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!