I contend, however, that the baser instincts that are alluded to in the article are the “animal” part of us. The goal, at least from a religious point of view, is to put the animal aside and become human (a saint). On the other hand, there is a certain sense about stereotypes — especially where it comes to fast recognition of danger.

When I have been introduced to people in the past, I usually end up most interested in friendship with the people that I initially am least “attracted to.” Not attracted in a boy-girl sense, but attracted in a this person looks funny or cool sense. I am attracted to the cool people, but have the most in common once I cut through the first impression with the people who have the most substance. That probably says something about me: I think I’m cool, but really I am just a garden variety dork.

Asked by openly gay judge Perez Hilton her stance on gay marriage, she answered man and woman only. Apparently (unconfirmed – just rumor on the interweb), he gave her a very low score for the answer.

The liberal blogs are having an ad hominem field day (i.e., business as normal).

I have to hand it to her. That was probably the hardest answer ever given in the Ms. USA pageant. Watching the video, you could just see the question register in her eyes — she must have know that the answer she gave wouldn’t be the popular or politically correct answer.

But it was the correct answer. Good for her.

I am really happy for her. It would be interesting to know the backstory because people just don’t learn to sing like that in the shower.

BUT… as I watched it, I couldn’t help being bothered, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Not bothered with Ms. Boyle or her performance. But bothered with the whole tenor of the show and the media attention she is now getting. It wasn’t until this morning that I identified what is bothering me has everything to do with this question:

Why is Susan Boyle such a sensation?

Her performance was good, and she is very talented. But it wasn’t a perfect performance and lacked in some subtle ways (emotional range, consistent vocal quality, and flat delivery in some parts). Don’t get me wrong, I thought is was great overall, especially considering the nerves she must have been feeling and the fact is was an audition.

When you cut through everything else, however, the reason she is a sensation has everything to do with the way she looks.

I’ll bet there were more than a handful of people who auditioned for Britain’s Got Talent that were every bit as good talent-wise as Ms. Boyle. The reason they are not a sensation today is because they look “normal.” There is an unspoken assumption that a weird, less-attractive person cannot have talent.

When we see somebody who is less attractive, admits she has never been kissed, and is quirky personality-wise, we assume she is untalented. Case in point, observe the judges reaction during the performance. They were stupefied. The non-Simon male judge admitted he thought she was going to suck. He said he had never been so surprised. Why would he be surprised that a person who is trying out for Britain’s Got Talent would actually be talented? Because the judge had already decided she wouldn’t be any good based solely on what she looked like and her quirky personality.

The Savior said: “Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment” (John 7:4). Moreover, the Savior further explained the principle when He said: “[S]ee that ye do not judge wrongfully; for with that same judgment which ye judge ye shall also be judged.” (Moroni 7:18). See also “Judge Not” and Judging.

Why should we judge a person’s worth be based solely on what the person looks like? To be fair, at least the BGT judges allowed Ms. Boyle to perform. (The cynic in me doubts the altruism, however. The producers know that the embarrassment factor draws viewers like bees to honey.)

I find this all this post performance attention incredibly condescending. She is a sensation because she is a quirky, less attractive woman (who lives with cats) that just happens to be incredibly talented. Again, the assumption being who would have ever guessed that a quirky, less attractive woman (who lives with cats) could be talented?

Dr. Laura: “And I would like to share with you the poem he included [with a book he gave to his wife].”

Me [reacting to both the fact that the dude wrote the poem, as well as having to listen to the poem]: “Oh, no…”

Dr. Laura [at the same time]: “We love it when men write poems.”

And there you have it. Men vs. Women.

BTW: If you are a dude and want to write a poem for your wife, by all means. But under no circumstances do you let is publicly see the light of day. And you have to be a total retard to send it to a person who will read it nationally unless you are a professional poet. Period.

This was the second chopper I say on this drive (incidentally, the first flew right over my car — those things are really quiet for their size). I saw this helicopter start out at sea and fly slowly inland. I thought that the stuff hanging down was some sort of cargo — and it was. People cargo. The specs by the arrow are soldiers!!

I just love sticking it to cell phone companies. (This isn’t me by the way… I would have lost it about 45 seconds into this…)

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1921. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn’t been enough money to buy me the rifle that I’d wanted so bad that year for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn’t in much of a mood to read scriptures. But Pa didn’t get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard.

"Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it’s cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn’t I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one’s feet when he’d told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn’t know what. Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn’t going to be a short, quick little job. I could tell. We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him.

The cold was already biting at me. I wasn’t happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we’ll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on. When we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood–the wood I’d spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, " what are you doing?"

"You been by the Widow Jensen’s lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I’d been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?" "I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They’re out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What’s in the little sack?" I asked. "Shoes. They’re out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn’t be Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen’s pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn’t have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn’t have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy?

Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn’t have been our concern. We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma’am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?" Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

"We brought you a few things, Ma’am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children, sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn’t come out. "We brought a load of wood too, Ma’am," Pa said, then he turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for a while. Let’s get that fire up to size and heat this place up." I wasn’t the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn’t speak.

My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my soul that I’d never known Before. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people. I soon had the fire blazing and everyone’s spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn’t crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his children to spare us." In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I’d never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth, save One.

Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn’t want us to go. I could see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I still had mine. At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We’ll be by to get you about eleven. It’ll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt here, hasn’t been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older brothers and two older sisters were all married and had moved away. Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don’t have to say, "’May the Lord bless you,’ I know for certain that He will." Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn’t even notice the cold.

When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn’t have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand." I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen’s face and the radiant smiles of her three children.

For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life .

His wife had been on his case to get the Christmas lights up for a couple of weeks.

They are up now and for some reason she will not talk to him – go figure.

A government report that found old-fashioned reusable nappies damage the environment more than disposables has been hushed up because ministers are embarrassed by its findings.

…

The report found that using washable nappies, hailed by councils throughout Britain as a key way of saving the planet, have a higher carbon footprint than their disposable equivalents unless parents adopt an extreme approach to laundering them.

To reduce the impact of cloth nappies on climate change parents would have to hang wet nappies out to dry all year round, keep them for years for use on younger children, and make sure the water in their washing machines does not exceed 60C.

This just goes to show that what is best for the environment isn’t always what requires the most effort.