This article by Soeren Kern at The Brussels Journal reports on an effort by the growing Swiss Muslim community to remove the famous white cross from that country’s red flag.

An immigrant group based in Bern has called for the emblematic white cross to be removed from the Swiss national flag because as a Christian symbol it “no longer corresponds to today’s multicultural Switzerland.” Ivica Petrusic, the vice president of Second@s Plus, a lobbying group that represents mostly Muslim second-generation foreigners in Switzerland (who colloquially are known as secondos) says the group will launch a nationwide campaign in October to ask Swiss citizens to consider adopting a flag that is less offensive to Muslim immigrants.

Here we have, in a nutshell (it seems to me) Europe’s current cultural problem. They’re desperately trying to find a continental identity, and just as desperately attempting to keep their distance from the one and only thing that historically united them in a cultural sense—the Christian religion. If Europe is not identical with Western Christendom (excluding the Americas), then what in heaven’s name is it?

No one seems to have any idea. Continue reading Flagging enthusiasm →

A mildly amusing event, in the course of my ride to Norway, Michigan last weekend in Ragnar’s colossal van, was our lunch in a biker bar.

We were deep in the wilds of Wisconsin when noon rolled around. Ragnar was following his GPS, which he’d apparently set to “Lose a Tail” mode, because the few towns we passed through were pretty small, and generally didn’t offer any places to eat. However, this being Wisconsin, there was usually at least one bar on every block. We agreed that bars often have food, and we’d look for one that advertised that commodity.

We soon found one, and rolled into the almost empty lot. Once we got inside, we realized, from the décor and the clothing of the customers, that it was a biker establishment.

This is the point where, in a movie or novel, we’d have been set on by toughs and forced to fight for our lives.

I think we might have taken them too, had it come to that.

Because Ragnar is still pretty dangerous, and the entire population of the saloon was the woman behind the bar, and a middle-aged couple in black leather who were more interested in each other than in stomping us.

Hey, we actually fit in pretty well. We had long hair and beards. All we lacked was the leathers.

We ordered hamburgers, which when they came were pretty good.

The only memorable incident was that the bartender noticed I’d paid her with bills stamped with those “Where’s George?” messages. “Are you one of those people who track these things?” she asked.

I said no, but I’d recently been paid by someone who tracks those things.

I think Ragnar was a little disappointed we didn’t get a chance to rumble.

Now that I’m on the subject, I’ve begun to wonder—are there any young motorcyclists anymore?

I remember when biker gangs were the very symbol of rebellious, dangerous youth. The young Marlon Brando. The adolescent Peter Fonda.

It seems as if Biker culture is dying out with the Baby Boomers. The people who ride motorcycles now have square jobs during the week, and get their Animal on on the weekends.

Or they’re retired.

Kind of like Viking reenactors.

Patrick Kurp talks to a ghost about G.K. Chesterton and being funny. “Chesterton is right: Only the serious is worthy of joking. Joy-killers preoccupy themselves with trivia.”

I was going to post yesterday, even though I said I wouldn’t, because I’d scheduled the day off from work in order to recover from the Norway, Michigan trip. Little did I know how much I’d need to recover—enough that I didn’t have the energy to post anyway.

The event in Michigan was generally good. I rode along with a friend to save gas costs, and we arrived mid-afternoon on Friday. I really like Norway, Michigan. It’s a pretty, clean town in a lovely setting among the hills, and it’s got the name “Norway” plastered all over it. The people were nice. I didn’t sell a lot of books, though. I’m not sure I covered my food costs.

Part of the problem may have been that I was purposely keeping my distance from people, in this case out of consideration for them (though that’s my usual reason, come to think of it). On Friday I was starting to come down with a cold, and on Saturday I woke up completely unable to speak. Nevertheless I dosed myself with a combination of nostrums from the local drug store/gift shop, and soldiered through. I even fought a couple combat fights, just to show one of our young guys how the axe was used (I lost them both). Then he took the weapon over, and I considered my obligations fulfilled.

Driving back Sunday I felt pretty bad, and on Monday (today too) I felt no better. I think I’ll prop myself up with drugs and try to go to work tomorrow anyway. Who cares if I infect the whole campus? The point is not to be a sissy!

Bad news today. My publisher has turned down my latest submission. Not because they didn’t like it, but because of financial hard times, and a corporate decision to turn away from fiction.

Our friend Ori says he can help me publish digitally. I’ll let you know how that progresses.