Idiom Savant

For More Proof Of My Weirdness, Please Refer To Every Other Entry Here

So, I got tagged for this thing by the most excellent Media Diva.

Here's how you play: Once you have been tagged, you have to write a blog with 10 weird or random things, facts, or habits about yourself. At the end, you choose 10 people to be tagged, listing their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says, "Tag, You're it" on their profiles and ask them to read your blog. You can't tag the person who tagged you.

I'm not sure if this is supposed to be a MySpace-only meme -- we'll have to see if it can survive outside that rarefied atmosphere.  Anyway, since nearly every thing, fact or habit about myself is either weird or random, here's the first 10 that come to mind:

1.  On my desk at work, where I am sitting right now, there is a hunk of blue Silly Putty that I have been obsessively playing with for the last few weeks -- just squishing it around with my left hand while my right hand uses the mouse to click to and fro on the Internet while I really should be working.

2.  I suffer from bruxism.  In fact, I'm bruxing right now.  I clench my teeth and jaw so hard at night sometimes that I dream that I'm still wearing braces, and that they've just been tightened.

3.  I do not have cable service; it sloughed off of my budget a few years ago after I was laid off.  The only channel I can get clearly with rabbit ears is the public television station.  Therefore, I was very excited a couple of weeks ago when the new season of "History Detectives" started.  Wes Cowan FTW!

4.  Nervous tic: flicking the second or third fingers of my right hand against my right thumb.  Sort of a weak, un-consummated finger-snapping gesture.  I sometimes do this to the beat of whatever song is running through my mind, but sometimes it's just a random rhythm -- although I'm sure if I were to analyze it, it would reveal the binary code for my genome sequence or something.

5.  For years, I was buying size 12 shoes and wondering why my feet always hurt at the end of the day.  I figured it was mostly because I worked in bookstores where they don't allow you to sit down.  But then I discovered I was actually a size 13, and things got better.

6.  I have had no pets and no houseplants as an adult -- I have never been consciously responsible for the existence of another living organism.  Whether this is selfishness or laziness, or a heady broth of both, I leave for the sweet Zombie Baby Jesus to decide.

7.  I own a basketball autographed by Shaquille O'Neal.

8.  Whenever I board a plane, I press my hand against the outside fuselage, just for like a half-second as I'm walking in the hatch.  This is so my prints will be on the plane, in case there's no other way of identifying my body after the plane crashes.  Of course, I don't think my fingerprints are on file anywhere, so this is a completely futile gesture.  It's also possible that I'm unintentionally adding aerodynamic drag to the plane, making us 0.0001 minute later at the arrival gate.  (This habit was possibly inspired by a friend telling me that a highway cop will always put his hand on the trunk lid of a stopped car as he approaches the driver, to leave prints in case something goes wrong.  I'm not sure if this is true.) 

9.  I feel weird leaving home without a watch on.  Consequently, I sometimes intentionally leave home without a watch -- just to experience the weird feeling.

10. I carry a small change purse with me most all the time.  Inside that change purse is a purple Mardi Gras doubloon embossed with Steve Guttenberg's face.  It was a gift from a friend.  I plan to have this coin in my possession until I die.

Tagging (in alphabetical order):

• Charlotte
• Dawn
• Elrond
• Lint Queen
• Mab
• Marianne
• Phil
• Stew
• Switchboard Susan
• xtaNor

You Might Not Be Looking For The Promised Land, But You Might Find It Anyway

As someone who, despite my official "unaffiliated" status, has voted for every Democrat since Mike "The Duke" Dukakis, I reckon I'm part of the America-Hating Left by default.  However, around the Fourth of July, I do like to take time out from my busy schedule (advancing world socialism, lobbying for mandatory abortions and gay marriage for everyone, chaining myself to spotted owls, drinking the blood of Christian babies, etc.) to think about some things I actually love about this country. 

There are quite a few things.  What follows is a list, in no particular order, and not complete by any means.

Iconic American foods.  Such as the hot dog (pictured here), which is so very stereotypically American that of course it turns out to have its origins in Vienna.  However, in the great American tradition of taking raw materials from elsewhere and transforming them into an entirely new creation (see also: hip-hop), the humble wiener really found its voice, so to speak, in Coney Island.  And the meat processors' thrift in using some of the more obscure parts of livestock to create hot dogs hearkens back to the Native Americans' desire to use every part of the buffalo they respectfully slew.

(The above picture is my own hand, by the way, holding a 'dog I was about to consume at a July 4th community celebration in 2001.  The memories -- and parts of the actual hot dog, I'm sure -- are still with me six years later.)

Other enjoyable United States of American foods: barbecue, hamburgers, unlikely deep-fried stick-impaled objects found at State Fairs, and those foil-wrapped burritos that are the size of your forearm.

The grand tradition of American musical theater.  Giving us such classics as "My Fair Lady" (set in London), "South Pacific" (set in the South Pacific), and "Oklahoma" (set in Burkina Faso).  I think "The Music Man" was on TV every July Fourth of my youth.  ("My Fair Lady" was on every Easter.  What was up with that?)

"Roadrunner," the classic Modern Lovers song.  With exemplary Yankee ingenuity, Jonathan Richman takes, like, one and a half chords and turns them into a Zen parable of drivin' around at night, "going faster miles an hour," listening to the radio, and falling in love.  When Jonathan chants "One, two, three, four, five, six!" at the beginning, he's not just counting off the start of the song -- he's counting off the start of the Great American Adventure, with all the optimism and joy and promise that a four-minute punk song can hold.

And, for that matter, "Road Runner," the classic series of Warner Brother cartoons.  But -- metaphorically speaking -- is America the Road Runner, lord of the open highway, unperturbedly shaking off all predators without once losing his native optimism?  Or are we the Coyote, too clever for our own good, unable with all of our advanced technology to master an elusive foe (in the desert, no less!), despite frequent escalations, always ending up hoist on our own Acme-brand petard?  Maybe we're both.  Maybe we're neither.  Maybe we're actually Foghorn Leghorn.  Or maybe Foghorn Leghorn is actually Robert Byrd.  Or Fred Thompson.  Unless Fred Thompson is actually Deputy Dawg.

Las Vegas.  Oh, man, Las Vegas.  I mean, I've never been there, but it's gotta be awesome, right?  I guess I just love the idea of Las Vegas, the fact that it exists.  I heard somebody on a PBS "American Experience" show say that Las Vegas is, like, a microcosm of American society or something.  And yet, somehow, there still isn't a plaque, or a statue, or a signpost in that town for Moe Greene!

The military.  I'm not really on board with everything the military gets asked to do by its political commanders-in-chief, and maybe its presence in certain parts of the world causes more harm than good, but overall I think it's a better thing to have a military than not to have one.  Maybe (probably) I'm naive.  Still, there was that whole thing where they helped stop the reign of Fascism in Europe a few decades ago.  That was pretty cool.  So, yeah.  I'm glad for the military... and I'm really glad I'm not in it.

James Brown.  What's more American than James Brown?  Singing about America?  In a "Rocky" movie?  In the "Rocky" movie where Rocky fights an evil commie, and thus, by proxy, the entire goddamned Evil Empire?  And wins?  Nothing, that's what.  James is dead now, just like Apollo Creed in "Rocky IV," but their truth goes marching on.

Shitty American beer.  Nobody seems to create cheap beer, that unifying elixir of the proletariat, better than us.  Of course, I have only the cheap beer of this country to judge by.  And in America, most of the cheap beer is so weak you can have it for breakfast.  In the past, I've tended to lean toward the Champagne of Beers, but lately I'm trying to break out of my comfort zone and sample other cheap suds.  I tried Schlitz and found it not horrible, but maybe my palate's totally out of whack.  Maybe I'm supposed to hate it.  I know I don't care much for Budweiser, and I can't find anything in particular wrong with PBR, except maybe it's been too heavily embraced by hipsters lately.

And finally, America's where all my stuff is.

So.  Anything to add, my fellow Americans?  (Non-Americans can participate too. I guess.)

Happy Independence Day, The Internet!

Uncle Sam image from adtcomedy.com.  The picture of the hot dog and the picture of the sparkler -- I took those myself.  Both photos feature parts of my actual left hand!

Someone In This Room Is... A Murderer!

I'm sure everybody in the world has seen this by now, but this little guy has been giving me no end of delight recently:

All hail Drama Prairie Dog!

I'm A Rocker. I Rock Out.

Apparently, I have the same ringtone as Indie Rock Pete.

I don't know what this says about me.

I do know this: Every time the phone rings on The Simpsons, I think it's my phone for about a half-second.  So I guess my phone, Indie Rock Pete's phone, and the sound effects people on The Simpsons all use the same generic "old-fashioned telephone ring" ringtone.

Hankering, Gross, Mystical, Nude

Although I do suspect that resorting to answering the Friday Five is the last refuge of the lazy blogger (in this case, me) who can't think of anything original to say -- and although the questions below aren't even from the current Friday Five -- I'm answering these anyway, because they're about nekkidness and what the hell.

1. Have you ever gone skinny-dipping?

No.  Partly because I can barely swim, but also partly because, as far as I can remember, the opportunity has never presented itself.  I guess I have tended to hang out with non-skinny-dipping crowds -- or, if I have been hanging out with recidivist skinny-dippers, it has been away from large bodies of water.  Maybe this is the kind of thing where one can't wait around for fate to intervene, and I should be proactive and create my own skinny-dipping opportunities.  Keep your eyes on the police blotter; if you read about a midnight visit by the police to my apartment complex's pool, you'll know I have finally seized the day.

2. When you're home alone, do you strip down to get comfortable? Do you ever go out without underwear (bra and/or panties) because it's more comfortable?

I will almost always take everything out of my pockets, and take off my shoes and my watch, as soon as I get home.  But I usually don't disrobe unless it's absolutely necessary.  I find that I'm actually a little more comfortable wearing something, albeit something loose and unbinding.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe it's security -- I feel a little bit protected.  Or maybe I just really am that repressed, when you get right down to it.

However, I am, as I'm sure regular Idiom Savant readers are weary of me mentioning by now, a prodigious sweater.  So, sometimes, in the summer, after I shower, I need to sit in front of a fan for a while in an attempt to completely dry off.

And, yes, I go out every day without a bra and/or panties.  Saucy!  However, I usually do wear man-type underwear.

3. Have you ever/Do you use the bathroom with the door open? Are you comfortable using public facilities?

At home, alone, yes.  But I would not use the bathroom with the door open if there were somebody else around.  (Please feel free to correct me -- and accept my belated apologies -- if I'm forgetting something.)  I'm OK in public facilities, although I tend to get skittish at the urinal if there are others there.  I'll head for a stall if one's available.  And I have big problems at pee troughs, like the ones you find in sports venues.

4. When getting intimate with your significant other, lights on or off?

No significant other at the moment, but usually, off.  But this might not have much to do with modesty.  Without my glasses -- and it's safe to assume I wouldn't be wearing glasses, unless there was some need for protective eyewear, like if we were using power tools or something -- I'm almost completely blind.  And if I can't see anything, why should she?  Fair's fair.

5. How comfortable are you with body exposure/nudity of others? Group shower rooms?, topless/nude beaches?, breastfeeding in public?

Well, as I suggested in the first answer, I don't hang out with naked people often.  (No offense, naked people.  Give me a call sometime; we'll set something up.)  I haven't been in a group shower since the college dorms, and the one time I was on a purportedly topless beach (South Beach in Miami), everyone seemed to be wearing tops.  I'm cool with breastfeeding in public, although I am often just a little startled when I see it, because I don't see it that often and I'm not really used to it, I guess.  Nothing at all wrong with it -- just something I don't see everyday.  But the higher brain functions kick in fairly instantaneously, and I think, "Oh.  Kid's having lunch.  Right on." 

So, I guess, to sum up -- there's nothing inherently morally wrong or dirty about nudity per se.  For many reasons (mostly having to do with us not having fur), it's practical for humans to wear clothes, and so in most situations, we do so.  I'm not going to pretend I don't like looking at naked people (see Jenna Fischer post, below), but that has more to do with context as well as social conditioning.  Like, I'm sure if naked Jenna Fischer was my roommate or something, and I became acclimated to her presence, it would eventually be no big deal and we would start bitching at each other for peeing with the bathroom door open or something.

I'm sure I've contradicted myself or have been inadvertently troglodytic or offensive several times within the course of this post.  My pretenses to being "evolved" and "with-it" to the contrary, I'm just as much of a seething cauldron of bourgeois repression and shameful lust as any other 20th- or 21st-century American.  It's enough to make me relieved I don't have to deal with naked people very often.

And You May Tell Yourself, "Hi Ho! What Have I Done?"

I'll get back to posting... you know, actual content eventually, but first...

...I just wanted to make sure we were all caught up on what the latest Best Thing On The Internet is.

You Can't Spell "Quandary" Without "Q And A"

Below you will find five questions that have been posed to me by Lady Marmastew, along with the answers I have provided for them. This activity is the continuation of an Internet "meme," which is a Greek word meaning "my blog is on life support because I can't ever think of anything original to write about."

1: You have one of the best memories for pop culture of anyone I know. How do you do it? Do you try, or is it natural?

Thanks. I guess it's pretty natural at this point -- if you're interested in something, it just kind of follows that you would embrace it, explore it, investigate it, and just generally try to understand it as best you could. I couldn't really tell you how I happen to know half of the stuff I know; mostly, it's just the natural curiosity I think we all have to know what the stories are behind the things we like. I like context; I like knowing how this song, or that TV show, or that movie, fits into the larger conversation the world is always having with itself.

I'm pretty sure this all started with me imprinting on my big brother, who is also extremely knowledgeable about pop culture and was my first gateway to interesting music. (The first song I specifically remember listening to with him was "Killer Queen," not a bad way to start. He also turned me on to Archie comics, Mad magazine, and the Three Investigators.) His influence has waned a bit, since I've grown to be much, much smarter and better looking than he is, but I definitely wanted to be just like him when I was younger. Also, having a father with an appreciation for old character actors didn't hurt. (We used to beg Dad to do his Mr. Howell impersonation -- only recently did it occur to me it might have started out as a Mr. Magoo impersonation.)

All that being said, I must add the caveat I always add when somebody compliments me on knowing a bunch of worthless shit about old TV shows: While that may be true, I have, more than once, forgotten the birthdays of every member of my immediate family. So... don't be like me, is what I'm saying.

2: If I gave you two plane tickets to anywhere in the continental US and a free hotel, where would you go and who would you take? Assume money is not an object.

Chicago. I've been promising a few people who live there that I'd come visit them for a while now. Plus I'd just like to see the city -- roam her streets, feel her winds, glory at her lake-effect snows, eat her deep-dish pizza, ride her subways, if that's what they call them there. And since you're giving me the tickets… do you wanna come with? Seriously, it'd be a hoot.

3: What political issue bugs you the most?

My inclinations, sympathies and votes almost always skew left -- but I am not what I would call a very political person, in that I don't actively advocate a certain set of beliefs or regularly petition the government to take action on a certain issue. Besides the requisite ambivalence and laziness I am legally required to exhibit as a member of Generation X, there are many reasons for this, one being that I don't like arguments. Not just because I seek harmony and agreement in all things, but also because I'm always afraid I'm not smart enough to win. I fear being shown up as the idiot I always suspect I actually am. Also, there's this weird empathic urge I have to see all possible sides of any given issue.

That said: gay marriage. That any government would specifically forbid two people of the same gender from entering into the same legal compact that it grants indiscriminately every day to M/F couples just makes no sense to me. (This fits into a general vague belief of mine that government should just leave us the fuck alone more often -- I may be becoming at least a small-L libertarian.) Really, not just marriage -- any systematic denial to gay people of the rights regularly afforded to everyone else chaps my hide. I can understand a church not allowing gays to marry; I would not agree with that church's moral argument, but a religious organization has the right to give or withhold its blessings however it sees fit. But I think one has to separate "marriage as a religious sacrament" from "marriage as a legal and social agreement between two consenting adults." Or, hell, two or more consenting adults, come to that. I mean, why not? Why can't I enter into any kind of agreement I want to with any other person or group of people I choose?

Now, have I done anything about this? No.

4: You're a great singer, and seem to love to do it. Have you ever been involved in a choir/chorus, etc?

You're very sweet to say this -- but really, are you completely insane? I don't think I'm a very good singer at all. I have serious problems carrying a tune, or even figuring out what note I should be going for at any given time in the song. But, thank you for saying that, anyway. Yes, I was in junior choir at my church, as a pre-teen. The highlight for me was playing Pharaoh in our little production of "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat," my first and only contact with the works of Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber (besides singing selections from "Evita" as Slim Whitman, strictly for my own amusement).

5: If you could go back in your life to any particular era just for a little while, what would you revisit and why?

Summer, mid-to-late '70s, during one of our multi-family beach vacations where we'd get a big house for a week or more. "Multi-family" is the key here -- other kids to hang out with were essential, since my siblings and I pretty much detested each other at this point. On one trip, I had a little inflatable raft with a Rebel flag on it, before I fully understood the political implications of it. Another time, the moms devised a scheme whereby each kid would get one glass for the whole week that he was responsible for, keeping it washed, etc. If you wanted a drink, you used that one glass. Obviously, the goal was to reduce consumption of… something, I'm not sure. But it was my glass. It had my name on it. I have no idea why I remember that one detail. Also, one of those trips was the first time I saw "Star Wars." I was having fun, I was happy, my mom and dad were happy, and as the years went on all of those things happened with less and less frequency.

So if you want to play along and now be interviewed by me, please leave me a comment or send an email saying: "Interview me."
* I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
* You will update your weblog with the answers to the questions.
* You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
* Then others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions and so on.
* Eventually, the continual loss of thermodynamic energy will lead to the heat death of the universe.

Sexy, All-Nude ISIFOTBOYSTTD Results!

Well, that was fun, wasn't it?

None of us really did all that hot in the First Annual ISIFOTBOYSTTD.  Nobody predicted the correct tournament winner, although most of us did manage to pick at least half of the Final Four teams accurately.  As a group, we were below average, with all but one of us scoring below the 50th percentile of "Tournament Pick 'Em" users.  Me, I didn't even watch any of the games except for the one UNC lost to Georgetown. 

Here's our final standings, if you're curious:

1. Minty (98 points, 43 correct picks*)
2. Jerry (97 points, 47 correct picks)
3. Stew (82 points, 43 correct picks)
4. Phil (81 points, 39 correct picks)
5. Elrond (70 points, 38 correct picks)
6. Marianne (43 points, 33 correct picks)
7. Fikri (24 points, 21 correct picks)

* Correct picks in later games are worth more points.

Well done, Ms. Von Minterson!  And honorable mention to Fikri, if it's true that he made all of his picks by flipping a coin.  That's 63 coin flips.  Not since George Raft have I heard of so much coin flipping.

And you know what?  We're all winners, just for trying!

Changing the subject: Last week, I purchased a copy of Wired magazine for the first time in years, just because Jenna Fischer got "naked" on the cover.  I'm neither overly ashamed nor overly proud of this behavior.  I barely even know who Ms. Fischer is; I've never seen her show on the teevee.  But I gather that she is like catnip to awkward nerd boys like me nationwide.  I guess she's sort of our generation's Bailey Quarters, who I don't have to tell you was way hotter than Jennifer Marlowe.  So, well played, Wired.  In the future, I plan to only buy magazines with naked famous people on the cover.  Looking forward to the Steve Wozniak issue of Mac Addict.

(I put "naked" in scare quotes because: a) she's covering up her goodies with a big ol' sign, and b) it could very well have just been her head on top of a CGI body, although I guess I have no reason to doubt Wired's claims to the contrary.  And yes, I've seen the picture of her in Jane with her ass sticking out.  I don't remember how I found it; I wouldn't expect anyone to believe me if I said I wasn't specifically looking for it, but I honestly don't remember the circumstances.  I ain't gonna lie and say I don't enjoy looking at the pretty ladies, but I do hope to not come off as a total perv.)

Hmm.  An entire post devoted to sports and naked ladies.  Just indulging the id for a while, I guess, which I usually keep buried under thick, goopy layers of superego, like a tasty lasagna made of shame, repression and fear.

Pictured above: Greensboro native and JCSU alumnus Fred "Curly" Neal.  Photo from JoeSportsFan.com.

Hey, Vernal!

Dang.  Here I was, clinging on to the last few thin shards of winter 2007, thinking that spring wouldn't actually start until tomorrow (Wednesday, March 21)... and it turns out that the Vernal Equinox actually occurred at 8:07 p.m. Eastern time today.  Which means it's spring right now.

So, I guess it's time for pollen, allergies, and sweating too much all the time.

Yeah.  Happy Spring, I guess.  Whatever.

P.S.: I still have this shower curtain.

"Southron" Is Too A Real Word

On Saturday, I went to a bad poetry party -- not a poetry party that was bad, but a party celebrating bad poetry.  It was in honor of the life and work of Julia A. Moore, "The Sweet Singer of Michigan," a spectacularly bad 19th century poet in the grand tradition of bad 19th century poetry.  Mrs. Moore is said to have been the inspiration for Emmeline Grangerford, the overwrought, melancholy, romantic poetess in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. 

Party attendees were asked to bring an original bad poem, and to read it in front of the group.  It's the kind of party you'd expect to be dreamed up by a bunch of former English grad students, which in fact it was.

So, in recognition of the fact that most bad poetry from the South in the 19th century concerns dead Confederate heroes, I came up with the following, based on a true story.  I realize that my meager effort cannot hope to reach the heights of Miss Grangerford's "Ode to Stephen Dowling Bots."  Plus, it's kind of long.  For the full effect, imagine the plaintive violin theme from "The Civil War" in the background. 

The Ballad of Bennett Young

O, have you heard the story
Of Old Kaintuck's bravest son?
No avenue may bear his name
And of statues he has none.
Yet none deeper than he
Into the Yankees' black heart stung
Hear the tale of this bold Southron
By the name of Bennett Young.

He was but a Nicholasville lad
When he heard his country's cry
And was captured in Ohio in '63
On a hot day in July.
Yet from that dreaded Yankee jail
He soon adroitly sprung
"I'll make post-haste for Canada!"
Said Lieutenant Bennett Young.

In the frozen north he soon found
Other brave Sons of the Gray
They planned that soon Vermont-ward
They would lief be on their way.
"The Vermonters will be startled
By the chaos we have brung!
In St. Albans land, we'll make our stand!"
Vowed Lieutenant Bennett Young.

October 10 of '64
Was chosen as the day
When Young and his two cohorts
Would southward make their way.
On arriving in St. Albans,
To a hotel they soon swung.
(Prob'ly signed in with an alias --
Not "Lieutenant Bennett Young.")

Over the next week or so,
More soldiers rendezvoused
And when they were all gathered,
Twenty-one in all accrued.
When arrived the fatal moment,
To this cry he gave full lung:
"Y'all Yanks are now the prisoners
Of Lieutenant Bennett Young!"

"I hereby claim this chilly town
Is conqueréd this day!
And all of wee Vermont is now
Part of the C.S.A.!
Your maple syrup may be nice
And sweet upon the tongue,
But sweeter still the victory
Of me! I'm Bennett Young!"

Then to three local banks
Went those most valiant men of ours.
Made the tellers pledge allegiance
To the grand old Stars and Bars.
Alas, most of the money
They won got lost among
The confusion of escaping
By the men of Bennett Young.

With fiery rage they planned
To turn St. Albans into Hell.
But the Greek Fire bombs they had, alack,
Just did not work too well.
Although one shed was caught ablaze
So at least that much was flung
In the face of the hated Yankees
By the stalwart Bennett Young!

But in their newly conquer'd land
They knew they could not stay.
They fled back north to Canada
And were arrested right away.
But Canada could not hold them,
Since neutrality they sung.
"You'll have to give the cash back, though,"
They said to Bennett Young.

And while the war was waging,
In cold Canada he stayed.
And when the war was over,
He was once more waylaid.
"No amnesty," said Johnson,
"But at least you won't be hung."
So off to Ireland's emerald shores
Went Mr. Bennett Young.

When to Kentucky he returned
In 1868
He went to Louisville, and soon
Became a lawyer great.
So pure of heart until he died
At 76 years young
No alcohol e'er passed the lips
Of saintly Bennett Young.

Many folks may never know
That such a man there was.
Most books do not remember him
(Though St. Albans prob'ly does.)
How rich the soil of Southern lands,
How fertile be the dung
That brought forth the flow'r of manhood
That we knew as Bennett Young!

(Note to anybody finding this page through a Google search for the subject: I'm not really interested in discussions about the righteousness or despicability of the Lost Cause -- please be aware that the poem above is intended as a parody of bad Southern heroic poetry, and not an attack on Lieut. Young, his descendants, or his admirers. I will say this: Whatever you think about the Confederacy and the men who fought for it -- of whom there were several in my family on my father's side -- Bennett Young was a pretty ballsy guy.)