QUARTERING TROOPS AND THE 2^nd AMENDMENT: UP TO DATE STUFF.

12-17-12  BLOG

Many years ago, when young enough not to know better I was impressed by a politician who said something like “The constitution is the most perfect document in the world.” My reaction was in the line of, “Wow!”

Well, the aging process has changed my cynicism quotient from 1:1000 to 1000:1; that naive youngster was happy with such certitudes while the oldster that I have become does a bit of sneering. Let's face it, in spite of its wonderful work, our constitution is getting a bit creaky. I mean, back in the good olde days when King George number three was in charge, he had the habit of quartering British troops in civilian homes. I don't know whether it was in order to remind the locals of the majesty of British rule or because he was too cheap to build barracks for them.

Whatever his purpose, time has put quietus to that idea I don't think American revolutionary troops were ever quartered in civilian homes and the constitution has a clearly stated ban against such practice. Clearly, it is an archaic practice. With a standing army quartered in private homes, you'd have young soldiers roaming the streets causing general mayhem among the citizens. Not only for training reasons, but barracks and camps have to be built to protect society from testosterone laden young men. Clearly, the prohibition had meaning only for that specific time, but now clearly past.

If you haven't yet gotten my drift, the same is true about the second amendment, the one that gives anyone the right to own any weapons in the name of fighting tyranny, self-protection and the sheer fun of shooting animals. Oh yes, there are some limitations having to do with the mental status of purchasers or their past history but those only apply if you try to buy a gun in a shop. At gun shows there are no such impediments to owning as many as you can afford and certainly, private sales are outside the pale. In essence, anyone with perhaps only a bit of hassle can get a weapon … whoops, I mean weapons.

What were those paragons of political wisdom, George, Tom, John, Ben, et al, thinking? How come they stuck the opaquely written second into the law of our land? If we accept they were not maniacs who cheerfully anticipated the proliferation of public slaughter we can try to understand what they were trying.

In the days after the revolution, there was general hostility to having a standing army. Armies served tyrants; we had had too much of that. The colonies, not well protected by the British army developed militias. They did not form, except for desultory practice in drill, until some hostility was upon them; at the call, male citizens were expected to grab their rifles and meet in the town square with the anticipation of fighting off marauding Indians. (You know, the people who were pissed at us for stealing their land.) I don't know if they served the purpose, but that was the best the colonies could provide. During the revolutionary war, the militia was useful for shooting from behind trees but could not stand up to trained British regulars. I mean, we had to have an army trained to stand in line, stand firm in the face of the British volley and fire back.

Pretty soon, states in cooperation with the feds developed the National Guard. They serve as a ready reserve for the feds and to maintain order during public disasters. You know, after a tornado, call out the guard. No one calls out the militia.

In truth, the concept of a militia is as dead as the dodo, the dinosaurs and spats. But, having said that, there is the second amendment, written at a time when muzzleloaders were the best available. If you wanted to kill, say 20 children and 6 adults you'd have to load twenty-eight times. Of course, this was impractical because there would be plenty of time for the potential victims to jump on you and kick your ass . . . many times over. In these days of semi-automatic weapons the killing task, as we have learned over and over is rather simple. Still, after emptying his weapon, the killer would have to reload, that's when he was most vulnerable and could be taken down. If he had a thirty cartridge drum before reloading, that means lots of dead people.

The NRA wants more guns in the population as a method of gun violence control and armed guards in our schools. I wonder how many would be victims of road rage. Well, if you have your own weapon and a vest you could shoot it out with the nut with a gun. And, all a school shooter needs is his bulletproof vest . . .  so much for the capacity to shoot back. The NRA hero is John Wayne, but you'd have to be better at the draw or you get drilled.

We ought to accept that the second is as antiquated as quartering troops in civilian homes, no longer meaningful in modern society. Alas, our constitution has become more a sacred writing than a legal compact and the second will be with us for next fifty years or so. In the meantime, let's ban civilianized assault weapons, magazines that hold more than five bullets and require that all purchasers be vetted to weed out the undesirables.

There are many who think it a hoot.

To whip out their side arm and shoot.

Some foolishly think freedom brings

The need to put up with such things

Number two? Let's just give it the boot.

SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE  

I bet you think you know about the origins of the first amendment, you know, the one that tells us that government and religion must not be inter-twined. Well, you are probably wrong! You learned a lot of c r a p in school and the idea seems to permeate our environment. To whit, it says that the Puritans came here from England because of oppressive religious laws and wanted freedom to worship as they pleased.

Well, that isn't exactly it; it isn't even close. The Puritans were a stiff necked people who were disgusted with the English religious services and finally, having had a belly full of what they deemed religious disaster packed up and left for the good old USA to be. Naturally, because they knew the Truth, they oppressed other beliefs and kicked out those who disagreed. Roger Williams, was one. He went on to challenge the notion that government had anything to say about religion and finally set up Rhode Island as a haven for all.

But, not unlike beliefs everywhere, the colonies were set up for the benefit of an official religion, the Anglican church. They were British subjects and simply followed British law. Alas for them, there is always a fly in the ointment of contentment. The colonies, so far from Britain could not maintain the strict control to guarantee that all would be Anglican. Wandering Baptist preachers, Quakers (very different from the current version) and others told their stories and people often liked what they heard. The official religion was for the elites, the wanderers spoke to the common person.

Of course, and how could it be otherwise, the Anglicans saw their religious monopoly threatened and criminalized the errant preachers, beating them, jailing them and every now and then killing them. Surely, this was one of the precursors to revolution; the people rioted and had mini rebellions setting the stage for separation from England.

With military success, and with one failure, the constitution came into being including with the first amendment. Our founding fathers knew about the disasters of official religion and guess who led the charge. The Baptists. If the framers needed any energy, it was provided by the Baptists. Jefferson enshrined the result in writing about the “wall ofseparation between church and state.” QED, well, not exactly. The religionists started pecking away as they do today and we find the assault on separation quite alive and active.

I suppose you all know about the prohibition of the The Commandments on public ground. Well, duh, it's because it gives the appearance that government has a stake in fostering religion, particularly of Judeo-Christian ideals. (Never mind that Judaism and Christianity each has its own version; when “W” was asked which should be displayed, he said, “the regular one.” How's that for theological sensitivity!) Religionists keep putting them up and the ffrf and the ACLU keep knocking them down.

School vouchers are designed to help religionists send their children to parochial schools and though they also are knocked down new versions appear. Now, in some states, businesses can donate money in support of vouchers and deduct their expenses.

A persistent damned annoyance is that preachers have taken to disregarding the law against electioneering. Religious institutions must not become involved in elections lest they lose their tax-exempt status. That would be a mighty blow except that the federal government, for the past three years has ignored violations. Yes, Obama's Department of Revenue is blind to infractions; and the ffrf is now suing them. Go gettum, you guys.

About government what you may think of religion

Whether in it you want lots or a smidgeon

With moaning and sighs

With salt tears in your eyes

Against the first you are in inevitable collision.

FAVORITE MODE OF TRANSPORTATION?

12-3-12

This is another one of those tricky questions which, upon first glance seem simple of delineation but which turn out to have some facets of interest.

Shall think about transportation from here to there? If I want to knock someone down, I choose to transport my fist to his (never her) chin) via a right cross. That mode provides the requisite amount of power with a high level of accuracy. Parenthetically, a right cross is especially useful if your opponent is left-handed, but don't ask why. If I want to provide some cash to the deserving poor (Never the undeserving, that would be, dare I say it, enabling the undeserving ones to continue their nefarious ways.) I prefer mailing it. That way, I don't have to confront their misery and they don't know who I am. And, that is a non-relationship I prefer not to interrupt.

If it is a matter of getting life saving medicine to my totally deserving child, Of course, I want a motorcycle on which to move swiftly and a road with no cars and especially with no police. Let it pass that I have never driven a motorcycle; I know that given the need I would master the machine. After all, I know how to ride a bike.

I suppose I should include transporting loving looks to my beloved, but that requires special knowledge of what sorts of looks impress her with that meaning. I started out with the movie version, how could I do otherwise, with wide open eyes and lips partially open. I had thought to add licking my lips, but reflection reminded me that women use that in a sexually come hither way. As I think about it, my loving looks are a mixture of slightly narrowed eyes to convey intensity and a slight nod of the head to convey sincerity. Oh, don't forget gazing soulfully into her eyes. I never could figure out the soulfully part, but she doesn't complain so I let sleeping meanings lie. Is there some clever double entendre in that last word? Pshaw!

From here to there also includes the body as in later I will want my body at Natural Foods. Don't expect me to walk, though it surely is possible given time and plenty of benches along the way and, oh yes, water. With plenty of water I suppose I would also need lavatories though further experimentation would help me understand how many. Considering this and that, you can imagine that a bike won't do, and motorcycle, well, it's noisy, so for moving around, so the good old all American, now antiquated Echo is my preference. (Wait, isn't it Japanese?)

There is still the matter from there to here. Now, I am not a demanding person, but I dislike sluggishness of delivery when I anticipate receiving my desire. After all, what gets delivered to me keeps me alive, I mean meds, or what is designed to enchant me. I was on spilkas (this roughly means on pins and needles) awaiting my mini ipad. The days slowly, very slowly if truth be told and it seemed a month, but honesty compels me to admit it took only the promised two weeks. Some fool said that perception is reality a truly stupid thing to assert . . . but in this case, he was right.

When a kid, report card time was pretty bad for me. Many of you know I was an indifferent scholar. I prayed the school administration would be slow and the PO even slower but the damned thing arrived in two days and received by my mother with a heavy sigh. And, you won't be surprised to know that from there to here includes a right cross to the chin, the slower the better and much slower is generally preferred.

There once was a fellow so needy

That what he wanted he wanted to come speedy.

He begged and he pleaded

To get fast what he needed

But his plans were most often superseded.

GOD AND REALITY

Of course, God created everything, or so goes the story but about its nature he remains opaque. He didn’t tell us much about how the universe works, and the bits he did tell, well, he got a lot wrong. We humans have a passion to understand reality and at least as far as we can understand it comes in two sorts, which we can call real and not so real. The former is somewhat easy; whatever can hurt you or make your body feel good is the first sort. If we call it physical reality, we understand that such things exist and we better pay attention or it will do us in. Believing you can fly is not a justification for jumping out of the hundredth floor of a tall building. Here, a bit of a caveat will help. This is not about an ephemeral sort of reality that comes down to a matter of opinion. It is not a matter of opinion that banging your thumb with a hammer will hurt like hell. Science is not a matter of opinion; we invented it because understanding reality requires considerable patience and observational rigor. Experimentation is nothing more a matter of observing reality, often with devices such as microscopes, telescopes, particle colliders, etc. and developing a way of understanding what we observe.

Living, staying alive and enjoying it requires the ability to figure out which reality is which avoiding the harmful and establishing the enjoyable. That’s the hedonic formula and it becomes tricky when it comes to giving up an available pleasure for a future gain. It is tricky to understand that while pleasure is good, not all pleasure is good for you. And, sorting those out is complicated by how our bodies manipulate us into doing that which is not so good for us. The last thing the alcoholic remembers is, “Oh, just one drink won’t hurt me,” in the face of all contrary evidence.

Sigmund Freud, the preeminent psychiatrist and inventor of psychoanalysis told us that it we have a mental construct, the ego, which works like the devil to keeps us alive by guiding us between the Scylla of desire and the Carybdis of restraint. But, he realized that more was necessary, hence he formulated the super-ego, the mental mechanism which provides templates for the good me and the bad me. Simple observation tells us that the ego is insufficient because it lacks standards of behavior. If a goal can be achieved by stealing, the ego only needs to determine if the deed can safely be done. You want money, be careful about leaving clues and avoid observation and you can have what you want. Society cannot thrive without internal rules of conduct; the function of morality, generally another invention of the human animal

serves that purpose.

Freud called the mental construct, which monitors desirable and undesirable behavior the super ego, one part of which is desirable goals for behavior, the other self-punishment when the standards are violated. We learn good me and bad me from our family, i.e. parents, sibs and relatives and we learn from them how to find a proper role in society. 

Freud hoped the super ego would do the trick but it became obvious that it does not, and considering our human nature, it could not. We are perfectly willing to put up with guilt, always self-induced, or failure to reach an internalized goal in order to satisfy our passions. (These are sometimes called “base” motives, but they are only ourselves seeking some gratification.) And, good old rationalization is always

available to establish plausibility for our wildest excesses.

What to do? Civilization seemed a train-wreck in the making, but a solution fell into hand. Humans found a much-admired leader who told us how to act properly and who punished us when we deviated from his laws. Like our parents, he wanted to embed his laws in our brains so that we would not need him in the future but he forgot our humanity. Adam and Eve ate the apple and the whole moral edifice toppled. Yes, God was both enraged and disappointed and kicked us into the real world of pain and suffering. God is our ultimate super ego given supernatural powers and depending on your version of that phantasied being, can raise cruelty to incredible levels. Just read the bible and you’ll see what I mean. The Ten Commandments express what God demands of us; breaking any one of them leads (presumably) to ugly consequences.

The holocaust occurred because found flaws in the European Jews worship of him. Hey, Hitler was God’s right hand man.

The problem with God as our solution is that the idea distracts from the problem: How can we act in ways which foster our well-being and which help us avoid disaster? Those are our real problems, but the more we turn to our super super ego the less we will accomplish. Try learning to change your behavior when you suffer from wracking guilt; guilt is an attempt both to gain forgiveness for past misdeeds and to keep us from repeating the crime. Forgiveness simply perpetuates the behavior; it is far better to figure out the source of the bad behavior so it can be changed. And, for sure, it is ugly to examine the truth about ourselves, but accepting it means accepting yourself . . . and you know what to work on. Super egos almost always cause us trouble and having to struggle with a supernatural super ego is quite a task. Of course, you can always say, “It ain’t my fault, the devil made me do it.” Hell, you can always find a sucker to fall for that line.

GIVING THANKS … To Whom? For What?   

Yes, those are the questions that, unlike the Macy day parade animals that bring delight to children everywhere, float around unheard and unwanted.

Our pilgrim forefathers realized they were lucky to be alive. They had gotten through winter without starving because of help from their misnamed friends whom they called “Indians.” (Remember, they thought they had gotten to India.) In those early years, a concerted effort would have pushed them off the continent, so thanks were in order though perhaps misdirected. They could not have made it without their new buddies but, as is common, god gets the credit. Hallelujah!

Surely, we have much to give thanks for; we live on this great continent if not quite lords of all we survey it is still true that we can destroy civilizations should the mood strike us. We have done it in the past, look what happened to their buddies so it would not be a new enterprise for us. Japan might not exist now if the emperor had decided to continue the war. Curtis LeMay, the bomber general wanted to wipe them out; it’s a theme that is part of our history. Still, we are here and aside from hidden fantasies, we aren’t giving it back

I suppose slaughtering the bison is part of that as well as slaughtering turkeys. Note: Otherwise, we have no use for turkeys and, to our shame, “the only good Indian is a dead Indian.” Snicker snicker, cackle cackle.

Well, I suppose given Native American culture, and European culture, the outcome was inevitable. No one in Europe would let all that free land go to waste. To paraphrase one of our civil war generals, “It would be a shame to leave all that land to nomads.”

Okay, some of you are thinking, granted we did all that nasty stuff we are finally living up to our treaties with them and we have something magnificent for ourselves. Well, yeah, but we treat it like dirt. Strip mining rips the earth and leaves scars; we make the planet hotter so that storms are far worse and more frequent than in the past; we are emptying the Oglalla Aquifer such that the middle of our country may again turn into desert; that great human invention, science, is denigrated and disregarded in favor of opinion, and people look to the heavens for that bearded supernatural being to lavish us with affection.

Actions speak louder than words and our actions inform us that giving thanks is not sufficient. Let’s not give thanks but try to fix the place before it becomes uninhabitable. And, in addition to turkey, we might also choose to eat humble pie.

MY COUNTRY, RIGHT OR WRON

When I was a lad, there was a moderately popular phrase by some notable: “My country, may she always be right, but right or wrong, my country.”

It spite of knowing that it was the right way to think, I was also puzzled. Even at that young age, I knew that if things were wrong you sometimes have to give them up. We are a nation of immigrants who, in spite of their love for the motherland gave it up for a better place to live. Mexicans, with a sprinkling of other Latinos have come across our boarders because their country was so wrong they could not survive. My maternal grandmother never gave up mourning for Poland even though in those days it was not a comfortable place for Jews. Now, as a result of the election, dismayed yahoos babble about moving to Belize or some such place because, to them this country has become intolerable. To them, I say farewell though I really don't care if they fare not at all well.

Let me say it up front, there are things wrong with our country that we had better fix pretty quick or we are faced with disaster. The two most recent are Hurricane Sandy and the absurd voting process (I should really say, “processes,” because we have fifty of them.) I'll start with the storm and see how far I get.

The mindless ones refuse to admit that climate change is transforming the planet. They find data oppressive so when confronted with facts supported by 95% of meteorologists they pay attention only to the 5% who don't agree. The mindless ones proudly declare that their opinion is better than the scientists. They don't understand that the 5% provide scientific challenges, which keep the others from going off half-cocked. And, faced with evidence, some of the objecting bacteriologists change their perspectives.

Among the mindless, there are those who think a bit; those agree that climate change occurs, but deny that human beings are in any way responsible. Since the industrial revolution, we have been pouring carbon dioxide into the heavens enough to cause the gods to cough. There is no doubt that it serves as a blanket that keeps the heat close to the earth's surface. Glaciers melt raising the level of oceans. Oh well, let's just move back a few feet, so sayeth the semi mindless.

Because the glaciers are melting, the oceans have risen about a foot over the last century. When Sandy arrived shoving water toward the land, it had a lot more to provide to mess up NYC and you know that it did. There is no doubt that storms have become worse; there is considerably more wreckage in their aftermath and recovery takes longer and is more expensive.

The mindless and the semi-mindless represent resistance to change. The wind blows down power lines, so let’s put them underground. Wait, it's too expensive and the storms are only a freak of nature. The surging water can be restrained by setting up “islands” which blunt the water's movement. Wait, it's expensive and it is only a theory. Never mind that those pre-eminent ocean controllers, the Dutch have mastered the art.

See, most of our major cities are coastal, thus vulnerable to violent hurricanes; we can expect more Sandys with their attendant downed power lines, water everywhere, shortages of gasoline, food and water and disruption of health care, police and fire protection.

In spite of the warnings, this country has sat on its hands because the mindless have “opinions.” Well, their “opinions” are only fantasies of the abominable snowman and Loch Ness Monster sort. We had better get busy . . . or else.

((Maybe next week I'll write about voting.)

There once was a mindless old man

Who really didn't ever give a damn

When water smashed ashore

Oh my, what a bore

I can swim, do you know if he can?

TAMING THE BEAST  

11-5-12

Scientists now pretty much agree that animals are conscious. I'm not sure if that notion is limited to land mammals but probably not. Conscious simply means that the animal is in touch with its environment and acts accordingly. We all share the basic needs for food, water, protection from the elements and reproduction and we all function in terms of the hedonic formula. And, we beasts all strive to survive.

We are all beasts, but humans have an additional characteristic: We are self aware. I know I exist, I know I am me. I know you exist and I know who you are. There is very little evidence that other beasts have this understanding but some research is provocative. Put a spot on a monkey's forehead and stick a mirror in front of it and it will likely stare blankly. Do the same with a chimpanzee and it will try to rub the spot off. Is that a test of self-awareness – no one can be sure.

I'm not sure that self-awareness is the best way to describe us, I prefer self cognitive. By this, I mean that the invention of language made all the difference. We beasts made beastly noises in response to events and with simple awareness we could cooperate with each other for personal benefit. As grunts took on meaning, survival increased and our brains gradually changed to do it more effectively. Those with betyter naxcent languaqge skills reproduced, and we call the result, language. Without language, we'd be nothing more than another animal.

As we became self-cognitive we could think about how to satisfy our beastly needs and desires. Language serves to inform the beast with information about life events, evaluate possibilities and predict the future. It made it possible to put up with today's discomfort for tomorrow's benefit. And, we talk to ourselves all the time. We learn about our perceived reality, put it into language and after a while, the beast accepts it without uncertainty; in essence it becomes an automatic, non-thinking beastly function. The issue settled, language becomes irrelevant to the task. For example, it is unlikely that most of you remember how you learned to tie a shoelace. But, you know how, without thinking, how to do it. Much of our lives appear to be so automated.

As thinking beasts, we became, sort of, the most dominant creature ever to exist, but, there is a hitch. An important characteristic of the beast is that it resists change. Is that a surprise? Most of us try our damnedest to convince it to cut back on food, to exercise, not to smoke, to be nice, etc., but no matter how much we tell the beast to shape up, the outcome is usually the same. New Years eve resolutions dissolve in a few days.

Or consider training an infant to become socialized. That beast wants to defecate, urinate and eat when the mood strikes. We want the damn kid to understand the difference between the kitchen and the bathroom. Well, it rarely happens over night. The beast has to accept giving up immediate pleasure for a higher cause, parental pleasure. We spend long years socializing our children and against long odds, we are moderately successful.

All this suggests there is tension in the relationship between our cognitive selves and our bodies. We know what is good for us, but getting the beast to change is a Herculean task requiring time, persistent retraining and the expectation of success. When Grant was in front of Vicksburg, he failed seven times, but expected finally to win, and he did. Still, the beast rarely gives up pleasure without major resistance. But, we do have an edge. Once the beast changes, it extols the virtues if its new self and reenforces the process. So, don't despair. If you can't get it done one way there is always another way to try.

If you are looking for a friendly, helpful pal

Don't turn to the part that's animal

It does what it chooses

And we thus often are losers

Like wild horses, your pal needs a corral.

ABORTION: A Great American Tragedy

I was going to rant about setting up a new wireless printer, but it turns out that on the way I became enmeshed in the tragedy of abortion. The damned issue was settled years ago when it became legal and socially acceptable. Of course, the wing-nuts, the Yahoos, and the religiously constipated did not agree and they sniped away gradually making abortion harder to get … especially for poor women. Still, it remains legal, at least for now. Someone has unleashed the screwballs.

We are, astonishing to contemplate a nation of scientific ignoramuses and worse a large part of our citizenry are adamantly opposed to scientific findings. Creationists insist the earth is 6 thousand years old (some argue for ten thousand years), there is no such thing as global warming or humanity's contribution to that incipient disaster, or the Big Bang, or evolution or safe vaccination … the list goes on. And, Mr. Boob, a US Senate aspirant says that raped women's bodies protect them from conception and lately a senatorial candidate tells us that if a raped woman conceives it is “God's will,” and thus must not be interrupted of completion.

Well, the religiously constipated are entitled to their absurdities, but when they attempt to foister their beliefs on the rest of us they are beyond arrogance. Assuming they are correct, that God wants a raped woman to bear a consequent child, what does that make the rapist? Clearly, doing God's will should give him special status in our society. Church bells should peal on Rapist day and medals honoring their religious zeal be strewn upon them. Speeches? Of course. “I saw this woman, realized she was the perfect vessel for God's grace and so I did my part. Of course, she complained but God must be served.”

But, what shall we do if there is no conception? Is that also God's will, did God act as a selective contraceptant choosing who would and would not bear his ordained children? No, that makes no sense because we all know that God wants a multitude of children: “Be fruitful and populate the earth,” (or something like that) is His command. (It's no surprise that God is a male.)

If there is no conception, it is clear that the rapist failed at his task and it is that failure that should be punished. What, you say there are a multitude of reasons that conception fails, how can he have failed? That would be his defense, but to no avail. No conception is no conception and throw the book at him!

The tea party has dredged up from the slimy bottom of the river the most bizarre collection of nut cakes ever to run for office. Never mind that they have no use for the truth (notice the small “t”) they actively reject it. When I think about such boobs occupying office, I tremble and wonder about the viability of our republic. Where do they come from and in their crowd I include Romney. If a fetus is a person, Ryan is right, a consequence of rape, or incest is a person and deserves life, liberty and property. Romney slithers around in his attempt to appear moderate. Fetus as person is a religious idea. God provides a soul at the moment of conception. But, history tells us of the many attempts to define “person,” all failed; it is pure arrogance for anyone to argue she/he knows the truth.

It should take only a moment of reflection

To understand that the consequence of conception

Is no more than a fetus

But lest the Yahoos defeat us

Lets give them all a resounding rejection

Anti-vacs Are Really Wacks

Browsing through the Scientific American I came across a disquieting bit of information which surely would cheer up the anti-vacs. These are the people who are adamantly opposed to having their children vaccinated because they know the Truth. The Truth, according to them is that vaccinations produce a variety of illnesses in their helpless children and they, good parents will protect them from them.

A favorite is autism; they will provide endless anecdotes about how this or that child was vaccinated and later became autistic and, if that isn't proof what the hell is it? Easy. It's a logical fallacy well known to the ancient Romans: Post hoc ergo proptor hoc, or if after the fact, therefore because of the fact. For example, it is claimed that marijuana use is a “gateway” to harder stuff, therefore it causes such use. There may be a sequence in that, but there is no evidence and other explanations are more plausible.

Generally, many, perhaps most parents are edgy when it comes to vaccination time. The kids usually cry, sometimes scream and sometimes they have a bit of pain at the injection site and sometimes a bit of fever. Most of us put up with it all because the benefits outweigh the discomfort. But, the anti-vacs got a boost when a British doc published an article which claimed that the mercury in vaccinations produced autism. That created a firestorm of protest. Scientists studied the claim, researched it and concluded the idea had no merit, but the anti-vacs, knowing the Truth claimed that big government and big pharma lied for their own nefarious purposes.

Well, their complaints were so powerful and so many refused to subject their children to the perceived danger that big pharma revised the formula sans mercury. If that British doc had been correct, the incidence of autism should dramatically decrease. Did it? It did not. Science be damned, if it wasn't the mercury then it must be something else. And, they refuse to believe that the refutation of that doc's idea left him disgraced; hell, we all know that government and big pharma lie.

The anti-vacs had their triumph causing huge amounts of money to be wasted in eliminating mercury but since then have not had much to crow about. But now, they can smell the whiff of coming success. States around the country are reducing their line items for their Departments of Health. Those are the guys who actually get the vaccinations done and with less money they have cut back on their vaccination programs.

Contagious illnesses like the flu are herd phenomena. The more individuals who become ill, the greater danger to everyone else. Vaccinations don't guarantee immunity, but they reduce the odds so that everyone is safer but, the more non-vaccinated, the greater the danger to everyone. A non-vaccinated child poses a risk for the herd; there was at least one law-suit claiming a non-vaccinated child caused illness. Cutting back on vaccinations makes it more likely there will be epidemics and, alas, more deaths. But, they know the Truth.

This issue is part of a broader problem. In spite of its extraordinary successes, there is a strong tendency to denigrate findings if they don't support whatever ideology and fantasies people might have. There is no such thing as global warming and if there it has nothing to do with human created carbon emissions. Evolution is only a theory as if it is merely a point of view. There is another earth behind the sun; it is there but we cannot see it. The earth was created 6,000 years ago. There is a person at the moment of conception. Noah's ark is atop Mt. Ararat and the list goes on.

The attitude is: “Whatever I believe is true and to hell with the evidence.” No wonder we are no longer the premiere scientific nation in the world. No wonder the anti-vacs cheer.

If you are seeking a collection of wacks

Just spend time with mindless anti-vacs

They place no reliance

On the virtues of science

But rely on intellectual hacks

A PERFECT MEAL  

One of my pleasant self-conversations occurs every morning during that delicious time between coming awake and getting out of bed. The discussion revolves around what to have for breakfast. For some people, that might be a trivial affair, ham and eggs or cereal and perhaps one or two other things, but for me it’s a big deal. I run through the possibilities, omelet, scrambled eggs, poached eggs, salad, tuna salad, chicken salad and, in cold weather, hot cereal. Sometimes I'll have a bit of steak, usually skirt steak either slathered in butter or pick-a-pepper sauce. And, I almost forgot eggplant salad, which sometimes is there consequent to an earlier craving and cooking spree.

You must understand that I love all of the above but I don't love them all the time. What I mean is that whatever I choose for that time is the perfect meal. For example, this morning while discussing the matter with myself I considered poached eggs. I must say, though I sometimes love such, this morning disgust greeted the thought. I quickly ran through tuna and chicken salad, zipped past an omelet and pondered a lettuce, tomato and onion salad. While I did not consciously make a choice, I knew that it would be the salad; the flavor of balsamic vinegar seemed particularly fetching and that's what I had.

You get my point? The perfect meal depends on my attitude at the time. The other night, at an Italian restaurant, the menu had sauteed chicken livers with onion, mushrooms and green pepper. I imagine they were all sizzled up in olive oil and I felt my mouth moisten; yes, I salivated at the prospect. In truth, I hadn't eaten chicken livers for three or four decades, perhaps more (they do make wonderful chopped liver) but that night, at that time, the chicken livers were the sine qua non of my gustatory desires . . . and I gobbled them up. At that moment in my psychological state, they were the perfect meal! If that state reoccurs, I imagine I'll search out another restaurant or sizzle up a batch for breakfast.

One of the truths that I know about eating such livers is that they are bad for the body. As far as I know, they are loaded with cholesterol, the bad kind and who knows with whatever skunky stuff exists to diminish my body's ability to keep me alive. So, why would I ever eat it? Clearly, because of the pleasure and there's the rub – let me be clear, we poor mortals are constantly at war with ourselves, think of the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, about the hedonic formula. That's fancy for how to manage pleasure without destroying ourselves. As I have said, Epicurus affirmed that all pleasure is good, but not all pleasure is good for you. Further, even pleasures that do no harm are not desirable in excess. I mean, sex six times a day will probably get you a clinical diagnosis even though you might be having a ball. Of course, such diagnosis might reflect societal values rather than scientific verity.

Religion has given us a list of 7 deadly sins. I cannot recall them precisely, but most, if not all have to do with pleasure seeking behavior. Somewhere along the way, as part of the reformation, both Catholic and Protestant churches decided that they had to get control of sexual behavior. People had to marry in a church and receive blessings for their union and of course, they were given instructions about how to conduct themselves. Sex is for procreation and there is only one proper position. Adultery was strictly forbidden; the churches were in control of the bedroom.

There is a certain nuttiness in the notion that sex is only for procreation; that the enjoyment is only incidental to God's purpose. But, there are certainly couples who cannot have children. Should they not enjoy each other’s bodies? And, what about folks whose procreation days are past but who thoroughly enjoy sexual activity. Must children appear willy-nilly in spite of life circumstances? Have I mentioned neighbors with thirteen children who were informed by their priest that they must continue producing babies, that the woman could not refuse the man. Never mind that her doctor said that having more children might well kill her, God's plan is to populate the earth.

We spend our lives making decisions about finding pleasure and avoiding pain. We rationalize, “A little bit won't hurt me.” “I'll start my diet tomorrow.” “God won't love me if I enjoy sex too much so I better cut back.” The angel and the devil are always there and the struggle is, frankly a pain in the ass.

One of the things that most of us treasure

Is the pleasure to be found in pleasure

It really is swell

And you won't go to hell

But keep in mind it's something to measure.

HITTING WOMEN   BLOG

10-15-12

This morning, I heard a radio discussion about whether it's OK to hit a woman if she has hit you. Apparently, a bus driver had reason to expel a woman passenger, she resisted, hit him at least once and spit in his face. He socked her, I gather not gently. Was it acceptable to do so? The moderator a woman, thought not and the few call-ins mostly agreed with her.

One such hit a woman coming at him with a knife. If you do that to a police officer she/he will probably shoot you; it is their protocol that threats to life and limb must be countered with force. But, the man's father chastised him. He should have restrained her or taken the knife away or perhaps run. I suppose that is a good strategy for a martial arts maven. Another caller, this time a woman described how her son's girl friend began beating him and he ran out of the house and called the police … who promptly arrested him.

The unspoken argument for not hitting a woman seemed that they are the gentler sex, too fragile to get into punching it out. Certainly, if that is accurate, even if she comes at you with a knife your only legitimate option is to run, but if she is faster than you, ah, that is left unsaid. As for me, I cannot imagine turning my back on anyone with a knife in tent on maiming me, particularly because I can no longer run fast.

My first reaction to the discussion was that if attacked, it is appropriate to respond with force and knock the woman down. When my demented wife came at me with a knife I remember thinking that I might have to get rough, but the police arrived and I was spared that ugly decision.

Upon reflection, I realize that the question misses the point. First, I don't buy the notion that women are too fragile to fight; perhaps many but surely not all. Construction workers, police women, service members and many, woman who are in excellent shape. There are many cases of domestic violence in which the woman beats up the man though perhaps the men follow the never-hit-a-woman rule. So, if some women are capable of violence it is not a meaningful question.

Forget get gender. If hit, whether by a male or female and that person is young, or unskilled in fighting, or too small to do harm, hitting is absurd, restraint is appropriate. Avoiding a fight is the first order of business, but if getting away won't work then yes, I would punch hard enough to eliminate the threat.

My point is that women do not deserve special consideration. In the 1930's movies, women frequently slapped a man and he stoically accepted the blow but our perception of women, their perception of themselves has moved them closer to equality. The other night, on The Good Wife, a woman with a right cross knocked a man out. The old rules are slowly changing. I have read that some women, if a man holds a door open for them, denigrate him and sometimes even punch. Perhaps such stories are apocryphal, but even their telling makes the point. So, I won't hold a door open for a young woman, but women of a certain age expect it, I will do it for them and anticipate a smile.

So, my rule is simple: If you come at me with the intent to do harm and cannot be avoided prepare to be punched, kicked, gouged and knocked down to the best of my ability.

If you are quietly enjoying your lunch

And a woman interrupts with a punch

If you cannot restrain her

I suggest that you brain her

And crunch her with blows in a bunch.

HITTING WOMEN

10-15-12

This morning, I heard a radio discussion about whether it's OK to hit a woman if she has hit you. Apparently, a bus driver had reason to expel a woman passenger, she resisted, hit him at least once and spit in his face. He socked her, I gather not gently. Was it acceptable to do so? The moderator a woman, thought not and the few call-ins mostly agreed with her.

One such hit a woman coming at him with a knife. If you do that to a police officer she/he will probably shoot you; it is their protocol that threats to life and limb must be countered with force. But, the man's father chastised him. He should have restrained her or taken the knife away or perhaps run. I suppose that is a good strategy for a martial arts maven. Another caller, this time a woman described how her son's girl friend began beating him and he ran out of the house and called the police … who promptly arrested him.

The unspoken argument for not hitting a woman seemed that they are the gentler sex, too fragile to get into punching it out. Certainly, if that is accurate, even if she comes at you with a knife your only legitimate option is to run, but if she is faster than you, ah, that is left unsaid. As for me, I cannot imagine turning my back on anyone with a knife in tent on maiming me, particularly because I can no longer run fast.

My first reaction to the discussion was that if attacked, it is appropriate to respond with force and knock the woman down. When my demented wife came at me with a knife I remember thinking that I might have to get rough, but the police arrived and I was spared that ugly decision.

Upon reflection, I realize that the question misses the point. First, I don't buy the notion that women are too fragile to fight; perhaps many but surely not all. Construction workers, police women, service members and many, woman who are in excellent shape. There are many cases of domestic violence in which the woman beats up the man though perhaps the men follow the never-hit-a-woman rule. So, if some women are capable of violence it is not a meaningful question.

Forget get gender. If hit, whether by a male or female and that person is young, or unskilled in fighting, or too small to do harm, hitting is absurd, restraint is appropriate. Avoiding a fight is the first order of business, but if getting away won't work then yes, I would punch hard enough to eliminate the threat.

My point is that women do not deserve special consideration. In the 1930's movies, women frequently slapped a man and he stoically accepted the blow but our perception of women, their perception of themselves has moved them closer to equality. The other night, on The Good Wife, a woman with a right cross knocked a man out. The old rules are slowly changing. I have read that some women, if a man holds a door open for them, denigrate him and sometimes even punch. Perhaps such stories are apocryphal, but even their telling makes the point. So, I won't hold a door open for a young woman, but women of a certain age expect it, I will do it for them and anticipate a smile.

So, my rule is simple: If you come at me with the intent to do harm and cannot be avoided prepare to be punched, kicked, gouged and knocked down to the best of my ability.

If you are quietly enjoying your lunch

And a woman interrupts with a punch

If you cannot restrain her

I suggest that you brain her

And crunch her with blows in a bunch.

SWORD OF DAMOCLES

Perhaps you have all heard about the sword of Damocles, but of course there might be some social slackers in the group so I better tell the story. In ancient days, when kings were in charge, there was Damocles, a court toady who bitterly complained about his lowly status compared to his liege master. “Why should one man have so much?” he complained and “Why him, and why not me?” “It isn't fair,” and so on. Of course, the king, whose spies were everywhere heard about him and summoned him to court for a reckoning.

“So,” his majesty said, “you believe that I live a life of comfort and pleasure.”

Poor Damocles hemmed and hawed but the poor fellow knew he was had and he admitted all.

The king frowned, mumbled and finally spoke.

“ I have a deal for you. You become king for a day and if you like it you can be king for the rest of your life.” Here the king frowned. “But if you don't like it, if you resign, you will never gain complain about me and the so called unfairness of your station. Do you accept?” This last was offered in a somewhat menacing tone.

Damocles, astonished, knew better than to refuse the offer and even thought it might be a neat way to build up resources for his retirement. He bowed. “Your majesty, please remove yourself from, ahem, my throne.

The king's laugh was a bit cruel. “No, you get started tomorrow at 6AM”

“Six AM,” Damocles responded, “that seems a bit early, when I'm king, I'll set my own hours.”

“While I am still king, you will obey my orders. Now, get out of here!”

Damocles wife, of course, did not believe him and they both fretted about how they would get him up so early, but with such a marvelous prize in the offing they managed the task. A bit nervous when he arrived at the palace he soon understood that he would not lose his head. Everywhere, the guards, courtiers, ladies-in-waiting, the household staff even to the lowest muck shoveler all bowed to him. With much ceremony he was taken to the throne room and there it was, the seat of power. He approached it, sat and smiled benignly upon his people, yes his people when the former king approached,

“Sire,” said their erstwhile leader, “welcome to your new state in the realm. But, sire, may I urge that you look up and see what dangles over your head?”

This was such an absurd suggestion that an uncertain Damocles looked up and saw a sword, a sharp, heavy, pointed sword hanging over him, and it hung by a horse hair.

“Take it away,” he shrieked, “take it away. What monstrous jest is this. I am king, take it away.” Horrified, he saw no one moved to obey him

“Alas, my lord,” said the former king, “it is part of the job, the sword belongs to you now. Well, you won’t be surprised to learn that Damocles quit on the spot.

Don't bother to look up the reality of Damocles and his king; it’s just a story, but of course with a point. Scholars argue that it tells us that jealousy does not pay, that envy distracts from our real tasks in life. This is a familiar theme. American Indians are said to counsel not to complain about another unless you have walked a mile in his moccasins. One of the king Louis' was said to envy peasants because they had nothing like the worries that bedeviled him. (Did that French roi ever volunteer to be a peasant?History does not tell us.)

There is another perspective which makes more sense to me. The other day, as is his wont, my nephrologist inspected my urine and discovered red blood cells. He did not seem happy and said that my kidney problems could not account for such and urged that I hie myself to a urologist. In the process of discussion, he muttered something about bone marrow cancer. Ugh.

I read somewhere that the aging process is like distant thunder during a picnic. You are enjoying yourself and discount the warning, but the threat of a storm is ever growing. As the thunder gets louder its warning seems more imminent and it is evident you cannot avoid it. The clever among you will understand that this is a metaphor for death as is the sword that comes with the job.

When I asked the nephrologist the significance of such findings, he said that if I were a young man, it was almost meaningless, but with a man of my age you never know. And again, he urged a visit to a urologist.

Well, yes I suppose that I am in my last decade; anything thing that goes wrong with my body might very well be the last thing that goes wrong. Mighty oaks from little acorns grow and the red blood cells might be a harbinger of my departure. It's enough to give a man pause.

None of us, ego oriented creatures that we are are cheerful about the reality that we will disappear. Heaven and hell are ways to keep us alive forever; who wouldn't accept hell rather than permanent destruction? As far as I know, all societies have figured out ways to ignore the reality of death.

So, how did I handle the possibility that the storms arrival is sooner than I prefer. I reminded myself that the universe did not appear for the whole purpose of my immortality, that death is part of it all and that at the instant of death I will forget it all.

Should, at a heavenly way-station, I am rated

To learn in which direction I am fated

And should it be hell

I'll handle it well

But nothing like that is expected

FALSE ALARM! The hair suspending the sword remains intact. Huzzah!

 SWORD OF DAMOCLES

Perhaps you have all heard about the sword of Damocles, but of course there might be some social slackers in the group so I better tell the story. In ancient days, when kings were in charge, there was Damocles, a court toady who bitterly complained about his lowly status compared to his liege master. “Why should one man have so much?” he complained and “Why him, and why not me?” “It isn't fair,” and so on. Of course, the king, whose spies were everywhere heard about him and summoned him to court for a reckoning.

“So,” his majesty said, “you believe that I live a life of comfort and pleasure.”

Poor Damocles hemmed and hawed but the poor fellow knew he was had and he admitted all.

The king frowned, mumbled and finally spoke.

“ I have a deal for you. You become king for a day and if you like it you can be king for the rest of your life.” Here the king frowned. “But if you don't like it, if you resign, you will never gain complain about me and the so called unfairness of your station. Do you accept?” This last was offered in a somewhat menacing tone.

Damocles, astonished, knew better than to refuse the offer and even thought it might be a neat way to build up resources for his retirement. He bowed. “Your majesty, please remove yourself from, ahem, my throne.

The king's laugh was a bit cruel. “No, you get started tomorrow at 6AM”

“Six AM,” Damocles responded, “that seems a bit early, when I'm king, I'll set my own hours.”

“While I am still king, you will obey my orders. Now, get out of here!”

Damocles wife, of course, did not believe him and they both fretted about how they would get him up so early, but with such a marvelous prize in the offing they managed the task. A bit nervous when he arrived at the palace he soon understood that he would not lose his head. Everywhere, the guards, courtiers, ladies-in-waiting, the household staff even to the lowest muck shoveler all bowed to him. With much ceremony he was taken to the throne room and there it was, the seat of power. He approached it, sat and smiled benignly upon his people, yes his people when the former king approached,

“Sire,” said their erstwhile leader, “welcome to your new state in the realm. But, sire, may I urge that you look up and see what dangles over your head?”

This was such an absurd suggestion that an uncertain Damocles looked up and saw a sword, a sharp, heavy, pointed sword hanging over him, and it hung by a horse hair.

“Take it away,” he shrieked, “take it away. What monstrous jest is this. I am king, take it away.” Horrified, he saw no one moved to obey him

“Alas, my lord,” said the former king, “it is part of the job, the sword belongs to you now. Well, you won’t be surprised to learn that Damocles quit on the spot.

Don't bother to look up the reality of Damocles and his king; it’s just a story, but of course with a point. Scholars argue that it tells us that jealousy does not pay, that envy distracts from our real tasks in life. This is a familiar theme. American Indians are said to counsel not to complain about another unless you have walked a mile in his moccasins. One of the king Louis' was said to envy peasants because they had nothing like the worries that bedeviled him. (Did that French roi ever volunteer to be a peasant?History does not tell us.)

There is another perspective which makes more sense to me. The other day, as is his wont, my nephrologist inspected my urine and discovered red blood cells. He did not seem happy and said that my kidney problems could not account for such and urged that I hie myself to a urologist. In the process of discussion, he muttered something about bone marrow cancer. Ugh.

I read somewhere that the aging process is like distant thunder during a picnic. You are enjoying yourself and discount the warning, but the threat of a storm is ever growing. As the thunder gets louder its warning seems more imminent and it is evident you cannot avoid it. The clever among you will understand that this is a metaphor for death as is the sword that comes with the job.

When I asked the nephrologist the significance of such findings, he said that if I were a young man, it was almost meaningless, but with a man of my age you never know. And again, he urged a visit to a urologist.

Well, yes I suppose that I am in my last decade; anything thing that goes wrong with my body might very well be the last thing that goes wrong. Mighty oaks from little acorns grow and the red blood cells might be a harbinger of my departure. It's enough to give a man pause.

None of us, ego oriented creatures that we are are cheerful about the reality that we will disappear. Heaven and hell are ways to keep us alive forever; who wouldn't accept hell rather than permanent destruction? As far as I know, all societies have figured out ways to ignore the reality of death.

So, how did I handle the possibility that the storms arrival is sooner than I prefer. I reminded myself that the universe did not appear for the whole purpose of my immortality, that death is part of it all and that at the instant of death I will forget it all.

Should, at a heavenly way-station, I am rated

To learn in which direction I am fated

And should it be hell

I'll handle it well

But nothing like that is expected

FALSE ALARM! The hair suspending the sword remains intact. Huzzah!

 SWORD OF DAMOCLES

Perhaps you have all heard about the sword of Damocles, but of course there might be some social slackers in the group so I better tell the story. In ancient days, when kings were in charge, there was Damocles, a court toady who bitterly complained about his lowly status compared to his liege master. “Why should one man have so much?” he complained and “Why him, and why not me?” “It isn't fair,” and so on. Of course, the king, whose spies were everywhere heard about him and summoned him to court for a reckoning.

“So,” his majesty said, “you believe that I live a life of comfort and pleasure.”

Poor Damocles hemmed and hawed but the poor fellow knew he was had and he admitted all.

The king frowned, mumbled and finally spoke.

“ I have a deal for you. You become king for a day and if you like it you can be king for the rest of your life.” Here the king frowned. “But if you don't like it, if you resign, you will never gain complain about me and the so called unfairness of your station. Do you accept?” This last was offered in a somewhat menacing tone.

Damocles, astonished, knew better than to refuse the offer and even thought it might be a neat way to build up resources for his retirement. He bowed. “Your majesty, please remove yourself from, ahem, my throne.

The king's laugh was a bit cruel. “No, you get started tomorrow at 6AM”

“Six AM,” Damocles responded, “that seems a bit early, when I'm king, I'll set my own hours.”

“While I am still king, you will obey my orders. Now, get out of here!”

Damocles wife, of course, did not believe him and they both fretted about how they would get him up so early, but with such a marvelous prize in the offing they managed the task. A bit nervous when he arrived at the palace he soon understood that he would not lose his head. Everywhere, the guards, courtiers, ladies-in-waiting, the household staff even to the lowest muck shoveler all bowed to him. With much ceremony he was taken to the throne room and there it was, the seat of power. He approached it, sat and smiled benignly upon his people, yes his people when the former king approached,

“Sire,” said their erstwhile leader, “welcome to your new state in the realm. But, sire, may I urge that you look up and see what dangles over your head?”

This was such an absurd suggestion that an uncertain Damocles looked up and saw a sword, a sharp, heavy, pointed sword hanging over him, and it hung by a horse hair.

“Take it away,” he shrieked, “take it away. What monstrous jest is this. I am king, take it away.” Horrified, he saw no one moved to obey him

“Alas, my lord,” said the former king, “it is part of the job, the sword belongs to you now. Well, you won’t be surprised to learn that Damocles quit on the spot.

Don't bother to look up the reality of Damocles and his king; it’s just a story, but of course with a point. Scholars argue that it tells us that jealousy does not pay, that envy distracts from our real tasks in life. This is a familiar theme. American Indians are said to counsel not to complain about another unless you have walked a mile in his moccasins. One of the king Louis' was said to envy peasants because they had nothing like the worries that bedeviled him. (Did that French roi ever volunteer to be a peasant?History does not tell us.)

There is another perspective which makes more sense to me. The other day, as is his wont, my nephrologist inspected my urine and discovered red blood cells. He did not seem happy and said that my kidney problems could not account for such and urged that I hie myself to a urologist. In the process of discussion, he muttered something about bone marrow cancer. Ugh.

I read somewhere that the aging process is like distant thunder during a picnic. You are enjoying yourself and discount the warning, but the threat of a storm is ever growing. As the thunder gets louder its warning seems more imminent and it is evident you cannot avoid it. The clever among you will understand that this is a metaphor for death as is the sword that comes with the job.

When I asked the nephrologist the significance of such findings, he said that if I were a young man, it was almost meaningless, but with a man of my age you never know. And again, he urged a visit to a urologist.

Well, yes I suppose that I am in my last decade; anything thing that goes wrong with my body might very well be the last thing that goes wrong. Mighty oaks from little acorns grow and the red blood cells might be a harbinger of my departure. It's enough to give a man pause.

None of us, ego oriented creatures that we are are cheerful about the reality that we will disappear. Heaven and hell are ways to keep us alive forever; who wouldn't accept hell rather than permanent destruction? As far as I know, all societies have figured out ways to ignore the reality of death.

So, how did I handle the possibility that the storms arrival is sooner than I prefer. I reminded myself that the universe did not appear for the whole purpose of my immortality, that death is part of it all and that at the instant of death I will forget it all.

Should, at a heavenly way-station, I am rated

To learn in which direction I am fated

And should it be hell

I'll handle it well

But nothing like that is expected

FALSE ALARM! The hair suspending the sword remains intact. Huzzah!

 SWORD OF DAMOCLES

Perhaps you have all heard about the sword of Damocles, but of course there might be some social slackers in the group so I better tell the story. In ancient days, when kings were in charge, there was Damocles, a court toady who bitterly complained about his lowly status compared to his liege master. “Why should one man have so much?” he complained and “Why him, and why not me?” “It isn't fair,” and so on. Of course, the king, whose spies were everywhere heard about him and summoned him to court for a reckoning.

“So,” his majesty said, “you believe that I live a life of comfort and pleasure.”

Poor Damocles hemmed and hawed but the poor fellow knew he was had and he admitted all.

The king frowned, mumbled and finally spoke.

“ I have a deal for you. You become king for a day and if you like it you can be king for the rest of your life.” Here the king frowned. “But if you don't like it, if you resign, you will never gain complain about me and the so called unfairness of your station. Do you accept?” This last was offered in a somewhat menacing tone.

Damocles, astonished, knew better than to refuse the offer and even thought it might be a neat way to build up resources for his retirement. He bowed. “Your majesty, please remove yourself from, ahem, my throne.

The king's laugh was a bit cruel. “No, you get started tomorrow at 6AM”

“Six AM,” Damocles responded, “that seems a bit early, when I'm king, I'll set my own hours.”

“While I am still king, you will obey my orders. Now, get out of here!”

Damocles wife, of course, did not believe him and they both fretted about how they would get him up so early, but with such a marvelous prize in the offing they managed the task. A bit nervous when he arrived at the palace he soon understood that he would not lose his head. Everywhere, the guards, courtiers, ladies-in-waiting, the household staff even to the lowest muck shoveler all bowed to him. With much ceremony he was taken to the throne room and there it was, the seat of power. He approached it, sat and smiled benignly upon his people, yes his people when the former king approached,

“Sire,” said their erstwhile leader, “welcome to your new state in the realm. But, sire, may I urge that you look up and see what dangles over your head?”

This was such an absurd suggestion that an uncertain Damocles looked up and saw a sword, a sharp, heavy, pointed sword hanging over him, and it hung by a horse hair.

“Take it away,” he shrieked, “take it away. What monstrous jest is this. I am king, take it away.” Horrified, he saw no one moved to obey him

“Alas, my lord,” said the former king, “it is part of the job, the sword belongs to you now. Well, you won’t be surprised to learn that Damocles quit on the spot.

Don't bother to look up the reality of Damocles and his king; it’s just a story, but of course with a point. Scholars argue that it tells us that jealousy does not pay, that envy distracts from our real tasks in life. This is a familiar theme. American Indians are said to counsel not to complain about another unless you have walked a mile in his moccasins. One of the king Louis' was said to envy peasants because they had nothing like the worries that bedeviled him. (Did that French roi ever volunteer to be a peasant?History does not tell us.)

There is another perspective which makes more sense to me. The other day, as is his wont, my nephrologist inspected my urine and discovered red blood cells. He did not seem happy and said that my kidney problems could not account for such and urged that I hie myself to a urologist. In the process of discussion, he muttered something about bone marrow cancer. Ugh.

I read somewhere that the aging process is like distant thunder during a picnic. You are enjoying yourself and discount the warning, but the threat of a storm is ever growing. As the thunder gets louder its warning seems more imminent and it is evident you cannot avoid it. The clever among you will understand that this is a metaphor for death as is the sword that comes with the job.

When I asked the nephrologist the significance of such findings, he said that if I were a young man, it was almost meaningless, but with a man of my age you never know. And again, he urged a visit to a urologist.

Well, yes I suppose that I am in my last decade; anything thing that goes wrong with my body might very well be the last thing that goes wrong. Mighty oaks from little acorns grow and the red blood cells might be a harbinger of my departure. It's enough to give a man pause.

None of us, ego oriented creatures that we are are cheerful about the reality that we will disappear. Heaven and hell are ways to keep us alive forever; who wouldn't accept hell rather than permanent destruction? As far as I know, all societies have figured out ways to ignore the reality of death.

So, how did I handle the possibility that the storms arrival is sooner than I prefer. I reminded myself that the universe did not appear for the whole purpose of my immortality, that death is part of it all and that at the instant of death I will forget it all.

Should, at a heavenly way-station, I am rated

To learn in which direction I am fated

And should it be hell

I'll handle it well

But nothing like that is expected

FALSE ALARM! The hair suspending the sword remains intact. Huzzah!

 SWORD OF DAMOCLES

Perhaps you have all heard about the sword of Damocles, but of course there might be some social slackers in the group so I better tell the story. In ancient days, when kings were in charge, there was Damocles, a court toady who bitterly complained about his lowly status compared to his liege master. “Why should one man have so much?” he complained and “Why him, and why not me?” “It isn't fair,” and so on. Of course, the king, whose spies were everywhere heard about him and summoned him to court for a reckoning.

“So,” his majesty said, “you believe that I live a life of comfort and pleasure.”

Poor Damocles hemmed and hawed but the poor fellow knew he was had and he admitted all.

The king frowned, mumbled and finally spoke.

“ I have a deal for you. You become king for a day and if you like it you can be king for the rest of your life.” Here the king frowned. “But if you don't like it, if you resign, you will never gain complain about me and the so called unfairness of your station. Do you accept?” This last was offered in a somewhat menacing tone.

Damocles, astonished, knew better than to refuse the offer and even thought it might be a neat way to build up resources for his retirement. He bowed. “Your majesty, please remove yourself from, ahem, my throne.

The king's laugh was a bit cruel. “No, you get started tomorrow at 6AM”

“Six AM,” Damocles responded, “that seems a bit early, when I'm king, I'll set my own hours.”

“While I am still king, you will obey my orders. Now, get out of here!”

Damocles wife, of course, did not believe him and they both fretted about how they would get him up so early, but with such a marvelous prize in the offing they managed the task. A bit nervous when he arrived at the palace he soon understood that he would not lose his head. Everywhere, the guards, courtiers, ladies-in-waiting, the household staff even to the lowest muck shoveler all bowed to him. With much ceremony he was taken to the throne room and there it was, the seat of power. He approached it, sat and smiled benignly upon his people, yes his people when the former king approached,

“Sire,” said their erstwhile leader, “welcome to your new state in the realm. But, sire, may I urge that you look up and see what dangles over your head?”

This was such an absurd suggestion that an uncertain Damocles looked up and saw a sword, a sharp, heavy, pointed sword hanging over him, and it hung by a horse hair.

“Take it away,” he shrieked, “take it away. What monstrous jest is this. I am king, take it away.” Horrified, he saw no one moved to obey him

“Alas, my lord,” said the former king, “it is part of the job, the sword belongs to you now. Well, you won’t be surprised to learn that Damocles quit on the spot.

Don't bother to look up the reality of Damocles and his king; it’s just a story, but of course with a point. Scholars argue that it tells us that jealousy does not pay, that envy distracts from our real tasks in life. This is a familiar theme. American Indians are said to counsel not to complain about another unless you have walked a mile in his moccasins. One of the king Louis' was said to envy peasants because they had nothing like the worries that bedeviled him. (Did that French roi ever volunteer to be a peasant?History does not tell us.)

There is another perspective which makes more sense to me. The other day, as is his wont, my nephrologist inspected my urine and discovered red blood cells. He did not seem happy and said that my kidney problems could not account for such and urged that I hie myself to a urologist. In the process of discussion, he muttered something about bone marrow cancer. Ugh.

I read somewhere that the aging process is like distant thunder during a picnic. You are enjoying yourself and discount the warning, but the threat of a storm is ever growing. As the thunder gets louder its warning seems more imminent and it is evident you cannot avoid it. The clever among you will understand that this is a metaphor for death as is the sword that comes with the job.

When I asked the nephrologist the significance of such findings, he said that if I were a young man, it was almost meaningless, but with a man of my age you never know. And again, he urged a visit to a urologist.

Well, yes I suppose that I am in my last decade; anything thing that goes wrong with my body might very well be the last thing that goes wrong. Mighty oaks from little acorns grow and the red blood cells might be a harbinger of my departure. It's enough to give a man pause.

None of us, ego oriented creatures that we are are cheerful about the reality that we will disappear. Heaven and hell are ways to keep us alive forever; who wouldn't accept hell rather than permanent destruction? As far as I know, all societies have figured out ways to ignore the reality of death.

So, how did I handle the possibility that the storms arrival is sooner than I prefer. I reminded myself that the universe did not appear for the whole purpose of my immortality, that death is part of it all and that at the instant of death I will forget it all.

Should, at a heavenly way-station, I am rated

To learn in which direction I am fated

And should it be hell

I'll handle it well

But nothing like that is expected

FALSE ALARM! The hair suspending the sword remains intact. Huzzah!

 SWORD OF DAMOCLES

Perhaps you have all heard about the sword of Damocles, but of course there might be some social slackers in the group so I better tell the story. In ancient days, when kings were in charge, there was Damocles, a court toady who bitterly complained about his lowly status compared to his liege master. “Why should one man have so much?” he complained and “Why him, and why not me?” “It isn't fair,” and so on. Of course, the king, whose spies were everywhere heard about him and summoned him to court for a reckoning.

“So,” his majesty said, “you believe that I live a life of comfort and pleasure.”

Poor Damocles hemmed and hawed but the poor fellow knew he was had and he admitted all.

The king frowned, mumbled and finally spoke.

“ I have a deal for you. You become king for a day and if you like it you can be king for the rest of your life.” Here the king frowned. “But if you don't like it, if you resign, you will never gain complain about me and the so called unfairness of your station. Do you accept?” This last was offered in a somewhat menacing tone.

Damocles, astonished, knew better than to refuse the offer and even thought it might be a neat way to build up resources for his retirement. He bowed. “Your majesty, please remove yourself from, ahem, my throne.

The king's laugh was a bit cruel. “No, you get started tomorrow at 6AM”

“Six AM,” Damocles responded, “that seems a bit early, when I'm king, I'll set my own hours.”

“While I am still king, you will obey my orders. Now, get out of here!”

Damocles wife, of course, did not believe him and they both fretted about how they would get him up so early, but with such a marvelous prize in the offing they managed the task. A bit nervous when he arrived at the palace he soon understood that he would not lose his head. Everywhere, the guards, courtiers, ladies-in-waiting, the household staff even to the lowest muck shoveler all bowed to him. With much ceremony he was taken to the throne room and there it was, the seat of power. He approached it, sat and smiled benignly upon his people, yes his people when the former king approached,

“Sire,” said their erstwhile leader, “welcome to your new state in the realm. But, sire, may I urge that you look up and see what dangles over your head?”

This was such an absurd suggestion that an uncertain Damocles looked up and saw a sword, a sharp, heavy, pointed sword hanging over him, and it hung by a horse hair.

“Take it away,” he shrieked, “take it away. What monstrous jest is this. I am king, take it away.” Horrified, he saw no one moved to obey him

“Alas, my lord,” said the former king, “it is part of the job, the sword belongs to you now. Well, you won’t be surprised to learn that Damocles quit on the spot.

Don't bother to look up the reality of Damocles and his king; it’s just a story, but of course with a point. Scholars argue that it tells us that jealousy does not pay, that envy distracts from our real tasks in life. This is a familiar theme. American Indians are said to counsel not to complain about another unless you have walked a mile in his moccasins. One of the king Louis' was said to envy peasants because they had nothing like the worries that bedeviled him. (Did that French roi ever volunteer to be a peasant?History does not tell us.)

There is another perspective which makes more sense to me. The other day, as is his wont, my nephrologist inspected my urine and discovered red blood cells. He did not seem happy and said that my kidney problems could not account for such and urged that I hie myself to a urologist. In the process of discussion, he muttered something about bone marrow cancer. Ugh.

I read somewhere that the aging process is like distant thunder during a picnic. You are enjoying yourself and discount the warning, but the threat of a storm is ever growing. As the thunder gets louder its warning seems more imminent and it is evident you cannot avoid it. The clever among you will understand that this is a metaphor for death as is the sword that comes with the job.

When I asked the nephrologist the significance of such findings, he said that if I were a young man, it was almost meaningless, but with a man of my age you never know. And again, he urged a visit to a urologist.

Well, yes I suppose that I am in my last decade; anything thing that goes wrong with my body might very well be the last thing that goes wrong. Mighty oaks from little acorns grow and the red blood cells might be a harbinger of my departure. It's enough to give a man pause.

None of us, ego oriented creatures that we are are cheerful about the reality that we will disappear. Heaven and hell are ways to keep us alive forever; who wouldn't accept hell rather than permanent destruction? As far as I know, all societies have figured out ways to ignore the reality of death.

So, how did I handle the possibility that the storms arrival is sooner than I prefer. I reminded myself that the universe did not appear for the whole purpose of my immortality, that death is part of it all and that at the instant of death I will forget it all.

Should, at a heavenly way-station, I am rated

To learn in which direction I am fated

And should it be hell

I'll handle it well

But nothing like that is expected

FALSE ALARM! The hair suspending the sword remains intact. Huzzah!

 SWORD OF DAMOCLES

Perhaps you have all heard about the sword of Damocles, but of course there might be some social slackers in the group so I better tell the story. In ancient days, when kings were in charge, there was Damocles, a court toady who bitterly complained about his lowly status compared to his liege master. “Why should one man have so much?” he complained and “Why him, and why not me?” “It isn't fair,” and so on. Of course, the king, whose spies were everywhere heard about him and summoned him to court for a reckoning.

“So,” his majesty said, “you believe that I live a life of comfort and pleasure.”

Poor Damocles hemmed and hawed but the poor fellow knew he was had and he admitted all.

The king frowned, mumbled and finally spoke.

“ I have a deal for you. You become king for a day and if you like it you can be king for the rest of your life.” Here the king frowned. “But if you don't like it, if you resign, you will never gain complain about me and the so called unfairness of your station. Do you accept?” This last was offered in a somewhat menacing tone.

Damocles, astonished, knew better than to refuse the offer and even thought it might be a neat way to build up resources for his retirement. He bowed. “Your majesty, please remove yourself from, ahem, my throne.

The king's laugh was a bit cruel. “No, you get started tomorrow at 6AM”

“Six AM,” Damocles responded, “that seems a bit early, when I'm king, I'll set my own hours.”

“While I am still king, you will obey my orders. Now, get out of here!”

Damocles wife, of course, did not believe him and they both fretted about how they would get him up so early, but with such a marvelous prize in the offing they managed the task. A bit nervous when he arrived at the palace he soon understood that he would not lose his head. Everywhere, the guards, courtiers, ladies-in-waiting, the household staff even to the lowest muck shoveler all bowed to him. With much ceremony he was taken to the throne room and there it was, the seat of power. He approached it, sat and smiled benignly upon his people, yes his people when the former king approached,

“Sire,” said their erstwhile leader, “welcome to your new state in the realm. But, sire, may I urge that you look up and see what dangles over your head?”

This was such an absurd suggestion that an uncertain Damocles looked up and saw a sword, a sharp, heavy, pointed sword hanging over him, and it hung by a horse hair.

“Take it away,” he shrieked, “take it away. What monstrous jest is this. I am king, take it away.” Horrified, he saw no one moved to obey him

“Alas, my lord,” said the former king, “it is part of the job, the sword belongs to you now. Well, you won’t be surprised to learn that Damocles quit on the spot.

Don't bother to look up the reality of Damocles and his king; it’s just a story, but of course with a point. Scholars argue that it tells us that jealousy does not pay, that envy distracts from our real tasks in life. This is a familiar theme. American Indians are said to counsel not to complain about another unless you have walked a mile in his moccasins. One of the king Louis' was said to envy peasants because they had nothing like the worries that bedeviled him. (Did that French roi ever volunteer to be a peasant?History does not tell us.)

There is another perspective which makes more sense to me. The other day, as is his wont, my nephrologist inspected my urine and discovered red blood cells. He did not seem happy and said that my kidney problems could not account for such and urged that I hie myself to a urologist. In the process of discussion, he muttered something about bone marrow cancer. Ugh.

I read somewhere that the aging process is like distant thunder during a picnic. You are enjoying yourself and discount the warning, but the threat of a storm is ever growing. As the thunder gets louder its warning seems more imminent and it is evident you cannot avoid it. The clever among you will understand that this is a metaphor for death as is the sword that comes with the job.

When I asked the nephrologist the significance of such findings, he said that if I were a young man, it was almost meaningless, but with a man of my age you never know. And again, he urged a visit to a urologist.

Well, yes I suppose that I am in my last decade; anything thing that goes wrong with my body might very well be the last thing that goes wrong. Mighty oaks from little acorns grow and the red blood cells might be a harbinger of my departure. It's enough to give a man pause.

None of us, ego oriented creatures that we are are cheerful about the reality that we will disappear. Heaven and hell are ways to keep us alive forever; who wouldn't accept hell rather than permanent destruction? As far as I know, all societies have figured out ways to ignore the reality of death.

So, how did I handle the possibility that the storms arrival is sooner than I prefer. I reminded myself that the universe did not appear for the whole purpose of my immortality, that death is part of it all and that at the instant of death I will forget it all.

Should, at a heavenly way-station, I am rated

To learn in which direction I am fated

And should it be hell

I'll handle it well

But nothing like that is expected

FALSE ALARM! The hair suspending the sword remains intact. Huzzah!