Bill Nye, the ideology guy

My boys loved Bill Nye when they were little. Truth be told, I loved Bill Nye. How could you not love a goofy guy who made you hungry for science.

But that was then, and this is now. Bill has bounded out of the realm of science into philosophy, and not content with philosophy, he has donned the mantle of authority when it comes to how parents should train up their children.

Mr. Nye is a staunch evolutionist. In a recent video titled "Creationism is not appropriate for children," he said that when you ignore evolution"your worldview becomes crazy, untenable, itself inconsistent (1)." Honestly, most creationists think the same thing about an evolutionary worldview. Crazy. Untenable. Inconsistent. Fantasy.

Yet, despite incessant indoctrination from kindergarten through post-graduate studies, 46% of Americans remain young earth creationists according to a recent Gallup poll. Thirty-two percent believe God used evolution and only 15% believe (interesting word) in atheistic evolution. For that large a swath of the American fabric to still hold to a six-day creation, there must be something more substantial, more evidential to cling to than a fairy tale.

Mr. Nye doesn't think so and lets the insults fly:

"I say to the grownups, if you want to deny evolution and live in your world, that's completely inconsistent with the world we observe, that's fine."

Gee, thanks, Bill. Should they pad my room, too? He has gone beyond observation and experimentation into philosophy.  Despite over a century and a half since Darwin published Origin of Species: The Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life, no proof has been found indicating one kind of animal has ever transitioned to become another kind. Dogs beget still dogs. Fish beget fish. Chimps beget chimps and yes, man begets man.

Had he only coughed up that hairball, we could get busy with dinner, but Mr. Nye went further:

"But don't make your kids do it (deny evolution).  Because we need them.  We need scientifically literate voters and taxpayers for the future.  We need engineers that can build stuff and solve problems."

That's creepy stuff. You need them?! So, Bill, you don't want me to teach my kids what I am convinced is true and that I am convinced gives dignity to humanity within the created order? You don't want me to teach him the foundation of "love your neighbor as yourself?" or why all mankind is equal?

To Mr. Nye, only an evolutionist is equipped to teach science of any kind (Astro? Aero? Civil engineering??) to our children. That's disturbing.

Teaching my kids a responsibility to the God who made them does not them scientifically illiterate. It didn't slow down Blaise Pascal or Robert Oppenheimer. 

Does worshiping the God who raises up and puts down kingdoms make one ill-qualified to vote? It seems to me that President Obama appreciates my tax-dollars despite my believing in the one who suggested that I render to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's (which is everything, by the way). 

And how, pray tell, does believing in a Creator impair one from being a creator or problem solver? Wouldn't that naturally follow? 

Al Campanis, the general manager for the Los Angeles Dodgers, was rightly fired the day after the racism of his heart overflowed in a Nightline interview in 1987. But for the Bill Nyes of the world, it's okay to denigrate those who take God at his word. Such animosity is in season (here).

Few will bat an eyelash over his propaganda and slurring of Bible-believers. Well, Bill, not that you care, but you've lost one fan.

--------------------------------------

 (1) Taken from CNN's "Bill Nye slams creationism" here.

Green jackets: Women at Augusta National

If sports isn't your gig, you may have missed that Augusta National, home of one of the most prestigious events in all of sport, The Masters, will be admitting women to the formerly all-male club. Yep, former Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice and another woman, the CEO for some company, will be donning the green jacket later this fall.

Needless to say, the MSM lauds the decision like it is some kind of Emmancipation Proclamation. ESPN's Rick Reilly took the opportunity to stick his thumbs in his ears and nyah-nyah the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of Great Britain for being some kind of Neanderthal organization of club-wielding maroons because they haven't entered the twenty-first century and retain their all-male status. With his nose at an altitude approaching geo-synchronous orbit, he avers that this male only policy "has to change."

The question must come back, "Why?"

Let's drive right to the heart of fundamental freedoms. Can a private group on private land admit and restrict any from membership for any reason that they choose? If you say no, why do you say no?

Can Boy Scouts be for boys only? Can Girl Scouts be for girls? If not, why not?

Here's the rub. Men and women are different. Were you watching the Olympics? Is it sexist to have women's gymnastics and men's gymnastics? And in other sports, when has a top of her game woman ever been able to compete with the top of his game man? We are different, but not just physically.

There is something to be said for male-bonding, for the fostering of esprit and fellowship. There was a time when such was welcomed, when in such organizations and fellowships the ideas of constitutional republics and free enterprise were honed. Why in the name of all that is sacred would we besmirch such an entity and neuter its very existence by admitting a woman?

From the dark depths of the human heart (Jeremiah 17:9) comes this covetousness (pronounced "kuhv-i-tuhs-ness"), this green-eyed envy for the green jacket that another wears. Being born in poverty does not give anyone any right to Bill Gates' fortune. Being born with certain reproductive plumbing does not give me the right to compete in women's olympic volleyball. None. Them's just the cards we've been dealt.

So should we rejoice because feminist groups and the liberal media have pressured August National to alter its very identity, or should we weep? 

Me? I'm a bumming unit.

The failure of 21st century Hollywood

In a nutshell, film directors have forgotten how to tell a story.

Because of dependence upon CGI and gore that would disturb a coroner and sex that would shock a hooker, not to filming with a leftist slant that makes LBJ look conservative, movie makers provide us little reason to want to shell out big coin and take our families to the multiplex.

Christian Toto, in a piece for Andrew Breitbart's Big Hollywood (here, with a great video about Robert Shaw), made these very points as he reviewed the Blu-Ray release of Jaws.

If "Jaws" came out today, and it's a miracle some thick-headed studio exec hasn't already greenlit a remake, the shark would look so realistic audiences wouldn't be able to tell the movie shark from the real McCoy. And, most likely, the film's storytelling would suffer as a result.

Why bother writing a great script or indelible characters when all movie goers will be talking about are the special effects long after the lights turn back on in the theater?

Heck, Spielberg himself admits as much during the release's copious "making of" features. The director couldn't rely on "Bruce" the shark for extended closeups or elaborate poses. So he showed less of it, and the result was far more frightening than any CGI shark.

Great CGI + lame story + lame characters + lame dialogue = 2012 Hollywood.

The door's wide open for any who care to craft a good story. Don't tell me. Show me. Toto highlights a great line of dialogue that captures that essence. As Richard Dreyfus' character gets ready to be a diver-in-a-can lunch snack for Bruce the Shark, rather than state the obvious, "I'm scared to death and pre-wet my wetsuit" he states simply, "I got no spit" as he tries to defog his swim mask. Scared. To. Death.

Interesting, too, that 1970's Steven Spielberg removed the graphic adultery of Peter Benchley's novel in crafting the screenplay for the movie. Minus the shadowed girl running naked into the waves at the start of the movie, there is little to object to in Jaws. A terrifying story told with exquisite mastery.

Are you ready to go back into the water?

For love of the game

Time for a deep breath deep in the heart of baseball season.

I have developed what some may consider an unhealthy fondness for baseball.  Odd since I never played the game after the first year after t-ball when the kids pitched. Though the ball had nary enough momentum to make it to the plate, the thought of getting beaned turned me to a four-foot-nothin' molehill of cowardice. I played some softball as an adult; no worries getting hit by a pitch with an eight-foot arc unless it's a Barry Zito curve ball.

I used to play catch with my sons, too. All of them did some pitching, and when they were younger, I would play catcher for them. Until I could hear the pitch coming. A crazy whine that ball makes as the laces cut through the air. Like a mini-buzz saw. We were past our days having kids, but I still thought better of crouching there, all unprotected and such, just waiting for a wild pitch to catch me in the teeth. Or worse.

I love to watch the game. I love to keep score when I attend. I have loved the Twins well, and I now love the Rangers having lived in Texas now for half my adult life. No, don't ask me to be a Cowboys fan. Some lines I will not cross. While on a temporary assignment at Luke AFB on the west side of the Phoenix, Arizona mass of humanity, some friends and I went to a Diamondbacks' game. One of the friends was German, and he had never been. He hated it, much like I expect I would loathe a professional soccer game. I contend, though, that he doesn't understand it.  How can you not love baseball?

So I offer up some just-past-mid-season ballpark fare for your August enjoyment. The first is a video about the science of the most amazing catch of the year. The second is a great article about Mike Trout, the man who made the catch and who will be the Rookie of the Year and may be the AL MVP. The third is an article by Tim Kurkjian, a baseball analyst for ESPN whose insights into the game I could listen to for hours every day of the week and twice on Sunday. His nasal delivery and wide-eyed, little-boy excitement (he does make our Olympic gymnasts look tall) could make cross-stitching captivating. He talks at length, through interviews and anecdotes, about what it's like to get hit by a 90-mile per hour baseball.

Here's the video...




...the Trout article is here...

...and the beanball article is here. By the way, there's an interesting companion video from the sports science guys alongside Kurkjian's article about getting beaned.

Hope your week is richly blessed.