Thursday, February 26, 2009
Conflict of Interest in re: Postage;
Ursula walked into the room in tears. "My German Chocolate cake looks positively AUSTRALIAN!" she wailed. Sam looked her over in concern. "Is it the very END of the world?" he asked, trying to keep matters in perspective. "No," she admitted, her countenance lifting slightly. "But its going to be AWFUL... it's practically UPSIDE DOWN!" Sam was not oblivious to the aesthetic problems of overturned cakes, but his gustatorial experiences from youth led him to infer that all was not yet lost. He approached his preference of solutions diplomatically. "If we hide the evidence appropriately, we may be able to yet avert the total destruction of your reputation in the wedding cake community at least," he began. "Oh SAM... you're TEASING me," she smiled, "Wedding cakes are not Chocolate." Sam capitulated carefully. "I'll agree that German Chocolate cakes cannot be made in white, but wedding cakes _can_ be chocolate, as long as they are white," he argued. Ursula was feminine enough to be arbitrary, (what Sam has been known to call perverse when not in mixed company,) but the color of a German Chocolate Cake could not be said to fail her observation that he had been teasing her, and the factual nature that the end of the world was probably going to be related to the mutual assured destruction of super-powers and not cakes was disputable only in certain contexts - this context did not qualify; "I love you Sam," she said, for lack of a better comment. He was standing, and she looked earnestly up into his eyes with large emotional brown pools of affection as he took her in his arms. "How shall we dispose of this incriminating confectionery?" he asked. He had engaged her sense of humor, and she hadn't talked much about Melbourne and Andrea lately, so she opened with trumps. "Maybe we should ship it off to OZ," she suggested, "Melbourne and Andrea can eat it right side up down there in Darwin." Sam's experience surfing the IMDB website movie database for trivial information about the "no longer wild," _west_ now came into play. He countered with an enigma. "Australia is in the Far East," he rejoined. How is the Far East upside down?" Ursula pondered her geography. Galveston was on the east coast, and his stories of a Chinese souvenir vendor from Galveston had amused her in no small measure, but he had never once contradicted the ordinary assumption of all Texans that CHINA was the "Far East," before. The connection between OZ and China was also available from inference. Melbourne and he had been seeking OZ by the mechanism of going as far South as you can go, turning North and proceeding to the nearest Island when the discovery of China had been made, (yellow bricks from the Great Wall of China being the specific object of their Archeological efforts.) He had struck unequivocably upon a truth, Australia was Eastern, and it was indeed her responsibility to show how this was at all "upside down." She turned her intellect upon definition of terms. "OZ" was not actually upside down. All humans stood perpendicular to the surface of the earth wherever they maintained a homosapien presence, erection being the common denominator to how they stood. Instead, all and sundry alluded to Oz as being "down under." She was momentarily distracted by a rabbit trail leading toward the bedroom; they were standing erect already, and she was as leaf as not be down under already, if it wasn't for this now infernal cake. Melbourne and Andrea were defined as "down under," she thought, drawing her mind back to OZ and the allegedly upside down cake. "I have an idea," she ventured carefully. "Do you already have postage?" She had been squeezing him tightly, and he had been forced to stand a little straighter. The rabbit trail of his mind (leading just as surely toward the bedroom,) turned upon a postal aperture, his own chances of employment in the field, and the sealed nature of any persuasive messages of import he might ever thus deliver. The IMDB database once more made itself useful in his knowledge base. "The Aussies have four new stamps, issued just this last January," he informed upon the innocent thespians involved. "They've used the anniversary of their establishment as a prison colony as an excuse to put the world acclaimed hypocrites in the post office with the 'Ten Most Wanted's' on the posters." Ursula was pleased; he had made himself MOST entertaining. "The TEN most WANTED felons in ALL of Texas, and they want _four_ of them to be from OZ?" she asked incredulously. "The limelight makes different people behave differently," Sam shared. "The Poster is still the OFFICIAL Top Ten." "Well, who are these Famous Four?" she asked, real curiosity driving the discussion back from a commonplace precipice. "Geoffrey Rush, Nicole Kidman, Russel Crowe and Cate Blanchette. It could easily have been prevented," he continued. Ursula pondered this languidly. Standing together was not actually 100% as hard as standing on your own, and if it wasn't really _that_ much easier, it was not without its compensations. She had responded unbidden to his earlier stiffening, and they were both divided in their concentrations. She broke the stalemate by moving toward the couch, giving up on his riddle by way of compromise. "How?" she replied. He took his position on her right, his left arm engulfing her affectionately. "Oh, the Country should have made application to the relevant Hollywood Talent Agents. They would no doubt have co-operated with bureaucracy and given capitalist excuses to the actors, their managers and publicists to simply tie up the production of their copyrighted images in litigation. There really isn't even any certainty that these thespians are actually descended from the relevant prisoners." Ursula contemplated the final barrier to the completion of their discussion. "These stamps," she denoted, "are they valid for mailing cakes from here to there?" Sam thought quickly. His priorities had changed since this began, and he was sure that drawing the conversation out was NOT to his advantage. "I'll bet you a 72 second kiss that they'll take them at the Abilene Post Office," he volunteered. "If they don't we can re-open investigations into the Yellow Brick Road." She divided the distance between their lips in half, mumbling "Make sure you time it right... I'd hate to have to recalculate the favor bank deposits." The ensuing silence was more than companionable.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The 5t Seven Bridges of Konigsberg;
TTTTT - In a Rancher-Farmer dispute, fence-mending has taken precedence over bridge burning. At this watershed moment, a sea change has been observed that historians will likely marginalize unless strongly contradicted.
To verbally circumnavigate the problem, one MUST understand the Seven Bridges of Konigsberg. Mathematicians can tell you the most about problems like this, but diplomats are most likely to be left holding the bag.
Bridges: Bridges are water transit mechanisms. Notably Caesar's Rhine Bridges set precedent. Other notable examples are The Bridge over the River Kwai, and the infamous Bridge to Nowhere.
Bridges: Bridges are people. The best among them are from Madison County, TX. In a notation that Bridges are also water transit mechanisms, Bridges have been found throughout history in Civil Engineering pursuits, but also in the Army Corps of Engineers. The Corps of Engineers has been responsible for its share of corpses, but mostly they are a constructive lot, with Bridges statistically normally distributed among them.
Bridges: Bridges are games. Although there is usually thought to be one authoritative game of Bridge, there is no single authoritative language of Bridges, therefore the Japanese game qualifies as well. All Texan Bridges will acknowledge English at all times.
Bridges: Bridges are musical.
a) Bridges are found in Guitars and Violins and are mission critical to the construction of the relevant instrument.
b) Bridges are a part of a musical score like a riff. Notable musical Bridges are the ones over troubled waters, individual examples of which are cited by Paul Simon in the famous tune.
Bridges: Bridges are authoritative. On ships, whether at sea or in space, the position of command occupied by the Captain is traditionally known as 'The Bridge.' There is more than one ship in the Universe.
Bridges: Bridges are places. Traditionally to be found at "the Gap," Bridges are locations, both literally and figuratively. Examples include:
- Networking Bridges in interpersonal relations,
- Bridge loans - loans to get from one loan to another loan, especially in wartime construction projects,
- Bridge Programs - an unfortunate linguistic anomaly denying the very plurality of bridges in a programmatic way, these programs are both computer based and institution based,
- Bridge moves - wrestling and exercise moves that put the word bridge into movement, suggestive of dance, but not seductive.
Bridges: Bridges are scientific. Science uses bridge chemicals (as in transistors if nothing else,) dental bridges, Bridge Cameras, Protocol bridges and Network bridges - implying a graph theory connection.
The statement of the problem can only be called complete in the semi-mystical {NP} way that only data miners and politicians claim to understand. All apologies to the Bridges of Madison County, specifying continental assignments of 5t Bridges will exceed the scope of the current blog. Specifying extra-domestic responsibilities of relevant Bridges will exceed even that scope.
Adieu.
To verbally circumnavigate the problem, one MUST understand the Seven Bridges of Konigsberg. Mathematicians can tell you the most about problems like this, but diplomats are most likely to be left holding the bag.
Bridges: Bridges are water transit mechanisms. Notably Caesar's Rhine Bridges set precedent. Other notable examples are The Bridge over the River Kwai, and the infamous Bridge to Nowhere.
Bridges: Bridges are people. The best among them are from Madison County, TX. In a notation that Bridges are also water transit mechanisms, Bridges have been found throughout history in Civil Engineering pursuits, but also in the Army Corps of Engineers. The Corps of Engineers has been responsible for its share of corpses, but mostly they are a constructive lot, with Bridges statistically normally distributed among them.
Bridges: Bridges are games. Although there is usually thought to be one authoritative game of Bridge, there is no single authoritative language of Bridges, therefore the Japanese game qualifies as well. All Texan Bridges will acknowledge English at all times.
Bridges: Bridges are musical.
a) Bridges are found in Guitars and Violins and are mission critical to the construction of the relevant instrument.
b) Bridges are a part of a musical score like a riff. Notable musical Bridges are the ones over troubled waters, individual examples of which are cited by Paul Simon in the famous tune.
Bridges: Bridges are authoritative. On ships, whether at sea or in space, the position of command occupied by the Captain is traditionally known as 'The Bridge.' There is more than one ship in the Universe.
Bridges: Bridges are places. Traditionally to be found at "the Gap," Bridges are locations, both literally and figuratively. Examples include:
- Networking Bridges in interpersonal relations,
- Bridge loans - loans to get from one loan to another loan, especially in wartime construction projects,
- Bridge Programs - an unfortunate linguistic anomaly denying the very plurality of bridges in a programmatic way, these programs are both computer based and institution based,
- Bridge moves - wrestling and exercise moves that put the word bridge into movement, suggestive of dance, but not seductive.
Bridges: Bridges are scientific. Science uses bridge chemicals (as in transistors if nothing else,) dental bridges, Bridge Cameras, Protocol bridges and Network bridges - implying a graph theory connection.
The statement of the problem can only be called complete in the semi-mystical {NP} way that only data miners and politicians claim to understand. All apologies to the Bridges of Madison County, specifying continental assignments of 5t Bridges will exceed the scope of the current blog. Specifying extra-domestic responsibilities of relevant Bridges will exceed even that scope.
Adieu.
Indications indicate discovery occurs;
TTTTT - Bulletin - It has come to the attention of the relevant fertilizer manufacturer that there is a Sea Urchin 'out there' that uses its only available symbiosis for the nitration of its environment. This Urchin, technically known as an 'Anemone' was first observed evolving in the same network of Oceans and Seas as Julia Roberts used to swim in as a small girl. Happily for the Roberts' name, this has been documented by a lesser known member of the family, living in British exile. While working for the traditional pittance as a PhD researcher with other Scots, these intrepid researchers began to practice their breathing exercises in an environment with real live Darwinian consequences, just like Jacques Cousteau, technically understood by the phrase 'Extreme Chi.' These English found and lionized the "Roberts' Anemone," in the process. Like aboriginal Australian tribesmen, the Roberts Anemone community is content to be represented by a few camera friendly representatives, and continue evolving privately otherwise.
As a tip of the hat to Julia Roberts' pride of place, Dr. Roberts will occasionally consent to be called on the phone.
The "Roberts' Anemone," instead of using the normal symbiosis of small fish, that cannot be killed with it's poison, or birds, that clean Crocodile teeth and Rhino hides, has creatively chosen what is known as 'Endosymbiosis,' a situation in which the symbiant organism is harbored safe within the host's body like a parasite or Joey.
Although this does not immediately affect the fertilizer industry as a whole, notoriety for Sea Urchins (as a group,) should improve the chances of Space Research (specifically 'Inner Space' or the body of work resulting from aquanautics,) bringing tangential benefits to farmers the whole world over. Since most Sea Anemones qualify as indicator species, like frogs and plants on land, Roberts' Anemone LLC. will be applying for minority representation in the UN.
The Anemone group did not stop evolving at the waters' edge, but has also been known in the flora of the temperate latitudes. Strangely, while the Anemone is not prejudiced on land, neither flower nor sea urchin can be found in Antarctica - this is outside Anemone range. The best historical documentation of Anemones is that of the Greek Biologist Ovid, best known for his "Metamorphoses Book 'X,'" apparently a predecessor of the more famous Kafka. Kafka's preoccupation with cockroaches did not impede scientific observation of more elegant examples like Butterflies, and metamorphosis' position in the lore of evolution is permanently established.
Reviewing: Sea Anemone's commonly exhibit symbioses. Anemone's on land are flowers, and are found pretty much wherever non-tropical flowers grow. Anemones, whether flowers or Sea Urchins do not metamorph. Julia Roberts is a card carrying thespian, and pays SAG dues. Dr. Roberts is a PhD. Frank Kafka wrote a book. Evolution is a preoccupation of Biologists. Scuba diving is an extreme sport. Tai Chi includes breathing exercises.
Please do not attempt to mix irrigation with Salt water water-sports. Participate freely in the "Discoveries Occur" v "Discovery Occurs" controversy - lawyers will be interested.
As a tip of the hat to Julia Roberts' pride of place, Dr. Roberts will occasionally consent to be called on the phone.
The "Roberts' Anemone," instead of using the normal symbiosis of small fish, that cannot be killed with it's poison, or birds, that clean Crocodile teeth and Rhino hides, has creatively chosen what is known as 'Endosymbiosis,' a situation in which the symbiant organism is harbored safe within the host's body like a parasite or Joey.
Although this does not immediately affect the fertilizer industry as a whole, notoriety for Sea Urchins (as a group,) should improve the chances of Space Research (specifically 'Inner Space' or the body of work resulting from aquanautics,) bringing tangential benefits to farmers the whole world over. Since most Sea Anemones qualify as indicator species, like frogs and plants on land, Roberts' Anemone LLC. will be applying for minority representation in the UN.
The Anemone group did not stop evolving at the waters' edge, but has also been known in the flora of the temperate latitudes. Strangely, while the Anemone is not prejudiced on land, neither flower nor sea urchin can be found in Antarctica - this is outside Anemone range. The best historical documentation of Anemones is that of the Greek Biologist Ovid, best known for his "Metamorphoses Book 'X,'" apparently a predecessor of the more famous Kafka. Kafka's preoccupation with cockroaches did not impede scientific observation of more elegant examples like Butterflies, and metamorphosis' position in the lore of evolution is permanently established.
Reviewing: Sea Anemone's commonly exhibit symbioses. Anemone's on land are flowers, and are found pretty much wherever non-tropical flowers grow. Anemones, whether flowers or Sea Urchins do not metamorph. Julia Roberts is a card carrying thespian, and pays SAG dues. Dr. Roberts is a PhD. Frank Kafka wrote a book. Evolution is a preoccupation of Biologists. Scuba diving is an extreme sport. Tai Chi includes breathing exercises.
Please do not attempt to mix irrigation with Salt water water-sports. Participate freely in the "Discoveries Occur" v "Discovery Occurs" controversy - lawyers will be interested.
A 5t Inconvenient Truth;
Dawn found Ursula banging at the door, yelling for Sam to come and help her carry in belongings. He rubbed the sleep from bleary eyes, and stumbled out into the steep driveway to assist her in her efforts. His robe was secured by a properly tied belt, but his choice of her bunny slippers for footwear met with limited approval. "Sam! keep my bunnies CLEAN," she adjured him. "They'll give people the wrong _impression_." She had not restricted her returning belongings to her backpack and cooking utensils; she had updated his VDU and DVD player! Sam was not at first aware of the contents of the bulky and mysterious box 3:5:9 or so - it merely looked like a cardboard imitation of Arthur C Clarke's construct for interplanetary travel. In response to his comment, Ursula had only replied "It IS a new window on the world!" cryptically. Sam contented himself with the observation that WHATEVER the content, it was less than 70 lbs, and his back wold not be permanently affected. From pieced together conversation, Ursula had spent her spare time at Uncle George's entertaining an educational bent - she had researched EVERYTHING you needed to know about the newfangled HDTVs! Sam's initial observation was that the relevant VDU appeared to be an LCD, not a DLP. Ursula spoke slowly and with deliberation. "Sam, I KNOW you want the biggest TV on the block. The LCD is a small intimate display unit for the bedroom, not for showing off to your friends. DLPs are beautiful, and huge to boot, but you haven't decided against a theater yet - can you imagine being stuck with a projection screen when you could have had a projector hanging from the ceiling? It'd be bright enough you'd have no excuse to darken the arena (darkness gives people headaches if the pupils are asked to compensate between widely different contrasts,) and it'd NEVER wear out: The burnt out bulbs are easily replaced, and even if the internal mirror thing-a-ma-jig wears out, the bulb would probably still be good right then - at that point you'd be better off with a PLASMA; you could just leave it on one picture until you had a burn-in on the screen!" Sam used her pause for a breath to interject, "But plasma PIONEERED big TV," he implored. "They are worth keeping just for hack value!" Ursula was dismissive, "I don't care how _innovative_ they were, they are no longer appropriate to any use other than research." she stated firmly, "Get used to it!"
Sam had committed his heart to Ursula completely; this was partially on the basis that she was prefect and that she would never change. Apparent departures from earlier norms disturbed him, and he contemplated these in a troubled way as he unboxed the various bits and pieces. For her part, as she ferried odds and ends in from the truck, Ursula could hardly wait to embark upon the virgin voyage of discovery that was the reinvention of her Sam. He was a fine clean slate, but she had AMBITIONS for him!
Her babble of explanation kept loneliness away, but as the mists of sleep cleared away, Sam was wondering if solitude had not exchanged its identity for a counterfeit. The barn owl seemed unperturbed, as were the prairie dogs, but Sam was no longer in perfect unison with their carefree nature.
He gathered that she had seen an authoritative documentary on HDTV assembly by Walt Disney, as a preview to a movie. The hero, Goofy, had apparently modeled efficiency with purchase of cabling, digital antenna, digital converter box, sound amplifying receiver, three video sending units (one for HDD, one for Blu-Ray, and one for ordinary DVDs) and completed the installation in the short half of an early afternoon.
She continued informatively that current sound amplifying receivers were available to improve on information available at time of publication. Now it was the case that an "Up-Converter," was available that would make an ordinary DVD display either a high quality 780 dot pitch signal called 780 p(rogressive scan) or even a low quality 1080 dot pitch signal called 1080 i(nterlaced.) The LCD monitor seemed to lack the feature of a tuner, and she would not even call it a TV. Apparently the digital converter took care of the tuning, and the monitor only had to choose between VCR, HDMI, cable or Air(wave) input. Sam, had a fairly refined old stereo, updated soon after surround sound came out to support 5 speakers - he had never hooked up the center channel speaker, but this gave his system character and identity, not defect. He was afraid that she was going to send him off on missions of new expenditure for the Clementine exchequer, but she blithely explained that her own DVD player (purchased on sale back at X-mas) had its own built in up-converter. HD format had failed to prosper due to an ill-advised dalliance with pornography, and Blu-Ray was an excellent way to experiment with multi-layer computer backups, but not necessary for anything less than 1080p pictures. Meanwhile the cameras for this discipline seemed to be in short supply. Sam was very worried that his cable box would only send one signal, and prepared to gloat as he returned the TV for exchange with one that had a tuner. Ursula bypassed this expected norm by using the HDMI hookup from his cable box to the Monitor, and leaving the venerated coaxial cable lying in disuse in a corner. Other hopes that her plans would need his assistance were dashed on the rocks of a second HDMI hookup on the monitor for the mysteriously 'suped-up' DVD player. As the cables disappeared behind the entertainment center, and the pile of empty baggies and boxes grew, he resigned himself to the truth - if she was to need his help at all, it would be in the form of the very updated audio-visual receiver that he at first had hoped she would not send him out to buy. She appeared to have even invested in a cabling package that united various lengths of pre-labeled cords and wires, each with wonderfully designed endings - simple modifications were the only thing necessary to speaker wires.
As an olive branch to his damaged pride, she offered this suggestion. "Travis is bound to want to compete. Can you imagine him trying to put anything NEAR this complicated together without the advantage of Goofy's documentary?" she asked. "I bet you give him headaches forever - don't put it together FOR him, just buy him a gift certificate for an installation and then sit back with a Foster's each, and watch. The installers will leave, and he won't even have a clue how to turn it on without help." This appealed to Sam's sense of humor, and he wondered how to explain to his beloved, the woman he wanted to impress more than the President of the United States, that he was not too sure of exactly how this was to be accomplished in the bedroom here at home. Her virtues as a manipulator extended beyond all expectation as she unpacked a so-called "learning remote." This device hooked up to a computer with an internet connection and seemed capable of learning all audio-visual devices TI could produce, with promises of all future devices updated while computers shall last. "What do you suppose would be a password we'll never forget Sam?" she asked with an artful attention to detail that he could no more discern here than she his abilities in the cat skinning department. Sam thought for a minute. "Melbourne" was no good, "Happy" was in the past, "Valentine" was no better, and "Sex" was too short. "IF the password IS _Ursula_ we won't be able to CALL it _Ursula_," he reasoned aloud. "What about _Fosters_?" She positively beamed at him. "Super," she smiled. "Fosters it is!" After an hour of incantations, she presented him with his new delight.
As Sam pointed his new found light-saber at the entertainment center, he was awed at its versatility. Every device turned on and off in an orchestrated symphony of harmony. After Ursula kindly pointed out that the on-off function was only one button of many, they fell to experimentation. As they reached landmarks of accomplishment such as first DVD, first on-air broadcast and first dark-screen radio program they reached an arbitrary agreement - Travis would be informed of the possible availability of learning remotes, but he would pay for his own - that is the ONLY way he could POSSIBLY be expected to appreciate the value of one.
Over a late afternoon pizza, Sam and Ursula were already planning for company. "Let's put the jig-saw in the garage, the belt sander and the band saw in the bedroom, the sewing table in the dining room, and the new toys in the living room. Then we can invite Li Nippon and family over for football games and such," Ursula cooed. "Does it display 1080p for sure?" Sam verified, "I wouldn't want Mr. Li to be disappointed." "I am sure it does, but football may only broadcast 780i," she consoled him... "the moving pictures transmit and repaint the screen faster that way." "Well, what DOES display in 1080p?" Sam asked. Their eyes met - the setup was still in the bedroom and the local video store definitively made back-room Blu-Ray available. "If you get a Blu-Ray player to play porno's, I'm getting the biggest vibrator there is in town - and this is TEXAS!" Ursula's six-gun stare was meritorious at worst. "I might as well compete with 'The Galloping Pinto's' mechanical BULL!" Sam lamented. "I HAVE my PRIDE Samuel Clementine the Third!" she bellowed. "If you ever want the lights on in the bedroom again, shut up!" "I can hardly tell the difference between 780i and 1080i anyhow," Sam capitulated. "Travis can HAVE 1080p for all I care." There truly _was_ "more ways to skin a cat than puttin' it's head in a boot-jack, and pullin' on its tail!"
The evening news was coming on and they settled down to evaluate the wardrobe department of the Sweetwater ABC affiliate. You can't stop progress.
Sam had committed his heart to Ursula completely; this was partially on the basis that she was prefect and that she would never change. Apparent departures from earlier norms disturbed him, and he contemplated these in a troubled way as he unboxed the various bits and pieces. For her part, as she ferried odds and ends in from the truck, Ursula could hardly wait to embark upon the virgin voyage of discovery that was the reinvention of her Sam. He was a fine clean slate, but she had AMBITIONS for him!
Her babble of explanation kept loneliness away, but as the mists of sleep cleared away, Sam was wondering if solitude had not exchanged its identity for a counterfeit. The barn owl seemed unperturbed, as were the prairie dogs, but Sam was no longer in perfect unison with their carefree nature.
He gathered that she had seen an authoritative documentary on HDTV assembly by Walt Disney, as a preview to a movie. The hero, Goofy, had apparently modeled efficiency with purchase of cabling, digital antenna, digital converter box, sound amplifying receiver, three video sending units (one for HDD, one for Blu-Ray, and one for ordinary DVDs) and completed the installation in the short half of an early afternoon.
She continued informatively that current sound amplifying receivers were available to improve on information available at time of publication. Now it was the case that an "Up-Converter," was available that would make an ordinary DVD display either a high quality 780 dot pitch signal called 780 p(rogressive scan) or even a low quality 1080 dot pitch signal called 1080 i(nterlaced.) The LCD monitor seemed to lack the feature of a tuner, and she would not even call it a TV. Apparently the digital converter took care of the tuning, and the monitor only had to choose between VCR, HDMI, cable or Air(wave) input. Sam, had a fairly refined old stereo, updated soon after surround sound came out to support 5 speakers - he had never hooked up the center channel speaker, but this gave his system character and identity, not defect. He was afraid that she was going to send him off on missions of new expenditure for the Clementine exchequer, but she blithely explained that her own DVD player (purchased on sale back at X-mas) had its own built in up-converter. HD format had failed to prosper due to an ill-advised dalliance with pornography, and Blu-Ray was an excellent way to experiment with multi-layer computer backups, but not necessary for anything less than 1080p pictures. Meanwhile the cameras for this discipline seemed to be in short supply. Sam was very worried that his cable box would only send one signal, and prepared to gloat as he returned the TV for exchange with one that had a tuner. Ursula bypassed this expected norm by using the HDMI hookup from his cable box to the Monitor, and leaving the venerated coaxial cable lying in disuse in a corner. Other hopes that her plans would need his assistance were dashed on the rocks of a second HDMI hookup on the monitor for the mysteriously 'suped-up' DVD player. As the cables disappeared behind the entertainment center, and the pile of empty baggies and boxes grew, he resigned himself to the truth - if she was to need his help at all, it would be in the form of the very updated audio-visual receiver that he at first had hoped she would not send him out to buy. She appeared to have even invested in a cabling package that united various lengths of pre-labeled cords and wires, each with wonderfully designed endings - simple modifications were the only thing necessary to speaker wires.
As an olive branch to his damaged pride, she offered this suggestion. "Travis is bound to want to compete. Can you imagine him trying to put anything NEAR this complicated together without the advantage of Goofy's documentary?" she asked. "I bet you give him headaches forever - don't put it together FOR him, just buy him a gift certificate for an installation and then sit back with a Foster's each, and watch. The installers will leave, and he won't even have a clue how to turn it on without help." This appealed to Sam's sense of humor, and he wondered how to explain to his beloved, the woman he wanted to impress more than the President of the United States, that he was not too sure of exactly how this was to be accomplished in the bedroom here at home. Her virtues as a manipulator extended beyond all expectation as she unpacked a so-called "learning remote." This device hooked up to a computer with an internet connection and seemed capable of learning all audio-visual devices TI could produce, with promises of all future devices updated while computers shall last. "What do you suppose would be a password we'll never forget Sam?" she asked with an artful attention to detail that he could no more discern here than she his abilities in the cat skinning department. Sam thought for a minute. "Melbourne" was no good, "Happy" was in the past, "Valentine" was no better, and "Sex" was too short. "IF the password IS _Ursula_ we won't be able to CALL it _Ursula_," he reasoned aloud. "What about _Fosters_?" She positively beamed at him. "Super," she smiled. "Fosters it is!" After an hour of incantations, she presented him with his new delight.
As Sam pointed his new found light-saber at the entertainment center, he was awed at its versatility. Every device turned on and off in an orchestrated symphony of harmony. After Ursula kindly pointed out that the on-off function was only one button of many, they fell to experimentation. As they reached landmarks of accomplishment such as first DVD, first on-air broadcast and first dark-screen radio program they reached an arbitrary agreement - Travis would be informed of the possible availability of learning remotes, but he would pay for his own - that is the ONLY way he could POSSIBLY be expected to appreciate the value of one.
Over a late afternoon pizza, Sam and Ursula were already planning for company. "Let's put the jig-saw in the garage, the belt sander and the band saw in the bedroom, the sewing table in the dining room, and the new toys in the living room. Then we can invite Li Nippon and family over for football games and such," Ursula cooed. "Does it display 1080p for sure?" Sam verified, "I wouldn't want Mr. Li to be disappointed." "I am sure it does, but football may only broadcast 780i," she consoled him... "the moving pictures transmit and repaint the screen faster that way." "Well, what DOES display in 1080p?" Sam asked. Their eyes met - the setup was still in the bedroom and the local video store definitively made back-room Blu-Ray available. "If you get a Blu-Ray player to play porno's, I'm getting the biggest vibrator there is in town - and this is TEXAS!" Ursula's six-gun stare was meritorious at worst. "I might as well compete with 'The Galloping Pinto's' mechanical BULL!" Sam lamented. "I HAVE my PRIDE Samuel Clementine the Third!" she bellowed. "If you ever want the lights on in the bedroom again, shut up!" "I can hardly tell the difference between 780i and 1080i anyhow," Sam capitulated. "Travis can HAVE 1080p for all I care." There truly _was_ "more ways to skin a cat than puttin' it's head in a boot-jack, and pullin' on its tail!"
The evening news was coming on and they settled down to evaluate the wardrobe department of the Sweetwater ABC affiliate. You can't stop progress.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
5t 1984;
Sam turned off the recorder, then the TV monitor. His was a CRT VDU, not an LCD VDU, and he didn't even want a plasma. He had investigated DLP's and found that the bulb was very replaceable, but E-Bay seemed oblivious to the intimate nature of his living quarters. He already had a band saw, a belt sander, a sewing table and a jig saw set in the living room, and a 52 inch TV was better suited to the dining area. He had futuristically based his home theater system on a multimedia PC, and in true futuristic fashion was just now paying off the bill. He threw the magnetic microfiche in the nearly decade old bin beside the door, near the hat rack and umbrella stand. He was low on tapes, and made a mental note to order more from OZ.
This peculiar hobby had started in the eighties. In the spring of 1985, he had read George Orwell's retrospective of the previous year. This had led to a severe falling out with Travis, right in the middle of County Tax Assessing season. They agreed that something had to be done,but differed vociferously,if non-violently, as to how this should be addressed. Travis argued that he should record himself doing everything he _DID_, whereas Sam argued that he should record everything he _SAW_. His private warehouse in "The Fortress of Solitude," just East of 'Six Flags Over San Antonio,' was filled with neatly stacked rubber band bound bundles of Polaroids, from early on in the experiment.
Needless to say, he had been forward to contact Travis as soon as terabyte Hard disk drives (HDDs) were available, to warn him to buy cheap 320GB drives and use lots of them... a terabyte of data was a jaw-cracker to back up, and if it all went at once, you could lose a whole summer's Six Flags' visits. You can easily back up a 320GB HDD on a spindle of 100 4GB DVDs. They don't last for ever, but if you don't scratch them, librarians will regard you with respect. Proper labeling was his bugbear. He seemed to EITHER be able to date a spindle chronologically, OR arrange labels alphabetically; whatever he did, he could scientifically show that the one he was looking for was in the Very LAST place he thought to look; Travis had told him that to stop this from happening, he should go on looking for a while, and quit at some other place, but the elegance of this theorem had translated badly into language.
Not only did Travis find things before he quit looking, he employed ALL the latest redundant array software, and did incremental backups every day at two AM. Sam had once tried to show Travis that there was literally NOTHING that can go wrong with a computer that CANNOT BE FIXED with a 9 lb sledgehammer, but Travis had spent six weeks in the hospital for interposing his foot. To fairly attribute his abilities of debate, Travis had been able, over the weeks of convalescence, to convince Sam that the restore process was time intensive if one were looking for a specific file - Travis had asked Sam to restore his Diary for the week preceding his accident. Having finished his experiment with the sledge, Sam had found that redundant disks can be temperamental, and the resulting set-up was still finishing its restore process at 4:30 AM the day that Travis came back home, six weeks later. Travis had faithfully believed everything they told him about a twister in town that sucked the whole window frame right out of the wall, and left a pile of rubble in the lawn. Nevertheless, Sam regarded Travis as a suspect source for computer advice, and preferred sledge hammers more than ever.
For his own part, Sam had used tape travel mechanisms to keep his magnetic media moving while he restored batch style if needed. His little dolly truck would move a box at a time easily. In order to borrow the dolly, Travis had made him a gift of 1000 80GB HDDs and now Sam simply changed them out once a month using eSata. To return the kindness, Sam was saving for a ticket to Jupiter, for Travis' computer setup, whenever he got ready to update.
Whatever the case, Sam had made Travis pinky swear that if either one of them were ever arrested, they would drop everything, and transport the relevant computer system to the relevant Jurisdiction, replete with electronic copy of 1984. In this way, the innocent party could show that he had NEVER painted Mrs. Kirkpatrick's Porch Yellow.
The bulk of backup media and supporting documentation was becoming quite impressive, and Sam got out his old Polaroid just for old time's sake and took another picture. He yawned and went to bed.
This peculiar hobby had started in the eighties. In the spring of 1985, he had read George Orwell's retrospective of the previous year. This had led to a severe falling out with Travis, right in the middle of County Tax Assessing season. They agreed that something had to be done,but differed vociferously,if non-violently, as to how this should be addressed. Travis argued that he should record himself doing everything he _DID_, whereas Sam argued that he should record everything he _SAW_. His private warehouse in "The Fortress of Solitude," just East of 'Six Flags Over San Antonio,' was filled with neatly stacked rubber band bound bundles of Polaroids, from early on in the experiment.
Needless to say, he had been forward to contact Travis as soon as terabyte Hard disk drives (HDDs) were available, to warn him to buy cheap 320GB drives and use lots of them... a terabyte of data was a jaw-cracker to back up, and if it all went at once, you could lose a whole summer's Six Flags' visits. You can easily back up a 320GB HDD on a spindle of 100 4GB DVDs. They don't last for ever, but if you don't scratch them, librarians will regard you with respect. Proper labeling was his bugbear. He seemed to EITHER be able to date a spindle chronologically, OR arrange labels alphabetically; whatever he did, he could scientifically show that the one he was looking for was in the Very LAST place he thought to look; Travis had told him that to stop this from happening, he should go on looking for a while, and quit at some other place, but the elegance of this theorem had translated badly into language.
Not only did Travis find things before he quit looking, he employed ALL the latest redundant array software, and did incremental backups every day at two AM. Sam had once tried to show Travis that there was literally NOTHING that can go wrong with a computer that CANNOT BE FIXED with a 9 lb sledgehammer, but Travis had spent six weeks in the hospital for interposing his foot. To fairly attribute his abilities of debate, Travis had been able, over the weeks of convalescence, to convince Sam that the restore process was time intensive if one were looking for a specific file - Travis had asked Sam to restore his Diary for the week preceding his accident. Having finished his experiment with the sledge, Sam had found that redundant disks can be temperamental, and the resulting set-up was still finishing its restore process at 4:30 AM the day that Travis came back home, six weeks later. Travis had faithfully believed everything they told him about a twister in town that sucked the whole window frame right out of the wall, and left a pile of rubble in the lawn. Nevertheless, Sam regarded Travis as a suspect source for computer advice, and preferred sledge hammers more than ever.
For his own part, Sam had used tape travel mechanisms to keep his magnetic media moving while he restored batch style if needed. His little dolly truck would move a box at a time easily. In order to borrow the dolly, Travis had made him a gift of 1000 80GB HDDs and now Sam simply changed them out once a month using eSata. To return the kindness, Sam was saving for a ticket to Jupiter, for Travis' computer setup, whenever he got ready to update.
Whatever the case, Sam had made Travis pinky swear that if either one of them were ever arrested, they would drop everything, and transport the relevant computer system to the relevant Jurisdiction, replete with electronic copy of 1984. In this way, the innocent party could show that he had NEVER painted Mrs. Kirkpatrick's Porch Yellow.
The bulk of backup media and supporting documentation was becoming quite impressive, and Sam got out his old Polaroid just for old time's sake and took another picture. He yawned and went to bed.
There's 'No Free Lunch;'
Ursula's Uncle George had prevailed upon her for her presence, and she begged Sam to wait for her as she helped him organize his lunar calendar again. He handed her the keys to the pickup and pledged his undying love. 20 minutes later, he was popping open a lukewarm lemon-lime-green Fosters, and sitting down to watch the Book Review Channel. He liked the Book reviews, and occasionally bought the original for documentation purposes; libraries were better than you might think at figuring out which books were going to be reviewed.
The drawbacks to the Book Review Channel were different than the drawbacks of the other channels. The Commercials on the Book Review Channel (one of three identical channels on cable, all carefully numbered C-SPAN,) were loooong, FACTUALLY _CORRECT_, but _very_,_Very_ boring.
He liked Fertilizer advertisements, being something of an aficionado, like Ursula. Nevertheless, the commercial aspect of the programming was probably more appropriate to Aggies than to Ranchers.
On Balance, the drawbacks to the other channels were commercial as well. The selection was broad, interrupted by brief segments of situational comedy to break the tedium, but the articles on specific items tended to be repetitive.
By following instructions, he had never been able to make one work. True, the product usually came in the mail (often within four to six weeks,) but the bank balance never reflected the promised credits. Rebates were FAR more _reliable_!
His Father's sage advice always stuck in his head: "If you're going to save more than 8 1/2 percent of total anticipated expenditure in a year (than the membership is going to cost,) you might as well join the club."
He hoped his competition went bankrupt from Corporate cost overruns; they subsidized gasoline prices from membership sales.
Of the low-commercial channels, The Weather Channel stood out for relevance. The timetable might be off, but the content was almost always reflected in the local environment, leading to a general atmosphere of trust.
The News Channels were interesting for their politics. Sam knew that "All politics is local," and he enjoyed watching the proceedings of the global village.
Nevertheless, the Book Review Channel was his favorite. He particularly enjoyed the syndicated series on SCOTUS... even the re-runs. But this was the weekend, and new titles invited him toward a sinking sun of ignorance on his western horizon.
The drawbacks to the Book Review Channel were different than the drawbacks of the other channels. The Commercials on the Book Review Channel (one of three identical channels on cable, all carefully numbered C-SPAN,) were loooong, FACTUALLY _CORRECT_, but _very_,_Very_ boring.
He liked Fertilizer advertisements, being something of an aficionado, like Ursula. Nevertheless, the commercial aspect of the programming was probably more appropriate to Aggies than to Ranchers.
On Balance, the drawbacks to the other channels were commercial as well. The selection was broad, interrupted by brief segments of situational comedy to break the tedium, but the articles on specific items tended to be repetitive.
By following instructions, he had never been able to make one work. True, the product usually came in the mail (often within four to six weeks,) but the bank balance never reflected the promised credits. Rebates were FAR more _reliable_!
His Father's sage advice always stuck in his head: "If you're going to save more than 8 1/2 percent of total anticipated expenditure in a year (than the membership is going to cost,) you might as well join the club."
He hoped his competition went bankrupt from Corporate cost overruns; they subsidized gasoline prices from membership sales.
Of the low-commercial channels, The Weather Channel stood out for relevance. The timetable might be off, but the content was almost always reflected in the local environment, leading to a general atmosphere of trust.
The News Channels were interesting for their politics. Sam knew that "All politics is local," and he enjoyed watching the proceedings of the global village.
Nevertheless, the Book Review Channel was his favorite. He particularly enjoyed the syndicated series on SCOTUS... even the re-runs. But this was the weekend, and new titles invited him toward a sinking sun of ignorance on his western horizon.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
A Card and a Pill;
Ursula's navigation was excellent, and soon they were in a small town. Although it had not come up for debate, Ursula was a city-slicker, and regarded the strip-mall format with some suspicion. She preferred her malls large and air-conditioned (refrigerated in the summer, heated in the winter.) After a moment she gave a mental shrug of resignation; you could not blame the embarrassment of three generations of Minors on a name on a sign. They turned into the first promising niche; it was labeled 'Apothecary.' A white coated lab technician stood behind the counter, smiling invitingly. Sam was not deceived. "You look like a Baker, but without the hat," he offered frankly. "No, I'm a druggist," she answered, putting his offense on a credit plan. "Sure you're not a Chemist?" was Ursula's query. The lab technician knew the alphabet, but a word for pharmacologist that started with an "e" was just NOT available in the lexicon. "The pharmacologist is over there," she pointed, giving Sam a sideways glance. Sam's hunted gaze went straight to Ursula's eyes, as he asked, "Don't you mean a pharmacist?" without meeting the lab tech's stare directly. By their actions, the assistant mistook them for Greeks in disguise. "Pharmaco- is making them, pharmacy- is distributing them," she explained. "I thought this WAS a Pharmacy," was Sam's incredulous ejaculation. "I believe the sign on the door _does_ say 'A-P-O-T-H-O-C-A-R-Y'" the lab tech replied, spelling it out for him in so many words. Ursula nodded understanding, and explained, "We're in the wrong place... we were looking for Kleenex Tissues." "Three doors down on your right," the lab coat whispered... "They have a Pharm M AND a Pharm D."
As the pair made their way back to the truck, Sam was more mystified by the mis-communication than Ursula was, and _She_ was somewhat puzzled. "Was that a Voodoo supply store for 'eye of newt and wing of bat?'" was his question. "I don't think so," she answered honestly. "What _I'm_ trying to figure out is what kind of medicine that Witch thought you were going to take for a COLD! It's a VIRUS, NOT a _Bacteria_!" Sam was easily distracted. "When a virus runs its course, who does it race with?" Ursula regarded him fondly. He was not unarmed in a battle of the wits,. but he would never take Gold at the Intellectual Olympics. "I don't know Sam, but it almost _Always_ gets caught before it finishes," she teased back. He broke the seal on the brand new box of tissues and stuffed the two spare boxes into a cranny.
As they set off again, Sam made a metal note that Ursula was a boring driver, and took up the pharmaceutical theme. He had once heard a whole song just about pills by Alan Sherman. "I once heard a whole song just about pills by Alan Sherman!" he shared. "Who was Alan Sherman?" she asked dutifully, squirreling her 'Extra' away in a nook. "He was the 50's generation's 'Weird Al.'" he explained. "It was off the 'For Swingin' Livers Only' album. It was pretty scientific too, talked about how they wake you up to take a sleeping pill in the hospital and everything. Finished up with 'there's no pill that can cure the common cold,' too, just like you said." Ursula preened. Sam's idea of credentialing was novel, possibly original with him (which was food for thought,) but it was nice to be put on such a pedestal nonetheless. "Do you know the BEST pill to take with you to a discotheque?" she decided to teach him. "Nope," was his monosyllabic reply. Truth to be told, it was not obvious how a pill was supposed to facilitate the experience, but he allowed that psychological enhancements might be possible; she was very smart at the moment. "Oxcytocin," she delivered with satisfaction.
"What's Oxytocin?" he asked without guile, after an appropriately respectful pause. "It's the hormone mothers produce when babies get over sucking out the colostrum, and starts the milk supply." she enumerated. Sam was pretty sure that this did not _entirely_ dispel the mystery, but waited patiently – the milk supply sounded promising. "It is the physical manifestation of trust in your blood!" Sam was turned on. The prospect of random honeys trusting him with their milk supply, in a discotheque, had possibilities that extended beyond refrigerated Texaco. He worded his next question carefully. "If you break the pills in half, do they lose strength?" he asked. This unexpected intelligence pleased her brain, and she became physically aware of him. She returned his volley without spin. "Oh, it's not like OxyCONtin... that stuff will put you to SLEEP!" "If you give it to a honey will she sleep WITH you?" he asked unguardedly. Ursula could see that he was in no real danger of straying and took no affront. "You actually have a better chance with Oxytocin," she replied kindly. Sam made a mental note that Ursula liked Oxytocin, and continued. "Why doesn't Oxycontin work if you break the pill?"
Ursula was honest with herself. The in-organic chemistry of Oxycontin was simpler than the bio-chemistry, and she didn't even fully understand the IN-organic chemistry. However, Sam was not knowledgeable, and a little knowledge was a dangerous thing. She decided to have a little fun at his expense and teach him just enough to be dangerous. She knew that vandalism was wrong, but she just didn't care WHO paid to teach him enough to be safe again - she'd put him through graduate school herself if she had too; it was going to be WORTH it.
"The definition of addiction is different than that of alcoholism, Sam," she began. "Alcoholism is a metabolic dependence on alcohol, whereas _Addiction_ is the quality of a substance to need more and more of it to achieve the same effect. The scourge of addiction has the smallest sliver of a silver lining. Whatever dose you start out with can set the level of your high. Too much of an unfamiliar drug will kill you - witness the effects of strychnine, BUT, it can also be like a deep discharge electric battery. You charge it half-way the first time, and ever after, no matter HOW LONG YOU CHARGE IT, it NEVER gets any longer electronic life. Sam had vague memories of Volts, Watts and Amps, but drugs were far more fascinating. "So you can maximize the jading with a minimal dose?" he inquired. "I guess that's one way to look at it Sam," she agreed, "but why are you on and on about _Jading_?"
"Oh, I guess it's just that that's the reductio ad absurdum of the recreational argument," Sam returned between well contained sneezes. "If that's your final destination, why not make it your Goal?"
Ursula regarded this as a kind of 'great circle route,' to the truth, and regretted his current indisposition. "Let's spend the night in a Motel," she replied with total lack of segue. He understood effortlessly - his rhetoric grades had never been very good. "As long as it isn't a NoTell franchise," he smiled. She was more fun than a Nintendo and a joy-stick; the competition in the motel room should be interesting.
"Nature Abhors a vacuum!"
As the pair made their way back to the truck, Sam was more mystified by the mis-communication than Ursula was, and _She_ was somewhat puzzled. "Was that a Voodoo supply store for 'eye of newt and wing of bat?'" was his question. "I don't think so," she answered honestly. "What _I'm_ trying to figure out is what kind of medicine that Witch thought you were going to take for a COLD! It's a VIRUS, NOT a _Bacteria_!" Sam was easily distracted. "When a virus runs its course, who does it race with?" Ursula regarded him fondly. He was not unarmed in a battle of the wits,. but he would never take Gold at the Intellectual Olympics. "I don't know Sam, but it almost _Always_ gets caught before it finishes," she teased back. He broke the seal on the brand new box of tissues and stuffed the two spare boxes into a cranny.
As they set off again, Sam made a metal note that Ursula was a boring driver, and took up the pharmaceutical theme. He had once heard a whole song just about pills by Alan Sherman. "I once heard a whole song just about pills by Alan Sherman!" he shared. "Who was Alan Sherman?" she asked dutifully, squirreling her 'Extra' away in a nook. "He was the 50's generation's 'Weird Al.'" he explained. "It was off the 'For Swingin' Livers Only' album. It was pretty scientific too, talked about how they wake you up to take a sleeping pill in the hospital and everything. Finished up with 'there's no pill that can cure the common cold,' too, just like you said." Ursula preened. Sam's idea of credentialing was novel, possibly original with him (which was food for thought,) but it was nice to be put on such a pedestal nonetheless. "Do you know the BEST pill to take with you to a discotheque?" she decided to teach him. "Nope," was his monosyllabic reply. Truth to be told, it was not obvious how a pill was supposed to facilitate the experience, but he allowed that psychological enhancements might be possible; she was very smart at the moment. "Oxcytocin," she delivered with satisfaction.
"What's Oxytocin?" he asked without guile, after an appropriately respectful pause. "It's the hormone mothers produce when babies get over sucking out the colostrum, and starts the milk supply." she enumerated. Sam was pretty sure that this did not _entirely_ dispel the mystery, but waited patiently – the milk supply sounded promising. "It is the physical manifestation of trust in your blood!" Sam was turned on. The prospect of random honeys trusting him with their milk supply, in a discotheque, had possibilities that extended beyond refrigerated Texaco. He worded his next question carefully. "If you break the pills in half, do they lose strength?" he asked. This unexpected intelligence pleased her brain, and she became physically aware of him. She returned his volley without spin. "Oh, it's not like OxyCONtin... that stuff will put you to SLEEP!" "If you give it to a honey will she sleep WITH you?" he asked unguardedly. Ursula could see that he was in no real danger of straying and took no affront. "You actually have a better chance with Oxytocin," she replied kindly. Sam made a mental note that Ursula liked Oxytocin, and continued. "Why doesn't Oxycontin work if you break the pill?"
Ursula was honest with herself. The in-organic chemistry of Oxycontin was simpler than the bio-chemistry, and she didn't even fully understand the IN-organic chemistry. However, Sam was not knowledgeable, and a little knowledge was a dangerous thing. She decided to have a little fun at his expense and teach him just enough to be dangerous. She knew that vandalism was wrong, but she just didn't care WHO paid to teach him enough to be safe again - she'd put him through graduate school herself if she had too; it was going to be WORTH it.
"The definition of addiction is different than that of alcoholism, Sam," she began. "Alcoholism is a metabolic dependence on alcohol, whereas _Addiction_ is the quality of a substance to need more and more of it to achieve the same effect. The scourge of addiction has the smallest sliver of a silver lining. Whatever dose you start out with can set the level of your high. Too much of an unfamiliar drug will kill you - witness the effects of strychnine, BUT, it can also be like a deep discharge electric battery. You charge it half-way the first time, and ever after, no matter HOW LONG YOU CHARGE IT, it NEVER gets any longer electronic life. Sam had vague memories of Volts, Watts and Amps, but drugs were far more fascinating. "So you can maximize the jading with a minimal dose?" he inquired. "I guess that's one way to look at it Sam," she agreed, "but why are you on and on about _Jading_?"
"Oh, I guess it's just that that's the reductio ad absurdum of the recreational argument," Sam returned between well contained sneezes. "If that's your final destination, why not make it your Goal?"
Ursula regarded this as a kind of 'great circle route,' to the truth, and regretted his current indisposition. "Let's spend the night in a Motel," she replied with total lack of segue. He understood effortlessly - his rhetoric grades had never been very good. "As long as it isn't a NoTell franchise," he smiled. She was more fun than a Nintendo and a joy-stick; the competition in the motel room should be interesting.
"Nature Abhors a vacuum!"
Heat is faster - you can CATCH Cold!
At the Texaco, Sam had rubbed his tired eyes, right after touching the bathroom door knob, and now he was feeling sneezy. His throat was itchy (as well as his eyes,) and a little dry and he knew a cold was almost inevitable. "Ursula, are you sure you didn't catch anything back at the Texaco?" "Well I didn't shoot any rabbits, if that's what you mean, Sam," she replied. "No, I mean it... did you use the toilet seat?"
"That's a pretty personal question don't you think?" she reproached. Sam blushed... that wasn't what he had meant. "I'm sure you used a hole in a dental dam," he comforted her, "What I meant was, Did you catch a cold too?" "I didn't catch a cold FIRST, to go WITH anything else, Sam, besides which we were hunting, not TRAPPING!"
For the first time in his life, Sam experimented with the pickup's window mechanism. It took time, which he felt he needed, and fresh air swirled about the cabin. As the temperature in the compartment plummeted, he rolled it back up quickly, and preempted any further misunderstanding by volunteering,"Sorry, _I_ shot a rabbit." "_I_ caught a cold back at the Texaco..." he stopped, wondering if he should go on. Her heart softened with understanding, and she reassured him, "Well, I didn't join you in your folly; We''ll have to fix you up!" He stopped wondering if he should go on. There seemed little else to say, and he did not even waste a single syllable further. He pulled over and let her assume the responsibility of driving. Since his bandanna was NOT going to be sufficient, he rooted around and dug out an old soft tee. As they got underway again, Ursula served notice early on the tee. "Kleenex has an Aloe Vera offering that will save you wear and tear on your nose," she began. "That tee will do for the first leg, but if I have MY way, we'll burn it... viruses can survive the wildest extremes of heat and cold and humidity. If you throw away every tissue you blow on, you'll never re-infect yourself. I'll at least have a fighting chance, and I'll not neglect a virgin screwdriver for vitamin C." "Does that REALLY _work_?" he asked. "I don't believe in it enough to overdo it, but it ain't exactly superstition," she replied. "I'm mainly worried about an un-trapped sneeze, particularly in this intimate environment." "What do you want me to do, open the window and sneeze outside? You'll GET cold and _Catch_ cold ANYWAY!" "Now SAMUEL CLEMENTINE the _THIRD_," she rebuked. "You KNOW you can run around stark naked on the Arctic Ice and STILL not catch cold from the weather. The germs incubate on your soft palette, and proliferate in the warmth and dryness of winter heating. You could open the window with _impunity_. What I meant is that the germs will fill a 40 cubic foot space from just ONE sneeze, and one droplet properly applied is all it takes to get me!" Sam knew another way to "get" her, but it involved an exchange of bodily fluids, and was only possible if he began by kissing her, which wasn't likely under these conditions. "Kleenex make their tissues _very_ durable, so sneezes don't tear though very easily," she continued apparently unaware of his mixed feelings. "If you absolutely can't get to one in time, use your elbow to do what you can... you can't rub your eyes or anything ELSE with your elbow." Sam folded his left arm at his short sleeved bare elbow, and regarded it as if he had never seen it before. It was Ursula's turn to blush and she hurriedly added, "either way Sam."
"That's a pretty personal question don't you think?" she reproached. Sam blushed... that wasn't what he had meant. "I'm sure you used a hole in a dental dam," he comforted her, "What I meant was, Did you catch a cold too?" "I didn't catch a cold FIRST, to go WITH anything else, Sam, besides which we were hunting, not TRAPPING!"
For the first time in his life, Sam experimented with the pickup's window mechanism. It took time, which he felt he needed, and fresh air swirled about the cabin. As the temperature in the compartment plummeted, he rolled it back up quickly, and preempted any further misunderstanding by volunteering,"Sorry, _I_ shot a rabbit." "_I_ caught a cold back at the Texaco..." he stopped, wondering if he should go on. Her heart softened with understanding, and she reassured him, "Well, I didn't join you in your folly; We''ll have to fix you up!" He stopped wondering if he should go on. There seemed little else to say, and he did not even waste a single syllable further. He pulled over and let her assume the responsibility of driving. Since his bandanna was NOT going to be sufficient, he rooted around and dug out an old soft tee. As they got underway again, Ursula served notice early on the tee. "Kleenex has an Aloe Vera offering that will save you wear and tear on your nose," she began. "That tee will do for the first leg, but if I have MY way, we'll burn it... viruses can survive the wildest extremes of heat and cold and humidity. If you throw away every tissue you blow on, you'll never re-infect yourself. I'll at least have a fighting chance, and I'll not neglect a virgin screwdriver for vitamin C." "Does that REALLY _work_?" he asked. "I don't believe in it enough to overdo it, but it ain't exactly superstition," she replied. "I'm mainly worried about an un-trapped sneeze, particularly in this intimate environment." "What do you want me to do, open the window and sneeze outside? You'll GET cold and _Catch_ cold ANYWAY!" "Now SAMUEL CLEMENTINE the _THIRD_," she rebuked. "You KNOW you can run around stark naked on the Arctic Ice and STILL not catch cold from the weather. The germs incubate on your soft palette, and proliferate in the warmth and dryness of winter heating. You could open the window with _impunity_. What I meant is that the germs will fill a 40 cubic foot space from just ONE sneeze, and one droplet properly applied is all it takes to get me!" Sam knew another way to "get" her, but it involved an exchange of bodily fluids, and was only possible if he began by kissing her, which wasn't likely under these conditions. "Kleenex make their tissues _very_ durable, so sneezes don't tear though very easily," she continued apparently unaware of his mixed feelings. "If you absolutely can't get to one in time, use your elbow to do what you can... you can't rub your eyes or anything ELSE with your elbow." Sam folded his left arm at his short sleeved bare elbow, and regarded it as if he had never seen it before. It was Ursula's turn to blush and she hurriedly added, "either way Sam."
Monday, February 9, 2009
5t National Debt;
Sam was experimenting with a new drink. The Texaco's refrigerated cabinet had afforded him such a choice of beverages that he had decided to branch out from Melbourne's genius beverage in the green can. He remembered water fondly, but didn't miss it as much as you might think, and tried a colorful beverage advertised as six different words that meant "not thirsty any more." The name reminded him of the Florida Everglades, and he bought three bottles (because it was on sale;) one red, one orange and one green. As he slowly but surely drank the first bottle dry, Usrula decided to pick his brain for economic knowledge. The economics of law had long been established, but they had little to do with the practice of it, and she was genuinely curious. "Sam," she asked, "what's the difference between credit and deficit?" It should be understood that she already adequately believed that they were different concepts, but if she didn't give him some room on definition of terms, the debate would be short and sweet; too short, and too sweet, if she was not careful. For Sam's part, his natural love of rope informed his choice of definitions... the hangman's noose was all to readily employed reflexively by the fool. He took a W.A.G that her question was merely a springboard to a bigger problem, and took the bull by the horns. "I think you really want to talk about the National Debt!" he lied. She was physically impressed... "What the f...." she began, but he blandly ignored her distress. "The W_ag T_ransaction F_und has little to do with it, although I've drawn heavily on my own account." He knew that being preposterous boggled people's minds, but every once in a while it was NECESSARY. The disobedience of the tongue was simply a reflex reaction of the brain. "As long as you keep receipts and are held responsible," she capitulated when she had had sufficient time to adjust. "How did the world's problems get started?"
He began his answer with the one word that meant it all. "Tradition," he explained. He knew that now he was on borrowed patience and would only be allowed to pay if he connected his answer to the question successfully. She had learned from him that when presented with the opportunity to be incredulous, a person has a choice in the matter, and chose to listen for a while instead. "Which tradition?' she asked. "Back in the days when secession was still new, Alexander Hamilton was inspired by the spirit of Intaglio." She interrupted, "Intaglio?" "Italian wine, similar to Champagne, but with a hangover that even cats can't handle." He was halfway through his second bottle of refrigerated Texaco, and volunteered a review more apropos of drinking than conversing. "Stuff's like Cranberry juice... you drink so much and you're done." Estimating that he could talk longer if he kept his whistle whetted, she handed him some water.
"So, going back to Alexander Hamilton and his favorite beverage," she prodded. Sam took up the challenge where he had left off. "Well he was Secretary of the Treasury and when it came time to pay the South back for all the money they spent, keeping the slaves employed while the North harassed them, he decided to design the Federal Reserve system rather than letting Federalism run its course and everybody making their own money." "So the slaves themselves didn't get any?" she verified. "'Fraid not," was his dry reply. "Anyhow, that was the first National Debt, and it worked out so well that every time we pay it off, the Politicians get together and make a new one, just to honor Alexander Hamilton." "How did it get so BIG?" was Ursula's next volley. "Easy, Politicians just generate zero's with gay abandon," he certified. "After that credit and deficit are just ways to teak the numbers."
Ursula contemplated this for a time. "Didn't Alexander Hamilton have any enemies?"
Sam knew that he was going to have to reference material from the 5t archives that was not available on the Internet, so he bound her to secrecy. "What I'm going to tell you, if you ever tell ANYONE ELSE about it, you have to kiss me, French style, right in front of your Daddy!" This gave Ursula pause, but Sam made no effort to give her a choice. "Aaron Burr had a PARTNER," he revealed. Wanting to get it over with, and seeing he had not kept his bargain, she kissed him passionately before he could continue. This response was possibly counter-productive, but she had made her own deal with the Devil, and he went on.
"A man named Keynes married an apparently harmless Texan named Smith, and they named their first child Adam. Adam Smith Keynes had a MUCH different solution. He didn't fear inflation nearly as much as pregnancy, and strategized that every 4 years we should cancel all Federal Debts and start over from scratch, with new paperwork." Ursula could not withhold a supportive observation. "Like Argentina?" she asked. "EXACTLY like that," Sam affirmed... "It works so well for them that even the people who they owe money to don't ask them for it back... it's not worth the paper it's printed on." "I guess history is useful for looking up failed experiments then," she intoned. "A useful tip when studying history is to keep track of who it is and where it is, as long as you keep track of people all doing it at the same time. Then you'll always have some idea of why things happened like they did," Sam postulated. "I'll muddle through," said Ursula, noncommittally.
"So what happened to Adam Smith's plan?" she asked. He hastened to correct her. "Adam Smith was an author," he specified. "Adam Smith K_eynes was a politician." Since he had been invited, he lapsed into a monologue. "I don't know ALL the details, but Hamilton was not the only fellow Burr had a falling out with. Burr himself disagreed with Keynes, and started calling his plan the ASK plan. It politically died stillborn, and after Burr's death the slaves were compensated with promises of '40 acres and a mule' instead." Ursula was not one to let dialog die without a fight and shot back, "Why wasn't THAT ever honored?" "I see you know your history," he said admiringly. "Mule's were plentiful, even though they didn't breed well, so that portion of the offer was suspect from the start, but there was some dissension over which desert the 40 acre plots were supposed to come from." "No one wanted to live in a Black neighborhood even back THEN?" Ursula asked wonderingly. "That and the old Flag Burning argument," Sam agreed.
Here was a bona fide case of Sam and Ursula coming from different cadres. She had never HEARD the flag burning argument. "How does it go?" she asked. Sam gamely tried the monologue again.
"[When a person burns a flag, they are making an implied argument that they can see an intellectual difference between the burning cloth itself and the design on it to which they pledge allegiance. The argument goes that IF they can see a _difference_ between two things like that in the _same_ place, THEN they also _Ought_ to be able to see the _sameness_ in two _different_ places. They OUGHT to be able to accept their plot of American Turf from anywhere on the Globe we give it to 'em.]"
"Is that why there are so many people in Kansas?" Ursula asked. This answered a question that had been lurking in the darkened corners of his brain, and he shared the light bulb with her that had just gone on. "Do you know, I never connected the history of OZ and Kansas that way?" Ursula could not argue that she was less than mystified, but incredulity had not yet arrived; humor was blockading the port. "How does that connect with the history of OZ?" she asked. "Well, when OZ was settled, the Empire used it for a planetary prison, and only sent prisoners there with one way tickets. They must have sneaked across on the Yellow Brick Road, got out at Abilene, and settled Kansas THAT way!" For self consistency she made one last effort. "Are you sure they weren't deported for flag burning, the constitution amended, and the law changed back and forgotten afterward?" "Pretty sure," Sam, challenged in return. "Do you know of ANYONE loco-weed enough to burn a Texas Flag?" He paused significantly... "I didn't THINK so!"
Ursula found that she just could NOT give up. "Have you heard of Captain Cook?" She pursued him. He didn't blink. "Captain James T Cook, architect of the Mutiny of the Bounty?" He had seen her lighting, but he had unerringly avoided the accompanying thunderclap of comprehension. "Come ON... you KNOW it was BLIGH!" she said in exasperation. "Bligh's named belied his intent. James T was his teacher and he was his student. Architect and Engineer, Engineer and Architect - they did it together, just like Clinton and Perot with their EEPOTUS balanced budget!" Hope of out arguing the arguer was fading. "Did Bligh wear ear-rings?' she played for time. "Both ears, just like all the other Pirates," he supplied. "And how much did his ear-rings cost him?" she baited him. He spoke before he thought. "A buck-an-ear," he crowed triumphantly. She knew she had him, if only on a technicality. "Pirates STEAL, they don't PAY," she gloated. Sam's ears moved as he suppressed his brain's chagrin from showing on his face. After a moment's thought, he offered "Maybe he stole them fair and square, but made his first mate sell them to him for a dollar, just like rich people; have a receipt and STILL not pay taxes."
She knew when she was licked. Despite the fact that all hope of winning the argument was gone, she had enough criminology to know that putting him on the record would provide kindling for the next disagreement; all he had to do was contradict himself once. "How high can the National Debt go, before we can't pay it anymore?" Sam had actually devoted a lot of time and thought to this very issue. He was not only prepared to offer an answer, but own it and defend it in future if necessary.
"As far as payments go, we spend 80% of the budget on entitlements, and of the remaining 20% the Military gets priority for constitutional reasons. If the interest exceeds the available remainder, we can't even pay that. As for the TOTAL, it MUST be accounted for out of taxes levied on profits from natural resources dug out of the ground." Ursula breathed a sigh of relief. "As long as everybody has to pay equally," she said. As a final measure, she clarified one last point. "What was the name of the main flag burning slave?" she asked. "Slaves didn't BURN the FLAG!" It was Sam's turn to be incredulous. "I just always thought they were deported based on a similar argument."
Confident that he would have far less wiggle room in future, Ursula asked for a respite. "That coke you owe me from the Jinx? I'll trade it for a refrigerated Texaco." "I feel your pain," he sympathized as sincerely as he could. He took her in his arms and held her, and they cuddled as she mentally recalled his points, for later review and machinations. The green stuff wasn't bad.
He began his answer with the one word that meant it all. "Tradition," he explained. He knew that now he was on borrowed patience and would only be allowed to pay if he connected his answer to the question successfully. She had learned from him that when presented with the opportunity to be incredulous, a person has a choice in the matter, and chose to listen for a while instead. "Which tradition?' she asked. "Back in the days when secession was still new, Alexander Hamilton was inspired by the spirit of Intaglio." She interrupted, "Intaglio?" "Italian wine, similar to Champagne, but with a hangover that even cats can't handle." He was halfway through his second bottle of refrigerated Texaco, and volunteered a review more apropos of drinking than conversing. "Stuff's like Cranberry juice... you drink so much and you're done." Estimating that he could talk longer if he kept his whistle whetted, she handed him some water.
"So, going back to Alexander Hamilton and his favorite beverage," she prodded. Sam took up the challenge where he had left off. "Well he was Secretary of the Treasury and when it came time to pay the South back for all the money they spent, keeping the slaves employed while the North harassed them, he decided to design the Federal Reserve system rather than letting Federalism run its course and everybody making their own money." "So the slaves themselves didn't get any?" she verified. "'Fraid not," was his dry reply. "Anyhow, that was the first National Debt, and it worked out so well that every time we pay it off, the Politicians get together and make a new one, just to honor Alexander Hamilton." "How did it get so BIG?" was Ursula's next volley. "Easy, Politicians just generate zero's with gay abandon," he certified. "After that credit and deficit are just ways to teak the numbers."
Ursula contemplated this for a time. "Didn't Alexander Hamilton have any enemies?"
Sam knew that he was going to have to reference material from the 5t archives that was not available on the Internet, so he bound her to secrecy. "What I'm going to tell you, if you ever tell ANYONE ELSE about it, you have to kiss me, French style, right in front of your Daddy!" This gave Ursula pause, but Sam made no effort to give her a choice. "Aaron Burr had a PARTNER," he revealed. Wanting to get it over with, and seeing he had not kept his bargain, she kissed him passionately before he could continue. This response was possibly counter-productive, but she had made her own deal with the Devil, and he went on.
"A man named Keynes married an apparently harmless Texan named Smith, and they named their first child Adam. Adam Smith Keynes had a MUCH different solution. He didn't fear inflation nearly as much as pregnancy, and strategized that every 4 years we should cancel all Federal Debts and start over from scratch, with new paperwork." Ursula could not withhold a supportive observation. "Like Argentina?" she asked. "EXACTLY like that," Sam affirmed... "It works so well for them that even the people who they owe money to don't ask them for it back... it's not worth the paper it's printed on." "I guess history is useful for looking up failed experiments then," she intoned. "A useful tip when studying history is to keep track of who it is and where it is, as long as you keep track of people all doing it at the same time. Then you'll always have some idea of why things happened like they did," Sam postulated. "I'll muddle through," said Ursula, noncommittally.
"So what happened to Adam Smith's plan?" she asked. He hastened to correct her. "Adam Smith was an author," he specified. "Adam Smith K_eynes was a politician." Since he had been invited, he lapsed into a monologue. "I don't know ALL the details, but Hamilton was not the only fellow Burr had a falling out with. Burr himself disagreed with Keynes, and started calling his plan the ASK plan. It politically died stillborn, and after Burr's death the slaves were compensated with promises of '40 acres and a mule' instead." Ursula was not one to let dialog die without a fight and shot back, "Why wasn't THAT ever honored?" "I see you know your history," he said admiringly. "Mule's were plentiful, even though they didn't breed well, so that portion of the offer was suspect from the start, but there was some dissension over which desert the 40 acre plots were supposed to come from." "No one wanted to live in a Black neighborhood even back THEN?" Ursula asked wonderingly. "That and the old Flag Burning argument," Sam agreed.
Here was a bona fide case of Sam and Ursula coming from different cadres. She had never HEARD the flag burning argument. "How does it go?" she asked. Sam gamely tried the monologue again.
"[When a person burns a flag, they are making an implied argument that they can see an intellectual difference between the burning cloth itself and the design on it to which they pledge allegiance. The argument goes that IF they can see a _difference_ between two things like that in the _same_ place, THEN they also _Ought_ to be able to see the _sameness_ in two _different_ places. They OUGHT to be able to accept their plot of American Turf from anywhere on the Globe we give it to 'em.]"
"Is that why there are so many people in Kansas?" Ursula asked. This answered a question that had been lurking in the darkened corners of his brain, and he shared the light bulb with her that had just gone on. "Do you know, I never connected the history of OZ and Kansas that way?" Ursula could not argue that she was less than mystified, but incredulity had not yet arrived; humor was blockading the port. "How does that connect with the history of OZ?" she asked. "Well, when OZ was settled, the Empire used it for a planetary prison, and only sent prisoners there with one way tickets. They must have sneaked across on the Yellow Brick Road, got out at Abilene, and settled Kansas THAT way!" For self consistency she made one last effort. "Are you sure they weren't deported for flag burning, the constitution amended, and the law changed back and forgotten afterward?" "Pretty sure," Sam, challenged in return. "Do you know of ANYONE loco-weed enough to burn a Texas Flag?" He paused significantly... "I didn't THINK so!"
Ursula found that she just could NOT give up. "Have you heard of Captain Cook?" She pursued him. He didn't blink. "Captain James T Cook, architect of the Mutiny of the Bounty?" He had seen her lighting, but he had unerringly avoided the accompanying thunderclap of comprehension. "Come ON... you KNOW it was BLIGH!" she said in exasperation. "Bligh's named belied his intent. James T was his teacher and he was his student. Architect and Engineer, Engineer and Architect - they did it together, just like Clinton and Perot with their EEPOTUS balanced budget!" Hope of out arguing the arguer was fading. "Did Bligh wear ear-rings?' she played for time. "Both ears, just like all the other Pirates," he supplied. "And how much did his ear-rings cost him?" she baited him. He spoke before he thought. "A buck-an-ear," he crowed triumphantly. She knew she had him, if only on a technicality. "Pirates STEAL, they don't PAY," she gloated. Sam's ears moved as he suppressed his brain's chagrin from showing on his face. After a moment's thought, he offered "Maybe he stole them fair and square, but made his first mate sell them to him for a dollar, just like rich people; have a receipt and STILL not pay taxes."
She knew when she was licked. Despite the fact that all hope of winning the argument was gone, she had enough criminology to know that putting him on the record would provide kindling for the next disagreement; all he had to do was contradict himself once. "How high can the National Debt go, before we can't pay it anymore?" Sam had actually devoted a lot of time and thought to this very issue. He was not only prepared to offer an answer, but own it and defend it in future if necessary.
"As far as payments go, we spend 80% of the budget on entitlements, and of the remaining 20% the Military gets priority for constitutional reasons. If the interest exceeds the available remainder, we can't even pay that. As for the TOTAL, it MUST be accounted for out of taxes levied on profits from natural resources dug out of the ground." Ursula breathed a sigh of relief. "As long as everybody has to pay equally," she said. As a final measure, she clarified one last point. "What was the name of the main flag burning slave?" she asked. "Slaves didn't BURN the FLAG!" It was Sam's turn to be incredulous. "I just always thought they were deported based on a similar argument."
Confident that he would have far less wiggle room in future, Ursula asked for a respite. "That coke you owe me from the Jinx? I'll trade it for a refrigerated Texaco." "I feel your pain," he sympathized as sincerely as he could. He took her in his arms and held her, and they cuddled as she mentally recalled his points, for later review and machinations. The green stuff wasn't bad.
An -A&M- perspective on how water should be used;
As they trundled down the highway (getting closer to Lexington,) Ursula rested her head on Sam's shoulder for a while, until the river of her conscious thought took a new turn. "Sam," she asked, "How long has it BEEN since you met a card carrying AGGIE?" Sam mulled this question for no small moment. He had originally bought his copy of the Enquirer for the reason of a similar observation. Aggies were tough, but they MIGHT be a dying breed.
Of all the Texans there are, the non-Texan Texan was becoming the easiest to find. Authentic Texans represented wherever they went, mostly with diplomacy, and the less hardy Genuine Texan could be found at most Churches. Sooners came down South on a regular basis to spy on A&M about their irrigation techniques, but to _stay_, they'd have to buy land locally, and so they predominantly tended to return to their own stomping grounds and start fights with other farmers. As Ursula had already observed, Texas country didn't OFFICIALLY start until you got south of the Red River. The question he had to decide in order to authoritatively answer Ursula's question was this: Did Aggies venerate the issue of the Bull? If lying was important to them, they'd go be Authentic Texans, but the hat and boots would make them LOOK like Ranchers. If they were Genuine Texans, they wouldn't want to lie about it, and if they were True Texans, they would likely take the view that the whole education system was a source of farm fertilizer; Bull Shit, More of the Same, and Piled h_igher and Deeper.
He finally made his deliberative reply. "I'm not sure Ursula, I guess I don't go 'round asking people 'You Ag?'" "Someone like Old Comstock would get such a big head it'd POP if we did that!" she agreed. "True, but the damage couldn't get too bad, there'd always be Gold to trump 'em." Sam replied. "How do you evaluate if a random Farmer IS an Aggie?"
They both overlooked the obvious and crucial point that to be an Aggie, Texas citizenship was a prerequisite.
Instead they began to list characteristics. "They think the best kind of horse is a Clydesdale, and call everybody 'Bud.'" Usrula volunteered. "How about, they ALWAYS wear a rally cap, rain or shine!" Sam ventured. Both these suggestions had merit, and they went on. They prefer wire cutters to rope; they primarily think leather is for razor strops; they cannot abide you sitting on their fences; they'll use a Post Hole digger and call it '_Operating_ a Post Hole digger;' and they think that a gelded steer is just as good as a stud... they both produce the same grade of fertilizer; "About the only RATIONAL thing I know about 'em is that they agree with Ranchers that the end of a railroad line is in the East, and that is the best place FOR it!" Sam concluded. "Well, they might believe everything they read in that Enquirer rag, but I doubt it tells you where they can be found." She reproached him. He shook his head ruefully; "Not unless they were to be found in outer space I guess."
Usrula shook her head and marveled at the variety of human experience. "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't MAKE him drink," she philosophized. "I could do with a Fosters right about now." "OK," Sam, agreed, "Next stop, Texaco."
Of all the Texans there are, the non-Texan Texan was becoming the easiest to find. Authentic Texans represented wherever they went, mostly with diplomacy, and the less hardy Genuine Texan could be found at most Churches. Sooners came down South on a regular basis to spy on A&M about their irrigation techniques, but to _stay_, they'd have to buy land locally, and so they predominantly tended to return to their own stomping grounds and start fights with other farmers. As Ursula had already observed, Texas country didn't OFFICIALLY start until you got south of the Red River. The question he had to decide in order to authoritatively answer Ursula's question was this: Did Aggies venerate the issue of the Bull? If lying was important to them, they'd go be Authentic Texans, but the hat and boots would make them LOOK like Ranchers. If they were Genuine Texans, they wouldn't want to lie about it, and if they were True Texans, they would likely take the view that the whole education system was a source of farm fertilizer; Bull Shit, More of the Same, and Piled h_igher and Deeper.
He finally made his deliberative reply. "I'm not sure Ursula, I guess I don't go 'round asking people 'You Ag?'" "Someone like Old Comstock would get such a big head it'd POP if we did that!" she agreed. "True, but the damage couldn't get too bad, there'd always be Gold to trump 'em." Sam replied. "How do you evaluate if a random Farmer IS an Aggie?"
They both overlooked the obvious and crucial point that to be an Aggie, Texas citizenship was a prerequisite.
Instead they began to list characteristics. "They think the best kind of horse is a Clydesdale, and call everybody 'Bud.'" Usrula volunteered. "How about, they ALWAYS wear a rally cap, rain or shine!" Sam ventured. Both these suggestions had merit, and they went on. They prefer wire cutters to rope; they primarily think leather is for razor strops; they cannot abide you sitting on their fences; they'll use a Post Hole digger and call it '_Operating_ a Post Hole digger;' and they think that a gelded steer is just as good as a stud... they both produce the same grade of fertilizer; "About the only RATIONAL thing I know about 'em is that they agree with Ranchers that the end of a railroad line is in the East, and that is the best place FOR it!" Sam concluded. "Well, they might believe everything they read in that Enquirer rag, but I doubt it tells you where they can be found." She reproached him. He shook his head ruefully; "Not unless they were to be found in outer space I guess."
Usrula shook her head and marveled at the variety of human experience. "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't MAKE him drink," she philosophized. "I could do with a Fosters right about now." "OK," Sam, agreed, "Next stop, Texaco."
A Chinese friend recommends Italian food;
When they returned to civilization, they stopped in Italy. Rather than go into the local Wells Fargo, for rolls of quarters, Sam and Ursula dropped by a full service laundry to get their clothes washing done. The relevant Chinaman was not tall, and showed his true colors by being friendly, if not too familiar. "I'm Trey," Sam introduced himself, "...and this is Ursula." "I'm Li Nippon, call me Mr. Lee," he responded. "Wouldn't that be Mr. Nippon?" Sam asked obviously. "Oh NO, they are from JAPAN," Mr. Li hastened to assure him. "In CHINA, we put the family name Last. Nippon is a VERY _Distinguished_ name in Japan, but Li is common in China, like Jones." Sam was please to boast a mutual acquaintance. "Travis' cousin Tommy from Hollywood... all _his_ dry-cleaners call HIM Mr. Lee," he observed, "but In Hollywood they still call him Mr. Jones." Ursula was not to be left out. "Famous Law School Graduate," she added, "...got a degree too!" she added redundantly. The cleaner was immediately impressed. "You know Mr. LEE?" he asked. "Not personally, but he IS Texan, and Texans tend to stick together overseas." Whatever his personal thoughts on the matter, Mr. Li was polite. "We too know a Mr. Lee from overseas," he shared generously. "He did not know KungFu, but he shared his Karate with everyone equally, just like the Declaration of Independence." "You mean BRUCE LEE?" It was Ursula's turn to be impressed. Mr. Li drew himself up with pride and smiled. "Personally;" his eyes twinkled with pleasure. "My father used to wash his clothes for him before he died." At this point Sam began to wonder if this stranger was becoming too familiar with his sheila, but he was not rude. "Ursula and I will be over at the Pizza Hut," he told him. "If we meet at Church, can we talk about our Hollywood connections over lunch with Mrs. Li?" Mr. Li was far from offended, being almost grateful that Sam had even gotten the last name right, and assured him that he would help them find the best food in town if Church was where they met. "Clothes will be ready by 5PM," he concluded graciously. They thanked him and made their way across the street.
Now that they were in private, Sam's first priority was to correct Ursula's misconception. "Law School Graduates have to pass the BAR," he supplied. "it's a common misconception." Ursula regarded him quizzically. Although Sam truly seemed to think that this was in the answer category of conversational gambits, it seemed to her to raise more questions than it could possibly answer in its present form. She asked him to make their order for a deep dish supreme, with extra cheese while she thought about it.
The misconceptions Sam might be trying to correct were several, and she listed them on a napkin:
- Law School Graduates might be inveterate alcoholics.
- The "degree" to which she had alluded might be conferred by a Bar Association, rather than a University. If so, this might be the official reason the degree in question was called a BA.
- The relevant certification that Tommy Lee Jones possessed was something else supplied by Bar Associations, and not a BA at all.
- Tommy Lee Jones might possess a BA, and not yet have completed his original intentions of obtaining the relevant certification.
She furrowed her brows. That was all she could think of, but, rather than exhaust herself by trying to be exhaustive, she decided that this was adequate cannon fodder. Upon his return with food and Fosters her animosity faded. She chose her wording carefully, and made sure she had his attention while she asked him, "Have Tommy's drinkin' buddies from Travis' county ever forced him to write a confession out about what the local Better Business Bureau thinks about the Bar in question OR are you trying to tell me Mr. Jones never passed?" Sam's gaze returned to eye level, and she briefly wondered if he would like to be the father of twins, such was his libido. It was his turn to ponder, and she dug in, the Fosters quenching a very real thirst. For his part, he felt like he had been sand-bagged by her change of subject, and his first priority now was to remember exactly what she had said. To assist his memory he wrote a question mark on his own napkin, so he would not forget that the remark had been in the interrogative voice.
She was not yet married, and he wondered if her ability to conceive such knotty questions was part of the reason. She had not made enough of these misconceptions to qualify as a pattern of behavior, and so he turned his attention back to the content of her wording. After a moment's consideration he was pretty sure she didn't know the name of the thing that the Bar Association conferred; it was different from Mr. Jones' degree. He took a deep breath and began to run the gauntlet. "He DID pass. Travis' and Tommy's mutual drinkin' buddies wouldn't be caught dead talkin' to the local Better Business Bureau, and the Bar in question serves the County, but not in the capacity of a drinking establishment. They issue Barristers' Licenses, and THAT is what Tommy Lee does NOT HAVE!" he finished triumphantly.
Her pride in his accomplishment approached his own, such was her affection for him. "I feel like you REALLY took the trouble to LISTEN," she praised him. "I don't have mine either." Sam blushed with pride, and he sucked his gut in and stuck out his chest without even thinking. "I think I'll be needing a banana too... I love cheese, but find it very binding." At some level Sam observed that she had been more polite than _he_ would have been under the same circumstances, and he rejoined with a question of his own. "What all do you USE bananas for?"
It was her turn to teach, and she delighted at his True Texan humility. "well, the Pectin they provide helps keep you regular as I just observed and they have potassium for muscle cramps. Other than that, I can personally observe that they give me indigestion; I'd rather have banana pudding." "MmHm," he agreed. "My University Professor used to go on and on about the predilection Monkeys have for 'em," he added, explaining his question. "I used to tell him 'Food is Food, no matter if you're a Man or a Mouse.' He used to cuss up a blue streak right after that. He didn't use normal swear words, but his favorite other kind of swear word was 'phallic.' I think I called him a mouse more than anything." She beamed her understanding with a smile. "Some people just don't understand," she empathized.
They finished their meal with cheesecake all around; Cherry for her, Strawberry for him, and set off for the Cleaners. "Ever been to Lexington?" she asked him. He didn't recall ever having been and, being footloose, they decided to visit there next since hunting until Valentine's was off the menu.
Now that they were in private, Sam's first priority was to correct Ursula's misconception. "Law School Graduates have to pass the BAR," he supplied. "it's a common misconception." Ursula regarded him quizzically. Although Sam truly seemed to think that this was in the answer category of conversational gambits, it seemed to her to raise more questions than it could possibly answer in its present form. She asked him to make their order for a deep dish supreme, with extra cheese while she thought about it.
The misconceptions Sam might be trying to correct were several, and she listed them on a napkin:
- Law School Graduates might be inveterate alcoholics.
- The "degree" to which she had alluded might be conferred by a Bar Association, rather than a University. If so, this might be the official reason the degree in question was called a BA.
- The relevant certification that Tommy Lee Jones possessed was something else supplied by Bar Associations, and not a BA at all.
- Tommy Lee Jones might possess a BA, and not yet have completed his original intentions of obtaining the relevant certification.
She furrowed her brows. That was all she could think of, but, rather than exhaust herself by trying to be exhaustive, she decided that this was adequate cannon fodder. Upon his return with food and Fosters her animosity faded. She chose her wording carefully, and made sure she had his attention while she asked him, "Have Tommy's drinkin' buddies from Travis' county ever forced him to write a confession out about what the local Better Business Bureau thinks about the Bar in question OR are you trying to tell me Mr. Jones never passed?" Sam's gaze returned to eye level, and she briefly wondered if he would like to be the father of twins, such was his libido. It was his turn to ponder, and she dug in, the Fosters quenching a very real thirst. For his part, he felt like he had been sand-bagged by her change of subject, and his first priority now was to remember exactly what she had said. To assist his memory he wrote a question mark on his own napkin, so he would not forget that the remark had been in the interrogative voice.
She was not yet married, and he wondered if her ability to conceive such knotty questions was part of the reason. She had not made enough of these misconceptions to qualify as a pattern of behavior, and so he turned his attention back to the content of her wording. After a moment's consideration he was pretty sure she didn't know the name of the thing that the Bar Association conferred; it was different from Mr. Jones' degree. He took a deep breath and began to run the gauntlet. "He DID pass. Travis' and Tommy's mutual drinkin' buddies wouldn't be caught dead talkin' to the local Better Business Bureau, and the Bar in question serves the County, but not in the capacity of a drinking establishment. They issue Barristers' Licenses, and THAT is what Tommy Lee does NOT HAVE!" he finished triumphantly.
Her pride in his accomplishment approached his own, such was her affection for him. "I feel like you REALLY took the trouble to LISTEN," she praised him. "I don't have mine either." Sam blushed with pride, and he sucked his gut in and stuck out his chest without even thinking. "I think I'll be needing a banana too... I love cheese, but find it very binding." At some level Sam observed that she had been more polite than _he_ would have been under the same circumstances, and he rejoined with a question of his own. "What all do you USE bananas for?"
It was her turn to teach, and she delighted at his True Texan humility. "well, the Pectin they provide helps keep you regular as I just observed and they have potassium for muscle cramps. Other than that, I can personally observe that they give me indigestion; I'd rather have banana pudding." "MmHm," he agreed. "My University Professor used to go on and on about the predilection Monkeys have for 'em," he added, explaining his question. "I used to tell him 'Food is Food, no matter if you're a Man or a Mouse.' He used to cuss up a blue streak right after that. He didn't use normal swear words, but his favorite other kind of swear word was 'phallic.' I think I called him a mouse more than anything." She beamed her understanding with a smile. "Some people just don't understand," she empathized.
They finished their meal with cheesecake all around; Cherry for her, Strawberry for him, and set off for the Cleaners. "Ever been to Lexington?" she asked him. He didn't recall ever having been and, being footloose, they decided to visit there next since hunting until Valentine's was off the menu.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
5t story of Narcissus and Echo;
Ursula awoke early and made herself presentable appropriately. She shook the crackers out of the bed clothes, and soon brought Sam a cup of hot chocolate. He had finally talked her into killing an animal for food purposes, and she had payed him back by bringing to his attention that neither of them knew what was in season. He had been willing to shell any number of clams for the equipment, but this had not become necessary. "Why do some hunting seasons start with a bow season before the regular long-rifle session Sam?" asked Ursula. "Well, it's kind of like the reasons we pay Park Rangers. If you used a Gatling gun, you could probably kill as many Deer as a Trawler can trawl fish, so they give every body who really needs the food a head start. There's a story they tell, just to show the historical value of the Bow and Arrow." "Wait, wait, Don't tell me..." she replied. "Does it have to do with the Greek Goddess Diana, the Huntress?" Sam pondered that the answer was negative for a moment, and said "No, I guess that just has to do with dating."
"It IS a Greek story though. It goes like this: [In the forest of Greek myth, there was a young man by the name of Narcissus. He made all the nymphs swoon, and was very handsome. One nymph in particular was more in love with him than the others. Her name was Echo. Echo enlisted the good offices of Cupid to shoot him with the arrow of love, so that the first thing he saw after that would rule his love and affections forever. This was against her ruler’s wishes. When Cupid and Echo implemented their plan, Echo was ready. Narcissus was walking along in the forest, all unsuspecting. Cupid shot Narcissus, and Echo stepped out from behind a tree, but Narcissus (instead of looking at Echo,) saw his own reflection mirrored in a pool of water and fell deeply, madly in love with himself. Echo’s ruler discovered the plot, and punished her by magically ruling that Echo could no longer voice her own thoughts, but only the last word another said. In a bitter sweet ending, this gave Narcissus and Echo a kind of dysfunctional relationship. Echo repeated Narcissus’ last word to him, and he extended his love for himself to Echo, because she never failed to stroke his ego that way.]"
Ursula had been riveted in rapt attention. "Is that why aboriginal Americans used to love the Bow and Arrow so much?" she asked. "I'm not sure if it started out that way," Sam replied sagely, "but it's why they still do." The eggs were ready, and he praised her cooking with a full mouth.
"It IS a Greek story though. It goes like this: [In the forest of Greek myth, there was a young man by the name of Narcissus. He made all the nymphs swoon, and was very handsome. One nymph in particular was more in love with him than the others. Her name was Echo. Echo enlisted the good offices of Cupid to shoot him with the arrow of love, so that the first thing he saw after that would rule his love and affections forever. This was against her ruler’s wishes. When Cupid and Echo implemented their plan, Echo was ready. Narcissus was walking along in the forest, all unsuspecting. Cupid shot Narcissus, and Echo stepped out from behind a tree, but Narcissus (instead of looking at Echo,) saw his own reflection mirrored in a pool of water and fell deeply, madly in love with himself. Echo’s ruler discovered the plot, and punished her by magically ruling that Echo could no longer voice her own thoughts, but only the last word another said. In a bitter sweet ending, this gave Narcissus and Echo a kind of dysfunctional relationship. Echo repeated Narcissus’ last word to him, and he extended his love for himself to Echo, because she never failed to stroke his ego that way.]"
Ursula had been riveted in rapt attention. "Is that why aboriginal Americans used to love the Bow and Arrow so much?" she asked. "I'm not sure if it started out that way," Sam replied sagely, "but it's why they still do." The eggs were ready, and he praised her cooking with a full mouth.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
5t War of the Worlds;
TTTTT - Urgent 5t update. Recent developments in the field of comprehension industry have shown Science Fiction connections in the observations of H.G. Wells in his envelope-pushing radio broadcast. See also Footnoted material.
First to address so-called "Reality."
Comprehension is the newest drug of choice in the agriculture of Understanding. AI as an acronym has been worn out in the process. It is variously a Bible Cityname, Artificial Insemination and Artificial Intelligence; these are just the most common flavors found in a ten-class disambiguation on Wiki. The commonality seems to be 'seminality of somethingness.' The new way to refer to the computer variety is to allude to Neural Nets. Differing in the abstract from basketball nets, they are understood through the same analogy as the Internet; the spider web. [Note: Basketball playing Spiders have yet to be observed in nature, and they still observe the natural law of gravity.] Neural Nets are mission critical in modeling intelligence in computing, but computers seem to be completely unable to appreciate comprehension. My first experience of a pusher pushing comprehension was earlier than Society wishes to acknowledge - Elementary School. The teacher was hot, and I had no idea of why she had such an effect on me, but English Comprehension was her specialty, and I sought her approval like a slave - I won her favor by turning up the air conditioning. English Comprehension was my gateway to masturbation, and from there I even took a different view of FOOD. Using Money as a drug was a natural progression, and I am told that others ape the concept with economic participation in a black-market drug pharm. From a rational view point, there is nothing normative to be said about this EXCEPT the same advice as all Economists who control their weight through diet and exercise might give ANYONE, and that without charge: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FREE LUNCH!
To return to a discussion of my comprehension abuse, I may be said to have exhibited a genetic pre-disposition, and my own descent into precociousness is only one facet of what is charitably referred to as "a checkered past."
Addiction is a hard term to define for purposes of holding intellect accountable - the best one I know for the rigors of logic is
"Needing more and more of [X] to obtain the same effect."
In this regard, comprehension is more like a stupidity re-uptake inhibitor, and has no nervous metabolites.
This definition IS, however, adequate to branch out and cover such things as sex addiction (in it's various orientations,) although a good sex binge is still popular to immunize (jade) people against spring fever. Spring Break is the last chance before bird migrations occur and the birds that carry the relevant viruses arrive.
With regard to genetic predispositions they may be observed, not only in comprehension, but also in homosexual orientation and alcoholism. This last is very observable in society at large, pointing out that, absent genetic predisposition, addiction is achieved only by egregious stupidity... those without the gene can come to NEED the drug as part of their metabolism, but only after consuming mass quantities in violation of good sense. Tobacco serves to show that the metabolism is not subservient to DNA alone, and drug pharms are to be avoided unless money is no object. If you NEED to experiment with addictive behavior, masturbation is free and porn is cheap - this should not be confused with an informed discussion on jading; in pornography jading occurs before satisfaction, differing significantly with actual sex. In the masturbation ecosystem, Advertisers model Pushers, and Models model Dealers, who are otherwise harmless by comparison... they facilitate demand with supply. Add economics to the ecosystem, and sex becomes the first currency; after this is exhausted treasure is induced, and the blood and treasure discussion of War is relevant to the War on Drugs in the same way. Prostitution mixes sex and economics, with the blood and treasure discussion being satisfied by the old observation: The right to contract is NOT absolute.
OFFICIALLY turning to SCIENCE FICTION:
H.G. Wells observations on this subject practically beggar the imagination... his prescience in regard to Venus and Mars so far preceded the Cultural Phenomenon "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus." Having finally understood that the God's of War have been invoked and that the conservationist principle of "catch and release," has been violated at a viral level (this being nearly integral to DNA by that point,) it is kind on his part to have used 'Little Green Men,' as his vehicle, rather than the more difficult to observe "Martian Blood," such as Huck Finn was led to believe his slave friend Jim possessed. The fact that Martians have green blood has been exploited by everyone who disapproves of Governments on Mother Earth martialing her own forces against him. While anyone, red and yellow, black and white can have their blood tested (for needle borne agents like Hepatitis-C,) preparatory to marriage, pacifist refugees from that war torn planet have been helplessly sheltering their war-like dopple-gangers, as Mars' interplanetary espionage runs ahead of Earths own efforts by decades. Although she is internally a crucible of discord, Venus has remained icily aloof to Earth's diplomatic failures toward Mars, apparently relying on preferential treatment from the Sun in the event of interplanetary conflict. The Politics of Rah (who seems to favor Egypt over other Earth jurisdictions,) are left for another day.
Finally, ADMITTING that 5ts can be subject to needle driven DISEASES and DRUG ADDICTION themselves;
Having made a tour of the Interplanetary War Paradigm, we can now see BOTH an Economic AND a Health and Human Services germanity to the discussion of Drug addiction. If Aids AND Money are a concern at the same time, as test for Tuberculosis will work in an emergency - the two conditions propagate under very similar conditions. If you think you actually have the Aids precursor HIV, you are possibly better off moving to the African Continent. People there can benefit educationally from almost any other country's intellectual largess, and the UN participates shamelessly in subsidizing the medications relevant for long term survival, until a way to cure the common cold can be made widely available and cheap; Quarantine is the payoff to humanity.
Footnotes:
In a departure from acknowledging intellectual contributions to the 5t Archives, the premier Teller of The Tale (in both capacities of crier and treasurer) would like to acknowledge the work of Quentin Tarentino in "Pulp Fiction."
The phrase "Pushing the envelope" is not only a practice of the USPS, but also a Journalistic goal. Aviators hate them, and fight for their Freedom of Speech accordingly, because the official definition of an "envelope" is the parameters of air-speed and lift within which a plane can maintain negative gravity. Outside the magic envelope, all treaties with Naturalists fail, and the Law of Gravity is re-invoked. The authoritative Science Fiction on the subject is by Douglas Adams, and relies on "falling so as to miss the ground." See also his Improbability Drive.
In the world of Medicine, we spoke above about viruses. In the field of Contagion, the two classes of contagious agents are Viruses and Bacteria. [Bacterias exist, but simply in a class with lichens, sheeps, fishes; etc.] Medications are typically useful ONLY against Bacteria, Viruses are left to nature's immunity. Syndromes and Conditions are a separate discussion - Biology is hard to study. If you think I am joking, just ask yourself what YOU would have done back in the day when Germ (bacteria) Theory was not well investigated, such that you didn't know the difference between a contagious disease and a non-contagious one, viruses and bacterias competed like pyramid schemes, and the ONE CORRECT pasteurizer, giving you the pills in good faith, couldn't stop everyone around you from getting sick anyway. If his research had been hindered by good hand washing, no one might EVER have KNOWN! As such, please don't hold old Louis' religious superstitions against him.
First to address so-called "Reality."
Comprehension is the newest drug of choice in the agriculture of Understanding. AI as an acronym has been worn out in the process. It is variously a Bible Cityname, Artificial Insemination and Artificial Intelligence; these are just the most common flavors found in a ten-class disambiguation on Wiki. The commonality seems to be 'seminality of somethingness.' The new way to refer to the computer variety is to allude to Neural Nets. Differing in the abstract from basketball nets, they are understood through the same analogy as the Internet; the spider web. [Note: Basketball playing Spiders have yet to be observed in nature, and they still observe the natural law of gravity.] Neural Nets are mission critical in modeling intelligence in computing, but computers seem to be completely unable to appreciate comprehension. My first experience of a pusher pushing comprehension was earlier than Society wishes to acknowledge - Elementary School. The teacher was hot, and I had no idea of why she had such an effect on me, but English Comprehension was her specialty, and I sought her approval like a slave - I won her favor by turning up the air conditioning. English Comprehension was my gateway to masturbation, and from there I even took a different view of FOOD. Using Money as a drug was a natural progression, and I am told that others ape the concept with economic participation in a black-market drug pharm. From a rational view point, there is nothing normative to be said about this EXCEPT the same advice as all Economists who control their weight through diet and exercise might give ANYONE, and that without charge: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FREE LUNCH!
To return to a discussion of my comprehension abuse, I may be said to have exhibited a genetic pre-disposition, and my own descent into precociousness is only one facet of what is charitably referred to as "a checkered past."
Addiction is a hard term to define for purposes of holding intellect accountable - the best one I know for the rigors of logic is
"Needing more and more of [X] to obtain the same effect."
In this regard, comprehension is more like a stupidity re-uptake inhibitor, and has no nervous metabolites.
This definition IS, however, adequate to branch out and cover such things as sex addiction (in it's various orientations,) although a good sex binge is still popular to immunize (jade) people against spring fever. Spring Break is the last chance before bird migrations occur and the birds that carry the relevant viruses arrive.
With regard to genetic predispositions they may be observed, not only in comprehension, but also in homosexual orientation and alcoholism. This last is very observable in society at large, pointing out that, absent genetic predisposition, addiction is achieved only by egregious stupidity... those without the gene can come to NEED the drug as part of their metabolism, but only after consuming mass quantities in violation of good sense. Tobacco serves to show that the metabolism is not subservient to DNA alone, and drug pharms are to be avoided unless money is no object. If you NEED to experiment with addictive behavior, masturbation is free and porn is cheap - this should not be confused with an informed discussion on jading; in pornography jading occurs before satisfaction, differing significantly with actual sex. In the masturbation ecosystem, Advertisers model Pushers, and Models model Dealers, who are otherwise harmless by comparison... they facilitate demand with supply. Add economics to the ecosystem, and sex becomes the first currency; after this is exhausted treasure is induced, and the blood and treasure discussion of War is relevant to the War on Drugs in the same way. Prostitution mixes sex and economics, with the blood and treasure discussion being satisfied by the old observation: The right to contract is NOT absolute.
OFFICIALLY turning to SCIENCE FICTION:
H.G. Wells observations on this subject practically beggar the imagination... his prescience in regard to Venus and Mars so far preceded the Cultural Phenomenon "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus." Having finally understood that the God's of War have been invoked and that the conservationist principle of "catch and release," has been violated at a viral level (this being nearly integral to DNA by that point,) it is kind on his part to have used 'Little Green Men,' as his vehicle, rather than the more difficult to observe "Martian Blood," such as Huck Finn was led to believe his slave friend Jim possessed. The fact that Martians have green blood has been exploited by everyone who disapproves of Governments on Mother Earth martialing her own forces against him. While anyone, red and yellow, black and white can have their blood tested (for needle borne agents like Hepatitis-C,) preparatory to marriage, pacifist refugees from that war torn planet have been helplessly sheltering their war-like dopple-gangers, as Mars' interplanetary espionage runs ahead of Earths own efforts by decades. Although she is internally a crucible of discord, Venus has remained icily aloof to Earth's diplomatic failures toward Mars, apparently relying on preferential treatment from the Sun in the event of interplanetary conflict. The Politics of Rah (who seems to favor Egypt over other Earth jurisdictions,) are left for another day.
Finally, ADMITTING that 5ts can be subject to needle driven DISEASES and DRUG ADDICTION themselves;
Having made a tour of the Interplanetary War Paradigm, we can now see BOTH an Economic AND a Health and Human Services germanity to the discussion of Drug addiction. If Aids AND Money are a concern at the same time, as test for Tuberculosis will work in an emergency - the two conditions propagate under very similar conditions. If you think you actually have the Aids precursor HIV, you are possibly better off moving to the African Continent. People there can benefit educationally from almost any other country's intellectual largess, and the UN participates shamelessly in subsidizing the medications relevant for long term survival, until a way to cure the common cold can be made widely available and cheap; Quarantine is the payoff to humanity.
Footnotes:
In a departure from acknowledging intellectual contributions to the 5t Archives, the premier Teller of The Tale (in both capacities of crier and treasurer) would like to acknowledge the work of Quentin Tarentino in "Pulp Fiction."
The phrase "Pushing the envelope" is not only a practice of the USPS, but also a Journalistic goal. Aviators hate them, and fight for their Freedom of Speech accordingly, because the official definition of an "envelope" is the parameters of air-speed and lift within which a plane can maintain negative gravity. Outside the magic envelope, all treaties with Naturalists fail, and the Law of Gravity is re-invoked. The authoritative Science Fiction on the subject is by Douglas Adams, and relies on "falling so as to miss the ground." See also his Improbability Drive.
In the world of Medicine, we spoke above about viruses. In the field of Contagion, the two classes of contagious agents are Viruses and Bacteria. [Bacterias exist, but simply in a class with lichens, sheeps, fishes; etc.] Medications are typically useful ONLY against Bacteria, Viruses are left to nature's immunity. Syndromes and Conditions are a separate discussion - Biology is hard to study. If you think I am joking, just ask yourself what YOU would have done back in the day when Germ (bacteria) Theory was not well investigated, such that you didn't know the difference between a contagious disease and a non-contagious one, viruses and bacterias competed like pyramid schemes, and the ONE CORRECT pasteurizer, giving you the pills in good faith, couldn't stop everyone around you from getting sick anyway. If his research had been hindered by good hand washing, no one might EVER have KNOWN! As such, please don't hold old Louis' religious superstitions against him.
On the function of a Sentry in a Camp;
As they camped in preparation for the morrow, Sam and Ursula returned in conversation to True Texans, and their variously Genuine or Authentic counterparts. Ursula spoke first. "Sam, why are Authentic Texans ALWAYS wearing a Stetson?" she asked, testing him. Perceiving this to be the case, Sam thanked his lucky stars that to essay one guess would be sufficient, and proceeded to a discussion of "Call and Response." "In literature, the device of using one refrain over and over for the audience, while teaching a little at a time, is called 'Call and Response,'" he began, warming to his subject, "...then the military adopted it, and put it to good use." Ursula was accustomed to his pedantic monologue, but refused to abandon all attempts at dialogue anyway. "Give me a 'for instance,'" she demanded. "I'll start with teaching, and then work my way back around to the military usage," he answered in a monotone. "For instance; there's a famous poem in a compilation somewhere, that alternates the refrains 'aye, well, Lassie,' AND 'On the bonnie banks of Fordie,' every other line throughout the whole poem." To test the educational validity of this concept, Ursula interrupted with "...and what did that teach YOU? What do _you_ remember from that Poem?" Sam was nettled, but ground out, "Well the anthology wasn't THAT great, for starters, but specific to that poem, I learned that the Scottish can't spell 'L-A-D-I-E-S!' SPELLING is _Important_!" "Is that supposed to be some kind of GLEANING?" she needled him. "I didn't DO that kind of thing back then," he responded defensively. "It's just that the lesson I was learning was not the lesson they were teaching that day!"
"Go on then," she spoke again, capitulating. He continued at his own pace. "Another example is from that French History of Israel in the Aggie library we have BOTH admitted to reading by now." She allowed her silence to be consent, and he continued. "I think it was from the patriotic King David who was so prolifically poetic. On no less than his 136th recorded effort, he used this method to try and make his blank-verse interesting." "You didn't find it interesting by itself?" was Ursula's query. "Profound yes, interesting, well... you have to acquire a taste for that kind of thing." Ursula could agree with him there, and having established that this method was a valid educational use for a poetic license, she drew his attention back to the discussion at hand...
"How on Earth does the MILITARY derive a usage of 'Call and Response?'" "Well, that was probably an R&D contribution to military history of the Authentic Texan" Sam explained with satisfaction. Determined not to cause him need for a bigger hat for himself, she assailed his pride by noting, "You admit, then, that Authentic Texans have been around since BEFORE secession?" Sam's silence in return denoted something other than consent, but she generously conceded to take whatever it DID represent on barter for the same. "So their usage of it piloted research?" Sam decided to overlook such thorns as there were on THIS Texan olive branch, and went on. "Way back in the day, it was not always clear who was an Authentic Texan and who was not, so they had to come up a with a system of authentication. Traditionally, a Texan challenged the relevant individual with the question, 'Why won't an authentic Texan be caught dead in a Woolsey?'" This allowed for definitive identification because if he was Authentic Texan of long standing, he would know the official response of, '...because you've got to catch one to kill him, and they take off their hats to die.'" By his language Sam had allowed the possibility that an Authentic Texan of the day might not have been in Texas long enough to know the official response, and Ursula was willing to hear his explanation. "What if he was an Authentic Texan and didn't know the proper response?" she inquired. "Well under those conditions a person is allowed to give any answer they can think of, just to buy time and not excluding humor, and Texas humor is so distinctive counterfeits are hardly worth the trouble," Sam explained.
"How does the Military use it, if they allow non-Texans in the Military?" Ursula followed on. "Well they sanitize and commercialize it one step, by employing the age old process of Code. The question officially becomes a 'Challenge,' and the official 'Response' doesn't even have to be REMOTELY related to the question. They're so disorganized about it they have to pass out new ones in every camp on a regular basis." "I can see why Authentic Texans only admit their true identity if called upon under THOSE conditions," Ursula concluded. "I'll drink to that," she added, passing him a fresh, new, lemon-lime-green-Fosters. He regarded the sprites of the sweet liqueur effervescing from the can. "Almost as good as Iced Tea," he toasted her, raising it to meet her own. "In living memory of Melbourne," she toasted back. "May He and his sheila make it back to Darwin safe and sound." Their solitude was temporarily melancholy, but they were both in this thing together, and derived a comfort from each other hard to subjugate to language. It was way past 7:30 and Orion stood silently sentinel.
"Go on then," she spoke again, capitulating. He continued at his own pace. "Another example is from that French History of Israel in the Aggie library we have BOTH admitted to reading by now." She allowed her silence to be consent, and he continued. "I think it was from the patriotic King David who was so prolifically poetic. On no less than his 136th recorded effort, he used this method to try and make his blank-verse interesting." "You didn't find it interesting by itself?" was Ursula's query. "Profound yes, interesting, well... you have to acquire a taste for that kind of thing." Ursula could agree with him there, and having established that this method was a valid educational use for a poetic license, she drew his attention back to the discussion at hand...
"How on Earth does the MILITARY derive a usage of 'Call and Response?'" "Well, that was probably an R&D contribution to military history of the Authentic Texan" Sam explained with satisfaction. Determined not to cause him need for a bigger hat for himself, she assailed his pride by noting, "You admit, then, that Authentic Texans have been around since BEFORE secession?" Sam's silence in return denoted something other than consent, but she generously conceded to take whatever it DID represent on barter for the same. "So their usage of it piloted research?" Sam decided to overlook such thorns as there were on THIS Texan olive branch, and went on. "Way back in the day, it was not always clear who was an Authentic Texan and who was not, so they had to come up a with a system of authentication. Traditionally, a Texan challenged the relevant individual with the question, 'Why won't an authentic Texan be caught dead in a Woolsey?'" This allowed for definitive identification because if he was Authentic Texan of long standing, he would know the official response of, '...because you've got to catch one to kill him, and they take off their hats to die.'" By his language Sam had allowed the possibility that an Authentic Texan of the day might not have been in Texas long enough to know the official response, and Ursula was willing to hear his explanation. "What if he was an Authentic Texan and didn't know the proper response?" she inquired. "Well under those conditions a person is allowed to give any answer they can think of, just to buy time and not excluding humor, and Texas humor is so distinctive counterfeits are hardly worth the trouble," Sam explained.
"How does the Military use it, if they allow non-Texans in the Military?" Ursula followed on. "Well they sanitize and commercialize it one step, by employing the age old process of Code. The question officially becomes a 'Challenge,' and the official 'Response' doesn't even have to be REMOTELY related to the question. They're so disorganized about it they have to pass out new ones in every camp on a regular basis." "I can see why Authentic Texans only admit their true identity if called upon under THOSE conditions," Ursula concluded. "I'll drink to that," she added, passing him a fresh, new, lemon-lime-green-Fosters. He regarded the sprites of the sweet liqueur effervescing from the can. "Almost as good as Iced Tea," he toasted her, raising it to meet her own. "In living memory of Melbourne," she toasted back. "May He and his sheila make it back to Darwin safe and sound." Their solitude was temporarily melancholy, but they were both in this thing together, and derived a comfort from each other hard to subjugate to language. It was way past 7:30 and Orion stood silently sentinel.
The Farmer and the Cowman should be Friends;
Sam and Ursula came into a star-gazing clearing about midday, and found a group of head-stones making up a small cemetery. Inscribed on the third one from the end was the curious Eulogy, "Here lies McScrooge's Eben-ezer. He wasn't as generous as he OUGHTA!" Ursula killed two birds with one respectable stone, by removing a big rock left right in the middle of his grave and sitting on it. Having been looking over her as always, Sam observed that there had been an oilskin underneath the stone; even Yogi Bera knew that "You can observe a LOT by watching!" Sam picked it up from where it had been, and unfolded it carefully. "There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth;" he read aloud. "...and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty. Proverbs 11:24." He paused. "This feller had soooo many Proverbs he numbered the numbers," he marveled. "Wonder if he got a big head about it," Ursula returned, "If it was McScrooge himself here, he obviously wasn't too good at takin' his own advice... witness his Eulogy!" "There's commentary here," Sam responded. "If a ruler (Rancher type,) uses efficiency and enlightened profitable self interest to obtain the abstract imprint of Lincoln on his otherwise abstract thumb, that very Day he will find that the elementary case of sowing agricultural product will fail him." Sam paused to breathe, and mulled it over in his head. Ursula spoke with confidence, "Whoever it was, this McScrooge feller must have been a rancher," she shared. "And he must have hit the other feller in the head with a BOOK," Sam agreed. "Just look at all them four-bit words he added in unnecessarily." On this subject Ursula was able to pontificate at length. "Lawyers and such throw extra words in just so you can ask yourself all manner of questions about what it would mean if you took them back out." Sam's interest was aroused by her discussion, and he could not hide his curiosity. "Show me what you mean," he implored. "Well, look at the word 'profitable.' If something is for your self interest, it's SUPPOSED to be DEFINED as profitable to YOU. But by adding it, the author has shared with you his own philosophical question about 'What if self-interest was somehow not profitable?' probably meaning he thinks that the word 'profitable' is a homophone or a homonym." "These 'homo-things,' What's the difference between them?" Sam asked honestly. Ursula was patient, but wanting to return to her pedagogic discourse. "In the dictionary, not much," she explained. "'-phone' is Latin for how it's pronounced, and '-nym' is Latin for what it's called." "Like a pseudonym?" Sam asked, supplying feedback. "EXACTLY like that," Ursula assured him.
"He seems a little _generous_ with his questions," was Sam's evaluation. "I'm glad most PROFOUND books aren't like that." This piqued Ursula's interest, and wanting to know more about him anyway, she asked "Give me a 'for instance.'" Sam thought HARD. He had been sharing his real feelings, and hadn't planned to be put on the spot that way. "I don't know," he admitted. "I was thinking about things like the Pledge of Allegiance, the National Anthem, the Declaration of Independence and the Gettysburg address," he elaborated. "But take _The_Little_Prince_ for instance. It's not NEARLY as ostentatious in it's teaching as _The_Prince_!" "Juicier subject matter too," Ursula agreed.
"What else does this feller with the numbered numbered Proverbs say?" she continued. Sam returned to the original document and picked up where he had left off. "He (I guess he's talking about the sower this time,) may essay to break God's curse by contemplating 'gleaning,' as taught under the Mosaic dispensation." He struggled to keep up with her interest without over-taxing his intellect as he read on with pedestrian meter. ""Despite failing 100% efficiency on the first pass of harvesting, the Jews were only allowed ONE pass at gleaning. Everything left after THAT was for widder ladies and orphans'... that's all she wrote" Sam finished. "What do you glean from that Sam?" Ursula asked to start the arbitration of their agreement on the subject matter. "First pass I glean that this feller doing the writing thought he could get 100% of the harvest on first pass; that kinda attitude I wouldn't want LEMONADE he made, for fear it'd be too bitter from squeezing on the skin! What do YOU get?" Ursula made a practice of observing the reflexive case as much as possible, but here she could not resist. "That's your HARVEST Sam, not your GLEANING," she laughed. He tried again, but immediately came back with "Am I supposed to glean from what he said all over again, or from what I said about what he said?" Ursula knew he wasn't trying to be smart, and encouraged him appropriately. "Your first clue, Sherlock, is the 'all over again.'" She left her discussion of what it meant to be an autodidact for another day. "I guess the next thing I get is that this feller's God wasn't too generous to his widder ladies and orphans." Ursula pondered on this silently for a while. "I guess we better quit trying to be farmers and go back to being 5ts," she finally concluded. "Let's put the oil skin back under the rock so no one will know we read it." Sam could not agree more. "Maybe some farmer will figure it out later," he assented. "It's not big enough for a slicker."
"He seems a little _generous_ with his questions," was Sam's evaluation. "I'm glad most PROFOUND books aren't like that." This piqued Ursula's interest, and wanting to know more about him anyway, she asked "Give me a 'for instance.'" Sam thought HARD. He had been sharing his real feelings, and hadn't planned to be put on the spot that way. "I don't know," he admitted. "I was thinking about things like the Pledge of Allegiance, the National Anthem, the Declaration of Independence and the Gettysburg address," he elaborated. "But take _The_Little_Prince_ for instance. It's not NEARLY as ostentatious in it's teaching as _The_Prince_!" "Juicier subject matter too," Ursula agreed.
"What else does this feller with the numbered numbered Proverbs say?" she continued. Sam returned to the original document and picked up where he had left off. "He (I guess he's talking about the sower this time,) may essay to break God's curse by contemplating 'gleaning,' as taught under the Mosaic dispensation." He struggled to keep up with her interest without over-taxing his intellect as he read on with pedestrian meter. ""Despite failing 100% efficiency on the first pass of harvesting, the Jews were only allowed ONE pass at gleaning. Everything left after THAT was for widder ladies and orphans'... that's all she wrote" Sam finished. "What do you glean from that Sam?" Ursula asked to start the arbitration of their agreement on the subject matter. "First pass I glean that this feller doing the writing thought he could get 100% of the harvest on first pass; that kinda attitude I wouldn't want LEMONADE he made, for fear it'd be too bitter from squeezing on the skin! What do YOU get?" Ursula made a practice of observing the reflexive case as much as possible, but here she could not resist. "That's your HARVEST Sam, not your GLEANING," she laughed. He tried again, but immediately came back with "Am I supposed to glean from what he said all over again, or from what I said about what he said?" Ursula knew he wasn't trying to be smart, and encouraged him appropriately. "Your first clue, Sherlock, is the 'all over again.'" She left her discussion of what it meant to be an autodidact for another day. "I guess the next thing I get is that this feller's God wasn't too generous to his widder ladies and orphans." Ursula pondered on this silently for a while. "I guess we better quit trying to be farmers and go back to being 5ts," she finally concluded. "Let's put the oil skin back under the rock so no one will know we read it." Sam could not agree more. "Maybe some farmer will figure it out later," he assented. "It's not big enough for a slicker."
Friday, February 6, 2009
Poetic License;
Eventually they had enough wood for an Aggie Bonfire (if you allow Babe the Blue Ox plowed the Grand Canyon,) and took up where they left off in conversation, exercising their brains while they rested their bodies. "Tell me again why we have to get a license to fish?" she reminded him. He grinned and took a deep breath. "It's because they just don't care a lick if people know how to fish or not!" he said, laying the groundwork for his oration. Being herself conversant with the joys of dance, she made no protest, but asked "If they don't care if people know how or not, what's the point of a license at all?" "First allow me to convince you that they truly do not care," he requested. She consented to listen, and he continued momentarily. "If they wanted you to know HOW, they'd have a test, instead of just adding it to hunting licenses for free." "I see where you're coming from, but not where you are going with it," she said noncommittally. "What kind of test?" She wondered if it might be a 9 pound test, or some such thing, but was NOT about to assist his folly. "Well the fundamentals at the VERY least." he responded. "For example, what's the DEFINITION of Fishing?" Her clarity of thought was impeded by previous angling for compliments and she had no ready comeback. "I don't know," she allowed. "It is as follows: A jerk on one end of the line, awaiting a jerk on the other end of the line." he said in a pedantic tone. This time she could clearly see the value of his point. "You really DO know how to fish," she said flatteringly. "Please continue." The test could hardly be comprised of only ONE question. "What's the most _important_ thing to know ABOUT fishing?" he asked next. "I don't know." She was not wasting any time slowing him down. "To catch a bass, you HAVE to open a fresh NEW can of worms!" This wisdom was novel to her ear, but appealed to her Texan experience. She mentally closed one parenthetical comment and returned to his original point before HE could. "So what's the point of having a license at ALL?" she reiterated. "There's the beauty of it," he said, illuminating a fundamental truth of politics. "So you can fish WITHOUT one." She dutifully reviewed such credentialing as she enjoyed, and verified that, without exception, this was true of ALL licenses. To show him her comprehension, she agreed. "How else are they GOING to pay Park Rangers? They probably ought to have one for computers TOO." Sam's appearances belied his supple brain. "I need a Fosters," she shared. "And by the way, got some wood?" "I'm busy pitching a tent over here," he called. "I'll help you directly," she replied. It was getting dark.
Literary License;
"What did they teach you in Tyranny and Terrorism?" Ursula asked Sam, after a while. "Well, the most important thing I learned was that Machiavelli was the first campaign manager to publish successfully. Other than that, literature finds the best representation of a 'prototypical politician' in Cervantes. He called his hero ‘DQ,’ and he was unelectable." "Did he live contemporary with Big M?" she asked. "Not in the book," he responded. Her humor had been stirred, "Funny that DQ is now a Texas Stop Sign," she giggled. “As a dairy maid, you could pass for a queen yourself,” he remarked, certifying his admiration with his gaze. “Makes you wonder just how tall Don Quixote was supposed to have been, tilting at windmills and all," he continued. "Was Machiavelli French?" she probed. "Nope, in fact they actually have a French version of the same title." She smiled knowingly. "The _Little_ Prince," was equally obscure in Texas. "Big M must have had a Texas connection," she inferred. "But that was back BEFORE secession," he countered. "So what! Texas must have still been here,” she reasoned. "I can't imagine it's been moved." "Before secession things were just not the same," he explained. "I'll allow this much though, things have probably always been Big SOMEWHERE!"
This provided Ursula the opportunity to show off her talents for espionage. "I was poking through the Aggie 'Profound Book,' collection, and came across a French History of Israel that quotes, '...and there were giants on the earth in those days.'" "How'd you know it was French?" he queried. "It was a Biblios," she demurred. "What was the Author's name?" he verified intently. "It was a compiled work, anonymous editor, but it was useful for historical record because it was never redacted... had all the eye-witness accounts listed out side by side." Sam was now prepared to admit a passing acquaintance with the same body of work. "Probably explains why there is an Abilene, Israel," he added. "Love to go there sometime." "I bet it'd be more fun than Little Italy," she said contemplatively. "Why do you have to get a license to fish?" "I'll explain when we have enough firewood chopped to last 'til Valentines," he promised. His hatchet was sharp and she had few complaints.
This provided Ursula the opportunity to show off her talents for espionage. "I was poking through the Aggie 'Profound Book,' collection, and came across a French History of Israel that quotes, '...and there were giants on the earth in those days.'" "How'd you know it was French?" he queried. "It was a Biblios," she demurred. "What was the Author's name?" he verified intently. "It was a compiled work, anonymous editor, but it was useful for historical record because it was never redacted... had all the eye-witness accounts listed out side by side." Sam was now prepared to admit a passing acquaintance with the same body of work. "Probably explains why there is an Abilene, Israel," he added. "Love to go there sometime." "I bet it'd be more fun than Little Italy," she said contemplatively. "Why do you have to get a license to fish?" "I'll explain when we have enough firewood chopped to last 'til Valentines," he promised. His hatchet was sharp and she had few complaints.
Refining too much upon it;
After time had passed (and no little conversation,) talk turned to a discussion of boundaries. "What was the worst movie you ever watched?" Sam asked Ursula. "I think it was 'Return of the Killer Tomatoes,'" she replied. "It's redeemed by having no nudity in it," he pointed out. She gave a moment's thought to it and asked "What about 'Half Baked?'" Sam knew he was going to win, and felt sorry that his recently discovered intended could not have played his hand. "That one was pretty bad," he admitted, "and Tommy Chong isn't that good looking, BUT the part about the complimentary 'squeeze box music,' with every bong (appropriately sized) was practically INSPIRED. It CAN'T be the worst movie EVER!" She took a moment to make him cross a 'T' before she capitulated. "Squeeze box music?" He smiled wryly... "Nobody EVER got _addicted_ to squeeze box music," he explained. "OK," she dotted the final "i." "What WAS the worst movie EVER?" He tried not to be too triumphant. "The Road to Wellsville." he revealed. "Never saw it," she rejoined, "Want to hear the Worst JOKE ever?" Sam's blood chemistry was at it again, and he observed that this was not really prejudice, but he was DEFINITELY conflicted about hearing a joke he didn't know and allowing her to win an argument at the same time. "I'd LOVE to," he responded, encouragingly.
She cleared her throat and cracked her fingers.
Once upon a time, there was a G-man at area 51, who had to build a garage for developing Land-sats. He drew up plans, with blueprints and measurements, and after much computation determined that he would need 999 bricks. He made a few calls, but all the kilns in the area would only sell him 1000 brick batches. He even called Acme (of Road Runner fame,) on the advice of a Cowboy named Troy, and even THEY wouldn't sell him 999. They wanted to sell him a 1000 brick batch just like everyone else. He gave up before he hung up, and ordered the bricks from Acme. He followed his plans meticulously, using adequate mortar etc, and by careful effort not to break even ONE brick, completed construction with the original 999 estimate (on time and under budget, no less.) His smug superiority could not allow him satisfaction, and he stewed for DAYS over exactly what to do with this ONE BRICK. He didn't want to use it as a door stop, because this would be a CONSTANT reminder of the problem, so he finally took it out in an open field and threw it up in the air, as HARD as he could, aiming for Jupiter.
She regarded him with satisfaction. When it was evident that he wasn't going to laugh, she prodded him a little. "Get it?" she asked. Sam regarded her somewhat cool-ly and explained that to qualify as a JOKE (even the worst one ever,) it HAD to have a punch line. She promised him that it was indeed funny, if only he could "GET" it, and decided to use a similar alternate to compare and contrast. He consented to listen.
The same day, a man got on a plane flying coast to coast, with a Cigar in his pocket. It being a smoking flight he was seated in the back row. On the same flight, but on the VERY FRONT row, was seated a lady with a small dog. Between the two, in the very middle row, was a lady with a crying baby. The plane reached cruising altitude, and the air-hostess entered the cabin. "I'm sorry Ma'am, there are no dogs allowed on this flight," was her first decree. All protestations that she had bought TWO tickets, etc fell on deaf ears, and in the blink of an eye, the air-hostess opened the emergency exit and threw out the dog. The next passenger to suffer her ministrations was the lady with the crying baby. "I'm sorry Ma'am, but you'll HAVE to silence the baby," she demanded. After no more than 30 seconds of dispute, the air-hostess settled the matter catastrophically, by seizing the baby and throwing it out the same emergency exit. After this extremism, the argument that the Cigar was not a cigarette was hardly worth remarking on... the Cigar went out the self same emergency exit. Two minutes later, an observant passenger looked out the starboard window, and shrieked that the dog had survived, and was seated on the end of the wing, "...and do you know what it had in its Mouth?" she concluded.
"The Baby?" asked Sam.
"No."
Sam frowned. "The CIGAR?" he asked in disbelief.
"No."
Sam furrowed brows nearly met. "Well, what DID he have in his mouth?" he demanded for himself.
Ursula cocked her head to the left, and looked up at him through long lashes.
"Why a BRICK," she explained.
Sam was unimpressed. "That IS the worst joke ever," he agreed. She might as well have been Undisputed Heavyweight Champion of the World.
She cleared her throat and cracked her fingers.
Once upon a time, there was a G-man at area 51, who had to build a garage for developing Land-sats. He drew up plans, with blueprints and measurements, and after much computation determined that he would need 999 bricks. He made a few calls, but all the kilns in the area would only sell him 1000 brick batches. He even called Acme (of Road Runner fame,) on the advice of a Cowboy named Troy, and even THEY wouldn't sell him 999. They wanted to sell him a 1000 brick batch just like everyone else. He gave up before he hung up, and ordered the bricks from Acme. He followed his plans meticulously, using adequate mortar etc, and by careful effort not to break even ONE brick, completed construction with the original 999 estimate (on time and under budget, no less.) His smug superiority could not allow him satisfaction, and he stewed for DAYS over exactly what to do with this ONE BRICK. He didn't want to use it as a door stop, because this would be a CONSTANT reminder of the problem, so he finally took it out in an open field and threw it up in the air, as HARD as he could, aiming for Jupiter.
She regarded him with satisfaction. When it was evident that he wasn't going to laugh, she prodded him a little. "Get it?" she asked. Sam regarded her somewhat cool-ly and explained that to qualify as a JOKE (even the worst one ever,) it HAD to have a punch line. She promised him that it was indeed funny, if only he could "GET" it, and decided to use a similar alternate to compare and contrast. He consented to listen.
The same day, a man got on a plane flying coast to coast, with a Cigar in his pocket. It being a smoking flight he was seated in the back row. On the same flight, but on the VERY FRONT row, was seated a lady with a small dog. Between the two, in the very middle row, was a lady with a crying baby. The plane reached cruising altitude, and the air-hostess entered the cabin. "I'm sorry Ma'am, there are no dogs allowed on this flight," was her first decree. All protestations that she had bought TWO tickets, etc fell on deaf ears, and in the blink of an eye, the air-hostess opened the emergency exit and threw out the dog. The next passenger to suffer her ministrations was the lady with the crying baby. "I'm sorry Ma'am, but you'll HAVE to silence the baby," she demanded. After no more than 30 seconds of dispute, the air-hostess settled the matter catastrophically, by seizing the baby and throwing it out the same emergency exit. After this extremism, the argument that the Cigar was not a cigarette was hardly worth remarking on... the Cigar went out the self same emergency exit. Two minutes later, an observant passenger looked out the starboard window, and shrieked that the dog had survived, and was seated on the end of the wing, "...and do you know what it had in its Mouth?" she concluded.
"The Baby?" asked Sam.
"No."
Sam frowned. "The CIGAR?" he asked in disbelief.
"No."
Sam furrowed brows nearly met. "Well, what DID he have in his mouth?" he demanded for himself.
Ursula cocked her head to the left, and looked up at him through long lashes.
"Why a BRICK," she explained.
Sam was unimpressed. "That IS the worst joke ever," he agreed. She might as well have been Undisputed Heavyweight Champion of the World.
A fine State of Affairs;
"I feel as if I'm in a state of Grace," remarked Ursula. Sam was open minded... "How does it feel?" he asked. She had intended a moment of emotional bonding, and his failure to be decisive had its irritating effect. "I'm sure I don't know," she opened. Sam was _as_ perplexed by this as any other feature of the female mind and proceeded carefully. "IF you don't know how it _feels_ to be in a state of Grace, AND you STILL SAY you _feel_ like you are IN a state of Grace THEN what _exactly_ AM I supposed to think?" he asked with deliberated diction. She smiled on the inside, and answered him accordingly. "We're in Texas right?" "Yes," said Sam with reasonable alacrity. He did not specifically know the NAME of the rule of specificity, but he had adequately mastered the concept. "Well is the State of Texas in or out of the State of Grace?" she asked, in full possession of the knowledge that this was a paradox. Sam gave her a hunted look, and squared of with her mentally. His strategy was to go back to some single certainty of truth, and work his way back out, giving careful attention to the definition of terms along the way. If Texas country WAS a State, he might lose the war in a single successful battle of secession. He started slowly, "Do YOU know who Turing was?" he bartered. "Alan M. of Enigma fame? Most assuredly," she replied with confidence. "He IS the authoritative source on State Machines isn't he?" Sam proceeded. "On State _Machines_, yes, but what has that got to do with Texas tea?" she said tartly. "Well... isn't the Government of Texas a Ship Of State?" he asked next, feeling his oats. "And as such, Turing ought to be able to tell us what STATE it is in?" he continued. She began to see the punch line coming, and immediately got out in front of it. "Too true, too true, too true," she compromised. "The whole Ship of State is in a constant state of Grace." This nettled Sam, because his "win" was not going to "count." "Well gal," he rejoined. "Whatever the case, YOU _have_ got ME in a state!" Ursula reveled in his affection. Not since her days at U5t, in the College of Tenets of Tort had she been so happy. "You remind me of Tocqueville," she responded coyly. "YOU took Tocqueville too?" he verified, delighted by the commonality of the experience. "Oh yeah, I had a double Major: Tenets of Tort, a law degree, AND Tympani, for my musical talents." Not to be outdone, Sam quickly returned "I had a double Major too. Tyranny and Terrorism, for political science, AND Telemarketing for a business angle." He cared enough about her not to stop there, however, and continued with genuine regret. "I always WISHED I had gone into Tourism instead," he admitted. "A TRIPLE Major would have OVER COMMITTED you," she retorted. "It was too EXPENSIVE," was his rationalization. She changed the subject (as a woman is wont to do) for no apparent reason. "I LOVE you Sam!" she implored. He took her in his arms and didn't answer with words at all. It was going to be a GOOD "rest of the day."
Thursday, February 5, 2009
A Venerated Offshoot of the Wrath Economy;
TTTTT – Urgent Political 5t Update; beware of Moral Bankruptcy.
Although Canada has passed beyond subsistence level Wrath, it has as yet failed to accomplish the desired level of Respect Economy observed in its nearest Southern neighbor.
In the US Respect has been available for many years (at least since the Little Boy incident in Japan,) and geographically it tends to collect within the continent, flowing downhill as if on an inclined plane. In an abstract paradox, although Respect flows downhill to US, for a nation to obtain Respect FROM US is an uphill battle. The uphill seems to be from US outward, but other nations tend to view the problem very empathetically.
To understand respect is not as easy as to trade on it. The US Fed serves as a model both for the Favor Bank AND The Bank of Respect, but it is difficult to put much stock in a Favor or Respect market, since the infrastructure has no ideological rubber tree.
To make deposits in the Bank of Respect, one has only to work very hard in absence of recognition. Over time, small deposits such as thanking others SINCERELY for merely doing their job, following up in a polite and timely manner, or normal wear and tear on use of first names, will build until the balance of respect begins to draw a respectable interest. If intellectual property has been used (over time, to plant seeds of development in fertile places,) a watershed event can occur that starts a domino effect, triggered by any single good idea. This idea works by being brought to the attention of a person who independently Commands large amounts of Respect (see more on Commanding Respect below.) Under these conditions (a small percentage of the time,) that individual will demand to see ALL ideas this hapless farmer has planted within the system all at once (to compare and contrast their value.) This invariably results in a meteoric rise to fame, with limelight and burnout associated; the only thing that can salvage so much as a meteorite out of this inferno of attention is another common bureaucratic effect - the aide. If these aides (acting as independent musicians in concert, staying on the same sheet of music, over time,) water individual seeds of ideas to fruition before the disastrous "overnight success," the aides can harvest any value to be had from the better ideas, and take credit for them with their Politicos, while their Politicos sell them on broad street for political capital. The bad seeds are left as evidence that bad apples exist. Under these conditions, the farmer in question can get a very bad taste in his or her mouth, normally described as bitterness. Despite this superficial artifice, such farmers rarely become what they eat in this manner; the best example in all of literature of such a farmer was J.R.R. Tolkien’s "Tom Bombadil." His self effacing modesty is paid homage even by Hollywood elite, who (in making three epic motion picture renditions,) saw no need to embarrass him by further exhibitionism. To learn of him alone, the book "The Fellowship of the Ring" tells his part in its entirety before Merry and Pippin even get to the Inn where Frodo meets Strider. Just as Bombadil was not defined by bitterness, random historical farmers who have avoided the crucible of stardom usually come to thank their lucky stars, and otherwise refuse to be unhappy; Patriotism is a common excuse. Such are the observable problems of EARNING RESPECT.
Winning respect is the most commonly engaged form of Corporate Respect. The strategy here is to "brace" an individual who (for one reason or another HAS respect,) and "take" him in a forum. Under these conditions if the competition is appropriately managed ('Jury Rigging' is more common in the Court of Public Opinion than a Court of Law of the Land,) all superficial observers consent to transfer the entirety of their respect from the old owner to the new, in a kind of wire transfer. Carpet baggers, Day Traders, Hired Guns (and their abbreviated sons,) and Top Gun types all do well in this environment; Darwin's theory on the Equine species adequately describes their developmental process. If an individual in the Jury lacks an adequate supply of credulity (or an appropriately short memory,) they fail to keep up with the wire transfers, and fall behind on payments. DISRESPECT has its _Price_.
The most spectacular form of respect is that of those who simply command it. It is MISSION CRITICAL to understand that this CANNOT be done by creative application of the imperative voice. Generals have accomplished this with historical regularity, although books on how to do so are closely guarded secrets. For more info on authoritative rumor, see the Faustian movie, "The Ninth Gate." Other than Generals, I can't name classes of individuals who Command Respect with any predictability. It is done by those who can.
In "THE SYSTEM," Respect is used for currency, such as any Political Capital would be; relevant regulating authorities refuse service until minimum requirements have been met. If those, who are accustomed to trading _WON_Respect_ about, come into such positions, I surmise that the effect results from a vicious cycle of Respect Inflation. Traditionally, if you hate an individual in "THE SYSTEM," and don't want to pay him Respect, deposits made solely in the name of his Office are allowed.
A major advocate that the Respect System is in disrepair (and in need of infrastructure investment) was a comedian named Rodney Dangerfield. I was not able to attend his funeral, but assume he also broke even, rejoining the Respect ecosystem by sustaining larval worms in preparation for canning. Successful fishermen may never know the debt they owe such individuals.
In closing, funerals are a good place to observe the Inheritance of Respect for almost anyone. Friends and Enemies alike gather for one last Eulogy, and balance accounts of ledgers with "final respects."
Respect once obtained needs appropriate storage and handling. As wine turns to vinegar, stale respect turns to envy. Under these conditions, the recipient typically reciprocates with commensurate jealousy, God himself failing to be immune. Rather than consider his august office an exception to every rule, one can alternatively suppose that an entity jealous of rightful possession is within bounds, as long as jealousy does not turn to possessive isolation. Here jealous boyfriends and girlfriends are continually running aground on the rocks of doubt; the precipitous solution commonly left untried is to have a deadline for commitment (a choice of one above others, not a gift of asylum to the involuntary loser, to address a common misconception.)
These presents are understood to indict the system. All Patriotic Citizens stand by (to see the relevant trial,) fervently hoping for an earnest of better things to come. The best arguments that can be offered are the incontrovertible kind, but these are rare, like compliments that cannot be impeached by pride. Happily, Semantics is only one third of Semiotics, and Arkansas has hot springs symbolizing eternal hope.
Although Canada has passed beyond subsistence level Wrath, it has as yet failed to accomplish the desired level of Respect Economy observed in its nearest Southern neighbor.
In the US Respect has been available for many years (at least since the Little Boy incident in Japan,) and geographically it tends to collect within the continent, flowing downhill as if on an inclined plane. In an abstract paradox, although Respect flows downhill to US, for a nation to obtain Respect FROM US is an uphill battle. The uphill seems to be from US outward, but other nations tend to view the problem very empathetically.
To understand respect is not as easy as to trade on it. The US Fed serves as a model both for the Favor Bank AND The Bank of Respect, but it is difficult to put much stock in a Favor or Respect market, since the infrastructure has no ideological rubber tree.
To make deposits in the Bank of Respect, one has only to work very hard in absence of recognition. Over time, small deposits such as thanking others SINCERELY for merely doing their job, following up in a polite and timely manner, or normal wear and tear on use of first names, will build until the balance of respect begins to draw a respectable interest. If intellectual property has been used (over time, to plant seeds of development in fertile places,) a watershed event can occur that starts a domino effect, triggered by any single good idea. This idea works by being brought to the attention of a person who independently Commands large amounts of Respect (see more on Commanding Respect below.) Under these conditions (a small percentage of the time,) that individual will demand to see ALL ideas this hapless farmer has planted within the system all at once (to compare and contrast their value.) This invariably results in a meteoric rise to fame, with limelight and burnout associated; the only thing that can salvage so much as a meteorite out of this inferno of attention is another common bureaucratic effect - the aide. If these aides (acting as independent musicians in concert, staying on the same sheet of music, over time,) water individual seeds of ideas to fruition before the disastrous "overnight success," the aides can harvest any value to be had from the better ideas, and take credit for them with their Politicos, while their Politicos sell them on broad street for political capital. The bad seeds are left as evidence that bad apples exist. Under these conditions, the farmer in question can get a very bad taste in his or her mouth, normally described as bitterness. Despite this superficial artifice, such farmers rarely become what they eat in this manner; the best example in all of literature of such a farmer was J.R.R. Tolkien’s "Tom Bombadil." His self effacing modesty is paid homage even by Hollywood elite, who (in making three epic motion picture renditions,) saw no need to embarrass him by further exhibitionism. To learn of him alone, the book "The Fellowship of the Ring" tells his part in its entirety before Merry and Pippin even get to the Inn where Frodo meets Strider. Just as Bombadil was not defined by bitterness, random historical farmers who have avoided the crucible of stardom usually come to thank their lucky stars, and otherwise refuse to be unhappy; Patriotism is a common excuse. Such are the observable problems of EARNING RESPECT.
Winning respect is the most commonly engaged form of Corporate Respect. The strategy here is to "brace" an individual who (for one reason or another HAS respect,) and "take" him in a forum. Under these conditions if the competition is appropriately managed ('Jury Rigging' is more common in the Court of Public Opinion than a Court of Law of the Land,) all superficial observers consent to transfer the entirety of their respect from the old owner to the new, in a kind of wire transfer. Carpet baggers, Day Traders, Hired Guns (and their abbreviated sons,) and Top Gun types all do well in this environment; Darwin's theory on the Equine species adequately describes their developmental process. If an individual in the Jury lacks an adequate supply of credulity (or an appropriately short memory,) they fail to keep up with the wire transfers, and fall behind on payments. DISRESPECT has its _Price_.
The most spectacular form of respect is that of those who simply command it. It is MISSION CRITICAL to understand that this CANNOT be done by creative application of the imperative voice. Generals have accomplished this with historical regularity, although books on how to do so are closely guarded secrets. For more info on authoritative rumor, see the Faustian movie, "The Ninth Gate." Other than Generals, I can't name classes of individuals who Command Respect with any predictability. It is done by those who can.
In "THE SYSTEM," Respect is used for currency, such as any Political Capital would be; relevant regulating authorities refuse service until minimum requirements have been met. If those, who are accustomed to trading _WON_Respect_ about, come into such positions, I surmise that the effect results from a vicious cycle of Respect Inflation. Traditionally, if you hate an individual in "THE SYSTEM," and don't want to pay him Respect, deposits made solely in the name of his Office are allowed.
A major advocate that the Respect System is in disrepair (and in need of infrastructure investment) was a comedian named Rodney Dangerfield. I was not able to attend his funeral, but assume he also broke even, rejoining the Respect ecosystem by sustaining larval worms in preparation for canning. Successful fishermen may never know the debt they owe such individuals.
In closing, funerals are a good place to observe the Inheritance of Respect for almost anyone. Friends and Enemies alike gather for one last Eulogy, and balance accounts of ledgers with "final respects."
Respect once obtained needs appropriate storage and handling. As wine turns to vinegar, stale respect turns to envy. Under these conditions, the recipient typically reciprocates with commensurate jealousy, God himself failing to be immune. Rather than consider his august office an exception to every rule, one can alternatively suppose that an entity jealous of rightful possession is within bounds, as long as jealousy does not turn to possessive isolation. Here jealous boyfriends and girlfriends are continually running aground on the rocks of doubt; the precipitous solution commonly left untried is to have a deadline for commitment (a choice of one above others, not a gift of asylum to the involuntary loser, to address a common misconception.)
These presents are understood to indict the system. All Patriotic Citizens stand by (to see the relevant trial,) fervently hoping for an earnest of better things to come. The best arguments that can be offered are the incontrovertible kind, but these are rare, like compliments that cannot be impeached by pride. Happily, Semantics is only one third of Semiotics, and Arkansas has hot springs symbolizing eternal hope.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)