In Praise of OJ Simpson

The temptation to call this entry "The Left-Handed Benefit of OJ Simpson" left quickly when I remembered my militantly left-handed grandmother. But, that's fodder for another post.

I received a great benefit from the trials and tribulations of OJ Simpson, especially the recordings of him in his more, uh, candid moments. You see, all the yelling, screaming, swearing and sounds of stuff being tossed about seem normal to me. When I listen to the recordings, my first reaction is, "yeah, and?". It strikes me that I see very few other people reacting in the same way. This confuses me. It also gives me pause because I've learned my gut, which in this case tells me to trust other people's reaction. So OJ's rantings are unusual? They've crossed some line? OJ repeatedly screaming obscenities out his car window at the prosecutor's house isn't just something people do?

Even contemplating these last phrases seem silly. Surely his behaviour (apart from accusations of burglary, etc.) isn't that out of line. He was angry and that's what people do when they're angry, right?

I have no idea where it comes from, but my ability to doubt what I know I've heard and seen is amazing. Perhaps I misunderstood people's comments. Perhaps OJ was just angry.

To friends and colleagues in Mumbai

Our prayers are with you. Please be safe.

Stress = Compromised Immune System

Although some people may be naturally more susceptible to the common cold than average a growing body of evidence suggests that the ease with which we are infected is directly related to the amount of stress in our lives. People who endure large amounts of long-term stress are more likely to become infected with a cold or flu, and suffer more from cold and flu symptoms.

Ah, so that's the reason. Given the energy it takes to produce and deal with anxiety, stress causing susceptibility to illness makes sense. Of course, the next question is: is it possible to undo?

"White Indians don't get any money."

It's what a young Cherokee girl told my young son when he told her that we have a Cherokee ancestor. He was appropriately puzzled by the response.

Undoubtedly my son looking more Swedish than Cherokee is at least part of the reason for her response. Our Cherokee ancestor is four generations back. His mother was Cherokee, his father, a white man. Born just after the turn of the last century, as a mixed-race child he was looked down upon. He was given to a white family to raise; he was not treated well, and left home as a boy to find "his people". He spent much of his youth looking for his family, white and Indian, to no avail.

The same desire for belonging the young boy sought more than a hundred years ago, his great, great, grandson still seeks. Thankfully, my son wasn't discouraged by the odd response to his attempt at friendliness and commonality with a potential friend.

Pilot blinded by stroke is guided safely to ground

Without a doubt, this is one of the most incredible things I've heard of in a long, long time. A former pilot myself, in theory this should be fairly straightforward, but I can't imagine anyone willing to try it just to test the theory. Landing at night without a landing light can be challenging enough, but with NO frame of reference save what some stranger tells you (albeit a member of the RAF), boggles the mind. For all the training pilots have in trusting their instruments, literally flying blind, having to trust one's knowledge of where everything is in the cockpit would test anyone's intestinal fortitude. Think of driving blind at 60+ miles per hour (97 kilometres per hour) and having someone guide you. Now add in that you can't just pull over and stop. Eeeek.


It occurs to me that sometimes our walk with God is like this. Mine certainly has been. At a time when my marriage was rocky, I had no friends or family to support me, and my church had just abandoned me, I felt like I was flying blind. I knew God was still in control, but I wondered if He really loved me and, if so, why I was so alone. I can imagine the pilot felt entirely alone when he found himself blind at 5,500 feet. The pilot's only way to survive was through listening to a friendly voice that would tell him things he had no way of verifying. Still, he knew the voice was of a fellow pilot who was there to help. I can't imagine, though, that there wasn't a measure of apprehension and doubt, a thought that "I can't do this". Then again, the pilot had little choice. In an interview I saw with him, he spoke of the people on the ground who might be killed if he crashed. I can't help but wonder whether that perspective isn't a certain amount of the key.