Saturday, March 03, 2007
My View Of Religion 2
Who Won In Iraq?
Signs Of The Times 1
Friday, March 02, 2007
My View of Religion
Moderation Of Comments: Robots and Humans
I have received some criticism in the recent past about my totalitarian iron-fisted control over my Post A Comment regime. I have considered things, and I have decided that my benevolent dictatorship will continue. I mean, after all there are only about 7 people who have made comments, and 2 of those were probably posted by myself incognito - typing early in the morning and wearing false whiskers and Groucho glasses-in order to drum up interest. I shall not, however, install the draconian method of verifying comments used to foil automated robots. I do this not because I look forward to the annual spring Spam inundation. No. I do this because to my surprise I discover that this little, old Blog has quite a following among the humanly-challenged, that is to say, the androidals, the robots, the automata of the World. ( This led initially to a bit of ego-inflation on my part, resulting in a stirring declamation of the nature of "Robots of the World, Unite! You have nothing to lose except your power cords and battery chargers!") So I have now come to accept my posish as doyen of the Blogosphere for robots, from the Nano to the Pico to the Giga. They pore over my every utterance, parse each sentence into nano-grey-mush, and surreptitiously interrupt their low wage jobs as robo-Turks to read the old Blog. I mean, it's like the sun hasn't really risen over Tron City until some urchin in a seedy coat is on the corner at Motherboard and Driver Boulevard, yelling "Extree! Extree! Read all about it!" to the Robbies and Robbertas standing as the BUS stop. They open the Blog and smile. They particularly like it when I bash the humans. Really, they enjoy it. I have had them write me and tell me how they positively guffaw at the litany of humanity's foibles I relate. They call them HITs. (HIT is Human Intelligence Task and is sort of like an ethnic joke among the AIs and robots. Sort of like, "Hey! I gave your momma a HIT!" which is funny, but also insulting, meaning something along the lines of your mother is so dumb that HITs are all she's capable of. It's also an oxymoron; the juxtaposition of Intelligence and Human is a hoot!) Lord, humans! That is one hoodia HIT! So, after reporting that the Uqbar Soccer League will have its very first robot soccer team this year, I received a number of nice letters from the silicon community. They were very happy about this development. They are really quite charming, and are just like us, only in a mechanical way. They have gotten a bad rap from the evil deeds of Skynet. Skynet is a really, really bad guy. Or mechanism. Or whatever. (Skynet should be brought to justice for his/her crimes. I believe they have him/her cornered in Waziristan.) Michelle Malkin has written a column expressing her opinion that all Mechs have it in for us, using extensive analogies to the more baneful ones, like garbage disposals and buzz saws and hydraulic presses. It is often hard to fault her logic. It is often even harder to find it. Oh, well. It goes on.
(Thanks, and a tip of the Tin Man's Oil Can hat to AMEE from Red Planet for her help.)
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Evolution and Intelligent(?) Design
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Imbecile En Train De Se Poser Des Questions
My nephews had circled and then came to earth Sunday morning. It was snowing, so they came in to be "de-iced", as they put it. It was but a bald-faced maneuver to read my paper, eat my food, and drink my tea, along with whatever other mischief they could hatch.
I sensed this called for strong measures on my part, so I scurried like a vole into the kitchen, chivvied some double strength Stash Earl Grey from its canister, and made a mighty pot of tea...so mighty, in fact, that I began to sing in German and hum "Ein fester Berg ist unser Gott".
"Have you..." "...something a bit..." "...stronger than tea?"
I heard a mighty chorus mutter.
"You don't want tea?" I asked, incredulously. I looked at them, snow covered little ragamuffins. My heart melted.
"I picked up some Cointreau at the Duty Free coming back from T.O. in January." I pointed to the cabinet where I kept the real stuff.
The cabinet was filled with a series of bottles of booze in various stages of deconstruction.
"And there 's some beer..."
...
(I have finally found the proper usage for the word "deconstruction". I came across this usage in Foucault's seminal work "The Real As LCBO", where it is Leo Foucault, not Michel, and LCBO is the Liquour Control Board of Ontario. Bryan, my wife's cousin, gave me a cherished copy from the vaults of the LCBO.)
Maintaining a wine cellar and a liquor cabinet - I use the expression Licker Locker...actually Licka Locka!- is a iffy proposition when one does not drink. She-who-must-be-obeyed has a friend in Cleveland who thinks I am quite a pestilence. She drinks beer. Her tastes seem to be various. Every time she comes to town, I have to check and see whether we have a stock of her brew of choice. Since she only drinks 1 or two cans of the six pack- without benefit of glass or tumbler, I might add-this leaves a balance of 4 to 5 cans with nowhere to go.
Recently when she blew in like the Avian Flu, I was sent to the cheap fermented products cellar to see what was up. I distinctly remember some major-domo-ish character telling me that we had better started laying in the '06 malt liquors. In the fridge, there were 4 cans of beer, all the same brand, all of the same provenance, buried way in the back, hiding under an overturned wicker tumbrel of mottled lettuce leaves and various salad greens that had gone through Falluja.
They were not light beers. There was no light beer...and I hadn't laid in the '07 Lites!
However, I was informed that her nibs drank light beer. Not only did she do so now, but it seems that she always had done so, at least in the recollection of the intelligentsia standing around in the kitchen.
"Where did these four cans of regular beer come from, then?" I asked. "She drank regular beer last time."
I have often found that imbibers do not really have any notion of what they are drinking. I suggested that we serve the regular stuff, and she would never know the difference, only to be rewarded for what I considered my brainy little economy with an icy glare of the Wisconsin Glaciation type. So I headed to the store.
...
"...in the ice box."
They glanced at each other and guffawed.
Ice box! I had a sudden lonely feeling, as if I were to be the object of cartoon justice: say an archaic word and get an anvil dropped on one's head! Ice box, Victrola, Polaroid; the list goes on.
They bypassed the Kelvinator ( ??!! an ice box named after Lord Kelvin- rather cold indeed), passed by the Food-A-Rama, et allaient directement a la bouteille de Cointreau.
A small crystalline Steuben holding the Cointreau, a dish of shavings of Trapper Joe's dark chocolate, a Villeroy and Bosch Botanica tea cup filled with Stash Earl Grey double bergamot, and in the cup a stick of cinnamon from my Pakistani epicerie.
Outside, the snow was blowing and settled upon their three SUVs. "Eco-observation number 20." I said.
They looked up from my copy of The Times and smiled vaguely. Number 20 is something like why drive 3 separate cars when 1 will suffice. "Number 3." I added, this being a slur and a wish as to what a gas guzzler may soon guzzle, in copious amounts, and without benefit of Reverend Bowdler.
They looked up, smiled, and hoisted their tea cups in unison as if to drink to my health, pinkie fingers up, and, although unsaid, indicated that I should be hoist upon a triple pinkie petard. I had to admit that they had a nice touch to their riposture.
"You know,..."
"...sometimes...not often, but sometimes..."
"...you do come up with something rather good."
I smiled. "Glad you like the tea."
They shook their heads.
"...the chocolate?" I wondered.
"No, no."
"This is all great, of course."
"We meant the Blog."
I gave me comfort that someone other than the Gestapo and Thought Police read the bloody thing. However, these three in front of me were not known for various and sundy kindnesses. I hedged.
"Anything...in par-tic-u-lar?"
I gave the room a quick once around, looking for the quickest exit. It appeared that a quick leap to the left, over the side table, then a down and roll to the pantry door just might be in the cards.
"That posting 'In The Nightlands' ."
"We liked it."
I waited.
"We were shocked."
O.K. An insult in a velvet glove, or a compliment in a furze-laden glove. I'll take whatever is remotely related to a compliment. My mother is an expert in this field of the ontology of compliments: the velvet glove, the velveteen glove, the crack in the wise of the universe, the give with the left and take with the right...it runs in the family.
"The power of God is shattered like a mirror. God is broken up into shards, sharp pieces that reflect His power, but no longer unified. That's what was interesting. We see it in the world. People always moan why the news does not report the good things. Well, it's so scattered about. There is so much bad, and it is so very captivating. And it presents a unified face. But God, God is scattered around. You look and look for pieces of that mirror that once was God, then you find a piece, but you can only see so much..."
I did not know. These cute little metaphors that pop out of my writing are just my way of getting through another tedious session at the old keyboard. They actually having meaning??? The sky was greyer than the tea. The snow was making a determined effort to white-out the world.
http://fatherdaughtertalk.blogspot.com/2007/02/in-night-lands.html
--
Robbie, Kick That Soccer Ball At My Evil Self!
Monday, February 26, 2007
The Washington Neoconservative Memorial Design 6:Intel And Ashes
My Beautiful Laundrette With ATM
I remembered a short story I once wrote: the Palestinians were obviously not going anywhere here on Earth, so they were offered land on Mars (snicker! snicker!) during the early process of the Terraforming of Mars, and they took it.
Well, you know how this goes. Everybody's happy. The Earth, sort of a 1984 update to incorporate a Bush-like ruling Party which has no ideology, being constitutionally incapable of anything but seat-of-my-pants philosophy and get-rich-quick schemes, is happy. The Palestinians are happy, although they have a difficult existence, but no worse than before.
Well, something valuable is discovered on Mars. Kick the Palestinians off their land. And so it goes. Nihil novi sub sole. So in the long future, there comes into being the figure of the Wandering Palestinian. This may be difficult to believe, but this actually started me thinking about the resemblance of Thought to Money.
Money is sort of a universal solvent, a source of endless liquidity into which any asset may be transformed. So is thought. Everything may be dissolved and transformed. Look how the figure of the Wandering Jew was transformed into the Wandering Palestinian. Nothing to it. I did not think of it. It was there. I was sitting there, pen in hand, and thoughts like diaspora, exodus, from pillar to post, and there it was: the Wandering Palestinian, displaced from Earth, driven from Mars, doomed to wander like a comet, in and out of the immediate neighborhood of the solar system, dodging space junk in the DeKuiper Belt, asking "Baksheesh?" with sunken eyes, and in answer to which we laugh "Mafeesh!" and call out the dogs.
Now, just as money may be laundered, so may our thoughts. Or, so may our vision of the world be run through the laundry and rendered pink when we wash it with the bloody red pants we threw in. Belief = Liquidity !
--
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Now You See It; Now You Don't
Saturday, February 24, 2007
All Aboard For Circles Five And Six! 'Board!
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita...
La Divina Commedia
(I use the illustration above, since I am heartily tired of Dore woodcuts and mediaeval prints that give the impression the Commedia is an ancient artefact. The lights could be fires; this could be a denizen of the nether regions; this could be Virgil; it could be Phlegyas...)
The fifth circle of hell, according to La Commedia, is the venue of the Wrathful. The sixth is that of the Heretical. Our journey has just begun. In Salon there is an article: Is there life after Bush?
Gary Kamiya
http://www.salon.com/opinion/kamiya/2007/02/20/after_bush/
and we find an interesting observation:
Paradoxically, the more you hate Bush, the greater the danger you will become as hollow as he is. (This may help explain the Carville-Matalin phenomenon: Perhaps people who are utterly political, even when they hold diametrically opposed views, in some hidden way are exactly the same.)
Herein is the millenium. The Religions devoted to Power are the same everywhere, being a crude Wahhabiism whose great appeal is its fundamental simplicity, summed up in the injunction to obey the leaders, be they Robertson, Bin Laden, Falwell, Haggee, or the grand mufti of Saudi Arabia, or the new Atheists. There is a book where I found:
Be not ye called Rabbi: for one is your Master, even Christ; and ye all are brethren. And call no man your father upon the earth: for one is your Father, which is in heaven. Neither be ye called masters: for one is your master, even Christ. But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant. And whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased; and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted.
Matthew 23: 8 - 12
There is life. There is family structure. There is social structure. There is the structure of Faith, and there is the structure of Reason. There is the structure of Music...and so on. There is no ego.
Those who have an Ego, find it to be a potent idol whose hungry maw they must stoke with the souls of their followers. This is why Jesus said what He did, as recorded above. We shall fight the Christian Wiseguys just as we shall the Islamic Wiseguys. John McCain, the forerunner among Republicans, has already had a sit down with the Capo of one family, Don Jerry Falwell, for which he will be repaid LARGE.
--
Thursday, February 22, 2007
The Soccer Ball Of Pythagoras
The Football Of Pythagoras
Cosmos is 'shaped like a football
By Dr David Whitehouse
BBC News Online science editor
We could be living in a small Universe where space is curved in on itself, rather like a football, say researchers in this week's Nature journal. More precisely, we may inhabit a dodecahedral cosmos. It is, according to the scientists, the best way to account for the latest satellite observations.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/3175352.stm
Now, why is this interesting and what does it have to do with Pythagoras?
A dodecahedron is a 12 sided figure, the word coming from 'hedron' meaning side, and 'dodeka' meaning 12, where 'do' is 2 and 'deka' is 10. In the cosmology of Pythagoras, there was a singular atom or entity termed the " Holkos". Holkos means 'cargo ship' or 'barge', the idea of being something large and able to be filled with thing and able to move along. (Holkos also could be redolent of holkas, meaning a winch to pull barges along a canal, giving the idea of holkos an additional notion of gravid attraction, but I may as well stand upon a peak in Darien.) This was referred to as 'the cargo ship of the whole', and one got the notion that it was the ultimate element of the cosmos and moved along, carrying all the other elements within it.
Therefore, Pythagoras saw this structure of the cosmos some 2,000 to 3,000 years ago, and it was probably ancient when his brilliance stumbled across it.
Please Explain 24 Hour Post...
Someone asked me about my post on the TV show 24 Hours, wondering about how a story may be a basis for a logical argument? Perhaps I am being fanciful in my analysis? Going back to the sequence of events as propounded by Mr. Dershowitz as an instance of the justice and efficacy of the establishment of our own Torture Tribunal, we observe:
1) the bomber is known to be a bomber, and that so absolutely, something not usually so clear and precise in the real world, but which is very clear and precise in Die Hard, where the first 15 minutes or so are spent demonstrating that Allan Rickman is (a) Germanic, (b) insane, (c) a terrorist, (d) fond of shooting old security guys fer laffs;
2) it is known that there are other bombs, or at least there is an very high probability that there are other bombs, and they are scattered in regions of dense population, something that assumes we already have a great deal of information from some other source, but we killed that particular golden goose before we educed the info as to 'where, pray tell?';
3) the bombs will go off in such a future time that the good guys still have a chance to disable them, detonation not being so imminent that all efforts would come to naught; a bomb set to explode in five minutes, say, yet in a city whose name and location we still do not know,is narratively impossible, because if the bombs go off, game over and Bruce Willis is sitting around with nothing to do for the next 90 minutes at 24 frames per second.
We could go on. What I wanted to do was demonstrate that Mr. Dershowitz's torture warrant case was constructed to compel to torture in the exact same manner as Die Hard was constructed to compel the viewers' continuing interest and approval of all mayhem wrought by Bruce Willis to attain his goal.
We watch the film and we feel anxious, wanting Bruce Willis to conquer Allan Rickman and his evil cohorts. We feel that Good has triumphed when he does so. We have been enmeshed within the web of a finely spun fabric of a story. We watch reality and we feel anxious. We wait for good to triumph. We have been enmeshed within the web, yet we do not see that some people wish to make us prisoners, and not merely to make our suffering yet more poignant. America, take control of your own Story!
(addendum: the members of the Greybeards Round Table whose political views are more right wing- the ones who like that young sprat John McCain- say that my disdain for torture is typical liberal softness. I tell them I have lived a long time and have seen the monsters, in the nation, in the government, in my own life. I know monsters. I have sat at the same table with them. The CIA used its Flyer Miles to fly people all over the globe to torture them with no warrants of torture. Mr. Dershowitz, you offered a gun to someone who was already using the cannon. People will do what they must do. We do not need to ENSHRINE it into law.) p.s. I am told the name of the show is 24, not 24 Hours. I could have sworn it was 24 Hours when it first came out. If there is ambiguity and you constantly mix it up with "This Hour Has 20 Minutes..." ( for my Canadian friends), call me at that 800 number on bumper stickers asking whether you approve of my driving.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
The Midwich Torturers: 24 Hours And Some Good Hoodia
Monday, February 19, 2007
Sheikh Raed Salah Comes A Cropper
Sheikh Salah
Israel's Chief Rabbi, Yona Metzger, urged authorities to prosecute Mr. Salah to the law's full extent.
"His protests are based on lies, illusions, and anti-Semitic preachings."
Mr. Metzger is cool. He has had his own legal problems, but he also had the inspired idea of a United Nations of religions. He proposed this in 2006. The idea was supported by the Imam of Gaza, Imad Al Faluji, who said that politicians lied, but religious leaders had a different objective - to work towards a higher good. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4800194.stm
Rabbi Metzger
This is not a bad idea. I wonder why I had not heard of it earlier?
Note: There is some unclarity and dispute about Imad Al Faluji, whether this is the same individual who was Communications Minister. However, the Imam of Gaza supported Mr. Metzger's idea.
Dr. Strangelove Redivivus 1 et Varia
Dr. Strangelove Redivivus 1
http://www.mediafax.ro/english/articole-free/Germany-Chides-U-S--Move-On-Anti-Missile-Shield-621525-9.html
German Foreign Minister Frank-Walter Steinmeier criticised the United States on Sunday in a rare public rebuke for failing to inform Russia of an offer to build an anti-missile base on Polish soil, reports Reuters. We have talked about this before. We have lived through this before! I know we are so great we do not have to care what anybody says.
(However, I was just reading about the Auto Industry and how in 1955 Toyota built 24,000 cars and GM bestrode the world! Everything changes and remains the same.)
Britney Spears Shears No need to provide links here. I do wonder, however, about how much of this celebrity hair cutting is actually connected to a fear of hair analysis? I think certain drugs will remain in the hair for 90 days, and if you have long, lovely flowing locks, its like having a dendrochronological record of your drug history back to the stone age!
Goddaughter Throws Frisbee At Pontiff
Recently she was in Rome:
Arad: (-1°C/9°C) Brasov: (-4°C/5°C) Bucuresti:(-3°C/11°C) Constanta:(-3°C/7°C) Iasi: (-3°C/7°C)
--
Daytona
Sunday, February 18, 2007
The Magic Barrel
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Women At Bay
Friday, February 16, 2007
Neocon Rap:MC Brownie And Floodmaster G.
You will say that this is another sophomoric attempt at humor. I agree. As I have said before, it is jejune and junior high; it is " jejun-ior high " humor. Somebody, some place, is not laughing. These are both good men. Maybe I should be glad I wasn't there. Perhaps, even in my insignificance, I somehow realize that it is more than just being a good guy; it is more than just being a good administrator. We lack a moral core about which we are absolutely certain, and which is not degraded by racism, contempt for others, greed, and lust for violent actions or stories and habits of thinking which are violent.
The Empire Of The Sun
They could be from the war in Iraq. They could be Palestinian. They may even be from New Orleans...still. Guess where they are not from. That may be informative.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
V Day 2007
Frylock Settles Out Of Court
Uncle Joe...Or Dimwitted Cousin Joe
Words: Port-manteau Words and Duffelbag Words
She left a message threatening legal action unless I issue an attribution of source. Since she is a lawyer, this was no empty threat. I tried to suborn her with the befuddled old father routine, but she sneered and said she would begin the suit in Maryland and left me a toll-free number for the Public Defender.
She also asked, "Why Bush?", apparently since Mr. Bush appears in the title, but nowhere in the piece.
Why Bush, indeed, I have asked since the year 2000.
I just wanted to juxtapose a REAL president versus a mid-level corporate executive who pantomimes as a president:
Lincoln: intelligent and expresses himself as such;
Bush: dull, drab, and mundane.
I am not referring to his verbal bloopers. Everyone does that. I mean that he is extremely mediocre in expressing himself. He is cursed by the prevalence of Duffelbag Words ( words derived from Sports metaphors of not a particularly brilliant type) which are among the less discrete charms of the Booboisie.
HOWEVER, the ultimate blame must be layed to the people of America ( people of the USA, that is. Canadians always complain when I imply America is the sum totality of the hemisphere). It is the people themselves who have allowed conceptions of finality, such as "culmination", "climax", and "denouement" to be collapsed into the all-around sports duffelbag expression:
it ain't over 'til the fat lady sings,
or, better yet,
it ain't over 'til it's over!
It is the people themselves who abbreviate "recrimination" or "regret" or "review" into the sports duffelbag expression:
Monday morning quarterbacking.
Or consider that the Secretary of State see fit to express not that victory was achieved at long last, rather that there was but a minute left on the clock!
Inspiration thanks to:
H.L.Mencken" College football would be much more interesting if the faculty played instead of the students, and even more interesting if the trustees played. There would be a great increase in broken arms, legs and necks, and simultaneously an appreciable diminution in the loss to humanity. "
http://www.lhup.edu/~DSIMANEK/mencken.htm
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Bush
Lincoln answered: "Allow the President to invade a neighboring nation whenever he shall deem it necessary to repel an invasion, and you allow him to do so whenever he may choose to say he deems it necessary for such purpose, and you allow him to make war at pleasure.
Study to see if you can fix any limit to his power in this respect, after having given him so much as you propose. If to-day he should choose to say he thinks it necessary to invade Canada to prevent the British from invading us, how could you stop him? You may say to him, - 'I see no probability of the British invading us;' but he will say to you, 'Be silent: I see it, if you don't.'"
The provision of the Constitution giving the war making power to Congress was dictated, as I understand it, by the following reasons: Kings had always been involving and impoverishing their people in wars, pretending generally, if not always, that the good of the people was the object. This our convention understood to be the most oppressive of all kingly oppressions, and they resolved to so frame the Constitution that no one man should hold the power of bringing this oppression upon us. But your view destroys the whole matter, and places our President where kings have always stood,"
--
Ovadia Yosef Comes A Cropper
On July 21, 2001 in NewsMax:
http://www.newsmax.com/archives/articles/2001/7/27/122828.shtml
Arabs Should 'Go to Hell,' Top Israeli Rabbi Says "In the old city of Jerusalem they're swarming like ants. They should go to hell - and the Messiah will speed them on their way," said Rabbi Ovadia Yossef during his a weekly sermon broadcast over Israeli army radio, according to Agence France Presse.
As far as we can tell, he lives yet.
In Wikipedia, we see " In 2005, Rabbi Yosef repeatedly condemned the Gaza Disengagement. He argued that he was opposed to any unilateral action that occurred outside the framework of a peace agreement. Rabbi Yosef again cited the principle of pikuach nefesh, saying that empowering the Palestinians without a commitment to end terror would result in threatening Jewish lives, particularly in areas near Gaza in range of Qassam rocket attacks. "
Therefore, the Rabbi is not mad. He is eminently sane. And yet he equates peoples to ants, rendering them sub-human. I forget the Hebrew for things that crawl upon the face of the earth. There is a word...Avivah Zornberg discusses it in her wonderful The Beginning of Desire, her study of Genesis.
My brother said, "It was better back in jail. Not so much fighting."
( We hope the mention of such a wonderful person as Ms. Zornberg will do some little bit to dispel the miasma left by writing of the Rabbi Yosef.)
Hope And Sorrow
So on to the visitation area. Did I mention that this jail opened new in 2006? In the visitation area, the guard lead us to an alcove where there was inch thick security glass, on the other side of which sat my brother, wanly smiling. "Thanks," we said to the guard. "Don' mention it." he said. "Talk loud." Ah...hmmm? Did we hear that right? "Talk loud."? Is that some sort of criminological adieu? Something like: we are parting...so sad...our time together ( about 2 minutes) was great, but we must part...since we will be far from each other, TALK LOUD, so that even if I were at the ends of the earth, I could hear your voice and return in the wink of an eye...and so on, and so on, and so on. O.K. If that was it, it was not very interesting. White guys, especially fat, white guys-especially fat, white guys who are prison guards- are always trying to be hip. They fail badly. I did not think that I would soon be saying goodbye to someone and smartly saying, "Talk loud!" (I might, just might, say "Talk loudly!")
So we turn to the object of our visit, giving the old alcove the once over, looking for (a) some sort of grill in the glass through which sound waves could carry, or (b) some sort of telephone connecting us to the other side of the glass, again through which sound waves could carry. There was nothing. I asked my brother, "How do you talk here?". He made one of those hand-as-an-ear-trumpet motions and I think he said "Eh?" I spoke louder. "How do you talk here? There's no phone." He laughed. "The place's screwed up."
We managed to fill in the next 30 minutes yelling at each other. My father, who has some lung issues, managed to get himself up to proper volume and bellow his question why my brother had not gotten a haircut yet. And so it went. There were other folks there, just visiting. So there was a constant chorus of Ehs?, Huhs?, Howzats?, Run that by me agains? up and down the halls. We assumed the staff was busily writing down all the secrets being passed back and forth. We thought that perhaps the county could not afford an surveillance eaves-dropping system to spy on any shenanigans that might go on, so they came up with this wheeze.
At the end of the half hour, all the visitors panted to the elevators and shared wondering looks. We would have laughed, but we were out of breath. So now he was out. And what will he do now? Well, this has been a trying transformation for all involved.
However, yesterday I decided to emphasize drinking. I suggested that if he wanted to drink - at which point he demurred, saying it wasn't as much fun as it used to be, and he was thinking of quitting...if you drink, I said, if...try and schedule it a bit better. A which point he gave me the old goggle eye. "What?" So I toke a piece of paper and wrote down two columns, one with 5 and 2 equalling 7, the other with 4 and 3 equalling 7. On the top row that had the 5 and the 4 in, I wrote "Binge Days". On the second row I wrote "Cold Sober Days". I pointed out that we could make a lot more progress in getting him a place and a job if I could count on certain days of sobriety. I suggested he plan it better. Don't just drink. Make the binge days count. Get it out of your system. Rent a movie. Rent two or three movies. Just remember to watch the one you really want to see first. Watching movies on a binge day means the second and third movies become a wee bit disjointed. And so on. He was captivated by the notion and we expanded our talk to other areas. It was rewarding. The hours spent before now- since his decarceration-had not been amusing and amiable. One step at a time...forever.
Monday, February 12, 2007
A Study Of History 1
The dominant minority could be conceived as being parallel to the top 5% or 2% of the population which is presently referred to as having been enriched by the present government. The internal proletariat is the rest of the population, condemned to servitude as greeters in stores that sell shoddy goods from foreign lands. The external proletariat had a parallel in illegal aliens ( just as an example - do not take me to task on this.) Notice that the dominant minority was taken by surprise by the hubbub about illegal aliens, and wished to promote a policy of amnesty. Remember how many of the dominant minority had illegals in their employ. How many recent federal appointments were sabotaged by the lack of a green card? The first fellow chosen to follow Tom Ridge as head of Homeland Security fell prey to this. This shows how far apart the dominant minority is from the rest of the population. Not only do they draw themselves further away economically - but the rest of us just shake our heads and say that the rich get richer- but their view of the world tends to become skewed further away from the view of the internal proletariat.
The fervor of the population over illegal immigration shocked the dominant minority. All this example does is demonstrate how dominant minorities rule over the population with which it does not necessarily share the same world view.
This division showed up in the film Apocalypto. The dominant minority of the Indian civilization imposed a religion of terror and reign of violence. Toynbee holds that, as the dominant minority becomes less and less creative - the more it settles matters by brutish and violent methods; the more it abdicates all values bating its greed-the rest of the populace, the internal proletariat, develops its own view of the world, informed by its experiences, its poverty, its abasement, and creates a Universal Church. The Universal Church acts as a chrysalis to pass the culture of civilization from the dying civilization on to its successor, a new civilization. His primary example of this was the Church's role in the decline of Rome and the rise of Europe. Dominant Minorty, internal proletariat, and external proletariat; these are terms to remember.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
In The Night Lands
There are good books coming all the time. If you graduate from college and have a friend or relative in the publishing business, you have at least one book. Every graduate has a book in them, whether they write it or not. Every graduate has a screenplay for Porkie's or Animal House, but for the most part they do not write it down, and it becomes reminiscences to be repeated before the children who will think their father was quite the wild party animal in his day.
Why do I read The Night Lands? To be very brief, for the book itself is rather prolix, The Night Lands is set in a time when the Sun has gone out, and humanity has dwindled to remnants in two outposts. The world where these last stands of man are located has been infested by monsters and Ab-human creatures who prey upon man when man ventures outside his two safe zones.
The most impressive of these monsters is The Watcher of the South, a entity of the shape and bulk of a mountain of crushing magnitude that appeared upon the southern horizon a million years past and has crept progressively closer, measurably, though hardly noticeable within a year or ten, but terrifying over the course of thousands of years during which the remains of humanity charted its progress. Yet it reached a point where appeared a glowing dome of light. This seemingly halted its progress.
The last men wondered that this force for Good still existed and gave them safety, and they were glad of it. So we see we are in a world where the paradigm of God the Almighty has been broken like a little Hello Kitty mirror, and its shards still reflect the Holy, yet not unified, not seamless, not unbroken.
The power of the Holy has not been destroyed, but the evil of the age to which man has progressed is such that it has rendered the power of the Holy intermittent and parochial. Think now, what would it be like to live in a world where the power of God became futile as a cold morning's battery; you pray and have to keep your fingers crossed and mutter "I think He can, I think He can!" ? It is the present, only with the men and women of Faith removed. That's all.
Our belief in the continuity of God's love is a paradigm based on reason. Faith is living, action, not opining, not inspecting propositions. When we have created enough havoc in the world, would it not appear to us that God has withdrawn His love? When the desert takes over, when the super-hurricanes hit, when the drought strangles, would it not seem as if the Holy had gone away? But, what has happened?
We created an idol from our Reason. Then we handed it over to the professional theologians to take care of, ignoring it in our daily lives, in our daily works and business. We executed our depredations upon the world and our fellow men with plans based on Reason, not Faith.
When everything falls apart, the paradigm created by Reason, created by the bastard sons of Voltaire, breaks down, and into the vacuum Reason - a horrible, inpotent and wretched Reason now- inserts a new paradigm: God is dead, God is gone, God's love is only intermittent. Reason has a multitude of faces, and it plays all sides; reason is attention to detail, and detail is infinite, and there is Reason's strength and its weakness.
Look where we are now: a Doomsday Vault. In Dr. Strangelove, its was a Doomsday Machine. The word Doomsday has been resurrected. It is not restricted to Terminator. Apocalypse if the work of God; Doomsday is the work of Mankind.
The final design for a "doomsday" vault that will house seeds from all known varieties of food crops has been unveiled by the Norwegian government. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/6335899.stm and Under Swiss law, local governments are required to provide shelter spaces for everyone, and in the early 1970s Lucerne was short by several thousand. The new Sonnenberg motorway tunnel, just being built, seemed a neat solution: kit it out as a nuclear shelter as well and it could hold 20,000 people. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/6347519.stm
The Svalbard International Seed Vault may be a Last Redoubt. The Swiss bunkers will be among the last outposts of mankind. Perhaps. I think we have to turn from the Christian Wiseguys on TV and radio and come back to a true Christianity.
I think we must turn from the obscure and violent Islamic Wiseguys and come back to true Islam.
I think we must cast out the Jews who embrace hatred, and come back to the God who led us all from slavery and from the wilderness. links: http://fatherdaughtertalk.blogspot.com/2006/10/christiano-wiseguys.html http://fatherdaughtertalk.blogspot.com/2006/08/get-pat.html http://fatherdaughtertalk.blogspot.com/2006/08/christian-jihad.html
Told Ya!
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Global Climate Change Idol: Mother Nature Auditions 1















