Compassionate Governance

Abraham Lincoln Died with a Confederate bill in his pocket. The president who led us through the most divisive time in our country’s history had a symbol of reconciliation with him. Lincoln had planned for a peaceful Reconstruction. He had already laid plans for rebuilding the south. Reconstruction was to be an extension of the peace that Grant made at Appomattox. A Marshal Plan for the South, if you will. Imagine our country if Lincoln had lived to see that benevolent rebuilding started. Instead, our policy was one of retribution and subjugation. The case can be made that organizations like the KKK had a virulent support because of the nature of Reconstruction. We’re still living with the consequences of that period today. Racism and resentment are part and parcel of our everyday lives.
Lincoln understood that punishing the South would only be punishing the US. There is no punishing one state without belittling the entire nation. How many times has this theme played itself out before our eyes? Even the leaders of that time had plenty of precedent showing that vengeance is no substitute for compassionate governance. What purpose does it serve to learn the lessons of history, if they are ignored? We’ve had numerous examples of that forgotten lesson in the 20th century, from Spain, Japan, Italy, and Germany. Which country even aspires to the ideal of a compassionate government? Rugged individualism has become the catch phrase for government disinterest. I don’t think that our government passes the test of compassion posed by that Confederate bill.

Tags: Abraham Lincoln - Reconstruction

What is your favorite Sound?

I’ve thought about this, on and off, for most of my life. I love that roar that shakes your bones and rattles your head. It’s the sound that the Space Shuttle makes when it lifts off. It’s the sound that volcanoes make when they erupt. As one survivor of Mt St Helens described it “… like a thousand locomotives going 90 miles an hour on square wheels.” After I got to upstate NY, I eventually made my way out to Niagara Falls. I still go there every now and then. Falling water ionizes the air around it. This ionization can create a mild euphoria in humans. Sounds like the perfect place to go on a honeymoon, eh? Ok, only if you’re Lois Lane…
I don’t go to Niagara Falls just to see the wonder. I go there to hear it and feel it. It’s one of those places where the geology dominates all the surrounding area. For every wax figure that goes up on the strip, a million gallons of the Great Lakes drain down the canyon.
It’s an illusion, though. The power plants feed just enough water over the falls to make them look pretty. What we see today is only half the volume that Nature would normally provide. I still love it, though. I like standing right at the edge on the Canadian side and watching the water go over the edge. There’s a continuous nature of that spot that defeats my eyes. I wind up following it back and forth, eventually losing track of any particular spot on the edge. At this point, my sight just slides around the bowl, back and forth, not watching anything at all. That’s when the noisy tourists don’t bother me anymore, and all I can hear is that rushing water. It shakes under my feet and I have to hold onto the rail. Someone inevitably nudges me hard enough to break the spell, and that’s it. There aren’t many places where you can truly linger next to the falls.
Another place I like very much is on the tour behind the falls. Ever since humans discovered the falls, they’ve been carving tunnels behind it. Today, there is a warren of tunnels back there. Some of them end behind the falls, so you can stand just arm’s length from the rushing water. It’s a unique place, and a powerful way to feel the weight of the falls all around you. So, I like the sound of roaring water, and I’m interested in geology. Niagara Falls is a perfect place for me.
Tags: Niagara Falls

In this Corner...

What price is too high? Which constitutional mandates are sacrosanct? It’s a question that Congress is wrestling with today as they hold hearings to determine the constitutionality of Justice Department searches of congressional offices last week. Rep Jefferson had $90,000 in cold cash in his freezer when the Gmen knocked on his office door. For anyone else… you, me, Alberto Gonzalez, it would have been by the book. They had a warrant; they had their ducks in a row. This search targeted a Legislative Branch office, though. That makes all the difference. No one is trying to get Mr. Jefferson’s money back for him. That crime has already been committed.

What’s at stake here is the boundaries between the Executive and Legislative Branches of our government. I don’t think this constitutes a crisis yet, but it is a disturbing extension of power by the Executive branch. I think they were counting on a general distaste for Congress, a Democratic target, and general malaise to let it slide. Searching Mr. Jefferson’s offices served several purposes.

The Justice Department could complete the investigation that began with Jefferson accepting the $90,000 on camera. The raid had to come before the summer. Otherwise, as days pass, it becomes more of a political tactic than an undercover operation. Besides, I’m sure every cop in the world dreams of that Law & Order moment when they throw open the freezer door and see row after row of chilly Franklins staring back.

The executive branch could test the new boundaries between themselves and the Legislative branch. Power isn’t granted in Washington, it’s carved out by the participants. Mr. Bush has been discussing the war time powers of the Executive for several years now. His position has been that the War on Terror grants him greater power to intervene in the other two branches of government. Bending, indeed breaking, long standing customs concerning Justice Intrusion into Congress will carve out more precedent for the Executive. It is the concrete action to match the president’s rhetoric. Congress has proven to be quite a pliable opponent on larger issues of oversight and nominations. The Justice Department didn’t expect any problems over one more issue.

Congress should not over react to this incident, nor should they settle for less than real measures that keep this from happening again. I believe in Separation of powers. History is replete with civilizations that neglected balance in favor of security or power.

Tags: congress, Jefferson, Justice+Department, Executive+Branch

Happy Memorial Day

Amber May-06 Pannus Update

Amber May-06 Pannus Update
Originally uploaded by npanth.

Comparing this photo to previous photos... The lessions seem to be retaining their shape, just changing in density. Her Left eye is definately less affected than her right. It seems like the angle and flash intensity has alot to do with how the lessions show up in the final photo.

It's really hard to get the same angle and intensity every month. It's even harder to analyze the lession changes when the reflection isn't consistent. I think I'm going to have to find some other technique of taking these pictures. Maybe a bright light instead of a flash?

Lollypop Farm

Lollypop Farm
Lollypop – Available Animals

I volunteer at the county shelter every Sunday. I take pictures of small animals and cats for their website. I don’t take dog pictures because I’m the only photographer there on Sundays. Some of the animals are available for adoption, most of them are strays. My “work” is tied to the seasons. It crackles in the spring, sleeps in the winter. Summer is all about being cool, baby. Fall, well, Fall is the end of times. Quiet desperation.

I know the reality of the place. I’ve deleted pictures off my CF card because that cat will never go up front. I don’t go there with some macabre death wish; those are the things that eat at me. I go there because that gray long hair let me pet her kitten today; that little kitten that looks oh so much like my cat. To me, the shelter simply is. There is no discounting the bad, nor is there any belittling the good. In the course of a day, I see almost every aspect of the stray and adoption process. I find at least one animal I want to take home every week, too.

I start in the Small Animal room. Varmints. Guinea pigs, rabbits, mice, rats, gerbils, hamsters, snakes, turtles, cockatiels, parrots, etc. etc. etc. I took a picture of a pigeon once. Honest. Some lady called in a stray… street pigeon, beady red eyes and all. Almost anything goes in the Small Animal room. Ferrets are great. I like the uncle association I have there. I get to play with these unique little critters, but don’t have to take them home.

Next is the cat room, my favorite. 60 cages, with volunteers on one side and adopters on the other. Yeah, they’re in jail, but they get constant attention from friendly people, and they’re up for adoption. I get to see how the purple haired girl’s tats are coming along, canoodle with the cats. It’s a happy place; things are looking up for the inmates. Good behavior gets you time in the cat room. It’s all Salvador Dali to us, but it’s heaven for a cat. Someone even thought up bookshelves right next to the door, to ambush unwary photographers.

Now, it’s on to cat holding and the Mary Ellen Feline Room. CH1(stray), CH2(adoption overflow), MEF(sick), these are all cramp rooms. Tight quarters to take pictures in. There are rows of stainless steel cages built into the wall. Most of them have sticky doors. I wind up rattling more than one cage every week trying to get a door open. The cats reach out as I go by. Gimme a smoke, copper. There are two kinds of cats in Cat holding. The door dasher and the badger down a hole. Eyes are a universal marker for cats. They judge your mood based on how wide your eyes are. I try to approach cats with slit eyes. Then I stick this giant camera lens in their face and take a flash picture. I’m usually pretty popular in CH until I start taking pictures. For the strays, getting a mug shot is the best way to get back home, so I persevere.

The adoption overflow cats still have an uncertain future. If adoptions keep pace with entries, things are fine. Sometimes, CH2 overflows into cages in the hallway, and the hallway after that, and the garage, and the bam. This year hasn’t been too bad; there are no cages full of kittens out there. I like it when I don’t have too many pictures to take in the back. 28 new cats in two days this week, a slow day.

Then I go back to the office and drop off my CF card. If the weather’s good, Amber’s waiting in the car. She gives me a sniffing that would get a restraining order from anyone else, and off we go. We go on the Farm walk and make fun of the Emus. I found this picture in the way back, behind the “ify” horses. Anyone who’s studied the Holocaust will recognize what it is. Still, the shelter isn’t a place of evil. When I go there, I do only good, I provide only comfort, and I take away only happiness.

Technorati: Animal Shelter, cat

A Simple Place

I have places that I go when I'm in a particular photographic mood. Lake Ontario always inspires simplistic photos for me. Something about the sky and water dominating every view is compelling to me. There’s no overt complexity like there is in a city. Manhattan, any city really, makes me take fairly complicated pictures. I’m always trying to cram something else into the frame. When I go to the lake, I always want to take something out of the frame.

Phineas Gage

Phineas Gage - Wikipedia
I wulod lkie to tlel you the sorty of Phineas Gage and prheaps sohw you smotiheng auobt the way hmanus tnihk. Pnihaes Ggae wrkeod on the rliaraod. He pclaed dnymatie in hleos dirleld itno rcoks. He dorve the dnyaimte itno the hloes wtih a sveen foot lnog mteal ploe. Pneaihs dndi’t mkae mcuh mneoy, but msot ploepe csnodeierd him an hnoset man. He dndi’t dnirk, he ddni’t sokme, and he pvriedod as wlel as he culod for his fmaily. Bsaiclaly, we wluod hvae no rsaoen to rmeembr Pnaeihs eecxpt for the enetvs of one feutafl day.

Pnaheis wnet to wrok taht day, jsut lkie any oehtr. He tmaped dmnyitae lkie awylas, but tihs day, one of the crgehas eolpdxed wehn he dovre it hmoe. Taht seevn foot ploe soht out of the hloe and tguorh his haed. Pnaeihs neevr lsot cnessoicnooss. He sytead akwae drniug the wlhoe tmie taht his cw-okreors cierard him to the dcootr. Not olny taht, but he smeeed nmroal wehn polepe tklaed to him the nxet day.

Now, hree is the qseutoisn taht steinstcsis hvae been akinsg eevr scnie. Bfreoe the adccneit, Pnaehis was jsut athenor rliaraod wkroer. Atfer taht day, Paehnis was a mcuh defrnfeit posren. He seatrtd dnknirg… bcemae the twon dnurk in fcat. He qiut his job, dvoreicd his wfie, lfet his kdis, and senpt the rset of his lfie in the gtuetr. He eevn mdae areancppaes for PT Bnruam’s faerk sohw.

Did Pnheias cghnae his wlohe lfie bcaeuse of the dmagae dnoe to his barin? Or, did his colse bsurh wtih dateh sned him itno some knid of mdnases? It’s hrad to tlel, the biarn desno’t awlyas racet in pdeictbalre wyas. Bmnipug itno a door can trun itno a bad irnujy, wihle hvanig a seevn foot ploe go trhuogh yuor haed mhgit jsut bnirg on a mldifie csriis.

If yuv’oe fnhsied tihs sorty, tehn yuo konw how yuor biarn can tcirk you semtomies.

Good grief, Word is annoying when I try stuff like this :(

Phineas Gage

Eaglesmere

My hands are still sore from carrying the canoe down from the house. I have to sit here for a minute anyway. A deep breath. The sun’s just coming over the trees. Everything’s quiet except for that angry blue jay. He followed me all the way down the hill, hopping from one fir tree to the next.. There’s no going up and down that hill twice, so I carried all of it in one trip. There’s a trail of stuff going back up the hill, but only about a quarter of the way. So, I’m ahead of the game. Now, if only my hands would start working again. Look at that lake. I’m at the bottom of a giant heart that won’t start beating for another hour.

After I’d settled a bit, I gathered up my belongings and piled it all in the canoe. Stepped in… and did a face plant right into the gravel next to the canoe. I pondered my misfortune just long enough for the canoe to start drifting towards the middle of the lake. 10 soggy minutes later, I had everything back by the dock, ready for another try. I managed to stay upright this time, but being soaked to the bone took most of the pleasure out of that feat. I was eager to get fishing, so I took out my grandfather’s rod. Green fiberglass with metal ferrules. I rubbed the metal against my nose like he had told me to. As I turned to put the two pieces together, the tip section slipped out of my wet hand. I was fast enough to get my paddle under it, but that only let the tip linger one moment longer. When I bobbed back to the surface, I realized that I’d tried a little too hard. 15 soggy minutes later, I had everything that was left piled up in the canoe, ready for one more attempt. Somehow, I had the bottom of grandpa’s rod, and the top half of my rod. It only cracked a little when I jammed them together. The Blue Jay just looked at me now. He knew better. 20 minutes without catastrophe had me feeling pretty good, so I decided to try some fishing. The only lure left to me was a silver KastMaster that had embedded itself into my thigh during the last dunk. Maybe the most beautiful thing of the day happened next. The lure hit the water and seemingly just kept going. Taken just as it broke the surface, the fight was on! I pulled, and something BIG pulled back. I pulled harder… and my rod snapped right into my forehead. My rage was ignored by the fir trees. Reeling in a fish with half a rod wasn’t half as strange as seeing that fiberglass narwhal staring back at me. He came into the boat with the top half of my rod so far down his gullet that I could have held him up like a Popsicle. That didn’t help much, as I learned that some fish do indeed have sharp teeth. Sucking my thumb in the middle of a lake didn’t diminish my glee as my quarry flopped around on the bottom of the canoe.
I’d never heard of Pickerel Piccada, but Mrs. Klotz assured me that no finer end could befall my trophy. Tasted a little like lawn clippings, but there was something sweet there, too.

Derailing Amtrak

Larry Mineta. Feb 14, 2005 on Amtrak's budget
AP Story, 5-26-06

Mr. Mineta argues in his speech that Amtrak isn’t in need of more money; they’re in need of better organization. I think he's half right. Amtrak was never intended to be a profit center for the government. Amtrak supports the essential infrastructure of our country.

I hate to compare the US to the rest of the world… because we don’t always look too good when I do it. We do have our moments, but when it comes to issues like state supported transportation, we’re not too high up on the list. Eurail is the authority that controls rail travel in Europe. Now, these countries, which have been squabbling with each other forever, can get together to support an inexpensive rail system that covers the entire continent. What exactly is the problem here in the land of the free?

Why do we want to torpedo Amtrak? Mineta says that budget cuts are just a wake up call to Amtrak, a way to force constructive reorganization. They can do that without cutting the budget. Amtrak is a malleable organization, overseen by Congress… shouldn’t be too tough to rearrange things to their liking.

The issue of Amtrak’s financing is rather complicated, but the fundamental idea of reliable, available transportation in the US is not. Cutting Amtrak’s budget by 1/3 won’t balance the budget; it will only close down a third of Amtrak services. Since Amtrak already runs at a deficit, that 33% budget cut will just push them off the ledge towards collapse. When Amtrak does fail, which crony do you think will get the sweet deal at the fire sale?

Expended Energy

Sol, False Color Image

Add up the vocal energy expended during an average human lifetime… All the laughing, talking, crying, and nuance of our lives couldn’t even make a cup of water boil. We can make blood boil, though.

Words have a force that’s not encompassed by science. Their subtlety propels them beyond the mere cadence of a wave. Yet, that wave is beautiful, too. It confers beauty back on us when we understand it.

A Seamless Universe

Thought Experiments are ways for us to imagine things that we can never see. It’s a special property of humans that we can deduce a truth without actually having to stand in front of something. Einstein proved that gravity effects light using a thought experiment. Bell opened up a big can of worms with another thought experiment. Here’s a quick tour of Bell’s theorem…

Imagine we’re a photon, a little piece of light. We’re floating around, there’s not too much going on. There’s another photon next to us. Now imagine that we’re spinning clockwise. Our partner is spinning counter clockwise. So, we’re floating around, spinning with our partner, and everything’s good. The other photon decides to zip over to the other side of the Universe. It’s our thought experiment; we can do whatever we want. Now, we’re lonely on our side of the dance floor, and our erstwhile partner is all the way over there. We’re both still spinning, though. Just to spite that other photon, we decide to reverse our spin… now.

Even though that other photon is on the other side of the Universe, it knows instantly that we changed the direction of our spin. There’s no fooling the other photon.

The problem that this poses is that the Universal speed limit is supposed to be the speed of light. Nothing goes faster than that. So, how can that other photon, on the other side of the Universe, change its spin instantly? It does, though. The concept has been proven many times since Bell postulated his theorem. Now what? How do we reconcile this?

Well, there are two ideas. Either there is something that can go faster than the speed of light… or the Universe is connected in a new and interesting way. This new way is called a Seamless Whole. Think Yoda lifting the X-Wing out of the swamp. No kidding! Life isn’t quite like the movies; I still have to replace the batteries in my remote control. There is good evidence that the universe does have some kind of… of… Force connecting everything together. That idea works better than getting a Mulligan from the Universe on that speed limit thing.

relativity, photon, bell theorum

Mirror Mirror

Seems to me that society has a way of reflecting itself. In the infinite mirror of our lives, we can be confronted by almost anything. Does the flower holder help on those long stake-outs? We’re just imitating ourselves, of course. Society is made up of countless MEs and YOUs. Does the dashcam have little bunnies and flowers on it? Societies, like people, exist in all varieties and hues imaginable. They make themselves suitable to their citizens because… that’s the way we are. Should I buy a Crown Vic to balance out the Universe?

If you live in Ithaca, you understand.
Ithacapolice

Perception

Relativity is based on the idea that your perspective determines your reality. Here’s what I mean. When you look at this background, it’s black. I’m sorry, I like the way it looks. If you had a red tailed hawk sitting on your shoulder, she wouldn’t see a black screen. She’d see a bunch of dots, big dots. To her, the screen looks like a bubblegum cartoon.

Now imagine you have a hamster on the other shoulder. Besides the obvious problems, that little fellow wouldn’t even see details on the screen, just a dark blob. Now, we’ve imagined three realities for my blog. Relativity comes in by postulating that all three realities exist. Not too tough to swallow, eh? Here’s the chunky part. All three realities exist simultaneously, overlapping with each other, but being completely separate at the same time. Essentially, when I take your hand, we’re just pushing our realities together. When we release each other, we could spin to the ends of the Universe. It’s all possible, just depends on your prespective.

Relativity imagines the impossible because, somewhere in this Infinite Universe, it happens all the time.
perception relativity

What Mercy

Please don’t be too critical, I’m just trying out diminishing pentameter…

What mercy is left to us in this life but that which we share with each other?
The tenor of our lives is to take what we can, and leave the rest.
I’m not the shallow, vapid stranger you may suppose.
Hidden inside this shell is a gentle man.
What would convince?
Mercy

Gambling with Principles

I have another analogy for the Uncertainty Principle.

Imagine yourself at a Roulette wheel. It’s spinning, and the marble has just been cast. Right now, the wheel is like an atom with an electron spinning around it. As the marble is cast, there are 38 different states that it can end up in. We can’t know where the Electron (marble) will be until we measure it (falls into a pocket). Once we’ve measured the marble, it is fixed in that state, or known, until we measure it again.

Now here's the part where it all goes off the tracks. While the marble is in motion, until we collapse the wave, and measure the marble, all 38 states both exist, and do not exist. The marble is both in all the slots, and in none of the slots, at the same time.

That bit of wisdom cost me about $200.

Still want to hear about my Super Secret Sure Fire Roulette system? :)

Principles

The Principle of Uncertainty is an important concept. Your kids’ Xbox might run on it. Quantum Computing relies on this principle, and it goes something like this:

..Before you read this page, I put two dots at the beginning of the sentence, then I deleted them, then I put them back. The two dots were in a state of flux, existing, then not existing. Then I saved my document and “Sampled” the dots. That stuck them there for good. As the reader, the dots just Exist, but you can tell that they were deleted because I just told you.

The same thing happens when we measure an electron spinning around its nucleus. We can’t know where the electron is until we measure it. Once we measure it, that position is carved in stone, until we measure it again. In the wild world of Quantum Mechanics, the Electron both exists AND does not exist until we measure it.

That’s important. A photon in a Quantum Computer knows where it is (presumably) but we have no idea. We can chart what state the photon is in as a percentage, guessing where it’s going to land. (No tangent into roulette and my super secret sure fire system. :) Instead of having two choices for a bit, 0 and 1, we now have this percentage value for the position of the photon. When we measure the position of the photon, we set the values for all those percentages stored in the computer. It’s called “Collapsing the Wave”. That photon is surfing some pretty heavy info while you type up that email. In the end, you get a computer with the potential to store information in a whole new way. Instead of describing a grey dot on the screen with 8 bits of data, we’ll be able to do it with one… Sounds small, and it is, but it will make a big difference in everything from super computers to your kids’ Xbox.

Wissahickon Creek

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jheaney1/sets/

Is it better to shoot photos with the Crop in mind? I used to shoot for the crop when I had a film camera. When I found a subject, I would start a zoom series, trying to take every aspect of the subject. As you zoom, your picture tends to “flatten out”. The picture that’s cropped out of a wide angle picture is different from the one that’s taken zoomed in. Now that I have a digital SLR, I’ve found that I don’t crop the images I take anymore. As I’m shooting, that magic little window tells me if I’ve got a good composition or not. Well, a good composition for me, at least. Here, I think I’d crop out the land at the top of the picture, free up the trees in the water reflection. What do you think?

Who Catches Who?

Amber is my dog. I like to say “She’s half blind, she has bad hips. At least she’s still good in the middle.” I tell you, it’s hard for a new dog owner to hang onto a blind, lame, incontinent dog. The cat just about clung to the ceiling every time that collar jingled, too. Her name is Twitch after all.

A sweet personality really goes a long way, and Amber’s been here for almost a year now. In this entire world, there’s one creature that thinks I’m the greatest. The excitement never gets old; she never gets bored seeing me. The cat has found a new writ of courage, too. I reached out to that darn cat for almost nine years. After building ramps and catering meals, I had almost given up. The dog sparked something, though. I have a lap cat all of a sudden. She actually bugs me for attention, now.

So, both my pets are doing great. And my new designer carpet? Turns out that spotted rag covers up hard wood floors. Who knew?

PS in case you're curious, the cat is "Wuddle Puddy" and the dog is "Fuzzy Bunny!"

You to Me

Ever get the feeling that if anyone took notice of you, they’d find something completely surprising? That we’re all fascinating people. We all make our own deal with the Universe. We all play out a stream of consciousness that’s unique, if not always in perfect harmony with those around us. There has to be some sympathetic vibration out there. I’m not a discordant tone, an angry note. I hum to the same tunes you do. So, why do I hardly ever hear the music?

Stephen Colbert

I'm a fan of the Colbert Report. I like that kind of political humor. Stephen Colbert has gotten alot of press lately. He roasted the president. He parodies right wing talking heads, and gets biting at times. The "unofficial" fansite is run by Comedy Central, and has no working contact information. So, to assuage myself, I'll post my little advertising upgrade here. They have an ad for CDW on the site, but I don't really like the byline. Check out their's here. Don't you think this would work better?


My good friend Stephen called me on his private line the other night to ask a favor. Now, I can’t deny Stephen anything since the war, when he saved my life. Stephen’s printer stopped printing the TRUTH! It had obviously been tampered with. He was forced to dispose of it by returning it to its evil masters, the ACLU. To save on the postage, he threw it out his car while driving past their offices. He needed me to procure a replacement. One that wouldn’t let him down. Now, who would I turn to but CDW? They understand Quality and Service.

Haiku

I’ve been reading some of the rules for English Haiku. A rule in Haiku is a bit of an oxymoron. My sense of the short verse is to let your mind roam, and describe the place where it lands.
In diminishing pentameter, and, perhaps, increasing profundity, here is some Haiku para tu

5-7-5
A rush of feeling.
Smitten by an age old love.
I feel once again.

3-5-3
Broken Oak
Shorn of your essence
Fallen leaves

1-3-1
Life
Loving Her
Death

After thinking about it for a bit, I think I agree with the author that 3-5-3 is a good length for english Haiku. It seems like that is the best pentameter for me... balances stupidity with dilitance just right :)

Behold

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jheaney1/sets/

Fishfinder and GPS

Fishfinder sat on her perch and hummed happily. “Ah, look at the dots there. Is that a fish?”
GPS turned on his mount. “What’s that? I don’t see anything but that waypoint up ahead.”
“The fish silly, right down there.”
“Down?”
Fishfinder laughed “Of course, Down, what else is there?”
“I don’t understand this ‘Down’ of yours, there’s only Up.”
“Oop? Are there fish there?”
“Up, and no there aren’t any fish. I can’t see what's up there, but I can hear them.”
“How do you know they aren’t fish?”
“Because I don’t know what fish are.”
“Fish are little black dots that make Fisherman push my buttons.”
“Those are waypoints. Fisherman pushes my buttons to make them.”
“Those are different dots. When Boat passes over something, I make the dots.”
GPS looked up “I am only under the sounds.”

Fishfinder pondered this for a moment. “So, fisherman pushes your buttons to make the waypoints, boat passes over something, and I make fish.”
GPS beeped happily “yes, I think you have it! What would Fisherman do without us? Without me, there are no waypoints. Without Boat, there’s nothing to pass over. Without you, there’d be no fish for Fisherman.”
Boat rumbled ominously “Fisherman is pounding my deck in frustration. Stop beeping and get back to work or I’ll put Battery to sleep again.”

Strawberry Fields

Yes, things were tough in Mudville this winter. My Strawberry patch has been a project of almost 3 years. Everything looked like it would be for nothing this day back in February. The water never actually covered the plants, but they got pretty straggly, as you can see. I’ve worried about them from time to time, but I try to maintain a loose contract with the plants. I’ll kill the grass, pull some weeds from time to time, but you have to be of sturdy stock to thrive in my backyard. I was very happy with the strawberries last summer. From just 5 plants, they spread out like a web to eventually colonize 30 spots. I don’t remember buying a raspberry bush, but there it was. I put a berry cage around it until the dog ran the whole thing under. She twisted the knife by digging a big hole right on the spot.

I decided that no one could have predicted the topping of the levees, and that the dog attack should fall under the Godzilla clause. Therefore, my plants, ahem, THE plants, would now rely on local development grants (dandelions) to oversee the recovery effort.
Because of my brilliant management, the strawberries have now fully recovered from the winter’s tests… stronger and more vibrant than ever, I’m expecting my bumper crop to benefit construction and shipping (birds), who will in turn provide a product (poop) to the original stakeholder (me)
As you can see the end result matches closely with the effort expended.

I originally planted the strawberries because I couldn’t stand supporting a bird feeder anymore. Sure, it was nice to have several different birds camping outside my window. When they started cracking the nuts open on my gutter, and dive bombing the dog, I decided to cancel their lease. I felt bad about depriving the birds, except Morning Doves, I’ve developed a special hatred for them. The strawberry patch has been a great success. There are birds hanging around, day and night. Now that things are looking up, I’m looking to expand the patch with a couple Blueberry plants. I saw that on HGTV… I hang out at Home Depot sometimes, too. What’s it to ‘ya?!

Human Papillomavirus Vaccine

CNN Coverage

Merck announced today that they have received an endorsement by the FDA’s outside advisory panel. The endorsement is for a new drug that can partially vaccinate against the virus that causes Cervical Cancer. This is remarkable news. It’s both a small step, and a very large one.

Controlling any kind of cancer is leap forward. Even though this vaccine is very specific in what it can prevent, it is still a beacon of hope for millions. As generations of young girls start to receive this vaccine, the incidence of HPV 16 and 18 will begin to drop. The base risk of contracting HPV will eventually be reduced to the point of extinction. And that’s forever, baby.

It’s a small step because, in a sense, we’ve been fighting this battle for eons. Bacteria is (relatively) easy to kill. Squirt something on it, cook it, there are a million ways to skin those little devils. Viruses on the other hand, use our own bodies against us. The body’s only defense is to carpet bomb the area, killing good cells as well as bad, until things get back to normal. Viruses mimic our own cells’ instructions so convincingly that we will happily consume ourselves to accommodate the virus. Merck’s claim that another virus is controllable is indeed good news. I hope that we can all look forward to increasing good news about disease prevention.

My To Do List

• Walk in the light, for you will surely trip in the dark.
• Watch your pennies at your own expense.
• Sounding Wise and being Wise are one and the same when your opponent is neither.
• Dressing for Success is only successful when you are Successful.
• A picture is worth one word to a man who can’t read.
• Watch where your feet land, it may not be land after all.
• Jazz is only sublime for those who can listen.

Ian's Story

Ian Heap turned to me one day. “Tell me a story, James.”
This is the story I told him.
It was the summer of 1881. Ian and I were an intrepid pair. Recently graduated from university, we had received our first appointment as assistants to Dr. Straw. As Professor Emeritus at the National Academy of Science, he would hold great sway over our futures. I had begun to despair that we would ever reach beyond the simple title of “assistant”. Doctor Straw carried himself with a Victorian grace. Unfortunately, his scientific views remained in the Victorian Age, while Ian and I were, of course, modern thinkers. One afternoon, as the three of us sat reading the latest dispatches; Dr. Straw tore his spectacles from his eyes. His agitation was infectious, and drew our attention to him immediately.
“I’ve come upon an interesting story in the Herald. Come chaps, see what I have here.”
The story concerned a series of ships which had mysteriously sunk off the Eastern Coast of Florida. This was no simple coincidence, nor something that might transpire through happenstance. Yet nothing in the scant wreckage had yielded the slightest clue as to the fate of either crew or cargo.
“Pirates would steal the crew and cargo, and then sink the ship.”
“It’s been 60 years since Barbary ships plied those waters”
“There are still places in Florida that would easily conceal a fleet of ships.”
Dr. Straw shook his spectacles at us. “Enough. No doubt you’ll have your flying machines abducting these poor souls next. There is nothing for it but to send a team from the academy to investigate this quandary.”

We were chosen, of course. Dr. Straw had no intention of spending that long summer alone with the two of us. We set out that very night. Trains, carriages, and finally horses brought us to a squalid dock in a fetid jungle. The dock master’s stained teeth flashed at us in a most insincere manner. Rather than offending, I looked forward to leaving the close confines of the primeval for the open expanses of the Atlantic. Our launch had been specially hired by the Academy. Sleek and fast, it strained at the mooring ropes. Equipped with new steam engines, our launch could outpace most vessels at sea.
I’m sure the journey from Miami had been easier than our trek though the swamp gasses and bogs. We had chosen this location specifically because of its isolation. Any ship leaving Miami would pass by this very spot. Intercepting and following these ships should be simple for a pair such as Ian and me. Besides, the Academy had supplied their most experienced captain as complement to this fine ship. Our captain, whose name was McCoy, emerged from below decks. A barrel chested man in a dark pea coat, his face was almost completely obscured by a seafarer’s beard. His eyes burned at me from under his cap.
“So, ‘yer the two scientists?... Stow ‘yer gear, we’re gone with the tide. Won’t be nothing but a pram at this dock in an hour.”

The Atlantic was everything I had dreamt of while in the jungle. I lingered above deck long into the night, watching the coastline recede. A sudden squall passed over the ship sometime in the dark morning and I decided to retire for the night.
I dreamt of sea monsters. A Kraken pursued me endlessly until I woke, sweating on the floor. Another shock passed through the keel as I stumbled to my feet. Ian burst through the now canted and swinging door.
“We’re under attack!” as the ship shook violently once again.
I spun awkwardly towards the porthole. An angry green jet of water greeted me.
Hand in hand, Ian and I struggled through the rising water until we reached the captain’s quarters. McCoy was nowhere to be seen. Turning to our own survival, Ian and I struggled back through the knee deep water. Standing on the wall that I had passed my hand over just a few hours before, we struggled towards the main hatch. Crawling out the hatch, we realized why the boat was on its side. We were in no danger of sinking, yet some new, unknown danger stood before us. As I looked higher and higher, I saw nothing but a continuous round chamber stretching over our heads. Even as we watched, water drained down a hole at the bottom of the chamber. As the water’s support receded, our ship shifted once again. We were thrown from the deck into the maelstrom of the drain. Thrust together, and then drawn apart, we swirled downwards. That angry green water gave Ian’s face a ghostly cast. Just as I was reaching the limit of my strength, we landed heavily on a hard, flat surface. Water continued to drain through slots in the floor, but we had been strained as efficiently as one would drain potatoes. A torrent of water continued to come from a hole in the wall, but Ian and I were now able to crawl from under it. We stood in another large chamber whose exact dimensions were difficult to determine. Only one dim light outlined the border of the chamber. As we moved closer, we realized that the light was indeed an exit to another, larger chamber. How much larger we found out as we reached the opening. Before us stood a chamber that I still have difficulty describing adequately. A large section of our own Washington could easily find a home inside this dome. Small ledges dotted the walls. I could easily imagine other unfortunate souls standing on those ledges, wondering much the same things that Ian and I were. There was no way of telling whether the sun was shining or not. Indeed, whether the entire outside world had come to a standstill.

At this point, Ian realized that he was late for a meeting. We never did have a chance to finish the story. I can assure you that McCoy did indeed survive to regale his comrades with tales of far flung technologies and peaceful… Atlantians. Yes, I was trying to put together an Atlantis story. I’m sure I’ll be haunted by Jules Verne’s ghost this night :)

Table Soccer, Not Foosball

Gather round young ones, and hear tales of an old Foosballer. In my prime, there was a shot named after me. A broken goal backstop testified to my power. A dozen broken figures hung from my neck like so many plastic ears. Fear me! Hear me!

I was a fair foosballer in my day. I only played Defense, never offense. I’ve just never been comfortable with 5 and 3. My favorite version of the game was Goalie wars. Turn all of the offensive players up, and beat on each other from the defensive positions. Between two good defenders, the ball can fly right off the table. Luckily, Goalie Wars is a niche competition in Foosball, so there usually aren’t many spectators around to get hit.

The foosball table in college was under my care. Solemnly at the beginning of each year, I was handed the cleaning supplies with the strictest instruction never to use them. You see, a Foosball playing surface does not achieve its true grit or “play” until it has had a funnel’s worth of beer left on it overnight. I came to the belief that pizza cheese had its role in the “play”. Balancing sticky beer with greasy cheese is a maintenance nightmare. We had the good fortune to have parties with just the right balance of alcohol and grease to compliment our playing style.

That guy who threw an empty keg at a fire truck once would apologize for scoring a “dirty” goal. Yes, we were foosball gentlemen, Table Soccer snobs, if you will. As our art advanced, the simple rules of the bar no longer sufficed. Respect was earned only after a long tenure as a contender. Foosball was tiered as an informal king of the hill. There was always a senior with more power or guile than anyone else who would capture the table from the party guests. A casual game could turn into a year’s waiting grudge match anytime before the funnel of beer was spilled over the playing field. If the match was between true Titans, towels were quickly stolen from any unlocked rooms. Amid choruses of “Squeegee!”, we’d wipe up… making sure not to disturb the vital buildup underneath.

My greatest controversy as Foosball custodian came when a brother spilled a bottle of vodka onto the table. I decided that the “play” had been irrevocably altered, for the worse. The only solution I saw before me was to start over. The brothers nervously gathered from time to time over the next two days as I cleaned and re-leveled the playing surface, replaced all the broken parts, and resealed all of the playing rods. The unveiling was a tense moment. My pride gleamed as the table shone under my new “stadium lighting”. X-Mass lights stuck into the ceiling. My little men shone with their four-way shadows as one after another, the brothers leaned on the corners and spun the bars.

“Sounds different” as the ball hit the playing field for the first time. Then he tried to trap the ball. He clamped down on the ball, intending to press it into the playing field. Zzzzzip. It shot out from under his player, flying off the table into the gathered crowd. Luckily, it hit in a very funny place, so no one blamed me but the victim. He wasn’t in any shape to do anything, so I turned my attention back to the table. “Obviously, the table is far too dangerous to be left in its current condition. Just look at Mike crawling around on the floor there.” We realized that either blood or beer would spill that night, so we each gave a small measure of suds to the cause. As the days passed, we were once again able to play Goalie Wars without safety glasses, and the rhythm of wet/dry cycles resumed. So important for a good “play”

Lenore

Sleep my dear; dream while I watch your face. The comfort of these years is a treasure to me. I am not the person you think. A devil, a witch, that is what I am. I would break your heart if you were awake. Instead, I’ll break mine over your sleeping form. This night, I betrayed your love. I’ve come fresh from my lover’s den. I feel older than I did an hour ago. The ache in my back is still fresh. That vision I saw last night, I still see it when I close my eyes. The gallery was dimly lit. It was almost closing time. I only saw a silhouette at first, briefly lit by each painting. I followed through two rooms before rushing ahead. A face, what face could match that shadowy perfection? And then I saw it revealed beside an oil painting. The bumps on the canvas mirrored my own as our eyes met. We gasped, surprised by this sudden encounter. I turned, ashamed, then looked back. We passed close. I paused to gather myself, then turned to follow. That perfect form stood for another silhouette at the exit. Just for a moment, then gone. I rushed to the door, eager to see my lover in the full light. Yes, dear, I knew from that moment in front of the painting. I only thought of you once, when we were quietly talking over a drink. What conversation is required before a tryst? Why, the same things we talk of everyday, dear. I marveled as we talked of the weather and I marveled at those blue eyes. I held that hand as tightly as I’ve ever held yours, tighter perhaps. We stumbled as we left, trying to press ourselves closer together. We laughed at the motel manager’s scandalous glances. Mr. and Mrs. Smith would like a room for the night, please. In the room, we embraced, free at last. What can I tell you now? I won’t lie and say it meant nothing. It’s been everything to me. You’ll never know, but I’ll always see blue eyes in your brown. What name can I put to this transplanted passion? We were and are strangers. But, I’ll paint that stranger’s face on you for the rest of my life. I’m sorry, dear. I’ve lost everything tonight. I won’t lose you, too. So, I’ll imagine a forgiving look on your painted face. What monster would tell this lie for a lifetime? I will see, and you will too, my dear.

Covered Bridge, Wissahickon Creek

Future’s so bright…

Robert Oppenheimer quoted from the Bhagavad Gita when he first saw the atomic bomb. He was afraid of the power he had created. There was a heated discussion before the test about the reactivity of the gasses in our atmosphere. Some were afraid that the bomb would ignite the atmosphere, killing everything on the planet. That was the assessed risk that Oppenheimer took when they tested the first bomb in the desert. Science had little idea what this new weapon was capable of. The truth was unveiled a few weeks later in Japan.

What silent agonies have been endured in the name this branch of science?
What elemental secrets of the universe have been laid bare by this branch of science?

Converting an atom into energy is the greatest, and simplest, expression of physics we know of. Oppenheimer said that the notion for the bomb was so simple, it was perfect. He called it “technically sweet”. Take a ball of Uranium and surround it with a sphere of high explosives. Detonate the explosives at once, crushing the ball of Uranium equally from all directions. The pressure and physics of this situation converts some of the Uranium into energy. That energy constitutes the bomb’s blast wave. The unused and converted Uranium vaporizes so that it clings to any surface it touches. It’s a simple idea that horrifies and fascinates at the same time.

The United States is planning to restart nuclear testing this year. Nevada will once again feel the heat of an artificial sun. Now is a good time to re-evaluate the reasons that we, as a people, decided to stop nuclear weapons testing. We have already backed out of our strategic agreements with Russia concerning nuclear weapons research. What purpose does SDI serve? What purpose does renewed testing serve? Does the United State need to rattle the nuclear saber in 2006?

We have no enemies that need a reminder of our nuclear might. We should not test the nuclear bunker-buster. What seems like a simple idea can have far reaching, and unknown consequences. In the current political atmosphere, what effect will this bomb have?

The Night Panther

I’ve been given several nicknames over the years… mostly in college. To some folks I’ll always be Teeny or Tiny. The most memorable nickname for me is the one I gave myself.

My fraternity was a messy place. They made the mistake of electing a slacker like me the house manager. I still have an involuntary response every time I walk into a recycling center. The smell of stale dried up beer flows through my nostrils like a typhoon. It leaves a vision of tacky, indestructible, orange couches scattered across a black tile floor, holding up a white cinder block wall. It’s my fraternity. It’s Sunday afternoon. It’s winter. The kegs are coldly banging around on the porch, screaming their empty frustration. The Bengals are losing, and we’re reduced to stealing beer from a converted soda machine.

The Beer machine had a high voltage mechanism just inside the can release, so we literally fished for a buzz sometimes. Luckily on this afternoon, the house manager had a key. I’ll admit that I almost let a pledge go after one the old fashioned way, but compassion, and thirst, proved to be too powerful. Besides, there are things that have to be done by the House Manager. My marketing scheme for the beer machine was rather limited. To keep prices down, most of the inventory came from the breakage section of the beer distributor. One experience that exists as antithesis of wine tasting is swilling a can of Milwaukee’s Best that’s been doused in Piel’s. Hence my affinity for that squalid, sticky bouquet that let me watch the Bengals in peace.

As the third quarter ended, I decided that holding the cap at two hours was enough courage for one day, and headed for the bathroom. Short journeys like that had a way of getting long in those days. Someone blocked the way to the bathroom with a couch. My friend encouraged me “Hey, you should get the House Manager to move that!” Ha, Ha. Get me another beer, pledge.

Divesting myself of all that Old Swill gave me a head rush. I eyed the couch with quite a bit of drunken enthusiasm. Days like that, rash action trumps calculated judgment every time. I jumped over the couch, yelling” Attack of the Night Panther!” Then I fell flat on my face, crushing a can of beer. I looked up to see the Bengals quarterback getting sacked. We groaned in unison, then levered ourselves up off the ground. We’d both been branded, but only I knew it. It was written all over my chest in cold beer. It rang in my ears as my friends burst out laughing. I was, I am, I will always be, THE NIGHT PANTHER!

The Mobius Joint

Ach, my knee is as big as a cantaloupe. We’re old adversaries. I picked up my puppet head on June 2^nd, 1984, at 7:05PM. Yup, summer was just starting. I spent the summer limping around until September, when I did it again. A few weeks later, I was getting an operation to fix all that had gone wrong down there. It turned out to be a bad injury for the day. I managed to whack my kneecap like a pro on the first try. Well, the second try, at least.

Now, by the time we’re pushing 40, most people have some out of warranty parts. This is mine. My knee has let slip a couple not-so-subtle clues over the years. It’s not the ache, it’s the humidity. Yup, I could tell when it was going to rain.

I can’t even count on my lumpy appendage for meteorological aid, anymore. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have shown up at my 20^th reunion soaking wet. I got caught in the rain. So, there I was, standing in front of my friends from 20 years ago, looking like a drowned hamster. Of course, my zipper dried out last, so I got to stand like a vagrant, making a point of drinking nothing but Diet Pepsi.

My injury happened 22 years ago. Longer than I’ve been out of high school. It seemed so catastrophic back than. It seems… It just IS, now. I’m used to having one tire with less air in it all the time. Going down stairs is harder than going up stairs. It doesn’t sound like it should work like that… but it does. A bad knee is the antithesis of logic. Sometimes I feel like the doctor installed a little dinosaur brain down there as a practical joke. It hurts when it has no reason to, and annoys me endlessly. My knee has held, though. I can think of at least a dozen times that I’ve stressed that wobbly goblin way past the point of 1984. I’m still within 10 degrees of vertical, and happy to be holding the line.

I Hated Baseball

I hated Baseball. What betrayal cuts deeper than greed? So, for 12 years, I left that chewed wad in the dugout. Can you blame me? Swallowing a chaw is easier than the news that’s plagued Baseball since I started hating it. When I loved Baseball, steroids got rid of a bad case of Poison Ivy.

When I loved Baseball, my father’s company had Phillies Season tickets… 15^th row, behind Home plate. Every broker in the firm got to see 5 or 6 businessman’s specials every year. I saw the Bull hit a home run. I saw Mike Schmidt run out onto the field in a rainbow afro. I saw Steve Carlton pitch.
Philly baseball was a fast game. The Vet wasn’t a forgiving place for an aggressive third baseman. A hard liner could go in any direction if it hit a joint in the rug, or the infield boundary. Schmidt needed a fast wit as well as a fast arm to get into the Hall.
What does Barry need? A better lawyer.

Something strange happened to me the other day that’s got me rethinking my lifetime ban on baseball. I was taking some pictures of my old high school playing fields. The Germantown Friends Tigers were playing the High School of the New Church. My 20^th reunion had the nostalgia flowing freely in me, so I decided to watch a couple pitches. Perching on the first base line, I started taking pictures. Now, I loved photography after I started hating Baseball. That casual rhythm passing by a sunny afternoon bewitched me again. I’ll be there this summer, not for the stars, not even for the pretzels… I’ll be there for the baseball.

Rachel

Ah, what trick is this? I saw you at the reunion, and this phrase caressed my thoughts.” What sweet breath of spring brought this blossom to rest at this unworthy Troll’s feet?” What came out was “Wh.. uh, Hi Rachel, how have you been?” A crush? Man, I’m sorry I stared, please forgive me, I’m not used to the fickle power of infatuation. I promise to file you away with all the other surprising things I saw this weekend. You have fluttered one heart this night :)

The Filter of Reason

Human society is nothing but an artificial construct imposed on us humble apes by our fellow inmates. Being a good human has a lot less to do with how dedicated I am at work than how dedicated I am to myself. It sounds Narcissistic, but it isn’t. I’ve always wondered at the Zen masters’ assertion that we should look at the world like a blank mirror. Being a good human isn’t about shuffling papers or fixing computers. It’s more about using the best part of our brains. The Cortex is the crowning achievement of Evolution. Or God gave it to us, if that’s easier to swallow. It allows us to perceive the world through the filter of reason.

We have all the brain parts going back to the beginning. We breathe through the same mental mechanism as a dog or a cat. What’s different with us is that we’re capable of “higher reason”. We don’t use it too much. Maybe we will when we evolve the super cortex. Stands to reason that, left unchecked, we would eventually evolve something beyond the pre-frontal cortex. Or God will give it to us in a ROM upgrade, if that’s easier to swallow.
Most people I meet don’t look at the world through their Cortex. I see it the most when I’m driving. I’m sure you’ve experienced it, too.

You’re turning onto a street, and there’s a car far away, coming towards you. You start you’re turn, and the other driver stands on the gas and the horn at the same time. I’ve seen the same response from a fish eyeing a lure. Once the lure starts to move, an aggressive response is triggered in the fish. It lunges towards the target, sometimes involuntarily. It’s wired into the fish’s brain to strike targets that act a certain way.

You’re speeding down a road. Somehow, the person behind you still wants to go faster. Tailgating is a strange phenomenon. It doesn’t matter how fast you go, they will still tailgate. It’s not about speed; it’s about the tailgater’s aggression.

If you asked each person in a calm moment, they would certainly say that tailgating and aggressive driving are dangerous. They still do it, though. I contend that they’re being lazy when they drive… not using the advanced part of their brain. The “old” brain, the part we share with other animals, reacts aggressively to most situations. That’s how a fish or a dog gets fed. I get fed by the supermarket. No reason to practice hunting on some unsuspecting motorist.
What part of your brain do you use the most?

Stock Picks

Pacific Ethanol's price chart for the last 30 days

Robbing Athena to pay Dionysius
I have a stock trading theory that I think should work. Perhaps it’s over simplified, but I’m unable to describe it in the correct trading terms.
There are some trends in our society that are inevitable. We can all see that some things will be issues over the next 3-5 years. I think oil will be at $100/barrel within 5 years.
I think this oil crisis is going finally spur some investment in alternative energy. The administration doesn’t seem to have a direction, but there is some investing going on all the same. Bill Gates’ personal investment firm just put him into Pacific Ethanol. I’m willing to go along with that call. I looked around at the trade association PEIX belongs to. They’re environmental evangelists by and large. They are mainstream corporations run by people that really believe in what they’re doing. What could be better? I mock bought PEIX April 13, at $16/share. PEIX closed at $39 today. I think the sector is still a good buy. They’re in a growing market that’s (slowly) getting attention because of public pressure. The Bush administration has been burned several times in the last year. They have only been able to deliver rhetoric concerning alternative fuels and bio energy. As gas prices go up, pressure will mount for something more substantive. I think the government will finally get into the alternative fuel business in a big(ger) way this year. That will bring the market microscope back onto this sector, and there should be a couple of hot stocks emerging over the summer. The RFA is a good place to start browsing the industry.
I mock bought gold at $602 back in April. Today it traded over $700 for the first time. I don’t think gold is a sure thing, though. If the Democrats take over, they will favor a stronger Dollar. Along with upward pressure from oil prices, etc. a stronger Dollar will do what to gold? Buying at $600 seems like the last entry point. Now I’m just waiting until it tops out, or starts getting too volatile.
Pastperformancedoesnotindicatefuturegrowth:)

Funding NASA

NASA HomePage

Flight is a primordial desire for all humans. Intrinsically denied to us, we’ve watched the skies. Until 200 years ago, we were almost completely Earth-bound. It’s just in the past couple of generations that we’ve been able to get out there and see what birds have known for millennia. We’ve surpassed the bounds of our planet and reached out into space. They’ve been tenuous adventures, but everyone agrees that we’ve passed a major milestone in the development of Humankind.
So, why does the Bush administration continue to support space research in rhetoric, but shortchange the agency’s funding? NASA has been caught at a crossroads for almost a decade. We realize the need to transition to a new launch vehicle. You can’t PM the shuttle, because it’s still spinning LPs. Being obsolete earns you an honored place in the Smithsonian, not an active schedule on the launch pad. There’s been great fanfares over the new launch vehicle program. Al Gore stood in front of an impressive entry. George Bush gave some interesting speeches about Mars. When it comes time to write the checks, every pen has run out of ink. NASA has done remarkably well with the limited funding they get. Smaller, Cheaper, Faster has been a success. A lot of good science has come out of the probes we’re launching. The probe strategy comes at the expense of Human flight missions. The shuttle’s maintenance costs are spiraling upwards while research and development of a viable replacement languishes.
The first new vehicle in 25 years to breach the boundary of space was a private venture. It took the combined genius and wealth of Burt Rutan and Paul Allen to do it. They’ve accomplished remarkable things, and I’m sure they’ll continue in the future. There is a commitment from the government, though, that is far past due. Trying to run NASA, a research agency, like a corporation, has just led to a failing agency. Congress complains about inefficiencies in NASA, but refuses to fund the agency at a level that would allow it to function properly.
I would like to ask all members of Congress to fully fund NASA. They explore the fundamental secrets of our Universe. No other society in history has had the ability to push the boundaries of human experience like the USA. We should be encouraging that kind of exploration.

The Disaster Ploy

The Disaster Ploy
I find it ironic that the conservatives are fighting the mid term elections with the disaster defense.  I’ve heard so many of them tell the camera that a Democratic majority in Congress will lead to nothing but endless investigations.  All that investigating will leave little time for governing.  The government will come to a standstill while everyone responds to the endless subpoenas.
The Disaster ploy is ironic because this Congress HAS been a disaster.  We have to go back to the Johnson administration to find a Congress that has spent less time governing.  They lobby, they make deals, but they don’t govern.  With so little on the record, it’s very hard to find out exactly what has been going on in the last couple years.  It will take some investigating to find out what’s wrong, and what needs to be fixed.  Besides, when there’s so much corruption smoke out there, there have to be some fires that need to be put out.  Yes, Democrats have the same corruption problem.  Re-electing the same conservative majority won’t go one inch towards fixing anything, though.  So, I’m voting for the crusaders this fall.  In 2006, that’s the Democrats.
No matter where the House goes, no matter where the Senate and presidency go in ’08, I find it intolerable that the Neo-Cons have had a decade to mess up our country.  How many more mistakes do they have to make before we vote them back into the mega-churches and Dubai Condos?

Eric Massa 2006

Eric Massa 2006
The Fighting Dems
I live in a Republican bastion inside one of the most liberal states in the union. I tell you, it’s tough sometimes. Just about everyone who represents this lib… is a conservative. I didn’t realize this when I moved here. I emailed Louise to let her know where I was hanging my hat. She wrote back saying that she wasn’t my rep?! Randy Kuhl is my rep?! He’s a neo-con… A lock-step conservative in the Bushiest sense.
So, I’ve been forwarding my emails to my new rep with little success. I don’t feel connected with Mr. Kuhl like I did with Louise. It might help if he ever replied to any email of mine… even the positive ones. So, what’s a voter to do? Dump this rotten tomato, and pick a new candidate. Man, I’m the luckiest liberal in the state. Eric Massa is a Democratic candidate for Congress in my district. He’s one of the Fighting Dems. 73 vets who have chosen to run as Democratic candidates all across the country. Vets from every living war are standing up for the principles of compassion and fair governance.
Running against entrenched Republican incumbents isn’t easy in our gerrymandered system. These guys seem to have the will to see it through. Eric strikes me as an intelligent, angry man. I share many of his views. We’re both very upset by what we see happening in Washington, but see the sense of fixing those problems with intelligent measures. By the map above, you might see what kind of hill Eric has to climb to be elected in this district. The 29th district was established as a conservative district, relatively safe from intrusion from Democrats. Until 2006, that is. Randy Kuhl has some Abramoff wafting about his wallet. Even if there’s no fire with that smoke, Kuhl doesn’t represent my beliefs in Washington, Eric Massa does.

Eliot Spitzer 2006

Eliot Spitzer 2006
“All politics are local” is one of my favorites. So, as I look a little closer to home, I see several interesting races for the Democrats. 2006 promises to be a powerful year for democrats, much as 1994 was a powerful year for the Republicans.
Eliot Spitzer is well known in New York State for volume. The quality of his work depends on your point of view. He’s gone after cigarette manufacturers, Wall Street firms, banks. As New York Attorney General, Eliot Spitzer has investigated and prosecuted some of the largest business interests that deal with New Yorkers. This has obviously upset some of the business oriented conservatives. In the past few years, with the domination of national politics by the Neo-Cons, Spitzer’s run for Governor would be much tougher. 2006, however, isn’t a normal year. In 1994, the greedy, ineffectual Democrats were driven out of office by the sleek, well-oiled, conservatives and their sound machine. The sound machine is still there, but the sleek, well-oiled machine? Insert your own joke.
Normally, this just gives us a “better of two evils” kind of choice. Not to worry! Spitzer is one of those rare politicians who haven’t lost the idealistic zeal that we would bring to government, if we ruled for a day. Let’s get the most out of this situation. We have a declining incumbent and a vibrant candidate…. Electing Eliot should be the duty of concerned New Yorkers. I’m not satisfied with the state of affairs in New York State. Eliot Spitzer has proven that he will pursue principles that he clearly spells out. That should be enough for New Yorkers. Better than we’ve had in quite a while.

Retooling FEMA

There’s a new proposal floating around in congress.  More than a few people are saying it.  FEMA should be disbanded, and replaced by a new agency.  That new agency would be structured differently than the current agency, but would have much the same responsibilities.  The idea of founding a new agency to deal with the same emergencies poses some fundamental questions.  What is the role of government in our lives?  I’ve heard arguments between different ideologies, but I think there are some things that most… enough… people can agree on.

Agencies like FEMA are essential for our country.  There are certain basic needs that have to be met for our citizens.  Those needs are provided by government.  We formed this government to provide us with services that we couldn’t provide for ourselves.  FEMA had all those things… trailers, helicopters, workers, boats, money.  It didn’t do a bit of good for the folks in the Gulf Coast.  The problem isn’t the organization; it’s the people running that organization.  Changing the name, creating a new agency; all these things are cosmetic.  The same people will be nominating the leaders of the new agency.

We’ve been asking for this, by the way.  For 12 years, we’ve supported Republicans in enacting their agenda.  Rush has been shouting it on the radio for a decade.  “Rely on yourselves people!”  “America is the nation of self-sufficiency and rugged individualism!”  Go ahead and complain about the lack of response from our government during these emergencies.  It stunk.  Remember that anger when it comes time to flip the lever.  This issue, by itself, should be enough to switch a vote.  Yeah, Liberals like government.  We like FEMA.  We like it when government helps people in trouble.  I’m happy when my government does good deeds.

Alternative Energy

What are we to do now that energy costs are going through the roof?  What if we’re too lazy or poor to do anything heroic?  I lack the Green (backs) and Grey (matter) to put up a full blown solar array.
Well, there are a couple things you can get at the supermarket or home improvement store that can get you that environmental badge.  Might help with the gas-guzzler guilt.
Light bulbs… Live in the dark.  You parents kept telling you to turn out the lights… now you don’t have to!  Compact Fluorescents aren’t the dim little fireflies they used to be.  15-25 watts worth of CF light covers you as well as that Halogen, but at 10% of the power.
Energy Star.gov
Pass on the Gas.  Most every car is designed to run on the 87 octane gasoline.  There are some exceptions, but unless you’re tooling around in a Jag, you can drop down to the 87 without any problems.  Most of the knock in tuned engines comes from additives put in the gas to reduce emissions.  Nothing you can do about that.  I’m guessing most people figured this out when gas hit $2.50 per gallon.
Hot air.  Keep your tires inflated.  This one’s tough for the lazy environmentalist.  Getting out to pump gas doesn’t seem nearly as involved as going all the way over to the pump, PAYING?! for air.  Well, here’s your answer.  Get a portable compressor.  Don’t laugh.  I got one about 10 years ago, and it is super handy.  Perfect for the knight in shining armor kit.
Home Depot Tire Inflator
Change your screens.  Not just for drug addicts, anymore.  I took a look at the filter in my furnace last fall.  Looked like an anti-smoking poster.  Finding a replacement wasn’t as easy as you might think, though.  3 days later, I finally found a nice lady at an HVAC company who was willing to order one for me.  Point is, replacement screens for your furnace are important, and not necessarily easy to find.  Might be a good summer project.  Hey, if it keeps you from getting one cold next year, money well spent.  Oh, it lets your furnace breathe easier, so you save some money as well.
Look for “Brick in the Toilet” and other fun tricks when the water crisis hits in a couple years.

The Emperor’s Clothes

CNN Coverage

I find it funny that CNN is treating Stephen Colbert’s roast of the president as some kind of rude expose.  Since when is it taboo to tell a politician exactly what you think?  Does the formal attire somehow change the rules?  George Bush has no shortage of opportunities to hang out with his buddies.  No ranting liberals there.  He can play at the colonial land baron all he wants.
I was listening to the crowd as Stephen spoke.  There were just as many gasps as laughs.  I’m looking forward to the Fox spin on this.  “How dare he take a jovial, informal event, and politicize it.”  “This has never been done in the history of this event.”
Don’t try to tell me that the good old days had some kind of demeanor that’s lacking today.  Back in colonial days, they tar and feathered politicians they didn’t like.  It’s a cliché now, but it’s pretty gruesome.  They dragged the poor victim out into the street and stripped him naked.  A bucket of hot tar or molasses was poured over his head.  After that had scalded him for a while, they rolled him in whatever was handy.  Horse manure was a real favorite.  Makes the feathers stick better.  Then you drive him down the main street whipping him.  If George wants to play the colonial aristocrat, we, as the rabble, can surely accommodate him.  Thankfully, we’ve advanced quite a bit since colonial times.
We drag our victim out into the blogosphere and pour scalding flames all over his inbox.  Then we roll him around in a couple expletives.  Lastly, we roast him at an official event.
Thank You Stephen Colbert.