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Writer's Block: Go it alone

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 20:28:53 GMT

Do you think society puts too much pressure on people to be in relationships and/or have children? Do you think this ostracizes people who would be perfectly content to remain single and/or child-free? Is this pressure worse around the holidays?

View 1409 Answers

Yes.

Doing Lines

Wed, 20 May 2009 16:06:24 GMT

The impossibly tall and lanky Indian woman with long silver hair didn't walk into the classroom, she gracefully lumbered in like a giraffe. She was wearing white flowing dress with red polka dots and red heels to match. She was genetically unlikely. One in a billion. I suppose we were all one in six billion, but she definitely had something that set her apart. If I were a different sort, I'd call it an aura.

I'd had dreams like this, nightmares in which I was back in school and about to get chastised for not completing an assignment. I'd be sitting in a chair that was about five grades too small, all I could see was my desk and the huge teacher's desk and the blackboard behind it would have "DUE TODAY" written on it. The teacher, usually some old woman with a yardstick would come in and start babbling in dreamspeak -- which to me always sounded like the muted-trumpet adult voices from old Charlie Brown cartoons modulated by the occasional shriek -- and I'd know I was in trouble. The desk would begin to feel tighter and tighter and I'd want to run away but the power of her authority kept my body still. Fear would well up inside me until I woke up in a pool of my own sweat in bed.

I'd had other dreams in which I was approached by impossibly beautiful Indian women, usually for sexual favors. I currently had the impression that this encounter was going to go like the former.

My eyes lingered too long on her dress and my mind was overcome with thoughts of what might be beneath it. I didn't even notice that she was carrying a laptop and a manila folder until she opened it and read my name. "Corey Winters."

Her voice was like cherry blossom perfume. I snapped from the sex dream back to the school dream. "Present."

I sat up straight in the desk chair when she glared at me. I think she thought I was being cheeky. I was. She let the silence continue for a few seconds as she rested what I assumed was her impeccable rear bumper on the edge of the teacher's desk and read whatever was in the manila folder. She stopped and looked up at me again. I froze.

"You specialize in boundary transmutation. So you're good at math?"

"Well, yes, but only as good as I have to be. You're thinking of boundary value problems. I studied the stochastic processes underlying the spread of orgone through crowds and these problems generally had boundary conditions, but that's not what boundary transmutation is."

She let me finish that. She was either astounded by my genius or giving me enough rope to hang myself. She waited a few more seconds, and just before I got completely lost in her rich coffee brown eyes I realized I should continue. "Boundary transmutation operates on the edge. The changes between one thing and the next. The noncontinuous function. Borders. If I can access that space, that which is neither one thing nor another, I can alter it. Redefine it."

The Indian smirked. My heart jumped a little. "Impressive. How does one figure that out?"

I tried to play it cool, shrugging through the hormones that were coursing through my body. "It's just formulae, applied with precision and employing the proper tithes to the Platonic ideals."

She looked amused. This was going well. "So tell me, Mr. Winters, what Platonic ideal sanctioned this activity?" She opened the laptop, which was already displaying a YouTube page. The video seemed to come from a jittery cell phone camera. It was drenched in red and showed a young man in a white jacket with a shock of blue in otherwise gelled blond hair. He beckoned the cell phone to the men's room with a quivering laugh. The cell phone moved inside and captured two women and the blond crowding around a stall. Inside the stall was a pale man in his thirties with the kind of close-cropped haircut that is sometimes the only choice of balding men. He was wearing a black jacket with a silk leopard print scarf that hung loosely around his neck. He was giggling. I recognized myself immediately.

He looked around at his audience and pointed to the four pencil lines spaced about an inch apart that he had drawn on the metal toilet paper dispenser. "Are you ready? Do you wanna see this? Watch-watch-watch!"

He put one of his fingers of his left hand on each of the pencil lines. He closed his eyes and drew each finger down each line slowly. As if it had erupted from his fingertips, a line of coke replaced the pencil. The women clapped and screamed in delight, the blond cheered. The women begged him to tell them how he did it, the blond immediately got to work on one of the lines. The movie froze on the smile on my face, and you could see the blood welling up between my teeth.

I kept quiet as she closed the laptop. "That video garnered six thousand hits in the first afternoon that it was posted. It has only grown exponentially since then. Did you really think you could get away with using your formulae to impress girls?"

Her fury was palpable. "W-Well, actually... yes. I mean, I didn't want that to happen, but it did, right? And really it's not that bad. It's just street magic, right? David Blaine does that shit all the time and no one thinks he's actually magic, let alone hermetic. OK, also, so I'm encouraging drug use on YouTube. TOS violation. That shit's going away fast. I bet you guys reported it already. Everyone will see it, wonder how I did it, and move on with their lives. This really solves itself, right?"

She let me finish that. She was giving me enough rope to hang myself.

She nodded at me. "Yes, actually. It does." I exhaled.

"Except, there's one way to make sure this never happens again..." She raised her hand as she stared at my desk, and moved her thumb and index finger together in a crushing motion. My desk began to feel tight. I strained against it. The metal back of the chair wrapped itself around my shoulders and bent my head down until it smacked into the desk. The legs of the chair curled around my legs, and my hands were tucked under the desk. The whole effect had me twisted into a question mark.

The Indian clapped her hands loudly and two large men with weight belts came in and picked me up like I was a bag of leaves. I screamed and the chair tucked a bit of metal into my mouth to shut me up. The taste of chewed gum assaulted my tongue.

The Indian called to them. "Take him to storage until the trial is over." I remembered storage. It wasn't a nice place, even with such an innocuous name. I tried to scream louder.

By the time the men had walked me through the door, the screaming had stopped. The mangled chair was lighter, still containing the imprint of my body in it, but I was gone. The two men looked at each other in shock and then began looking around. Their confusion gave me just enough time to get up off the ground where I had fallen. I was a little dizzy from the blood loss, but I was used to the nature of tithes. They spotted me just as I was dusting myself off in front of a different doorway down the hall. They began running towards me. I let them. The window in the office I was near was open. I could see my escape from here. They were about fifteen feet away when I performed a pratfall through the open door and appeared across the street, dangling outside a window. Not quite the classy exit I'd hoped for, but one can't be choosy. I hauled myself up to the window and waved at the large men who had come to the window to see me off. I crouched and stepped into the window and I was gone.

Bolton on the BBC!

Mon, 17 Nov 2008 15:19:45 GMT

And now, John Bolton insulting the British and getting embarrassed on the BBC.

Sorry, no embedding.

The rant at the end is the best. That old guy really brings the hammer down. Anyone know what show this is?

We've Got Work To Do

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 20:20:58 GMT

I saw it happen. To a very tiny extent, I made it happen. America elected its first African-American president. And while this doesn't mean that the fight for equality amongst the races is over, this is a huge step forward from the 1960s. The face of our nation is no longer an old white man. That's important. Not nearly as important as what Obama promises for our economy and foreign relations and our nation's health, but it's important nonetheless.

But while milestones are being reached in one struggle, other struggles take steps back. California's Proposition 8 gained enough votes to be passed last night, which defines marriage as the union between a man and a woman. This is a huge blow to the LGBT rights movement and a huge boon to those who think we should define our lives and society strictly by a book that is over 2000 years old. In another 2000 years, I hope there's a bunch of churches dedicated to the scripture of Isaac Asimov's I, Robot, because that's how ridiculous this whole thing sounds to me.

But that stuff matters to a lot of people, and I guess that means we all need to deal with it. There's a little bit of irony in the article above, at this part:

Prop 8 supporters were relying Republican voters in rural areas, but also urban African-American voters like Christopher Miracle of Oakland, a 19-year student at nearby California State University Hayward. Mr. Miracle voted for Barack Obama, but voted to support Prop 8. "Look at the bible." he said. "It's not a man and a man."

I guess it was never explained to Mr. Miracle that people have been using the Bible to explain how black people are evil for some time now. There's this bit in the Bible where Noah gets drunk and his son Ham sees him naked and Ham and his whole bloodline are cursed. Back in the day, it was assumed that Ham's descendants were African people. So there's a good chance that a long time ago someone felt the same way about one of Mr. Miracle's ancestors for the same reason that he feels threatened by gay marriage today: because of an ancient work of fiction.

Maybe lookingforlily is right, maybe we just need all these old people who feel all this hatred for gay people to die. A similar feeling can be found in a quote attributed to Max Planck that goes something like "An important scientific innovation rarely makes its way by gradually winning over and converting its opponents: What does happen is that the opponents gradually die out." Every scientific revolution from heliocentric planetary movement to plate tectonics to evolution has had opponents and detractors, and some of them won't give up until they die. And while in science these people perform an important purpose, since every theory deserves rigorous testing, in this case we're talking about people's lives. That makes changing people's minds important, because we can't just wait for everyone who thinks that gay people are evil to die.

Maybe we just need to look to the next generation. I'd like to think that we're raising a generation of children who won't see what the big deal is, just like people of my generation don't seem to care that much about what the color of one's skin is. But we're not as far along in that process as I'd like. Hopefully I'll get the chance to teach some of the next generation about tolerance and respect for everyone, but that kind of thing doesn't usually come up in a physics class.

Three Cheers for State Capitalism!

Thu, 25 Sep 2008 16:03:12 GMT

Ever since I found out that I (along with the rest of the American taxpayers) now own 80% of AIG, I've been thinking about what to do with all those foreclosures. I feel the most gracious thing to do is only select one foreclosed house to live in rent-free. I'll be calling AIG tomorrow to find out what their holdings are in the area. I hope someone's there to take my call.

Yes, the free market kills our economy again. I didn't believe the Bush/McCain administration couldn't fuck anything else up. It's good to know they keep reaching for that failure star. As Jon Stewart said recently, this is "the turd icing on the shit cake." Bush and his friends used their trickle-down theory and their belief in deregulation to take a huge dump all over the American real estate market, and now all of the sudden that whole crew are state capitalists and want to give these failing companies billions of dollars. It's true, there aren't any free-market economists in foxholes.

Let's examine the history of deregulation, shall we? It's the 1980s, and Charles Keating of the Lincoln Savings & Loan Association has paid five senators $1.3M to deregulate savings and loans -- allegedly. Among these senators were an astronaut and a current presidental candidate. It turns out that $1.3M is exactly how much you have to pay for deregulation (including sales tax), so Mr. Keating got what he wanted. With no oversight of S&Ls, Keating and pretty much everyone else starts making risky investments with their customers' money. The result was that 21,000 mostly elderly investors lost their life savings -- $285M. That's right, Keating and his friends took money from grandmothers and lost it on the bond market. The fallout? Keating goes to jail, McCain and the other senators finish their terms (and get re-elected in some cases) and the American taxpayer pays out $2B.

Now we head to the 1990s, when energy was deregulated, probably because Enron gave $7M to government officials. With no oversight, companies like Enron began trading energy in markets, which drove the cost of energy up and made millions of dollars for traders. Enron began trading energy over the internet without having any real assets, and caused rolling blackouts in California, which directly led to the replacement of Gov. Gray Davis with Gov. Schwarzenegger. And I'm only scratching the surface of the shadiness here, there were many outright illegalities that might have been caught if someone was watching them. The fallout? Many people involved go to jail, Enron investors and employees lose everything, and one of the nation's top accounting firms goes under trying to hide all the shady dealing.

Now the housing market got deregulated, which led to sub-prime mortgages, which led to the sub-prime mortgage crisis when no one could actually pay their loans. All those loans were made into bonds, people foolishly bought those bonds, and the whole shitpile collapsed when people found out they were worthless. The fallout? Lots of people lost their homes, Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, AIG, Bear Sterns, and Lehman Brothers are tanking, and now Bush wants the American taxpayer to shell out $700B. Man, it's almost like every time we deregulate some industry, people get greedy and crash the whole market, and then we have to pay the tab to make sure that the whole American economy doesn't fail.

I'm not against the state regulation of industry, especially given deregulation's track record these days. A truly free market might not bother me either, except that, like Marxism, it doesn't seem to work in practice. What bothers me is that we have Republican officials speaking on behalf of their corporate owners for free markets, and as soon as the corporations can't actually handle existing in a free market, they come crying to the Republicans demanding that they be let out of their financial obligations. I wish the government would bail me out when I spend too much money. But I guess they'd call that communism.

Next up: McCain wants to deregulate the health care industry!

Why can't we see atoms?

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 15:31:35 GMT

The obvious answer is that atoms are too small to see. But why is that? The general rule of thumb is that you can't see things that are smaller than the wavelength of light used to view them. Radio waves might have a wavelength of two meters and microwaves have a wavelength of about half a foot. The only difference between these light waves and the ones we see with is that visible light has a much shorter wavelength -- about half a micrometer. Thus, even if we had the best pair of eyes in the world and there was no light scattered by air or any other physical or biological impediments, we'd still only be able to see something that is about half a micrometer big, which is about half the size of a bacterium. Luckily, we have optical microscopes that overcome our physical and biological impediments and use visible light to see bacteria and other things of that size.

But what if we want to see smaller things? Here, as in so many cases in the information age, quantum theory comes to the rescue. One of the tenets of quantum theory is that small particles have a lot in common with light waves. One of the things they have in common is wavelength. The wonderful thing about the wavelength of a particle is that we can make it whatever we want. We just have to accelerate the particle to higher speeds. The faster a particle goes, the shorter its wavelength gets, and thus we can see smaller things with that particle. Electron microscopes use high-speed electrons to see things that are a thousandth of a micrometer -- one nanometer -- in size. If we wanted to see something that small using light, we'd have to use x rays, which would just travel right through whatever we were looking at. Electrons are comparatively easier to produce and use. You just need a high voltage and a tungsten filament like the one in an incandescent light bulb. We can control the voltage to produce the wavelength we need.

But what if we want to see atoms? Quantum mechanics comes to our aid again in the form of barrier tunneling. Electrons, when they have sufficient energy (via voltage), will pass through a space that would usually prevent its crossing if the barrier is thin enough. This does not happen like a lightning strike from one side of the barrier to the other, the electron just has a statistical probability of appearing on the other side of the barrier. A good analogy lies in the scene from X-Men United when Juggernaut chases Kitty Pryde through a wall. Kitty Pryde uses her mutant ability of altering quantum mechanical probability to pass through the wall like it isn't there, which is what an electron that is undergoing barrier tunneling does. A lightning strike is a bunch of electrons with enough energy to break down the barrier in a single spot, which is exactly what Juggernaut does when he breaks through the wall.

How do we use this to see atoms? We set up a very fine metal tip that has one metal atom on the end of it and apply a voltage to that tip to give the electrons energy. Then we put an atomic surface very close to that tip and count the electrons that make it across. As the surface gets closer to the tip, the barrier between electrons and the surface gets smaller, and the number of electrons we count increases due to an increased probability of tunneling. If the surface moves away from the tip -- say, it goes into a valley -- the number of electrons we count goes down. So, by moving the tip across the surface we want to study, we can see very minute changes in height, and so get a topographical picture of the surface. This picture allows us to see how individual atoms are arranged on that surface, viewing them in the same way a topographical map allows us to view a mountain in two dimensions. In the case of the picture linked above, we see iron atoms on a copper surface in the shape of the kanji for "atom".

Fracture Mechanics

Sun, 20 Jul 2008 00:50:44 GMT

Take a metal paper clip and bend it in half. It probably didn't take a lot of effort. Now bend it back the other way. It's a little tougher now. Bend it again the first way and it might be tougher still. The difficulty of this operation will depend on how many times you've done it, how rapidly you do it, and how hard you're holding it. The reason the difficulty changes is due to fracture mechanics.

Imagine that each metal atom in that paper clip is a book on a library shelf. Row after row, bookcase after bookcase of books, all stacked right next to each other. If I made an iron paper clip, all the books on the shelves would be the completely identical in size and shape and color. And if I tip one of these books over, each book next to it would also fall, because there would be nothing to stop the domino effect. However, if I put a really large book in the middle of one of the shelves, it might be so massive that the domino effect runs into the large book and stops. This huge book would look out of place on the shelf and it would definitely alter the arrangement of the books around it, but the sacrifice made to ensure that the entire shelf doesn't fall over is worth it. In this analogy, the larger book is a carbon atom and the domino effect is a dislocation which can lead to material failure -- breaking. When we add carbon atoms to iron, we create steel, which is stronger than iron because the carbon impurities will halt the spread of dislocations. However, if we add too much carbon, the material gets brittle and will snap easily.

So what happens when you bend a paper clip? Bending a paper clip causes dislocations to course throughout the material, some zig-zagging through the atomic planes -- bookshelves -- and others spiraling in helical patterns. These dislocations are the result of the metal desperately trying to reorder itself after you cruelly bent the metal, thereby creating disorder. Very malleable metals are softer because they allow dislocations to progress for a very long distance. Stronger metals, like steel, will not allow dislocations to move very far.

In addition to creating and propagating dislocations, the stress you apply to the metal both creates defects and moves defects. The defects you create are voids, little spaces in the order of atoms, like missing books on the shelf. You also encourage impurities to collect at the point that you're stressing the material, so you move a lot of larger books to the same spot on the shelf. That area of the metal stops dislocations better, since it's got a lot of impurities to defend it. That's why it's tougher to bend a paper clip in the same place twice. However, after you bend it enough times, enough voids collect in that space and enough dislocations build up that that material in that space becomes brittle and snaps.

You might find that if you quickly bend a paper clip back and forth that you can bend it easier and more times than if you bend it once and pause. That's because bending a paper clip provides heat to the metal from your fingers and from the moving atoms, which softens the material slightly making it more pliable. Waiting for the material to cool will set the atoms and impurities and voids in their new positions, creating a more stalwart defense against dislocations.

It's OK when Americans Do It, Chapter 87

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 18:09:04 GMT

George W. Bush is a terrorist!

Perhaps not a shocking revelation to some of us, but for those who might not believe this assertion, allow me to break it down. I want to warn you that we're going to have to believe the words of Bill Kristol, the guy who believes that The Surge is working and that Barack Obama is a Marxist. But hey, Obama might be a Marxist. After all, Marxists are the ones who know how to raise money without relying on corporate contributions, right?

So how do we get from Bill Kristol to George W. Terrorist? Watch this drive. Kristol said last Sunday that Bush might bomb Iran if Obama wins the election. The belief is that if Obama wins the election, there's a good chance that a lot of Iranians might not get bombed. And since Bush's entire policy on Iran is "bomb them", he might drop the bombs before leaving office just to make sure it happens. Now, the clear implication is that if McCain wins the election, Bush will no longer have to worry about a world in which Iran isn't bombed since McCain will take care of that for him. But of course, voting for McCain is definitely not voting for a third term for Bush.

Please set your wayback machines to four years ago, about this same time of year. A common threat made by Republicans and their conservative pundit marionettes was that a vote for John Kerry (or Howard Dean, or anyone except Bush) would embolden the terrorists to strike the US again. Voting Democratic, according to these people, was the same as voting for the deaths of thousands of innocent people. And now, here again, in accordance with the prophecy, is the exact same argument. The twist is that the person threatening to killing thousands of innocent people if a Democrat is elected president is not Osama bin Laden but George W. Bush! Kristol is merely a public servant warning America of the consequences of voting for Obama. Whether it's because of al Qaeda or the Bush cabal, if a Democrat wins the White House in November, there's no telling how many people will die. Do you want their blood on your hands? Vote McCain or the terrorists win.

Thus, because conservative pundits are now saying that Bush is threatening a terrorist act in the same way that conservative pundits said Osama bin Laden was four years ago, George W. Bush is a terrorist. QE motherfucking D. Thanks, Bill Kristol.

I wonder if President Ahmadinejad has a briefing on his desk right now called "George W. Bush Determined to Strike in Iran".

We Are Starstuff

Sat, 03 May 2008 09:33:20 GMT

The drive felt slow, like someone had played a joke and painted the median dashes gradually further apart and installed the telephone poles at wider and wider intervals until it seemed like you were traveling at 20 mph instead of 50. I knew the county line was up ahead. Its solace was geographic.

The night had finished raining and I could see a star on the horizon in the western sky. For a brief instant I was flying toward it in my Toyota. Its light entered my pupil at perhaps thirty photons a second. Those photons might have been traveling for two hundred years to get to me. When they embarked on their journey, I wasn't even born and neither was anyone I knew in the town I had left two hours ago. The same could be said for the internet, the automobile, and the atomic bomb. Before any of the things that defined my and my parents' generations even existed, sixty hydrogen nuclei fused into thirty helium nuclei and disposed of the excess mass by converting it into energy in the form of light. That light traversed the vacuum of space, avoiding the millions of barriers between its starting point and my planet just to enter my pupil and strike my retina.

And in the next second, it happened again.

It didn't make me feel special. These events were not done for me. They couldn't have been, I wasn't even around when they were set in motion. That star would have still shined whether or not I was there to see it. The falling tree would have still made a sound.

That star might have a planet orbiting it. That planet might be just the right distance from the star to create the proper conditions for life. Whatever life would be on that planet, there might be roads and transportation systems created by it and there might be a life form using it at four a.m. trying to escape the trap it made for itself by not leaving the city it grew up in sooner. The life form might regret going, because leaving everything you know behind can be a hard thing to do. But it might also recognize what's necessary.

But probably not. Life on that planet probably wouldn't look anything like ours. The vagaries of evolution would make that pretty improbable. They might not even live on solid ground. They could float in the sulfurous air like a jellyfish or swim in a sea of liquid methane. The possibilities were endless and nothing had been planned.

No one conspired to put me on this earth and nothing put me in this exact spot to see those thirty photons entering my pupil at this exact second. And yet, here I was. I turned on my brights. The incandescent light ejected photons into my field of vision and there was no doubt in my mind that some of those lights were heading toward that star. They would travel for two hundred years, avoiding all obstacles in their pursuit of a far-off world with new opportunities, and perhaps enter the visual sensory mechanism of some creature on that planet that orbited that star. Perhaps those photons would make him wonder where they came from as well.

I wished them luck.

Ashcroft's Turn!

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 05:56:34 GMT

John Ashcroft at Knox College:

Nothing more to say about this, except you can find a transcript of the whole question and more description about the incident here.

I'm just collecting this stuff now. Like baseball cards.

More Schadenfreude

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 05:54:42 GMT

Here's some things that make me smile in that mean way. I can't help it. The media and the Republicans and so many others have been sucking Bush's dick for so long, I can't help but laugh when everyone figures out what's causing that bad taste in their mouths.

That's our W, being booed off the field at a Nationals game. You gotta admire his tenacity though. He's still got that shit-eating grin. That might be because he knows that some other guy will have to clean up his mess, just like his oil company and the Texas Rangers. Yeah, he's smiling like a baby that just burped strained peas on itself.

In Searching for New Job, Gonzales Sees No Takers

Wait! Wait! You're telling me that George W. Bush's personal attorney, who clearly lied to Congress on several occasions, murdered habeas corpus, actively worked to dismantle the Geneva Conventions, and worked to replace prosecutors who didn't play ball with Republican cronies... can't find a job as a lawyer? The hell you say.

I hope all these crooks end up in the poor house, but the fact is they won't. Papa Bush will bail out W, Halliburton will bail out Cheney, and Gonzales...? I'm sure he's got a great future as a lobbyist or a corporate attorney for Blackwater. There's always room in this country for someone who is familiar with the apparatus of law but has no concept of justice or legality.

People complain that government moves too slowly, and I'll agree with them. But this is one of those times where the massive inertia of government actually works in our favor. If our country could turn on a dime, we'd be in at least one more war, the Constitution would have been torn to pieces instead of merely selectively ignored, and Roe v. Wade would have already gone the way of the dodo. In short, without the sloth of Congress, Bush could have fucked up this country a lot more. Viva maxarchy!

Turncoat! Killer! Liar! Thief!

Tue, 11 Mar 2008 22:32:30 GMT

It's all part of the life cycle of the modern politician.

1. Get billions of dollars from corporations and lobbyists to get into office.
2. Get into office, and remember who's really paying your salary.
3. Leave office and get paid ridiculous sums of money for speaking engagements.

I've often wondered how many speaking engagements Mr. Bush will get paid for. I wonder who would pay to hear him speak about anything, since he's not really an expert on anything, including politics. I expect speakers to be informative and entertaining, whether they have extensive formal education, a wealth of experience in a topic I know little about, or even if they're just inspirational. I can't really ascribe any of these descriptions to Mr. Bush. Nonetheless, I'm positive that he will get many opportunities to talk to a crowd for large sums of money. The best I can hope for is that they all end up like this:

It could be argued that Mr. Rove's right to free speech is being infringed upon by the protestors in this video. I'd feel worse for the guy, except I can't seem to summon the tears of injustice for a guy who spent all of his time making sure that the rain of dissent never found its way into Mr. Bush's barren desert of a brain. It also seems telling to me that anti-war demonstrators feel so disfranchised by this administration that they have to shout their dissent at Rove in a place where he didn't expect it. Either way, he got paid $40,000 dollars to get shouted at for an hour, and that sounds like a pretty good deal.

Another interesting point I want to make is that Rove seems to be unable to defend the war he and his cronies started. Instead, he tells a tearjerker of a story about some father who wanted to go to Iraq with his son even though the father was ineligible because he was 61 years old. It's hard to shout "MURDERER!" over a story like that, which is why he told it. But since the only point of the story was ostensibly that he was inspired by the actions of the American people, it sounds to me like he's really saying "gosh, we made up this whole war to get oil and give a bunch of cash to defense contractors, and you rubes really bought it! I can't believe the things you guys did just so we could line our pockets with hundred dollar bills! Whodathunkit?"

Maybe I'm putting words in his mouth, but Mr. Bush has been putting words in mine. He's been telling the world, as my representative and proxy, that I will destroy anyone who obstructs my pursuit of resources. He's also been saying that I'm afraid of people who are different from me and that I think they should all conform to my religion or die. And since he's been shouting over my voice for eight years, maybe it's time someone shouted over him and his people.

The Road to Hell

Fri, 29 Feb 2008 06:47:22 GMT

Tim awoke to the sound of gunshots. He leapt up in bed, thinking more of finding the shooter rather than his own survival. Luckily for him, the perpetrator was his radio. Every morning they played that song, four gunshots in a row during the chorus. Tim wondered what kind of sadist played a song like that at 8 am. Perhaps it was the same kind of sadist who would be a morning radio DJ.

After letting the remnants of his daily adrenaline rush wash over him and remembering the volume of alcohol he had drank the night before, Tim sought the comfort of food. It was when he walked out into the living room that he remembered who was sleeping on his couch.

"Wake up, dude."

Silence. Tim retrieved the milk from the fridge. "Hank. Wake up."

A moan emerged from the couch. Where there was sound, there was life. Tim assembled a bowl of Trix and walked around to the front side of the couch. At that moment he wished for shoes. Any kind would have done. Loafers. Slippers. Heels even. Anything to act as a barrier between his bare feet and the vomit. Tim wished mightily for shoes, and then wished that this was a dream and he was back in bed, serenely awaiting the chorus of The Gunshot Song. Not this time.

"Aw... Fuck... Nasty..." Tim took a minute to assess his situation and, setting down his Trix on the coffee table, decided that the best course of action would be to sheathe his puke-covered foot in one of Hank's discarded sneakers. Tim walked back to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, which he dumped unceremoniously on Hank's head.

"What the fuck, dude!?" Hank sat up, deftly avoiding his own sick.

"Don't 'what the fuck' me! 'What the fuck' my couch! 'What the fuck' my floor!"

"Shit, dude... I'm sorry." Hank cradled his head in his hands and tried to bargain with himself not to mess up the rug any further. His stomach made a convincing counter-offer.

"Yeah? Are ya? Really? Asshole?" Tim sat down on the coffee table and started furiously munching his Trix. "It's eight a.m., fucker. You got one hour to clean my rug and get to work."

Hank rubbed his face. "Alright. 'Scool. I got it." Hank got up and teetered on his own feet.

"Sit down, dickless wonder." Hank obliged. Tim ate another mouthful of Trix. "So what was that about last night? You drank a whole bottle of Bushmill's five dollars at a time."

Hank was pleased to be relieved of standing, but his grin was lopsided. "I was on a roll, man. Jake was there buying shots... They just kept coming, and I was helpless. It was like a tidal wave of booze."

"So?"

"So... I figured it was time to reboot the old brain. Winnow out the weak brain cells, right?"

"You rebooted all over my carpet, Hank."

Hank shrugged. "Sometimes the whiskey gods are cruel."

Tim set down his cereal so hard it launched a single drop of milk into the air and on to the floor. "Is that it? You fellate a bottle all night and blame it on 'the whiskey gods?' You're so full of shit."

Hank's grin faded. "It's just an expression, man."

"Yeah. It's one you use all the time. It's like armor for you. It's protecting you from realizing what's wrong with you."

Hank got up again, more carefully this time. "Hey man, if you want me to clean the carpet--"

"Sit down!" Hank sat.

"Listen. I hear you talk about shit that's beyond your control all fucking day. To hear you tell it, your whole damn life is out of your reach. How much you drink, what you eat, your shitty job... all that crap. It's tiresome. You wanna know how you got here, Hank? By making decisions. By not making decisions. And these choices you made, from drinking all of Jake's whiskey all the way back to the first time you decided to open your eyes, are a trajectory. And you can alter a trajectory, Hank. But you gotta decide to do that."

Hank rested his head on the back of the couch. "That's a lot of pressure, dude. I can't save all the soldiers in Iraq or all the kids in Ethiopia. Some things just won't benefit from the intervention of one person."

"Fine. But I bet my rug would have benefited from your intervention. And I bet there's a lot of other things in your life that would benefit from your intervention. But you'd rather leave it up to fate, drifting through life like a buoy on a storm-tossed sea. That's what people have done since the Canaanites were worshipping snake gods. 'Don't blame me, it's Mars's fault we're at war with the Phoenicians!' Leave that shit behind and you realize that the lion's share of your life is under your direct control, and if that doesn't scare you a little, you're not really thinking about it."

Hank sighed. "Like I don't know that? No one needs your existential atheist sermonizing, Tim. Sometimes it's just easier to let things be out of your control. That way, when things go belly-up, you can feel like it's not entirely your fault."

"But it is, and making that choice to let these things be out of your control is what makes it your fault."

"Fuck off! I can't handle getting to work on time, why do I gotta be responsible for everything around me?"

Tim got up, leaving the remainder of his Trix. "Because you already are." Tim stalked off to his bedroom.

"I'll clean the carpet after work!"

Silence. Hank stood up and adjusted his sagging pants.

"So I'll just walk home then!"

More silence.

"I'll need my shoe for that!" Tim leaned out the door and threw the shoe at Hank's head. Hank caught it and slipped it on.

"What the...?"

Tales from the Jesus Channel

Sat, 02 Feb 2008 23:55:12 GMT

We don't have cable TV in our house, not because of some ethical or intellectual stance, but merely because it's expensive. I have been watching antenna TV for the past few nights, but unfortunately the only station that comes in clearly is TBN. Or, as I call it, the Jesus Channel. They all seem very interested in this guy -- even though the first book written about him was written 30 years after his death -- so I figured I'd check it out while reading or using the internet.

Here's some things that I've learned.

1) God is controlling history. Indeed, God predicts the exact day that Israel was acknowledged by the UN. Here's the math, try to keep up. God (via Ezekiel) said that His Chosen People would be subjugated for a total of 430 years. Later on in the Bible, there is an invasion that His Chosen People are put into slavery for 70 years. That's 360 years left. Multiply this by the number of days in the calendar used in the Middle East back then (360 days/year) and knowing that His Chosen People were subjugated again in 534 BC, we find out that this places the exact day of the HCP's freedom at May 15, 1948, which is when the UN acknowledged Israel as a country. Or something like that, I'm kind of doing this from memory. Anyway, clearly this means we as Christians need to support God's will and ensure that Israel remains a state, despite what any Palestinians might have to say about it. You know, when regular people have an unhealthy obsession with numbers and are very attached to ritual, they call them crazy.

2) Not feeding a 12-year-old for 40 days is child abuse, unless it's for God. There was a youth minister who said that God spoke to him. It happened during a 40-day fast when he was twelve years old, while his father was preaching to him about the Nazirites, who apparently were some ascetic group of Jews back in the day. Let's ignore the fact that this father is probably still walking around outside of jail and get to the heart of the matter: what did God say to him? The guy summed it up like this: be extreme for the Lord. It sounds like God really likes the X-Games. I guess Tony Hawk is totally going to Heaven when he dies. I kid, but seriously, why is it every time God speaks to someone, he just says "love me"? That's some kind of codependency problem He's got. I can't just "be extreme" for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, I gotta do it for Him.

3) Evolution is wrong. This one was the best, because it made me so mad I wanted to actually have an argument with my TV. First came the argument that some guy who was drawing fetuses in the 1800s didn't draw them the same as a guy who took a picture with a really powerful microscope. So, because microscope technology improved over two centuries, evolution is wrong. Then there was the specious argument of "I've never seen a monkey turn into a human, so it can't be true." That's an old one, but the new twist was that the speaker acknowledged that microevolution was real. He showed the results of an experiment in which flies were exposed to radiation to make them mutate, and he agreed that, indeed, the flies were being altered. However, since they were still flies, clearly this is no proof that macroevolution is true. Well of course it isn't! That data was proving something else! I have data that suggests that the sky is blue, therefore water isn't wet. Those were the main arguments, along with more cherry-picking of data and results to prove their point, which was that abortion is murder and God created us exactly the way we are, despite all the junk and leftover instructions in our DNA that don't do anything useful. God's a shitty watchmaker.

I'm going to keep watching this channel, mainly so you don't have to. I want to make one thing clear, though. This is in no way an indictment of individual Christians. I'm showing the craziness and misinformation that some people are publishing on public airwaves. I'm not saying that every Christian totally believes any of it. I have to wonder, though, how many people use TBN as their main source of information.

Did Noam Chomsky write for Schoolhouse Rock?

Wed, 26 Dec 2007 15:21:00 GMT

The War on Religion

Tue, 25 Dec 2007 00:31:30 GMT

I'm tired of hearing about religion. That's not a stunning statement from an atheist on Christmas Eve. But usually Christmas doesn't bother me, since most media outlets treat this time of year like an economic festival of solvency. They don't call the day after Thanksgiving Black Friday because of the deluge of consumers. They call it that because it's a chance for all the shops to go from being in the red to the black.

No, American capitalism has strangled most of the religious meaning from Christmas, at least in the mass media. What bothers me is how presidential candidates are chasing after the votes of the Religious Right. Exhibit A was Mitt Romney's "Faith in America" speech that he gave at the George Bush Presidential Library at the beginning of December. Some media outlets are comparing Romney's speech to John F. Kennedy's speech in 1960 that responded to concerns that, as a Catholic, the Vatican would influence his decisions as president. Kennedy said during that speech:

"It is apparently necessary for me to state once again -- not what kind of church I believe in, for that should be important only to me -- but what kind of America I believe in... I believe in an America where the separation of church and state is absolute."

Let us now turn to Romney's speech on December 6, which responded to similar claims about his Mormon beliefs:

"Freedom requires religion just as religion requires freedom... Freedom and religion endure together, or perish alone."

I'm not a logician, but this has to be one of those cases where a statement is true one way, but not the reverse. I'll grant that religion requires freedom. Hell, there's a whole section of the Bill of Rights that says one of the crucial American freedoms is the freedom to worship however we please. But freedom requiring religion? I can't think of any way that statement makes sense. FrR =! RrF. Romney's statement shows that his speech was the opposite of Kennedy's. While Kennedy reassured his audience of Southern Baptist ministers that his religion would not factor into his governance of the country, Romney intertwines religion and one of the founding principles of our country in a way that doesn't make logical sense but does send a message to the Religious Right that he's the man that will send America further into the dark ages.

Exhibit B is a campaign ad broadcast by Mike Huckabee. The fact that he reminds his audience that "what really matters is the celebration of the birth of Christ" is a terribly unsubtle high-five to all those folks who followed Jerry Falwell and a middle finger to those of us who might not celebrate the birth of Some Guy from Bethlehem. But on top of that, throughout the first twenty seconds of the ad, there's a white cross floating behind Huckabee's head. On Face the Nation on Sunday, he was confronted by Bob Scheiffer about the cross and said:

"Everyone thought that we were so smart and clever. The truth is, it was a book shelf," Huckabee said. "We hurriedly put the spot together. It wasn't scripted. I ad-libbed the spot. It was done at the end of a long taping day, and really kind of a thought of, well, let's do a Christmas spot just in case we decide to use it maybe on our Web site."

Man, I would really like to believe him. Except he's not the first person to use Christian imagery in publicity ops.

I don't consider myself someone who is a combatant in the Fake War on Christmas. If someone says to me "Merry Christmas", I consider it to be the same as saying "Have a Nice Tuesday". If someone says "Happy Holidays", this person obviously wants the last two months of my year to be pleasant. I'm pretty cool with whatever people want to say to me. But candidates like Romney and Huckabee are deliberately trying to marry religion and politics, and the way I feel about that is the same way that the GOP feels about gay marriage.

The Poison

Tue, 25 Sep 2007 06:40:33 GMT

"So you, what? Just left them on her porch?"

Tim took another drag of his cigarette and leaned back in his chair. He quickly found he couldn't maintain such a laid-back position in a wrought-iron chair while feeling ashamed, so he leaned back in over his Miller Lite. "Yeah." Tim cast his eyes down while Hank laughed at him. "What was I supposed to do?! She wasn't fucking home!"

Hank put down his drink on the lawn table. "So what, that's twice you tried to give this girl flowers, and twice you ended up leaving them on her porch without telling her who they were from? Man, you remain the king of worthless gestures."

Tim showed off his newly-found ability to give someone the finger while holding a cigarette. "This worth anything to you?"

Hank sniggered. "At least I know who it's from."

Tim coughed. It was a reminder that the cigarette smoke hadn't completely deadened his nerves. He immediately sought to remedy that. Hank reached for his Delirium Tremens and finished the bottle. "So what now, Casanova?"

"Well, I came into work the next day, and she's telling Sharon about how this creepy guy is leaving flowers on her porch. And Sharon's all 'You should get them dusted for prints like in CSI' and talking about John Hinckley and shit like I'm gonna shoot the damn president. So I did what any man in my situation would... I took the long way around the building to avoid seeing her the rest of the day."

The laughter exploded from Hank in guffaws. Tim didn't think that anyone actually guffawed anymore, but Hank was pretty old-school when it came to this sort of thing. "You're a dork!"

Tim stubbed out the cigarette on the sole of his shoe. "Yeah, it's too complicated anyway."

"What, buying a card for your flowers?"

"Nah. Romance. Love. Too complicated. See, you gotta find a girl when you're young. Less baggage."

Hank stared through one eye at the bottom of his bottle. "Yep. That's why I don't date anyone over 12. Although you gotta watch out for cooties. That's why I got my shots."

Tim shot him a look. "It's not that. It's just... When you're young, shit like flowers and poems make a girl feel nice. Then they get older and they start reading subtext into everything. Every word you say is combed for meanings. Things that at one time were sweet become creepy. Secret admirers turn into stalkers. It's like we become so sophisticated that we can't appreciate simple gestures."

"Last time I heard, girls still liked flowers, Tim."

"Yeah, but now you gotta get the right kind of flowers. Roses are too traditional, mums are too cheap. I feel like I work twice as hard trying not to freak out my date than trying to impress her. Oh, and do I hold the door for her? Do I pick up the check? What can I compliment her on? Who the fuck knows? Man, it takes me a few dates just to learn the rules, and some girls are baseball and others are cricket, y'know?"

"Why are you trying so hard to impress her?"

Tim took a swig from his beer. "Uh, what else are you supposed to do?"

"I dunno, be yourself?"

Tim's eyes rolled. "Oh, like that ever works."

"Look, dude. I know you're not a jerk. You know it too. If you just relax and do the things you normally do, she'll either like you or she won't. And if she doesn't, that's too bad, because you're awesome."

Tim snorted dismissively. "Uh huh."

"OK, look at it this way. Let's say you do get a girl by pretending to be the person she wants you to be. And then you marry her. Now you gotta spend the rest of your life pretending to be that person. You'll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that she doesn't love you, she loves that person you made yourself into so you could date her. Your whole life is a lie. Is that what you want?"

Tim pondered silently, then pulled out another cigarette and lit it. "I dunno. On the one hand, I'm not alone. On the other, I'm enjoying my life. Damn, that's a tough one."

"If you do it right, you can have both." Hank gestured to the pack and Tim slid it over to him. Hank picked it up and considered the Surgeon General's warning. "But you know what never works?"

Tim sighed. "Not leaving a card with the flowers?"

Hank showed the pack to Tim. "Nope. Smoking." He closed his hand around the pack, crushing its contents, and then dropped it on the ground. "It's like kissing a fucking ashtray."

"Dude! Those cost me ten bucks at the cigar shop! Fucker..."

Hank got up and headed inside towards the bar. "Lemme buy you another beer, then."

"But then won't my breath smell like beer?"

Hank smirked. "Guess you're not making out with me tonight."

LJ Question of the Week

Sun, 02 Sep 2007 19:20:14 GMT

How's your deviant lifestyle treating you?

The Chemicals Between Us

Fri, 27 Jul 2007 01:51:15 GMT

Tim stood on the sidewalk, gazing nervously up and down the road like a junkie waiting for his dealer. Hank was in the alley, standing with his legs spread apart and facing the wall. He was peeing.

"What are you afraid of?!" Hank yelled.

"I dunno, Hank. Getting arrested?"

"Pssh! This wall hasn't been this clean in years!"

"I'm sure the cops would agree with you."

"They might if they saw the soot I was washing off. And anyway, you look more guilty than I do. Try to look a little more nonchalant."

Tim swayed on his feet. "That's tough to do when I have to listen to you piss. I had just as many drinks as you did, you know." Tim swayed on his feet.

"Oh yeah. Whose idea was it to take a shot every time someone bitched about the smoking ban? Oh! Me!" Hank laughed. "OK, so you can use the brick urinal next."

"No thanks. I like mine done in porcelain."

Hank closed his legs and zipped up. "OK dude, but it's like 6 blocks back to your apartment. You wanna stop at the Taco Bell?"

"Nah, let's roll."

Hank walked out of the alley and punched Tim on the shoulder. "Move out, soldier!"

They walked under the overpass and headed south. Tim winced in pain. Hank decided to distract him. "So what's the deal? There wasn't a cop around for miles. Are you pee-shy?"

"Nah, I just have a poorly-developed limbic system."

"So does that mean you're going to piss all over yourself?"

"No, the limbic system's in the brain, dude. It's what tells you what to do and what not to do in social situations. A strong limbic system allows you overcome your fears and say what you mean. A weak one lets fear take over, and in my case, it prevents me from peeing outside."

The words tripped over Hank's drunkenness. "So shyness is an actual... chemical... brain function?"

Tim shrugged and braced himself against the wind. "Why wouldn't it be? Everything that happens in our brain is a chemical reaction. Pharmaceutical companies rake in millions of dollars trying to balance all of our fucked-up brain chemistries, and they spend millions telling us our brains are all hopelessly imbalanced so they can sell us drugs."

"People need those drugs, dude."

"Really? Do all the kids who act up in school really need ritalin or prozac?"

"But what about that homeless guy on Fourth Street who wears his underwear outside his pants and asks everyone for two dollars?"

"OK, maybe he does."

Three blocks to go. Hank kept him talking. "So what about love?"

Tim laughed. "Dopamine, oxytocin, and phenylethylamine."

"I think I took those once at a rave."

"No, they're in your head. They're what make you love someone."

"For real?!"

"For real, Hank. When you become infatuated with another person, there's an increase of those chemicals in your brain. The effect can last anywhere from a few months to two years, depending on how often you see the person and how they feel about you."

Hank scratched his head, making sure to keep walking. "How does how they feel about you matter to your head?"

"Some people think that the effect is heightened when you don't know how the other person feels or if you're constantly struggling to win their affection."

"So if I want a girl to stick around, I gotta ignore them and fuck with them every chance I get?"

Tim smiled a bitter smile. "Quite a feat of social engineering, isn't it? This would also mean that once you return a girl's affections, their love chemical levels would drop, because now they're sure that they have you."

"I don't think I could mess with girls like that, Tim."

"Well, if you met as many serial daters as I have who are clearly addicted to new relationships, you might change your mind."

Hank slapped the back of Tim's head. "That's some bullshit. 'Social engineering' to keep a girl?! Come on, dude! What kind of a relationship is that? You're constantly playing head games, messing with her, making her feel like shit? That's fucking ridiculous!"

"Hey, if they're using me to get their fix..." Tim muttered.

"Then maybe you need to find a girl you've got more in common with than dopamine, oxycontin, and phenyl... whatever! Maybe you need to have something going on after the high wears off! Jesus Fucking Christ, dude... Be a man!"

Tim sighed. "You're right. Look, I've never tried this..."

"Well don't start. The last thing I need is to watch you screw up girl after girl with your mythical chemical jiujitsu. You'll never find anyone worthwhile doing that, and I don't want to have to hang out with you while you figure that out. So that option is off the table, capice?"

"Roger wilco."

"And stop being so bitter. If all the girls you dated were just looking for a high, they wouldn't have stuck around that long. Got me?"

"Yes sir." Tim slumped his shoulders.

"And now you're home. So go and exercise that limbic system."

"That's not what..."

"GO!"

What They Say

Sun, 22 Jul 2007 18:54:34 GMT

Outrage overflows within me these days on so many issues that I'm having trouble speaking. And since our government would probably prefer to have a populace who didn't speak at all, perhaps this is all part of their devious plot to cow us into submission with ludricrousness. I just don't understand how representatives of our government can have operational frontal lobes and say the things that come out of their mouths. For our first example, let's take NASA public affairs officer and Bush appointee George Deutsch:

In October 2005, Mr. Deutsch sent an e-mail message to Flint Wild, a NASA contractor working on a set of Web presentations about Einstein for middle-school students. The message said the word “theory” needed to be added after every mention of the Big Bang.

The Big Bang is “not proven fact; it is opinion,” Mr. Deutsch wrote, adding, “It is not NASA’s place, nor should it be to make a declaration such as this about the existence of the universe that discounts intelligent design by a creator.”

[Deutsch’s email] continued: “This is more than a science issue, it is a religious issue. And I would hate to think that young people would only be getting one-half of this debate from NASA. That would mean we had failed to properly educate the very people who rely on us for factual information the most.”

Really? REALLY? Failure to properly educate people? On a theory that has stood the test of science since 1924 when Hubble first measured it and for which research supporting it won the Nobel Prize for Physics last year? Well, I suppose NASA has a responsibility to educate people about the religious origins of the universe, since they are a religious organization headed by Pope Bush the Second. No wait, they're a scientific organization with a responsibility "to pioneer the future in space exploration, scientific discovery, and aeronautics research." I suppose they should all just pray together and the next space shuttle will miraculously appear in the docking bay.

All my personal biases against religion aside, religion doesn't have any place in government, let alone in NASA. People who believe in intelligent design have plenty of organizations that will communicate their beliefs to others. NASA shouldn't be one of them.

But I'm not done yet. Here's what Pope Bush the Second said when confronted about renewing some of the provisions of the USA PATRIOT Act:

"I don't give a goddamn," Bush retorted. "I'm the President and the Commander-in-Chief. Do it my way."

"Mr. President," one aide in the meeting said. "There is a valid case that the provisions in this law undermine the Constitution."

"Stop throwing the Constitution in my face," Bush screamed back. "It's just a goddamned piece of paper!"

REALLY? REALLY?? That piece of paper that Bush swore to uphold has been the set of guidelines that tells us how to run our country. I guess it doesn't mean much to Pope Bush the Second, since he prefers to listen to Jesus over the founders of our country. Never mind that we have a much better idea of what our founding fathers said about our country than anything Jesus actually said ever.

So what can we do about all this? Throw the bums out? Sure, if we could ever charge anyone in the Bush administration with any crime they allegedly commit:

Bush administration officials unveiled a bold new assertion of executive authority yesterday in the dispute over the firing of nine U.S. attorneys, saying that the Justice Department will never be allowed to pursue contempt charges initiated by Congress against White House officials once the president has invoked executive privilege.

REALLY?? REALLY?!? Once Bush says you can't talk about it, it's over? Man, that's a pretty sweet way to avoid getting caught doing anything! I'd say that such a statement would never hold up against a Supreme Court ruling, but Bush already stacked the Court with his people, so I guess it doesn't matter what the law says anymore! Sweet Christ on a cracker, is there anything these guys won't do to save their law-breaking asses?

Is anyone else as tired of listening to our government as I am?

Nice shoes...

Wed, 20 Jun 2007 17:12:51 GMT

Today's game: Serial Killer Pick-up Lines

(as inspired by xkcd)

The original:
Are you tired? 'Cause you've been running through my mind all day. Screaming.

A few to get you started:
If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd throw U into the C.
Did it hurt? (When?) When I gave you that injection?

Write your own in the comments!

King of Rain

Fri, 01 Jun 2007 05:55:03 GMT

It's almost gone now.

I can still see the lowest platform of her temple. I can see the tiny columns and the stairs that lead nowhere. The dais where they burned last year's harvest so she would bless their new crops fell apart centuries ago. It was that part I liked the most. It meant that it was time to see her again. It was time for us to dance and love, so that they could eat and and live out their short lives with much dancing and loving of their own. It was a long time ago, but I still dream of that fire, the flame that mirrored our passion for each other.

I always made sure it didn't rain that day.

Her blessing was very precious to them, because they relied upon her for their existence. It was precious to me, too. Thoughts of our union kept me warm on the cold winter nights when the snows came. While I slumbered on top of my mountain, the snows blanketed the earth, healing the wounds from the previous season. In the spring they were pulled back like a curtain, revealing a new world full of possibility and hope. And I would be the most hopeful of all, waiting for my love to welcome me back into her arms. I would make sure the rains came quickly and often in those days, so that she would remember me when she awoke. Our tryst would begin to the sound of tambourines and drums and would endure until the last leaf fell from the oldest tree.

Then she left. She didn't say why. Maybe she had found more fertile places to make seed grow into life. Maybe she didn't believe they needed her anymore. Maybe she didn't think I needed her anymore. But I did. I rained for weeks and weeks and she never came back. The land was dead, and soon they all moved on. I stayed chained to my home, sending down sheets of rain, lashing the earth until my arms were sore and my cheeks were raw with howling. In the end, that was all I could do. Maybe she found someone more powerful to consort with. All I can do is rain.

I can still see her temple from my mountain, a constant reminder of the love we shared. One day I decided that I couldn't look at it anymore, so I did the only thing I knew how to do. I began raining. My water covered the temple, filling every hole and running down the walls. And still I rained. My water wore grooves in the stairs, eventually ensuring that no one would ever climb them safely. The walls grew weak and collapsed along with the dais. She would never return to the flame now. And still I rained, each drop of my water carrying away a small particle of her, returning it to the earth.

It's almost gone now. Soon I won't be able to see it, and then maybe I won't remember her every day. Maybe no one else will remember her either. And then, just maybe, I can sleep.

Radio

Thu, 31 May 2007 05:29:37 GMT

Tim's head leaned against the passenger window. It was the only thing that kept the world from spinning. Hank's spastic driving didn't help either. He was singing along with the radio. Tim was less than impressed.

"I've got a big fat fucking bone to pick with you, my darling..."

"Turn it off."

"In case you haven't heard I'm sick and tired of trying..."

"Dude..."

"I wish you would take my radio to bathe with you, plugged in and ready to fall!"

"Off off OFF!" Tim willed his vision to clear. He plunged his hand through his vodka-induced vertigo, found the radio dial, and switched off the offending music.

Hank jerked to a stop at a light. "Dude, did you just turn off my radio?"

Tim returned his head to the window and stared straight ahead. "Looks like it."

"I can't believe you did that! Way to be a rude asshole!" Hank sighed. "And on my favorite song, too."

The light turned green. Tim closed his eyes and steadied himself for a sudden acceleration. He was not disappointed. "I hate that song."

"Why?"

"Reminds me of... her."

"It makes you think of dropping a radio in her bathtub?"

"No... we... I was listening to it when..."

Hank negotiated another stop and thumped his head on the steering wheel. "Not this shit again. That was ages ago, dude. Let it go. And by the way, why were you making out with her during this song? That's kinda fucked up."

Tim smiled blearily. "Luck of the mixtape, dude."

"You need to choose your setlist more carefully, man." Hank lapsed into temporary silence as he hit the gas. "And anyway, I know you love this song. It totally connects you to the rest of human misery. Especially now with all those memories attached."

"What?"

"Look, man. People write these songs and lots of people listen to them. Have you ever wondered why?"

Tim gasped for air before responding. "I thought they were in bands to get girls."

Hank shrugged. "Also true. But the sad songs work better. Why?"

"I dunno, man. Because people love being miserable?"

"Nope. It's because misery is so common in our society. It's the thread that binds us together. He sings a song about how shitty his life is because of some girl and everyone thinks he's singing about them. But if he sings a song about happy puppies and rainbows, that's a far-off wonderland that no one could ever reach except in their wildest imaginations. Happiness is a dream, Tim. Misery is real."

"Got that right."

Hank ignored him. "Look at the books we read. All the classics are sad tales of love and loss. Why is Romeo and Juliet more popular than Much Ado About Nothing? It's not serious literature unless someone who's in love dies. And music? The last happy tune I heard on the radio was on Radio Disney. Why do you think that is, Tim? I'll tell you why. Because misery is such a part of the human condition that it's the only way some people can connect anymore. Have you seen people who are happy all the time? Other people think they're aliens. You don't really think of someone as a homo sapien until you find out they've been divorced twice and can't afford to fix their roof. Until then they're just a mask, an illusion of a real person."

"People like illusions..."

"Sure, but everyone secretly acknowledges that it's not real. Why is a real person only defined by their miseries? What if I really like my life and I don't want to be miserable all the time? Does that evict me from the human race? Imagine what we could do if just stopped focusing on all the shitty stuff in our lives! We could celebrate the awesome things that happen in between those things. Everyone could be free to smile without looking like they're laughing at someone else. We could embrace all the positive things and sing songs about love that don't end in a car crash!"

"Stop..."

"I don't know if I can, Tim. This is brilliant revelation! A revolution! The happiness revolution! The Smile Brigade is out in full force, convincing people to drink when they're happy, not when life sucks! Parades and floats and candy every day!"

"STOP!"

Hank hit the brakes. Tim fumbled with the door handle valiantly, but couldn't manage it in his state. His vomit seemed to come out by the gallon, splashing on the seat, his clothes, and most tragically the dashboard. It reeked of vodka and pasta sauce and failure. Hank sat agape with his hands clutching the wheel. The wet heaving finally ceased and Tim raised his head, slowly bringing it to its original position on the window. "Sorry, dude..."

Hank's face fell. "Well, this fucking blows..."

A Tribute to Jerry Falwell by Christopher Hitchens

Thu, 17 May 2007 17:36:33 GMT

Sometimes I don't have to rant because someone does it for me.

"[The life of Falwell] proves only one thing: that you can get away with the most extraordinary offenses to morality and to truth in this country if you just get yourself called reverend."

"It's time to stop saying that because someone preaches credulity, credulousness and claims it as a matter of faith that we should respect them."

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"Jerry Falwell lived on hate and superstition and bigotry. He preached dislike of people whose lives he knew nothing about."

"If you gave Falwell an enema, he could be buried in a matchbook."

Extra Bonus: Hitchens also tears into Republican political activist Ralph Reed for being a part of the Abramhoff scandal.

Sure, Christopher Hitchens' job is to go on programs like Hannity & Colmes to give Hannity someone to yell at. And yes, he has some extreme positions about a lot of things. He describes himself as "anti-theist" rather than "atheist." But this time I agree with him. Any person who claims to represent a faith that tries to bring God's love to all the people of the world and then says the things he does is a hypocrite. I have no problem with, and in some cases deep respect for, people who truly believe in god(s) of any variety. What I do have a problem with is hypocrisy, especially when it comes from people who somehow get to the public stage. Unfortunately, not believing in Heaven or Hell means there is no revenge for people who die having lived evil lives. All I can hope is that Falwell doesn't find anything that he is looking for after his death.

Trail of Cheers

Thu, 03 May 2007 22:38:00 GMT

It's official: Chief Illiniwek has made the Daily Show.

Jack McMillin (Student Activist/Imperialist): I am really glad that the school retired Chief Illiniwek. I feel like it was the right thing to do.
Aasif Mandvi (Interviewer): Why palefaces, like you, tryin' to push Native Americans from their homes?
Jack: Chief Illiniwek isn't Native American. He's a race-based, racist stereotype.
Aasif: Aren't you a race-based stereotype? Seriously dude, have you looked in the mirror lately? You look like a Wayans brother playing a white guy.

Brilliant. Watch the whole thing, it's worth it.