Follow Me on Facebook (It isn't like George Takei's page.0

Join now: http://facebook.com/AnthonyTrendl

No, it is not just a funny picture site. That's George Takei's Facebook page. I'll admit there are one or two cute kitty pictures, but they are reading books. These are smarty cats.

I ask important things. Extremely important things.

Today, for example, we are delving into favorite punctuation marks. Which one is yours?

But it doesn't stop there. We discuss the science of humor. Watch interviews with Jerry Lewis and other great comedians explain why they are funny. They know why we laugh at what they do. Similarly, you'll watch John Cleese lecture on the creative process.

We talk about classic children's literature, what makes good horror, the integration of the arts. There's a lot going on. Stop in and stay for awhile.

My page description says, "Books, ideas, literature, art, tall tales, short tales and cattails. See the ordinary in an extraordinary way. Fans of Twain, Kipling, Thurber will find this a friendly place. From the quirky to the funny to the unbelievable. Family-friendly."

Sylvia Browne's Excellent Record as a Psychic (A Defense of Her Good Work)

It is easy to criticize Sylvia Browne's horrendous failures as she pretended to be psychic, or how stupid Montel Williams was for having her on his show. I decided to list all the times she was genuinely a psychic below, in this dedicated blog post just to her.

1. 
   
2. 
   
3. 
   

That's right. Never. People trusted her. People gave her money. People gave her fame and fortune and everything that goes with it. 

Never. 

It is easy to criticize Sylvia Browne. What she has done is that bad. So many viewers bought into her charade. Viewers who matter. 

She makes Benny Hinn seem less greedy and the Mob look more honest. Too much?

Ask Amanda Berry's family.

David Bowie's "The Next Day" and Artistic Integrity

Buy David Bowie's The Next Day now on iTunes.

I love Bowie's new album. So does The Atlantic (read their review The Predictably Unpredictable Resurrection of David Bowie) and pretty much everyone who knows his music.

I've been a huge Bowie fan since the mid-70s, since I was a wee lad, and used to try to write poems like his songs. Besides my fanboy perspective (though I don't think everything he's done is brilliant), I think his life is a good lesson in consummate creativity. He made some blunders in the process -- drug addiction, horrible relationships, and so forth. But he is always self-challenged artistically. Although he always sounds like "David Bowie," he never falls into schtick. He could do schtick well, as keenly as he changes personas. But he doesn't. He does more than reinvents his persona. He finds his new sound. He finds his next day.



In the beginning, this was a different thing. On one hand, he had nothing to lose by risking. He wasn't yet Bowie the Legend. He was a cocksure upstart. Now, he has everything to lose, but at the same time, nothing once again: no matter how awful an album is, he will still be Bowie the Legend.

He has always had an interesting mix of a strong work ethic despite his famously bohemian lifestyle of his youth, financial and artistic success, a smart sense of when to switch gears, and the guts to go full bore. Throw is a few stirs of right-place-right-time and we have a commercially successful, artistically intriguing musician.



But he could, at age 66, rest on his laurels. Like Bob Dylan (age 71, still touring heavily, recently kicked out one of his best albums ever), he isn't resting at all. Bowie's previous album, Reality, in 2003, in my opinion, was mediocre. I thought, like lots of folks, though he's had a good run and earned his retirement. "Take it Dave, before they laugh at you." Then he has a heart attack. He's rich, married to a super model, will have royalties from earlier work coming until Jesus comes back. He has nothing to prove and, from a humanist perspective (he rejects the truth and call of Jesus Christ), has and will have a pretty good life on Earth. Why do more?

Why do more? Why do more -- that is the artist's dilemma, isn't it? There is no poetically waxed, "Because I have to" nonsense  He wanted to. He didn't have to. "Have to," I think, is a mythical, romanticized view of the artistic process. But he clearly wanted to. So he did. Which, because he didn't have to, means he was completely free to do what he pleased.

And it is a great album.

Buy David Bowie's The Next Day now on iTunes. 

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when any mortal(even the most odd)

when any mortal(even the most odd)

when any mortal(even the most odd)

can justify the ways of man to God
i'll think it strange that normal mortals can

not justify the ways of God to man

-Edward Estlin Cummings

Andrew Mason's Daily Deal: 'I Got Fired Today'

Andrew Mason, CEO of Groupon, was fired. So, he wrote a letter to the company. He took being fired in stride, laughed a little, and led a lot. He told his former employees to press on despite the transition, and to let his replacement do his/her job well. I'd be honored to write speeches for a man like this. A class act. 

Read Andrew Mason's Daily Deal: 'I Got Fired Today' That will take you to a LinkedIn article. While you are there, connect with me on LinkedIn.

Blocked on Facebook

201 apps blocked on Facebook, plus a few crazy people. How about you?

1. Ich will deinen Geburtstag adden
2. World Domination: Total War
3. Baby Animals
4. ★ You're American Accent
5. (Lil) Blue Cove
6. What 80s song best describes your personality?
7. Slots Madness
8. What would you look like if you were a Vampire?
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10. I want to add your birthday
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35. How well do you know The Brady Bunch?
36. 2010 Bracket Challenge
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40. CHiCAGO-GO
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42. What were you born to do?
43. Friend FAQ
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46. Which vile fictional or historical person do you resemble?
47. Which 80's band are you?
48. For the Birds
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50. Pass a Drink
51. Which President are you?
52. SuperPoke!
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58. Chicago Cubs Fans
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62. purple gifts!
63. President Obama Approval Poll
64. Comfort
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67. Which Sesame St. Character are you?
68. How Irish are you?
69. Super Food Fight!
70. How Blonde Are You?
71. The New York Times News Quiz
72. What 70's t.v. show character are you?
73. What opera singer would you be?
74. Team USA Fans
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78. What Work of Literature Are You?
79. Collect Smiles
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82. How well do you remember the 80's?
83. Which Zodiac Sign Are You Most Compatible With?
84. what do people first notice about you?
85. What Major should you study?
86. Mob Wars
87. What era of Art History do you belong to?
88. School of Magic
89. Are You a Foodie?
90. Which element are you?
91. Starbucks drinks
92. How BITCHY are you?
93. Polls
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102. Send Your Friends rose!
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109. Chug It!
110. What dead rock star are you?
111. What is God's gift in you?
112. Smiles
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114. What's Your Strongest Persona?
115. Hugged
116. What kind of storm are you?
117. Send Your Friends FRIENDSHIP REMINDER!
118. Chicago Originals
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120. What kind of librarian are you?
121. What is your ministry calling?
122. Which Classic Rock Song Are You?
123. FarmVille
124. What's Your Myers Briggs Personality Type?
125. What "Periodic Element" are you?
126. Age of Castles
127. Send Your Friends hugs!
128. true friendship
129. Send Your Friends Prayer requests!
130. iHearts
131. Where in Europe should you be from?
132. Send Your Friends loves!
133. Monty Python Presents
134. Fairyland
135. Halloween Treats
136. Send Flowers
137. Las Vegas Slots
138. Mon arbre de Noël 2012
139. FARKLE
140. Send Good Karma
141. Best Friend
142. Top Gun
143. Where is your ideal country to live in?
144. FishVille
145. UNO™
146. My Army of Snowmen
147. Christmas Ornaments
148. Celebrate
149. Give Hearts
150. MyCalendar
151. Roller Coaster Kingdom
152. Send a Smile
153. ▼ Pixable
154. Christmas Greetings
155. What is your EQ (Emotional Intelligence Quotient)?
156. @Smiles
157. Test My IQ
158. @Hearts
159. Which Wizard of Oz Character are You?
160. Treasure Isle
161. Static FBML
162. Flixster
163. Old Friends
164. How Well Do You Know Me?
165. How well do you know me?
166. FrontierVille
167. Я хочу добавить твой ДР
168. Café World
169. Friend Facts
170. 21 questions
171. Kingdoms of Camelot
172. See Who Views Your Profile
173. -ro
174. CityVille
175. Texas HoldEm Poker
176. THE FRIEND FIGHTING QUIZ
177. Are you my best friend ???
178. love
179. Zombie Lane
180. City of Wonder
181. Slotomania Slot Machines
182. Monster World
183. Horse Saga
184. Bubble Saga
185. Gardens of Time
186. DoubleDown Casino Slots & Poker
187. Zombie Mosh
188. Empires & Allies
189. FarmGiftsVille
190. Yearbook
191. Diamond Dash
192. ZAGG
193. CastleVille
194. Happiness Meter
195. A cup of Love
196. Hidden Chronicles
197. My smile for u! Smile back plz?
198. Profile-Viewer
199. The Ville
200. I want to add your birthday
201. Dragon City

Stairway to Heaven, Led Zeppelin Kennedy Center Tribute. Amazing!

Stairway to Heaven, Led Zeppelin Kennedy Center Tribute. Amazing! Heart -- Ann and Nancy Wilson. Jason Bonham drums. Best cover ever.

The choir even is wearing bowlers like Zep's late drummer John Bonham. Robert Plant gets teary eyed. President and Mrs. Obama tried to remain composed.

 

Apology Not Accepted: Mike Huckabee, James Dobson, and A Pastor’s Apology.

John Pavlovitz, self-appointed leader of the Evangelical Church (in all its permutations, including parachurch ministries), has apologized for me. For you, too, if you happen to be a Christian. Take a look at his blog post, Mike Huckabee, James Dobson, and A Pastor’s Apology.

I am not sure how he got the job. I voted in November for President of the United States, but never saw his name on the ballot. Maybe because he has a blog. No, no. That can't be it. I have a blog. I'm not in charge.

I'm looking more carefully at his post. Yes. Silly me. I see it right there at the top: "I am a Christian. I am a pastor. I am a father. As all three of these things, I apologize to the world (and to the victims of the Sandy Hook shooting), for Mike Huckabee and James Dobson."

Because he is a Christian, a pastor and a father, he has earned the right to apologize to the world, on my behalf, for things said by Mike Huckabee and James Dobson. I see. I see. It is clear.

I get Pavlovitz's point. People I am affiliated with say things I disagree with. It might be he was asked by Dobson and Huckabee each to apologize on their behalf. That can happen. I suppose. But it didn't. Back to word self-appointed.

This is not a blog post getting into what Pavlovitz thinks he is addressing. Rather, I am using his claim to apologize to point that, in his attempt, he, in my opinion, dismisses the depth and importance of the issues, and disrespects the families hurt or killed in the Sandy Hook tragedy.

By apologizing for something he didn’t do is disingenuous and arrogant. It is as if he has the right to apologize by proxy, somehow representing Christians. He does not have it. There is no position to do so. Only God could, and He never sins, so that would not happen. The evangelical world, which includes both Dobson and Huckabee, is not a cleanly drawn line, with a leader telling followers what to believe. There are many denominations, and many diverse viewpoints.

Just as I cannot, on the behalf of white people, apologize for the KKK, slavery and other racist actions, he simply does not have the right or responsibility, creating only a hollowness that is as meaningless in direct opposition to what I think he intended. These kinds of blanket apologies injure the genuinely hurt by putting a Hallmark Card spin on a very serious matter.

When President Clinton apologized for various things the American government did to Africans here in the 1930-1970s involving syphilis testing, no one took it as a real apology. It was, at best, symbolic. Genuine? I think so. Heart felt? I think so.

Wikipedia says: "The Tuskegee syphilis experiment (also known as the Tuskegee syphilis study or Public Health Service syphilis study) was an infamous clinical study conducted between 1932 and 1972 in Tuskegee, Alabama by the U.S. Public Health Service to study the natural progression of untreated syphilis in rural black men who thought they were receiving free health care from the U.S. government."

What President Clinton said: The United States Government did something that was wrong, deeply, profoundly, morally wrong. It was an outrage to our commitment to integrity and equality for all our citizens. We can end the silence. We can stop turning our heads away. We can look at you in the eye and finally say on behalf of the American people what the United States Government did was shameful, and I am sorry.

I agree 100% with President Clinton on this. He was saying to the nation, "I, as leader of this nation, and part of a long line of presidents to be followed by others, and therefore as a representative and spokesperson for the nation, want all of America and the world to know such testing is wrong, was wrong and always will be wrong. I cannot undo what was done, but I can say we will never do it again." Those are my words, but that's my take on what President Clinton said.

But it was not an apology. Clinton had not done the wrong himself.  Had he skipped, "I am sorry," at the end, and no one would call it an apology. They'd just say, "Right on, Mr. President." But, Clinton was President. What the American government did was wrong. He tried, did so publicly, and outside of those three words, it was a perfect statement.

I have no idea who John Pavlovitz is. I know he said in response to things Dobson and Huckabee have said, "This week, these “representatives” of Christianity in the American media, have done what they seem bent on doing and content to do in times of tragedy; they have stood on top of someone else’s pain and grief, while preaching a message of dreadfully misplaced, fear-infused hatred and horribly dangerous theology."

Which exactly what he has done.

Why I Celebrate Christmas

As I posted in my official Facebook page:


Christmas celebrates the beginning of the most amazing human to ever walk this Earth. Jesus Christ is not a tale or a legend, not a cute story about a baby in a manger, but the most dangerous person from Herod's perspective, someone to be worshiped from the shepherds' perspective, someone to be loved from Mary and Joseph's perspective, and Lord, God and King, from my perspective. 

Enjoy this Christmas season, love your neighbors as yourself, and, when you sing a glorious carol, think about what Jesus did some 33 years later.

An End of Everything: An Eerie Tale About NonExistence

OK. Here I am. 

Midnight. December 21, 2012. It just turned Friday.

Didn't see this coming.

Uh oh.

I need to make some changes. I have entire tomorrow to plan, though here we are. It is tomorrow. There wasn't supposed to be one. Tomorrow was supposed to... hmm. This all gets kind of messy as verb tenses go. Either, I was not expecting to be here. The Mayans did some bad math. Or did I?

Some apologies. Lots of apologies. Though, then again, I think I will be hearing a few as well. You know, from that one guy and his friend, and their cousin. Definitely the cousin.

And, yeah, that thing that happened I thought no one would ever find out about? They probably will. That will take some explaining.

Looks like there will be a little credit card problem later today when the banks open. That is not going to look good. I need to stop by the luxury auto place and see if they will take back a customized Lamborghini.

Not to worry. It's not like its the end of the world. Yeah, I heard that before. Ha!

Those silly people talking about the end of the world. Can you believe that people actually bought into it. Just like this. Here I am, right after midnight. I'm here. You're here. Everyone is here. Wherever they were at 11:59 pm, Wednesday, December 20, they are still there. Same place. Same everything.

Just like we have always been and always will be, give or take a billion years and the sun exploding.

It is late, I'm tired.

Um, what was that sound? Yes, that sound. The crack. The loud, eerie, crushing crack. A branch? No, no. Deeper than a branch. A truck crash? Not that. I saw one once. Not as eerie. This crack echoed, but it was a backwards echo. The sound consumed itself.

It is still cracking. How can that be? Cracks end. Things are supposed to break. Is this an earthquake? I can't tell. The lights are off. There is no other sound. Just the crack.

Where is everyone? Streetlights gone. Must be a power outage. The sound? Should the earth move? I live in Chicago. Earthquakes don't happen here. The earth must. The quaking part.

Where's the moon? There is no moon. It must be cloudy. I don't see any stars. There must be clouds. I don't see anything. No clouds. No sky. I don't even see the neighbors house.

It must be a huge storm. It can't be a storm. There is no wind. No rain. Things are dry. Completely dry. No, I don't feel anything. Where's my bed? I was in my bed. I think. Or am downstairs?

The crack is gone. It stopped. I hear nothing. Nothing at all. The heat is off. The fridge too. Of course. The power is out. Right. Those are off. I got it. Shouldn't I hear something? The building is always settling. No traffic outside. No airplanes. Quiet night. Everyone must be in. But I don't even hear my clothes when I move. Did I move? Of course I am moving. But I'm not moving. I'm sitting still. Or am I standing?

This blackness. It causes vertigo. I never had it before. This must be what blind people go through, seeing nothing at all. Deaf people too.

It is so dark. No, dark is not the word. It is too dark for that. I can't even see what I'm thinking.

I'm thirsty. I think I'm thirsty. Or hungry. No I'm not. I'm not at all. I'm not. I just no longer am.

I'm not.

---

For silly tales, please visit http://TreeFortBooks.com

Rosati's Pizza and Gambling: Finding Better Pizza with Social Responsibility

 

Proudly announcing their video gambling machine, complete with a how-to video on YouTube embedded in, Rosati's Pizza lost my business. 

I will not knowingly support a business directly encouraging this kind of gambling. Yes, I shop where lottery tickets are sold, and despise that I must. As pizza goes, I have plenty of alternatives.

See the original Tweet for yourself. They have blocked me (apparently not happy that I pointed out that Nancy's Pizza tastes better and is less salty than Rosati's Pizza), but I am glad to post the link here, encouraging free speech. Let me know if they take it down. 

The machine is in their Yorkville, IL store. I used to buy from their Wheaton, IL store. Yorkville's decision impacted the Wheaton store's business. 

For those of you outside of Chicago, Rosati's Pizza is a basic Chicago-style pizza. According to Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chicago-style_pizza#Thin-crust_pizza):

There is also a style of thin-crust pizza found in Chicago and throughout the rest of the Midwestern USA. The crust is thin and firm enough to have a noticeable crunch, unlike a New York-style pizza. 

The crust is topped with a liberal quantity of Italian style tomato sauce, which usually has quite a lot of herbs or is highly spiced, and typically contains no visible chunks of tomato. Next, a layer of toppings is added, and finally a layer of mozzarella cheese. This pizza is cut into squares, also known as party cut or tavern cut, as opposed to a pie cut into wedges. However, the consistency of the crust and the quantity and choice of the tomato sauce and cheese are what separate this style from East Coast- and Roman-style pizzas, and it makes the pizza from most neighborhood pizzerias immediately distinguishable from that offered by national chains such as Papa John's or Pizza Hut. Aurelios is a chain which specializes in this kind of pizza. Casa Bianca, located in the Eagle Rock section of Los Angeles, is also well known for this style of thin-crusted Chicago bar pizza.

I have had it delivered for many years, but now, as I am against gambling, am no longer willing to buy from them.

It is a free country. They are doing nothing illegal. In fact, as their post says clearly, they have a license to do this, issued by the State of Illinois. The fact that it is legal does not mean I should support a business doing something I despise. 

My community matters more to me than my pizza choice. And, as it turns out, we have several other excellent pizza choices. 

Why don't I like gambling? Plainly, I think it hurts communities in proportion to how much gambling there is. More importantly, it hurts people. I won't labor on about my reasons, but the short version is that communities are never bettered from the addition of opportunities to gamble. You can see the definition of problem gambling below, but I also think there is a larger negative social impact. Sure, not everyone who gambles will become a compulsive gambler, and one video machine may not cause anyone to struggle.  

I also know many of my readers may be enthusiastic gamblers without any issues of addiction and are not involved in any aspect of gambling culture that is a social concern. I'm not denying your right, or Rosati's Pizza's right. I am merely explaining that Rosati's Pizza's decision nauseates me. Why would I want to purchase food from a place that equates vomit in my mind? I don't. 

from National Council on Problem Gambling:

What is Problem Gambling?
Problem gambling is gambling behavior which causes disruptions in any major area of life: psychological, physical, social or vocational. The term "Problem Gambling" includes, but is not limited to, the condition known as "Pathological", or "Compulsive" Gambling, a progressive addiction characterized by increasing preoccupation with gambling, a need to bet more money more frequently, restlessness or irritability when attempting to stop, "chasing" losses, and loss of control manifested by continuation of the gambling behavior in spite of mounting, serious, negative consequences.

More Love, Less Politics: The Sandy Hook Tragedy

Already, what happened in Connecticut has become political. More guns. Fewer guns. More God in school. Less God in school. Meaningless online petitions. Impassioned Facebook posts which exact some strong emotion and a dozen like-minded responses, or a new profile picture with a candle. Nice. 

Sympathetically, our nation weeps. Our President Obama has capably stepped in as he would in any major tragedy, to offer comfort. Our churches cry out across the nation. We need to wrap our heads and hearts around this, yet know we cannot. It is too big, but we must try. 

Meanwhile, the people immediately around us need our love, not our politics. They need us to call them, to ask them how they are, to invite them for dinner, or to just sit quietly over coffee or wine.

It is easy to join the water cooler soldiers for righteousness. I live in Illinois and have no connection to the Connecticut tragedy. I cannot make a difference there. Some of you actually can. You know those directly impacted. But here, hundreds of miles away, who can I love?

That said, of course everyone killed breaks my heart, including the gunman himself. Which life didn't God love? Did He love the children more than the adults? Did He love the killer more than the killed or less? 

Our neighbors, who we should love, go through big and large sufferings daily. The suffering elderly, the scared unwed mom, the inmate lonely in jail, the hungry, the cold, the unclothed, the guy who lost his job, the high school kid whose girlfriend just dumped him for another guy - it goes on, and God so, so ... so loved the world that He gave us His son. He loved us 2,000 years ago and loves us, them... we, today and tomorrow. May the tragedy at Sandy Hook not outshine our need to love our neighbor.

It is harder to love our neighbor as yourself. Atheists as well as believers in any deity should understand this. I'm not going to convince the atheist that my Lord is real, nor do I care that they think my beliefs are misguided. That's a wholly different discussion. I do hope anyone reading this, though, looks directly to the east, west, south and north of their home, cubicle, train commute, grocery store line or coffee shop table and asks if there is something they can do to love their neighbor.

Maybe you have no idea how. Fair enough. Try asking about them. Listen. Then be ready to respond. Love might take the cost of dinner, but it might just take a half hour hearing their heart, or, maybe, just talking about something seemingly trite, like the Chicago Bears' awful season. Maybe it takes investment, like calling them next week too.

More love, less politics. 

FREE! My strangest tale ever!

FREE! My strangest tale ever! Escape from Hicklebirkle Manor.

Chucky the Cat, rat couple Edgar and Veronica, and Mason the Turtle all live happily until Old Man dies. When Chucky the Cat eats Veronica, trouble begins. Can they escape the house where they are trapped?

For Kindle.

Storytelling This Friday in Geneva, IL and 3 FREE Tales

My latest big announcement is ready (http://x.co/qXIv). Besides news about me telling tales to youngsters this Friday (free), there are social media links, freebies and more.

I explain the correlation between storytelling and speech writing, and am giving away three Kindle tales (one for the next three days). Today's freebie is "How Wind Began: The Story of Pepper Jack: A Bluster County Tale."

I invite readers to enjoy the tales with their children (or on their commute -- I won't tell). Publishers and agents, see what I can do. Book reviewers, please consider reviewing on Amazon. As always, if you need a speechwriter for your next event, please contact me.

The link takes you to the email with the free books (through GoDaddy).

http://x.co/qXIv

Free - Storytelling - Ages 4-8 (all ages welcome)
Classic and original tales.
Friday, December 14 
Two tellings (each will be the same)
10:00-10:30/11:00 am
2:00-2:30/3:00 pm
RSVP on Facebook 

Barnes and Noble (in Geneva Commons)
102 Commons Drive
Geneva, IL 60134
Directions 

For Annie BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

For Annie

bY EDGAR aLLAN pOE

Thank Heaven! the crisis,

      The danger, is past,

And the lingering illness

      Is over at last—

And the fever called "Living"

      Is conquered at last.

Sadly, I know

      I am shorn of my strength,

And no muscle I move

      As I lie at full length—

But no matter!—I feel

      I am better at length.

And I rest so composedly,

      Now, in my bed,

That any beholder

      Might fancy me dead—

Might start at beholding me,

      Thinking me dead.

The moaning and groaning,

      The sighing and sobbing,

Are quieted now,

      With that horrible throbbing

At heart:—ah, that horrible,

      Horrible throbbing!

The sickness—the nausea—

      The pitiless pain—

Have ceased, with the fever

      That maddened my brain—

With the fever called "Living"

      That burned in my brain.

And oh! of all tortures

      That torture the worst

Has abated—the terrible

      Torture of thirst

For the naphthaline river

      Of Passion accurst:—

I have drank of a water

      That quenches all thirst:—

Of a water that flows,

      With a lullaby sound,

From a spring but a very few

      Feet under ground—

From a cavern not very far

      Down under ground.

And ah! let it never

      Be foolishly said

That my room it is gloomy

      And narrow my bed;

For man never slept

      In a different bed—

And, to sleep, you must slumber

      In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit

      Here blandly reposes,

Forgetting, or never

      Regretting, its roses—

Its old agitations

      Of myrtles and roses:

For now, while so quietly

      Lying, it fancies

A holier odor

      About it, of pansies—

A rosemary odor,

      Commingled with pansies—

With rue and the beautiful

      Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily,

      Bathing in many

A dream of the truth

      And the beauty of Annie—

Drowned in a bath

      Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me,

      She fondly caressed,

And then I fell gently

      To sleep on her breast—

Deeply to sleep

      From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished,

      She covered me warm,

And she prayed to the angels

      To keep me from harm—

To the queen of the angels

      To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly,

      Now, in my bed,

(Knowing her love)

      That you fancy me dead—

And I rest so contentedly,

      Now in my bed

(With her love at my breast).

      That you fancy me dead—

That you shudder to look at me,

      Thinking me dead:—

But my heart it is brighter

      Than all of the many

Stars in the sky,

      For it sparkles with Annie—

It glows with the light

      Of the love of my Annie—

With the thought of the light

      Of the eyes of my Annie.

Morning on the Wissahiccon by Edgar Allan Poe

Morning on the Wissahiccon 
by Edgar Allan Poe

The natural scenery of America has often been contrasted, in its general features as well as in detail, with the landscape of the Old World—more especially of Europe—and not deeper has been the enthusiasm, than wide the dissension, of the supporters of each region. The discussion is one not likely to be soon closed, for, although much has been said on both sides, a word more yet remains to be said.

The most conspicuous of the British tourists who have attempted a comparison, seem to regard our northern and eastern seaboard, comparatively speaking, as all of America, at least, as all of the United States, worthy consideration. They say little, because they have seen less, of the gorgeous interior scenery of some of our western and southern districts—of the vast valley of Louisiana, for example,—a realization of the wildest dreams of paradise. For the most part, these travellers content themselves with a hasty inspection of the natural lions of the land—the Hudson, Niagara, the Catskills, Harper's Ferry, the lakes of New York, the Ohio, the prairies, and the Mississippi. These, indeed, are objects well worthy the contemplation even of him who has just clambered by the castellated Rhine, or roamed

By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone;

but these are not all of which we can boast; and, indeed, I will be so hardy as to assert that there are innumerable quiet, obscure, and scarcely explored nooks, within the limits of the United States, that, by the true artist, or cultivated lover of the grand and beautiful amid the works of God, will be preferred to each and to all of the chronicled and better accredited scenes to which I have referred.

In fact, the real Edens of the land lie far away from the track of our own most deliberate tourists—how very far, then, beyond the reach of the foreigner, who, having made with his publisher at home arrangements for a certain amount of comment upon America, to be furnished in a stipulated period, can hope to fulfil his agreement in no other manner than by steaming it, memorandum—book in hand, through only the most beaten thoroughfares of the country!

I mentioned, just above, the valley of Louisiana. Of all extensive areas of natural loveliness, this is perhaps the most lovely. No fiction has approached it. The most gorgeous imagination might derive suggestions from its exuberant beauty. And beauty is, indeed, its sole character. It has little, or rather nothing, of the sublime. Gentle undulations of soil, interwreathed with fantastic crystallic streams, banked by flowery slopes, and backed by a forest vegetation, gigantic, glossy, multicoloured, sparkling with gay birds and burthened with perfume—these features make up, in the vale of Louisiana, the most voluptuous natural scenery upon earth.

But, even of this delicious region, the sweeter portions are reached only by the bypaths. Indeed, in America generally, the traveller who would behold the finest landscapes, must seek them not by the railroad, nor by the steamboat, not by the stage-coach, nor in his private carriage, not yet even on horseback—but on foot. He must walk, he must leap ravines, he must risk his neck among precipices, or he must leave unseen the truest, the richest, and most unspeakable glories of the land.

Now in the greater portion of Europe no such necessity exists. In England it exists not at all. The merest dandy of a tourist may there visit every nook worth visiting without detriment to his silk stockings; so thoroughly known are all points of interest, and so well-arranged are the means of attaining them. This consideration has never been allowed its due weight, in comparisons of the natural scenery of the Old and New Worlds. The entire loveliness of the former is collated with only the most noted, and with by no means the most eminent items in the general loveliness of the latter.

River scenery has, unquestionably, within itself, all the main elements of beauty, and, time out of mind, has been the favourite theme of the poet. But much of this fame is attributable to the predominance of travel in fluvial over that in mountainous districts. In the same way, large rivers, because usually highways, have, in all countries, absorbed an undue share of admiration. They are more observed, and, consequently, made more the subject of discourse, than less important, but often more interesting streams.

A singular exemplification of my remarks upon this head may be found in the Wissahiccon, a brook, (for more it can scarcely be called,) which empties itself into the Schuylkill, about six miles westward of Philadelphia. Now the Wissahiccon is of so remarkable a loveliness that, were it flowing in England, it would be the theme of every bard, and the common topic of every tongue, if, indeed, its banks were not parcelled off in lots, at an exorbitant price, as building-sites for the villas of the opulent. Yet it is only within a very few years that any one has more than heard of the Wissahiccon, while the broader and more navigable water into which it flows, has been long celebrated as one of the finest specimens of American river scenery. The Schuylkill, whose beauties have been much exaggerated, and whose banks, at least in the neighborhood of Philadelphia, are marshy like those of the Delaware, is not at all comparable, as an object of picturesque interest, with the more humble and less notorious rivulet of which we speak.

It was not until Fanny Kemble, in her droll book about the United States, pointed out to the Philadelphians the rare loveliness of a stream which lay at their own doors, that this loveliness was more than suspected by a few adventurous pedestrians of the vicinity. But, the "Journal" having opened all eyes, the Wissahiccon, to a certain extent, rolled at once into notoriety. I say "to a certain extent," for, in fact, the true beauty of the stream lies far above the route of the Philadelphian picturesque-hunters, who rarely proceed farther than a mile or two above the mouth of the rivulet—for the very excellent reason that here the carriage-road stops. I would advise the adventurer who would behold its finest points to take the Ridge Road, running westwardly from the city, and, having reached the second lane beyond the sixth mile-stone, to follow this lane to its termination. He will thus strike the Wissahiccon, at one of its best reaches, and, in a skiff, or by clambering along its banks, he can go up or down the stream, as best suits his fancy, and in either direction will meet his reward.

I have already said, or should have said, that the brook is narrow. Its banks are generally, indeed almost universally, precipitous, and consist of high hills, clothed with noble shrubbery near the water, and crowned at a greater elevation, with some of the most magnificent forest trees of America, among which stands conspicuous the liriodendron tulipiferum. The immediate shores, however, are of granite, sharply defined or moss-covered, against which the pellucid water lolls in its gentle flow, as the blue waves of the Mediterranean upon the steps of her palaces of marble. Occasionally in front of the cliffs, extends a small definite plateau of richly herbaged land, affording the most picturesque position for a cottage and garden which the richest imagination could conceive. The windings of the stream are many and abrupt, as is usually the case where banks are precipitous, and thus the impression conveyed to the voyager's eye, as he proceeds, is that of an endless succession of infinitely varied small lakes, or, more properly speaking, tarns. The Wissahiccon, however, should be visited, not like "fair Melrose," by moonlight, or even in cloudy weather, but amid the brightest glare of a noonday sun; for the narrowness of the gorge through which it flows, the height of the hills on either hand, and the density of the foliage, conspire to produce a gloominess, if not an absolute dreariness of effect, which, unless relieved by a bright general light, detracts from the mere beauty of the scene.

Not long ago I visited the stream by the route described, and spent the better part of a sultry day in floating in a skiff upon its bosom. The heat gradually overcame me, and, resigning myself to the influence of the scenes and of the weather, and of the gentle moving current, I sank into a half slumber, during which my imagination revelled in visions of the Wissahiccon of ancient days—of the "good old days" when the Demon of the Engine was not, when picnics were undreamed of, when "water privileges" were neither bought nor sold, and when the red man trod alone, with the elk, upon the ridges that now towered above. And, while gradually these conceits took possession of my mind, the lazy brook had borne me, inch by inch, around one promontory and within full view of another that bounded the prospect at the distance of forty or fifty yards. It was a steep rocky cliff, abutting far into the stream, and presenting much more of the Salvator character than any portion of the shore hitherto passed. What I saw upon this cliff, although surely an object of very extraordinary nature, the place and season considered, at first neither startled nor amazed me—so thoroughly and appropriately did it chime in with the half-slumberous fancies that enwrapped me. I saw, or dreamed that I saw, standing upon the extreme verge of the precipice, with neck outstretched, with ears erect, and the whole attitude indicative of profound and melancholy inquisitiveness, one of the oldest and boldest of those identical elks which had been coupled with the red men of my vision.

I say that, for a few moments, this apparition neither startled nor amazed me. During this interval my whole soul was bound up in intense sympathy alone. I fancied the elk repining, not less than wondering, at the manifest alterations for the worse, wrought upon the brook and its vicinage, even within the last few years, by the stern hand of the utilitarian. But a slight movement of the animal's head at once dispelled the dreaminess which invested me, and aroused me to a full sense of novelty of the adventure. I arose upon one knee within the skiff, and, while I hesitated whether to stop my career, or let myself float nearer to the object of my wonder, I heard the words "hist!" "hist!" ejaculated quickly but cautiously, from the shrubbery overhead. In an instant afterwards, a negro emerged from the thicket, putting aside the bushes with care, and treading stealthily. He bore in one hand a quantity of salt, and, holding it towards the elk, gently yet steadily approached. The noble animal, although a little fluttered, made no attempt at escape. The negro advanced; offered the salt; and spoke a few words of encouragement or conciliation. Presently, the elk bowed and stamped, and then lay quietly down and was secured with a halter.

Thus ended my romance of the elk. It was a pet of great age and very domestic habits, and belonged to an English family occupying a villa in the vicinity.

Voting the Issues (Are You Serious?)

Voting the issues. You say you do it, but it seems issues are fungible.

We vote for only candidates in our party. It doesn't matter what they think. We'll defend our man (apparently women aren't popular potential presidents in either party) no matter how awkward the gaffe, no matter how ugly the youthful indiscretion was. We might like to say, "But I grew up in a hardcore XYZ party family and I'm a free thinker." Cute, but each year, you vote predictably. True independent voters don't exist. The last one died years ago, choking on a peanut in 1979.

We vote for whomever was blessed by whatever church we approve of. Maybe your church has a pretty white steeple or is one of those new fangled ones which looks like a shopping mall. Maybe your church is the coffee shop on the corner, your communion is a lemon poppyseed cake and a triple shot latte, with the sign of the sign of the croissant roll given by your barista. We are all followers, afraid to declare we are lemmings. Even atheists have religion, godless as it may be.

No one votes issues anymore. That is so 1980s. Issues left us with the death o parachute pants. We're smarter now, with soul patched goatees and horned rimmed glasses. We are all about who can zing the opposition and their minions the best. It is us, and it is them. Snarky is truth. White Sox and Cubs. Packers and Bears. Yankee Doodle Pigeon and Dick Dastardly. Who is funniest? Who wears what to the grand ball? My candidate has more celebs than yours. Did you hear what Rush Olbermann said on MSNFOX? Red states, blue states, pink issues, yellow ribbons, Green party. What color matches your eyes today?

Which is God's Party?
Those people on the other sides aren't REAL Christians. No, no, really. Look it up. It is in Romans 10:9-10, where it deals with the complex issue of election (vs freedom of choice):

"If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and vote for His political party and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead and sent His candidate to be in the White House, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, with your vote your demonstrate your faith, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved, until the next election." 

Find out what Romans 10:9-10 really says in almost any translation you can think of. Then you Generation Xers and Baby Boomers enjoy the video below.

Poet Anthony Trendl to Appear at Fresh Poems Nite

Anthony Trendl, author of the popular Bluster County short story series published on Wheaton’s Patch, will among the poets performing at “Fresh Poems Nite.” Hosted by the Burning Bush Gallery in Wheaton, IL, Fresh Poems presents an evening of artistic collaborations, poetry, musicians, and artists.

Mr. Trendl will be performing three poems that grab the imagination, heart and soul. His intense, dramatic delivery will keep audiences enraptured as he draws them into his world. This is new work for an adult audience (rated PG), unrelated to his children's work.

All creative people are welcome. Open Mic will be facilitated by Chicago Street Poet Mehret Asgedom, DJ 505 will keep the music vibe live.

Come on out. There will be plenty of offee, snacks and music. Bring a friend and support the local art scene.

"Fresh Poems presents evening of artistic collaborations, poetry, musicians, artists. All creatives welcome. Open Mic will be facilitated by Chicago Street Poet Mehret Asgedom, DJ 505 will keep the music vibe live."

Where	224 N Main St, Wheaton, IL 60187
Next on	September 28, 2012
Time	7:00 pm–10:00 pm
Who to bring	Everyone
Website	http://­www.­garychurch.­org
Phone	(630) 668-3100
Price	$0

About the Burning Bush Gallery

Visual arts is of the utmost importance in spiritual education and development as it attempts to illustrate and convey emerging epiphanies of Christianity in tangible form--Inspiring theological reflection & compassionate acts.

We work with themes of spiritual, theological, sociological, anthropological, psychological, and ecclesiastical significance that ignite artists and guests alike to reflect, participate, challenge, and act.

We feature art shows that are open (call for artists) and closed (working with specific artist or group). We also host spirituality of movement classes (also known as Yoga) frequently. We occasionally have drum circles, artist lectures and presentations, music circles. We also have hosted a storytelling conference, a poetry open mic, and an evening of original voices. We are continuing to explore and expand our vision to other creativity and ministerial arenas beyond 2D or 3D "art."

In our three and a half years here, we have hosted over 30 shows working with such organizations as Peoples' Resource Center, NAMI/Awakenings Project, JUSTDuPage, Wheaton College Photography, Morton Arboretum Artists' Guild, College of DuPage Print Makers, Franklin Middle School, Jericho Road, to name a few.

We are a ministry of Gary Church and maintain our existence by dedicated volunteers and donations.

For more about Anthony Trendl, please see TreeFortBooks.com or join him on Facebook.

Ten Things About Bluster County

Ten Things About Bluster County

What is Bluster County? Is it real? What will I find there? Angry elephants, living creatures in libraries, giant blue goldfish, talking butterflies, massive baseball players?

Find out here. Please share, like and Tweet. And comment. Love comments.

Editor's note: Do you know which much more famous book cover I ripped off?

Catch me on Twitter. http://twitter.com/anthonytrendl

Follow my writing on my Facebook official page (lots of fun posts/discussion/pictures/video)