Originality is the fine art of remembering what you hear but forgetting where you heard it.

— Dr. Laurence J. Peter

You know, it amazes me sometimes how long illnesses can hold on long after their time has run out.  I’ve been dealing with this head cold since early last week, yet I’m still hacking up lungs on a daily basis and blowing my brains out through my sinus cavities so regularly that my nose now resembles the distressing byproduct of a power sander.  I feel generally well, although coughing and sneezing and the runny nose continue to vex me with headaches and overall fatigue — the latter most likely caused by frustration and being awake at all hours of the night nursing my schnoz.  Even Rick mentioned this morning while we sat at Starbucks that I still sounded terrible and that the Bozo accoutrement I had on my face was surely out of style.  Haven’t I done my time and don’t I deserve a break now?  I’m thankful that I don’t feel sick anymore, but I’d appreciate also getting rid of the symptoms.  Today, perhaps?

We opened the garage door and walked out to stand on the driveway.  Only a few short hours before, the sky had been clear and blue as far as one could see, yet now dark cumulus clouds gathered on the horizon and expanded in our direction fueled by the afternoon heat.  Although no thunderstorms had yet formed, the air was thick with humidity and the smell of tempests to come.

Derek looked at me inquisitively as he lit his cigarette.  After taking a long drag from it, and while it dangled from his lips as smoke wisped silently from between them, he asked, “Is it supposed to rain?”

Only minutes before I had completed checking the weather details at NOAA.  Coincidences abound, I figured, and his question was timely.  I briefly looked up at the sky and turned to the west where gathering giants indicated a distinct possibility.  As an avid and amateur weather buff, he knew I would be up to date on the chances of precipitation as well as the details of what was happening in our neck of the climatological neighborhood.

“There’s a dry line west of us and a lot of instability from the heat,” I responded.  “Although we’ve had a temperature inversion over us — you know, the Mexican Plume — it seems to have weakened.”

I paused momentarily and sipped from my beer.  The wind blowing around us was warm and only a fraction less uncomfortable than the ominous wetness of the air that was like standing in a hot cup of tea.  With my adult beverage held firmly in my hand, I wiped the sleeve of my tee shirt across my brow to sop up some of the sweat now dripping over my entire form.  I completed the motion with yet another sip from the dark ale that seemed much warmer now than just a few minutes before.

Derek remained silent during this maneuver.  There was no doubt his sharp intellect realized a strategic pause deserved respect should one stumble upon it.  I was peripherally aware of him lifting the cigarette to his lips and slowly drawing on the filter, a movement to which he was completely unaware, before dropping it again to his side as he exhaled the smoke with great enjoyment.

I lowered the bottle from my lips and continued.  “If I remember correctly, there’s a surface low pushing toward us that will drag the dry line and a cool front with it.  We’ll be right in the middle of a trifecta, so to speak, and there’s obviously plenty of heat and moisture to work with.”

He followed my gaze toward the west, the direction from which this supposed attack would surely progress, and both of us recognized the increase in cumulus clouds in both number and size, and there on the horizon of trees and buildings in a position ever nearer to us stood rapidly developing cumulonimbi with dark power welling up within them.  I immediately knew the sight as that of a severe thunderstorm developing, something we certainly were familiar with here in the middle of Tornado Alley.

“Well—”

I immediately interrupted.  “Any storms that develop could rapidly become severe.  The atmosphere is ripe with support for it.”

For only a second, he looked as though someone had hit him with a two-by-four.  It was a dazed look.  I know he was not confused.  That would be very much unlike him.  It was instead an unspoken question that required a response.

“If the timing is right, severe thunderstorms will form near us.”  I gestured my head in the direction toward which we both now looked.  “But they’ll only help if they develop west of here.  Otherwise, they’ll move too quickly toward the northeast and will miss us.”

I brought the beer to my lips yet again and swallowed fully from its contents.  Yuck.  It was definitely getting warmer.  With only a few gulps left in the bottom, I decided not to let it get any worse.  I lifted the bottle upright and let the taste wash over my tongue.  Yum.  That feels better, even if it was a tad too common in temperature.

The bottle fell to my side as my arm went limp with sudden disinterest.  Then, I supposed, I needed to go inside and get another one.  I had no interest in moving, however, and felt most comfortable standing here watching the weather take shape, a translation of the possible into the probable.  The corner of my eye suddenly became aware of Derek turning to look at me.

I could in no way deny knowing precisely his mood by the smirk that enveloped his face.  How I loved that wit of his, the sarcasm that would pour forth at all the right moments.  After another quick drag on the cigarette, he dryly asked, “So, is it supposed to rain?”

Radical Christian elements recently held a conference to discuss the “War on Christians” by secular forces in America whom they believe to be out to get them.  This, of course, coming from the same people who have declared war on evolution and, more importantly, science in general, on freedom of and from religion, on homosexuals, on Muslims…  Shall I go on?

They ignorantly asked Tom DeLay, a cynic and criminal in his own way, to speak at the convention.  His speech focused on asking radical religious groups to stay on the attack against those hostile to their dominance in American society, groups which I might add are mainly focused on trying to keep Christians at bay lest they themselves fall prey to the religion’s unending and inhumane attacks on civility, equality, tolerance, truth, and liberty itself.

What conference goers failed to realize while listening to DeLay’s diatribe is that he is a hypocrite who sees their entire movement as a patsy for his own political maneuvering.

“We have been chosen to live as Christians at a time when our culture is being poisoned and our world is being threatened,” Mr. DeLay told the crowd. “The enemies of virtue may be on the march, but they have not won.”

“Enemies of virtue”?  Bah.  How disgusting considering the truth of Mr. Delay’s religious support.

But lest the faithful prematurely canonize Mr. DeLay as a martyr for the faith, they should consider how Team DeLay, with its paladins of public piety, has specifically manipulated sincere Christians for personal gain.

Take Edwin Buckham, a Washington lobbyist who once served as Mr. DeLay’s chief of staff and personal pastor. The Washington Post reported this week that Mr. Buckham received more than a third of all the money collected by the U.S. Family Network, a nonprofit organization he set up as a DeLay staffer. Mr. DeLay promoted the organization as a national grass-roots group engaged in pro-family activism on Capitol Hill. In fact, records indicate that USFN was a front that took in millions, mostly from clients of felonious lobbyist Jack Abramoff, and lavished the largesse heavily on Mr. Buckham and his wife.

Or take former top DeLay aide Michael Scanlon, who pleaded guilty to corruption charges in the Abramoff scandal. In an e-mail released by a Senate committee, Mr. Scanlon discusses how his clients can use the gullibility of Christians to their own advantage: “The wackos get their information through the Christian right, Christian radio, mail, the Internet and telephone trees. … Simply put, we want to bring out the wackos to vote against something and make sure the rest of the public lets the whole thing slip past them.”

There should be no doubt in your mind that I very much dislike Christianity and, less specifically, mindful following of any religious belief that tries to override common sense and decency with archaic moral values now tens of centuries out of date.  Another reason I specifically dislike Christianity, besides the fact that I am for many reasons among their favorite targets for hatred and bigotry and violence, is that they so easily fall prey to manipulation by those who use the faith’s wanton prejudices against its followers with increasing success.

In this case, they invited DeLay to talk at their little conference and looked to him as representation of the best they have to offer.

The Texas evangelist who organized the conference likened Mr. DeLay’s legal and ethical woes to – wait for it – the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.

Think about: the man uses them for his personal gain and tosses them aside on a whim, violates their basic tenets of honesty and sincerity, steals from them, acts unethically and illegally, yet they follow him blindly and ask that he lead their battle against the forces working only to defend people from misguided religious zealotry.  They liken him to the very god they claim to follow and emulate.  By doing so, they hold him up in esteem reserved only for the very best they have to offer.  And he’s blatantly and publicly using them.

Pardon me while I go vomit.