Jouissance

Epilogue

2003-12-16T16:37:00.000-08:00

"...to look life in the face,
always to look life in the face,
and to know what it is
to love it for what it is.

And then to put it away."

- from the film The Hours
screenplay by David hare
based on the Novel by Michael Cunningham

With this, the final post of Jouissance, I wish both old and new friends of the Blog of Space Cowboy Dave a fond farewell as I depart the blogosphere in order to focus more directly upon other writing projects. The archived existing posts of Jouissance shall remain online at http://www.spacecowboydave.blogspot.com for as long as the good people at blogger.com and blogspot.com see fit to maintain them as permalinks.The Jouissance archives can also be viewed indefinitely at www.spacecowboydave.com.

Blogging has been a wonderful experience, experiment, and exploration as well as a marvelous form of writing discipline. It's nice to know that you really can turn out meaningful content, day after day, even if it sometimes takes the better part of the day to produce, self-edit, format, and publish. Not all blogs require such diligence and dedication, but those are the goals I set for myself at the outset. Not that I haven't taken the occasional day off, or opted for easy way out by posting little more than a link to the work of others from time to time, but in my own defense that was largely the exception. I sincerely hope that my readers have enjoyed Jouissance Blog of Space Cowboy Dave as much as I have enjoyed producing it. It has been a pleasure and an honor.

My one regret is that I did not complete a piece I had planned to post entitled, "Why I Blog." I made several false starts, but never felt that what I had created lived up to the importance of the piece. Before I ever began to blog I pondered deeply as to the wisdom of the enterprise. [In its favor one not requiring new clothes.] Did I really want to add to the cacophony which I had recognized the Web to have become? The answer to this question, and the essence of the message I had intended to deliver in this never-to-be-posted "Why I Blog" post is summed up in a quote from Michael Moore:

"...this cacophony of noise ...that's one of the wonderful things about living in a free society, that's the noise of democracy, that's the noise of a free people: people cheering something they agree with, people saying 'no I don't agree with that' ...you wish that we had more of [this] in our society, that people actually cared enough to feel one way or another"

- Michael Moore
Interview on his Oscar® win and acceptance speech
Bowling for Columbine, Special Edition DVD set

"The noise of a free people." If for none other there it is, raison d'être. Though the noise at times be deafening and at times the messages maddening it is all part of the beautiful noise of freedom. Let it never be silenced. Blog on.

David Walske

Please feel free to contact me anytime by leaving your comments at http://www.spacecowboydave.com/frms/feedback.htm. As always your privacy will be respected as per as the posted privacy policy of Jouissance.

Bibliography

2003-12-15T23:50:00.000-08:00

Bibliography

by David Walske

The blogosphere is a forum for the exchange of ideas. A noisy forum, a virtual equivalent of London's famed Speaker's Corner, over three million blogs and growing, the blogsphere provides a free [or nearly free] soapbox to anyone with a desire for the dais. Jouissance Blog of Space Cowboy Dave has been happy to add to the din over the past several months with posts of largely original content, as well as attributed posts and links. Jouissance would not be what has been without the brilliant materials of research and inspiration behind the finished posts. As the year draws to a close Jouissance pays tribute to but a few of the many sources of inspiration and information.

If you subscribe to no other magazine, subscribe to The Week. I look forward receiving my copy each and every week, miss it horribly when I'm away from home or vacation, and read it word-for-word cover to cover when ever possible. If I'm particularly busy with other tasks it might take the week to read The Week, but usually I finish it over the weekend having received it in Friday's or Saturday's mail delivery. This is a real gem.

I have a Love/Hate relationship with Scientific American. All dressed up in its consumer friendly glitz and gloss cover - the old format had the look and feel of JAMA and the sexiness of Alan Greenspan - it really stands out on the racks of neighborhood newsstands drawing readers into the vital and authentic scientific data it has always provided. Bringing quantum physics, parallel universes, string theory, and parallel dimensions to the general public in a format that is not only understandable but entertaining is no small feat. Brian Greene's writing, the basis of the recent PBS miniseries "The Elegant Universe," and Greene's best-selling novel of the same name have been particular high points this year.

Then there's the evil flip side of Scientific American. Such as the constant irritation of the ever smug an overly self-congratulatory Michael Shermer and his insipid little column, "The Skeptic." Michael, I'm sorry you got beat up by schoolyard bullies all through your childhood, but please go see a shrink instead of taking it out on your readers each month. And then there's the opening statement - attributed amorphously to "The Editors" - of the December issue. This issue rightly helped to further popularize the scientific truth that "race" [Black, White, Asian, etc.] as a genetic reality is a myth, but chose to open the issue by railing against the rejection of Proposition 54 which would have prevented the State of California from collecting racial demographic information. "The Editors" completely missed the point that while race is a myth, racism is not, and that there is a great difference between being colorblind and simply turning a blind eye to injustice - a concept artfully and brilliantly depicted in great detail by the PBS miniseries "RACE the Power of an Illusion." Proposition 54, had it passed [thankfully it was defeated] would have created a dense cover of fog under which untold racist practices could have thrived without detection. And what is an op-ed political piece doing at the head of a "scientific" magazine anyway?

In spite of it's fissure-like deep flaws, Scientific American remains on the Jouissance list. When you spot Michael Shermer's smirking glirid visage, keep flipping. And as always, question, probe, and prod using your own powers of intelligence to separate op-ed from scientific fact. This magazine is rife with both, but look for the motherlode amongst the bauxite and you'll come away with a fistful of gold at least.

To quote Richard Saul Wurman, "It shocks me that I love this Disney [owned] magazine Discover magazine. And its a 'sleeper' magazine. I know a lot of people don't read Discover magazine, and it's a really good magazine... 'right at the edge' of me not understanding it, which is really important." I concur. A surprising find, this magazine. Cutting edge science presented in a most palatable form. Palatable but not sugar coated. This magazine does not shy away from the harsh realities, for example, the top ten most likely ways in which the world as we know it might end.

The Atlantic Monthly is ever an inspired and inspiring source of prose, poetry, and intellectual stimulation. Thoughtful and provoking this magazine makes a fine addition to the Jouissance list. Recently The Atlantic Monthly published the somber brilliance of "The Lesson" by Philip Levine.

Genre, the Gay answer to GQ, plus. Who knew there were so many ways to tie one's tie. Now if I could just get some of the guys pictured in the magazine to come over and instruct me personally. Is that a full Windsor?

And the list goes on: Metropolis, The New Yorker, and numerous online resources. All have provided inspiration, references, and points of view that have helped to make Jouissance the enjoyable experience that it has been for me over the past several months.

War is NOT a Video Game

2003-12-10T23:50:00.000-08:00

View "BushFlash" fullscreen.

Free Flash viewer required.
Click here if the "fullscreen" link above does not work in your browser.

BUSHFLASH.COM

Animation: Eric Blumrich
Music: Steve Roach

View updated updated, unfiltered casualty information.
View to view "The Faces of the Fallen."

WAR is NOT a Video Game.

Many thanks to Robert Squires for this suggestion.
To make a suggestion for future Jouissance posts, please click here.

Cash Registered

2003-12-09T23:50:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

Sitting at the bar, I pondered aloud, "Why did I have to wait for the man to die before I started appreciating the music of Johnny Cash?" "Don't ask me," Chris, the bartender, replied in answer to my rhetorical question, "I'm from Nashville. I grew up with Johnny Cash music. I've always liked him." I think that's what I like best about Chris, he can slap you down with such a light touch. Like the time I told him I was once a bartender myself. Chris asked me,"For how long?" When I revealed that my stint behind the bar had lasted less than six months he rolled his eyes and, with just the faintest hint of a smirk upon his face said, "Yeah, you were a bartender."

Don't let the cowboy reference in my nom de plume lead you to misconstrue. I have never been a fan of Country Western music. Some of the crossover stuff, yes. But hard-core Country has always been strictly off of my chart. Same for most Rap. Although I am a fan of "FatBoy Slim," "Del THA fUNKé hOMOSAPiEN," as well as other artists that while not Rappers, exhibit a strong Rap influence in their music. So there you go. I'd say my taste in music is about as eclectic as it gets. From classical and opera, to pop and dance, and just about everything in-between, I'm listening - in spite of the fact that commercial radio has been an abysmal void for the past several years. [Will somebody please spear Britney?] If not for KCRW I'd probably never hit the FM button on my car stereo. [Friends have extolled the virtues of XM satellite radio, but that's a boundary I've yet to cross. Stay tuned.]

Country Western being off my playlist, I've largely avoided the music of C & W icon Johnny Cash until just this year. And suddenly I'm captivated by it. My recent enthrallment with the music of Johnny Cash actually began some months before his passing with the release of his final CD, entitled, "American IV: The Man Comes Around." Largely a cover CD this collection includes Johnny Cash renditions of songs as diverse as Simon and Garfunkel's "Bridge Over Troubled Water," The Beatles' "In My Life," and "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face," best known as made popular by Roberta Flack. But the track that caught my ear was the Nine Inch Nails song, "Hurt." Johnny Cash singing Nine Inch Nails. Talk about the man coming around - although I think the title track reference may have more to do with religion than industrial/alternative rock. No matter.

Hurt

"I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that’s real

The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end

You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt"

- Trent Reznor

The lyrics, Shakespearean in their duality of expression of the profoundly tragic essential human state, voiced in the vernacular of the time. The Johnny Cash solo rendition, accompanied by a lone guitar, begins pensive but unapologetic. The deep crackled voice conjures images of a sweat-drenched cragged brow, etched by a life deeply felt. Slowly and powerfully the performance builds, finally climaxing in the third line of the fourth stanza. Denouement, "I will make you hurt." I was driving my car the first time I heard this track, on KCRW of course. It had such effect upon me I pulled the car over, sat quietly and wept. This was the beginning. The end.

The next Johnny Cash track that came roaring into my head was, "Rusty Cage," from his CD. "Unchained." Powerfully sad, rough-edged, resentful, tortured, and yet hopeful. Speaking to inner demons, external oppressor, creator?

Rusty Cage

"You wired me awake
And hit me with a hand of broken nails
You tied my lead and pulled my chain
To watch my blood begin to boil

But I'm gonna break
I'm gonna break my
I'm gonna break my rusty cage and run"

- Chris Cornell

At the end of the fifth stanza, the tempo changes, slows as it builds in intensity like a prizefighter changing pace, zeroing in on his opponent's points of fleshy vulnerability. Cash's rendition effervesces from musical performance to poetic reading. "When the forest burns along the road, like God's eyes In my headlights... and it's raining icepicks on your steel shore... I'm gonna break my rusty cage and run."

What's next for me in the Cash legacy of 141 albums spanning some forty years? I'm not sure, but "Hurt" and "Rusty Cage" are two gems that have opened my eyes to a prejudice of genre that has kept me from a trove.

What is a Liberal?

2003-12-08T23:50:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

What is a conservative? The terms liberal and conservative have been thrown about so much, for so long in the political arena, that they bear little resemblance to their original forms. In Marie Hardenbrook's Political Science class at McClintock High School in Tempe, Arizona I learned that in the purest sense, political liberalism favors, as the name connotes, larger and more liberally far-reaching government, and conversely that political conservatism favors restricted, less intrusive government. Remember laissez-faire from your History classes? It's a word borrowed directly from the French: laisser faire to let (people) do (as they choose), which espouses concepts of small government and a "hands off" approach to "the people" as respects the rule of law whenever practicable. I'm no political science expert - obviously so, in that for my initial scholarly reference I had to reach back to High School - but this is my understanding of the concepts.

The mid-1970's of my later High School years was an unusually tumultuous time in which to be studying political science. No less so for being a Democrat in the Arizona of pre-recantation Barry Goldwater -[ Man, did that ever piss off the Republicans when in the waning years of his life Barry saw the light and embraced many liberal causes including full acceptance of his openly Gay grandson. I'm sure many a Republican volunteered to climb a ladder to personally rip the letters of his name from the sign adorning the the Phoenix airport terminal named in his honor]. The Goldwater political climate I endured as a naïve, fresh-faced McGovern Presidential campaign volunteer in the 1974 election, before I could even vote myself, was very different from that produced of Barry's parting salvo. There were moments at which I felt as though there were but three Democrats in the entire state, myself, my teacher Marie Hardenbrook, and my best friend Mark Feldstein - one of few people of true genius-level intelligence I have had the pleasure to call friend, who drifted out of my life - after departing McClintock High School for an Ivy League College career on a full four-year academic scholarship - and remains estranged from me yet today, in spite of my best efforts to reconnect with him. I always knew Mark had the seeds of greatness in him. Long before he won his two Peabody awards for excellence in journalism.

Back to remedial poli-sci: Conservative = small government, less of the hand of of government on the individual, for better or for worse; you're on your own buddy, it's the land of rugged individualism and we'll leave you alone to get on with it, whatever "it" is. Liberal = larger government, more public assistance programs, in general more care by the state for the individual. Simple, correct? No. Somehow concepts of social conservatism and liberalism came to mire the clarity of this simple concept of a linear political spectrum. Nixon called us, "dirty hippies," as he hid behind the skirt of what was referred to as conservatism. But a political conservative by its original, and most pure definition would embrace the laissez-faire hippy lifestyle. "Hey man, you're harshing my buzz. Get your government off me." A very politically conservative statement, this. But indeed the Nixon conservative Republicans and us, "dirty hippies" -[hey, personally I bathed every day and got mostly A's in school]- were sworn enemies.

It's only gotten more muddled and confused in the intervening decades. The conservative Christian Republican right wants to dictate religion, morality, and ethics. George Bush, like Ronny Reagan before him, thinks God put him in the White House. I wasn't aware that God was registered to vote. [How do you register a non-mortal deity to vote? Does Zeus get a vote too?] When I worked canvassing door-to-door for McGovern in the 1974 campaign, again in my naïveté expecting a civil response from those who answered the door when I rang in Phoenix, Arizona, I once found myself staring down the fiery end of a shotgun being ordered by it's owner as he pointed it at my head to, "Get off my property you pinko." Pinko? Pinko is slang for a Socialist and/or Communist. But I'm a Democrat. I didn't' want the KGB down my throat any more than I wanted Nixon's thugs up my ass. Nixon's conservative government grew ever larger, taxing its constituency ever harder and deeper, shaking out every last possible dime to fund the nascent military-industrial-complex that both fed and ruled him, straining the country to near breaking point until his own greed and malice became his unraveling.

Flip-wipe to present day. George W. Bush, meat puppet of an even more evil agenda than that of the Nixon years seemed for a time almost unstoppable. At first he's a lackluster joke of a president - he's still a joke, but now a sickly sardonic one. Then a single day in American history changes all that. Thousands die in a matter of hours in New York City, and a presidency is transformed through carefully choreographed media campaign. The so-called "liberal media." What Liberal Media? And what does this newly "transformed president" do with the international goodwill heaped upon him and America. He squanders it. He pours billions, and incalculable future trillions into a "new Vietnam war" in Iraq. He plays dress-up soldier on a US Navy aircraft carrier turning circles off the coast of San Diego. Personally I'll take an oversexed president getting a haircut aboard Air Force One while parked inconsiderately on the tarmac of a public airport, to a draft-dodging meat-puppet spending the wealth and lives of our nation and the nation of our children and the nation of our children's children while playing GI-Joe dress-up, any day of the week.

The "blow-job Bill" versus "GI-Joe doll George" comparisons are of course the lightly humorous side of the issues. The real issue is the ominous and occult seething underbelly of the dark Presidential puppeteers working the meat puppet Bush. 9/11 gave them their "in." Hysterical fear kept things going. Hitler had the Jews, Nixon/Reagan and others of their ilk before them had "the commies," Dubya's puppeteers have Islamic fundamentalist terrorists. No doubt the free, peace-loving world has something to fear from terrorists and fundamentalists - fundamentalists of all religious creeds that put so-called faith above life, limb, and freedom. Our threats come from within and without, including those from within the White House, the Pentagon, and other corridors of Washington power. Lining the pockets of Halliburton et al will do nothing to stop the real threats to our life, liberty, and happiness.

Trillions for defense contractors, peanuts for domestic welfare. And filthy corruption all around that far exceeds in depravity any possible bodily filth of the dirtiest of Nixon's "filthy hippies." Nixon thought he could keep up the ruse indefinitely. He was wrong. Bush thinks he can as well. He is also wrong. The cocoon is already beginning to crack, and what's inside is not a pretty sight. Even some of Bush's staunchest Republican allies, Newt Gingrich for example, are beginning to run for cover. The 2004 Presidential election is less than a year away. Bush thinks he can gloss everything over by then, perhaps with some last minute "cheeseball" ploy. Maybe he feels buoyed by Arnold's success in California. But wait a minute, Arnold won on a platform that called for [at least in word if not deed] fiscal responsibility which ousted a sitting Governor largely by attacking him for the buildup of the California budget deficit under his administration. Dubya's term in the White House has seen America plunge from a budget surplus to the worst - and still building - deficit imaginable.

"...truth pressed to the earth will rise again. ...no lie can live forever."

-Martin Luther King

And I Feel Fine

2003-12-03T15:25:00.000-08:00

Click here to view "The End of The World" fullscreen.

Free Flash viewer required. Click here if the "fullscreen" link above does not work in your browser.

Author unkown.
If you know who the author is please click here. Please? Word.

Many thanks to Carole Goldstein for this suggestion. To make a suggestion for future Jouissance posts, please click here.

In Search of the Perfect Chair

2003-12-02T23:50:00.000-08:00

"A chair is still a chair,
Even when there's no one sitting there."

- Burt Bacharach
"A House is not a Home"

I don't think that an "electric chair" is quite what Burt and Barbara had in mind. But to hear Niels Diffrient diffrient speak of the office chairs most commonly in use today one might believe that Diffrient means to imply that what passes for office seating in many work environments is something akin to cruel and unusual punishment. And if you've ever spent a day toiling away in one such chair, you might agree. Diffrient, designer of the "Freedom Chair," espouses that the human body is simply not designed for prolonged periods of sitting. A difficult sitting position for a chair designer, but one that perhaps opens up new ergonomic possibilities.

"When design springs from an understanding of the people who are going to use a product, you begin to see forms that you would never have imagined.."

- Niels Diffrient

Diffrient is a member of a unique class of designers. A small class, but one with an ever increasing popularity. I heard Niels speak at the 2002, TED12 conference held in Monterey, California. TED12, billed as "The Greatest Design Conference that Ever Was or Will Be," -[Richard Saul Wurman was never one for subtlety]- opened with a session entitled, "The Chair." In this session, after a solo presentation, Diffrient squared off in a panel discussion that included Bill Stumpf, designer of the highly popular Herman Miller produced Aeron chair, as well as representatives from the IBM of office furniture manufacturers, Steelcase, manufacturer of the Leap chair. He opened his preceding a capella segment with an anecdote about the painter Pablo Picasso. As I recall his telling of the story, at age seventy, Picasso attending one of his own gallery openings was approached by a patron of the arts about a particular work. So simple, yet so expressive, a mere scattering of three lines depicting a complex visual statement. When she inquired as to the purchase price and Picasso informed her of it, her rhapsody acquiesced to "sticker shock." "But there are only three lines; why such a high price?" she asked. "My dear woman," Picasso replied, as the story goes, "it took seventy years to paint those three lines."

The Picasso story highlights concepts of design that embrace a simplicity of form in obfuscation of an underlying complexity. This is the essence of all great design. As stated by God himself - as a character in Matt Groenig's Futurama, "When you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all." As a consumer of office chairs - sometimes referred to ask "task chairs" - if one is required to understand too much about ergonomics or master details of technique as to how the chair is to be adjusted for optimal ergonomic performance, then the chair has failed. At least from the perspective of transparency in industrial design. Diffrient found that no matter how many ergonomic features were "designed-in" to task chairs, most users never made any adjustments to their chairs at all. Once a chair was delivered, the user sat it it just as it had arrived from the factory. An adjustment that is never adjusted is not an adjustment at all.

I personally have an Aeron chair. I love my Aeron chair. I've had it for several years. But have I ever adjusted any of its ergonmic settings, save for the height of the armrests? No. I don't have the time - or don't feel like devoting the time - required in the learning curve to making the proper ergonomic adjustments.

By the way, this ubiquitous word, "ergonomics." Did you ever wonder where it came from? Such an odd word. Most of us understand it to represent the science of the interaction between man and machine, but why not orgamechafusion, or some such machination? "Erg" is defined as the smallest discernible unit of work - sort of the subatomic particle, quark, or string of the business or industrial world. The rest is self-explanatory, as its meaning can be deduced from other well used words such as economics. I just thought you should know the derivation of the word, since we all seem to like to throw it around as if we learned it right after "Dada" and "Mama".

Diffrient's "Freedom Chair," has no user adjustable parts - save for the height of the armrests - yet it meets even the most demanding standards of ergonomics. The ergonomic adjustments of the chair operate transparently to the user as the chair automatically adjusts itself to each individual, in each of several possible poses: leaning forward to type, leaning back to think [or nap], etc. Leaning back the user finds that the headrest has automatically positioned itself to cradle the head, removing a significant weight load from the spine. That head of yours weighs a good eight pounds or more; resting it on a proper headrest takes a lot of pressure off of your spine and lower back.

The Freedom chair is a bit pricier than the Aeron Chair, but appears to be well worth the added cost. So am I on my way out to pick up a new Freedom Chair? Not just yet. Besides any penuriousness on my part, I'm still rather fond of my Aeron chair. Also Bill Stumpf really reminds me of my favorite, now deceased, Uncle Fritz. So on irrational emotional grounds alone, I'm attached to my Aeron chair. But Freedom sure is tempting.

World AIDS Day

2003-12-01T22:20:00.000-08:00

December 1st, 2003
30 Million Deaths Worldwide

World AIDS Day 2003

"Whereof what's past is prologue,
what to come, in yours and my discharge."

- The Tempest
William Shakespeare

More information

Gippergate Redux

2003-11-28T09:37:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

He that shall live by the soundbite shall die by the soundbite.

"There you go again."

-Ronald Reagan
1980 Presidential campaign debate
with Jimmy Carter

Full text of the debate

"I'm all confused now."

-Ronald Reagan
1984 Presidential campaign debate
with Walter Mondale

Full text of the debate

Monday, December 1st -[just in time to miss Thanksgiving]- the Showtime cable network is to air "The Reagans," an original network miniseries that Republican conservatives successfully pressured CBS to cancel. See previous post, "C is for Censorship." At the time of the cancellation Viacom, parent company of both networks, promised a subsequent airing on Showtime. It is refreshingly surprising for it to show up so soon. Many believed that the Viacom would silently let the show slip into oblivion.

I was outraged by the expiation of the show from CBS, a network with a long history of repeatedly folding under pressure. I nearly canceled my subscription to its sibling network Showtime in protest. I restrained myself only because of Showtime's history of presenting a significant volume of positive Gay themed programming. [And of course I can hardly wait to find out what happens to Brian and Justin, Michael and Ben, Emmet and Ted, and everyone's favorite, Debbie. Sharon Gless we love you.]

Civility

2003-11-27T22:49:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

Today, Thanksgiving Day, there is much to be thankful for, and much to incite rancor. The grand conflation of life, the good and the bad, the familiar and the foreign, the sacred and the profane, all mixed up together - Abraxas. To process these swirling streams of ambiguity is sometimes too much for the human psyche to bear. Still we try, sisyphean as our efforts may be.

Yesterday afternoon I rushed about, as did many of my fellow human beings, scurrying antlike to complete the tasks that would fulfill any and all requirements of interaction with the outside world for the term of the impending holiday weekend. The Post Office, the bank, the shrink.

Traffic was horrendous. Quoting George Carlin, "Ever notice that anyone going slower than you is an idiot, but anyone going faster is a maniac?" Sarcasm aside, this was eminently so on the streets of Los Angeles, Thanksgiving eve. After having endured the maniacal and the idiotic, I decided I'd had about all the fun I could stand and headed home. I traveled on my favorite "secret" side-street, avoiding the crush of traffic along the major Boulevards. Brake and gas, brake and gas, I made my way through the stop signs, anointing each with a rolling "California stop" as I passed. Approaching one such intersection, I noticed an old man, beard of waistcoat length, cane in hand, hobbling towards the crosswalk.

The moment of decision, frozen stillframe, was upon me. Scuffed wing tip in midair, the old man's foot had not quite yet contacted pavement as he teetered in transition from concrete to macadam. By law of traffic I could rightfully, if not ethically, proceed. But civility held me. I made eye contact, yielding right of way, that he should cross safely. Just as he was about to emerge from the embattlement of my stilled vehicle into the open space of the far side of the crosswalk, a super-sized SUV swerved from behind me and into the opposing lane, passing with a mighty roar and nearly hitting the old man. "Maniac!"

Rants about maniacal drivers are so common as to be remarkably unremarkable. It's tempting to blame popular entertainment -[action movies, interactive games, and the like]- of the type in which celluloid Schwarzeneggers crash through traffic without regard to flesh and bone. But that's the easy way out. Movies and other forms of popular entertainment may sometimes act as societal catalyst, but as such they can do no more than activate the existing social chemistry. Popular entertainment media cannot force anyone to do anything against their will. It can only reveal existing mores.

My personal pet rant is not bad driving, but the subsuming issue of bad manners. I mourn the extinction of civility in our society. I'm not advocate of an Emily Post etiquette, such as careful adherence to protocol in the use of the correct fork and spoon during each of the courses of a formal dinner sans elbows on the table. That sort of thing, while charming at times and laughable at others, is ritual. It has its place, but is on the whole of no real consequence. What concerns me is how poorly we treat each other, how little respect for human dignity we display in daily exchanges with our fellow human beings.

When I enter a public building, as I cross the threshold I turn my head to see if anyone is entering just behind me. If there is someone there, I hold the door. Whether woman, man, child, or alien from another planet [or dimension], I hold the door. I do this because it is civil. I seek nothing in return for this small act of civility, not even a "Thank you." A response is always welcome, but is neither expected nor solicited on my part. This works out well. I feel good in the performance of a small gesture, and the recipient, at the very least, is slightly less inconvenienced in transit, and at best, experiences a momentary sense of platonic connection with another human being. Where I get into trouble is when the roles are reversed. I've slammed, face first, into more than a few doors not held. Mishaps of my mistaken assumption that such small acts of civility are ubiquitous. A sad comment this.

But today, is Thanksgiving. I'm thankful. Even my nephew, who less than a week ago was severely beaten in a random act of violence by an unknown assailant, is thankful. To draw breath is to be thankful for the continuing opportunity to "dive into the plasma pool." To experience the cacophony of life, the trill of its highs, the deep base of its oppressive lows. Abraxas.

And in perfect synchonicity, just as I finish writing this post, I receive an email from an acquaintance in Dublin, Ireland. He is replying to my message, "One of these days I'll make over to Dublin for a visit," a wish I've been expressing for many years. He writes, "David, Dublin will be here waiting for you with a thousand welcomes, the day you decide to come. The key is under the mat."

Perhaps there's hope for civility after all.

Our Lady of Weight Loss

2003-11-26T13:02:00.000-08:00

A Thanksgiving Message from Jouissance

May Atkins be with you this holiday, and may you dwell in the house of lo-carbo the rest of your days... if that's what you want.

Happy Thanksgiving to all from Jouissance.
It's Thanksgiving fer crissakes, live a little!

- Space Cowboy Dave

Quite unexpectedly the following message arrived by providence of divine email at Jouissance, amid numerous other messages of the prophets of penis and breast enlargement. Verily our junk mail folder runneth over with abundance that it be emptied frequently into the trash bin. This message of inspiration and carbohydrates however, we choose instead to commit to the holy sacrament of the Blog. Enjoy.

A Thanksgiving Message from Our Lady of Weight Loss

"May I overstuff the turkey rather than myself.
But, should I succumb, over-indulge, carbo-load, or
drift into a burnt-marshmallow-sweet-potato
sugar-induced coma,
I pray, dear Lady, that I return to my senses
first thing Friday morn,

And NOT set sail on a decade long fat detour.

Amen"

More at Our Lady of Weight Loss

Commodious Reading

2003-11-25T23:50:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

Holiday reading recommendations, just in time for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

As I continue to arduously, but enjoyably work my way through Jamie O'Neil's remarkably enjoyable but challenging novel, "At Swim, Two Boys" I am reminded of dialog from David Hare's screenplay adaptation of Michael Cunningham's novel, "The Hours."

Barbara (Eileen Atkins): I actually tried to read Richard's Novel.

Clarrissa (Meryl Streep): Oh did you? I know, it's not easy.

Barbara smiles not unkindly, at the understatement.

Clarrissa: I know. It did take him ten years to write.

Barbara: Yeah, well I figured. Maybe it just takes another ten to read.

-from the film, "The Hours" (2003)

As thoroughly enthralled as I am by these engaging works of O'Neil, Cunningham, and Hare, I thought that perhaps a recommendation of some lighter Holiday reading was in order. So... where to begin my search for a small, but select catalog of lighter-weight but whorthwhile prose to suggest?

Titles from my my very own bathroom library. That's it! And so you have it, from the shelves above the porcelain. Enjoy.

Everyone Poops
Taro Gumi, Amanda Mayer Stinchecum (translator)

Originally written by Japanese author Taro Gumi to calm the jangled nerves of his young son whilst he endured the rigors of potty-training, "Everyone Poops" is a W.C. classic for all ages. Don't let the publisher's suggested age range of 18 months to 4 years fool you. I know more than a few adults that could benefit from this stimulating volume. Translated by Amanda Mayer Stinchecum [I kid you not], who's other artful works of translation include, "The Gas We Pass," and "The Holes in Your Nose," has barely begun to scratch the surface of this genre. Body horror begone. We all do this stuff; get used to it.

Peter Griffin (Seth McFarlane): I'm looking for some toilet training books.

Salesman: We have the popular "'Everybody Poops", or the less popular "Nobody Poops But You."

Peter Griffin: Well, you see, we're Catholic. . .

Salesman: Ah, then you'll want "You're a Naughty, Naughty Boy, and That's Concentrated Evil Coming Out the Back of You."

-from the animated television series, "Family Guy"

American Film Institute Desk Reference:
The Complete Guide to Everything You Need to Know about the Movies
Melinda Corey, George Ochoa
Introduction by Clint Eastwood

The title really does say it all. Years ago when I was studying acting and film, the only reference of this sort was the considerably drier, "The Filmgoer's Companion," now out of print and unavailable, except for the dusty copy shoved to the back of my book closet. The lushly illustrated, information packed "American Film Institute Desk Reference", produced by AFI (The American Film Institute), is a significant step up. This glossy hardbound volume of over 600 pages, with index, will keep you happily distracted for hours - if necessary - and authoritatively answers burning cinematic questions such as, "What was the name of that Cary Grant movie about a dancing caterpillar?"

Futurama-O-Rama
Matt Groening, et al

"Futurama-O-Rama," the "comic book" version of Futurama - the best animated television series ever to be canceled well before its time, which happens to be the year 3000 - but don't get me on a rant about the FOX Network; that's an entire post unto itself. This delightful "quality-paperback-bound" volume, printed on the pulpy ink-thirsty paper of childhood comic books, brings me back to my future childhood in a way that only a trip through a tear in the space-time-continuum can. If you should happen to fall into a "freezer doodle thingy" this book might just be your best defense against drunken robots from the future. Take my word for it. And be sure not to miss the full-page ads for the "Slug-O-Vac" - removes unsightly, embarrassing brain slugs, "The Clapper Clapper" - why "clap on - clap off" if you don't have to, and Zap Brannigan's call for all patriotic citizens of earth to get DOOPed.

Fry (Billy West): "Who are you people?"

Al Gore (Al Gore): "I'm Al Gore. And these are my vice presidential action rangers. A group of top-nerds whose sole duty it is to prevent disruptions in the space-time continuum."

Fry: I thought your sole duty was to cast the tie-breaking vote in the Senate.

Al Gore: That, and protect the space-time continuum. Read the Constitution!...

Nichelle Nichols (Nichelle Nichols): It's about that rip in space-time that you saw...

Al Gore: If we don't go back there and make the event happen, the entire universe will be destroyed. And as an environmentalist, I'm against that."

-Futurama episode: 20 - "Anthology of Interest I"

The New Yorker Book of Literary Cartoons
Bob Mankoff, editor

Since we're in the realm of witty and intelligent cartoons, I'd be remiss not to mention "The New Yorker Book of Literary Cartoons." One of a series of several collections of cartoons from The New Yorker magazine. Even when I don't have the time to read each monthly issue of the magazine, I always have time to scan, cover to cover, for the cartoons. It doesn't mater if you're the one that explains the humor of the more obscure cartoons to your friends, or if they have to explain them to you. Every so often you should get stumped. If not then you are reading below your level.

Elaine (Julia Louis Dreyfus): Look at this cartoon in the New Yorker, I don't get this.

Jerry (Jerry Seinfeld): I don't either.

Elaine: And you're on the fringe of the humor business.

George (Jason Alexander): That's cute.

Elaine: You got it?

George: No, never mind.

Elaine: Come on, We're two intelligent people here. We can figure this out. Now we got a dog and a cat in an office.

Jerry: It looks like my accountant's office but there's no pets working there.

Elaine: The cat is saying " I've enjoyed reading your E-mail".

George: Maybe it's got something to do with that 42 in the corner?

Elaine: It's a page number.

George: Well, I can't crack this one.

Elaine: Aahh! this has got to be a mistake.

- Seinfeld episode - "The Cartoon"

Passing Time in the Loo
Volume One
Stevens W. Anderson, editor

"Passing Time in the Loo" is a lot like the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, as described in Douglas Adams' "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." Albeit in print form rather than sub-ether tablet, "Passing Time in the Loo" is the compendium of all knowledge in a single volume, or nearly so. [Note "Volume One" in the title, implying a "Volume Two" to come?] All human knowledge, from classical to modern, divided into nine "Library" sections. You might spend the entire day in "the reading room" with this one.

Enjoy!

To buy any of these books, please click any of the links on this page. All purchases made from Amazon by clicking any of the Amazon links - text-links, icons, or Amazon buttons - on any of the pages of this Web site help to support Jouissance. We're not Public Radio - no pledge drives - but we'd like to be.

Tmesis Thesis

2003-11-24T08:26:00.000-08:00

From blogjam.com

"In 1969, Neil Armstrong made history by becoming the first man to walk on the moon, uttering the immortal phrase, "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." Or did he?

Previously suppressed footage discovered by blogjam shows that Armstrong's reaction was a great deal more uninhibited than history suggests, and that a hasty editing job was needed to prepare the astronaut's moment of glory for broadcast.

So here, for the first time, is the unedited NASA film from the triumphant Apollo 11 mission."

Many thanks to Reid Stell of pismire.com for this suggestion.
Click here if you'd like to make suggestions for future posts.

Ich bin ein jelly donut

2003-11-21T23:50:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

I admit it. I'm a linguophile.

For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated with language. My sister Kathleen, shares this passion with me. A linguist and an ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher, she speaks four languages: English [natively], Spanish [as fluently as any native speaker of Mexico], French, German [some], and probably a few other languages she's picked up along the way since last we spoke.

Bonnie: You learned the Portuguese language in 20 minutes?!
George Malley: Not all of it.

from the film, Phenomenon (1996)

Get my sister and me chatting about language, and we can clear the room in no time. The two of us drone on, happily exchanging anecdotes, factoids, and quips about such sexy topics as word derivation, syntax, grammar, and idiomatic expression. Kathleen studied for a time at the University of Mexico City. During her attendance there she had many visitors from the United States. [College students living in nearby foreign countries had best get used to frequent visitors.] Mary, whom my sister had befriended while attending the University of Arizona, joined Kathleen in Mexico City for a week of tourism. Mary had some remedial Spanish language skills, and so felt comfortable venturing out alone on daytime explorations of the city, while my sister attended classes. During one such outing, Mary decided to purchase a pair of pants, very short shorts that at the time - the 1970's - were known as, "Hot Pants." She ventured into a women's clothing shop and approached a salesman, "Usted tiene pantalones caliente?" Nonplused, the salesman fell silent for a moment and then began to laugh, as did all within earshot. Mary waxed quizzical at the odd response. Mary had fallen into the most common trap of the neophyte nonnative speaker, that of the cultural idiom.

As vernacular expressions move from language to language and culture to culture, many do so in untranslated form. For example it is not unusual to see English language "Drug Store" signs in Paris, France. This phenomenon also holds true in reverse: I have lived in Los Angeles for over twenty-six years and have never once referred to it as "The Angels" - although we have our share of both angels and "diablos" as do all cities, large or small. Mary, in her attempt to translate "hot pants" into Spanish had unknowingly asked the salesman if he was horny. Suppressing his laughter as best he could, showing the civility of a gentleman, the salesman overlooked the unfortunate malentendu and directed her to a display of shorts located beneath a sign, printed in English that read, "Hot Pants." It was only later that evening, when she recounted the story to my sister, that her mistake was made clear to her.

Mary, embarrassed as she may have been by the encounter, was certainly in good company. Perhaps the most famous linguistic faux pas ever, is the one committed by President John F. Kennedy during a speech he delivered in West Berlin on June 26, 1963. President Kennedy's words of friendship and diplomacy, "Today, in the world of freedom, the proudest boast is 'Ich bin ein Berliner,'" had been intended to inspire a sense of cooperation and camaraderie between the Eastern Blok and the Western World. Unfortunately, the German language words, inserted into an otherwise English language address had been mistranslated. A "Berliner" is a type of sweet pastry. In effect, due to no fault of his own - rather to that of a translator - the greatest statesman of all time proclaimed to the world, "I am a Jelly Donut." Such errors were rare - all but nonexistent - in the time of JFK, and a respectful German delegation restrained even the slightest of titters, out of well-placed respect and admiration for President Kennedy.

Today unfortunately, our national embarrassment, President George W. Bush utters an incessant stream of malapropisms. His verbal ineptitude is so pervasive that it now goes almost unnoticed. We react to Dubya's frequent fumbling trips of the tongue, with bemused apathy.

A notorious example of international linguistic blunder occurred in 1977 when President Jimmy Carter, during a state visit to Poland, delivered an address that had been translated into the Polish language. In his introductory remarks President Carter had intended to convey his warm sentiments towards the country and people of Poland, embracing them in their nascent emergence from the Cold War shadow of the "Iron Curtain." The original English language text of the President's speech, "As I left America I thought about how much I loved the Polish people," had been debased to a translation that instead conveyed a meaning to the effect of, "When I left America, never to return, I thought how I wanted to go to bed with the Polish people." And you thought language was boring.

Language translation is a tricky business. Those whose business it is, divide the field into three broad categories: Translation, Localization, and Internationalization. The first of these three, translation, is likely to produce "jelly donut" expressions. Localization on the other hand is a far better choice, in that it takes into account cultural differences in conveying meaning from one language to another. Some years ago while working in the computer software industry, I was given the opportunity to name a software product. The name I chose, "System Genie" was subjected to extensive international scrutiny, to be certain that it would not convey some unintended malodorous meaning in another culture. The name was approved, under the advice and consent of native speakers of languages from countries around the world, assuring a smooth integration of the product into the global markeplace. In the checkered history of international marketing, many other product placements could have been described as anything but smooth. See "Bite the Wax Tadpole" for an example of an international product migration of lesser success. [Be sure to also read the "Editor's Note" of corrigendum, clarifying the facts of the story.]

The third category, Internationalization conveys meaning in a single iteration that is understood by people of nearly every culture and language. Documents produced in this manner are generally pictographic in nature. Like the assembly instructions for that new workstation from Ikea® you've been struggling to assemble. Beware of furniture with names like Stökle. Actually, I have purchased many products from Ikea, and shop there regularly.

Most would agree that while automated machine translation of text has greatly improved over the years, nothing beats the human touch of a native speaker. Software publishers offer sophisticated translation products and services that compliment human translation. Both Google and AltaVista provide free access to lighter-weight versions of Web-based technologies that programmatically translate short phrases or even entire web pages on the fly. For instance, you can view the page you are currently reading in German . The translations aren't perfect of course, but hey its free! Just for fun, try taking a sentence or phrase for a spin around the world. Remember the childhood game of telephone? It's a little like that.

For example, the sentence:

"I come to praise Caesar, not to bury him."

English to French to German to Portuguese to Chinese to English, becomes,

"I come, terminal congratulation to caesar, orderly not embedment."

That sounds exactly like the first sentence of the manual that came with my new coffee maker. Have fun, but exercise discretion as to where and how you choose to use these automated translations. Unless you want to go to bed with the Polish people.

Anarchist Agenda

2003-11-20T23:50:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

George Bush sent the expected postcard from London today, "Having a great time; wish you weren't queer." His actual statement was more like, "I will work with congressional leaders and others to do what is legally necessary to defend the sanctity of marriage." This response from Bush to the the Massachusetts high court, which ruled that banning same-sex-couples from marriage is a violation of the State constitution, came as no great surprise to anyone. More saber rattling against the so-called homosexual agenda. Personally, my homosexual agenda is fairly lightweight, having to do with such things as picking up my dry cleaning rather than unraveling the fabric of American society.

Drolleries aside, the real onslaught against American "family values" comes from within the ranks of Mr. Bush's conservative cronies. The arguments made against Gay marriage consistently fall into three broad categories of spurious argument:

Spurious Argument Number One:

"Marriage is a holy state of union between a man and a woman sanctioned by God and ratified by law, ordained for the purpose of procreation."

A primary impetus for the founding of this country was that of religious freedom. Under pre-Revolutionary British rule, there was no provision for separation of church and state. The King had the power to ordain a singular state-sanctioned religion to the exclusion of all others. President Bush repeatedly makes verbal representations of the United States government as defender of the "sacred" bonds of matrimony. This statement is flawed at its core. The Constitution of the United States, in the first sentence of the Bill of Rights, states unambiguously that "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof." Our American government is by its very definition secular. References to God uttered in the pledge of allegiance or printed on our currency has no bearing in this matter -[by the Bible's own account Jesus, as the son and representative of God, "cast out the money changers" from the "house of the lord," so please let's not get into that tired old "In God We Trust" debate]. In America, God is as each of us perceives him - or her - to be, or not to be. This is guaranteed by the United States Constitution, a document I highly recommend reading. I carry my "little red book" with me where ever I go. This is not the "little red book" of Maoist communist teachings, it is a pocket sized printing of the entire text of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States. [Okay, the cover may be more burgundy than red, but you have to allow me some poetic license here.] I strongly suggest that you purchase your own copy, available from the "Cato Institute." Carry it with you at all times; you never known when you might need it in the current political climate of so-called "patriot act" legislation.

Proclamations by the President regarding God and religion and inforcement of such by U.S. law, as are Mr. Bush's vows to promote the notion of marriage as "sacred" [vested in religious rather than secular authority] under the laws of the United States, is in direct contradiction to the vow he took upon inauguration to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution. Dereliction of the Presidential oath of office might well be construed as treasonous. Repeated violation of his oath might be considered grounds for impeachment and removal from office. Speaking ideologically, let us not forget that under President Bush's executive orders our nation has committed significant resources and sacrificed countless lives, with the expressed intent of bringing American-style democracy to the Middle East, a democracy that by precept, keeps separate the powers of church and state. Yet at home our President promotes policies which support a diametrically opposite viewpoint.

As for the issue of procreation and the welfare of children raised within households of same-sex unions: those who state false, skewed, or manufactured so-called psychological statistics that purport to show the superiority of the heterosexual household as a child rearing environment are sadly mistaken, mislead, or outright liars. All that is required of most heterosexual couples to produce offspring is a physical act of sexual intercourse and conception. Legions of adult children of abusive heterosexual households can rightfully attest to the fact that parenting and being a parent are two very distinct realities. Same-sex partners that desire children must take extraordinary steps to accomplish that goal. Adoption is a long and arduous, often unproductive process for homosexual couples, as is artificial insemination, and even surrogate childbirth. Heterosexual consummation that leads to childbirth is, not always but, sometimes the product of thoughtless accidental conception. "Oh my God, I'm pregnant." In contradistinction the introduction of a child into the household of a same-sex union is always a conscious act of unselfish love and caring that requires significant self-sacrifice on the part of the Gay parents. Children raised by same-sex couples, generally feel a great sense of parental love and security, typically grow up to be well adjusted adults, exhibit confidence in facing the adversities of adulthood, and are generally possessed of an accepting and unbiased view of the world. This is not conjecture. This is scientifically established psychological fact.

Spurious Argument Number Two:

"Legalizing same-sex-marriage will destabilize American society and the rule of law."

The fallacy of this argument needs little explanation. The legalization of same-sex-marriage is an act of inclusion rather than one of exclusion. Detractors of Gay marriage, in making their assertions, often cite a centuries-old societal structure in which the rights and freedoms of the individual form the smallest of sub-components that make up the building blocks of family units, from whence the structure of society and the rule of law are built. It is counterintuitive to suggest that increasing the nucleation of individuals into family units would drive society towards a state of destabilization. Quite the opposite is true. By providing a greater number of ratified marriages, the legalization of Gay matrimony increases the number of the building blocks with which we may seek to repair, reinforce, rebuild, and expand our society. Conversely, denying such unions promotes fragmentation, weakening society as a whole. Banning or failing to legally ratify same-sex marriage serves the goals of anarchy not civilization, entropy not stability.

Spurious Argument Number Three:

"Homosexuals have chosen their sexual orientation, and are therefore not due the protections afforded other groups such as those delineated along racial lines."

It is time that those who would quote so-called scientific fact move into the twenty-first century with the rest of us. The jury is in on demarcation of race based on genetic profiling. Race, as such does not exist. Studies of mitochondrial DNA have proven inarguably that all humans, Caucasian, Black, Asian, Hispanic, and all those of the other categories of race I fail to mention here, are descendent from a single gene pool of African origin. This has been established in the laboratory through the sciences of microscopy and in the field through the findings of archaeological science. In purely scientific terms, race does not exist. Does this mean then the civil rights legislation brought into law, through the arduous, indefatigable effort and unimaginable sacrifice of many, in the late 1960's and early 1970's is superfluous? Of course not. The concept of race, while bearing no merit in science is, a social phenomenon that is very real in this country. We pretend to live in a color blind society. In reality our society is often one that instead turns a blind eye to the injustice of unfair discrimination. Great strides have been made in the advancement of equal opportunityin this country, albeit not ubiquitously so. But true equality of opportunity is not to be judged solely on the parity of avenues of advancement, but must also account for decades of oppression resulting in a retardation of achievement that is inherited generationally. It's not just a matter of being given an opportunity to compete, it is also where you start out on the playing field. More on this subject in subsequent posts.

Ethnic groups that can be delineated by visually discernible characteristics and are rooted in cluture are established by birth. Members of an ethnic group are born into it, absorb its culture, and generally have pride in their ethic background, but they do not choose their ethnicity. It chooses them. Some whose features are not easily identified as being of their own ethnic group can "pass" as a member of another ethnic group, and may choose to do so in order to lessen entrenched social stigma that might otherwise retard their advancement in career and society as a whole. It is a sad statement, not about the individual, but about society that this is sometimes a pragmatic necessity. In spite of advances in social reform, our society says - in deed if not always in word, "Be white, be male, and be heterosexual if you seek untrameled advancement." In some cases it may be possible, and in fact necessary, for an individual to conceal all three of these factors - including gender - in order to seek and attain worldly achievement.

While the science of why some people are born homosexual is not entirely understood, there are strong scientific indicators of a likely physiological basis. Homosexuality may well be the birth control method of the species. It has been noted in numerous scientific studies that as population density increases, in both humans and animals, so does the incidence of homosexuality. Today's swollen human population has reached a level that brings us ever nearer to the brink of extinction as a species, a phenomenon antipodal to that of the biblical era.

It has been suggested by some opponents of the Gay community that homosexuality is a choice. This is simply not the case. Simple logic affirms the fallacy of the "choice" argument. From birth our society bombards us with messages of heterosexuality. Even the most open and progressive household is rife with messages that promote a heterosexual agenda. As a child begins to reach puberty, a time during which awareness of sexuality begins to emerge, the messages of the heterosexual hegemony from peers and authority figures become even stronger. Many a child has been battered in the schoolyard for little more than "appearing" to be Gay. [The instigatory affectation or attribute is usually one of effeminacy. But homosexuals are not inherently effeminate. The conflation of the two is a common misconception based in sociology and psychology of a complexity beyond the limited scope of this post.] And as the individual continues to mature, the societal messages often become even more barbarous and insidious. The tragic demise of college student Matthew Shepard is a poignant case in point.

In general it is human a nature for individuals to assume the path of least resistance. Truly courageous individualism is so rare that we reserve a special term for such people: heroes. It is clear that if homosexuality were a choice, very few would make that choice. But in fact, at the very least, ten percent of the human population is homosexual - probably more. We in the Gay community are not also without our heroes, those who stand visibly at the front of our group, at personal risk, in our defense. But in general we are not members of the Gay community because we have chosen to do so as an act of civil disobedience -[several U.S. States still maintain sodomy laws that specifically prohibit homosexuality. Some of these laws apply to any non-procreative sexual activity, be it homosexual or heterosexual.]

We are Gay because we are Gay. We are no less a minority group in peril of having our civil rights abridged than is any other delineated sub-group of the general population. If a constitutional amendment were proposed to prohibit marriage between non-Caucasions a hue and cry like none heard before would arise. Yet when House Majority Leader Tom DeLay, Texas Republican, supports "...a constitutional amendment banning Gay marriage," it incites little comment among his peers. It is time to end this absurdity. There is no valid argument for banning Gay marriage. The only purpose of such a ban is the continued perpetration of insidious discrimination and lies, and disservice to the Gay community and society at large.

Myelin Sheath

2003-11-19T23:50:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

In 1998, as many were preparing to enter a self-induced, media-fed state of hysteria over the dreaded Y2K bug, I was far too lost in the depths of sorrow to care all that much about the havoc expected of two mislaid digits of code. In April of that year Katie, my beloved dog, faithful companion of nearly fifteen years, had passed away. Not long after, my dear friend Ellen was diagnosed with an illness I had never heard of before, Guillain-Barré syndrome. When, upon being admitted to the hospital, she had assured me that she was of the belief, and had every assurance from her doctor, that she would recover fully in a matter of months, a year at most, I was calmed. Ninety percent of those afflicted with Guillan-Barré syndrome recover, most of them completely, although often requiring extended physical therapy to regain a fully robust state of health. This Guillain-Barré syndrome, while indeed life threatening had a ninety percent survival rate. Myself having survived AIDS, an illness that had been calculated to have a 100 percent mortality rate, I had every reason to believe that Ellen, given such favorable odds, would survive to reclaim vibrant health. Besides, I was already too numbed by shock and grief over Katie's death - a numbness I had set about accelerating through the self-medication of alcohol and drugs - to believe otherwise.

Physicians, Georges Guillan and Jean-Alexandre Barré discovered the eponymous illness while treating French soldiers during World War One. Their patients exhibited symptoms of paralysis similar to those of Polio, but uncharacteristically symmetrical in presentation. The paralysis of Polio is typically asymmetrical, affecting one side of the body more than the other, whereas these newly observed symptoms of weakness and loss of muscle control manifested evenly. At first thought to be the result of some new pathogen or perhaps a mutation of the Polio virus, the illness was eventually identified as a type of autoimmune disorder. Triggered by transient infection, Guillan-Barré syndrome causes the immune system to over-respond. In doing so it loses a sense of self/not-self and attacks the myelin sheath that surrounds the many nerves that carry signals from brain to muscle. The malady is generally self-retracting, requiring treatment not so much for the illness itself, but rather in support of the vital muscle driven life functions such as respiration and circulation that are collaterally affected. Intubation in the application of artificial respiration is often required, because the stream of autonomic signals that cause the intercostal muscles to expand and contract in the process of breathing typically becomes disrupted during the worst stages of the illness.

The myelin sheath that surrounds the nerve tissue serves as both insulation and catalyst, as it protects the vulnerable nerve fibers and amplifies the signals they carry. In most instances of Guillan-Barré syndrome, as the self-induced attack subsides, the myelin sheath repairs itself and most if not all nerve function lost in the illness is restored, as is the health of the patient.

My friend Ellen was not among those in the ninety percent survival group. She passed away while being intubated, most likely succumbing to asphyxiation or cardiac arrest, or both. In the distracted, disturbed state of my own life in the days preceding Ellen's passing, I was not as attentive to her as I wish I had been. Ellen was one of the most compassionate, ethical, and loving people I have ever known. I once told her, some years before her illness, how much I admired her. She was utterly surprised that I would say such a thing. As is so of most truly humane souls, she was unaware of or underestimated her own humanity and kindness. It was not something she did, it was something she was.

The universe, full of ever-expanding dark matter, appears to be a cold and unfeeling place. Perhaps there is a warm center of light beyond what we can experience directly in this life. As an avowed hopeful agnostic, I know that the most important thing I know is that I don't know. But one thing I do know is this. In the caustic, barbaric, raging torrent of this life, upstream through which we swim, we are each other's myelin sheaths. We perceive hunger so to seek food. We perceive thirst so to seek water. We perceive sexual longing so to seek sensual gratification. We perceive cold so to seek warmth. And most importantly we perceive loneliness so to seek the succor of human companionship and mutual affection. Without the myelin sheaths of each other, the bleakness of the world would tear from our breast that which makes us human.

I'll not forget Ellen's kindness in life nor the lesson she imparted to me in death.

Buffett Buffet

2003-11-18T21:56:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

"Risk comes from
not knowing what you're doing."

-Warren Buffett
as quoted in the "News Sentinel"
Knoxville, TN

"Wasting away again in Margaritaville,
Searching for my lost shaker of salt..."

-Jimmy Buffett
as quoted in
"Margaritaville"

The other week Rick and I were wandering aimlessly through the aisles of our neighborhood Target store. I had not been inside a Target in about ten years, but there we were; Rick had seen an advertisement for a portable DVD player on sale at a reduced price. This is an item he had been lusting after for some time but had resisted due to the inordinately high price. Both of us have wearied, over the years, of paying off R&D (Research and Development) costs by purchasing each new gizmo as soon as it hit the consumer shelves - the peril of being an "early adopter," a state of existentialist consumerism [or consumerist existentialism; chicken or egg?]. The Technology Adoption Lifecycle, divides the consumer products market into a continuum of five such states: innovators (will buy even the most ill-conceived, buggy tech crap so long as it is new, new, new), early adopters (glutinous, sweaty palmed, consumers, with credit cards poised and ready for swiping), early majority (okay, so they're not the first on the block to own the new super-widget, at least the stuff they do own didn't max out the Visa® Card, and actually works), late majority (the last on the block to own the super-widget - bought it on sale at Target), and finally the laggards (what's a super-widget?).

On the way to the home electronics section - a journey that at Target requires a long walk past Cocoa Pebbles®, scented candles, books, magazines, and music CDs - I happened to notice a CD entitled, "Jimmy Buffett's Greatest Hits." This perplexed me. I couldn't think of a Jimmy Buffett hit besides the singular, "(Wasting away again in) Margaritaville." Hit, but that was about it. Intrigued. I picked up the CD and flipped it over to read the track listing. "Oh yeah, 'Cheeseburger in Paradise.'" Not that I remembered the song, but I did recall the legal ruckus over two "old ladies" - as I heard the story - that opened a restaurant in Maui, of the same name. Some eight years after founding their "Cheeseburger in Paradise" restaurant, they found themselves staring down the business end of a double-barreled lawsuit brought against them by Jimmy Buffett. According to eOnline.com however, the two entrepreneurs "...had the foresight to protect themselves with a 'service mark' from the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office in 1993, giving them legal protection to use 'Cheeseburger in Paradise' in the restaurant industry."

One hit, one lawsuit, and nothing else I recognized. The rest of the "greatest hits" were completely unknown to me. I quickly lost interest in the CD and abandoned it when the new, new, new "Simpsons®, Hit and Run'" interactive game for XBox® caught my eye.

"'Hit and Run'... must have 'Hit and Run.'"

A little advice: Do not drive or operate heavy machinery immediately after playing "Hit and Run." I found myself driving like a maniac after playing this game. The points you get for knocking things over in the "real" world are not the kind of points you want to accumulate. Fun game though, and this coming from someone who doesn't even like "computer games".

Politics As Usual

2003-11-17T23:50:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

Today Arnold Schwarzenegger was sworn in as California's 38th Governor, the first ever in State history to replace a sitting Governor in a recall election. Schwarzenegger delivered his post-inaugural address from the steps of the State Capitol building. An address which included quotes from President John F. Kennedy, Ronald Reagan, and the founding fathers of the United States. His speechwriters also tossed in references to earthquakes, fires, floods, "Soviet tanks rolling through the streets," and God, just to be sure to mine every possible sound-bite diversion. Arnold droned as only he can, "I took this oath [of office] to serve you. To those who have no power, to those who have dropped out - too weary or disappointed with politics as usual - I took the oath to serve you. ...I will not forget my oath and I will not forget you." [Had the wardrobe and prop departments really been on the mark, Arnold would have been costumed with a full-length anodized-copper gown, book, and torch.]

After promising to "not forget" the "weary or disappointed," the new Governor seemed to suffer an immediate memory lapse, stating "As soon as I go inside the Capitol behind me, I will sign my first order as governor. I will sign Executive Order No. 1 - which will repeal the 300 percent increase in the car tax." The assemblage erupted into a roar of cheers and applause. What Arnold failed to mention is that the car tax increase, put into place under existing provisions of California law by Governor Gray Davis, applies only to vehicles with a purchase price of $20,000. [twenty-thousand dollars] or greater, that its repeal would create a $4,000,000,000 [four-billion dollar] sinkhole in California's already hemorrhaging treasury, and that this shortfall would most likely "trickle-down" -[to use a term popularized by the Ronald Reagan administration, since reaching across the aisle for quotes appears to be the hack du jour ]- to municipal government agencies, further straining already cash-strapped Police, Fire Department, and other local services.

Let's be clear about what "Executive Order No. 1" really represents. A $20,000. car is NOT basic transportation. It is a luxury car. Governor Schwarzenegger knows a bit about luxury vehicles, being the proud owner of no less than FIVE Hummers himself -[probably more by now]. The hotly contested car tax increase provided fiscal relief by taxing only those who can afford it - no one NEEDS a luxury car - so as to provide vital services for all Californians, but especially for "... those who have no power, to those who have dropped out - too weary or disappointed," those who one could reasonably assume are not to be found tooling around California in their Hummers. "Executive Order No. 1" is Robin Hood in reverse, AKA "politics as usual."

After repeatedly throwing catch phrases such as "it's hasta la vista, baby" at Davis and his administration during the recall campaign smarmy Schwarzenegger now thanks Governor Davis for his cordiality and cooperation in a smooth transition of power, and asks that as Californians we all put our differences aside and work together. Not to sound partisan in the face of such blithe nonpartisan rhetoric, but every time I hear that sentence uttered by a Republican, a chill runs up my backside.

I heard this same rhetoric after the Nixon versus McGovern election - and then watched as the Watergate scandal of the Nixon administration nearly ripped the country apart. I've also heard it more recently after the Bush versus Gore election, when we were to pull together as a nation after a trying Presidential campaign in which the loser was the victor - Bush won by electoral vote, but trailed by at least 500,000 in the actual popular vote. I then watched as the Bush administration, plunged our nation into the "new Vietnam War" of Iraq, citing a number of U.N. resolutions as premise while acting against the will of the United Nations.

When President Bill Clinton sought to bring the country back together after winning election and then reelection during one of the most economically prosperous periods in American history, the Republican opposition stopped at nothing in their eight-year campaign against the Clinton White House. When the so-called "Whitewater" investigation proved fruitless, the conservative agenda pressed forward into Bill Clinton's personal life, finally snaring him over a private sex act between consenting adults, ultimately forcing an [unsuccessful] impeachment trial.

I'm old enough to remember the last days of the Nixon administration - I was in High School at the time. Nixon blatantly and openly defied Federal court orders, and was implicated in or allegedly committed a list of misdeeds and crimes the length and breadth of which we may never fully be informed. I clearly recall talk of impeachment being cited by Republicans and others as far too radical a measure, that impeaching Richard M. Nixon might do irreparable harm to the country. Nixon was allowed to resign and was subsequently pardoned for any and all crimes in office by his replacement, Republican, Gerald Ford. We were to put our differences aside, to forget and to forgive, to work together. Apparently this credo holds true only for Republican administrations. When Bill Clinton is backed into a corner and driven to perjury over a private act of marital infidelity, apparently a hastily staged impeachment trial is in order. And when a small percentage of the California electorate tires of Governor Gray Davis -[completely innocent of malice or illegal acts in office]- a recall election is apparently de rigueur. And once again we're all to pull together, united in support of Governor HumVee.

I love the State of California, as I love America, with all my heart. I love them both like a parent loves a child. I am willing to speak sharply when my children are lead astray by inappropriate influences. I was born in Nebraska and grew up in Arizona. Midwest cum Southwest, you can't get much more "American heartland" than that. I have been proud to call myself a Californian since moving to Los Angeles in 1974, but today, inauguration day -[at the risk of being "Dixie-Chicked"]- I must say, I find it embarrassing.

Mom Finds Out About Blog

2003-11-14T05:10:00.000-08:00

"MINNEAPOLIS, MN - In a turn of events the 30-year-old characterized as 'horrifying,' Kevin Widmar announced Tuesday that his mother Lillian has discovered his weblog.

'Apparently, Mom typed [Widmar's employer] Dean Healthcare into Google along with my name and, lo and behold, PlanetKevin popped up,' Widmar said.

...Widmar mentally raced through the contents of his blog. He immediately thought of several dozen posts in which he mentioned drinking, drug use, casual sex, and other behavior likely to alarm his mother."

- The Onion (November 12, 2003)

More at: http://www.theonion.com/3944/news3.html

Stockholm Calling

2003-11-13T23:50:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

What secrets lie shrouded in the Swedish mist? Is there something ominous lurking behind the peaceful facade of Stockholm? No, actually Sweden's secrets according to the official Web site of Swedish tourism include Crayfish and Snaps, the world's strongest man: Magnus Samuelsson -[take that Arnold!], magnificent examples of Old-world architecture, and ABBA! "...Abba has sold over 350 million records. Statistically that would mean that every citizen of EU owns an Abba record." - (Source: Swedish Travel and Tourism Council).

What you may or may not have already surmised however is that Sweden may also perhaps be the most "modern" of countries in all the world, far surpassing the United States and other presumed bastions of modernity. This, according to data collected and geographically plotted at Princeton University and -[as reported in Scientific American (November 14th, 2003) in an article by Rodger Doyle]- at the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor by political scientists Ronald Inglehart and Wayne E. Baker.

What is modernity? The referenced studies used to define and specify modernity as it exists in the world today, plot globally collected data pertaining to values of of secular (rational) thought against those of traditional (dogmatic) along the y-axis, and values which emphasize security and group survival (societal institutionalism) against those that promote self-expression and individualism along the x-axis, aggregating the data from individual countries into nine cultural groups. The resultant mapping of data can be viewed as four quadrants, divided by the x and y axes. The correlative balancing of these factors presents a picture of modernity. The y-axis, tradition versus dogma, describes a degree of seminal and critical thought, unfettered by predisposition, and as Doyle notes in Scientific American the x-axis depicts, "...survival versus self-expression [values which derive] from questions about physical security, trust in other people, gender roles, and personal happiness. Self-expression, almost by definition, implies freedom from extreme need."

Countries located in the upper-right quadrant are thought to be the most modern. While the United States falls near the most favorable region of data mapping, Sweden is the clear winner - with Norway and the Netherlands as close contenders, taking the silver and bronze. In this contest, along with most English-speaking countries -[sorry Canada; I'm still a big fan of Vancouver, B.C.]- the U.S. doesn't even place. In the most antipodal position to that of modernity we find much of the middle-east, a region that our United States Government representing Americans, such poorly ranked contestants as we are -[although not quite as dismally so]- purport to reform. Well, I suppose a methadone addict might be able to rehabilitate a Heroin addict. I would imagine however that this would require a somewhat contrite attitude, rather than that of hubris so ubiquitously prevalent.

So here's how I see it, moving away from the undesirable lower-right quadrant in a clockwise arc, avoiding the tumultuous former Soviet bloc and the repressive regime of mainland China, the choices are: Tokyo, Berlin, Stockholm, or Amsterdam. Hmmm... Amsterdam doesn't sound bad. Not bad at all...

"All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go,
I'm standin' here, outside your door...

...the dawn is breakin', it's early morn,
Taxi's waitin', he's blowin' his horn...

I'm leavin' on a jet plane...

Don't know when I'll be back again..."

Leavin' on a Jet Plane
Popularized by Peter, Paul, and Mary
Written by John Denver

Actually I probably should have closed with an ABBA song - even at the risk of incurring the wrath of Bernadette, as portrayed by Terrence Stamp in the film The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994).

C is for Censorship

2003-11-12T23:50:00.000-08:00

While George W. Bush complains about the filtering of news by the mainstream media, having indicated that he rarely watches or listens to news broadcasts preferring to get his own brand of filtered news from his so-called advisors -[it's the "Condi News Network" only the news you want to hear anytime you want to hear it]- CBS scurries to cover the bad PR over the abrupt cancellation of its two-part miniseries "The Reagans," scrapped at the last minute reportedly under pressure from conservative political forces. As reported in The Week magazine (November 14th, 2003), "Republicans said the two-part saga... was a smear on the former president and his wife. In one scene, Nancy Reagan urged her husband to support AIDS research, and he replied, "They that live in sin shall die in sin."

Ronald Reagan did in fact serve out the entirety of his presidency without even once so much as uttering the word AIDS in public, a time during which the disease was sweeping the nation, hitting the Gay community hardest of all. Ronny may not have expressed to "mommy" -[as he was known to refer to his wife, Nancy in private; if we're going to start shouting "pervert!" how sick is that?]- his feelings about the AIDS epidemic in those exact words -[they were probably for more pejorative]- but his record of silence and inaction stands as a basis for inclusion of such dialog. As noted by msnbc.com contributor Michael Ventre, "...this wasn't intended as a documentary. It wasn't a segment of '60 Minutes.' It was a fictionalized dramatization of the life story of a controversial world leader. CBS, or any network or studio, does not have an obligation to adhere to historical fact when developing such a project. All it really needs to do is capture the spirit of the truth." The CBS statement, "We believe it does not present a balanced portrayal of the Reagans for CBS and its audience," just doesn't stand up. As apparently neither did CBS when the pressure was on.

This project was complete and ready to broadcast, advertising dollars in the bank, and promotional spots on the air when CBS caved to pressure and pulled it. Why would CBS take such action? Why would they voluntarily assume such a financial hit, let alone endure the credibility damage. Bill Moyers notes on the PBS broadcast "NOW with Bill Moyers" (November 7, 2003), expressing a degree of disbelief that, "CBS says they're shocked that anybody would suggest they did this because they want the White House, the Congress and the FCC to approve their request to get bigger, to buy more stations."

CBS has certainly caved to pressure in the past, making bad decisions that seemingly had nothing to do with high standards or ethical sensibilities. The film, "The Insider" (1999) offers a dramatic portrayal of the mishandling of the "60 Minutes" segment about tobacco industry whistle-blower Jeffrey Wigand, that seriously damaged the reputation of the long running CBS series and knocked Mike Wallace down a peg or two [or three].

All the more revolting to watch Wallace pontificate about the credibility of CBS news in a pre-taped appearance on the network's sickeningly self-congratulatory television special, "CBS at 75." Wallace would have done far better to, as his character as portrayed in the film by Christopher Plummer bemoaned, "spend the end of [his] days wandering in the wilderness of National Public Radio," with his dignity intact. And yes, be it noted that "The Insider" is indeed a dramatization, but not without it's own insiders, providing more than a few of the intimate details of the debacle for adaptation into screenplay format. It seems that the story behind the story of "The Reagans" may also not be without its own insiders. According to The Week magazine, "Network executives tried to salvage the miniseries by editing it 'with a machete,' [an unnamed] source told Newsweek."

But reportedly, unable to satisfy they who would be monarchy, CBS pulled the plug on Reagan, just as the man himself once did on a generation plagued by AIDS. CBS has licensed the miniseries for eventual release - perhaps - on its sibling, cable channel Showtime, owned by parent broadcasting leviathan Viacom which as notes Bill Moyers,"...owns a galaxy of media properties [and] has billions of dollars resting on whether a White House, Congress, and FCC controlled by Republicans allow it to grow even bigger." Eric Boehlert who has written extensively about politics and media for salon.com and before that for Billboard Magazine and Rolling Stone, Joined Moyers on the November 7th broadcast of NOW, which included the following:

"Moyers: ...Nobody, particularly Republicans, complained that CNN ran a flattering documentary and recently Showtime ran a docudrama about this George W. Bush and portrayed him as the hero of 9/11. Nobody complained then. What does that say to you?

Boehlert: Well, it says... if the portrayal is heroic, all bets are off and particularly the portrayals of a heroic Republican. I mean, that Showtime movie was really... a piece of work. ...it was written by ...an avowed... Republican Bush backer.... He was having trouble with ...the screenplay, so Karl Rove invited him to the White House. He had a 60-minute sitdown with the President who basically said, "Here's how it happened on that day." And people who watched it who pay attention who have studied what happened on that day and the days after sort of laughed. I mean, this is not what happened... they did not show President Bush reading to elementary students for 30 minutes after the second plane hit. They did show the Bush White House... obsessed with Al Qaeda and terrorism from the day they came into office which is not true. There's no basis on that, in fact, to the opposite."

Once again, money not taste or "standards and practice" have caused the CBS eye to blink as it has done so consistently whenever the pressure is on. Tom Smothers, appearing with his brother Dick Smothers on the CBS anniversary special engaged in some very light weight sparing with his former adversarial employer, the network that canceled the highly popular but politically controversial "Smother's Brothers Comedy Hour." I suppose one has to chalk it up to the healing properties of time -[as expressed in the caption of a recent cartoon in "The New Yorker" magazine which read, "Tragedy plus time equals comedy."]- but I remember harsher words from Tommy on the subject. Paraphrasing repartee between Tom Smothers and Johnny Carson some years ago during his appearance on NBC's "The Tonight Show":

Tommy: The "C" in CBS stands for censorship.

Johnny: All three major networks have a "C" in the name.

Tommy: Yeah, but with CBS the "C" comes first.

In the meantime, the History Channel of the A&E Television Networks - a joint venture of the Hearst Corporation (37.5%; ABC, Inc., 37.5%; and NBC, 25%) - airs as planned its November 16th presentation of "JFK, A Presidency Revealed," rife with personal details about John F. Kennedy's life during his all too brief stay in the White House. I imagine the Republicans won't be clamoring to get this project scrapped.

PC Macro Magic

2003-11-11T21:21:00.000-08:00

As reported by Genre Magazine (November 2003), a "Letter to the Editor" published in Gay City News (September 11, 2003).

From a letter dated September 3, 2003.

"To the Editor:

I am writing to express my outrage at the discriminatory language that is used in your newspaper to refer to our community.

Though it was a good policy to change 'gay' and 'gay and lesbian' and then to 'LGBT' in every instance - and I applaud you for that - I believe that LGBT is still too limited and exclusionary.

I am offended by that.

To embrace the many people in our community who are being left out in the cold, I suggest the following term: 'gay/lesbian/queer/questioning/bisexual/ transgendered/men who have sex with men/people who don't like labels/gay men with wives/leather fetish community,' which can be abbreviated 'GLQQBTMWHSWMPWDLLGM-WWLFC.'

This term is not cumbersome and, in my experience, works well in conversation. For example: 'Do your parents know you're GLQQBTMWHSWMPWDLLGM-WWLFC?'

To be safe, I have programmed a macro on my keyboard so that, whenever 1 type g-a-y-space bar, it is automatically changed to GLQQBTMWHSWMPWDLLGM-WWLFC.

Your newspaper should urgently adopt the same policy."

- Gerard Samuel
New York City

Obsession

2003-11-10T16:21:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

CAUTION: This post contains content that some non-technical readers may find disturbing. I promise to take off my "geek hat" with the very next post. The technically inclined may read on. Non-geeks are advised to, "Run away, run away!"

Do not look directly into the XHTML without appropriate eyewear, and sensible shoes.

I spent the better part of the weekend - commencing midday on Friday - bringing Jouissance to 100% XHTML 1.0 code compliance. I worked through the night and well into the daylight hours -[a dangerous thing for a Nosferati; thank goodness for "blackout blinds"]. With the sound track from the film "Lost in Translation" playing in a continuous loop, I edited over 2,000 lines of HTML source code. Rick asked me to articulate what being "XHTML compliant" means, and what this would do for me, us, etc. From his point of view there were few, if any observable changes -[certainly nothing proportionate to a 72-hour coding marathon]- with the exception of some minor layout changes and some new graphics -[one of them a click-through button for the Jouissance store; more on that soon].

I was not able to adequately communicate the specifics of the underlying technical changes nor the dire need for these improvements that had kept me working day-after-day, nearly nonstop -[okay, we did take out some time to see "Alien, the Director's Cut" at the Cinerama Dome on Saturday evening, and I did sleep some this weekend - but only just a bit, and under duress. More on "Alien, the Director's cut" in forthcoming posts. I've built quite a back log - backblog? - during the code-a-thon].

Jouissance is now RSS syndicated for distribution via various newsreaders and RSS services, such as Syndic8 for example. Strict code compliance helps to facilitate the republication of Jouissance syndicated content. Click the XHTML button that appears near the bottom of the right column in each Blog page, to view an official real-time W3C XHTML 1.0 "strict" compliance verification.

To celebrate the new improved XHTML Jouissance I colored my hair JET BLACK. Really. [Web-cam photo coming soon.]

How's that, obsession AND compulsion. Woo-hoo

explore

2003-11-07T02:29:00.000-08:00

12WORDS4YEAR03

november 03

explore

"Shed the cocoon and take to the road. Develop an Indiana Jones complex. Order the haggis. Watch subtitles. Listen to Rap. Hang glide. Go Blonde. Do Tequila. Read Ulysses. Explore: it's aerobics for the mind."

Sweetheart Deal

2003-11-06T07:36:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

Hey, I'm learning magic! Really. I'm studying Blaine-style "street magic," but without the Lucite-boxed caloric-deprived claustrophobia and jeering from Londoners. I've never been much of a card-game player, so the first few tricks I'm learning that require me to work with playing cards are forcing me to become more familiar with the ol' deck of fifty-two. More on my budding magic vocation as it progresses. But no card trick I'll ever learn could be even half as stupefying as the tricks with which the Bush Administration continues to fool a large percentage of the American public.

Fortunately, if the polls speak truthfully, each day fewer are deceived by the smoke and mirrors that conceal the perfidy and sweetheart deals of President Bush Inc. [It seems as though hardly anyone remembers this, but one of George W. Bush's campaign slogans called for government to be run like a corporation. Post Enron, et al we don't hear much talk like that from George and the gang.]

As George Bush moves Condolezza [in for the kill] into Iraq, let's take a quick look at "Condy's" [as Mr. Bush has publicly referred to Ms. Rice] own sweetheart dealings -[never mind the fact that Chevron named an oil tanker in her honor, quietly changing its name after she was appointed to be White House advisor - a job title that, ever since the days of the Nixon Administration, always seems to have a nefarious ring to it.]

From "The War Profiteers Card Deck" Web site:

"Condoleezza shows up in all the right places: State Department, Rand Corporation, Hoover Institute, Strategic Nuclear Policy advisor to the Joint Chiefs, Chevron and Transamerica Corp. boardrooms...

Her biography verily glows. But we'll leave that for you to look into. What's important here is her corporate connections: She was a Chevron Director from 1991 until January 15, 2001 when she was transferred by President George Bush Jr. to National Security Adviser."

More at http://www.warprofiteers.com/cards/hearts/three.html

While you're checking up on Condy, visit the other "sweethearts" profiled on this site where you can read interesting résumé tidbits on such notables as Dick Cheney and the rest of the gang. I heard Donny Rumsfeld, former Nixon advisor, is a really fun date!

Naked Beatles

2003-11-05T23:50:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

Meet the Naked Beatles! Not John and Yoko this time, although all these years later I remain a fan of the duo even if John is still with us only in spirit. I'm still enraptured by the "Bed In" and still delightfully haunted by the dialog that yet rings my ears from the BBC documentary, The World of John and Yoko:

" Yoko: Fortunately, erm, I'm in love with you.
John: Unfortunately, I'm in love with you too.
Yoko: But in the end I think we agree.
John: Fortunately, we don't know.
Yoko: Unfortunately, we think we know.
John: But in the end we'll find out.
Yoko: Unfortunately...
John: No - Fortunately.
Yoko: Yes fortunately, erm, fortunately, er, I think I'm sleepy enough tonight to go to sleep.
John: Unfortunately, we'll never sleep with all this going on.
Yoko: In the end, we'll have a nice dream.
John: Fortunately that's possible."

Sorry for the digression, but I just love that piece.

This time though it's the Beatles' music that's getting naked, not any of the Beatles themselves [dang]. To be released on November 18th, 2003, "Let It Be... NAKED" is the music CD equivalent of a "Director's Cut" DVD. According to an article by Augustin Sedgewick and Jon Harris in "Rolling Stone" (September 18th,2003), "...the album does away with the orchestration added by legendary producer Phil Spector and restores Paul McCartney's 'back to basics' concept that originally underpinned the project."

"The Week" magazine (November 7th, 2003) notes that this new remix of the Beatles so-called "swan-song" album, originally released May 8, 1970, "...captures [the Beatles'] scaled back ambitions.." for the recording session which "...was intended as a return to their rock roots." Spector remixed the 1970 release with lavish orchestration that, according to Sedgewick and Harris in their "Rolling Stone" article and as reported in "The Week" has, "always been a source of irritation to Paul McCartney."

The new release omits two tracks from the original - "Dig It" and "Maggie Mae" - while adding new material - vocal dialogs from the recording sessions themselves and a new track "Don't Let Me Down." For any enduring Beatles fan - like me - this is one to wait for impatiently, if need be in front of Virgin Megastore on the 18th, or better yet one to put on "pre-order" at Amazon. I think I'll do that right now: click, click.

Automata

2003-11-04T23:50:00.001-08:00

By David Walske

The body electric

Since long before the digital and industrial revolutions we have sought to create thinking machines, some of them in our own image. In her book "Edison's Eve" Gaby Wood writes of the twin automata of Neuchâtel, Switzerland. Since they were first exhibited in 1774 these extremely lifelike automated effigies of two young boys have faithfully performed for audiences traveling from afar to see them, one writing several lines of text using a quill pen and the other drawing flawless portraits of kings Louis XV and George III. Wood states, "...the writer ...communicates to its audience an eerie philosophical joke: 'I think,' it writes, 'therefore I am.' ...these artificial beings have enchanted, frightened, and perplexed their viewers."

In spite of their amazing performances the twin mechanical boys are of course not really human, in fact they're not even thinking machines. The little boy may appear to taunt us with his prose, but in fact it is its maker, Pierre Jaquet-Droz that stings us with such deliciously ironic humor.

Bad Robot:Good Robot

BAD	GOOD
Gort The Day the Earth Stood Still	Robot Lost in Space
HAL 9000 2001 A Space Odyssey	R2D2 and C3P0 Star Wars
Terminator T1000 Series Terminator 2	Terminator T800 Series Terminator 2
Arnold State of California	A blender, a vacuum cleaner, anything.
Agent Smith The Matrix	Data Star Trek: The Next Generation (Except when he got all "Borged-out" for a while. Or was he conning "Ms. Borgalina" the whole time?)
Bender Futurama	Bender Futurama (My personal favorite.)

Universal Elegance, and a bit a rowdy

2003-11-03T22:00:00.000-08:00

Now Playing on MY TiVo: Monday, November 03, 2003

by David Walske

Just back from Sedona and gratefully back to TiVo-land - see previous post. While away we stayed connected to the word of television with 4DTV, which provides a combination of analog and digital programming via C-Band dish -[i.e., an eight-foot diameter satellite dish, not to be confused with the small 18" digital dishes sprouting like epiphytes on nearly every apartment building and home, just about everywhere in the world]. 4DTV is great. Access to 500+ channels ain't entirely a bad thing, in spite of the obvious potential for "Information Anxiety." Especially enticing is the opportunity to view "wild feeds."

Wild feeds are television signals sent via satellite from major networks and other sources to local television stations. The local stations then rebroadcast these feeds, usually delayed and in edited form but sometimes live, such as in the case of a Presidential debate or address. The fun thing about watching wild feeds on a C-band dish is that from time to time you get to see content that was never intended for public consumption. The video and audio are set up in advance. The feed is established and transmitting live, to insure that there are no last-minute technical glitches that might otherwise delay a live broadcast. The speaker(s) are in place and broadcasting live audio and video well before the actual start of the broadcast, but they aren't always aware of this fact. Wild feed viewers once watched Jesse Jackson tie and retie his necktie for forty-five minutes.

One of the most famous "Wild Feed Moments" is Ronald Reagan's remark uttered just prior to a scheduled Presidential address, "...I've signed legislation that will outlaw Russia forever. We begin bombing in Five minutes."

But even with live access to such great moments in Republican history, and more channels than you can shake a remote at, 4DTV still can't compete with TiVo. It's not the number of channels you receive, it's how you organize, monitor, and access the programming they provide. There is a lesson in information architecture in here somewhere. 4DTV has a better than average built-in program guide, but it's still easy to get lost in orbit instead of "Lost In Space." TiVo rules!

Imagine how happy I was to return home to Los Angeles after a week's absence to find - just as expected - that TiVo had faithfully recorded all of my favorite shows - those that are in season. A lot of my Season Pass favorites are on hiatus for the summer. Jonesing pretty badly just about now for some of them. So while waiting for the return of "Six Feet Under," "Sex and the City," and "Queer as Folk" to glorify Sunday evening, I checked out the "Six Feet Under" online trivia quiz. I'm a die-hard [no pun intended], never-missed-an-episode, "Six Feet Under" fan. I really know my trivia when it comes to "Six Feet Under," and I'm telling you, this quiz is tough. I had to struggle to maintain an average over 80% - the game keeps a running score as you play. Great fun! Try it.

What's on MY TiVo This Week

The Elegant Universe

"The string's the thing." This elegantly produced, PBS two-part NOVA presentation is just what the Ph.D. ordered. Especially if Quantum Mechanics, String Theory, and Parallel Universes leave you feeling a little queasy. "I knew I shouldn't have eaten that Quark Taco."

Hosted by author and physicist Brian Greene, this mini-series puts it all into perspective. Newton's apple, wrapped in the caramel of Einstein's space-time continuum, topped with subatomic sprinkles, and held together by harmonic strings, this show made for the best Halloween treat I've ever had.

Seriously If you need a little help understanding the cutting edge of physics, or even if you don't [or just think you don't], this is a wildly entertaining program - very well produced, visually stunning, and thematically stimulating. Imagine the best time you every had as a kid reading your favorite comic book; mix that with a historical perspective of physics, add in the latest cutting edge research in physics, and you've got the idea. Brian Greene is a charming and highly knowledgeable host. Don't miss this.

UPDATE (031105): If you miss the air dates for "The Elegant Universe" you can still catch the show on the Web as streaming video at: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/elegant/program.html

Episode One

"Einstein's Dream; the String's the Thing"

Running time: 2 Hours

First aired: Tuesday, October 28th, 2003 - 9:00 PM - KCET in Los Angeles - I wasn't home, but TiVo was.

Airs again: Wednesday November 5th, 2003 - 8:00 PM - KOCE in Orange County

Additional air dates: Check TiVo or your local PBS affiliate

This opening episode consists of two well-divided one-hour segments. On KCET they are shown as a combined single episode with a brief intermission between the neatly cleaved halves - a cleaving much cleaner than atomic fission, and without all that pesky nuclear waste. If two hours at a sitting is too much for you, this format makes it easy to watch the show in two, more manageable chunks. I downed the entire two-hour episode like a shot of Cuervo, panting like a dog at the end thirsty for more.

Episode Two

"The Elegant Universe; Welcome to the Eleventh Dimension"

Running time: 1 Hour

First air date: Tuesday, November 4th, 2003 - 8:00 PM - KCET in Los Angeles

Airs again: Wednesday November 12th, 2003 - 9:00 PM - KOCE in Orange County

Additional air dates: Check TiVo or your local PBS affiliate

This second - one-hour episode - continues the journey, successfully unifying five different string theories into a single theory.

NOW With Bill Moyers

Another PBS production, "NOW With Bill Moyers" continues to make a rich and valuable contribution. Without intending any disrespect to anyone, I often refer to this show as "The Thinking Man's 'Sixty Minutes.'" Bill Moyers is a national treasure, and this newsmagazine format show is an excellent vehicle for him and the thoughtful news and commentary that he, and his guests and colleagues bring.

Wendy Kaminer

This week among other vital issues and stories, Bill Moyers welcomes Wendy Kaminer to NOW. Ms. Kaminer, a commentator, author, scholar, agnostic, and former Guggenheim Fellow writes about law, liberty, feminism, religion, and popular culture. Her latest article published in the October/November issue of "Free Inquiry" a publication of the Council for Secular Humanism, is titled "The Real Danger Behind the Christian Right". (PDF: 99k)

Wendy Kaminer is an important voice of clarity in uncertain times. She clarifies her position as an agnostic, deeply concerned with the rights of all Americans under the Constitution and its protection of the separation of church and state. She intones a particularly strong emphasis that this provision of Constitutional protection is of significant importance to those of religious conviction. Without such protections, the government could mandate a singular state religion, thereby squandering the religious freedoms of anyone outside an arbitrarily drawn boundary of prescribed faith. This would be no less a calamity for those of religion that it would be for agnostics and atheists. Religion is a matter of personal faith, and is not to be legislated or voted upon. Ms. Kaminer makes the point that agnostic and atheist activists, are in function the strongest allies of religious Americans.

TiVo's To Do List

Everyone's got a To Do List - What, you thought you were the only one? TiVo has one to. After you set up your TiVo Season Passes and Wish Lists, you can just sit back and wait for your favorite shows to pop up on the TiVo Now Playing menu. Or you can peer into the future by sneaking a peek at TiVo's To Do List.

The Office

On MY TiVo's To Do List: more hilarious episodes of the BBC series "The Office." A new TiVo Season Pass for me, I've missed out on a few of the episodes, but with TiVo, I'll soon catch up. "The Office" is ABFAB meets K Street, and it's absolutely fabulous. Not for everyone; definitely for me.

Thanks to Wally and Elizabeth for the tip about this show.

Airs weekly: BBCA (BBC America) - Check TiVo or your local directory for times and days.

Smoke on the Water

2003-10-31T02:45:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

[Note: All posts this week are being made from a remote location via primitive dial-up ISP connection. Therefore you may notice a distinct lack of graphics. Don't worry, they'll be back next week.]

Yesterday at dusk we enjoyed yet another magical Sedona sunset. One can almost, but not quite, become jaded by this diurnal display of "fire in the sky" at days end. This sunset was particularly stunning: a dusky orange red bloom bursting from within the deep violet of evening, acquiescing to cerulean blue and cotton ball white, outlined by a finely drawn line of fiery deep red. And as I enjoyed this nimbus of fire and ice, I gave pause to think of a fire in the sky of a different kind.

Tomorrow we drive home to Los Angeles, one of three diamonds of light set along the California coast, beset as of late by raging inferno. My deepest sympathies to those, friends of mine among them, who have lost their homes and neighborhoods in this tragedy of flame. Here in Sedona, set amid the Coconino National Forest, we worry so about fire. And yet in its absence, the years of drought and beetle infestation have exacted a great toll on our Piñion pines. Each time we return to discover that more have been lost. It is heartbreaking to see the forestland we love so dearly become devastated in this slow but steady continuum.

Our human perception of the earth is expressed in the sentiment of words such as "terra firma." In our minds all that is of the earth is immutable and permanent. Standing before the mighty buttes, spires, and mesas towering above Sedona how could one think otherwise? But in fact these majestic, seemingly perennial structures are themselves a phantasm of continuous change. These red rock formations of Sedona are but a snapshot in time of the gradual process of erosion that has carved them from the great Colorado Plateau, its southern edge demarked by the Mugion Rim, succumbing even now to the continuing metamorphosis.

The great San Bernardino and Santa Monica Mountain ranges of Southern California are also but a snapshot in time, likewise of a storyline much longer in duration than our own, of giant tectonic plates compressing against each other, massive granite and earthen upheaval. The world around us is as described by the character "George Malley," played by John Travolta in the film "Phenomenon" (1996). "Everything here is on it's way to becoming something else." This is a difficult lesson for us as human beings to comprehend, our experience rooted in the limited timeframe of our own perceptions, but one we must ultimately embrace. Our lives, all life, all things, are not of a destination, but rather are of a journey.

Satellite weather photos depict huge plumes of smoke streaming offshore on the Pacific Ocean. The weather prediction for Southern California over the next few days is thankfully one of rainfall. Let the rain quench the raging fires. Let the smoke on the water be of inferno extinguished. And let us all find the strength to carry on in the continuing journey of our lives.

Liar Liar

2003-10-30T08:27:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

"Shame on you Mr. Bush. Shame on you."
- Michael Moore

While I largely agree with Bill Maher that, "religion is a waste of time," I am not without a religion of sorts myself. If it is necessary to classify my position along the spectrum of religious belief - one side of the spectrum being total submission to traditional theology of some kind, and the other being absolute atheism - I would be near dead-center in calling myself a "hopeful agnostic." In my view I dare not be so presumptuous as to declare with absolute certainty either the existence of a heavenly - or hellish - afterlife, or conversely that death leads to the assured oblivion of nonexistence. I can not in good conscience make a statement of absolute fact as to the afterlife in any regard, either to myself or to others. As a hopeful agnostic, while I can if pressed elucidate what I hope to be true, it is my lifelong duty to seek what in certainty is true. This pursuit must necessarily continue as long as I draw breath. Should I decide prematurely to avow either atheism or Christianity -[or the absolute teachings of any other faith, for that matter]- then I shall have given over to dogma, given up the struggle, settled for the easy way out. Much more difficult is the path of he who questions all, seeking truth all the days of his life, but surely a life all the more righteous in the living.

My religion of hopeful agnosticism includes a set of commandments. But instead of ten, my religion has three: Truth, Trust, and Loyalty.
TTL for short - not to be confused with PTL.

Truth
Be truthful in all you say and do. Liars are to be abhorred. When one lies, he proves by the act of perfidy a disrespect for human dignity. All liars are eventually consumed in the flames of deceit of their own making.
Trust
A confidence is a sacred vow. To betray a confidence in word or deed for personal gain or in aid of a third-party's selfish gain is a dastardly deed. To betray those you have sworn to protect is the despicable act of a despot.
Loyalty
Above all else, be loyal to those that have been loyal to you. Life is not a popularity contest, although it often seems so. The sacred bond of friendship is cemented by the glue of loyalty. True friendship bound by unshakable loyalty is as impermeable granite, witness to, but untouched by the erosion of time and passing fancy.

President George W. Bush has lied - and continues to lie without contrition - to the American people, a people to whom he publicly vowed an unswerving oath of allegiance.

President George W. Bush has betrayed our trust. He has damaged our nation and endangered the safety and security of its people, a people whom he swore to protect. He does so in the ignoble pursuit of personal gain and the enrichment of others who stand to profit from the blood-money of his warlord activities.

President George W. Bush has been and remains disloyal to America. He serves not the many of the American people, but rather the special interests of the rich and powerful few. He places at risk even those who have sworn and given their lives in the service of defending American liberty.

"Hai Excomunion Reservada U Santidad Contra Qualesquiera Personas Que Quitaren"

Begone foul specter, begone.

Gilligan's Dilemma

2003-10-29T15:28:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

[Note: All posts this week are being made from a remote location via primitive dial-up ISP connection. Therefore you may notice a distinct lack of graphics. Don't worry, they'll be back next week.]

Recently in conversation with my twelve-year-old neighbor, I asked her what profession she would like to pursue. She replied, "I want to be a doctor." "That's great!" I responded enthusiastically, hoping to encourage what I perceived to be a desire to serve a noble cause, and to perform a vital service. "Why do you want to be a doctor?" I queried.

"So I can drive a Porsche," she answered.

Bearing in mind the naïveté of my young friend, I attempted to gently but firmly impress upon her the fallacy of her reasoning. Unfortunately her attitude is representative of a greater problem in America. It is emblematic of much of the health care industry, and represents the crux of what is wrong with our broken health care system. I'm not pointing my finger at individual M.D. practitioners or small medical partnerships. I am all too aware that these smaller medical practices are being systematically squeezed between the vice-jaws of ever higher business costs on one side, and shrinking insurance reimbursements on the other. The problem is higher up the food chain.

I'm speaking here with some first hand knowledge, fairly close to home. My father is a retired surgeon, my mother a retired nurse, two of my sisters are registered nurses, three of my nieces are registered nurses, and my nephew is a physician. I think it would be fair to say that although I resisted a career in medicine myself, I come from a "medical family." [My father offered to put me through medical school. Well, actually it was more of an order than an offer, but I resisted nonetheless.] I've often said that my father was more comfortable at the operating table than at the dinner table. While that may have been true, he was never adverse to bringing discussions of health care issues home with him to dinner. I heard debates of medical ethics from a very young age. Such discussions were a part of daily life in the household in which I grew up.

Until recently my personal physician was a doctor in a very small private practice. I received excellent care from him and the kind of personal attention that I had previously seen only in fictional medical practices such as that of "Marcus Welby, M.D." It was necessary for me to leave his care and to find another physician, a task I undertook with great displeasure. My "Marcus Welby" physician could not afford to accept the reduced payment terms required of him to become a "network physician" provider. Because of this my medical insurance paid for his medical services at a much lower rate than they do for plan-contracted physicians, and I could not afford to make up the difference. This sort of business practice on the part of medical insurance companies is clearly punitive. "Join our club, or we'll squeeze you out." There's only one other organization that I can think of that operates in this fashion. It used to be known as "The Mafia." Apparently we didn't stamp out the "protection rackets" we simply hid them under a corporate logo.

So-called Health Maintenance Organizations (HMOs), Medical Insurance Companies, Medical Laboratory Service Companies, and Pharmaceutical Companies show a sad face to the public and medical regulators, crying poverty while privately enjoying huge profits. Anyone who thinks that it is all that difficult to "cook the books" must have been stranded on a desert isle for the past several years. Welcome back. For your sake, I sure hope your only illness is a bit of residual island fever. If there's anything seriously wrong with your health little buddy, you and the skipper might as well go back to the island. I think the professor is cooking up some kind of tonic in a coconut shell, and that's more than you'll get from our screwed-up health care system.

A career in medicine should be tantamount to a career in theology. One should enter the medical profession or any of its supporting fields as one would enter the seminary. Medicine is not a money machine; it is a sacred vocation. For too long the Hippocratic oath has been replaced with the hypocritical oath. Health care in America needs to be reformed from the top down and from the bottom up. Twelve-year-old physician hopefuls should not have their eye on the brass ring of the Porsche. And our national health care policy should reflect the inalienable right of all Americans to guaranteed medical care, from cradle to grave - without rushing the trip.

Yesterday, Democratic Presidential Candidate Wesley Clark announced his plan for a new national health care policy, the summary of which follows this post. Click here for more information on General Clark and his platform.

"General Clark's health plan would improve health care for those that have it by emphasizing preventive, medically-justifiable and cost-effective services and guaranteeing universal coverage for children, access for all Americans, and making health care more affordable for tens of millions of families currently struggling to pay their premiums. Based on the principles of value, responsibility and fairness, the plan would reorient expensive, often-inadequate health coverage awards preventive and diagnostic benefits, services proven to be medically sound, an emphasis on disease management, and proven competitive purchasing techniques that ensure Americans get the greatest value for their investment. Second, the plan ensures that health care is more affordable for all families and that no child goes without health insurance by guaranteeing affordable coverage and concurrently requiring families to purchase it for their children. It also guarantees that Americans without job-based coverage have access to the same guaranteed, stable health options provided to members of Congress. Finally, the plan provides additional financial assistance to lower-income Americans, workers in between jobs, and other vulnerable populations. General Clark's health plan shifts the focus of the health care debate by insisting that any investment on health insurance be accompanied by a commitment to improve as well as expand coverage."

More at www.clark04.com/issues/healthcare.pdf

Jumpin' Jack Flash

2003-10-28T14:25:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

[Note: All posts this week are being made from a remote location via primitive dial-up ISP connection. Therefore you may notice a distinct lack of graphics. Don't worry, they'll be back next week.]

Toyota has introduced the first ever mid-sized hybrid passenger car, or "vehicle" as is the preferred terminology of shows such as "Cops" -["Step out of the vehicle sir." Take that one better: Nevada Highway Patrolman, in the film "Lost in America" (1985), to character David Howard, played by Albert Brooks -{whose last name is actually Einstein; that's right he's Albert Einstein}- after having stopped him for speeding in a motor-home, "Sir, please step out of the home."] Why, after considerable hyperbolic parenthetical digression, am I making such a big deal about this? Because it is a big deal. Certainly to me. And to others like me, involuntary members of a social caste I'll call indentured SUVites. Shamefully I drive my Trailblazer to Starbucks for a nonfat latte, ruefully unable to get the fat out of my automotive consumption as I have my coffee.

Help, I've fallen - into SUVitism - and I can't get up. For some time I've aspired to ownership of one of the hybrid [gas/electric] cars that have been on the market for a number of years. Not that there wasn't a time when I gazed longingly at the Hummer, but that was long ago; and I have since realized that a car is just a car, and no matter how big can never truly enhance one's sense of self-esteem. And as for the dimensionally challenged that need reassurance of their manliness - that ain't gonna work for you guys either. You can't take your SUV into the bedroom. [I suppose you could take your SUV to bed. Would that make you a Hummersexual? Is that why Arnold has FIVE Hummers? Just how small is it?]

I drive a Trailblazer - and mind you I'm fretting over my mini-sized SUV while driving in the shadow of a stampeding herd of butt-ugly Escalade, full size SUVs -[Each year the Escalade seems to get more and more vulgar. Big chunky piece of crap with the tasteless bling-bling of a tinseled oversized Cadillac logo displayed disproportionately large on the back.] I drive a Trailblazer because I have two big dogs that I frequently transport to Laurel Canyon Dog Park and Huntington Dog Beach. I need more interior room than a Prius sedan can offer me. When my SUV is packed full with people and dogs I don't feel so guilty. But I'm beginning to lose sleep over my solitary jaunts to Starbucks. Just in time, along comes the mid-sized Prius. Enough room for my dogs, yet much easier on the environment and gas consumption. Like Bill Maher I prefer to minimize my involuntary weekly donation to Al Queda at the gas pump. I haven't test-driven a Prius yet, but you can bet I'll be getting behind the wheel of one at my next opportunity.

Of course hybrid cars are not the total answer. The combination electric/internal-combustion powerplant and overall lighter vehicle weight greatly increase fuel efficiency, while decreasing consumption and environmental pollution. But it is still at its heart, a fossil-fuel powered vehicle. A step in the right direction, but just a step.

So what's next? Hydrogen? Probably. NASA chose hydrogen-powered fuel-cells for its manned and unmanned spacecraft because of the remarkably high efficiency and low payload overhead -[i.e., light weight - batteries weigh a ton by comparison]- offered by this technology. Hydrogen fuel-cell powered electric motor propelled passenger cars and light-duty trucks are well within the reach of our technological and manufacturing abilities. So then why then aren't all the Arnolds of the world tooling around in Hydrogen Hummers? Give the boys their toys, while at the same time checking them into fossil-fuel rehab -[ we could establish a "Henry Ford Center" to help the truly petroleum addicted kick the habit]. We're not all driving hydrogen powered cars, in part for the same reason we're not all driving battery powered electric cars.

Politico-economics aside -[the fascist reign of the oil industry is another subject unto itself]- battery powered electric cars have not found broad consumer appeal for several reasons. For one, they don't have the oomph we're accustomed to in our cars. Simply stated we like to lay a little rubber on the road. The poor weight/power ratio of the heavy batteries required by all-electric cars has never been fully overcome. And this lack of power also makes air-conditioning -[my personal above-all-else favorite feature of any car]- an iffy proposition at best. But beyond these cry-baby excuses, myself being one of the cry-babies, there is the problem of recharging the batteries which requires 1) time: more time that it takes to put a tiger in your tank, and 2) a charging facility: either at home or on the road. What do you do if your batteries conk out in the middle of nowhere halfway to Bakersfield?

Hydrogen fuel-cell powered cars overcome the weight/power ratio issue. The lightweight batteries found aboard hydrogen fuel-cell powered vehicles are there for buffering power, not supplying it. Such vehicles can provide ample oomph and plenty of power for "essential luxuries" such as air conditioning. The real problem lies in the tandem roadblocks of production and distribution.

Hydrogen fuel-cells produce power in an electrochemical reaction that consumes hydrogen and oxygen in a power production process that emits water as its only waste product: H2 plus O equals dihydrogenmonoxide, better known as water. Hydrogen is the single most plentiful element on the planet. This seems like a solution that is environmentally friendly to the extreme. It is. So what's the problem? Currently, our commercial hydrogen production process is one that involves removing the carbon from natural gas. That's right. We make hydrogen from a fossil fuel source by "de-carbonizing" natural gas. What happens to the carbon that is removed? You guessed it. It is released into the atmosphere, adding to the greenhouse gases already burdening the environment. Leave it to the energy consortium hegemony to vilify something as pure as hydrogen-fuel cell energy production. Before we can fully benefit from hydrogen power alternatives, we need to retool our commercial hydrogen production industry. Remember - and this bears repeating and many times as you can bear - hydrogen is the most plentiful element on earth. Conversion to an eco-friendly commercial hydrogen production process shouldn't be all that hard, at least from a technical point of view. Again, the politics of change is another issue unto itself.

The other problem is distribution. We have a vast global petroleum-based fuel distribution system in place. We need to at first augment and then eventually all but replace the existing infrastructure with a hydrogen distribution system. And therein we have that pesky issue of the politics of change again, dang it. We have to realize that change is not the enemy. To [badly] paraphrase Albert Einstein [the physicist, not the actor], "The only thing that is constant is constant change."

The real end game solution is a gradual ongoing process of continuous change, not a destination. In time, we may well progress to the point technologically at which hydrogen fuel-cells become outmoded. And when that change occurs we must embrace it. Until then, Hydrogen fuel-cell technology seems to be our brightest hope, one just now coming into view. In the meantime I can can hardly wait for that mid-sized hybrid test-drive.

Blogging from Sedona

2003-10-27T09:14:00.000-08:00

by David Walske

[Note: All posts this week are being made from a remote location via primitive dial-up ISP connection. Therefore you may notice a distinct lack of graphics. Don't worry, they'll be back next week.]

Space Cowboy Dave - remarkable, the unmitigated megalomania of referring to oneself in the third person, even be it wrapped in the guise of pseudonym - is vacationing in Sedona, Arizona this week. This, a self prescribed tonic that includes red rock vistas, frequent hikes, and voluminous reading. And yet, the third rock rolls, the universe expands, and the blog goes on. Jouissance never sleeps, in spite of the fact that its author, uncharacteristically has the past few nights. My circadian cycle, which normally - quite out of sync with the rest of the world - spatters the sleep cycle across the face of nychthemeral artifice, here while in Sedona nucleates slumber into a compact seven or eight hour capsule. Although ironically, in juxtaposition, the diurnal presence of Jouissance has suffered in this transition, having been postless two days running, the first lapse in more than a month.

There was a time, some fifteen years ago, that I thought I would welcome the opportunity to leave the roar of the city, permanently forsaking Los Angeles for the peacefulness of Sedona's red rock rurality. But like Virginia Woolf - with no suggestion of the hubris that would be self-comparison to Virginia Woolf - I find that after a time I disdain the enervating quiet of Richmond in my longing for the vibrant buzz of London. This I did not know about myself until such realization took me quite by surprise during a period of extended Sedona residence in which I found myself suffocating in the claustrophobic peacefulness. So I have long ago concluded that it is the city life for me, but in sine-wave-like alternation with Sedona reverie. Perfect. Neither Richmond nor London; Richmond and London. It has been suggested that all truly creative artistic expression arises from a state of pain in the artist. Perhaps this suggests that creativity itself exists like a parasitic malady unto the artist. The host must however enjoy periods of remission should it not perish. The cycle of the muse.

There is something to be said for the pendulum effect. Observable in nearly all aspects of that which is observable: philosophy, politics, biology. Even an extremist such as I must in the end acquiesce to the inevitable stasis of Le Chatelier's law. But without extremes there would be no mean. So oddly, not only do the opposite poles each need their loyal opposition in stimulation of fervor, but also the milquetoast moderate could not exist at all without the equalized gravitational pull of the zealots. "Moderation in all things, including moderation."

So there you have it. The grand arc. The cosmic dance. Oh my, how obvious is it that I'm blogging from Sedona?

In the week that follows you may notice a Jouissance comprised of posts that are less favored by accompanying graphics and links, and greater therefore in density of text and original content. This due in part to the lack of a high speed ISP connection. Dial-up only out here in the primitive sanctuary of the western lands, the place of the dead roads.

Old Dirty Bastard Comes Clean

2003-10-24T16:27:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

Not that
"Ol' Dirty Bastard"...

This old dirty bastard!

Well he sort of came clean. Okay, he did his best to try to weasel out. Here's the scoop:

It appears that the Bush White House has once again become tangled in its own perfidious web. [Dominos, anyone?] Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld - AKA "Old Dirty Bastard," AKA "Grumpy" - got snared but good this week in a trap of his own words. Trammeled by a "leaked" internal memo that he himself had authored - see USA Today (October 22, 2003) for the full text of the memo - Rumsfeld in a feeble, bumbling self-defense resorted to quoting from the dictionary to define "slog," a word he had used to characterize America's progress in fighting terrorism. It's not good when the Secretary of Defense has difficulty defending himself.

"It is pretty clear that the coalition can win in Afghanistan and Iraq in one way or another, but it will be a long, hard slog."

- Donald Rumsfeld

In a recent televised interview, Rumsfeld denied characterizing the path ahead as "slogging," offering several alternate connotations of the word, while managing to contradict himself within the span of a minute or two. Apparently it all depends upon what your definition of the word "is" is.

Rumsfeld's secret memo went on to ask:

"Do we need a new organization?

How do we stop those who are financing the radical madrassa schools?

Is our current situation such that 'the harder we work, the behinder we get'?"

Not to blow smoke up your dress Alice, but you're already so far down the rabbit hole you might as well keep going until you reach China. Maybe you can meet up with your pal George, have Laura tuck you both into bed, and read you a bedtime story about "Macaroni Penguin." Try to keep up you two. Mrs. Bush, as a former librarian, is a fast reader.

May we please get some real leadership in the White House? Smirky and Grumpy just aren't up to the task. Hell, "Ol' Dirty Bastard" could probably do a better job than either of these two crackers. Bring the Wu-Tang cabinet in the hizza and then we be fly for real, dawg.

The Band

2003-10-23T23:45:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

"We may not know how many men identify [themselves] as bug chasers. But we do know unsafe sexual practices among gay men are resulting in more and more cases of sexually transmitted disease." - Advocate.com, posted February 19, 2003.

Perhaps we're not yet able to get a complete Bug Chaser census bureau statistic, but thanks to the marvels of modern marketing and a new product known as the Bug Chaser Wristband maybe now we can at least recognize Bug Chasers on sight. Just imagine, bright yellow wristbands to quickly and positively identify them. Maybe a nice pink triangle to balance out the color scheme. Please excuse my flippant satire of a serious [and serous] issue. Bug Chaser Wristbands are not designed for the purpose of flagging those desirous of HIV seroconversion [bug chasers], but rather are intended to repel [chase] mosquitoes and other flying insects away from happy campers, hikers, and other such outdoor enthusiasts, without requiring that they slather themselves with DEET (N,N-diethyl-m-toluamide), the active ingredient in most topically applied insect repellents. Sounds like a good idea. I don't know whether these wristbands actually work or not.

But, will someone please tell me who is behind marketing that brings us products with names such as Bug Chaser Wristbands. Didn't rabid marketeers learn their lesson with Ayds® weight-loss candy? [Weight-loss caramel-candy, now there's an oxymoron you can sink your teeth into.] I enjoy cutting, sarcastic, take no prisoners, humor as much as the next guy - no actually I'm fairly certain I enjoy it more than the next guy, whoever he is. There is no cow so sacred that it shouldn't be skewered with humor, so long as beneath the decidedly un-PC veneer is a search for truth. In my experience the road to truth is a rocky one. Be afraid, be very afraid of quick, simplistic answers presented in bright happy, packaging, delivered in bite-sized portions for easy consumption. A bag of manure is still just a sack of shit, no mater how you market it.

Life is messy. Life is complicated. Motives are mixed. Information is filtered to fit a particular spin in the service of occult goals and ambitions. Rolling Stone runs a tabloid-style article on bug chasing. Magazine circulation goes up. Vivendi Universal Net USA Group, Inc., makes more money. A "journalist" gets notice - and notoriety. The Christian Right Wing - America's very own "home-brewed gang of 'evil doer' thugs" seizes upon an opportunity to further its agenda, bash the Gay community, and make us look bad in the eyes of middle-class, white consumerist America. GLAAD reacts with a typically PC response. And the truth, paraphrasing Scully and Mulder, is still out there, although getting harder and harder to recognize for being trampled by so many feet in pursuit of "the story."

As a former bug chaser myself, successful as such before the term had even been coined, I can assure you that this is a complex issue. It is a topic worthy of honest exploration and discussion - sometimes in the guise of satirical comedy - but not suitable fodder for magazine sales revenue. Serious and complex issues deserve more than the all too brief exploration of a shoot-from-the-"hip" Rolling Stone article, afternoon talk shows, or even the limited context of a Blog post such as the one you're reading now.

The Rolling Stone article that caused such furor at the time, was published in February. It's late October now. Why am I even discussing such ancient history, as it is perceived to be in our long-term memory challenged world, fixated on the continuos stream of sound-bites regurgitated daily by FOX News-style journalism? Rolling Stone has moved on. Why don't I? Because nothing has changed since the publication of Rolling Stone's exploitative article. Nothing that is except for the rate of new HIV infections, which continues to rise in the so-called developing, redeveloping, and developed worlds [more so in the developing world, where the only thing that seems to be in decline is the rate of development]. And still there is no cure, lifesaving illness abating treatment - for the fortunate, but no cure. And now the Bush Administration turns its wanton gaze to Syria. And the band plays on.

I wonder what Britney Spears is wearing at the next MTV awards show.

Colinoscopy

2003-10-22T18:30:00.000-07:00

"You can't eat plutonium."

Colin Powell
Secretary of State, United States of America

I have nothing to add.

David Walske
Secretary of Jouissance, Blog of Space Cowboy Dave

A Warning Sign

2003-10-21T12:38:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

How is it that my entire life can be encoded
on a single music CD?

How can four poet musicians I've never met know so much about me?

I had not listened to Coldplay's, "A Rush of Blood to the Head" for awhile. When I first discovered it, I nearly wore out my CD player listening to it.

Flying into Manhattan, December 5th 2002 - headphones on, portable CD player in my lap, "Clocks" filling my ears, filling my head, filling my heart, filling my soul, filing me up, pushing out the darkness of my oblivion, is it mine or am I its, neither just then - gliding through the crisp windstorm blown night air - the city sparkled crystalline as we soared slowly past on our way to JFK.

This collection of beautiful noise is somehow a journal of me in sum total. How is this possible?

I had put it away on a shelf. Forgotten about it. Passed by.

Then for no reason in particular I had to have it in my ears again today. I had to bring myself to tears, rip at my heart, and push out the dark space again.

"Take me back to the start."

A Warning Sign

A warning sign
You came back to haunt me and I realised
That you were an island and I passed you by
When you were an island to discover

Come on in
I've got to tell you what a state I'm in
I've got to tell you in my loudest tones
That I started looking for a warning sign

When the truth is
I miss you
Yeah the truth is
That I miss you so

And I'm tired
I should not have let you go

-Coldplay
Berryman/Buckland/Champion/Martin

Write Like a Man

2003-10-20T23:50:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

Apparently my writing reeks of testosterone. Not that I'm complaining. In fact it does wonders for my image. Like the confluence of events that recently provided me all the flesh and bone artifacts I needed to spin a rough and tumble hyper-masculine tall tale of a "Fight Club" style bar fight in which I had gotten a tooth knocked out, had taken a bullet, and had lived to tell about it. One tough customer I. "You shoulda seen the other guy." I had my lines memorized and rehearsed, sense-memory raging; Strasberg would've been proud.

Tyler (Brad Pitt) & Narrator (Edward Norton) discussing who they'd most like to fight:

Tyler Durden: OK: any historic figure.
Narrator: I'd fight Gandhi.
Tyler Durden: Good answer.
Narrator: How about you?
Tyler Durden: Lincoln.
Narrator: Lincoln?
Tyler Durden: Big guy, big reach. Skinny guys fight 'til they're burger.

- Fight Club, film based on the novel by Chuck Palahniuk

None of it was true; there was no bar fight. The "gunshot wound" was an incision from the removal of a basal-cell carcinoma - stay out of the sun, kids - and the missing tooth was the result of a loose crown having been inadvertently extracted by a piece of chocolate-covered chewy-caramel. Not nearly the swashbuckling fiction I had concocted, which I never did have opportunity to ply on an unsuspecting naïve anyway.

Not that I need a lot of help in bolstering my masculine persona. At times in my life I've felt some envy towards obviously, stereotypically, effeminate Gay men, those of us that set off Gaydar everywhere they go. I recall all of the times in my life I've had to initiate the "I'm Gay," conversation. Had I been a "flamer," my autonomic pervasive queer je ne sais quoi would have obviated the need for all that awkwardness. Hey sister, not that I can't put it on; I can snap with the best of them. But for me it is affectation not genuine persona. Oh sure I have my fay moments - I love wearing my Queer Duck t-shirt - but for the most part I naturally present a Gay, but overtly masculine demeanor. And apparently so does my writing. Go figure.

A Web-based program, "Gender Genie", hosted by bookblog leverages experimentation by Moshe Koppel of Bar-Ilan University in Israel, and Shlomo Argamon of Illinois Institute of Technology, and others as reported in published research entitled, "Gender, Genre, and Writing Style in Formal Written Texts," to determine the gender of the author of written works. Inspired by data reported in an article by Charles McGrath, in the The New York Times (August 10, 2003), the Web-based Gender Genie application uses a simplified version of an algorithm, developed in the university research, that analyzes written content based on specific criteria that associates certain words with male writers and others with female writers. According to an article by Philip Ball in Nature News Service (July 18th, 2003), "The program's success seems to confirm the stereotypical perception of differences in male and female language use. Crudely put, men talk more about objects, and women more about relationships."

Ever one to rail at the propagation of stereotypes against my will - "You don't know me!" - I was ready to put this application to the test and see the Genie's gender divination prowess go up in smoke. I fed it several written pieces, including posts from Juisssance.

I even threw some of my experimental prose and poetry at it hoping to do some gender bending. The Gender Genie consistently ranked my writing male regardless of what I did in trying to throw it off the track. Genie characters always seemed a bit androgynous to me, their body builder physiques paired with willow the wisp underpinnings, but certainly this Genie seems to have no doubt about everyone else's gender. Daily Candy NYC also put the Gender Genie to the test.

Give the Gender Genie a try, and see if you write like a man, dude!

Many thanks to Carole Goldstein for suggesting the Gender Genie.
Click here if you'd like to make suggestions for future posts.

Parallel Universes

2003-10-19T23:50:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

Not just science fiction

I've long been fascinated and at times transfixed by concepts from the frontiers of physics: string theory - [not to be confused with Silly String, which is in it's own right pretty fascinating. What is that stuff?], the thermodynamic arrow of time and the the possibility of accelerating it or reversing it at will - [otherwise known as bi-directional time travel], the localized existence of cohesive states within a generalized state of entropy - [trying to keep at least one small corner of my desk neat and clean, but necessarily at the expense of my office as a whole], and so forth. But about six months ago, a concept caught my attention and has refused to release me from its deathgrip-like hold. A new meme has taken root in my brain. [See previous Jouissance post, "blackSpot, the unLogo" for more on memes.] This meme that has been sucking up gigawatts of electrical energy in my cerebrum - [Do you think this energy consumption could have been the cause of the recent east-coast blackout? I was nowhere near Ohio at the time; I swear it.] - is that of the absolute mathematical inevitability of the existence of parallel universes.

The idea of parallel planes of simultaneous existence is certainly not a concept that is new to me. Ten years ago I had begun to explore my own hypothesis that I called, "Recursive Convergent Parallel Planes of Reality." I envisioned parallel planes consisting of concurrent streams of consciousness, diverging outward from a singular point, and then doubling back to the original point of origin, to begin all over again in a cosmic endless-loop of infinite recursion. Still with me? I created a killer graphic that really captured the concept visually, but alas that was many years ago. I created the graphic in some long forgotten and now unsupported graphic file format [Does anyone out there still remember the "C prompt?"], saved it on a backup tape cartridge - a storage medium for which I no longer even have a compatible computer drive, and stored it who knows where. I fear I might fall into a recursive endless-loop of another kind - the kind with lots of swearing - should I even attempt to look for it. But it really was a cool graphic.

The idea is perhaps best explained in an analogy of driving the freeways in Los Angeles. You move mono-directionally, hopefully - please don't try to back up while driving on the freeway. You drive in one lane at any given moment - once again, hopefully. You can choose to remain in a single lane as you move forward. But who ever does that? Usually, for one reason or another - or for no particular reason at all - you'll decide to change lanes at least once - probably more - on any given trip. And finally, if you keep driving long enough, you'll find yourself back at the same point in the freeway system at which you began. You'll have traveled full-circle, recursively. As you continue, circle after circle, you're likely to make different choices about when and where to change lanes. You could even choose a different freeway interchange, diverging dramatically from your previous circling paths, but round you go, all roads lead to Rome - make that Los Angeles - and eventually you find yourself at your original starting point nonetheless. This is not a scenario that is difficult to imagine. It happens countless times, everyday in Los Angeles - trust me on this - and in many other major metropolitan centers as well.

Now imagine one of these recursive trips, not as as a roundabout car tour of Los Angeles, but as your personal stream of consciousness, your journey through life as expressed in your awareness of a continuously flowing stream of reality. At nearly every moment in your life, you are asked to make decisions. Each decision, no matter how seemingly insignificant, is one link of an unimaginably large chain of decision points in your life, each link connected to the link that came before and after it in the chain. We tend to think in terms of the "big decisions" when pondering the direction of our lives - should I move to Vancouver [yes, definitely], should I buy a new SUV [no, definitely not], should I take that job [don't ask me, I barely have a job at all], etc. But in truth your life's path is the concatenation of each and every decision you make, not just the big decisions. The decisions you have made up to this point in your life, no matter how great or small, form a chain of links that have lead you to this current moment, at which you are reading these very words.

Make one tiny change - I think I'll go grocery shopping on Thursday instead of Wednesday - and the entire course of your life changes. [Spooky, huh?] My theory of "Recursive Convergent Parallel Planes of Reality" as well as many other, undoubtedly superior, similar theories suggests that just like the never ending Los Angeles road trip, reality bends back on itself. This concept of "reality bending [burrito style] back on itself " has been suggested as a visualization of the space-time continuum. You go round and round and round again, through limitless iterations. One go-round - [recursion] - may stray - [divergence] - significantly from another, but you always end up at the same point of origin - [convergence]. As much as I enjoy contemplating this concept of recursive planes, I must admit that it is limited. It is a meme that loses its virulence after awhile. More recent - and more complex - theories of parallel universes, and specifically those that have been advanced along the lines of mathematical inevitability, not probability, are much more compelling.

Max Tegmark's article in Scientific American (May 2003), explores the mathematical equation of parallel universes with great eloquence. Tegmark offers mathematically sound, mainstream science that logically supports the existence of parallel universes. It begins with a Level I multiverse concept that is fairly easy to assimilate, once you admit to the failure of human cognitive ability to fully grasp the concept of infinity.

Author Tegmark's use of scale in the article - more evident in the print version than on the Web - in expressing large number theories is a noteworthy example of excellent information architecture. It is almost impossible to comprehend a number as large as 210118 [two to the tenth power to the 118th power]. In contradistinction a number like 24 [two to the fourth power] is quite easy to mentally resolve: 16.

This limitation of human cognition holds true to some degree for all large number constructions. Grand concepts are easier to comprehend when scaled. For instance it is difficult to understand the real meaning of the fact that 60 percent of the 6 billion people on the Earth are undernourished. Sure, it sounds like a big bad number, but it doesn't resonate in a way that is personal and palpable. Scale the world population down to an imaginary village of 100 as David J. Smith does in his book, "If the World Were a Village" and suddenly it is easy to take to heart the fact that sixty of your 100 neighbors are starving.

Mathematical certainty predicts the ramifications of the fact that within the unlimited realm of infinite space there are a limited number of unique arrangements that can be created using all available subatomic particles. To explain what this means and how it supports the concept of parallel universes Tegmark begins with a scaled example. In this sample scaled universe there are 4 particles - instead of 10118 [ten to the 118th power] particles as is the case in our observable universe [also known as our Hubble volume]. In this four particle universe, you can see that all possible arrangements of the four particles are expressed in sixteen instances. Outside of these sixteen possible variations, the pattern of the four particles must begin to repeat. Therefore at any point within a distance of approximately four "universes" there could be an exact duplicate of one of the original sixteen.

Now take this concept and inflate the number from 4 particles back up to 10118 [ten to the 118th power] particles, our Hubble volume. Rework the math in the context of infinite space and you'll discover that within the boundlessness of an infinite number of pattern replication instances, there only 210118 [two to the tenth power to the 118th power] possible unique arrangements. [Don't actually try to rework the math or you may possibly be driven quite mad, as have I. Just imagine reworking the math.] Within the infinite reach of this mathematical construct, eventually a parallel universe that is identical to our own universe must inevitably occur. This may sound far fetched, but it is a fact of mathematical certainty. The question is not if it will occur, but rather when, or more accurately where.

The crux of this vexingly complex concept comes down to a simple matter of odds. All Las Vegas slot machines eventually pay off. If you have an unlimited number of pulls, you will eventually, inevitably win the jackpot. In our inevitable doppelgänger parallel universe, all of the particles that it contains are arranged just as are the particles here in our universe. Such a serendipitous parallel arrangement must undoubtedly seem like the mother of all long-shots, and perhaps it is. But it is also a certain eventuality that is incontrovertibly bound to occur in the context of the infinite: a universal jackpot of sorts. Included in this arrangement of particles in such a parallel universe is another "me" and for that matter another "you." Further because of the boundlessness of infinity, the parallel "you" in an identical parallel universe may have had the exact same experiences as you here in our universe, and might therefore be your duplicate not only in physical form but also as respects memory, temperament, values, and the like.

If that doesn't blow your mind try this: Included in the multiverse is also an infinitely large number of nearly-identical parallel universes. Every time you make a decision no matter how monumental or infinitesimal, no matter how grave or frivolous there is another you in a parallel universe making that same decision, but with the potential of free will to make that decision differently than you do here in our universe. So in a sense with each passing instant there is a divergence of realities in which everything that can happen does happen. This is the essence of quantum mechanics and the underlying theme of the 2003 season's opening episode of Alan Ball's "Six Feet Under" HBO original series.

All of this occurs in what is referred to as a Level I multiverse: a simple two dimensional view of pattern repetition. Level II is similar to Level I - but elevated one rank in the hierarchy. That is to say a Level II multiverse is a set of Level I multiverses, or if you will a multi-multiverse: [Our universe is one member of a set of universes. That set of universes is called a Level I multiverse. There are a many Level I multiverses contained in a Level II multiverse.]

Level III and Level IV do not represent mere hierarchical progression but address further dimensionality to posit explanations for some of the additional questions raised by the existence of quantum states. But for right now, let's not go there. Stay tuned.

Not Dead, But Forgotten

2003-10-18T05:07:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

Growing up in the era of the Vietnam war, but far too young to serve or to conscientiously object to service as I hope I would have, I clearly recall the nightly body count as reported by Walter Cronkite on the evening news. Like a scene out of Oliver Stone's "Nixon" (1995), my family and I calmly ate our bloody steaks, safe in our middle-class Tucson, Arizona home watching the evening news, while the blood ran on our plates as it did in Vietnam.

The reporting of casualties must have been given a lower priority, because what I remember is that the nightly tote board tallied the dead, not the injured. More than a few jaded newscasters have been known to recite, "If it bleeds, it leads," as the central precept of how stories are prioritized. Which events get the spotlight of daily news coverage, and which fade into obscurity. But that's only the first half of the golden rule of modern journalism, especially in the reportage of the continuing Iraq war - a war declared "Mission Accomplished" months ago. The sickening punch line of the rule is, "If it dies, it flies."

Just as we, as a nation, were mesmerized by Walter Cronkite's death-count tote board - [I kid you not, each night we were presented with the American death count, side-by-side with the Vietcong death count, ostensibly so we could keep score on a daily basis, rooting for the home team based on these numbers.] - so are we now fixated on the metrics of war fatalities - a statistic which is nearly always lower than that of non-lethal, but often debilitating casualties. If it wasn't so heartbreaking, it would almost be funny in its Pat Sajak game-show presentation. In no way do I mean to make light of the horrific loss of life and limb, in either the Vietnam war or in Iraq. My intent is to draw attention to the shameful midway-carney-style of reporting that is so prevalent today. At least Walter Cronkite managed to keep a smirk off his face, and to his credit shed a tear on camera when President John F. Kennedy passed away. Our mainstream, meanspirited news coverage of today is tilted and spun and in some cases outright falsified. And these are the news sources that most of America depends upon for for information that they believe to be the truth.

Instead of the sychophantic coverage of every bumbling Rose-garden Rodeo of a failed Texas oil tycoon wannabe turned President, we should spend more time telling the story of the grieving, the wounded, and the walking dead. This morbid daily count is more than just a set of numbers. By all rights the tote board should be gushing blood like the lobby elevator in the film, "The Shining" (1980). I mourn the dead, but to no less extent also the injured, the maimed, and the mutilated that are shipped to Walter Reed Army Medical Center daily in near total obscurity. Let's have Bill O'Reily get his Factor up from his chair, and out of the studio to do an unedited mini-cam report, navigating ward after ward filled with the mangled flesh of the formerly intact and vibrant young men and women that George Bush sent to Iraq, while his own children were safely tucked away in college.

Lawrence F. Kaplan reports in The New Republic (October 10, 2003), that Walter Reed hospital has assumed "the feel of a Civil War Hospital." If this concept is unclear to you, see the film "Dances with Wolves" (1990), for a hint at the horror represented by that observation. Amputees, and victims of severe and permanently disabling injuries are commonplace in this setting. While you're at it, getting background in trying to comprehend this nightmarish reality, see the film "Born on the Fourth of July" (1989), for another, more modern perspective on the same "shop of horror" theme.

"[What] one notices about these young men evacuated from Iraq is that many of them are not whole. Where there should be arms and legs, there are too often only stumps," Kaplan continues in his article. According to "The Week" (October 17, 2003), "So far, more than 1,600 soldiers have come home maimed - missing arms or legs or parts of their faces." This is a "meat grinder" operation we're conducting. And these statistics only speak to American casualties. Is an Iraqi life any less sacred or important than an American life?

Mr. Bush, did you not have the audacity to stand before the American public and proclaim that God made you President? You appear to be citing God, as an authority greater than that of any mortal, from which you have received direct and specific instruction as to your divine duty. [That sounds disconcertingly like George's namesake, British King George of pre-Revolutionary times. Read the Declaration of Independence for background on that concept. I carry my pocket-sized version of the "Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States of America" with me at all times. Get yours from the Cato Institute at www.catostore.org and read the operating manual for this country, as our president seems not to have bothered to do.] Well King George W., your God has a few rules himself, which he apparently prioritized a long time ago. At the top of that list of rules, as I recall from my youth is, "Thou shalt not kill." I would think that wounding and maiming has got to be in there somewhere as well, but I'm not entirely sure - Bible thumping is really your department, George not mine. By all accounts though, God is really, really pissed at you.

George, you've got some explaining to do.

It's not Television It's TiVo

2003-10-17T17:53:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

"There are few worse cocktail-party quandaries than being sandwiched between a TiVo® owner and the wall," according to Brendon Koerner who in October 2002 predicted the imminent demise of TiVo in an article posted by Slate.com. Fortunately this prediction has proven to be grossly inaccurate. TiVo is alive and doing quite well, thank you very much. Koerner was correct, however about the cocktail party observation. So be forewarned. If you find yourself within shouting distance of me, consider yourself sandwiched. I am one of the TiVo faithful. TiVo is a bit like a religion - with proselytism and everything!

The Queen of England

In his Slate.com op-ed piece, Koerner expresses his impatience with hearing about, "the glories of pausing live TV, fast-forwarding through the ads, and watching King of the Hill reruns whenever you damn well please." This guy just doesn't get it. A lot of people don't understand TiVo, in spite of the fact that the word TiVo, like the word Google, has become a verb of the lingua franca : "I TiVoed 'K Street' if you want to come over and watch it." When I try to explain TiVo to the uninformed I often get comments like, "Oh, well you must watch a LOT of television," followed by the ever-annoying condescension, "I don't watch television." To which I have been known to reply, "And I'm the Queen of England, so now we're even!" My favorite snap in response to supercilious pronouncements of television abstinence is the retort delivered by the character Jules Winnfield played by Samuel L. Jackson in Quenton Tarantino's film "Pulp Fiction" in response to John Travolta's character Vincent Vega, "Yeah, but you are aware that there is an invention called television and on this invention they show shows, right?" Or have you been living in a cave in the Khyber Pass the last fifty years?

Oh Ye of Little Faith

What the unenlightened don't realize is that since becoming converted to TiVoism - I watch less television than ever. It's a clear-cut case of "less is more." Instead of flipping through 500 channels of digital cable box junk, I select from an easy to use on-screen menu. Like a VCR, the TiVo DVR (Digital Video Recorder) let's me preprogram the recording of a scheduled show. That's in itself is not much of a feat. Or is it? Remember all those botched attempts at doing that very thing with your VCR before you got frustrated and gave up on the whole idea? It's a simple and foolproof task with TiVo. Select the program by name, press a button, and you're done. With a VCR it's hit or miss at best. Suppose you do manage to get the programming right, but then happen to come home earlier than planned to find that you are 15 minutes into the taping of a two hour movie. You'll have to wait an hour and forty-five minutes for the taping to complete if you want to watch the entire movie, from the beginning. With TiVo you can start watching the movie, right away, from the beginning, while TiVo is still recording. Are you starting to get it? Do you feel the power of TiVo in ya brothah?!

And yes, you can indeed pause live TV - this seems to be the TiVo feature that you hear about the most. From the popularity of this idea, I guess I'm not the only one that invariably needs to use the bathroom as soon as the show starts. Then there's the "instant replay" button on the remote that rolls the program back eight seconds. You'll find that in most cases eight seconds is just the right span of time to go back and catch that line you missed. Now you feel it, don't you? Say it with me, "TiVo." Feels good, doesn't it?

Gourmet Faire

All of this is great, even if it is annoying to Brendon Koerner to hear about what he's missing. But in my view, the most awesome and useful feature of TiVo is the Season Pass. I have never missed an episode of Alan Ball's, HBO series "Six Feet Under," one of the best written, directed, and acted dramas - serialized or otherwise - ever produced. This is true in large part because of TiVo. I owe the lush jungle-like landscaping around my house to automatic sprinklers - don't let anyone tell you otherwise, the secret ingredient for a lush garden is water, assiduously applied water. But let's face it, human beings are just not very consistent - about anything. If it were up to me to remember to water the garden regularly, my yard would look like the Mojave desert. Likewise, I just can't always be home and ready to watch television at a specific time on a specific day with any real consistency. But TiVo can.

The truth is, I rarely watch TV at all anymore; I watch TiVo. I've set up a TiVo Season Pass for all of my favorite shows, so whenever I have time for them, they're all there waiting for me. Did you catch that? My favorite television programs wait for me, instead of me waiting for them. With TiVo, television programming conforms to my schedule instead of the other way around. I select shows from the TiVo menu and I watch only the very best programming, from a menu listing that is preselected based on a set of criteria that I've custom tailored to my personal preferences. No more channel surfing through random LOP (least objectionable programming), reruns, and infomercials. It's the difference between eating junk food and a nutritious meal. The empty calories of channel surfing leave you hungry no matter how much you consume, so you keep watching in the hope of finding satisfaction. TiVo is a Five Star Restaurant: great service, great food, so you feel fully sated with less food.

You may think that the point of all this TiVo evangelism is to get you to convert, and in part that is true. But my real aim here is to share with you the way I've been able to use TiVo to turn my television from a "boob tube" into a sophisticated entertainment and information aggregator. For me it's all about the TiVo Season Pass!

So What's Playing on MY TiVo?

Now - with Bill Moyers (PBS)
One of the very best sources of in-depth coverage of important issues often overlooked by the CNN/MSNBC/FOX blather. A right-wing conservative pundit criticized this show, calling Bill Moyers, "overly avuncular." Uncle Bill, I'm all ears. Keep up the excellent work, you are a national treasure and a credit to the world of journalism which is becoming increasingly untrustworthy.
Real Time - with Bill Maher (HBO)
Again, full coverage of issues and viewpoints that would otherwise go unreported, plus Bill Maher is genuinely gifted as a comedian. Currently in hiatus. Why HBO only gives this show half a season is a mystery.
K Street (HBO)
Not everyone "gets" this show. A George Clooney - Steven Soderbergh production, this show is pure genius, but I'm afraid zips right over the heads of many viewers. Soderbergh produced the film, "Solaris," starring George Clooney, (directed by James Cameron). Solaris is also a project that most people just didn't get. The cinematic expression of K Street reminds me of Solaris. And I loved Solaris - I think I was one of four people that did though; and the other three were the producer, director, and star. I hope HBO renews K Street next season. Come on HBO, don't wimp out, stick with it.
Six Feet Under (HBO)
Alan Ball's brilliant serialized drama. After the film "American Beauty," the big question was, "How do you follow that?" "Six Feet Under," is the answer. Currently in hiatus. I'm on pins and needles waiting for it to return, so I can be on pins an needles for another season.
The Daily Show - with John Stewart (Comedy Central)
Another show that routinely reports the news stories that routinely go unreported. Hosted by John Stewart, who refers to, "The Daily Show" as a, "fake news show," referring to the fact that the show is actually intended to be a satire of a news program. Under Stewart's stewardship, "The Daily Show" has remained hilarious while at the same time morphing - sometimes more so, some times less - into a "real" news show.
Race - The Power of an Illusion (PBS)
A three part documentary that clearly explains the fallacy of racial stereotypes and their use in unfair discrimination, both now and throughout the history of the United States. I've got TiVo programmed to pick this up whenever it shows up again on television.
Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (Bravo)
The "Fab Five" use their discerning queer eyes to perform weekly miracle- makeovers on hopelessly couture-challenged straight men. Great fun! This is the show that turned the faltering Bravo network around. But I considered boycotting the show when I found out what an "unfabulous" salary the Fab Five guys were being paid for their work. They had been locked into a five-year, three-thousand dollars per episode contract, for a show that is worth millions to its producers and the NBC owned Bravo network. Word has it that NBC, after putting up some resistance has agreed to renegotiate new contracts. New episodes airing soon.
Sex and The City (HBO)
Sex and New York City: What's not to like? The series centers on the lives, loves, and lusts of four friends in New York City. The four women are played by Sarah Jessica Parker (Carrie "Manolo Blahnik" Bradshaw), Kim Cattrall (Smantha "Hello sailor" Jones), Kristen Davis (Charlotte "True love at last" York), and Cynthia Nixon (Miranda "Steve at last" Hobbs) - but let's face it, in spite of the fact that these are female characters, these girls are really Chelsea boys. Currently in hiatus. Series finale run begins in January 2004.
Queer as Folk (Showtime)
The adventures of five gay friends and their, (gay and straight) families living in Philadelphia, near the predominantly gay Liberty Avenue district. Based on the hit British series of the same name. Not as well written as HBO's "Six Feet Under" or "Sex and the Ctiy" - a bit too predictable and sprinkled with less than brilliant dialog - but I love this show anyway. And the writing is improving. The five gay men are played by Gale Harold (Brian "Once is enough" Kinney), Hal Sparks (Michael "Who's my daddy" Novotny), Scott Lowell (Ted "From bean-counter to tweaker in three seasons" Schmidt) and Peter Paige (Emmett "Good looks overshadowed by a kind heart) Honeycutt - with fellow cast members Sharon Gless, Randy Harrison, Michelle Clunie, Robert Gant, Thea Gill, Jack Weitherall, and more. Currently in hiatus.

More next week.

I've barely scratched the surface of TiVo here. And just today I received my copy of the newly released book, "Hacking TiVo: The Expansion, Enhancement and Development Starter Kit with CD-ROM." So there'll be even more to tell when I work up the nerve to "crack the case" on my TiVo - voiding the warranty - to juice it up even more.

I'll also continue to offer accounts of my TiVo Season Pass adventures with a semi-regular report: "Now Playing on MY TiVo," including mini-reviews as here.

Barry Kaufman

2003-10-16T04:15:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

When I was eight years old, there was nothing in the world I wanted more than a reel-to-reel tape recorder. The year was 1964, long before the invention of audio cassette tapes, let alone VHS, CDs, or DVDs. My friend Barry Kaufman had a portable reel-to-reel tape recorder and I envied him greatly for it. Barry's parents were somewhat well-to-do, certainly better off financially than most of my classmates' parents, and it seemed to me that he flaunted this by flashing the bling-bling of his tape recorder so. In reality this remembrance is probably more a machination of my blue eyes turned green than reality. But, oh how I sinned the sin of envy as I coveted my neighbor's tape recorder. Good little Catholic boy, I had to have something to confess on Sunday lest I appear perfidious in not performing a weekly act of contrition. Better to make something up, than to go without the confessional blessing and be at risk of falling out of grace, seven long days before the next opportunity of sacrament. What if I should get hit by a truck in the interim? [Who are these truck drivers of whom we were warned so often? Madmen all about the streets, running down pedestrians at random!] Needless to say, stealing the object of my desire was out of the question, compounding sin upon sin. And the purchase price was well beyond my financial reach. I was never able amass any amount of money on my meager weekly allowance, most of which went to buy Beatles cards.

I collected Beatles cards. I adored The Beatles. Still do. The very first record I every bought was the newly released forty-five, "She Loves You," with "I Want to Hold Your Hand" on the flip side - sometimes referred to as the B side. Actually there was no B side to any Beatles record, it was all A's from the Liverpudlian quartet. Beatles cards, like baseball cards came wrapped in colorfully printed wax paper - five cards to a pack plus a powdery, brittle stick of gum. But instead of baseball players, these cards featured John, Paul, George, and Ringo. Turn any card over and you'd find a puzzle-piece image that when laid beside all of the other cards in the series in just the right order formed a poster of the "Fab Four." That's Fab Four, not Fab Five; in those days instead of the "Queer Eye," we had the "Brit Guys," of the musical revolution that had been dubbed, "The British Invasion." Although... many years later, certain unsubstantiated rumors about Beatles manager Brian Epstein and his special relationship with the fabulous boys did surface. It was probably just wishful thinking on the part of the rumormongers. But can you blame them, or him if the rumors were true? These guys were hot! Screaming mobs of tearful young girls and boys pursued them ceaselessly.

Owing largely to my Beatles card habit - I never got a Beatles wig or a pair of Beatles boots but I did lust after both in my heart - clearly the only way I would ever get my own tape recorder was to convince my father to buy one for me. I begged. I pleaded. I cajoled.

"Everyone at school has one." What a lie, Barry was the only kid at my school with his own tape recorder; there now I was all set for Sunday confession. My entire life I've been a maladroit liar - probably why I have never played poker. I just don't have the face for it. Read me like a book, you can. But somehow I pulled it off with the fib I told my father that day. Maybe he knew I was lying, but felt compassion for a child in such desperation as to lie, and so feebly, to his father. I think that counts as two Mortal sins. In any event, my tact worked, and he agreed to the purchase. Thank you God. Wait, God had just rewarded me for lying. That would take some time to reconcile. But it would have to wait; I was off to the store with my father to buy a tape recorder. Take that, Barry Kaufman! Oh crap, now the sin of pride to add to my ever-mounting confessional list. And swearing now too. How far I had fallen, and here it was only midweek, reckless truckers in wait. Surely I was Hell bound, but at least I'd be able to document the journey on audio tape.

I tape-recorded everything. Sometimes I'd even record the audio of my favorite television programs. Mostly I did "man on the street" interviews with members of my family or with any of the neighbors that would suffer my interrogations. My mother had little patience for such nonsense at first - there was housework to be done - but eventually warmed up to the idea and became quite the guest on more than a few episodes of my talk-variety-comedy show. I idolized comedian Red Skelton and vowed that one day I'd host a television show just like his weekly network broadcast. Meanwhile, no one escaped my wily microphone. Even Dickie-bird, our parakeet became a guest on the show. Eventually Dickie fell out of favor but occasionally included himself, uninvited as background noise. "Dickie, shut up! I'm trying to make a show!" When I couldn't manage to line up a guest, I'd read articles from the newspaper. "Influenza B! Several cases of Influenza B have been diagnosed on Arizona's Papago Indian reservations..." My parents were beginning to take note that my fixation with audio recording was more than a passing fancy, and a few years later my father purchased a "big" tape recorder. I was in Heaven, apparently having escaped the Dantesque fate I had previously imagined.

My recording career was booming. With the new equipment - seven-inch tape reels instead of the smaller three-inchers of my portable deck - I was unstoppable. Once or twice I even got my mother to sing on tape. She chose a Sunday school song from her youth. I can hear her singing it in even now.

Although the song was unfamiliar to me at the time, I remember the lyrics verbatim.

"A sunbeam, a sunbeam,
Jesus wants me for a sunbeam.

A sunbeam, a sunbeam,
I'll be a sunbeam for him."

Once, when my father's stern presence was absent from the room she also recorded a childhood parody of a religious song. Such blasphemy would not have been tolerated had Dad been within earshot, but I delighted in it, as did she.

"Pass around the wash rag, wring it as you go."

The words mocked the authentic lyrics, "Pass along the watchword, sing it as you go." My mother had converted to Catholicism as a condition of marrying my father. I had the sense that although she maintained a ritual practice, my mother really didn't take her adopted religion all that seriously. And indeed she was the first in my family to stop attending Sunday Mass, about the time I started High School. Even though she has since backslid into religion as do many of the elderly, to this day I'm proud of my mother for the courage she exemplified in her unspoken, quietly stalwart self-excommunication. My father looked the other way. This was the beginning of the end of his role as enforcer of the family faith, except for the mental self-flagellation of the dogma that he still metes out upon himself to this very day. I was the next to follow in my mother's rational footsteps in leaving the church. Others of my siblings left as well, some remained devout.

I continued making tapes on that same seven-inch reel-to-reel tape recorder until I graduated High School and left my parents home at the age of seventeen, moving to Los Angeles. An entire audio library of my youth sits in a drawer in my parents' house. One of the tapes was nearly lost when it accidentally fell into a bucket filled with a mixture of Pine Sol and grimy mop water. I was never quite clear on the details of how that could have happened. But the recording was successfully transferred to a cassette tape before the original became degraded by the pine-scented cleaning agents to which it had been exposed. This is the one tape of the library of which I am in possession, a sophomoric attempt at "Hew-Haw" style comedy that I and my sister recorded, coincidentally during my sophomore year of High School. My parents have urged me repeatedly to take the remaining tapes and the reel-to-reel recorder. But somehow I can't yet bring myself to do it, in spite of the fact I do sincerely want these tapes of great sentimental value. I think that, perhaps the act of taking the tapes represents an admission on my part that my parents are quite advanced in age - my father just celebrated his ninetieth birthday; my mother is three years his junior - and that their passing is not long away. I'm just not ready to surrender the image of my mother, young and vital, singing "pass around the wash rag" into the microphone of that old reel-to-reel tape recorder. Years from now, listening to these recorded memories I'll have Barry Kaufman, at least in part, to thank for them. Thanks Barry.

blackSpot, the unLogo

2003-10-15T02:24:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

A meme is a terrible thing to waste

What is a meme? Evolutionary biologist and self-described "militant atheist," Richard Dawkins coined the term and describes it in his book, "The Selfish Gene" (1976, first edition). In this well received volume - currently in its third printing - which has elicited testimonials such as, "Few popular books are good. Few good books are popular. 'The Selfish Gene' is both," Dawkins postulates that all animals, including humans, are unwitting containers or "survival machines" of the gene, which achieves immortally by passing its DNA code from receptacle to receptacle, generation to generation expressly for its own selfish goal of survival. In this view the individual is merely a wrapper of genetic code, mere throwaway packaging. In this cutthroat competitive biology, it is the genetic code that is of primary importance. The preservation of the species, while necessary, is of secondary relevance. Survival of the individual ranks a distant third. That's right, we're each returning home with a tarnished bronze medal. Daunting contemplation, this.

Upon my first reading of, "The Selfish Gene," I felt smugly superior to this process Dawkins describes. As I have not, and will not produce offspring, I assumed that I had therefore neatly removed myself from the equation of the selfish gene. But now, some years later, I recognize my assumption to be false. In as much as the current state of human overpopulation threatens to exterminate mankind, my lack of participation in further propagation of the species indeed serves the goal of preservation, which in turn serves the selfish gene. Scientific studies have shown that when a group of any species is compressed into greater than optimal population density, that there is an observable increase in the occurrence of homosexuality above the expected baseline percentage. Yes, we truly are everywhere. Queer mice, go figure.

As self-aware, sentient beings most people find the idea of of being unwitting, expendable, "survival machines" repugnant. We envisage ourselves supreme as individuals. We assert our personal autonomy vis a vis the fact that most of us also claim some kind of group allegiance, such as that to family, clan, country, religion or other belief system. In my opinion, "Atheism" is as much a religion as is, for example, "Christianity." At two extremes of a spectrum, one declaring total faith in a specific afterlife scenario, the other denying it with equal fervor, both schools of thought draw a dogmatic conclusion. Mirror image declarations of a spiritual absolute. I touch on this theme lightly in my personal manifesto du jour, in which I describe myself as a "hopeful agnostic."

The larger message of Dawkins' book however subsumes these questions of spiritual dogma in the greater discussion of the meme. As human beings we have a unique capacity for self-determinism. As such our minds are fertile ground for the meme, which is in a way both counterpart to and in competition with the gene. In his book, Dawkins explicates, "Examples of memes are tunes, ideas, catch-phrases, clothes, fashions... Just as genes propagate themselves in the gene pool by leaping from body to body via sperms or eggs, so memes propagate themselves in the meme pool by leaping from brain to brain." Dawkins continues, quoting a colleague, N.K. Humphrey who states, "Memes should be regarded as living structures, not just metaphorically but technically. When you plant a fertile meme in my mind you literally parasitize my brain, turning it into a vehicle for the meme's propagation in just the way that a virus may parasitize the genetic mechanism of a host cell."

Best selling author, Seth Godin has applied these concepts to the world of business and marketing in his book, "Unleashing the Ideavirus." Savvy marketeers have been parasitizing fertile human brains for decades with clever marketing and corporate image campaigns that include catch phrases, jingles, and logos carefully engineered to be pleasing and memorable, all the better to take root in our minds. In so doing, they splice their code into our thought patterns, our concepts of truth, desire, and purpose.

Salon.com features a piece by Linda Baker, "Are you ready for some 'unswooshing'?" in which Kalle Lasn - the founder of Adbusters [the "anti-consumption" magazine based in Vancouver, B.C.] and author of "Culture Jam: How to Reverse America's Suicidal Binge," - states, "America has become a bit of a monster." The monsterization of America can be attributed in large part to the parasitization of the wrong memes into the code of the American mindset by and at the behest of the the corporate hegemony. Modern corporate marketing has evolved to a very effective, ubiquitously distributed global brainwashing technique. The memes represented by familiar corporate logos have become a kind of mental comfort food. Adbusters has launched a new campaign in opposition to the logo, which it views as the infectious agent of malignant memes. The specific target of this anti-logo campaign is Nike and its copyrighted "Swoosh" logo. Why Nike? Ask Michael Moore. Or visit blackSpot, the Web site of the Adbusters anti-logo, anti-Nike campaign. According to the blackSpot Web site, "Phil Knight [Nike CEO] had a dream. He'd sell shoes. He'd sell dreams. He'd get rich. He'd use sweatshops if he had to. Then along came a new shoe. Plain. Simple. Cheap. Fair. Designed for only one thing: kicking Phil's ass."

The blackSpot shoe sports a simple eponymous black spot as its anti-logo. The Adbusters campaign is gearing up to compete, David-and-Goliath-style against the behemoth Nike, its CEO, and its mammoth line of sports shoes. The blackSpot shoe, which resembles a retro-style "Converse" basketball shoe, is priced at sixty dollars a pair - considerably less than the average designer sports shoe pricing. Preorders are currently being accepted. The shoes cannot go into production until a minimum of 5,000 orders have been received. At the time of this writing 1,074 preorders are on record - customers are not actually charged until the shoes are shipped to them. For more information, to order, or to invest, visit the blackSpot Web site at: www.blackspotsneaker.org.

Our unique human capacity for rational thought allows us to reconfigure our mental genetics, largely as we see fit. We each have the free will to choose whether to accept what we're told without scrutiny, or to use our higher faculties of thought to decide for ourselves which memes to incorporate into our mindset and which to reject. The unLogo of the blackSpot shoe represents a meme that you might want to consider accepting.

Brubeck

2003-10-14T04:26:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

My life has taken many twists and turns, and I find myself now at a unique crux. I recently turned 47, young by standards of the western world of privilege - a world rife with clean water, abundant food, and advanced medicine. I am awakened as if from slumber, having dozed in-transit, to suddenly discover with some consternation that I am swiftly approaching that most sententious station of temporal chronology, the golden anniversary of my birth.

The picture of youth-like vitality that I present today, stands in stark contrast to an image of myself a mere eight years ago as I lay ill, hospitalized with an AIDS-related pneumonia, without benefaction of efficacious therapy - none available then, advancing with seeming intractability towards imminent death. Prudent medical prognosis had given me a year to conclude my earthly interactions. The simple act of walking but a few steps often precipitated a spell of exhaustion that left me weak and gasping for breath. It was unlikely that I would see my fortieth birthday. But yet here I am today, physically strong and in a state of vigorous health, the odd symptom or transient malady aside, my fiftieth birthday coming into view in the distant horizon. What have I done with the extra years granted me? Have I spent them wisely? What shall I do with those to come?

After a recovery akin to resurrection, I went on to enjoy moderate financial success as a Content Management consultant. To me such good fortune felt like something somewhat more than moderate, and I am thankful for it. But in fact I have reached a level not nearly tantamount to the pinnacle of worldly achievement of many. Clearly the occasional paroxysm of anguished self-doubt arises not entirely of neurosis borne of my own psyche. I've wrestled with inner demons, a battle that rages still - although news from the front brings the impression that victory or at least the modus viendi of détente draws nigh. In three short years, algorithms of chance and fate allowing, I'll see my fiftieth, the gold standard of birthdays - a prospect once unthinkable.

I have made a decent living in my career. However I have never really achieved the kind of success for which I yearn: a Brubeck. Self-coined term for the embodiment of the revelation that came upon me whilst listening to Dave Brubeck's classic recording session, "Take Five." I'd heard it many times before, as have many. But all at once while listening to this track, one of several in a compilation CD - a montage, the assembled works of various artists - it was as if I was hearing it for the first time. Every note so perfectly placed, yet casual and offhand, defenestrated to fly freely while at once maintaining precise formation, with a sense of indefatigable faith that they could do nothing but. A perfect thing. An accomplishment so grand that if one produced nothing else of consequence in this life, it would be enough. A Brubeck.

All this pontification, and I don't even particularly like Jazz. Genre is inconsequential to seminal inspiration. Did Dave Brubeck and his contemporaries realize the import of their performance in session that day? Unlikely that they did. Genius like its sister charity does not announce itself proudly, and is often recognized only posthumously. Look through your CD collection tonight, clear away the remnants of day and listen transcendentally to, "Take Five."

While I know that true happiness derives only from within - I am working diligently on that assignment - I also know that I must pursue my own Brubeck. Perhaps more than one, should I be so privileged. Attaining a single Brubeck, by definition is all that one can hope for. A single Brubeck in a lifetime is more than enough. I do not believe that such is attainable in my current career path. Therefore I have decided to dedicate myself: body and soul, blood, and bone to writing. Fiction mostly, some op-ed journalism, and even the occasional piece on Content Management and Information Architecture, but that only in the minority. To accomplish this goal I am taking radical steps. I have purposefully reduced my consulting client list to one, and I am slowly phasing out this final client by the end of the year. This has reduced and and will ultimately squelch my company's already meager revenue stream. At its zenith, it never was what I expected or hoped it to be. It never made me happy. And it never put me any closer to my Brubeck. Some remainder of it may still exist in the future, but it is to be in essence moribund as a profit generating enterprise.

And so I embrace the pauper's life of the writer as artist - not quite so drastic as that assuredly, but fiscally uncertain without a doubt: rejection notices don't "pay the light bill" - typically the pursuit of a much younger man, my chosen path forward, my destiny. I leap empty handed into the void, a hopeful agnostic. Hopeful agnosticism, the only conceivable religion of a genuine and unfettered lifelong seeker of truth.

My life in transition. I'm not sure exactly where this transition is leading. Hopefully towards a Brubeck. How will I recognize my own Brubeck when it materializes within the self-created harsh, white-hot glare of introspection and self doubt? Perhaps I'll not know while still in this life. Sometimes the Brubeck beckons, but never deigns so much as a glance from mortal of flesh still. Then must I but go from whence the siren muse calls, even should that be oblivion.

President Prince

2003-10-13T12:49:00.000-07:00

MSN Entertainment - News - Fresh Prince for President?

President Will Smith?

A Prince for President?

by David Walske

Well maybe, IF he appoints the following Presidential Administration:

Tommy Lee Jones - Secretary of Defense
Tim Robbins - Secretary of State
Eddie Albert - Secretary of Agriculture (Just kidding)
Quincy Jones - Secretary of Education
Ed Begley Jr. - Secretary of the Interior
Ed Begley Jr. - Secretary of Energy
Ed Begley Jr. - Secretary of Transportation
Samuel L. Jackson - Secretary of Justice
Sarah Jessica Parker - Secretary of Health & Human Svcs.
Michael Moore - Secretary of Homeland Security
Michael Moore - Secretary of Labor
Michael Moore - Secretary of Housing & Urban Dev.
John Voight - Secretary of Veteran's Affairs
Charles Grodin - Secretary of the Treasury

AND
Alec Baldwin
as Vice-president

Does anyone know anything about Mr. Smith's politics? Hey now, that gives me an idea for a campaign slogan, "Mr. Smith Goes to Washginton." Why is it that we, as a constituency feel compelled to run the celebrity face up the flagpole first and then find out about the candidate's platform after the absentee ballots are already in?

Not that I've heard anything specifically negative about candidate Will. Oh wait, there was that business about Will Smith and the advice given to him by Denzel Washington regarding his role in "Six Degrees of Separation." I'll not go into specifics but you can click here for more details. Google got the goods. Word.

It would be nice though to have a William back in the White House. Come on... are you better or worse off now than you were three years ago? I don't care who's blowing - or kissing - the President. It's really none of my business as long as he doesn't blow up the world.

Every Move You Make

2003-10-13T02:04:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

Orwellian Mathematics: 1984 plus 19

Okay, so "1984" didn't turn out quite as dreary as George Orwell predicted. For that matter 2001 wasn't exactly the adventurous future of space travel Arthur C. Clarke suggested either. In spite of a 2001 budget increase, approved the previous year by the Clinton Administration, NASA's Mars Voyager got a dusty welcome, the soviet space station MIR took a planned nosedive into Earth atmosphere, and then the events of the September morning that will forever haunt us all, pulled our focus sharply into view of terrestrial concerns. Tragedy following tragedy, the Space Shuttle Columbia and her crew were lost nearly two years later on August 26th, 2003.

In spite of all the tragedy, turmoil, and doubt about the future of manned space exploration I continue to be, ever the space enthusiast. I've seen Stanley Kubrick's "2001 A Space Odyssey" (1968) in Cinerama®, no less than fifteen times, and I still long for a ride on that Pan-Am space shuttle, in spite of the fact that the Space Station was lit far too brightly for my tastes - definitely a Persol® moment - and I'm not sure, to where exactly I would be en route post-layover after sharing cocktails and conversation with sophisticated friends and associates, including a rather reticent, tightlipped Russian fellow. "Hey buddy, the Cold War... you lost it! Its over." Or is it?

Watching Big Brother Watching You

"Every move you make, every step you take, I'll be watching you." So goes the the lyrics of the song "Every Breath You Take," by The Police. As mentioned in an article by By Steven Johnson in Discover Magazine, (October 2003), "In the fall of 2002, the Bush administration announced Total Information Awareness, a massive effort to build a counterterrorism database that can help track the activities of 'people loosely organized in shadowy networks.' The name was changed to Terrorism Information Awareness..." Johnson's article brings to mind the chilling specter of the possibility of Cold War era tactics, plus modern-day technology brought to bear by the United States government against the freedoms and liberties of its own citizens.

To counter this possible threat, MIT graduate student Ryan McKinley created his own information gathering and pattern recognition program. But this time the surveilled turn the tables on the surveillors. McKinley's Web site, Government Information Awareness which went live July 4th, 2003, gathers and assembles publicly available information about the various branches, appointees, and elected members of Government, assembling disparate chunks of information into a matrix that allows citizens to track the actions of their own representative government - and to see just how representative such actions may or may not be.

At first viewing the home page of the site may not impress. But as Steven Johnson notes in his Discover Magazine article, if you dig a bit deeper you'll find, "...a rich ecosystem of political connection lying in [the] database. As you move through the space, you're bombarded by factoids at nearly every turn." Turn about is fair play, and Ryan McKinley's, Government Information Awareness Web site may just help keep a new cold war from freezing over our Constitutional liberties. To the question, "Is this legal?", McKinley's Web site answers, "It should be."

Hope

2003-10-12T00:08:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

Doubtless a most desolate place. The earth without form. A void. But excogitated, void as firmament belying in camouflage teeming subterranean life. Mortuos occulere vivos. Duplicitous landscape offered not without cost. A long journey to reach the void.

Travel by rail, in pullman faded glory. Eight hours. Journey nocturnal. Window unshaded, cubare, succumb to sleep, fleeting moonlit landscape ochre and umber, head upon fabric, starched white pillowcase bleached a shade of white derived only of recursive industrial laundry.

Awakened at firstlight. Arriving not at destination, but a day's drive off. Nychthemeral journey. The fabled Sante Fe railroad line forever affixed in chaste segregation by its very spikes testament to failure of consummation, denied the adobe touch of eponymous settlement. We travel motorcoach another hour to reach its namesake citadel of missionary colonization. Then to let a vehicle, first this journey to wrest autonomous reign.

Old Santa Fe Trail yields to Pecos. Southward, Roswell yields to dust bowl Artesia. And yet not terminus ad quem. Onward westerly, from civic minimus to that of least manufactory. Idle in all respects. Less than modest mercantile. Saloon, feckless machineshop, postal. Sans hostelry. Reversion in course, Artesia return at day's end, lest one be consonant with hypaethral slumber, save the favor of local kinship. Hope is here.

Onward, pavement yields to gravel and gravel yields to clay. And at last arivaille. Wheatstraw acres undulate, gently rolling, infinite, oblivion. Engine choked, silence of palpable pressure exerts itself as surely as ocean's floor seawater. Suffocating seawater of air presses. The void offers greetings and subsumption as we but for a moment merge with that which is at once nihility and plenitude, summa totalis.

Oblivion cum plenitude, life renewed.

Rush to Judgment

2003-10-11T00:15:00.000-07:00

I loathe Rush Limbaugh. I loathe everything about him. I loathe all that he stands for. I loathe his, brash loudmouth barroom manner. I loathe his politics, his anti-feminism, his anti-gay stance. I loathe his right-wing, blinders-on, "kill 'em all and let Pat Robertson sort them out later" attitude. He is little more than a white trash supremacist Klansman with a vocabulary and a six figure [plus] income. He represents all that is reprehensible. He is evil incarnate, if there truly is such a thing. He is the enemy.

And now I find myself in the very uncomfortable position of feeling compassion towards this cretin. My first instinct when he I see him on wobbly legs is to pounce like Mohammed Ali in a rematch with Joe Frazier.

To strike down upon him, "with great vengeance and furious anger he who has attempted to poison and destroy my brothers and sisters." [Paraphrased roughly from Ezekiel 25:17 - Hey, we sodomites know how to read the Bible too. We just recognize it for the page-turning "Pulp Fiction" that it is. Seriously, it would be difficult to get an honest film adaptation of such lurid material, as is the Bible, past the MPAA with an R rating.] So there's Limbaugh, held prostrate in the vice-grip of opioid addiction, inviting righteous blunt force disintegration. But no. Instead, I feel a "Michael the Archangel complex" welling up inside of me; an involuntarily sprouted wing reaches out to shield the weak and suffering sentient, faltering and sickly before me. Damn it! You know it's not that easy being a person of conscience.

I hope I've been clear about how vile I believe Rush Limbaugh has proven himself to be over the many years that he has subjected the public to his supercilious, blathering sermon of hatred and intolerance. Part of a larger gospel of ill will that has spread across America like the opportunistic infection of the mind that it is.

But ever the humanitarian optimist I cannot but hope that Limbaugh's confessional might prove to be not so much a downfall, as a turning point away from a life of "persecuting in public those who are no different than [himself]," towards one of thoughtful recognition, good will, and conscientious introspection. I know, it sounds far fetched. But it does happen. Everyday there are instances of those who have awakened from the stupor of hate. And not just in the movies.

Or he'll come out of rehab and continue being the same old shithead. I'm hanging on to my copy of Al Franken's, "Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot" just in case.

Heroes

2003-10-10T02:02:00.000-07:00

I wrote the following article - published in the current issue of FAB! (Issue 217, October 10, 2003) - in celebration of National Coming Out Day (October 11th) and reproduce it here in full. Enjoy.

Heroes
by David Walske

I first came out when I was sixteen. Many years later I still have a clear memory of this sexual awakening. Flush with the hormones of puberty, but still a virgin, subjected to the continuous bombardment of heterosexual propaganda as I was - as were we all at the time in which I came of age, the 1970s - like other young boys seeking titillation and release I resorted to turning the pages of a smuggled Playboy magazine while masturbating late at night in my bed. But I also entertained erotic homosexual fantasies. Yearnings that would not be repressed. A conflict raged. Everything in the world that I knew instructed me, in defining my sexuality, to draw upon the images of the busty nude centerfolds common to the glossy adult magazines of the day, rather than the sultry half-clothed pictures of men such as those of Baryshnikov that would occasionally find their way into the Sunday newspaper and then into my bed. Most of the time, I existed in a state of perpetual arousal, and therefore needed very little external stimulus to become sexually piquant. So in spite of myself, I continued to oblige Hefner's paper bunnies. But Mikhail was never far from my thoughts.

The heterosexual landscape was my only external point of reference; so it was not surprising that vaguely drawn female objects of sexual desire would populate my dreamscape. Of my frequent pubescent sexual dreams there is only one that remains crisply detailed in my memory. In this dream, I lingered in a pastoral setting beside a riverbank, swathed in the embrace of a female concubine. I gently rolled my body away from her, towards the water's edge. I continued, rolling effortlessly across a shallow riverbed to emerge from the water on the opposite bank and into the waiting arms of a male lover. The next morning I awoke with an exhilarating sense of self and sexual identity. A feeling that I had not before experienced, having dwelled only within the cloak of the false identity that had been prescribed to me. It would be more than a year before I would act upon my desires that had now been so clearly defined by the dream borne self-revelation of my true sexual persona, but at that moment I could feel the confusion, pain, and anxiety of my repression beginning to lift.

When I say that I came out at age sixteen, what I really mean is that I came out to myself. Self-revelation was to be the first of many occasions of coming out that continue to this day. To speak of coming out as a singular event in one's life is absurd. Yet that is how we often speak of it. It's a lifelong experience, a process in which all of us must continue to persevere, battling forces from without and within that would prefer to see us perish rather than express the core of our identities. And we occasionally do struggle against ourselves, as each of us from time to time, denies our own truth or that of others in our gay community.

Hanging on the wall behind my desk where I sit writing these words, is a series of small, framed photographs. This is my hero wall. From within unpretentious embrasures peer the countenances of great role models, William S. Burroughs, Timothy Leary, and Robert Mapplethorpe. Each of them with their own unique story of untrammeled resistance against the enemies of individual and collective truths. Each of them unapologetic to the very end. All three of these men - my heroes - have passed on, but yet live on in the posthumous encouragement and succor they provide. They are there for us at our darkest hours, leading by example. There are others on my hero wall and others that sorely deserve mention. I mean no disrespect to those I omit. The three men I single out here, I do so in celebration of the spirit of National Coming Out Day. From each I garner a unique perspective and wisdom as I redouble my own will to persevere.

Thirteenth century Sufi poet, Rumi wrote, "Each tribe draws you into its own circle; the parrot sings of sugar, of ruins the crow." No one knew this better than writer and poet William S. Burroughs. Author of works such as Queer, Junkie, and Naked Lunch, Burroughs wrote of his life and struggle as an emerging Gay voice in an unwelcoming time. An author of his consummate skill could have easily allowed himself to be drawn into the din of the multitude. He chose instead a more noble path. Virginia Wolf once wrote, "...so I have to create the whole thing afresh for myself each time... It is the penalty we pay for breaking with tradition, and the solitude makes the writing more exciting, though being read less so." Naked Lunch, now seen as a modern classic was once deemed, "pornographic and unpublishable" by the critical hegemony of the day. Burroughs battled demons from without and within, sometimes losing ground, sometimes falling prey, but persevering to live in heroism to the age of 83, defiantly unapologetic to the end. When asked late in life if he had any regrets he replied, "Hell yes!" Regrets yes; apologies no! Never capitulating to the forces that sought to censor his original and unique voice, William S. Burroughs paved the way for the many Gay writers and social philosophers that followed.

Winston Churchill is quoted as having said, "Any man under 30 who is not a liberal has no heart, and any man over 30 who is not a conservative has no brains." What is it about age that should allow it to turn a heart to stone? As a young psychologist working at Harvard University, Timothy Leary brought the hallucinogenic drug, LSD to the campus. He saw its potential as a useful therapeutic agent in psychopharmacology. For Timothy and many others it became much more than that. It became a doorway to a new perception, which transcended the narrow constraints of the time and helped spark a revolution of cultural and political thought. Tim suffered persecution at the hands of cruel government and civil authority for most of his adult life because of his awakening and his willingness to share it with others, but he did not capitulate. He was known to have said, "You get the Timothy Leary that you deserve." He lived to age seventy-five, ever young and buoyant in his heroic freedom of self-expression - defiantly unapologetic to the end.

Artist, Robert Mapplethorpe said, "I'm looking for the unexpected. I'm looking for things I've never seen before." In his work, Mapplethorpe sought to reflect the artistic, integrated totality of life. Like Tim and William before him, Robert did not shy away from aspects of life that the prudishly pious saw as dirty or evil. Unfettered, he saw the beauty that lies in the whole of life and he expressed it fully and freely in the magnificent body of work that he left behind. Like Abraxas, God of Greek mythology, Mapplethorpe undertook the task of inscribing the godly and devilish elements that in union make up the blessed world in which we live. To worship the sacred while deriding the profane is to live a life out of balance. Robert Mapplethorpe, defiantly unapologetic to the end, departed from us far too soon at the age of 43, but not before leaving us a legacy of epic proportions.

Mapplethorpe's famous one-man show, "Robert Mapplethorpe: The Perfect Moment" raised the ire of right-wing Christian conservatives such as Jesse Helms and ignited a hateful war on freedom that began with Helms' attack on public funding of the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), and continues in battles over free expression that rage yet today. This struggle pits Helms and his ilk not only against free thinkers everywhere, but also specifically against the gay community. There are those both within and without the gay community that ask, "Would we not have been better off had Mapplethorpe not woken the sleeping giant that we battle still. Should we not pull in towards a more moderate view, forsaking the fringe so that the gay mainstream might more easily prosper?"

These are questions raised by well-meaning people. They see a quieter path to freedom. They propose that we mold ourselves into an image more pleasing to a gathering storm of opposition. Sadly, history has a tendency to repeat. These same arguments were made in post-World War One Germany as the Nazi regime began to take control of a fearful citizenry. Gay German men were among the very first to perish in the Nazi death camps. Yet only a few years before, non-Jewish Gays in Germany felt relatively unthreatened. Some were even openly conciliatory towards the upwardly mobile Adolph Hitler. Ernst Rohm, himself Gay, lead the elite Nazi SA storm-troopers until Hitler had no further use for him. Rohm and his compatriots were murdered in one of the first recorded Nazi massacres known as, "The Night of the Long Knives."

To the well-meaning supplicants of our oppressors that swell among our ranks I say, "No! No! No! Never again!" This October I implore each of us to affirm and reaffirm our defiant, unapologetic resistance and to follow in the path of the gay and non-gay heroes that have come before us. I offer the question posed by author Herman Hesse, "I wanted only to try to live in accord with the promptings which came from my true self. Why was that so very difficult?"

Come out October 11th. Come out to yourself. Come out to your family. Come out to your friends and co-workers. And if you're reading these words having already flung wide the doors of oppression's closet to walk unapologetically into the brutish light of day, I say come out again! And again. And again. Defiantly unapologetic until the very end.

Fear of Flossing

2003-10-09T01:24:00.000-07:00

Dentophobia

On a scale of one to ten - ten being least objectionable - my experience as a consumer of dental services has been in the seven to nine range most of my life. My mother has a terrible fear of dentists. Dentophobia is defined in "The Pop-up Book of Phobias" ¹ as, "acute anxiety brought on by the intrusion or threat of intrusion of the oral-facial complex by a practitioner of dentistry. The phobia often manifests itself in the form of paranoid delusions of dentist as torturer..." My mother's childhood visits to the dentist in rural Ohio during the first quarter of the twentieth century consisted of painful, anesthesia-free procedures. No doubt such childhood memories are largely responsible for her inordinate and continuing fear of even today's modern, painless dentistry.

My own experience quite to the contrary, what I recall most clearly of my earliest visits to the dentist are the copies of "Highlights Magazine"®, the colorful toys scattered around the waiting room, and the child-sized tables and chairs of blonde wood all very rounded and unthreatening. I must have experienced some pain, sometime while visiting Dr. Tierney's dental office, but if so I can't recall it. In spite of such fond, idealized childhood memories, my dental past has not been entirely uncheckered. Throughout my late teens and early twenties, I neglected my dental health more than I care to admit. So it is a miracle of sorts that I still have a full set of 32 - including four perfectly formed wisdom teeth. Not that I don't have plenty of dental work in my mouth, but the teeth underneath are all real. Restorations, dentists like to call them. I've had fillings, dental bonding procedures, porcelain veneers, crowns, and root canals. Four root canals in all: one in my twenties, one in my thirties, and two in my forties... so far. Judging from past experience, if I survive the remaining years of my forties and then make it through my fifties, I should expect to have added three additional root canals by the time I round the sexagenarian mark. Not that I've created a spreadsheet to predict the trendline. Okay, I did make a spreadsheet. I make a lot of spreadsheets.

Polynomial Dentistry

With each passing decade of root canals, the procedure has become easier and faster - I've never thought of root canals as painful, that's what anesthesia and analgesics are for - just time consuming and boring. My last couple of root canals were a breeze. Really! I have a great dentist. I'll give you his name and number if you want it. Really! The dentist that I had been seeing before I found my current dentist started out fine, but like perishable foods and houseguests became putrid over time. I recall one particularly bad visit to the office of my former dentist, during which I was to have my teeth cleaned. The regular dental hygienist was out sick. So I got the substitute, a temp. She was a stiff woman. As stiff as the white uniform she wore. I can best describe her as a cross between Nurse Diesel and Ernst Rohm. She spoke to me in an accusatory staccato of German-inflected English that seemed to chide even when she was praising my state of dental health - which mostly she was not. "You haf a loht ohf calculus on your teeth," she intoned as if revealing information that should cause me to recoil in horror. I had no idea what she meant, and briefly pondered insolently inquiring as to whether I had Algebra and Trigonometry on my teeth as well, but decided against it for fear that she would strike me with her large manly fist. Demurely I asked her, "What is calculus?" She replied with irritation, "Plaque!" I wondered why she didn't just say plaque in the first place, but nonetheless felt fortunate that I had gotten off with such a light scolding, sans corporal punishment.

Stalking the Wild Floss Pick

Sessions with the dental hygienist at my new dentist's office are much more enjoyable. Instead of constant verbal assaults as to how bad my teeth are, and therefore by association how bad I am, I hear remarks such as, "Your teeth really are actually pretty healthy." This positive approach, completely foreign to me in any dental office I've ever visited as an adult, has really paid off. I bought a new, more efficient toothbrush and now spend two or more minutes brushing my teeth two or more times per day - instead of the quick-as-you-can thirty-second brush-and-run approach I've employed for most of my life. And for the first time ever, I'm flossing regularly. I know what you're thinking, but this is not some devout but manic and fleeting fixation. I've been flossing once or twice a day for almost a year now. I never thought I could get myself to do this. In the past, as I finished brushing I'd think about flossing, but would inevitably convince myself that I didn't have time and would floss tomorrow instead. But tomorrow never came, until the day my dental hygienist introduced me to the floss pick.

The floss pick has really worked for me. I'm hooked. Now when I tell myself that I'm in too much of a rush to floss, I reply to myself, "Whoever it is, they can wait." Who knows while they're waiting for me maybe they'll go floss. The floss pick has certainly been an instrument of change for me, but I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that without my dentist, his staff, and the positive attitude that they exude, I could not have achieved this degree of improvement in my dental hygiene habits. I'm happy, proud even, to have all of my original teeth - restored or otherwise - and I'm thrilled at the prospect of keeping them. All genuine, ME-EM parts. Next they'll be calling me Mr. Goodtooth.

Music, Maestro Please

2003-10-08T12:24:00.000-07:00

"We have met the enemy. And they are us."

- Walt Kelly, "Pogo"

With more than just a bit of a different edge than Bill Clinton's Presidential campaign song: Fleetwood Mac's, "Don't Stop (Thinking About Tomorrow)," Arnold Schwarzenegger's campaign selection: Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It" - performed at a widely telecast Sacramento, Schwarzenegger rally on October 5th by singer Dee Snider (or is it Snyder?) - raised more than just a few eyebrows while raising the pre-election spirits of the Schwarzenegger faithful. Let's do a side by side comparison of lyrics, shall we?

Don't Stop (Thinking About Tomorrow) William Clinton campaign song	We're Not Gonna Take It Arnold Schwarzenegger campaign song
" If you wake and you don't want to smile Just you wait, wait a little while Open your eyes and look at the day You might see things in a different way Don't stop thinking about tomorrow Don't stop, it'll soon be here..." - Written by Christine McVie as released on "Rumours" (1977) by Fleetwood Mac	"Oh we're not gonna take it No, we ain't gonna take it Oh we're not gonna take it anymore We've got the right to choose and There ain't no way we'll lose it This is our life, this is our song We'll fight the powers that be just Don't pick our destiny 'cause You don't know us, you don't belong" - Written by Dee Snyder (Twisted Sister) as released on "Twisted Forever" (2001)

I'll resist the urge to compare and contrast the album titles: "Rumours" and "Twisted Forever," in order to focus on the contrast between the underlying mean-spiritedness and perfidy of the Schwarzenegger campaign lyrics as opposed to the gentle committed optimism of the Clinton lyrics. Snyder's lyrics on first reading may bring to mind an episode of the Jerry Springer Show - Jerry by the way is reportedly considering a run for the United States Senate - but dig deeper for a more sinister meaning. Governor-elect Schwarzenegger, a multimillionaire himself, ran as the "people's candidate" on a platform of vagaries, with the endorsement and funding of the Republican elite. "You don't know us, you don't belong?" No kidding Arnie. Don't expect anything but a "members only" government in Sacramento when the so-called "people's candidate" takes over.

Also, I find the near-plagiaristic similarity of the lyric, "...we're not going to take it anymore" to the line, "I'm mad as Hell and I'm not going to take it anymore," from the Sidney Lumet film "Network," (1976) as uttered by the Peter Finch in his portrayal of the character Howard Beale during a psychotic break, noteworthy. In Network, the oligarchy of a television network's elite upper management manipulated the public by capitalizing on the frustration of the masses, as expressed in Beal's desperate litany, diverting it to serve private gain while claiming vox populi.

As the final votes continue to be tallied, an up to the minute election results summary can be viewed at the Web site of the California Secretary of State. Notable is the fact that Arianna Huffington - who formally dropped out of the running in the last weeks of the campaign - as well as Larry Flynt and Gary Coleman placed in the top ten.

I don't known what songs Larry and Gary picked for their campaigns.

T4

2003-10-08T08:00:00.000-07:00

I dozed off just before dusk yesterday evening, and sank into a nightmare from which I cannot seem to wake. Don't you hate it when that happens? I dreamt that a trash-talking, womanizing, intellectually vapid, Hollywood "action hero" movie star - the term movie star as used here is not to be confused with the word actor: all gentlemen are men but not all men are gentlemen - had somehow been elected Governor of the State of California in a carnival-like, whirlwind recall campaign so transparent that you could actually see the special-effects wires they were using to "fly" the so-called hero. And no matter what I do, hours after waking up, I still can't clear myself of this horrible phantasmagoria.

Get ready to be terminated California, its your turn to get flushed headfirst down the toilet. But this time it's no movie. The name plate on the desk may read Governor Schwarzenegger, but peel back the blistered self-adhesive lettering strip, and you might glimpse the name of the real shadow Governor behind the meat puppet. The scriptwriter who'll be putting the words in the mouth of the guy who's been tapped to play the part of Governor, butchering the English language, as he shamelessly carves up the Filet Mignon of California serving it Schatzi-style to the Republican inner circle, leaving but gristle for the rest of us. Whom are the puppet masters, you may ask? What kind of a shadow government would that be if you knew the names of the Machiavels working the rag dolls? Then how about just one letter from the name of Governor Arnold's muse and master, you say? Fair enough, "W." No, not that "W." How bizarre would that be to have a puppet working the puppet?

Pete Wilson finally popped up in front of the lenses of the news media today, like some kind of vampire groundhog. Who knows what cave, along which border he's been hiding in. I guess once the diversion is in place, the most occult of hiding places is that which is in plain sight. In the words of the David Mamet character, veteran thief Joe Moore, played by Gene Hackman in the film, "Heist" (2001), "Everybody's gonna be looking in the shadows... The place to be is in the sun." Misdirection, the mainstay of magician and grifter alike.

I couldn't bear to watch Wolf Blizter welcome in the newest machination of underhanded skull and bones politics, so instead I watched Comedy Central's, "The Daily Show With John Stewart," which aired "mostly live" at 8 p.m. Pacific Time as the California polls closed. Better to laugh than to cry. And all the better to get the news about California's new fake Governor from a "fake news show." If only this were but a nightmare; cold shower and some hot coffee and I'd likely be able to shake it off like a hangover. But unfortunately the fakery is all too real.

I'm moving to Vancouver. I promise to write.

Hasta La Vista, Arnold!

2003-10-07T13:19:00.000-07:00

Voting in my household has always been a family event. For many years on election day Rick and I, and our dogs Charlie and Eddie - my dear departed Katie before them - have walked the five blocks to the Robertson Recreation Center early in the morning to cast our ballots. Well, that is except for a short period of time when I had begun to feel so disenfranchised and hopeless about the whole system that I refused to vote. Rick voted solitarily in those elections while I remained in bed wallowing in depression. It was really only one or two minor elections that I boycotted. Specifically those immediately after the Presidential debacle that climaxed in Florida some three years ago.

I'm happy to report that I've fully recovered from my electoral ennui. This morning I rejoined the suffrage with renewed vigor. I live in a neighborhood of diverse population. It is mixed in ethnicity, religious belief, and age. My neighborhood is home to African Americans, Caucasians, Asians, Hispanics, a large Jewish community - Reformed, Conservative, as well as a large number of Chasidm, a Greek Orthodox community, and also boasts the highest concentration of Sikhs outside of India. But for several moments today while casting my vote - NO recall, YES Bustamante, NO 53, and NO 54, to go on record - I could have sworn that I was in West Palm Beach. All around me were elderly people, confused about how to cast their ballots.

"So, I vote on the recall OR I vote for a candidate? Right?," the confused older gentleman in front of me asked no less than five times.

Over and over, as I waited to cast my ballot I heard this same question echoing through the room. Even some of the polling place workers were confused. One kindly looking elderly lady helping to run the polling site simply smiled silently in response to the question. Fortunately some of the election workers knew how to answer the question and tried their best to resolve the confusion bubbling all around. I always thought that these polling place workers were volunteers, but today I was told that they are paid a whopping four dollars per hour.

Hopefully sensible voters will make it to the polls in sufficient numbers and then understand how to cast their ballots so that we can say, "Hasta la vista, baby," to Arnold once and for all. With a little luck he'll not only lose the election but also leave the State of California altogether. Maybe he could move next door to George and Laura in Texas after "W" loses the White House in 2004. I hope I don't have to eat my words on this. Time will tell.

As I left the Robertson Recreation Center, with my "I Voted" sticker firmly affixed to Charlie's mane, I noticed the confused older gentleman that had been in front of me in line also leaving. "So, I vote on the recall OR I vote for a candidate? Right?," I heard him ask as he and his wife walked away.

Lost In Translation

2003-10-06T01:46:00.000-07:00

For anyone who has spent more than a couple of days stuck in a hotel room while traveling on business, "Lost In Translation," (2003) - playing in theaters now - written and directed by Sofia Coppola who also directed "The Virgin Suicides" (2000), may well induce, as it did in me, an immediate sympathetic vibration. A superb performance by Bill Murray, perhaps the best of his entire career, while sober in character facilitates more than a few intensely humorous moments in this film. But do not be mislead. "Lost In Translation" is not a light comedy about strangers in a strange land. This film speaks to an alienation deeper than that of cultures. It speaks directly to the darkness at the center of the soul, to the plight of the human spirit enveloped in a universal entropy, to the ache of heart-crushing loneliness that - in the elemental state of tragedy in which we as self-aware sentient beings find ourselves - afflicts us all.

Its stunningly beautiful cinematography - "Lost In Translation" is filmed on location in Tokyo, Japan - has at once a visceral cacophonous edge, and a dreamlike quality that ebbs and flows, reminiscent of the works of the French impressionist masters. Indeed at times the unrushed, quiet stealth of the film reminds me of an afternoon spent lost in visual meditation at a fine art museum. If you are expecting an adolescent belly-laugh comedy, buy or rent "Ghostbusters" (1984) and pop it in your DVD player. But if you care to journey into the depths of human frailty and perhaps glimpse introspectively into your own, with just enough wry comic relief to keep you afloat, then "Lost In Translation" is a film for you. It certainly was for me.

100 Suns

2003-10-05T23:24:00.000-07:00

"I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."

- J. Robert Oppenheimer, upon the detonation of the world's first nuclear bomb at a test site in the New Mexico desert, quoting from the Vedic text, "Bhagavad Gita."

100 Suns

by Michael Light

"Between July 1945 and November 1962 the United States is known to have conducted 216 atmospheric and underwater nuclear tests. After the Limited Test Ban Treaty between the United States and the Soviet Union in 1963, nuclear testing went underground. It became literally invisible but more frequent: the United States conducted a further 723 underground tests, the last in 1992. 100 Suns documents the era of visible nuclear testing, the atmospheric era, with one hundred photographs drawn by Michael Light from the archives at Los Alamos National Laboratory and the U.S. National Archives in Maryland. It includes previously classified material from the clandestine Lookout Mountain Air Force Station based in Hollywood, whose film directors, cameramen and still photographers were sworn to secrecy."

- Excerpted from book review at Amazon.com.

Eating Sagittarius

2003-10-04T18:38:00.000-07:00

New map of the Milky Way shows our galaxy to be a cannibal

Study Shows the Milky Way is Out to Lunch

Chicken Little was right. The sky is falling.

"Thousands of stars stripped from the nearby Sagittarius dwarf galaxy are streaming through our vicinity of the Milky Way galaxy, according to a new view of the local universe constructed by a team of astronomers from the University of Virginia and the University of Massachusetts... This image, and its associated movie, shows the distribution of stars in the shredded Sagittarius dwarf galaxy as revealed by the observations reported here. " [more]

listen

2003-10-04T00:52:00.000-07:00

12WORDS4YEAR03

october 03

listen

"It's harder to listen than to talk. But give it a try. Shut out all the noise in your brain and listen to the ocean. Listen to what the children are saying. Listen to a stranger. If you want to be heard, then listen. Really listen."

Fifty Reasons NOT to Vote for Arnold

2003-10-03T00:06:00.000-07:00

From Metroactive News in Santa Cruz
A Bay Area arts and entertainment service of Metro Newspapers

Fifty Reasons NOT to Vote for Arnold

He wouldn't vote for you-or anyone else.
He's in way over his head.
He thinks you don't care that he's in way over his head.
He keeps repeating that he's going to "clean house."
His own house isn't as "clean" as he wants you to think.
He's discovered "special interests"-and maybe they're not so bad after all!
As an actor-turned-wannabe-california-governor, he's got Ronald Reagan for a role model.
He wants Ronald Reagan for a role model.
He's a wimp.
He lies.
He drives a Hummer.
He may consider "The Crusher" a political strategy.
He is-no matter what anyone says-a Republican.
He chose one of the most hated ex-governors of California to run his campaign.
He voted for Prop.187.
As a gubernatorial candidate, he's an actor.
His own adviser can't think of three good reasons to elect him.
He's got woman issues.
No, really, there's something freaky going on with his woman issues.
He's a threat to working Californians.
If elected, he would be properly called the "Kaiser" of California in his native Austrian tongue.
As a gubernatorial candidate, he's a novelty item.
He supports prayer in school.
He may not support gay rights as much as everyone believes.
He picked Rob Lowe of "West Wing" fame to be on his campaign team.
He's known for "pumping up" the crowds at GOP conventions.
He's got creepy connections to the energy crisis.
He's got even creepier connections to the energy crisis.
He chickened out on Proposition 13.
As a gubernatorial candidate, he's a P.E.coach.
Bush thinks he'd make a "good" governor.
He's not really "the people's candidate."
His father was a Nazi.
He invited accused Nazi war criminal Kurt Waldheim to his wedding.
He's unequipped to deal with the state's $38 billion deficit.
He stumped for Bush Sr. in the 1988 presidential campaign.
His own party doesn't care who he is, as long as he wins.
If he wins, Bush gets re-elected.
He openly admits to and supports drug use.
He's got a Machiavellian streak.
Did we mention he creeps us out?
Oh yeah, and he's got those woman issues.
He's going to dumb down politics even further.
He can't get the Kennedys to back him.
For the last time, he is a Republican.
His knee-jerk attitude towards taxes is ridiculous.
He's a "family values" Republican.
He'd never survive a regular election.
He needs a serious ego check.
It'll be six months before we can recall him.

New on DVD : Nowhere in Africa

2003-10-02T17:29:00.000-07:00

I first saw "Nowhere in Africa" (2002) at a small "art house theatre" near my home. Our friend Patti had called that morning to invite Rick and I to go with her. It had been some time since we had enjoyed the pleasure of Patti's company, we had a free afternoon, so off we went to the movies. I attended the screening as a complete naïve - which I maintain is nearly always the best circumstance at one's first viewing of a film. So when the opening title sequence began... in German I was surprised, in my ignorance, that it was a subtitled foreign film I had come to see. Not that I object to subtitled foreign films - it's only dubbed films to which I object, with the possible exception of Woody Allen's, "What's Up Tiger Lily?" (1966). I mention my surprise only as emphasis in underscoring just how little I knew about "Nowhere in Africa," other than that it probably had something to do with Africa.

I really wasn't there to see the film, so much as I was to spend a pleasant afternoon with Patti. About ninety minutes in, I gave up trying to choke back the tears and succumbed to unrestrained sobbing. I'll reveal nothing about the film here, in hopes of preserving for others the pure cinematic experience to which I was privileged. I'll say only this. The film left me asking myself just how far out of comfort would I step, to what degree would I place myself at personal risk, how much would I sacrifice, to stand against injustice. I'm still working on my answer.

"Nowhere In Africa" is newly available on DVD.

The Lesson

2003-10-02T10:40:00.000-07:00

The Atlantic | October 2003 | The Lesson | Levine

The Lesson
by Phillip Levine

"Early in the final industrial century on the street where I was born lived a doctor who smoked black shag and walked his dog each morning as he muttered to himself in a language only the dog knew. The doctor had saved my brother's life, the story went, reached two stained fingers down his throat to extract a chicken bone and then bowed to kiss the ring-encrusted hand of my beautiful mother, a young widow on the lookout for a professional. Years before, before the invention of smog, before Fluid Drive, the eight-hour day, the iron lung, I'd come into the world in a shower of industrial filth raining from the bruised sky above Detroit." [more]

- Philip Levine

Arianna Drops Out of California Governor's Race

2003-10-01T17:21:00.000-07:00

Campaign Shifts to: Defeat the Recall, Arnold and Prop 54

Ariana Huffington has dropped out of the California Governor's race to focus on campaigning for the three NOs!

NO on Recall!
NO on Arnold!
NO on Prop 54!

You go girl! No misogyny or patronization intended.

A fake President is bad enough, do we really need a fake Governor as well?

Don't forget to vote on Tuesday, October 7th.

If you hurry, there is still time to vote early using Touchscreen Voting - the deadline for Touchscreen Voting is Friday, October 3rd.

Dear Grandchildren

2003-10-01T13:24:00.000-07:00

Alta Omnimedia Unveils New Book

The notes on the dust jacket of "Dear Grandchildren" begin, "Neither a professional author nor an aspiring writer, Alta nonetheless brilliantly recalls her life as a child on the frontier in the early 1900's." I concur. This is indeed a remarkable book. In this slender volume, the author recounts her picaresque life story with great poignancy, weaving it seamlessly into an historical retrospective of the waning years of the American frontier, imparting a sense of authenticity that can only be garnered from firsthand experience. Eddie, Glen, and Mary - Alta's siblings - spring to life as characters, lingering in your memory as if you had known them personally. Reading this book, I felt the joys and heartaches of the Brean family, "from snapdragons in spring to sad irons in the winter" as depicted in bas-relief against a hardscrabble Steinbeckian vision of our past as a young, restless country in transition.

"Dear Grandchildren" is an embodiment of the tradition of oral history that is sadly slipping away from us in our modern culture. Can we know who we are and where we are going without understanding from whence we've come? I recommend purchasing two copies of this book. Keep one for yourself. Send the other to your mother, father, grandmother, or great aunt in the hope of inspiring pen to paper in the inscription of your own family history.

"Dear Grandchildren" is available now at www.DearGrandchildren.com.

ISBN 0-9726360-0-5. $18.95.
Hardcover with dust jacket.
144 pages with 35 maps and photos.
Published 2003.
100% of the profit from the sale of this book benefits breast cancer research and education.

About Alta Omnimedia, LLC

Alta Omnimedia is a publisher of books and other media specializing in American History. The company is based in San Jose, California. For other information, please visit www.AltaOmnimedia.com.

Alta Omnimedia is a trademark of Alta Omnimedia, LLC. All other product or service names are the property of their respective owners.

Cheney's conflict with the truth

2003-10-01T05:17:00.000-07:00

Boston.com / News / Boston Globe / Editorial / Opinion / Op-ed / Cheney's conflict with the truth

"'ON MEET THE PRESS' ...Vice President Dick Cheney said, 'Since I left Halliburton to become George Bush's vice president, I've severed all my ties with [Halliburton], gotten rid of all my financial interests. I have no financial interest in Halliburton of any kind and haven't had now, for over three years.'

Senator Frank Lautenberg of New Jersey pointed reporters toward Cheney's public financial disclosure sheets filed with the US Office of Government Ethics. The sheets show that in 2002, Cheney received $162,392 in deferred salary from Halliburton, the oil and military contracting company he ran before running for vice president. In 2001, Cheney received $205,298 in deferred salary from Halliburton."

- Derrick Z. Jackson, The Boston Globe

All the Muck That's Fit to Rake

2003-10-01T04:43:00.000-07:00

The gang's all here, except there ain't no Snow White in this story.

High Crimes and Misdemeanors: Wilsongate

2003-09-30T03:27:00.000-07:00

It's all over the news the past couple of days. In fact it's old news by now; the story actually started last summer. This past July, retired U.S. Ambassador Joseph Wilson had strong doubts about the veracity of prewar allegations that Iraq, under Saddam Hussein had attempted to purchase uranium from Africa. Upon returning to the United States from a trip to Niger, Ambassador Wilson went public with his view of the unlikeliness of this scenario, the same scenario that George Bush used in a State of the Union address to help support his case for going to war. If you're a fan of Comedy Central's, "The Daily Show, with John Stewart" you may recall that John interviewed Ambassador Wilson on this very subject. [Under Stewart's adroit reign The Daily Show seems to be morphing from what he describes as a "fake news show" into a real, albeit still hilarious, one whether John likes it or not.] What you may not have known until the recent buzz of controversy, is that shortly after an op-ed piece in which Wilson stated his case was published in the New York Times, confidential information about Wilson's wife, Valerie Plame in her role as an undercover CIA operative was allegedly "leaked" to several members of the press. Columnist Robert Novak broke the story. And although Novak has publicly stated, "Nobody in the Bush administration called me to leak this," allegations of White House involvement have reached at least as high as Presidential Advisor, "Karl Rove." Personally, as a survivor of the Nixon years I must say that this feels all too familiar. [Once while I was canvassing door-to-door for George McGovern in Phoenix, Arizona a voter pointed a shotgun in my face and ordered me off of his property. I complied at once and then promptly switched to telephone canvassing.] I feel as though I'm experiencing a bit of déjà vu. Could President Bush have had prior knowledge of such, so called dirty tricks?

It has been suggested that information was leaked as a direct retribution for Wilson's actions. Ambassador Wilson remarked during an interview with Robert Siegel aired yesterday on NPR's, "All Things Considered" that he, "...thought that this was designed much more to intimidate others and discourage them from coming forward than anything to do with me." By all accounts Wilson's wife had nothing whatever to do with any disagreement of fact between Wilson and the Bush White House. But someone, somewhere reached out and put her life at extreme risk by exposing the specifics of her service in the CIA. Condoleezza Rice has been all over the media, blathering as usual, with denials and idunnos. The White House has said that it will not launch an investigation, but will cooperate fully with a proposed United States Justice Department investigation. Oh I see, the Bush White House would cooperate fully with an investigation carried out under Secretary of Justice John Ashcroft, a Bush appointee. I just felt another shiver of Watergate run through me. Senator Charles Schumer, who has described the entire affair as, "dastardly" is calling for an independent special prosecutor. White House spokesman Ari Fleischer has indicated that the Bush Administration feels this is unnecessary. Apparently it was vital to install special prosecutor Ken Star to investigate President Clinton regarding issues surrounding a blow-job. But somehow issues of possible impropriety surrounding a war that threatens to bankrupt America and continues to claim countless lives is somehow of such lesser importance that it does not justify retaining a special prosecutor.

Republicans didn't invent dirty tricks; they just refined them into a noir art form. But in the final analysis, Achem's razor in hand, how likely is it really that there is a clear and unbroken connection between George Bush Jr. and the dastardly deed of maliciously exposing an undercover CIA operative? Hey wait a minute, isn't George Bush Sr. a former head of the CIA? There goes that chill again.

Artists, Slaves, and Prostitutes

2003-09-29T03:21:00.000-07:00

As much as I've been feeling significant, albeit self-imposed, pressure to weigh in on the RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America) music piracy lawsuit issue, I'm still on the fence. I didn't take a stand in my August 2003 "Intellectual Property and Digital Content Management" article for Best Practices , and I'm hard pressed to take one now. As an active participant in the lively art of writing I should have a strong opinion. But do I? Why can't I commit on this one?

When I purchase goods and services, I'm never loathe to tender the filthy lucre. I've been known to say such things as, "I don't work for free and I don't expect anyone else to either." But here I am at half-past midnight, burning the oil of the hour, Blogging my fingers to the bone... and without pay. And cheerfully so! I write for the stir of words in my soul, not for that of currency. Not that I'm against getting paid to write. Cash, check, money order, it's all good. But as artists, why do we create? Is it for money, or is it for love? But if we work and our work goes uncompensated, enriching not us but others, what is the name then by which we call that? Ayn Rand - yes stop snickering, I'm quoting Ayn Rand and I'm not stoned or in my sophomore year at NYU - wrote, in the voice of the fictional character Howard Roark, "A man who works for another man without payment is a slave. I don't think that slavery is noble no matter who makes the claim." Are we artists, slaves, or prostitutes?

So you see, I'm waffling yet. Therefore while I continue to search for ethical - if not moral - clarity in this issue, perhaps I'll take pause to borrow a line or two - to the extent allowed by "fair use" - from others who seem to have a more precise opinion on the matter.

"Music fans cannot expect... musicians to continue to produce quality albums if they are not willing to pay."

- Cheryl Crow, as quoted in
People Magazine, September 29th, 2003, Page 71.

"...won't you quit, you really make me sick with ya fraudulent behavior, you're gonna make me flip and then an army couldn't save ya ...you need to take heed and quit being such a groupie, ever since I did a little show in Guadeloupee, I neva saw a groupie like you, but what is funny is ya wanted to be down with my crew, but D-E-L is not down with any clowns or jesters, so I would suggest that ya try to impress Uncle Fester, dobolina, because ya don't impress me, dobolina, the style of dress is not the key dobolina, it's all in the mind and the heart, so you should start by remembering ya gotta pay a fee, dobalina"

- Del The Funky Homosapien, as quoted in his song Mistadobalina - one of my all time favorites, along with Fatboy Slim's Weapon of Choice

Wait, is Del for or against? Check it. Del rails against a smarmy entertainment industry that bleeds musicians to dry toast. A musicocracy that derides true creativity, authentic culture, and real originality in favor focus group approved, demographically proven, Wallmart selected, profit-driven, flatline continuity. That is until someone breaks through with something new that catches a wave. And then, if only for a few precious moments, something real tops the heap, while the "industry" retools to spin out copy after copy of their version of "the next big thing." An homogenized, pasteurized, inauthentic spew. Coordinated couture sold separately.

Anyway, that's what I think Del's on about in Mistadobalina. After all, what's the real difference between the suits on the top floor of Capitol Records at Hollywood and Vine and the pimps on the downlow in front of the building? Product. Right? But the light bill does have to get paid. When I was studying Art at Otis Parson's in the 1980's, my favorite teacher - Greg Dickson, who worked as a draftsman all day, and in his fine art studio all night - told me, [badly paraphrased here] "There's your art. And then there's what you do to get paid. Don't confuse the two." I've never forgotten that sage advice. So I guess that's why I'm still on the fence. And why I'm up all night writing.

I'll close with my favorite quote on the RIAA issue.

"Out of the millions of MP3 files, if someone chooses to download one of mine, I'm very flattered."

- Moby, as quoted in People Magazine, September 29th, 2003, Page 71.

Word, Moby.

And Schwarzenegger for all?

2003-09-27T22:11:00.000-07:00

It had been some time since my dogs and I had been to Laurel Canyon Dog Park. Our absence over the past six months or so was certainly not intentional though. They've been regulars at the park since they were pups - romping there, on and off, for over four years. We had simply been more focused on other outdoor dog activities such as Huntington Dog Beach - a bit of a drive from West Los Angeles, but well worth the time and effort. Today seemed like the perfect day to reprise our dog park days. During the short drive to the park I reminisced about many pleasant afternoons spent there. I recalled sitting in the shade eating a hot dog or two, purchased from Darrel's parkside hot dog cart, while enjoying the company of dog park regulars that often included Hollywood actors, some well known others less so. Ed Begley Jr. would show up on occasion, and more than once I noticed Tom Snyder walking his Komondor Hungarian Sheepdog.

The condition of the park had improved since my last visit. A reseeding project had apparently been quite successful, as large sections of the park that I remember as barren dusty voids are now verdant with lush turf. A mild late-summer Southern California breeze wafted through the trees. I decided to visit with Darrel and his wife, and the others gathered under the canopy next to the hot dog cart. I ordered a Jumbo Turkey Dog with Sauerkraut and Mustard. Idillic! I sat down, and opened a copy of the Los Angeles Times that I had brought with me. Suddenly I was overtaken by a booming voice that penetrated my consciousness, "Well I wouldn't believe anything I read in the L.A. Times." Apparently the discussion under the canopy was centered on California's upcoming special Gubernatorial election. The comment about the Times was a soapbox complaint that, in the opinion of the speaker, the paper's liberal slant in general and as respects Gray Davis in particular make it unfit reading. I nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of the concept of the LA Times as the bulwark of liberalism, but instead remained silent, feigned reading, and determined to observe quietly, abstaining from participation in what appeared to be a caucus of dolts, dullards, and demagogues engaged in a mindless political discourse going nowhere good, fast. The mild summer morning was evanescing into a dog day afternoon.

I surveyed the small assembly and recognized only one "regular." Darrel was seated to my left. Directly before me was the self appointed leader of a would-be Davis lynch mob, seemingly with the singular focus of asserting the righteousness of Arnold Schwarzenegger's inevitable ascendance to the California Governor's office. Perched high on a tall director's chair, neatly groomed with the look of an evangelical Young Republican, he willfully directed the oratory among an odd mix of parishioners. To his right sat a woman that I can only describe as having the look of a "biker chick." And to his left sat a man that I believe could've passed for Charles Manson. I wondered what had become of the enlightened dog park intelligentsia, about which I had been waxing nostalgic just moments earlier. I glanced at Darrel. He had chosen also to remain silent. He glanced back with a look that told me I was't the only one there that felt as if our gentle dog park dell had been hijacked by Rush Limbaugh in the lead of an odd pack of entranced misanthropes.

The discourse went from Davis bashing, to Bustamante battering, to Huffington thrashing, and then inevitably to Schwarzenegger idolatry. The group managed to justify, to themselves, an accusation that Bustamante was guilty of statewide fiscal malfeasance or at least incompetence. They had somehow conflated Bustamante and Davis into a singular malignant statehouse chimera. I could stand no more. I interjected the fact that only ten-percent of the California budget is discretionary, the other ninety-percent having been mandated, to no small extent by initiative vote, to specific legally required entitlements. "That's not true," Mr. Young Republican snapped back. "Yes, it is," I replied. "No!" he spat. "Yes!" I returned. "Well, Schwarzenegger is the only one that can fix the current fiscal crisis in California because he is not beholding to anyone," he asserted. "No," I said, "Schwarzenegger is a meat puppet who is mostly interested in aligning himself with any political faction that he believes will best preserve his significant wealth." I stood up to leave. "Well, Schwarzenegger is going to win," came the final jab. "You might be right," I said sepulcrally, "but only if the Republicans can really get out the starfucker vote in October."

I paid Darrel for the hot dog and said, "Where's Ed Begely Jr. when you need him?" Darrel nodded in agreement.

It's a cold, it's a flu, no... it's Mystery Virus!

2003-09-26T06:10:00.000-07:00

I've spoken to three friends who have friends who have friends who've have it or just got over it: sick for five or six days with chills, fever, sweats, severe all-over flu-like body pain, extreme fatigue, and weakness - but NO cough, sniffles, sore throat, or digestive upset.

As for me, today is the first day I've felt like myself since last Friday. I was barely out of bed and not Blogging at all for over a week. So, I've got a whole lot a backlogged Blog [BackBlog?].

Stay tuned.

Bye Bye Baby Bush

2003-09-17T15:02:00.000-07:00

Wesley K. Clark Announces his bid to become President of the United States of America

Today, Wesley Clark announced his candidacy for President of the United States. It seems to me that Wesley Clark is our best chance at defeating George W. Bush in the 2004 presidential election. It's time to get our country back. And if it takes a Four Star General to do it, then so be it.

Sorry if I sound like a broken record on this point, but I fear for the safety and well being not only of America, but of the entire world if we don't reject the Bush administration in the 2004 election. I happened to turn on CNN today and caught the last half of "Crossfire." The Republicans are shaking in their boots. The criticisms being hurled from the Republican Right at Clark seemed to center on accusations that he has been known to be personally brash. Good! Let's send in a brash military General to toss the "dress up and play soldier" out of the White House. Clark has real military leadership and a background in investment banking. I may be wrong, but that sounds like a good choice for someone to clean up the domestic and international mess George W. Bush and his gang banger thugs have wrought upon the American people and the world as a whole.

America for Clark

Click here to visit the official America for Clark Web Site.

Click here to visit the Wesley Clark for President Store: Bumper Stickers, etc.

Wesley Clark: Clark's Stand on the Issues

2003-09-11T23:51:00.000-07:00

I don't know if you caught Wesley Clark's appearance on HBO's Real Time with Bill Maher last week, but I sure did.

The man made a lot of sense.

Just who is Wesley Clark and what exactly does he stand for?

Click here to read about Wesley Clark and his stand on the Issues. He may announce his presidential candidacy next week. Let's hope so. With Clark in the running we may just have some hope of getting our country back from the Texas Hee Haw currently sitting in front of the presidential seal with that sickening smirk on his face. Remember what a joke W was during the run up to the presidential race? Hitler was a national joke in Germany too, until he seized power and declared war on Jews, Gays, and the rest of the free world.

Is Wesley Clark the man to replace George Bush in the White House in 2004?

I'm just beginning to inform myself about Wesley Clark, so there'll be no conclusions from me on this question just yet. But I do know that we need to get a REAL president in the White House before the entire international community becomes convinced that we're all a bunch of shoot'em up cowboys. If we re-elect Bush it will become harder and harder for the world to distinguish America from the guy that stole the election in 2000 and is currently occupying Iraq AND the White House.

This can't wait for the 2008 election. We need to get Bush out of the white house in 2004 at the risk of irreparable damage in the court of world opinion should we give him our blessings with a second term.

Warren Zevon, 1947 - 2003

2003-09-08T22:46:00.000-07:00

Warren Zevon, 1947 - 2003

"I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand
Walking thru the streets of Soho in the rain
He was looking for the place called Lee Ho Fook's
Going to get himself a big dish of beef chow mein
Hi ho, the werewolves of London

If you hear his howling around the kitchen door
You better not let him in
Little old lady got mutilated last nite
Werewolves of London again
Hi ho, werewolves of London

He's the hairy-handed gent who ran amuck in Kent
Lately he's been overheard in Mayfair
You better stay away from him, he'll rip your lungs out Jim
I'd like to meet his tailor
Hi ho, werewolves of London

Well, I saw Lon Cheney walking with the Queen
Doing the werewolves of London
I saw Lon Cheney Jr. walking with the Queen
I saw a werewolf dringing a pina colada at Trader Vic's
And his hair was perfect
Hi ho, the werewolves of London, draw blood"

Warren Zevon
1947 - 2003

Just in case you missed it

2003-09-08T17:28:00.000-07:00

Just in case you missed it in print, click here to read my recent article published in FAB.

To the dogs I tells ya, to the dogs!

2003-09-03T23:49:00.000-07:00

No New Nukes: Tell the Senate to Join the House

To see Chip explain U.S. nuclear weapons policy click one of the following links:

Real Broadband
Real Dial-Up
Windows Media Broadband
Windows Media Dial-Up

President Bush has requested more than 20 million dollars for research on advanced nuclear weapons concepts. The Pentagon says they'd be more "usable" than our current nuclear weapons, the very reason arms control advocates urge that they be stopped. In July, the House of Representatives voted against (all but 5 million of) this request. The Senate is set to vote later this month.

To send a free fax to your Senators asking them to oppose funding for a new generation of nuclear weapons click here.

Mendenhall

2003-08-31T20:17:00.000-07:00

I couldn't resist sharing this photo I scanned from a print that I just received from my friend who's wedding I recently attended in Alaska.

Her father took the photo as I stood in front of the Mendenhall glacier and glacial pond in Juneau, Alaska.

The Mendenhall is a retreating glacier, meaning it is melting away, in essence flowing backwards. Glaciers are frozen rivers, and as such would be expected to flow forward. Many still do, but the Mendenhall glacier is in retreat.

When a glacier retreats it leaves bodies of water behind. These are known as glacial ponds - in spite of the fact that many, such as the one in the photo, are as large as a small lake. The water is silvery-gray in color due to the colloidal glacial silt that remains in suspension.

Take the Skinheads Bowling

2003-08-23T18:58:00.000-07:00

Having had placed a pre-order with Amazon on July 2nd, 2003, waiting breath bated for nearly two months in anticipation of the August 19th DVD release of Michael Moore's documentary film "Bowling for Columbine," I was delightfully surprised to receive it in the mail a full day before the announced release date. Resume normal respiration.

Clumsily ripping through multiple adhesive closures imprinted with the words "Security Device Enclosed," I Imagined Michael encountering similar safeguards of DVD packaging might perhaps say, "Well, at least our DVDs are secure."

As I opened the disk case, my thoughts reached back to a December evening in 2002, when while visiting New York City I had attended a showing of "Bowling for Columbine." As follows is my account, as journalized in archived email, of the experience:

12/03/2002 Today we saw the new Michael Moore film, "Bowling for Columbine." If you have not seen this film please do so. If you have already seen it and would like to see it again, please invite me to join you.

I was very disturbed by this film. It made me feel like I can't be a part of the corporate world anymore - I felt dirty, and not the fun kind of dirty.

12/04/2002 I woke up this morning, still disturbed by the Michael Moore film. I had trouble getting to sleep last night. I need to do something more meaningful with my life. I'm a shit. Michael Moore is a hero.

We went to the WTC site today. We walked the entire perimeter after first standing in complete silence in front of the site for a good half-hour. I didn't cry or fall to the ground or speak in tongues, but the experience did have the feel of a pilgrimage. I noticed that everyone around me was looking down into the large gaping hole in the ground that lay before us. I found myself looking up into the sky to where the towers had once been. I'd repeatedly catch myself in the act and redirect my gaze into the pit, but in short order I'd find myself once again staring skyward. It felt as if I was seeing a ghost, a phantasm of the vanquished towers and of the lives lost therein outlined in wireframe, that only I could see.

"Bowling for Columbine" truly changed my life. To be clear about my reference to being "part of the corporate world," I have never been more than a quondam necessary annoyance to the corporate chimera. But I had certainly been a supplicant to the brutal succubus in the addictive sycophancy of my professional life. Michael Moore's film has been a catalyst of personal revolution for me.

The special edition DVD is a two-disk set, which contains four hours of additional content, including a segment in which Michael Moore speaks candidly about his Oscar® acceptance speech. I suggest that you watch this short before viewing the film itself, whether or not you've already seen "Bowling for Columbine." I found the piece truly touching, and revelatory of Michael's humility, personal warmth, and strong resolve of conscience.

Please buy the DVD, "Bowling for Columbine." Click here to order it from Amazon or get up right now from where you are sitting and go buy it from a retail store. If you can't afford to buy it, then rent it. I'd lend you my copy, but for the "vote of confidence" you'll cast by your purchase or rental of this DVD. In Michael's words, "...media conglomerates would never put me up on the screen... because they thought it was a good idea. They're only doing it because people like you actually rent this video... and so it makes them money. And that's the only reason I'm let in the door. And believe me, they'd like to get me out that door as soon as possible... so, thank you."

Thank you, Michael, thank you.

Spinet

2003-08-21T11:45:00.000-07:00

by David Walske

I grew up in a household blessed with an old knockabout spinet piano. As it was acquired before I was born, I had never known it not to be there. The youngest in a family of five children, I waited my turn as two of my elder siblings took piano lessons. I observed, transfixed as they, seemingly by magic transformed a written codification, an odd scribing of case and tittle - which to me hinted at some exotic origin: extraterrestrial? or perhaps the earthly secret code of the worthy privileged - into music that rushed like superheated air from the back of the spinet, rising, flooding the room, disbursing, and then settling, raining down in a shimmer of dewy petals.

One of my sisters continues to play the piano, not professionally but for her own personal enrichment, continues to this day, playing on a second-hand baby grand piano that nearly fills the small living room of her modest home. I recall, not long ago visiting her late in the evening. As I ascended the exterior staircase the picture window at the top of the stairs slowly revealed her form, silhouetted in candlelight. Alone, she sat at the piano playing Debussy's "Clair De Lune." Again as an adult, just as I had been as a child I was transfixed by the magic. I entered the house, saying not a word as I sat down, already deep in reverie. She did not look up, but continued to play with dexterity and gentle passion. When she finished the piece, we both savored the last of the notes as they suspended themselves in the silence of the room and then vanished from that space, but not from mine. My sister told me that her late night, normally solitary, recitals had become her own personal form of meditation.

As a child I was not offered the opportunity of piano lessons. My parents had become fascinated with an electronic home theatre organ, the kind you sometimes hear bellowing soullessly in suburban shopping malls - salesman at the keys - beckoning customers in the slaternly fashion of the tactless carnival barker, the come-on of the strip club doorman. Seduced, they replaced our spinet. Out went warm patina; in came simulated wood grain. And with it the infestation of weekly visits from a factory authorized instructor to ensure that I learn to play. The hollow plastic keys of the beast did not seduce me and could never. After several months of lessons I ceased instruction. On occasion at my mother's urging I would play one of several uninspired pieces I had committed to memory but in time retreated completely. More than twenty years have passed, and that same organ sits dust-laden and silent in my parent's home - its back broken by disuse and disinterest.

Oh to reclaim my lost piano lessons. To one day be admitted to the realm of the worthy privileged.

Jouissance

2003-08-21T00:30:00.000-07:00

Jouissance, eh?