Blogcritics

Announcement: Short-content feeds

Phillip Winn — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT

Sunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding.

I Watched, and I Remembered

Donnie Marler — Thu, 29 Mar 2007 22:50:03 EDT

My great-Aunts Elsie and Elzie were, at one time, the oldest living twins in the state of Missouri. They were 93, living in a care center here in town. Their husbands long dead, the old sisters once again shared a room as they had in their youth. Full of laughter, fun, wisdom, and stories of the old days, they were a joy to visit. My Pop went to see them at least twice a week, just to make sure they were doing alright, and more importantly, to keep them in the fold of our loving extended family.My father was a huge man. He intimidated a lot of people simply by walking into the room. He didn't mean to, and he didn't like it. It bothered Daddy that people would think he was mean. He was far from mean. He was the gentlest man God ever put on this Earth. One day, as Pop and I went to visit my great-aunts, there was an old woman sitting all alone in a row of chairs in the aisle. As we passed she grabbed my father's hand and asked, "Oh, honey! Did you come to see me?"Pop looked down at this lonely old woman, smiled, and said "I sure did, hon. I've been wondering how you were?"The old woman smiled from ear to ear as my Pop sat down next to her. She held his hand and talked about her children, how she missed seeing them, and how glad she was that Pop had taken the time to come visit. I sat and listened, wondering where he knew this lady from. After they'd chatted for a half-hour of so, Pop asked me to run and tell my aunts that we would have to come back tomorrow. He had to go get ready for work. I was more than happy to go get my hugs from Elzie and Elsie. I told them where Pop was and they both smiled and said, "Bill always had a good heart."As we were pulling out of the parking lot, I asked Pop how he knew that lady? "I don't know her, son. I just didn't have it in me to tell that old woman 'no' when she asked if I had come to see her."My father looked over at me and said, "Donnie, there are few things worse than being alone in this life, son. Your aunts understood. They know I'll come see them soon. That old lady has probably sat in that aisle many a day, hoping that someone would come to see her. Can you understand that, baby?""Yes, sir. I think I do, Daddy." He smiled, winked at me, and we drove home. This story illustrates my father. A kind and gentle man with a heart of gold and the faith of a child. I've been called a gentleman a time or two in my life. It always makes me smile, and it always takes me back in my mind to the one I learned it from. I watched how my father treated people, and I remembered.

Donnie Marler hails from southern Missouri. A lover of Harley's, pool games in smoky bars, cold beer with good friends, and his kids and grandchildren. He's a free spirit that lives for the wind in his face, love, laughter, and the road less traveled.

Ninja Turtle Green

Donnie Marler — Sat, 10 Mar 2007 13:05:09 EST

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Teenage Mutan..Oh! Sorry. You caught me. I’ve had that silly song stuck in my head for the past few days. Ever since I began helping Brendan with the task of painting his room in a Ninja Turtles theme. To a four-year-old, a green, purple, red, and orange room ‘rocks,’ in his words. To a Papa, it’s the next thing to experiencing the agonies Michelangelo experienced painting the ceiling of the Sistine chapel.“Pa, I want a red ceiling with green walls, and maybe purple stripes in the corner with orange around the top!” “Given this a lot of thought haven’t you, pal?” I asked with a smile.“Yes, Pa! This is my room, and Mommy said I could paint it if you would help me. Will you help me, Pa? Pleaaseee.”He’s a hard man to turn down. “Sure buddy, I’ll help you.” The smile on his face was almost worth the task before us.I explained to my daughter that I had no intention of painting his room. I wanted him to paint it. I would be in charge of drop-clothes and cleanup. Both Brendan’s and his floor. I had already gathered a few cut off broomsticks to put his rollers on so he could reach as high as he could as he painted. I’d help him with the high stuff, mostly I’d do the corners so it would be neat, but I wanted him to actually get to paint his own room! How many four-year-olds get to do something that neat? How many Papa’s are crazy enough to help?Brendan and I went to the lumber yard to check the availability of his color choices. Oddly, purple and orange aren’t popular home decor colors! Go figure. The lady behind the counter got tickled at him when he said he needed a hundred gallons of Ninja Turtle green! “A hundred gallons might be a bit much, pal.” We started with ten gallons of green, two gallons of purple and orange, and three gallons of red. The lady just chuckled when Brendan told her he was painting his room in every Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle color. “I see that, sweetie.” He just beamed with pride.Finally, we were back at the house. Paint at the ready, rollers put together, kid in his coveralls, and the floor covered. It was time to begin. A quick lesson from Papa in the proper usage of the roller led to our first mishap.“Okay, Brendan. All you do is roll it through the paint like this, then roll the extra stuff off so it doesn’t drip. After that, you just roll it up and down!”Thwack! The roller made that sound when he stuck it to my leg. “Like this, Pa?” he asked as he painted my jeans green.“Yeah, buddy. Sort of, but let’s try it on the wall!”“Sorry, Pa. I didn’t mean to do that. I was practicing what you showed me!”“It’s okay, baby. A man will always get covered in paint when he does this anyway.”“This is really cool, Pa! Really cool.” Brendan exclaimed through a beaming smile.Suddenly, standing in a small room with gooey green paint dripping down my leg didn’t seem like such a bad thing, after all.

Drumstick or Wing?

Donnie Marler — Sat, 24 Feb 2007 12:36:08 EST

Welcome to Heartland! I hope you will enjoy these lighthearted tales of life, love, and attempting to answer the question “Why, Pa?” a hundred times a day from a curious four-year-old grandson.I chose the title of this feature for two reasons. I live in the heartland of America, and I write from my heart. The America I know and write about is not found in Washington, D.C. It’s found in the small towns, the helping hands, the ready laughter of friends, and the gentle and slow passing of days in a rural community. Most of all, it’s found in the love of a man for his family and his home.Now, it’s time to wake my grandson for school. Join me?Helping my daughter wake my grandson up in the morning is a happy chore for me. It’s a fun and gentle time that helps get his day off on the right foot without any yelling or hurrying to upset him. He will often lay in bed with his eyes closed and a little smile on his face, wondering what Pa or Mommy will do next.This morning, as he lay giggling, pretending to be asleep, I told my daughter that I was hungry for drumsticks, and Mr. B's legs looked just plump enough! Laying beside him, patting him gently on the back, I said "Hmm... drumstick or wing? It's a tough choice, Mommy. I think I'll go for the drumstick!"As I tweaked his thigh, Brendan laughed, raised his arm toward me and said, "Pa! Try the wings!""But I want a drumstick!""Pa! You can't eat me. I'm a little boy, not a turkey!""You're not a turkey?""No, Pa! I'm Mr. B!""Then why do you have a long red beard and feathers?” "I do?" Brendan whispered."Yes, I think you're a turkey."Brendan sat up in his bed just to make sure he hadn't turned into a turkey in his sleep, and hitched a piggy-back ride downstairs for breakfast. He wanted 78 pieces of bacon, but settled for six and a few slices of toast.These little games start his day with a smile, and I think I enjoy them as much as he does.