend or someone who is deeply haunted by the events of that day.  We were in different platoons & didn't have much, if any, contact day-to-day.   However I grieve w/ those that were, in fact, close, personal friends of SGT W & mourn their loss w/ them.
  SGT W & I stood guard together once at a firing range in Kuwait for a few hours.  Apart from that I simply knew him as a fine soldier & seemingly decent human being.
  Nevertheless I toast to his memory on this first anniversary of his passing ... as a fellow soldier honoring a fallen warrior ... his service to the country & his love for his family.
  For his family, I pray the Almighty keeps them close as they endure the loss & the processes that inevitably follow.
  SGT W will never be forgotten.

  If you can spell: Albuquerque, Chattanooga, Mississippi & Solzhenitsyn you're probably destined for Nat'l Spelling Bee greatness. =)

  Below is an excerpt from the book "The Gulag Archipelago" by Alekdandr Solzhenitsyn. He remains one of (if not THE) most important Russian writer of the 20^th Century. This passage was written in the 1960's & I think has a lot to say today.

  It's a bit long, & actually has no connection to recent sermons or current events that I can recall at the moment. It's merely a random passage that struck a chord w/ me & I figured to pass it along. It may or may not carry any weight beyond my own opinions. =)

From the most ancient times justice has been a two-part concept: virtue triumphs, & vice is punished.

We have been fortunate enough to live to a time when virtue, though it does not triumph, is nonetheless not always tormented by attack dogs. Beaten down, sickly, virtue has now been allowed to enter in all its tatters & sit in the corner, as long as it doesn't raise its voice.

... by 1966, 86-thousand Nazi criminals had been convicted in West Germany. And still we choke w/ anger here. ... Too few! 86-thousand are too few. And 20 years is too little! It must go on & on.

And during the same period, in our own country, about ten men have been convicted.

What takes place beyond the Oder & the Rhine gets us all worked up. What goes on in the environs of Moscow & behind the green fences near Sochi, or the fact the the murderers of our husbands & fathers ride through our streets & we make way for them as they pass, doesn't get us worked up at all, doesn't touch us. That would be digging up the past.

... in a quarter-century we have not tracked down anyone. We have not brought anyone to trail. It is their wounds we are afraid to reopen.

Here is a riddle not for us contemporaries to figure out: Why is Germany allowed to punish its evildoers & Russia is not? What kind of disastrous path lies ahead of us if we do not have the chance to purge ourselves of that putrefaction rotting inside our body? What, then, can Russia teach the world?

In the German trials an astonishing phenomenon takes place from time to time. The defendant clasps his head in his hands, refuses to make any defense, & from then on asks no concessions from the court. He says that the presentation of his crimes, revived & once again confronting him, has filled him w/ revulsion & he no longer wants to live.

That is the ultimate height a trial can attain: when evil is so utterly condemned that even the criminal is revolted by it.

A country which has condemned evil 86-thousand times from the rostrum of a court & irrevocably condemned it in literature & among its young people, year by year, step by step is purged of it.

What are we to do? Someday our descendants will describe our several generations as generations of driveling do-nothings. First we submissively allowed them to massacre us by the millions, & then w/ devoted concern we tended them the murderers in their prosperous old age.

It is unthinkable in the 20^th century to fail to distinguish between what constitutes an abominable atrocity that must be prosecuted & what constitutes that past which ought not to be stirred up.

We have to condemn publicly the very idea that some people have the right to repress others. In keeping silent about evil, in burying it so deep w/in us that no sign of it appears on the surface, we are implanting it, & it will rise up a thousandfold in the future. When we neither punish nor reproach evildoers, we are not simply protecting their trivial old age, we are thereby ripping the foundations of justice from beneath new generations. It is for this reason, & not because of the weakness of indoctrinational work, that they are growing up indifferent.  Young people are acquiring the conviction that foul deeds are never punished on earth, that they always bring prosperity.

It is going to be uncomfortable, horrible, to live in such a country!