Fascism is for children

For a long time, I have harbored a deep impression that, for all their evil and stupidity and spite, the forces of reactionary conservatism, conformity, and opposition to social progress are, essentially, child-like.

When you think about it, the desire to suppress individuality, freedom, and diversity is essentially a desire to force the world to be like you thought it was when you were a kid, before you learned that the world was a far more complicated, scary, and dangerous place than they ever could have known when they were small.

No wonder these people have such a huge problem with sexuality. Their entire philosophy is essentially a rejection of adolescence. In our teen years, we get the balance of our sexuality and sexual development, and the balance of our mental and psychological development as well. We lose our childlike innocent and become painfully cognizant of the world outside our little slice of the universe. We find out just how big the world is, and how small we are.

Social conservatives are simply people who have failed to make the transition to a mature adult acceptance of these truths, and instead, like mad gods, seek to cut the world down to size until it fits into their immature minds, rather than expand their minds to include the real world.

If you have to expand your mind one iota, the terrorists have won.

The true crux of the tragedy, of course, is that they, as hard as this is to believe, actually think that the world really was like they thought it was as a child. They think that it really was a safe, nice, gentle, orderly world where bad things never happened and everything was wonderful all the time. They lack the most basic of faculties required to grasp the world : the simple ability to recognize we were wrong in the past, and we know better now.

Often, these are people who cannot ever admit being wrong about anything, ever. Like the child who continues to insist he did not take a cookie from the cookie jar when the cookie is right there in his hand, they have a magical faith that if they don’t admit it’s true, it’s not true. That’s how naive these people truly are, and how philosophically bankrupt. They think and act as though their personal reality is reality, and therefore if they never admit they were wrong and never believe they were wrong, they were never wrong, period.

Doesn’t that sounds like an angry and spoiled child to you?

If you can’t even grasp that when you were a child, you were ignorant of the world and unable to really grasp it and hence got a false impression of its nature through no fault of your own, you are tragically and vastly under-equipped to handle even the most basic hurdles of adult life.

And to compound their ignorance, these failed adults don’t just think life really was like they thought it was when they were kids, they think the world was like how they remember it being, after the transition to adulthood and many painful years of responsibility and obligation have caused nostalgia to wipe away all the bad parts of childhood and make them think that when they were kids, everything was great all the time, and hence, something must have changed in the world since then.

Of course, nothing has changed all that much in the world. They just grew up… or failed to do so.

But no, it must be the world that has changed. After all, they have never been wrong in their life, even when they were barely old enough to walk upright. Logically speaking, it’s the world’s fault.

And doesn’t this explain a great deal about conservatives in general? The incoherent anger is just a temper tantrum on the adult scale. They think they can bully reality into being what they want it to be if they just shout loud enough and stomp their feet and hold their breath till they turn blue.

And the more evil old reality creeps in as their fragile and ridiculous world view is steadily eroded by sanity, reason, and that part of their mind which is still trying to grow up, the louder they shout and the harder they stomp their feet and the tighter they plug their airs, and the greater the pain they experience from the massive cognitive dissonance they are so tightly repressing. This enormous conflict grows and grows over time, like an infected tumour, and as it grows, it gets more and more tender and sensitive, so that even the slightest breeze of disagreement across its surface hurts so bad that all they can do is scream and lash out in primal rage at the thing that hurts them and try to KILL IT KILL IT MAKE IT STOP!

So the next time some rabid ranting ridiculous right winger is making you want to commit a very un-liberal act of violence upon their person, just remember that they can’t really help themselves.

They are just little children, after all.

Tripping in the 50’s

The follow clip is a video taken of an experiment done in 1956 in which a woman, who seems on all levels to be a completely normal 1950’s housewife, volunteered to take a dose of LSD in a glass of water, and the experimenter, Doctor Sidney Cohen, interviews her while the dose is in full effect.

She’s not necessarily stoned, but…. beautiful.

Oh wait, my mistake, she’s definitely stoned. Really, really stoned.

I find this video riveting. The look of wonder and transcendent delight on her face is pure magic. Being such a regular, normal gal, her reactions are unfiltered and simply amazing to behold.

Suddenly, a lot of what Leary and company have been saying about LSD makes more sense to me. I have always been a little dubious about the whole hallucinogenic trip. I have always thought, perhaps uncharitably, that people who needed to mess with their brains in such a radical way just to make what seems to me to arrive fairly basic philosophical conclusions must have been pretty dull to start with.

Or perhaps they are just normal, as opposed to being a freaky way-out head case who lives outside Plato’s cave and gets only occasional postcards from reality like myself.

Some of us don’t need any chemical assistance to get into a transcendental frame of mind. Rather the opposite, actually. We need chemicals to deal with that bad trip called reality.

I say that tongue in cheek, but I mean it as well. I’m very odd, mentally speaking. I don’t think like other people do. I move perpendicular to all the usual axes. I’m right here…. but I’m somewhere else as well. I’m right in front of you but I’m also millions of miles away, and a lot of places in between. I have a level of detachment and perspective that others sometimes find uncanny.

I’m a kind of freaky guy.

And it’s not without cost. Not being like the other beach apes has alienated me my whole life. And being a beach ape myself, that makes me sad. I long to connect with others, but find it hard to really relate. the world of normal people just seems so strange to me. Such a tiny, limited place compared to the wide open (cold, lonely) spaces I inhabit.

Of course, on the other side of the coin, I have always been afraid to try LSD because I figure I am not that firmly attached to reality anyhow so I am not going to go cutting myself loose any time soon.

That kind of thing is for people who have a “normal” to come back to after the trip.

Still, watching our volunteer trip balls kind of makes me want to try it. She seems like she’s in such a groovy state of mind, deep within the harmonic unity of the universe, and seeing all those cosmic colors.

Could be fun!

And speaking of colors, is it trippy or what when this typical housewife of the fifties says, in a black and white movie, “Everything’s in color!”. That blew my mind, it’s so marvelously surreal. The LSD had made her see her bland black and white fifties world in full color!

Reminds me strongly of one of my fave Paul Simon tunes.

I can kind of see why people thought that song was about drugs now.

As an aside : according to the YouTube description, that song is from an album called “Here Comes Rhymin’ Simon”. That is the most hilariously bad album title EVER. Hey Paul, don’t name your albums when you’re stoned! I’m sure it seemed REALLY FUNNY at the time….

I do wonder and worry about our volunteer in this video clip. The trip itself seems to have been entirely pleasant for her, but she has been scooped up out of her fish bowl and shown the ocean… how can she go back to life in her bowl again now? She knows THERE IS MORE.

The experiment might have been crueler than anyone could have foreseen or intended.

I’m probably worrying over nothing, though. She probably just shrugged, said “Well, that was sure weird”, and went back to her life.

Perhaps the real problem is that if you have never personally experienced the stifling conformism and enforced optimism and blinkered Republicanism of the fifties, you can’t really get how it took LSD to take people up and out of all that and let them see just how small their lives were. After all, as a Gen X type, I inherited a zeitgeist that had already made that transition. The work had already been done. So to me, it seems obvious how tiny their lives were. But what the fuck do I know? I wasn’t there.

I can only imagine the vast sea of unfocused dissatisfaction with life that the fifties must have accumulated, with so many people experiencing a material standard of living unprecedented in history, people healthier and life easier than it had ever been, and everything around you saying “This is the best time to be alive ever! How can you not be happy? There must be something wrong with YOU!”.

And yet, happy they were not.

LSD helped people get to that next level, where they could see their spiritual needs were unmet and could imagine going in search of that as well.

I can see why the forces of the Establishment and conformity thought LSD and the counterculture were such a threat to civilization. Here they had created what was arguably paradise on Earth for their kids, compared to all of what came before, and these hippies dared to say that wasn’t enough?

Madness. Anarchy. This must be the work of international communism, and their implacable need to destroy all that we’ve worked for since the War. We have to put a stop to this!

But people had to free their minds. I’m all for that. Whatever it takes to get you to that next level where you can see not just the game but the players.

I just don’t need drugs to get there, personally.

Friday Science Roundup for January 21, 2011

OK, first off, let’s talk about the trip to Mars that is taking place right now.

Granted, it’s a simulated trip, and all the crew members are staying right here on Earth. But other than that little detail, the experiment is rigged to simulate the problems of a trip to Mars as faithfully as possible… including locking the crew into their metal capsule for six month there and six months back.

So far, no murders from SPACE MADNESS.

The idea is that they will, in simulation, make the trip there for six months, assume orbit on Feb 1, land on Feb 12 and spend the next two days exploring a simulated Mars surface, and then get back in the metal box for the six month journey back home.

They can communicate via email and video messages, but those are realistically delayed in order to simulate the effect of speed of light delays as the Mars capsule gets further and further from Earth.

One thing I like about this experiment is that it is highly useful science, and yet, low budget. NASA style spending is a thing of the past, and modern space programs are, quite rightly, focusing more on making space flight practical and affordable, rather than throwing enormous amounts of resources into flashy projects that prove what we already know : that it can be done.

We are past the explorer period of space flight, and far overdue for the practical era, where space flight is made as rational and reasonable as airline travel.

I have to note, though, that there is a flaw in their experimental model. It’s unavoidable, but still, it makes one wonder what the real usability of the data will be.

The thing is, the “crew members” all know, deep down, that they are on Earth and if anything bad happened they could be out of the experiment in a moment. That won’t be true in space, and I think the knowledge that rescue is as close as the next room does a lot to reduce the tension on the “crew members”, and makes it a lot easier for them to just be chummy and wait things out rather than get into personality conflicts.

Still, a lot of good science will come out of this study, and as a bonus, Americans are not involved.

Face it, you guys act like you own space!

Moving into the realm of a more modest form of transportation than space flight, we have the first very preliminary positive results in trying to develop the “road train” concept.

The idea is fairly simple. Instead of thousands of people individually piloting their individual vehicles over the exact same roads in their daily commute every day, one lead car would do all the piloting and all the other cars would simply do what that car did until it’s time to drive from the car train’s route to your job.

Put another way… imagine that you are driving to work. But instead of driving the whole way, you sit by the side of the road for a minute waiting for the road train to go by, and then your car connects wireless to the road train and, all by itself, joins the train. You sit back, put your feet up, and relax, not doing a single thing to pilot your vehicle, until the system beeps and tells you it is time to drive from road train to work. Same thing on the way home.

Sounds cool, right? But something bugs me about this idea. It seems wrong somehow. Like a problem is either being half-solved, or over-solved.

For instance, how does it handle a red light, where half your road train will make the light and half won’t? If your road train is many blocks long, it could get sliced up in many places. What then?

And trusting some other person in the lead vehicle with your life and the life of all the other passive cars is one hell of a leap of faith to ask of people. I am not sure the ability to have an easy commute while not having to relinquish the autonomy og your own vehicle is really worth it.

And a surprising amount of progress had been made in creating the self-driving car lately anyhow. Perhaps this would make sense from the point of view of the traffic controlling computers in a full-on self-driving car scenario, but within the confines of the current everyday driving work, I don’t know.

Finally, from the real world to one of my favorite world, the world of video games, and one editorialist’s cautious endorsement of the future of 3D gaming.

I’ve been kind of dubious about the idea, informed largely by how excited everyone got about “virtual reality” way back in the 90’s. But the points he makes in its favour make sense to me.

One, he’s right to say that single-player gaming has no problem with 3D needing to be focused right for one person or one small part of the room. I play video games by myself, and that would not be a problem. It only has to be focused for my eyes.

And he’s somewhat correct in saying that gamers do not mind putting on dorky accessories to play games. Admittedly, headphones and wrist straps are a far cry from something that is going to completely cover my eyes and render me blind to my surroundings, but if the results were good enough, if I was sufficiently impressed and enchanted with this new level of immersion, I could get used to it.

His best point, and the one that really struck home for me, though, is that current 3D technology is a lot more convincing when applied to animation than to real objects, and what is a video game’s visuals but a constant flow of animation? It makes sense. Animation, unlike the real world, is simplified, has a single visual style, and uses fairly predictable tricks to simulate 3D. So why not turn those tricks into actual 3D visuals?

Of course, nothing 3D like that is going to be showing up in my price range (hint : LOW) any time soon. But still, it’s good to know that my beloved video games are ready to break into that third dimension.

Virtual reality, twenty years late.

The Myth Of Hard Work

One of the core concept underlying modern life is the idea of hard work. We work hard, we say, and that means we deserve certain things. You will rise to the top as long as you work hard. Everyone values a hard worker. We work hard for our money. And so on.

This concept underlies a lot of our beliefs about work and its role in society, and hence, our role in society as well. After all, if there is one thing that unites people, it’s that the vast majority of people have jobs. Even in tough economic times, no more than ten percent or so of the population is unemployed. The rest have jobs, bosses, responsibilities, stress, and the daily hurdle of convincing yourself to get up, get ready, and go to work when it’s the last thing in the world you feel like doing.

So the idea of hard work is key to the entire social machinery that society relies upon to function by putting what people do with most of their days on most days in some sort of meaningful context. Being a hard worker is a good thing. We want to be hard workers. So we get up and go to work.

But the fact is, modern life has made this concept practically meaningless, and it’s high time that we examined the concept and learned, for ourselves, what a leaky ship this tired old idea has become.

Hey, I work hard, right?

It’s something that nearly everyone says at one point. They work hard for their money. They work hard period. Generally, it’s said either defensively, or as a preface to their claim of some sort of entitlement, privilege, or special consideration from society.

But when you think about it, it’s a meaningless statement. Honestly, can you imagine a single person with an actual job who could say this and you would disagree to their face? You might think, naively, that their job doesn’t sound all that hard compared to yours, or that you are glad you don’t have that job because it sounds like it sucks hot rocks, but is there anyone with a job to whom you would say “Bull muffins, you don’t work hard for your money!”

Of course not. It would be extraordinarily rude and invite a lot of bitter comparisons and ill will. But if absolutely anybody who works for a living can make the exact same claim and have it go unchallenged, what does it really mean?

Basically, when you say “I work hard for a living”, all you are really saying is “I am employed.” It does nothing to distinguish you from anyone else with a job. Everyone who has a job works hard because everyone who has a job would rather not have to work for a living. It’s a meaningless distinction.

Work hard, and you’ll make it to the top!

It amazes me that some people still think this is true.

Think of your job. Now think of your boss. Do you really think he or she got where they are by working harder than everyone else?

That idiot? Not a chance. They just sucked up to the right people, made the right friends, and had less dignity and honor and self-respect than you. Them work hard? Hah.

Well, what makes you think it will be any different for you, or for everyone? The skills of your job and the skills that will actually get you promoted are not just entirely different, sometimes they are totally at odds with one another. Hard work barely makes the list.

And even if your boss is qualified and competent, do you really think it’s hard work which got them there? Imagine you are a boss with several employees. One of them is an amazingly hard worker who is more productive than two average employees. The other is an average worker, but everyone knows him and likes him, and he seems to be good at motivating people to work.

Who are you going to promote? One way, you lose all that productivity for your department and thrust someone who has never shown the slightest sign that they would make a good manager into a management position, and the other…. makes sense.

Hard work does not get you ahead. Social skills, maybe.

Society rewards hard workers

Society rewards work, in that our society works on a money-for-labour economy. But after that, hard work is one of the last things it rewards.

Think about it. Do you think someone who makes twice as much money as you do works twice as hard as you do? Are you paid less because you are just too lazy to work as hard at them?

Like hell, right? They just do different work than you. They are probably one of those middle-management suckups who don’t contribute anything to the bottom line and just serve to make sure the people at the top never have to talk to the people at the bottom and risk getting exposed to actual work.

Or even if they aren’t… why does a doctor make so much more than a McDonald’s employee? Is it because they work that much harder? Really? When a doctor can make more in four hours than the french fry chef at McDonald’s does in a month? We begin to suspect that there is something a little more than hardness of work at play here.

The answer, of course, is that the doctor makes more because he can get more. Society sees the job of doctor as more valuable and difficult as french fry cook, and so doctors can ask for a lot more money and get it. It’s a higher status job, and therefore gets paid more dollars. It’s that simple.

Doctors often argue that they get paid so much because they have people’s lives in their hands. And it’s true, they do. But so do a lot of other jobs that don’t get paid nearly as much. If a tow truck driver doesn’t attach that chain correctly, they could cause a huge traffic accident and kill dozens of people. If the cleaning staff skimps a little when cleaning a restaurant’s kitchen, the food could become contaminated and make hundreds of people very ill. Even that french fry cook could wreck people’s days by doing his job wrong and getting away with it.

But these jobs are not paid nearly as well, because in society, dirty, manual, labour-filled jobs are considered low-status and hence not paid very well. It doesn’t matter how hard our french fry cook works, he could be doing the work of three people and putting in eighty hours a week, doesn’t matter. The doctor is still going to make a hell of a lot more than him.

And how about those fatcat CEOs who make millions of dollars even if the company is in the red? Do you really think they work millions of times harder than you do? Or are they just raiding the piggy bank?

Hard workers are better citizens

Not so much better that we pay them more, of course. That would be silly.

But a lot of people seem to think that their stalwart claim that they are hard workers somehow makes them better than other people, and that means society should recognize and value and reward them above others.

But as we have already seen, it’s a meaningless distinction. Anyone can claim it, and nobody will challenge them, and so all you are really saying is “I have a job!”

And the strangest part is, the people making these claims are often conservatives. The self-same conservatives, mind you, who are so ready to defend social Darwinism, the law of the jungle, the market, and so on… and now they are saying that society should think they are special for being a good little worker and doing what they are told? And that this somehow makes them special?

What a bunch of collectivist bullcrap. Why should I care, Comrade, how good a worker you are? It doesn’t make my life any easier, nor does it put more money in my pocket. Unless I work with you directly and your quality of work (or lack of it) directly influences how much work I have to do, or how much stress I have to put up with, why should I give a crap how hard you work?

Admit it, you think you contribute more to society and therefore society should treat you nicer and make you feel all special. But unless you are willing to endorse the rest of the collectivist ideology that says we have a responsibility to help one another that supersedes our individual desires sometimes, like for instance our desire to make obscene amounts of money regardless of consequences… you might want to rethink just how proud you are for being better than the tiny proportion of people in society without jobs.

Hard work is a joke

So as you can see, despite the deep roots that the phrase “hard work” has in our culture, it’s really a joke. Society does not value or reward people based on how hard they worker, anyone can claim to be a hard worker and it doesn’t mean anything, and the idea of how wonderful it is to be a “hard worker” is a sham that serves the powers that be by making sure they get qas much labour for as little money as possible. You want to be a good person, right? So work harder for the same amount of money! Suits them just fine.

It’s really all about who has better social skills, who has a higher status job, and who has the power to vote themselves a raise. Hard work is barely a blip on the radar.

Enjoy your drive to work!

Very bad way to wake up

Regular followers of my biography in progress know that, due to sleep apnea, I roll the dice every time I sleep. Maybe I’ll wake up feeling at least somewhat refreshed. Maybe I’ll wake up feeling no different than when I went to sleep, and feel like I just wasted hours of my life. And maybe I will wake up feeling completely horrible, barely able to think let alone concentrate, and will barely be able to use the bathroom and get something to eat before collapsing back into a fitful, dream-laden sleep that feels like it is baking my brain in the desert sun.

Well, my body has topped itself, because today, I seem to have woken up with a broken tooth.

I already know that I grind my teeth in my sleep. My dentist, who does not like me, told me such. So I guess that is how it happened. But you still have to wonder what the hell is wrong with a person when they can sleep through breaking a freaking tooth. You would think I would at least wake up from the sound.

I’m pretty sure it’s a broken tooth. At first, when I was just waking up, I thought I just had a big piece of food stuck between two of my teeth. This happens to me every once in a while, some bit of something (usually a popcorn hull) get stuck between two teeth and is really hard to dislodge and I end up having to fiddle with it forever to get it out there. And in the meantime, it bugs me.

But as I woke up slowly and the horror dawned, I expore said obstruction in my teeth, feeling it wobble back and forth in a sickeningly telling way, and realized that if it was some piece of food, it was :

1. a very LARGE piece of food… the sort you would notice right away and immediately get out of there rather than play Wii for two hours then nap
2. a very HARD piece of food, like so hard it doesn’t yield at all when I squeeze it between my fingers, and
3. stuck in there REALLY HARD. Like, so hard it feels like it’s embedded in the gums. Still loose and wobbly, but partly stuck in there REAL… real hard.

Plus, I took a look at it in the mirror as best as I could, and it looks disturbingly white and sold and toothlike. So I am pretty sure that, somehow, I cracked a tooth in my sleep and it’s now all dangly and wobbly and fucked up like I was a little kid about a week from losing a baby tooth.

Luckily, it doesn’t hurt. Or rather, it wouldn’t hurt if I could keep my tongue from poking and prodding at it constantly. That makes it hurt a little. Weird instinct, huh? What makes us do that? Is it specifically to help us shed baby teeth when we’re little and then it just never shuts off? Or is it some urge that usually does nothing more but prompt us to clean obstructions out of our teeth with our tongue, but is not smart enough to know a messed up tooth is not an obstruction?

But still, pain or no, this gives me a host of problems which suck particularly bad. Like, how the hell do I eat like this? I kinda have to eat. I’m diabetic, if I don’t eat, my blood sugar crashes, I get very ill, things get very bad, it’s a bad scene all around. But I am scared to eat with a tooth like this in case I make things way worse in some horrible way. Or at least, make the busted tooth finally come all the way out of my head, and it hurts like hell, bleeds like a son of a bitch, or ends up being swallowed and fucking up my insides. Or all three at the same time, for that bonus lightning round of horror feeling.

So, die of blood sugar crash or initiate gory dental horror. It’s fun to choose.

Plus, this means I have to go see my dentist, and he doesn’t like me, because I have really messed up teeth. The fact that I needed braces and never got them (glad I was such a low priority, Mom and Dad), the legacy of very spotty dental hygiene when I was severely depressed, and my habit of eating popcorn seven times a week and hence making a little extra work for the hygenist…. oh, and let’s not forget my worst crime, being poor and hence not able to afford to pay for all the work I need…. makes him all stressed out and angry when I go in there. So I don’t go unless it’s an emergency. Which this is, obviously.

So I have to go see my stressed out dentist. Yay.

Honestly, part of me is really, really tempted to just reach in there and wiggle and tug the damn thing out myself. I’d be risking making things worse, but if my mission was successful and I avoided causing myself brutal agony from a ripped nerve or massive bleeding, I would at least be rid of the thing and be able to eat and such while waiting to see the dentist.

Well, I’m two hours overdue for food. I better go figure out what/whether I can eat.

Thanks, life. You’re a peach.

One Hell Of A Party

party fails - The Strangest of Nights
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I took one look at this picture, and said “I really, really wish I got invited to that kind of party. ”

I mean seriously. Drag queens. Bunny suiters. And a freaking OOMPA LOOMPA.

How come I never end up at parties that cool? Oh right, because I’m a mentally ill recluse. Oh well.

Our dragtress in distress is sporting what is known, in certain fetish porn circles, as a GUNT. It’s a gut so large that, to some, it appears to be a cunt. Gut plus cunt plus the magic of portmanteau… GUNT.

Myself, I think it looks far more like an ass than a cunt. So really, it’s a GASS.

I would probably look about the same in her position. Only with a big nasty scar running up the middle.

Not a pretty picture.

An Errant Purchase, or Apologies to William

Dramatis Personae

Rudrich, a stalwart and stolid salesman of previously owned office furniture
Elsanore, his good and faithful wife and a real estate agent in her own mien
Minsk, their bright and simple daughter of halfscore and five years of age

{The curtain opens on a modest but pleasant suburban kitchen. Elsenore sits at the table, paying bills. As the scene opens, Rudrich enters stage-right, triumphant. He carries a grocery bag. He doffs his coat and hat, then approaches Elsanore }

Rurdrich : Rejoice, good wife, for your husband returneth from the cruel and violent jungle of yonder Capers with his victor’s spoils!
Elsanore : Well met, noble husband! I knew yon quest could ne’r o’ercome my strong and wholesome mate! Now foretell me… was yon quest successful? Have ye the item with whose purchase thou wert charged?
Rudrich : Can it be else? Behold!

{ Rudrich, with a flourish, delves into the grocery bag he holds and produces a bagged head of lettuce)

Rudrich : Huzzah! Now, as for my compensation, affection is the traditional…
Elsanore : What bag of foulness is this? I ask’d for one thing only, and thou returneth with this… monstrosity of verdant vegetation?
Rudrich : But… thine charge was for a head of lettuce, nothing more…
Elsanore : I, in mode most crystal and pure, didst charge thou with the procurement of one head of lettuce of the ROMAINE variety. This… this sodden knot of mulch and weed is of that accursed bastard of a moss patch and a hedgerow known as ICEBERG. A title befitting its so-called “flavour” and lack of use!
Rudrich : Didst thou speaketh the word “Romaine” in thine charge? I remembrest not!
Elsanore : I didst speak it most clearly and truly, and what’s more, I spake it thrice! Perhaps, as oft I charge, thou listeneth not?
Rudrich : Ah, no no, good wife, egads, now I rememberest thy addition.
Elsanore : Then why, pray tell, does this fat sack of ill growth besmirch this, our temple of nourishment?
Rudrich : … the grocer’s price was most boon on this item!
Elsanore : Pah! A penny spent on such refuse is an act of criminal profligacy!
Rudrich : … and yon manager of produce didst assure me they are virtually identical…
Elsanore : Fah! A self-serving libel so simple as to fool only halfwits and juveniles!
Rudrich : And… (sotto voce) this is the variety of mine preference.
Elsanore : Pardon? Thou speak’st too soft. Again?
Rudrich : My preference is this variety!
Elsanore : Hah! The truth will out! Price and equivalency be damn’d, thou sought to please thine own ends at the expense of mine! Dost thou think me a simpleton, that I should not pierce thy deception?
Rudrich : …twere a possibility!
Elsanore : Twere not! To think, I scoffed when my dear mother warned I wed a base liar, and now…

{ Enter daughter Minsk, oblivious. }

Minsk : Greetings, good Father. Didst thou procure the paper of graphing I needeth for my project in maths due tomorrow morn?

{ Rudrich looks at daughter and wife most glumly, then sighs and puts on both coat and hat once more. }

Rudrich : I shall return anon.

{ Rudrich exits stage-right. }

THE END… or is it?

Yes. Yes it is.

You want to work for a living

No really, you do.

See, you’re a human being. And human beings are social animals. That means we are born with a host of strong drives that bind us together into communities which work together toward common goals.

To be a human in modern society is to belong to many of these overlapping and interlocking communities, from apartments to internationally alliances, from families to Fortune 500 companies, from friendships to fraternities and well beyond.

And one of the most important drives which binds us together in so many ways is the our desire to contribute to the community we are in. We not only desire to belong to a community, we vitally need to devote our energies to said community. If we cannot, we feel empty, purposeless, and isolated.

Modern life does such a poor job of arranging for this deep need to be vitally met that most people think they only work for a living because society forces them to do so. They assume that if people did not need money in order to survive, life would be one long vacation that never ended.

This is a perfectly understandable from the point of view of the average tired, stressed, harried worker. Whether you are the mailroom drudge or the top boss, there are many days when you really don’t feel like going to work in the morning and wish you were anywhere else but at your job. The average person of today does not love their job, even if it’s the one they chose as a career in their college days, and from the point of view of the leisure deprived masses, an endless supply of what they feel they get so little of sounds like the best possible thing in the world.

It’s like a person suffering from dehydration thinking nothing could be better than a lake of their favorite beverage, or a child dreaming of a world of unlimited candy. It’s perfectly understandable. But in the end, it’s not really very realistic.

Realistically, eventually your need is sated and other drives come to the fore. You have enough to drink, you get tired of the candy…. and you have had enough vacation, and want to get back to work.

If you are still not convinced that we have a very strong drive to contribute our labour to a community, ask yourself this : why are little kids so eager to try to ‘help’? It is universally known that wee ones are always trying to participate in what the people around them are doing. They want to feel included and valued. It is only later in life that we become jaded and guarded and lose contact with this desire, as school, jobs, and other obligations put us into a permanent state of leisure deprivation, and we dream of that unlimited vacation with nothing to do and nobody to answer to at all.

But really, wouldn’t you get bored? Don’t you remember getting bored of summer as a kid and kind of wishing school would start again? If you could have the exact same income with no work, what, exactly, would you DO all day? There is no leisure activity which would not grow tiresome after a while. Sooner or later, just pleasing yourself would grow very boring, and you would get tired of deciding what to do with your time all the time, and you would look for something more meaningful to do.

This, incidentally, is a major cause of malaise amongst the wealthy, especially the so-called “leisure class”, especially amongst the generations which come after the founding of the family fortune. It is a patently cruel thing to expect human beings to do nothing meaningful with their lives simply to fulfill some ancient patriarch’s fantasy that “his children won’t have to work for a living”. And the cruelty is compounded tenfold by society’s firm insistence that their lives are wonderful, the best lives possible in our society, and how dare they not be blissfully happy when they are living out our dreams?

And this malaise plagues society in general, because our jobs are cold and impersonal and almost never give us the feeling that we are valued and recognized for our labour. They just reluctantly cut you a paycheck and that is supposed to be it.

And society on a larger scale requires nothing of us at all in terms of labour. It doesn’t even ask us to pay our taxes. It just takes them. In days gone by, our communities required some degree of labour from all citizens in order to function. In a primitive society, everyone has a defined role, things they are required to do in order to keep their society functioning. But in modern times, all we do is vote. One question asked of us every four years. That’s a fairly thin diet by anyone’s standards.

So really, you do want to work for a living. It’s just that modern society does such a lousy job of making you feel connected to your community and valued and recognized for your contributions that you lose sight of all that and dream, instead, of a permanent vacation which would likely turn into a nightmare.

The real secret is in doing what you want to do, not in doing nothing at all. And being a human being, what your want to do is work hard at something which is meaningful to you and be recognized and valued for it.

Human beings want, and need, to work.

Under the Sky

“Please don’t do that. ”

I glanced up from my suicidal reverie at the edge of the roof. It wasn’t just that I was certain that this roof had been empty when my despair and ennui had driven me to ascend to it. It was the voice…. there was something about that voice that was so unusual and compelling that I decided I just had to delay m righteous and rightful self-annihilation to investigate.

“….Hello?” I asked, in that special kind of hesitant tone one uses when you hear a spooky noise in an old mansion in the middle of the night.

There was a heavy pause, and a strange, soft sound I could not identify. Then the voice said “I know what you are going to do, and I am asking you not to do it. ”

So there was someone else up here on this rooftop. I carefully looked around the bleak and featureless roof. Nope, nobody here.

“What do you think I was going to do?” I replied stupidly, for lack of a better thing to say. Still going to do, said the dark and dominant side of my mind. Knowing it would all soon be over felt too good to go back now.

“You were about to destroy yourself. ” The tone was languidly accusatory. And that voice… it was like the richest, most soothingly pleasant voiceover artist’s voice, but also with the total assurance that goes beyond confidence. And there was something else…. something I couldn’t place. Something that sounded wonderful… but not quite normal. “You…. do that sometimes. ”

“I do?” I replied. So far, my side of this curious was not going well. Well, I was never any good at…. anything, really. Nothing that matters, anyhow.

“Not you, Mark. ” said the voice. Where WAS he? “Your…. people. Sometimes you destroy yourselves of your own free will. I have learned this. ”

Everyone knows that, I thought. This was getting creepy. “Why do you care if I kill myself?”

“Because if you do that, Mark, I will become very sad, and the universe will lose your diversity. ” said the voice matter-of-factly. And again, there was that strange soft sound, like silk sliding against glass.

I was taken aback by this frank and direct answer. It wasn’t the words so much as the plain and unquestionable conviction with which the voice said them. If I went through with my plans, it would make him very sad. It was unthinkable to doubt it. That voice…. its sincerity was utterly complete.

I fought down the urge to say something pointlessly flip like “Well, as long as it’s all about you” or “Sorry to ruin your day with my despair. ” I didn’t feel flippant. I don’t know what I felt, exactly, but it was not my usual sarcastic bitterness. It was something like wonder, and something like terror, and something like nothing I had felt before. A deep kind of thrill, mixed with a sense of something truly important going on.

Then a thought struck me so suddenly and so hard that it caused me to cry out in surprise. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

The voice, mildly amused, replied “How does one know that this beautiful sky is blue? How does one know that structure over there is made of red brick? How do you know anything? I look upon you and it is there.”

My mind and heart were racing. It wasn’t that he knew my name that was the true shock. It was that I had accepted it as perfectly normal and natural for so long before realizing it. Up until now, in as much as I had given it any thought at all, I had assumed he was a resident of this building, or maybe it’s superintendent, and talking to me from a crawlspace or something. But now… now I absolutely had to know just what or who I was talking to. My despair and ennui were gone, replacing by a curiosity so intense that it felt almost religions. I had to know. I needed it.

My mind raced for something to say, to keep him talking so I could find him. “So you can see me from where you are? ” I asked, hoping his reply would narrow down the possibilities.

“I can. Not as you might define, but yes. I can. I can see you now as clearly as you can see the sun in your mind even in the darkest night of the year. I know you as well as you know your fondest and most cherished memory. I feel you like you feel the warmth of a campfire even through the walls of your tent. And now I have spoken long enough for you to find me. ”

The last was said at the exact moment that I hesitantly peered over one corner of the roof (I’ve always been afraid of heights) and saw… an angel.

Let me be clear on this : I am not speaking metaphorically or figuratively. I am being completely literal and using the only reasonable word I can conceive of to describe what I saw that day. There, standing on a ledge one floor below the roof, was an angel. Big feathery wings. perfect body, golden halo, the works. Think of the most beautiful picture of an adult male angel you have ever seen, and that is exactly what I was looking at, down to the last pinfeather.

He wore no clothing, yet did not seem naked at all. I think the official term is “clothed in radiance”. I stared at him with eyes open wide, and yet, the overwhelming presence of him was so intense that all I can remember is how beautiful he was and his green, green eyes.

One more thing I have to make clear before we go on : I am a atheist. I am not prone to religious visions brought on my an excess of faith and/or frontal lobe epilepsy. You have to understand this in order to comprehend the full totality of my surprise at what I saw. I would have been less surprised to see a fierce Maori warrior in full battle paint strumming a ukulele and singing show tunes. Those, at least, exist.

And I am heterosexual. Finding anything male this beautiful is not something to which I was accustomed. And it wasn’t sexual. It included sexuality, but was so much more than that. Calling it sexual because of that would be like calling the Atlantic lemonade because you dropped a lemon slice into it.

“Please look away. ” he said.

“Why, are you shy?” I replied. This time, I was too dazzled and awed to keep my usual flippancy from slipping out. Besides, I didn’t want to look away. Ever.

“No. It’s just that for your kind to look upon mine for too long is…. not good. Look away now. And do not look back upon me. ”

I looked away, even though it was the last thing in the universe I wanted to do. It was like telling a man dying of thirst in the desert to pour his last drop of water out into the sand, but I did in anyhow. I had no choice. I could no more resist doing what he told me to do in that amazing voice than a clod of dirt could resist being washed away by the crashing tide. My will dissolved into his when he spoke to me like that.

To distract myself from the pain of looking away and the growing void in my soul that already threatened to engulf it completely, I asked “What would have happened to me, had I kept looking?”

“Your mind would have… become broken. What pleases the soul is not always good for the mind. You would have become… simpler. ”

I knew this to be true. I already felt like my mind was glowing white hot. It was like the feeling I had felt after a long and grueling exam in college, only pleasant. Any longer, and my mind would no doubt have melted into slag and the rest of my days would have been spent in someplace with “Ward” or “Institute” in the name and havng my diapers changed on the hour, every hour.

I knew what I had to ask. What was left of my atheist’s intellectual cynicism rebelled against it, but was pushed aside. “So are you an…. ?”

There was a long pause before he answered, long enough to strike me cold with worry that my question had offended him and he had left. Or that by questioning the dream, I had caused it to end and I would be forced to wake to the reality of my miserable life once more, all the worse for the glimpse of something more.

“My people and I are not…. servants of your God. We serve our own, in our own way. We are simply another race making our way through the Universe and trying to cope and grow and learn from our mistakes, like you. One of those mistakes has been, in our time here, to try to interfere directly with the course of your kind’s development, and in doing so, our interactions have inspired your myths in many ways. From the point of view of your culture, the most important of them is that we inspired your myths of creatures called ‘angels’. But we are merely…. travelers. ”

By this point, my thoughts and emotions were an electrical storm of titanic proportions. Part of me was glad he was not a traditional Western angel, because I didn’t know if I could handle a sudden proof of the existence of a God I had not believed in since childhood. And another part was bitterly disappointed. And yet another part felt guilty for being disappointed. Had my atheism been a sham, and deep down I longed for a paternalistic God all this time? And yet still another part said “Guilt? Smart people don’t feel guilt about their emotions. That’s for the religious sheep. ” And so forth and so on.

Amidst the chaos, a coherent thought managed to emerge. “So you are not from Earth? You’re… aliens?”

Against, that tone of mild amusement. “We are not from Earth, no. My people did not evolve here. I was not born here, though I consider it my home. We are children of the stars, and wander from planet to planet, solar system to solar system, looking for places we can live. ”

I tried to imagine that kind of freedom. “I think if I could travel between the stars, I would leave and never come back. I’d wander the Universe forever. ”

“That would be a pity. ” All amusement was gone from his voice. “Trust one who knows…. there is more beauty and wonder here, on a planet that bears life, than in all the stars and comets and lifeless rocks in this lonely cosmos. This planet… this world of yours… is a jewel beyond price, rare and wondrous and beautiful in ways you cannot even begin to imagine. I only wish you could see it as my people do. Knowing nothing else, you imagine this world to be a terrible place. Nothing could be further from the truth. My people wander for centuries looking for a planet as lush and diverse as this. One thousand light-years of dust and rocks and fire is absolutely nothing compared to life under the sky, like this. ”

I nodded, unsure what to say. His view of the world was not mine, at least, not the me who existed before this encounter. Already it was hard to relate to that person. Had I really been ready to kill myself just because I was bored and didn’t like how my life was going? Had I really condemned all of humanity as wretched and awful simply because it wasn’t as good as I thought it should be? Already, that person seemed like nothing more than an angry, spoiled child. I pitied him.

“Are your people still wandering? ” Are you going to leave me, I silently added.

“My people still wander. We have no choice. Not many of us can live in any one place, and so we must spread ourselves across the Galaxy. This great green Earth, as lush and rich and vibrant as it is, holds only fifteen of our number. Most living planets only hold three or four. And often, we are not there more than a handful of generations before we must move on again…. the price we pay for our interference in the natural order of things. We can’t stop ourselves. We have to help where we can. ”

“What makes you leave?” I asked. It was hard to imagine anything that could force creatures like him to do anything. I was still absorbing the fact that there were more like him out there somewhere.

“Once a planet’s sentients become sufficiently advanced, keeping ourselves hidden becomes more and more difficult… and once we are discovered and proven to exist, it is far too late. The damage we have done to the sentients would be profound. The effect we have on creatures like you is simply too profound to ignore. We would end up hunted, or worse, worshiped. This we cannot tolerate. So we try to make sure we leave before that happens. ”

I thought of Earth as it stood now, covered by satellites and telecommunications networks, with a video camera on every street corner and another in the cell phone in everyone’s pocket. My worry of them (him) leaving increased. “Are you leaving here soon? ”

“Not soon, no. Not by your standards. Not within your lifetime, certainly. There are still plenty of wild places and empty spaces for us to inhabit. And even in the cities, we can survive. You would be surprised at how infrequently your people look up. ”

Was that last part a joke? I still couldn’t look at him, and so I couldn’t tell. “Will I ever see you again?”

He paused, then answered : “No. You will not. You should not have seen me at all. My people will be disappointed in me. But they will understand. ”

Suddenly, I realized just what he had done for me. He had broken the rules of his society and risked my exposing them all to the world simply because he could nto stand the thought of my killing myself. I felt a rush of humility and gratitude.

He added “But it would be cruel to leave you with no proof but your memories that we ever spoke. So…. close your eyes and hold out your hand, palm up. ”

I did what I was told. I felt something small and round and smooth alight in my palm.

“Love this world, Mark. Love it unconditionally. Love it like a child loves its mother. Forgive it for all its flaws. And love the humanity in yourself, Mark. It is a truly special thing to be human. Once you love it in yourself, you will find it easy to love it in others, and thus love humanity as a whole. As I do. ”

“And please, if you ever think of harming yourself again, just remember that when things seem to be at their darkest, sometimes all you need to do is… open your eyes. ”

I opened my eyes, and knew that he was gone. I didn’t need to look to know, but I did it anyway. There was the ledge where he had stood, empty now, like nothing had happened.

But I knew it had happened. I had proof. I looked at the object in my hand, and saw that it was a sort of coin or token. One side was silver, and bore a picture of an open eye. The other was gold, and the picture was of a single feather.

I was puzzled by this gift, and then I understood. This token was pretty, but it was nothing that someone will the right skills and equipment couldn’t make. As far as anyone else knew, I might have bought this at a coin show or a carnival. Only I would know that I hadn’t. The proof was for me only.

I clutched my very own, personal proof in my hand, and looked up at the sky.

The Genetic Superiority of Fatness

Fat people are unhealthy. We tire easily. We breathe heavily. We die early. Tune in any news story about poor health, and there you have our bloated, anonymized bodies heaving ponderously and painfully along urban city streets was the backdrop. Everyone knows fat people are unhealthy, unsightly, and unsafe. Everything in our society screams “FAT IS BAD”.

But if being fat is so bad, how on Earth did the genes allowing (and encouraging) fatness survive the long cruel crucible of evolution in order to pose a public health problem today?

The answer, as it turns out, is that until quite recently, historically speaking, those very same genes that lead to heart disease, social outcast status, and an early grave today were actually extremely good genes to have if you wanted to live.

To understand why, you have to remember that until the coming of the modern age, the vast majority of human beings in the European gene pool (and hence, the North American genepool of the future) were subsistence farmers living in the temperate regions of the world.

Even primitive hunter-gatherer peoples innocent of agriculture had to deal with the fact that, for some substantial part of the year, there would be no food to speak of.

So the ability to build up a large store of energy in the form of fat was extremely important, as was the hearty appetite to encourage it. Add in the large frame to support it all and a body-form built for long term endurance doing backbreaking labour for hours at a time, and you have both the blueprint of the modern enormous fat person, and the medieval excellent farm worker and/or mate.

The thin person with a light appetite who stores little energy in the form of fat might be svelte and attractive in the summer, but come the long cold months of winter, they will be the first to feel the ravages of malnutrition and the ones least likely to be around to plant crops when spring returns anew.

Especially when you take into account how efficient food storage and refrigeration are quite recent inventions, and so for thousands of years, the best and most effective way to store food for the winter was to eat a great deal while the food is still fresh, get fat, and thus be able to survive a long period of very little to eat. It’s highly efficient, and makes that person an excellent choice of mate.

After all, a smart peasant chooses a mate who will still be around this time next year over a handsome Lothario who might not make it till Christmas.

And with a daily routine of hard physical labour, all or most of the health problems of modern obesity simply never occur. It’s largely the sedentary lifestyle, rather than the fat itself, that causes the host of health problems associated with obesity today. In earlier times, the body upon which that fat hangs would have been, thanks to an extremely demanding outdoor rural lifestyle, tough, strong, and extremely powerful. It could handle the increased blood pressure and strain on the heart of the extra weight with ease.

Given that, it’s extremely clear that the urge to and the capacity to eat a great deal and store it as fat was a massive evolutionary advantage. A big fat husband was one who obviously could provide well for your family because he was big and strong and prosperous. A big fat wife was a strong worker who was built for hard labour and giving birth, and who could be with you through the winter months when it gets very cold at night and you need someone big and warm to cuddle.

It is only in this modern world, where we can get as much as we like of things we are born to crave (sweetness, fat, and salt, all rare in the state of nature) and where hard physical labour is something we have largely eliminated, or at the very least made entirely optional, that these same genes that were so advantageous in the agrarian era have become a liability.

Even then, fatness does not always been poor health. A physically active and robust fat person is just as healthy as a thinner person.

And even us less-healthy ones do not start to have serious problems until we are middle aged, and are perfectly capable of being good mates, good earners, and good people are whole lives.

And with the inevitable slowdown of metabolism and loss of energy that comes with age, everyone joins the Fat Club sooner or later.

So you see, we fat people are still very good to have around, and what’s more, until recently, we are the proud bearers of the genes that not just survived but flourished and thrived all through the cruel winters of Europe and North America over the centuries.

So be nice to a fatty. It’s not our fault our genes are an outmoded model.

Used to be, our kind was King.