Exerpt from "Politics and the English Language," George Orwell 1946
In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible. Things like the continuance of British rule in India, the Russian purges and deportations, the dropping of the atom bombs on Japan, can indeed be defended, but only by arguments which are too brutal for most people to face, and which do not square with the professed aims of the political parties. Thus political language has to consist largely of euphemism., question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness. Defenseless villages are bombarded from the air, the inhabitants driven out into the countryside, the cattle machine-gunned, the huts set on fire with incendiary bullets: this is called pacification. Millions of peasants are robbed of their farms and sent trudging along the roads with no more than they can carry: this is called transfer of population or rectification of frontiers. People are imprisoned for years without trial, or shot in the back of the neck or sent to die of scurvy in Arctic lumber camps: this is called elimination of unreliable elements. Such phraseology is needed if one wants to name things without calling up mental pictures of them. Consider for instance some comfortable English professor defending Russian totalitarianism. He cannot say outright, "I believe in killing off your opponents when you can get good results by doing so." Probably, therefore, he will say something like this:
While freely conceding that the Soviet regime exhibits certain features which the humanitarian may be inclined to deplore, we must, I think, agree that a certain curtailment of the right to political opposition is an unavoidable concomitant of transitional periods, and that the rigors which the Russian people have been called upon to undergo have been amply justified in the sphere of concrete achievement.
Saturday, June 14, 2003
Sunday, June 08, 2003
Excerpt from Complexity by M. Mitchell Waldrop
Take water, for example. There’s nothing very complicated about a water molecule: it’s just one big oxygen atom with two little hydrogen atoms stuck to it like Mickey Mouse ears. Its behavior is governed by well-understood equations of atomic physics. But now put a few zillion of those molecules together in the same pot. Suddenly you’ve got a substance that shimmers and gurgles and sloshes. Those zillions of molecules have collectively acquired a property, liquidity, that none of them possesses alone. In fact, unless you know precisely where and how to look for it, there’s nothing in those well-understood equations of atomic physics that even hints at such a property. The liquidity is “emergent.”
In much the same way, says Anderson, emergent properties often produce emergent behaviors. Cool these liquid water molecules down a bit, for example, and at 32 degrees fahrenheit they will suddenly quit tumbling over one another at random. Instead they will undergo a “phase transition,” locking themselves into the orderly crystalline array known as ice. Or if you were to go the other direction and heat the liquid, those same tumbling water molecules will suddenly fly apart and undergo a phase transition into water vapor. Neither phase transition would have any meaning for one molecule alone.
And so it goes, says Anderson. Weather is an emergent property: take your water vapor out over the Gulf of Mexico and let it interact with sunlight and wind, and it can organize itself into an element structure known as a hurricane. Life is an emergent property, the product of DNA molecules and protein molecules and myriad other kinds of molecules, all obeying the laws of chemistry. The mind is an emergent property, the product of several billion neurons obeying the biological laws of the living cell. In fact, as Anderson pointed out in the 1972 paper, you can think of the universe as forming a kind of hierarchy: “at each level of complexity, entirely new properties appear. [And] at each stage, entirely new laws, concepts, and generalizations are necessary, requiring inspiration and creativity to just as great a degree as in the previous one. Psychology is not applied biology, nor is biology applied chemistry.”
Take water, for example. There’s nothing very complicated about a water molecule: it’s just one big oxygen atom with two little hydrogen atoms stuck to it like Mickey Mouse ears. Its behavior is governed by well-understood equations of atomic physics. But now put a few zillion of those molecules together in the same pot. Suddenly you’ve got a substance that shimmers and gurgles and sloshes. Those zillions of molecules have collectively acquired a property, liquidity, that none of them possesses alone. In fact, unless you know precisely where and how to look for it, there’s nothing in those well-understood equations of atomic physics that even hints at such a property. The liquidity is “emergent.”
In much the same way, says Anderson, emergent properties often produce emergent behaviors. Cool these liquid water molecules down a bit, for example, and at 32 degrees fahrenheit they will suddenly quit tumbling over one another at random. Instead they will undergo a “phase transition,” locking themselves into the orderly crystalline array known as ice. Or if you were to go the other direction and heat the liquid, those same tumbling water molecules will suddenly fly apart and undergo a phase transition into water vapor. Neither phase transition would have any meaning for one molecule alone.
And so it goes, says Anderson. Weather is an emergent property: take your water vapor out over the Gulf of Mexico and let it interact with sunlight and wind, and it can organize itself into an element structure known as a hurricane. Life is an emergent property, the product of DNA molecules and protein molecules and myriad other kinds of molecules, all obeying the laws of chemistry. The mind is an emergent property, the product of several billion neurons obeying the biological laws of the living cell. In fact, as Anderson pointed out in the 1972 paper, you can think of the universe as forming a kind of hierarchy: “at each level of complexity, entirely new properties appear. [And] at each stage, entirely new laws, concepts, and generalizations are necessary, requiring inspiration and creativity to just as great a degree as in the previous one. Psychology is not applied biology, nor is biology applied chemistry.”
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
Op-Ed: We could at least be honest about Iraq.
What might historians say about the “preemptive measures” in Iraq fifty or one hundred years from now? While the public relations campaigns for tyranny and WMD were certainly powerful they fall short of the real story. The real story is twofold: quashing the roots of terrorism and addressing the looming energy crisis. Taken together these issues underlie the real reason for “regime change” in Iraq.
Global terrorism, at least the likes of which we saw on Sep. 11th, stems from differences in religious as well as political views. In the U.S. the two are separate, whereas in the Middle East they are one. It is a mistake to assume that Muslims hate American’s for some religious or spiritual reason. The reality is that the people are banded together in groups, or tribes, of “the faithful” to support whatever political cause. The larger issue is that the U.S. is the biggest world power involved in the Middle East and by attacking the U.S. these terrorists gather support for their cause while potentially destabilizing ongoing political relationships.
It is important to note that a large number of these particular terrorists, and their financial sponsors, originated in Saudi Arabia, our “ally” in the Middle East. Wahabism, one of the most extreme sects of Islam that allied with the Saudi monarchy in the 20th century, dominates much of the socio-cultural values within the Saudi kingdom. This unstable alliance enabled the union of the territory of Arabia by the house of Sa’ud but also limits political, as well as religious, dissention within the realm. Unfortunate for the U.S. is the fact that twenty-five percent of the world’s oil reserves are within that realm and any efforts to pressure the Saudi political structure towards reform are likely met with tension over oil production.
As we are currently dependent on oil as our largest source of fuel for production of electricity and transportation, our relationship with the Saudis, despite their unwitting support of terrorism, is a necessary evil given the inconsistency of other sources. What the recent California energy crisis made apparent to federal officials is the necessity for conservation or new sources of generation and production. Outlined by the president was the need for rapid expansion of the energy grid – from exploration to production to generation, clearly the latter.
Given the enormous capacity of the Iraqi reserves, it should not surprise anyone that we would desire a “regime change.” Had Saddam been quick to comply with UN mandates and provided a consistent source of oil production, any change would have been unnecessary, though not impossible considering the regional political impact. Saddam did not comply, however, and “preemptive attack” was decided upon. By securing U.S. control of Iraqi production through whatever “coalition approved” regime, we have essentially removed Saudi resistance to political pressure, as we are now capable of securing consistent production elsewhere.
While environmentalist might argue, and rightly so, that conservation is undoubtedly a better way to handle the energy crisis, the proverbial cat is already out of the bag. Like it or not, we are a target, and terrorists are already active and supported. If we chose to use our financial strength to fund alternative energy sources, in addition to conservation efforts, we might reduce our dependence on oil, but not our position on the world stage. Our prominence makes us a focus for attack not because of some instinctive hatred, but because rallying “the faithful” around a common cause gains support for extremist agendas.
One might also contend the lack of coalition support from our European allies, for action in the Middle East, should make us reevaluate our position. To this one need only observe the growing differences in worldview. Currently the largest NATO participant, the U.S, surprisingly shoulders the majority of the European defense budget. The smaller European portion of the NATO budget allows them to fund alternative energy sources as well as conservation efforts. As such, our European allies are naturally reluctant to ally themselves with a target, not to mention reaping comparatively small benefits to the U.S, who would, and does, ultimately wield power in the Middle East.
Today, post-regime, we are in a unique position. If we were to remove ourselves from Middle Eastern conflict, we are not simultaneously removed as targets. While energy conservation is obviously a better option for dealing with our looming energy demand, it is not necessarily the most viable option for diminishing our risk of terrorism, not to mention quenching the public’s insatiable appetite for automotive monstrosities. Obviously a fine line must be tread between developing alternative energy sources and providing for our National Security, but at least we could have an open discussion of the real issues.
What might historians say about the “preemptive measures” in Iraq fifty or one hundred years from now? While the public relations campaigns for tyranny and WMD were certainly powerful they fall short of the real story. The real story is twofold: quashing the roots of terrorism and addressing the looming energy crisis. Taken together these issues underlie the real reason for “regime change” in Iraq.
Global terrorism, at least the likes of which we saw on Sep. 11th, stems from differences in religious as well as political views. In the U.S. the two are separate, whereas in the Middle East they are one. It is a mistake to assume that Muslims hate American’s for some religious or spiritual reason. The reality is that the people are banded together in groups, or tribes, of “the faithful” to support whatever political cause. The larger issue is that the U.S. is the biggest world power involved in the Middle East and by attacking the U.S. these terrorists gather support for their cause while potentially destabilizing ongoing political relationships.
It is important to note that a large number of these particular terrorists, and their financial sponsors, originated in Saudi Arabia, our “ally” in the Middle East. Wahabism, one of the most extreme sects of Islam that allied with the Saudi monarchy in the 20th century, dominates much of the socio-cultural values within the Saudi kingdom. This unstable alliance enabled the union of the territory of Arabia by the house of Sa’ud but also limits political, as well as religious, dissention within the realm. Unfortunate for the U.S. is the fact that twenty-five percent of the world’s oil reserves are within that realm and any efforts to pressure the Saudi political structure towards reform are likely met with tension over oil production.
As we are currently dependent on oil as our largest source of fuel for production of electricity and transportation, our relationship with the Saudis, despite their unwitting support of terrorism, is a necessary evil given the inconsistency of other sources. What the recent California energy crisis made apparent to federal officials is the necessity for conservation or new sources of generation and production. Outlined by the president was the need for rapid expansion of the energy grid – from exploration to production to generation, clearly the latter.
Given the enormous capacity of the Iraqi reserves, it should not surprise anyone that we would desire a “regime change.” Had Saddam been quick to comply with UN mandates and provided a consistent source of oil production, any change would have been unnecessary, though not impossible considering the regional political impact. Saddam did not comply, however, and “preemptive attack” was decided upon. By securing U.S. control of Iraqi production through whatever “coalition approved” regime, we have essentially removed Saudi resistance to political pressure, as we are now capable of securing consistent production elsewhere.
While environmentalist might argue, and rightly so, that conservation is undoubtedly a better way to handle the energy crisis, the proverbial cat is already out of the bag. Like it or not, we are a target, and terrorists are already active and supported. If we chose to use our financial strength to fund alternative energy sources, in addition to conservation efforts, we might reduce our dependence on oil, but not our position on the world stage. Our prominence makes us a focus for attack not because of some instinctive hatred, but because rallying “the faithful” around a common cause gains support for extremist agendas.
One might also contend the lack of coalition support from our European allies, for action in the Middle East, should make us reevaluate our position. To this one need only observe the growing differences in worldview. Currently the largest NATO participant, the U.S, surprisingly shoulders the majority of the European defense budget. The smaller European portion of the NATO budget allows them to fund alternative energy sources as well as conservation efforts. As such, our European allies are naturally reluctant to ally themselves with a target, not to mention reaping comparatively small benefits to the U.S, who would, and does, ultimately wield power in the Middle East.
Today, post-regime, we are in a unique position. If we were to remove ourselves from Middle Eastern conflict, we are not simultaneously removed as targets. While energy conservation is obviously a better option for dealing with our looming energy demand, it is not necessarily the most viable option for diminishing our risk of terrorism, not to mention quenching the public’s insatiable appetite for automotive monstrosities. Obviously a fine line must be tread between developing alternative energy sources and providing for our National Security, but at least we could have an open discussion of the real issues.
Tuesday, May 20, 2003
Regarding a recently published Op-Ed in the SFGate.
Editor – Regarding Adam Sparks’ opinion piece [“Demos: Out of Touch, Or out of their Minds?” May 20th]: This article is deliberately misleading. To begin, the argument for war has, to this day, yet to be substantiated. Do we have clear evidence of WMD? “New World order” notwithstanding, the war on Iraq has not eliminated the terrorism it was supposedly undertaken to achieve; witness the bombings in Saudi Arabia and Morocco. Despite the interesting comments of the emir of Qatar, who recently landed his country a multi-million-dollar military installation, democracy in Iraq or anywhere in the Middle East is a fallacy. Witness Afghanistan, still dependent on U.S. military support, is experiencing a resurgence of the Taliban regime in some parts of the country. Although incorrectly cited, the Senate has confirmed the majority of the President’s judicial nominees. The fact that a handful has not is evidence that the system works, as it should. Top rated nominees does not imply non-partisan. Regarding vouchers, citation of a city dependent on federal funds and politics is hardly a case. Demos aside, if Bush does win fifty-states in the next election it’ll be the lowest voter turnout in history, most disgusted voters choosing to abstain.
Editor – Regarding Adam Sparks’ opinion piece [“Demos: Out of Touch, Or out of their Minds?” May 20th]: This article is deliberately misleading. To begin, the argument for war has, to this day, yet to be substantiated. Do we have clear evidence of WMD? “New World order” notwithstanding, the war on Iraq has not eliminated the terrorism it was supposedly undertaken to achieve; witness the bombings in Saudi Arabia and Morocco. Despite the interesting comments of the emir of Qatar, who recently landed his country a multi-million-dollar military installation, democracy in Iraq or anywhere in the Middle East is a fallacy. Witness Afghanistan, still dependent on U.S. military support, is experiencing a resurgence of the Taliban regime in some parts of the country. Although incorrectly cited, the Senate has confirmed the majority of the President’s judicial nominees. The fact that a handful has not is evidence that the system works, as it should. Top rated nominees does not imply non-partisan. Regarding vouchers, citation of a city dependent on federal funds and politics is hardly a case. Demos aside, if Bush does win fifty-states in the next election it’ll be the lowest voter turnout in history, most disgusted voters choosing to abstain.
Wednesday, May 14, 2003
James began salivating as he watched the coffee delivery boy arrive with the coffee and donuts. The meeting proceeded as usual but James wasn’t hearing anything once he caught a glimpse of the donuts.
“Obviously we’ll have to revamp the product line,” said Bob.
“Not to mention the marketing promos that are already in production,” groaned Sandra.
James was catatonic. All he could hear was “wonk, wonk, wonk, wonk, wonk.”
Everyone began to make their way to the coffee and donuts and James noticed that there was only ONE jelly donut. As Dan was about to put it on his plate, James sprung into action and leaped over a chair to tackle him. “Oh no you don’t,” he said as he grabbed the donut and started eating it. “To the victor go the spoils of wa...” he said as he spit out the food in his mouth. “This damn thing’s stale,” he said falling into his seat.
“Obviously we’ll have to revamp the product line,” said Bob.
“Not to mention the marketing promos that are already in production,” groaned Sandra.
James was catatonic. All he could hear was “wonk, wonk, wonk, wonk, wonk.”
Everyone began to make their way to the coffee and donuts and James noticed that there was only ONE jelly donut. As Dan was about to put it on his plate, James sprung into action and leaped over a chair to tackle him. “Oh no you don’t,” he said as he grabbed the donut and started eating it. “To the victor go the spoils of wa...” he said as he spit out the food in his mouth. “This damn thing’s stale,” he said falling into his seat.
Monday, May 12, 2003
“What the fuck are these pansies doing outside MY building,” roared General Forzas looking out the window of his office. “Don’t they know it wasn’t my idea to go to war?” he exclaimed.
“Sir, I believe they think they can influence the government’s intention to wage war,” said his adjutant.
“I know what the fuck they think,” he raged. “But how do you convince them that the army is just a political tool?” “Ours is not to determine policy, but to enforce it,” he huffed feeling a tirade coming on.
His adjutant sat passively.
“You know, sometimes I just don’t get it,” he exclaimed. “Protest all you want, that’s what we fight for,” he said “but don’t protest the military because we don’t determine policy.”
“Sir I believe it’s supposed to send a message to the Capital regarding their political decisions,” said his adjutant matter-of-factly.
“Don’t get me started on those morons,” he exclaimed while pacing the floor. “Those halfwits would just assume the military covered the globe remaking it according to their twisted ideals.”
‘An instrument of foreign policy,’ he thought as he fumed. He thought of all the battles, both public and covert, that he’d waged for business interests in the name of “foreign policy” and he began to feel sick.
“I have to be honest, I’m glad the people are becoming more aware," he said profiling his reflection in the window, "Imagine the day we don't send men to their deaths needlessly,” he said as he exhaled forcefully.
“Sir, I believe they think they can influence the government’s intention to wage war,” said his adjutant.
“I know what the fuck they think,” he raged. “But how do you convince them that the army is just a political tool?” “Ours is not to determine policy, but to enforce it,” he huffed feeling a tirade coming on.
His adjutant sat passively.
“You know, sometimes I just don’t get it,” he exclaimed. “Protest all you want, that’s what we fight for,” he said “but don’t protest the military because we don’t determine policy.”
“Sir I believe it’s supposed to send a message to the Capital regarding their political decisions,” said his adjutant matter-of-factly.
“Don’t get me started on those morons,” he exclaimed while pacing the floor. “Those halfwits would just assume the military covered the globe remaking it according to their twisted ideals.”
‘An instrument of foreign policy,’ he thought as he fumed. He thought of all the battles, both public and covert, that he’d waged for business interests in the name of “foreign policy” and he began to feel sick.
“I have to be honest, I’m glad the people are becoming more aware," he said profiling his reflection in the window, "Imagine the day we don't send men to their deaths needlessly,” he said as he exhaled forcefully.
Friday, May 09, 2003
“You mean to say that this has been going on for centuries?” said Ahmed incredulously.
“Well, science and technology have changed considerably, but basically yeah.” replied St. John, his closest aid.
“But how can this be? We are an educated people, yes?” inquired Ahmed scratching his head.
“Education does not presume educated sir,” said St. John.
Ahmed looked out the window of his corner office. The city was magnificent. What a testament to their intellectual capacity – and yet, he had to wonder. In the distance the ocean gleamed an azure blue, and he felt his heart sink as he affirmed in a whisper “right.”
Friday, May 02, 2003
Upon arriving at work John placed his coffee on the desk and contemplated his day, ‘It’s just more of the same.’ He stared at the mass of technical wizardry on his desk and thought, ‘we’ve evolved a mind capable of creating something like this – liquid crystal displays, gigabytes of data, streaming information – yet how many of us actually produce anything, let alone understand the marvels that make our lives work.’
Frustrated, he banged his head on the desk. Another team-member walked over from the adjoining cubicle and asked cheerfully “is everything ok over here?” “Yeah, everything’s fine,” replied John. “I just dropped some data reports on the desk.”
Frustrated, he banged his head on the desk. Another team-member walked over from the adjoining cubicle and asked cheerfully “is everything ok over here?” “Yeah, everything’s fine,” replied John. “I just dropped some data reports on the desk.”
Monday, April 28, 2003
Matt eased his car onto the freeway. The day finally over, the bumper to bumper traffic was not a welcome sight. He gritted his teeth and shouted, “Mother fuckers!”
Expecting the worst he eased the seat back and turned on his radio to hear the latest news. It was more of the latest talking heads waxing on about politics. Listening to the news he couldn’t help talking to himself. “I must be dreaming.” “Are these guys really that far out of touch?” “Hello? It’s the economy stupid!”
He nodded his head thinking of the program earlier in the day when they were talking about charitable donations and the fact that the least charitable city was Hartford. ‘Fuckin Hartford’ he thought. ‘Could you find a wealthier city?’ ‘President Bush’s targeted tax cuts’ he thought as he rolled his eyes. “By some friggin miracle we’re going to generate economic stimulus by giving money to people who are naturally cheap?” ‘There’s a friggin guy with a clue!’ he thought.
‘I guess people really are that gullible’ he thought as he looked around to all the “safer” sport utility vehicles that crowded the highway. He began to reconsider himself. ‘It really doesn’t matter what the message or the product is because all it really takes is the right sales,’ he thought. “These Mother fuckers are stupid enough to send their children and grandchildren to their deaths to support their right to drive a vehicle that gets less gas mileage then the car they drove twenty years ago” he shouted. He turned the radio off and shook his head laughing to himself at the insanity of it all.
Expecting the worst he eased the seat back and turned on his radio to hear the latest news. It was more of the latest talking heads waxing on about politics. Listening to the news he couldn’t help talking to himself. “I must be dreaming.” “Are these guys really that far out of touch?” “Hello? It’s the economy stupid!”
He nodded his head thinking of the program earlier in the day when they were talking about charitable donations and the fact that the least charitable city was Hartford. ‘Fuckin Hartford’ he thought. ‘Could you find a wealthier city?’ ‘President Bush’s targeted tax cuts’ he thought as he rolled his eyes. “By some friggin miracle we’re going to generate economic stimulus by giving money to people who are naturally cheap?” ‘There’s a friggin guy with a clue!’ he thought.
‘I guess people really are that gullible’ he thought as he looked around to all the “safer” sport utility vehicles that crowded the highway. He began to reconsider himself. ‘It really doesn’t matter what the message or the product is because all it really takes is the right sales,’ he thought. “These Mother fuckers are stupid enough to send their children and grandchildren to their deaths to support their right to drive a vehicle that gets less gas mileage then the car they drove twenty years ago” he shouted. He turned the radio off and shook his head laughing to himself at the insanity of it all.
Saturday, April 26, 2003
Pt I.
Andy sat on his milk crate smokin a butt listening to the speakers play a muzak version of some 80’s hit. He hated this job. A microphone broke through the noise, “cleanup in aisle five.” Andy smirked knowing they’d come looking for him even though he was on a legitimate break this time. Five minutes went by and sure enough, Matt walked up to him and asked if he was going to respond to the cleanup. Andy grunted, “yeah, I was getting to it,” and muttered under his breath “asshole.”
He grabbed his cleanup cart and headed for the aisle in the nearly empty market. He hated this job. There amidst some marketing specialist’s wet dream was the modern day equivalent of blitzkrieg. One of the spaghetti sauces had fallen off the shelf and detonated on the floor like a 500lb. bomb in a shopping mall. Andy stood there and stared at it for a few minutes quietly amused. There was Ragu everywhere. One of the shards of glass had cut a bag of pasta on the facing aisle and there were pasta shells all over the floor mixed with Thick’n Tasty. Andy cursed himself for having used his last legitimate break. He just wasn’t getting out of this one.
He pulled the broom and dustpan from the cart and walked down the aisle. He was about ten feet down the aisle when he felt as though he were caught in a rubber band that had reached its tension level. As this seemed to be the kind of joke some of the guys would play, he looked around to see who was messing with him. He felt confused to see there was no one around. All at once another jar of sauce leapt off the shelf and hovered in the air in front of him. Andy looked to either side of him to some invisible spectator to confirm that he was seeing what he was seeing. He knew there wasn’t anything hallucinogenic in his cigarette, at least not that he’d put in there. The jar of sauce crashed to the ground and exploded as Andy covered his face to protect him from the glass shards.
Andy sat on his milk crate smokin a butt listening to the speakers play a muzak version of some 80’s hit. He hated this job. A microphone broke through the noise, “cleanup in aisle five.” Andy smirked knowing they’d come looking for him even though he was on a legitimate break this time. Five minutes went by and sure enough, Matt walked up to him and asked if he was going to respond to the cleanup. Andy grunted, “yeah, I was getting to it,” and muttered under his breath “asshole.”
He grabbed his cleanup cart and headed for the aisle in the nearly empty market. He hated this job. There amidst some marketing specialist’s wet dream was the modern day equivalent of blitzkrieg. One of the spaghetti sauces had fallen off the shelf and detonated on the floor like a 500lb. bomb in a shopping mall. Andy stood there and stared at it for a few minutes quietly amused. There was Ragu everywhere. One of the shards of glass had cut a bag of pasta on the facing aisle and there were pasta shells all over the floor mixed with Thick’n Tasty. Andy cursed himself for having used his last legitimate break. He just wasn’t getting out of this one.
He pulled the broom and dustpan from the cart and walked down the aisle. He was about ten feet down the aisle when he felt as though he were caught in a rubber band that had reached its tension level. As this seemed to be the kind of joke some of the guys would play, he looked around to see who was messing with him. He felt confused to see there was no one around. All at once another jar of sauce leapt off the shelf and hovered in the air in front of him. Andy looked to either side of him to some invisible spectator to confirm that he was seeing what he was seeing. He knew there wasn’t anything hallucinogenic in his cigarette, at least not that he’d put in there. The jar of sauce crashed to the ground and exploded as Andy covered his face to protect him from the glass shards.
Thursday, April 24, 2003
It was cold that day. Bob could tell without having set foot outside as his knee often bothered him in the inclement weather. Thinking it better to remain indoors today, he decided to clean out the basement and repair the wall where the movers had broken the plaster. In the basement, amidst the clutter of the room, he began to move boxes away from the wall and readied his materials. ‘This room will make a good office,’ he thought. He approached the wall with his hammer to tap around and find where the beams lay underneath the plaster, so he’d know where to cut his piece of replacement gypsum. He tapped around but didn’t hear the dull thud normally associated with a beam, as he should have heard every 16in. A bit puzzled by this, he decided to just expand the broken plaster and have a look inside. He took the hammer and used it like a poker to jab a bigger hole in the wall, and as he did so he was overcome by a horrendous odor emanating from within. He grabbed his flashlight and shined inside. Behind the cobwebs and dust in a hollowed out section of the basement retaining wall was a body. Bob jumped back and fell over some boxes at seeing the clothed bones covered in dust. He screamed “Holy Shit!” and ran upstairs to call the police.
The department sent the usual battalion of photographers, analysts, and detectives. Along with the police, the local newspapers arrived. Bob was a bit confused about the media being involved, as he hadn’t phoned anyone other than the police. He looked over at the pot-bellied police officer talking to the reporter and smirked to himself, ‘not much glory at the donut shop in this town.’ Meanwhile, the technicians brought the body out of its resting-place in the wall and inventoried everything. Of particular note for Bob was that in the victim’s hand was a gold chain with a word which spelled, “Bitch.” Bob was very confused by this. ‘It seems so unlikely that anyone would willingly wear something like that,’ he said to himself. He had seen people wear all sort of things, but something about this struck him as odd – and he said as much to the police detectives who nodded condescendingly. The detectives and technicians finished their preliminary investigation and sealed the room pending further investigation. They assured Bob that it wouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks, which seemed all right with him.
The rest of the evening – disregarding the day’s events – Bob was distracted. ‘Why would anyone wear a necklace that said “Bitch,”’ he thought. ‘Yeah, ok people wore all sorts of things, and for some people the moniker actually fit, but there was something very strange about this,’ he continued. He began to dwell upon it. He called his friend Michael and inquired as to the strangeness of this happening. Obviously Michael was floored at hearing of a body being found in his house, but he had nothing to say regarding the jewelry.
Days went by and then weeks. The police eventually wrapped up their investigation, which had very little, if anything, to do with the jewelry. Bob, however, was plagued by this inconsistency. He troubled over it endlessly, when late one night as he prepared for bed the answer came to him like a bolt of lightning. He knew the answer. And with that, he brushed his teeth, climbed into bed, and slept soundly
The department sent the usual battalion of photographers, analysts, and detectives. Along with the police, the local newspapers arrived. Bob was a bit confused about the media being involved, as he hadn’t phoned anyone other than the police. He looked over at the pot-bellied police officer talking to the reporter and smirked to himself, ‘not much glory at the donut shop in this town.’ Meanwhile, the technicians brought the body out of its resting-place in the wall and inventoried everything. Of particular note for Bob was that in the victim’s hand was a gold chain with a word which spelled, “Bitch.” Bob was very confused by this. ‘It seems so unlikely that anyone would willingly wear something like that,’ he said to himself. He had seen people wear all sort of things, but something about this struck him as odd – and he said as much to the police detectives who nodded condescendingly. The detectives and technicians finished their preliminary investigation and sealed the room pending further investigation. They assured Bob that it wouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks, which seemed all right with him.
The rest of the evening – disregarding the day’s events – Bob was distracted. ‘Why would anyone wear a necklace that said “Bitch,”’ he thought. ‘Yeah, ok people wore all sorts of things, and for some people the moniker actually fit, but there was something very strange about this,’ he continued. He began to dwell upon it. He called his friend Michael and inquired as to the strangeness of this happening. Obviously Michael was floored at hearing of a body being found in his house, but he had nothing to say regarding the jewelry.
Days went by and then weeks. The police eventually wrapped up their investigation, which had very little, if anything, to do with the jewelry. Bob, however, was plagued by this inconsistency. He troubled over it endlessly, when late one night as he prepared for bed the answer came to him like a bolt of lightning. He knew the answer. And with that, he brushed his teeth, climbed into bed, and slept soundly
Edward sat at the table enjoying his machiato while Clarice looked over the tourism brochures. The whole situation seemed so surreal to him. The machiato was delicious, but he was annoyed. His large hands had trouble managing the small cups, which seemed little larger than shot glasses. ‘Why can’t they use cups with decent handles?’ He thought to himself. Almost in the same breath he answered, ‘because this ain’t America and not everyone has the same values, let alone the same size hands.’ He smiled. Clarice looked at him wondering what he was thinking. She said, “what’s that smirk about?” He responded, “it’s nothing.” She looked quizzical and then smiled and went back to studying the brochures.
He mused over the scenery, which was really incredible. It reminded him of the California coast in some ways, up near Marin. She did this to him. She brought out that side of him that he enjoyed so much but rarely had time for.
Presently she said, “we should rent scooters and ride down to the beach.” He thought ‘here’s another example.’ He smiled and said, “that would be shporty,” using their intimate language.
As they loaded up the scooters and took off down the coast road he saw the Mediterranean in the distance and felt himself bubbling inside. There she was riding alongside. He was alive.
He mused over the scenery, which was really incredible. It reminded him of the California coast in some ways, up near Marin. She did this to him. She brought out that side of him that he enjoyed so much but rarely had time for.
Presently she said, “we should rent scooters and ride down to the beach.” He thought ‘here’s another example.’ He smiled and said, “that would be shporty,” using their intimate language.
As they loaded up the scooters and took off down the coast road he saw the Mediterranean in the distance and felt himself bubbling inside. There she was riding alongside. He was alive.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
Diego gazed out the window as the bus rolled passed Eighteenth Street. He hated it when the bus was crowded. He looked down at Eugenia. She looked adorable with her confused morning face, like a child half-awake. His mind rushed back to the time before, when he felt adrift. The bus lurched forward in traffic. Through some sort of miracle they found each other and now he found himself contentedly sharing his life with this anomaly. He couldn’t imagine himself without her. It was as if they were separate halves of the same orange – each piece fragrant and colorful yet incomplete. A passenger squeezed past him towards the rear exit. He wondered if she knew how much he adored her as his focus wandered back. She just continued to stare straight ahead, as if transfixed by some distant point. He laughed to himself as he remembered the first time that he told her that he loved her – she had the same confused expression. He broke from his reverie suddenly and tapped her shoulder. “This is our stop,” he said. She looked up and smiled. They made their way to the rear of the bus and descended together.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
Ok... so the story begins with our dashing hero forgetting his wallet at home and not realizing it till he's at the bank near work, fully 30 min. away. Ok, so he can live without coffee in the morning [barely], but he has to pay for parking. D'oh! 'When are they going to have the stinkin E-Z Pass for the parking lot,' he wonders. 'Now THAT would be useful,' he says to himself.
They say that everyday we are bombarded by thousands of marketing images, which undoubtedly jibes well with our inherent desire for STUFF. I believe it was Buddha who said, "life is desire and suffering." Is it possible to say that we are genetically predisposed to the treadmill of desire? Or, is that a nurture issue? Anyway... more to come...
They say that everyday we are bombarded by thousands of marketing images, which undoubtedly jibes well with our inherent desire for STUFF. I believe it was Buddha who said, "life is desire and suffering." Is it possible to say that we are genetically predisposed to the treadmill of desire? Or, is that a nurture issue? Anyway... more to come...
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