Deregulation

[Recycled from 6 August 2004]

I notice that when people talk about "deregulation", often what they are asking for is actually the opposite of deregulation.

My favorite example is still the "deregulation" which led to the collapse of the savings and loan industry in the 1980s.

S&Ls were required to join the government-owned Federal Savings and Loan Insurance Corporation (FSLIC), which insured deposits up to $100,000. FSLIC rules limited the sorts of activities S&Ls could engage in, in order to reduce the corporation's liability.

Logically, the way to deregulate such an industry would be to charter the FSLIC as a private body without taxpayer subsidies, and make membership in it voluntary. A savings and loan whose officers thought they could do better could join with others to form a competing insurance group, or try to buy insurance from an existing insurance company, or even wing it without insurance, so long as investors were fully informed of the risks they were shouldering.

Those of us who actually remember the Reagan years (as opposed to those who simply feel a vague warm fuzzy sensation at the mention of the Great Man's Name) will remember the Reagan version of deregulation: membership in FSLIC was still mandatory, but S&Ls were no longer bound by those pesky rules and could take all the risks they wanted, even to the extent of gambling on currency exchange rates (otherwise known as Wall Street Roulette). Federal regulators even went beyond the requirements of the law, promising depositors that deposits greater thsn $100,000 would be covered, even if they amounted to millions of dollars.

Free of all restrictions and all fears, the officers of many S&Ls behaved as you might expect: they went hog-wild with other people's money, hoping to make billions, and for the most part they failed. S&Ls were bankrupt all over the country.

The FSLIC had nothing like enough money to cover all those losses. Taxpayer money had to make up the difference. And yes, even those million-dollar deposits by corporations were paid off, even though the government had no legal obligation to do so.

That's deregulation the Reagan - Bush - Bush way. We still haven't tried deregulation the deregulation way, which is why I am still not ashamed of having been a member of the Libertarian Party.

Give Shoulder Rubs

[Recycled from 30 August 2004, because shoulder rubs are always in order]

It's not difficult, doesn't require so much strength that it will wear out your hands, and the people around you will be in a better mood, so it's to your advantage from a purely selfish perspective.

Knead up the shoulder muscles for awhile, moving along up the neck and out onto the deltoid muscles of the upper arm a bit.

Gradually, settle the fingers of one hand on one shoulder, so the tips are pressing into the well of the shoulder, or behind the well in the trapezius muscle. With your other hand, press lightly at the bottom of the deltoid muscle and hold for a minute or so. Then move on to the outside corner of the elbow, and finally tot he place where the forearm bones meet the wrist, on the back of the wrist. These pressure points relate to stress, and really ought to be worked on just about every American adult.

Give shoulder rubs. Ask for them. Learn and study.

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "What do you care, you're too busy to even write in your blog?"\\

Put It In Perspective

[Recycled from 5 August 2004]

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of Heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels

Walt Whitman

Did I Miss Something?

[Recycled from 17 September 2004]

It seems to me that nuclear weapons (and other WMD) are

1) of least value to a country that has overwhelming superiority in conventional military forces

2) of some possible value as a deterrent to a country that is in a vulnerable position relative to powerful neighbors

but

3) of most value to terrorists?

So isn't it maybe just a tad unwise for the government of the United States to be encouraging an arms race among the second class of military powers? And to be proposing to build "bunker busters", nuclear bombs so small and convenient that even the most inept terrorists will be able to steal them?

Or am I missing something?

This makes me breathe funny

[Recycled from 31 July 2004]

Working a couple of different jobs on the fringes of medicine, I have picked up a reasonable amount of technical vocabulary.

But even people who don't have my medical background are surprised when I tell them that I recently saw an "educational" document, written for distribution to caregivers, which referred to the intermittent breathing of people close to death as "chain-stoking".

Dr. Cheyne (1818) and Dr. Stokes (1854) must be rolling over in their graves.

(thanks to for whonamedit.com background information)

Identity Theft

Arthur D. Hlavaty turned me on to a good idea the Corpuscle had for a TV spot:

If I had a million dollars -- well, more likely, several million -- here's the T.V. ad I'd create and run until the most harrowing problem our democracy now faces is finally fixed. Somebody may have already done one like it, but if they have I haven't seen it.

Since these things seem to get titles, just like the Big Kids, I call this one "Identity Theft".

(Sound: perfect silence
Image: black screen.)

Fade in white text: "10 MILLION AMERICAN IDENTITIES"
Fade in below that: "ARE HIJACKED EVERY YEAR"

(Fade to black. Pause.)

Fade in white text: "CUSTOMER DATABASES COMPROMISED:"
Fade in below that: "LEXISNEXIS/SEISINT: 310,000 IDENTITIES"
Fade in below that: "DSW SHOE WAREHOUSE: 1.4 MILLION IDENTITIES"
Fade in below that: "CHOICEPOINT INC.: 145,000 IDENTITIES"
Fade in below that: "POLO RALPH LAUREN: 180,000+ IDENTITIES"
Fade in below that: "THERE ARE MORE..."

(Fade to black. Pause.)

Fade in: "IDENTITY THEFT"

(Fade to black. Pause.)

Fade in: "IT CAN HAPPEN TO YOU"

(Fade to black. Pause.)

Fade in: "IT CAN HAPPEN TO YOUR COUNTRY"

(Fade to black. Pause.)

Fade in white text: "WHEN WE VOTE"
Fade in below that: "DEMAND A PAPER TRAIL"

(Pause. Fade to black.)

What I say is, why wait for the million(s)? Let's put this up in posters, Flash animations, &c., and get it out into the world.

I'm In

I have been admitted to the Nursing program at Linn-Benton Community College.

More about this later.

After I start blinking again.

Indian Country

[Recycled from 21 September 2004]

To the Editor, Wall Street Journal:

Robert D. Kaplan (Opinion, 21 September 2004) seems to think that regarding much of the world as "Indian Country" is a novel idea that will help give new perspective on 21st Century American military policy.

I'm surprised that Mr. Kaplan seems to be unaware that many people, both military insiders and civilian scholars, have spoken explicitly about the Indian Country mindset within strategic circles.

Going to war with a civilized enemy is one thing: you fight with them according to the conventions of civilized warfare, and eventually you make peace. Treaties are negotiated, and the terms will either be honored, or a provocation will be discovered to allow them to be violated.

Going into Indian Country is a very different matter, because Indian Country is not a nation, and it has no civilized inhabitants. In fact, it is a howling wilderness with no legitimate inhabitants at all. Any people found there are unreasoning brutish savages who must be pacified, civilized or just plain exterminated, so that we can get on with the important task of making use of the natural resources of the wilderness. Treaties may be concluded with the savages, but all civilized people understand that these are not real treaties, any more than the "Indian tribes" are real nations, and they will be violated freely without dishonor.

It is my sincere hope that, far from being embraced as an exciting new paradigm, the concept of "Indian Country" will be explicitly rejected by military planners, and training instituted to warn against allowing the notion to taint their thinking.

Summing Up a Life

We're back, safe and alive, from San Diego -- I plan to fill in the details on that one later. Here's something that came in my e-mail while we were away:

At Portland Independent Media Center, CatWoman writes movingly about the death of Vernon Allen, shot by Portland city police on May 19th.

CatWoman raises an issue that is worthy of general consideration: how do you sum up a person's life?

Here is a challenge for you: describe yourself in three or four phrases, according to whether they are going into your local newspaper's coverage of your death, if you were killed by

a) a terrorist attack?

(Example: Loving husband, father of four, massage therapist, pre-nursing student)

b) your local police?

(Example: Reputed to have been married to a woman 23 years his senior, lived in a shabby house which prospective buyers plan to demolish, rejected when he applied to nursing school in 2004)

San Diego, Part 4

Everyone but us left early Sunday. Due to incomplete communication among the family (he said, with immense politeness), the three of us arrived a day later and would leave a day later than the others, so breakfast was our last chance for family schmoozing. We went to yet another Mexican restaurant in Old Town, El Fandango, and had breakfast in ridiculous restaurant-size portions that left us feeling no need for more food until evening. Kind words and sentiments were exchanged at the restaurant and then a few more back at the hotel.

We drove downtown and walked around, intending to check out bookstores that we'd looked up in the Yellow Pages, but found one closed on sunday and another defunct for months if not years. We did see some gorgeous architecture, including several truly splendid parking garages.

We stumbled upon a gateway to a parallel universe that turned out to be the Horton Plaza we had been told about. It was quite staggering, literally frightening, such an extreme shopping experience, and I am no shopper. Someone who was actually interested in all those places we saw on one quick walk through would really have been moved. I wish now that I had saved the phrase "the mind boggles" for time slike that one. But then, Kathe probably wishes I was more sparing with it, too.

After that Kathe, Waldy and I headed once again into Balboa Park to see the Museum of Man (swell!) and the Museum of Art (not so hot). We were amused by the quaint reconstructions of ancient hominids left over from the 1915 World's Fair, and by the less-than-perfect reconstructions left over from the 1974 filming of The Naked Ape.

After that, we checked out book stores, or as it turned out, I did while Waldy stayed behind and Kathe sat patiently in the car. She really is awfully nice to me, you know. Then we turned in the car, leaving us at the mercy of San Diego rapid transit, which proved to be merciful indeed.

Back at the hotel, we talked about going to find some takeout food, but were still only moderately interested in food after the enormous breakfast. We walked around Old Town, looked in at restaurants, but finally walked back without anything. We did, though, finally break our silence on the mysterious pipes that erupt from the pavement with surprising frequency in San Diego.

The next morning, we took a taxi to the airport, retraced our steps through Salt Lake City and Eugene, found our car in the parking lot looking eerily unchanged after a long weekend away, and went home. It was right there where we'd left it. Amazing.

San Diego, Part 3

We had some "complimentary continental breakfast" at our hotel, then went over to La Quinta to join the family, who were having some it theirs. After a time, we adjourned and reconvened at the Mexican place, then split up to do various things. Kathe, Waldy and I walked around Old Town and saw nifty things, including a man doing gorgeous multicolored calligraphy with a leather brush, another man painting fantasy landscapes with spray paint and crumnpled newspaper, and a shop selling the most wonderfully scurrilous refrigerator magnets.

We bought five of the magnets, and Kathe copied down the text of several more:
Sorry I missed Church. I was busy practicing Satanism and becoming a lesbian.

Don't make me come down there. -- God

The little engine that didn't give a rat's ass (not really good unless you see it with the illustration).

Come back, Bill, all is forgiven.

Jesus would slap you silly.

Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups.

I've got nothing against God. It's his fan club I can't stand.

If the kids are still alive at five, I've done my job.

I found jesus. He was behind the sofa the whole time.

Better Multitasking Skills through Massive Caffeine Consumption.

Can you impeach someone who wasn't elected in the first place?

I don't have an anger problem, I have an idiot problem.

All these an many more are available from Ephemera, Inc.

The Aerospace Museum was even more spectacular than it had been the last time I saw it, in 1981. The already-crowded floor and air space were further packed with planes and facsimiles, and what had once been the quiet, neglected courtyard was now roofed over and opened up with big doors, and held still more planes (and a helicopter). In the lobby, we rode the flight simulator, then went back and tried another one (leaving two more simulations we might come back and try), and peered inside the Apollo 9 capsule.

There was some more lounging at poolside, this time with more family (Grandma and Grandpa, Aunt Pat, Aunt Sandra, Uncle Alec and Aunt Darlene, Cousins Rebekah, Danielle and Zoelle (with Jim and Jason, respective significant others of Danielle and Zoelle). Jason was there without Zoelle at first, nervously boisterous, eventually joined by the laryngitic Zoelle.

Kathe, Waldy and I eventually left poolside to look for food. At a Cajun restaurant, we reluctantly passed on the alligator sausage in favor of blackened chicken and gumbo.

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "If you're happy and you know it, drop your pants."[The Magic 8-Ball hasn't been the same since it saw that wall of refrigerator magnets.]

San Diego, Part 2

The Salt Lake City airport was immense, but distressingly similar to Eugene's. I remembered what I'd heard about the numbing sameness of airports, and apparently it's mostly true. They do at least make an effort to give you a clue where you are, with framed landscape photos and work by local artists.

The amenities within the "secure" area were impressive at Eugene, and spectacular at SLC. The prices were surprisingly kind, considering they had a captive audience. We came upon a row of bulk snack bins, surreally set right into the wall of the concourse, and bought some sugared peanuts and malt balls off a woman I took for Ethiopian but who turned otu to be Somali.

The second plane was also a Canadair Regional Jet, a CRJ700, the same diameter but somewhat longer. As on the first leg of our flight, we sat at the back, in the cheap seats that can't be reclined. They packed us in good, with no unsold seats. Very clever of them.

We got to San Diego just about sunset, the lights starting to come in down below. The runways are short at San Diego, and the approach is steep, giving you a thrilling view of the city below. I recognized the Prado in Balboa Park as it flashed by my window.

We picked the Dollar Rent-a-Car shuttle out of a welter of car agenvcy and hotel shuttle buses and were quickly taken to the Dollar office. The agent at the desk pressed us to upgrade to "economy" from "compact, and we finally agreed to pay the extra money. Then she announced that they had no "economy" cars on the lot, and offered us a PT Cruiser at no extra charge. She also let slip that thery had no "compact" cars; I suppose that means that we could have stuck to our guns and gotten the PT for the price of a compact, but it was a good deal anyway, and why be greedy?

Cook Family gatherings usually involve a lot of time spent gathered at poolside, but by the time we were checked in, the gathering had broken up for the night. My aunt Sandra came down to meet us, though, and told us that the family planned to accumulate gradually the next morning over the La Quinta Inn's continental breakfast and then go over to a Mexican restaurant in Old Town for brunch.

Kathe, Waldy and I went back to our own hotel, around the block from La Quinta, made ourselves relatively comfortable in our room. We were annoyed to find that the room, which was supposed to have two beds, didn't. Waldy went out and roamed the streets for awhile and then returned to sleep on the couch. We found out the next day that the couch was actually a foldaway bed, but Waldy preferred sleeping on it as a couch anyway.

[To be continued]

San Diego, Part 1

So, we're off to San Diego. We drive south from Corvallis for about an hour and come to the airport in Eugene, go through security and wait for our flight to . . . Salt Lake City?

Why is the hub for flying from Eugene to San Diego in SLC? Isn't there more than enough traffic along the coast to justify having a hub in San Francisco, or L.A.? Seems odd to me.

Less surprising is a display of Siberian art, seeing's how Eugene has Irkutsk for a sister city. Attractive art, especially the dazzlingly-detailed batik, and not neglecting the oil paintings that look like plat diagrams of housing developments.

In addition to displays of art that are worth looking at, we are also pleased to see that within the secure perimeter there are plenty of amenities available, and at prices that are not at all gougesome.

We take a teensy little non-jumbo jet, a Canadair Regional Jet CRJ50, juuuuust barely high enough in the middle of the cabin for me to stand upright, with my shoulders almost touching the overhead racks. Tough luck on anyone who's the least bit bigger than me.

They get everybody into their seats in good time, even the chirpy little toddler and the guy who had to check his walker (I see no sign of the old priest, the newlyweds or the embezzler clutching his briefcase, so I guess there won't be any dramatic events on this flight).

The plane rattles in the most interesting fashion at every movement (takeoff, raising of landing gear, levelling off). A larger plane wouldn't have so much of a feel to it. It reminds me of driving a VW Beetle, and being able to feel the road. I like it, but it clearly makes some people nervous.

[To be continued -- check this posting later, and I should have added to it]

Off to Sunny San Diego

At least, we hope it will be sunny.

We'll be flying to a family reunion, and seeing a couple of sights. I'm especially looking forward to renewing my acquaintance with the Aerospace Museum, which I remember fondly from my time in the Navy.

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "Don't ask me, put on the Weather Channel."\\

Have You Ever Kippled?

When I recycled a 2004 post (the Kipling poem "Hymn of Breaking Strain"), Peni had this to say in response:

"Kipling is an excellent example of how impossible it is to label people accurately. He is often perceived - with reason - as a type of the racist right-wing bastard. Yet the man who wrote "The White Man's Burden" also wrote the stirring environmentalist anthem, "The Beaches of Lukannon" (See Jungle Book II). If he were alive today he might be a neoconservative, or he might not. The point is, he *isn't* alive today and can only be viewed in context of his own times and personality, not in the context of our times and preconceptions. Sorting people into limited categories gets us nowhere. Learning about the complexity of humanity by reading people like Kipling gets us the everywhere.

"Take what you need, and leave the rest."

I would go even further than that. Kipling was a racist by some criteria, but he was also steeped in a genuine multicultural tradition, and he had an obvious and sincere respect for non-English people, and for working-class English, for that matter. And, yes, for "lower animals".

Kipling wrote "If", which seems to say that all it takes is a stern will to carry on and not break, but he also wrote "Breaking Strain", which definitely said that there was such a thing as too much stress for a human being to bear, and each of us has a different breaking point.

Kipling wrote
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
but his next couplet shows that he meant the exact opposite of what most people think he meant:
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends of the earth!
which is perhaps what he was referring to when he wrote
If you can bear to see the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools

Hmmmm. I hadn't intended it, but this post is now relevant to the discussion of misunderstood and misappropriated songs taking place at Pandagon, which I find interesting, although I think the case against "The Big Rock Candy Mountain" is overstated, when only one example of the controversial variant can be cited.

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "My lips say 'no', while my eyes say 'read my lips."\\

Defining Marriage

You may have heard this one from other blogs, but if you haven't, you could do just as well to start from Ampersand's blog. There you will find a clear and precise definition of marriage from 1886, and will learn, if you hadn't heard already, that traditional marriage was degraded and ultimately abolished a long time before "those people" started talking about getting married.

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "The answer to your question depends on how you define its terms."\\

Transcultural Understanding

[Recycled from 27 July 2004]

Many things which seemed incomprehensible suddenly fall into place when you know that the correct way to pronounce jihad is "Yeeeeee-haaaaaa!"

Breaking Strain

[Recycled from 27 September 2004, because it bears repeating]

Hymn of Breaking Strain
by Rudyard Kipling

The careful text books measure
(Let all who build beware!)
The load, the shock, the pressure
Material can bear.
So, when the buckled girder
Lets down the grinding span,
The blame of loss, or murder,
Is laid upon the man.
Not on the Stuff -- the Man!

But in our daily dealing
With stone and steel, we find
The Gods have no such feeling
Of justice toward mankind.
To no set gauge they make us, --
For no laid course prepare --
And presently o'ertake us
With loads we cannot bear.
Too merciless to bear.

The prudent text-books give it
In tables at the end --
The stress that shears a rivet
Or makes a tie-bar bend --
What traffic wrecks macadam --
What concrete should endure --
But we, poor Sons of Adam,
Have no such literature,
To warn us or make sure!

We hold all Earth to plunder --
All Time and Space as well --
Too wonder-stale to wonder
At each new miracle;
Till, in mid-illusion
Of Godhead 'neath our hand,
Falls multiple confusion
On all we did or planned.
The mighty works we planned.

We only of Creation
(Oh, luckier bridge and rail!)
Abide the twin-damnation --
To fail and know we fail.
Yet we -- by which sole token
We know we once were Gods --
Take shame in being broken
However great the odds --
The Burden or the Odds.

Oh, veiled and secret Power
Whose paths we seek in vain,
Be with us in our hour
Of overthrow and pain;
That we -- by which sure token
We know thy ways are true --
In spite of being broken,
Because of being broken,
May rise and build anew.
Stand up and build anew!

Not Vulcans

They're tearing down buildings in the next block over, preparing to put up a big apartment block. Lots of cool stuff is lying out over there, left by departing residents. Kathe and I picked up a bunch of books, including James Mann's The Rise of the Vulcans, subtitled "The History of Bush's War Cabinet".

I have to object to these people (Dick Cheney, Colin Powell, Richard Armitage, Donald Rumsfeld, Paul Wolfowitz and Condoleezza Rice) being called "Vulcans". I find the comparison deeply offensive.

Vulcans value logic and control their emotions.

They're also not Klingons, by the way: Klingons are honorable and respect physical courage.

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "What does logic dictate?"\\

I'm Mad At Texas Today

My apologies to Peni, Honoria, Amber and, oh yes, Michu, but I'm not feeling fondly inclined towards Texas today.

I'm not holding George W. Bush against you. I'm well aware that he's a New England aristocrat whose claim to being a Texan rests on his having bought a weekend play ranch. But you're going to have to take the rap for Christopher Amox, Dallas Stone, John Wesley Owens and James Hicks of Linden. And those jurors, too.

Amox, Stone and Owens duped mentally disabled (and black) Billy Ray Johnson into attending an otherwise all-white party where they picked a fight with him, beat him unconscious, then got Cass County jailer Hicks to help them stake Johnson out on a fire ant hill at a dump, where they hoped he would not be found.

The jurors found them guilty but apparently were too tender-hearted to recommend any jail time for the four (after all, Johnson survived, and is merely crippled for life), but Judge Ralph K. Burgess overruled them, and handed out nice stiff 30-day sentences.

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "Please, don't talk to me just now."\\

Maxims and Minims

[Recycled from 31 August 2004]

The early worm gets the bird.

A handful of water isn't much, but a fistful is none at all.

(I'll add more later -- or you can)

Calling It

I am pleased to hear, via the Friends Committee on National Legislation that an act is now before the House of Representatives which would restrict or terminate the practice of "extraordinary rendition", that is, of the U.S. government transporting captives to countries where the authorities will torture them.

I am even more pleased that this bill, HB952, is called the Torture Outsourcing Prevention Act.

A brutally blunt name is very appropriate under the circumstances. There comes a time to call a spade a goddamn shovel.

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "For God's sake, I don't know!"\\

Whatever

Kathe and I used to go to the Corvallis Grocery Outlet (otherwise known as "the can store")on a regular basis. We enjoyed the challenge of never knowing what would be on the shelves, nor what exotic brand names, seemingly from parallel universes (actually just from remote regional distributors), we would find.

Unfortunately, they decided to implement an "anti-shoplifting" policy that required customers with backpacks to leave their valuables lying around near the entrance. Apparently, they think shoplifters would use backpacks, even though shoulder bags (not restricted) are the obvious choice. Perhaps it's that they (incorrectly) associate backpacks with a certain socioeconomic class, and (also incorrectly) associate that class with shoplifting. So, we don't go there often anymore, because I don't care to subject myself to public humiliation in order to save a little money.

The other day, though, we saw a special we didn't want to pass up, so we went, and as long as we were there, we looked at the oddities on the shelves, and were as usual amused.

One item I found especially amusing was ShurFine brand fig bars. Kathe was familiar with the name, and it turns out that ShurFine is a Western Family brand, quite common in other parts of the continent. So, okay, apparently other people won't be as startled by it, but to me the name ShurFine was suggestive of a product of middling quality to be found at Ralph's Pretty Good Groceries, begging that third word.

You know:

Sure. Fine. Whatever.

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "Whatever."\\

Hans Blix: Right Again

Hans Blix must be getting tired of being right all the time.

He was right about Saddam Hussein's weapons of mass destruction.

Now he's right about George W. Bush's reckless damaging of the Nuclear Non-prolifteration Treaty.

It has always seemed to me that nuclear weapons are of greatest value to terrorists, moderate value to a country which is militarily weak relative to potential enemies (North Korea, Israel) and of least value to a great power which has overwhelming superiority in conventional weapons over any possible enemy or combination of enemies.

That being the case, the U.S. government ought to be, and stay, at the vanguard of nuclear disarmament. Am I missing something?

I'm getting tired of Hans Blix being right all the time, but I can live with it. I'm not so sure about George W. Bush's being wrong all the time.

(Note: If your answer was going to involve the phrase "mass graves", please don't bother.)

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "What about Saddam's mass graves, huh?"\\

Possible Consequences

George W. Bush observed the anniversary of V-E Day by speaking at a military cemetery in Holland. He talked about the vital importance of ordinary people who step up when they are called to go to war, and about what an awesome burden it is to decide to go to war, and how democratic countries don't wage aggressive war the way those bad dictatorships do.

Now, I'll admit that I've never heard of any documented cases of the dead rising from their desecrated graves to wreak a terrible revenge upon the blasphemer, but don't you think Bush should have been at least a little bit afraid of the possibility?

//The Magioc 8-Ball says, "None of your business."\\

The Significant and the Trivial

I went to the Quaker Meeting today, as I've been trying to do lately. In the hope of settling my mind, I took my gorgeously decorated shirt in with me and sewed on it for a few minutes. That usually does a good job of calming me down.

As I sewed, I wondered if what I was doing would be distracting or offensive to anyone else as they entered the Meeting room one by one. Was it appropriate?

I also considered the thought that the bright colors and distinctive appearance of the shirt were severely dissonant to the practice of the earliest Quakers, although I recognized that as a nonsensical objection.

From there, I went on to think about the trivial vs. the essential, the broad issue of what is important and must be kept in mind, as opposed to that which was merely habit or tradition.

For instance, the very amusing Unitarian Jihad has been the target of criticism by Unitarians and others who have no sense of humor. One Quaker commentator primly (and irrelevantly) scolded the Unitarians for their Unitarianism, apparently under the mistaken impression that all Quakers are Trinitarians (so far as I know, it's still a matter of discussion whether all Quakers have to be Christians).

Thoughtfully,

John (aka Brother Log Chain of Patience)

//The Magic 8-Ball says "No."\\

Bush in 30 Years

Did you see "Child's Pay", the winner of the "Bush in 30 Seconds" contest? IF not, check it out here.

But before you do that, check out the current winner of the "http://www.bushin30years.org/winner.html?id=5498-1563499-Z1CoFy0f3OUXFSCfyrpr9g&t=2">Bush in 30 Years" contest.

Which Science Fiction Writer Are You?

I am: Cordwainer Smith (Paul M.A. Linebarger) This inimitably unique storyteller created a future with so many deep layers of history that all the world we know is practically lost in it.

Which science fiction writer are you?

I'm Cordwainer Smith? Huh. Wouldn't have guessed, but maybe so . . . .

I tried answering the questions as though I were George W. Bush, and was really surprised when it came back with David Brin. Of course, trying to apply anything literary to Bush is kind of like making passionate love to fog, so maybe I shouldn't bother trying.

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "Stop and think a moment."\\

I Finally Figured it Out

[Reposted from 23 August 2004]

"Nucular" isn't a mistake.

Noos = Greek "thought".

-culus = Latin, "small".

So, nucular means a small thought, a vague notion, a passing fancy.

Saddam Hussein possessed a nucular arsenal: an imaginary one.

New Blog

I have started a blog devoted to the history class I'm teaching at Willamette Valley Community School.

It's not interesting or anything. It's really only of (limited) interest to the staff and parents at WVCS. Just thought I'd mention it.

Be Not Afraid

Patrick Nielsen Hayden calls for a moratorium on the hackneyed catchphrase "Be afraid. Be very afraid." in commenting on the policies of the current administration.

Not because it's hackneyed, but because it's what the bastards want us to feel.

He offers in its place such interesting substitutes as "Be pissed and nimble. Be very pissed and nimble.", such classic substitutes as "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself", and the perfect anodyne, "Be not afraid."

"Be not afraid." I needed to hear that again.

Thank you, Patrick.

It Scans well to the "Ode to Freedom" (aka "Ode to Joy")

[Reposted from 13 August 2004]

For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see,
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;

Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight dropping down with costly bales;

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew
From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue;

Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm,
With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm;

Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.

There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe,
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.

from "Locksley Hall" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Stand Up and Be Counted . . . Or Not

A group calling themselves "Restore America" are wildly indignant to learn that e-mails to state Senator Frank Morse are considered part of the public record.

They want to bravely oppose Oregon Senate Bill 1000, which seeks to extend the rights of a U.S. citizen to queers. But they want to bravely oppose it anonymously, you see.

David Crowe calls this perfectly ordinary sharing of public information a "stunt", and rants about gay people's "unfettered willingness to go after those who oppose their wishes", hinting that he will be subject to some form of harassment, without actually making any accusation.

As for me, I am strongly in favor of SB 1000, at least as a start.

And you can quote me on that.

Well, that's enough of playing with the computer. From up here in the lookout, I am guiltily aware of Kathe and the ever-useful Corky down below on the porch roof, replacing shingles. I should get down there and help out.

//The Magic 8-Ball says: "Ask this question again in an hour, if you're sure you really want to know."\\