Bittersweet Fathers Day

Happy Fathers Day to all of you readers who are dads. It's an old cliche, but one that still holds a ton of truth. Being a father is the most important job in the world.

Few of us ever read a book about parenting. That's a shame, because it is not a job that comes instinctively. I know this from experience (contact my children for confirmation) and if you are a father, I bet you do too. It's a job you learn from experience and the older you get, the more holes you find in your game.

Sometimes, the template we use is the one our own fathers used. Sometimes, the template we use is the very opposite one our fathers used. We learn from their mistakes.

Then we make our own mistakes; mistakes so egregious they make our fathers recoil in embarrassment at the psychological and emotional damage we caused their grandchildren. That's life. I mean, that's how it all works. They screwed us up and we screw our kids up. What a neat little package it all is! Everyone has someone to blame for their lives of woe and regrets: our dads.

Thank God for fathers! Without them we'd all have to look in the mirror and be accountable for our own actions. Who wants to do THAT??!! The blame game is easier.

My father is far from perfect. He commands a room as if he is the only person with a tongue in his mouth; the only one capable of an original thought. If you try to hold a two-way conversation with him, he ignores you and plows right past you. I like to think this has made me a better listener than my dad ever was, but I am fairly certain this genetic tic has been incorporated into my own DNA and my kids feel as I won't ever shut up in public either.

My Dad is the original Pigpen. His car looks like the bottom of a dumpster the day after the circus has left town. Tiny clouds of flotsam and debris seem to follow him around like fleas clinging to the back of a coon dog. When I get into my school office, or the small room at home where I do my writing, I see the blueprint of my father's chaos all around me. Piles of compact discs stacked on piles of books, stacked on compact disc containers. I could find you "Kind of Blue" by Miles Davis in 15 seconds if you asked, but don't ask me how. My life is a mess.

This is a disease I inherited from my father. God damn him. God bless him. Which is it? I cannot say for sure. Am I blessed or cursed with a lifetime of his "ability" to be inherently disorganized and organized at the same time? I never asked for this twisted personality trait. Surely it is all his fault.

I envy friends whose homes are free of clutter. They seem to reside in a state of perpetual grace and godly neatness. Their residences are testimony to a higher realm of consciousness. Why can't my home look like their's? It must be my father's fault.

Dad was admitted to Chester County Hospital on Friday. He had been complaining to me for at least 10 days about stomach pains and loose stools. After a week of his complaining, and taking some over-the-counter medicine that didn't solve the issue, I told him to see a doctor. He finally made an appointment to see a doctor last week and was scheduled to get a CAT scan of his troublesome stomach tomorrow.

When the stomach pains persisted all day Friday and seemed to grow worse, my father thought he must be having an appendicitis. If only the prognosis were that simple. After waiting around the hospital for four or five hours, the CAT scan and a physical exam of his abdomen revealed a tumor the size of a baseball.

My dad has cancer of the large intestines and the CAT scan revealed it may have spread to other organs in his body.

Doctors will take the tumor tomorrow at noon. But in the meantime, this Fathers Day has been bittersweet to say the least. He's had a steady stream of family members and friends come visit him in Chester County Hospital most of the day. I saw flowers there from my sister and at least four or five Fathers Day cards on the serving tray next to his bed.

For someone having a lethal tumor removed from his belly at noon tomorrow, my father was in high spirits. He'd been given a pain killer that had taken away the abdominal stress. He was teasing the nurses and commanding the room as usual. But it was hard to think about the long-term prognosis or to imagine all the suffering his 84 year old body faces for the next month if he opts to fight the spreading cancer for the sake of seeing his wife and children and grandchildren for another six or nine months.

Thanks, Dad. You really know how to take the fun out of a day dedicated to celebrating all you did for us.

None of us would be here to enjoy it without you. And none of us are ready to admit this might be the last one we get to spend with you.

So we'll try to soak up every minute we can, feeling the knots in our stomachs that we might not get to have time with you next year on Fathers Day.

And so, dear reader, should you. If your fathers are still alive, be sure they know how much you appreciate all they did to screw you up.

That's what fathers do best. God bless 'em. Especially mine. Kick that tumor's ass, Dad. We'd all like to have something to complain about next year, too.

Mid year pop music report

It's that time of the year again. Time to make some mid-year recommendations to friends and readers of music worth hearing. If you remain curious to know new music, these are some CDs that have been getting repeated play in my CD changer at home.

Some of these -- Okkervil River, the Decemberists, the Antlers and tUnE-yArD -- all are likely to be ranked somewhere on my "best of the year" list come mid-December. All of these discs are worth hearing if you love music as much as my geeky friends do.

I've listed them alphabetically, to avoid inducing prejudices. Seek them out and give them a spin! Summer is a great time of the year to hear live music and for listening to songs cranked up in the car.

Burst Apart, the Antlers. What are they putting in the drinking water in Brooklyn? This is the first of two bands who claim Brooklyn as home on the mid-year list. The Antlers drew critical raves for their thematically linked song-cycle Hospice back in 2009, a death bed narrative about an abravive cancer patient who falls in love with her nurse. Burst Apart, mercifully, is not as maudlin as that effort but still keeps the lo-fi home-made aesthetics in place. Songwriter Peter Silberman has a lighter touch this time around on songs like "I Don't Want Love" and "French Exit." Well worth finding.



Birds & Drums, the Bewitched Hands. This 6-piece band from Reims, France wowed audiences at the South by Southwest Festival in Austin back in March. Because they sing their lyrics in English, they seem intent on cracking the U.S. indie rock scene. They cover a gamut of styles on Birds & Drums, their initial full-length release on Sony, a sign that they haven't found a signature sound yet. Don't let that stop you from checking them out. The title track is a saccarine pop tune that seems to emulate the Cowsills. "Work" has elements of anthemic rock. "Hard to Cry", the first single, is a swirling pop tune with Feist-worthy vocals. Something for everyone!


The King is Dead, the Decemberists. Colin Meloy says he's hanging up his band director's shoes after this final CD with the Decemberists. I guess that remains to be seen. One can hope not, because this one might be their best effort yet. The band is playing the Academy of Music on June 15th and the show has been sold out for months. If they showcase this terrific collection of radio-friendly folk-rock tunes, they'll make lots of locals very happy. On the back of the new CD, the band is pictured with an array of acoustic mountain music instruments: accordian, banjo, autoharp and two guitars, one with just four strings. If this is a sly reference to The Band, it's appropriate. "Calamity Song" is one tune that will bring the house down all summer, a knowing apocalyptic smile at Harold Camping's End Timers.



Helplessness Blues, the Fleet Foxes. I haven't warmed up to this one as much as my 25 year old son has. But I am confident it will grow on me as the year goes on. The critics have been kinder than kind to the Fleet Foxes. This latest effort seems, on first listen, to be plowing the same fertile ground as the band's eponymous first full-length album. It sounds like a mix of the lush orchestral pop of the Beach Boys with a dash of British folk like the Strawbs and Fairport Convention tossed in. I don't hear anything as arresting as "White Winter Hymnal" on this new CD, but the band's hallmark fingerprints -- those lush four-part vocal harmonies -- are all over this record too. Tracks to download include "Bedouin Dress" and "Lorelie."




Eye Contact, Gang Gang Dance. Brooklyn's Gang Gang Dance specializes in experimental rock that takes its cues from Brian Eno. If you like electronica or Eno's ambient and atmospheric music, you'll dig this effort. Most of the tracts are jams that go on for six to eight minutes and create soundscapes that work as well on the dancefloor as they do on your headphones. "Glass Jar", the CD's 11 minute opening opus, and "Romance Layers" are tunes for the Ipod. Adventurous souls can catch their act at Johnny Brenda's on Wednesday, July 20th.



Smart Flesh, the Low Anthem. When I caught their gig at a WXPN Free At Noon show four or five weeks ago, it became immediately obvious the Low Anthem are not your average banjo-stumming folk band. They are drawn to instruments that give their sound an old time gospel flavor: a pump organ, hammer dulcimer, acoustic guitars and fiddles were all on stage. One of the musicians used a fiddle bow to elicit eerie sounds from both a wood saw and a banjo. They recorded Smart Flesh in an abandoned pasta sauce factory in Rhode Island and the album has a ambling openness that feels drawn from the building. The Low Anthem makes folk music feel fresh.



Middle Brother, Middle Brother. On paper, it sounds like an idea that's guaranteed to create problems. Take three guys who front their own indie rock bands and mash them together to form their own group. That's exactly what John McCauley (Deertick), Taylor Goldsmith (Dawes) and Matt Vasquez (Delta Spirit) were asked to consider. Middle Brother, an uproarious mash-up of alt-country and punk rock, is the end result. With sonic tips of the hat to Neil Young, Robbie Robertson and Bob Dylan, this CD will appeal to your inner hippie. The best cuts include "Blue Eyes", "Portland" and a two rollicking back to back rave-ups "Me, Me, Me" and "Someday".



I Am Very Far, Okkervil River. Will Sheff's best songs plumb the depths of human loss and depravity. He is the Edgar Allen Poe of indie rock. No one makes more compelling modern American music. Sheff's songs, so full of the flinty flash of sharp knives dipping into ripped and torn flesh, can haunt you for days. The new record skirts beneath the surface into a dreamscape of revelations and nighmares. Mysterious, austere and powerful. Check out the YouTube performance of "The Rider" from David Letterman's May 13th show and you'll see a band primed to grab the audience by the throat and never let go. If you don't know them yet, you soon will. Okkervil River's The Stage Names was my favorite CD of the last decade. This new one may be as good.



So Beautiful, or So What, Paul Simon. Just as Bob Dylan made Time Out of Mind when he was contemplating the end, Simon has made this great album, So Beautiful. Heralded by the critics as his best since Graceland, this new album of songs has Graceland's gospel/world music vibe. Lyrically the songs investigate the fertile themes of religious faith, death and the afterlife, love gained and love lost. From the jaunty joyfulness of the opening tract, "Getting Ready for Christmas Day", to the shimmering afro-pop of the disc's finale, the title tune, this is a welcome return to form for Simon.


Whokill, tUnE-yArDs. How does something like tUnE-yArDs (yes, the misplaced uppercase letters are purposeful) happen? Merril Garbus is a name to remember. Garbus makes noise-pop with a worldbeat bent. She tosses jazz, hip-hop, R&B and folk into the mix in what the All-Music Guide calls "fascinating collisions that are as melodic as they are abrasive, and as globally minded as they are distinctly urban." Songs to here include “Gangsta”, a brassy tune topped of with sirens and “Bizness” a nod to the Afro-pop of Fela Kuti and Congotronics. Whokill is the soul record of the year so far, sung and written by an American white girl who sounds like she was raised on the streets of Kinshasha. Check out this live performance of the band's "Bizness" here, recording in the studios of FM station KEXP in Seattle.

http://www.pitchfork.com/news/42824-watch-tune-yards-on-kexp/

Yuck, Yuck. Yuck is no joke. This one is pure pop for now people. Feel the power of the 3-chord guitar riff backed by distortion. Listen to that nasty snarl! Makes you glad AC/DC left their hard rock formula around for these young Londoners to emulate. The perfect graduation present to that whipsmart prepster who thinks his dad's taste in music got stuck in 1985. Crank up the second cut, "The Wall" and watch his graduation party turn into a suburban exodus. Isn't that what makes memories!? Garage rock for muscle cars.

Pop culture alert: Okkervil River is about to conquer the world

I'll admit, the subject title of my blog today is far too subjective; entirely open to accusations of hyperbole. Unless you know the band. Then you just shrug your shoulders and say, "yeah, so what else is new?"

Fronted by one of the best songwriters working today, Will Sheff, Okkervil River is playing two gigs in Philadelphia tomorrow, June 3rd. They will be performing at WXPN's weekly "Free at Noon" show on at the station's World Cafe studios down on Walnut Street. Later that evening they'll perform at the Trocodero on Arch Street with Titus Andronicus, an up and coming rock band from Glen Rock, N.J. whose album, "The Moniter" made a lot of critics' best of the year lists in 2010.

Sheff's vocal style of singing puts some listeners off. Some folks don't like his over-the-top delivery or the way his most emotional songs seem to climb into the mind of homicidal psychopaths, intent on getting blood on their hands. Too creepy. Others don't like the way he seems to imitate the worst traits of 1950s crooners like Perry Como and Bobby Darin. Too lame, too retro.

I can't help myself. The guy fronts one of the best bands in the country and he commits himself to his performances like very few other front men will. His on-stage persona is enthralling: a tall, a loose-limbed imitation of Ray Davies in his heyday with the Kinks. Ray Davies is a great songwriter. Will Sheff may be regarded as his equal before his career is done.

If you don't know Okkervil River, this is an opportunity to discover one of the nation's best indy rock bands. Tickets are still available. The link below will give you a taste, his performace of his latest single, "Rider" that closed David Letterman's show on Friday, May 13th.



I Am Very Far, the band's new CD, is getting critical raves and is sure to be near the top of a lot of critics "best of the year" lists, including my own. The new single from the CD, "Rider" is my favorite song of the year so far. You can catch a glimpse of Sheff performing the song on Letterman's show from Friday the 13th at the link below.

If this doesn't impress you, you've probably been listening to Lady Gago too much this month.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Uyel9EMFlI

Celebrating Bob Dylan: happy 70th birthday, Bob!

Bob Dylan turns 70 tomorrow, May 24th.

It's impossible to accurately measure Dylan's artistic achievements of the last 50 years or to overestimate his place in America's history. One could make an argument that he is the nation's preeminent artist, living or dead.

I won't try to do that here, but when he finally passes, you can be sure a lot of newspaper pundits will make that claim with confidence and no small justification. His artistic achievements go far beyond most of the great American writers you can think of off the top of your head: Hawthorne, Hemingway, Faulkner and Frost. Maybe even Mark Twain.

In some ways he is more like a Russian novelist than an American pop star. Along with the Beatles, Muhammad Ali and Mahatma Gandhi, he may be one of the most widely recognized icons of the 20th century.

He certainly belongs on any Mount Rushmore of American musicians. The debate would be who to put next to his visage on the side of the mountain. Armstrong? Guthrie? Sinatra? Presley? Springsteen? You get the point. He belongs among the greatest of the great. His influence on popular culture is inestimable.

Considering that Dylan has never been known as a very fine singer, this is not just a major achievement, it's an incredible achievement. We tend to value the singer more than the song. But Dylan's production as a songwriter is so outstanding, and his artistic vision so expansive, he seems likely to be nominated for the Nobel Prize in literature before too long.

He writes with keen passion and worldly, hard-won wisdom about life's big topics: religion and politics; love and war; race and finance. His best songs paint vivid pictures of smalltown snapshot moments but he can offer biting commentary on the most significant, historic movements and disasters, too.

Philadelphia's WXPN will be playing a list of 70 Dylan songs tomorrow to celebrate his birthday. I have no idea how many of my favorites, listed below, will be on the WXPN playlist. I feel sure I will hear this from more than a few friends: "how could you forget THAT one!?!"

A couple of years ago I was gathered with my son, Luke, and several of his friends and we all decided to jot down our favorite ten Dylan songs. There were five of us and out of the 50 total songs we compiled, only four or five songs were on someone else's list. We spent the rest of the evening marveling at one another's choices and wondering how we could have been so clueless and forgetful.

It's a daunting task. Try for yourself! Good luck! I had to get my collection of Dylan CDs out to help me put the list together.

1. Like a Rolling Stone (Highway 61 Revisited), 1965
2. Masters of War (The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan), 1963
3. Tangled Up in Blue (Blood on the Tracks), 1975
4. Desolation Row, (Highway 61 Revisited)
5. Just Like a Woman, (Blonde on Blonde), 1966
6. Maggie's Farm, (Bringing It All Back Home), 1965
7. Ballad of a Thin Man, (Highway 61 Revisited)
8. Mississippi, (Love and Theft), 2001
9. The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll (The Times They Are a-Changin'), 1964
10. It Ain't Me Babe, (Another Side of Bob Dylan), 1964

11. All Along the Watchtower, (John Wesley Harding), 1967
12. Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands, (Blonde on Blonde)
13. This Wheel's on Fire, (The Basement Tapes), 1975
14. Don't Think Twice, It's All Right, (The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan)
15. Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts, (Blood on the Tracks)
16. My Back Pages, (Another Side of Bob Dylan), 1964
17. Hurricane, (Desire), 1976
18. Lay Lady Lay, (Nashville Skyline), 1969
19. A Hard Rain is Gonna Fall, (Freewheelin')
20. All I Really Want to Do, (Another Side of Bob Dylan)













21. Every Grain of Sand, (Shot of Love), 1981
22. Chimes of Freedom, (Another Side of Bob Dylan)
23. It's Alright Ma, I'm Only Bleedin', (Bringing It All Back Home)
24. Queen Jane Approximately, (Highway 61 Revisted), 1966
25. Knocking on Heaven's Door, (The Ballad of Billy the Kid), 1976
26. Positively 4th Street, (Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits), 1967
27. To Be Alone With You, (Nashville Skyline)
28. Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again,(Blonde on Blonde)
29. Blowin' in the Wind, (Freewheelin')
30. Visions of Johanna, (Blonde on Blonde)

31. High Water (for Charlie Patton), (Love and Theft)
32. Quinn the Eskimo, (Self-Portrait), 1972
33. Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You, (Nashville Skyline)
34. Red River Shore, (Telltale Signs), 2008
35. Mr. Tambourine Man, (Bringing It All Back Home)
36. Idiot Wind, (Blood On the Tracks)
37. Clothes Line Saga, (The Basement Tapes)
38. Absolutely Sweet Marie, (Blonde on Blonde)
39. I Threw It All Away, (Nashville Skyline)
40. It Takes a Train to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry (Highway 61 Revisited)

41. Dear Landlord, (John Wesley Harding)
42. Love Minus Zero/No Limit, (Bringing It All Back Home)
43. The Times They Are a Changing', (The Times They Are a Changing')
44. Most of the Time, (Oh Mercy), 1989
45. If Not For You, (New Morning), 1970
46. Shelter From the Storm, (Blood On the Tracks)
47. Subterranean Homesick Blues, (Bringing It All Back Home)
48. I Shall Be Released, (The Bootleg Series, vol. 2), 1991
49. Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat, (Blonde on Blonde)
50. It's All Over Now, Baby Blue, (Bringing It All Back Home)








51. Romance In Durango, (Desire)
52. Po' boy, (Love and Theft)
53. Jokerman, (Infidels), 1983
54. With God On Our Side (The Times They are a Changin')
55. Tryin' to Get to Heaven, (Times Out of Mind)
56. Mozambique, (Desire)
57. Catfish, (The Bootleg Series, Vol. 3), 1991
58. Please Mrs. Henry, (The Basement Tapes)
59. Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues, (Highway 61 Revisited)
60. I Pity the Poor Immigrant, (John Wesley Harding)

61. She Belongs to Me, (Bringing It All Back Home)
62. Ain't Talkin', (Modern Times)
63. Everything Is Broken, (Oh Mercy)
64. From A Buick Six, ( (Highway 61 Revisited)
65. I Want You, (Blonde On Blonde)
66. Girl From the North Country, (Nashville Skyline)
67. 'Til I Fell in Love With You, (Time Out of Mind)
68. If You Gotta Go, Go Now (Bootleg Series, Vol. 2)
69. Million dollar Bash (The Basement Tapes)
70. Not Dark Yet, (Time Out of Mind)

Thank you Harold Camping, for reminding us

I was awakened this morning by some small brown finches singing a delicate and delightful song outside my bedroom window around 5:30 a.m.

Normally, I might shut my bedroom window and complain about the racket, but this morning I lay in bed listening closely to the birds chattering about their day. It was nice to hear their indifference to the End Times countdown that Harold Camping, a radio preacher from California, foisted on humanity for the last six months.

I knew, when birdsong woke me, that the day was as routine as any other spring day; that the world had not ended, and that we had a lot to be thankful for. The long-awaited Second Coming of Jesus Christ and the End of the World would not be happening today.

There would be great disappointment among Camping's followers. For sure, they could feel let down and deceived; again. They will be embarrassed and subjected to ridicule and finger-pointing. I hope they can take the ribbing in stride. I find their faith in Camping stirring and, although misguided, their belief in the immanent return of the Christ inspirational.

It is good for the rest of us to remember that End Timers are not wishing damnation on the rest of humanity (although that is a subtext of their message that we all need be wary of). They are awaiting the salvation of humankind and a glorious reign of the king's peace on Earth for 1,000 years.

In this era of our endless wars, their fervor for the end of the world should be seen as both hopelessly naive and wonderfully optimistic. You can understand, living in a broken world such as ours, that such a simple solution to our global problems and worries as the return of Jesus Christ has appeal.

Camping's track record was suspect from the very beginning. He made the same claim in 1994, thus matching William Miller's ineptitude at deciphering the mysteries of St. John's Revelation and prognosticating Christ's return. But we all have a lot to thank him for. If he didn't fill us with trepidation, at least he made us appreciate all that life has to offer, especially the small things like the birdsong of finches.

His misguided mistake and failure as a prophet should remind all of us of lessons we constantly forget and of daily pleasures we frequently take for granted. The world has not ended. Let us rejoice! And let us commit ourselves to its preservation and recognize God has asked us to be stewards of the Earth, that it is our only home, and that we have a responsibility to our children and their children to keep it clean and habitable.

This day, in which the world did not end, should renew our sense of obligation to be better stewards and to find ways to negiotate our most fervant religious convictions with others who do not share them. No one knows how or when or even if the end will come. We should do everything in our power to make sure the end never comes. I believe with my whole heart that is what Christ himself would ask of us.

I say that as a Christian, one who believes the Apocalypse should never happen and who who yearns to know the mind of Muslims and Jews and Buddhists and Hindus in their understanding and appreciation of God and the world God has given us.

So today, of all days, be glad and give praise. Listen carefully to what the finches have to say. Smell the flowers. See the majesty of the mountains or take a walk on the beach. Hug your children. Cut the grass or wash your car. Be glad and soak up all of it.

Rejoice! The world has not ended!

And say a small prayer of thanks to Harold Camping for reminding us of all we might have lost.

End of the World mix tape

In the spirit of tomorrow, and Harold Camping's prediction that the world will end on May 21,2011, let's see if we can come up with a definitive list of End of the World songs. I humbly suggest you pull these out and play them in your CD player while you're driving to your "final resting place" destination!

Here are some for your consideration:

1) "The End," the Doors, the Beatles, your choice!

2) "All Along the Watchtower" Dylan/Hendrix, take your pic

3) "Until the End of the World," U2

4) "The Man Comes Around," Johnny Cash

5) "Earth Dies Screaming," Tom Waits

6) "Revelator" Gillian Welch

7) "Resolution" or "Ascent", John Coltrane, pic 'em!

8) "Waiting For the End of the World," Elvis Costello

9) "Wheels on Fire," The Band

10) "1999," Prince.

Nearly made the cut: "The Beast In Me" or "The Hurt", Johnny Cash; "Rapture", Blondie; "It's the End of the World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine)", R.E.M.; "Man of Peace," Bob Dylan; "Four Horsemen" or "London Calling", the Clash; "Jesus Is Just All Right," The Byrds; "Peace In the Valley," Elvis Presley; "Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground," Blind Willie Johnson; "The Future," Leonard Cohen.

Put your thinking caps on!!

http://news.yahoo.com/s/yblog_localsjc/20110519/ts_yblog_localsjc/end-of-the-world-believers-try-to-persuade-skeptics?bouchon=504,pa

Less than one week to make amends!

Allison Warden poses with her car showing a message about the Rapture. Warden, 29, has been helping organize a campaign using billboards, postcards and other media in cities across the U.S.


Are you enjoying life these days?

Hope so!

Because you don't have much time to dig in and grab life by the proverbial horns!

If you are a Bible thumping True Believer who listens to California radio preacher, Harold Camping, this is old hat to you. You've already cashed in your stock portfolio, purchased your ring side seat to the Battle of Armageddon and booked your flight to Jerusalem.

By Camping's careful calculations, the long awaited return of Jesus Christ will take place on Saturday, May 21st.

I am not sure if all Hell will break loose, as St. John's Revelation advises, or if those closest to God will be raptured out of their beds, cars or airline seats and miss the final dust-up between the Forces of Good and Satan's minions on a dusty, desert floor outside Jerusalem.

But it's worth noting, and raising an irreverent Victory HopDevil, that this is just the latest prediction in a long line of (failed) predictions that the End of the World is at hand.

Why make a fuss? Good question. Especially since this same End Times prognosticator published a book with the very same prediction 17 years ago called 1994?

He was wrong then.

He'll be wrong again on Saturday.

And if you think me impertinent or imprudent for saying so, please send me $1 immediately. I'd be willing to give you 1000 to one odds Camping is wrong again!

(....although if he happens to kick off on Saturday, I will gladly return your $1 to you, because that would be a pretty remarkable coincidence!).

I have no doubt if Camping is correct, and I lose my bets to the True Believers, they'll come hunting me on Sunday morning in the sixth circle of Hades, demanding I pay up. (If you read Dante's Inferno, you'll find that the sixth circle of hell is reserved for skeptics such as myself. Josef Stalin, Adolf Hitler, Osama bin Laden and Karl Rove will be the quartet playing AC/DC heavy metal riffs down in in the basement).

Why make fun of all of this? The End of the World ought to be serious business, should it not??

I couldn't agree with you more. But hear me out please. I'll tell you why.

Logic resists the idea that the world will end for numerous reasons. One would think the Good Lord would like us to use the brains (S)he gave us.

Here are a few of the most obvious reasons that bear some meditation.

1) Jesus will not return as an Avenging Warrior because that's not who he was, who he said he was, or what he stood for. Jesus was a pacifist. He ministered to the poor and befriended prostitutes. He healed lepers. He had no interest in winning a military victory for Israel because he knew his reward would not come on Earth.

2) Jesus told his disciples to "love your enemies" and to "turn the other cheek" when they were struck. When his disciples heard this message, in the Sermon on the Mount, they asked him, with no small wonderment, how many times they were supposed to allow themselves to be struck by their enemies: seven times? Jesus told them "No. 70 times 7 times." This is not humanly possible. When we are attacked, every fiber in our body demands retribution. We fight back. It's what people do. Our survival instinct kicks in. Darwin called it "survival of the fittest." (This incredible utterance by Jesus, the greatest paradigm shift in the history of the world, strikes me as a rational argument for his divinity. No mere human would promulgate such a notion and try to pass it off as morality.)

3) The world is in a very sorry state, to be sure, but the Chinese are too smart to take the Pakistanis at their word that America really is
the Great Satan or that President Obama is the Anti-Christ. They have no intention to lead the charge to Jerusalem with their standing army of 200 million. (I have to admit that that 200 million figure, first noted by Hal Lindsay in his apocalyptic bestseller The Late Great Planet Earth is pretty frightening, but I stand by my skepticism and by the inherent intelligence of the Chinese. They won't attack Israel on Saturday).

4) The Bible itself warns readers not to make predictions about the End of Time because no man can possess such knowledge and Jesus's own followers believed he could come back within their lifetimes. If he did (this is open to debate) he didn't return the way John predicted he would.

5) Camping's 1994? prediction was wrong 17 years ago. What the heck!!! We should believe him now? William Miller tried this in 1843 and it turned him into the biggest practical joker of the 19th century. Why Camping would risk another such Great Disappointment and the attendant ridicule that will surely follow him to the grave is beyond me.

Locusts lie buried in the Earth for that long and then take shed their horrid skins, take flight and chew down acres and acres of healthy crops. That's a working definition of apocalyptic.

Some radio preacher merely telling us to believe him again is not.

So, enjoy your Saturday. Take a nap. Watch the Phillies.

Wash your car. It probably needs it and you may want to resell it some day.

Whatever you do, DON'T donate it just yet to the Salvation Army.