The time has come to begin my last big writing project -- connecting the dots of my long and adventurous life. Born in the middle of 1927, the year of the Great Flood in the Mississippi delta until -- I've reached 82 and am now aiming for the Big 90, which would put my exit date somewhere around 2017.
By 2017, Obama will have finished his second term, and, as it is with most Presidents in our long U.S. history, a record of mixed results but with an overall approval rate above average. His successor might be his current Vice President, Joe Biden, or some other stellar Democrat. by the Presidential election of 2016; the Republicans probably will have gained some grudging approval during the previous decade, but not enough to win a sufficient number of independents -- unless, the relative peace of our time has given way to an erupted enraged electorate ready to elect a demagogue promising miracles for fascist regimentation and suppression of the sloppy but ultimately effective ways of the democratic process.
By 2017, the threat of dire environmental degradation will have become more than a threat but an undeniable catastrophe well on its way. What will the political discourse be at that time? Where will we be? Our health will be compromised that's a sure bet. Will our mobility, our quality of life, be sustainable? Will we be caretakers rather than caregivers?
Mike will be 62, near retirement; Robin 60. Geoff will be 56, John 66. Kacey and Kolten 25, Laila 22, Kaden 14, Samantha 12. What will be their prospects? What will they be into? What their destinations?
Connecting the Dots is my expression of continuity for my descendants. Maybe not our children and grandchildren; perhaps, those that follow the blood line no matter how thin. The prospects for a sustained and stabilized civilization are about as good as any time since 1945, the beginning of the atomic era, and about the time the international community of scientists began collecting data worldwide, which was the beginning of our current status which foresees continued peril of the human race, if not all living matter.
These are exciting days -- hardly a day passes than something seemingly momentous happens, or, rather, we hear about it, read about it. One can ride the waves of ebb and flow surf of news, like news surfers, playing with the edge of now, but, hardly intensely experiencing now. For news is never simultaneous with now, unless one finds himself or herself as the news item. In which case, reading the news is all about the past, not the present, and certainly not tomorrow.
I could go on that way. I can and probably will try to make more accessible the written works I've produced over the years. Right now, dissemination is virtually nil, but at least, to have the stuff on more than my own shelves is a worthwhile pursuit.
What's not readily available is the store of memories up in my cranium. I'd like to retrieve as much of that treasure as I can (while I can), in order to provide my descendants with the ability to touch and feel this time period in one ancestor's life. I have reached this conclusion based on my realization of how derelict I' was in the past not to have recorded Q and As with my own parents, including reminiscing about their childhood and their memories of their parents and siblings, their timer, their cultural backgrounds.
I have some letters from Inez, my mother; some correspondence with Barbara, my sister; some family photos; some genealogy dates of our family tree and its cross-fertilization; but mostly memories. I think putting together a kind of connected, though not sequential, narrative of my life would be useful for my descendants to know more than they would otherwise, about their people. Closer knit tribes and communities have oral history to remind themselves of their lineage; we're a nation of broken tribes, of extended families. So, it is more appropriate for us floating gypsies to dig post holes in which to dump our memories.
This endeavor -- Connecting the Dots -- I hope will encourage others now perched in this particular family tree to contribute, in a way in which we can all share.
But, before I can freely embark on this new fork in the narrative road, I must deal with that weird Stranger, Mr. Pant, Ahque Pant. Its been many months since I've seen him. Since I last saw him, we've elected a new President, Barack Obama. He and his administration are trying mightily to repair the damage this nation suffered during eight years of craven mismanagement. We find ourselves in the worst recession in more than seven decades. In two tenacious costly regional wars. Actual unemployment over ten percent. The negative effects of global warming are accelerating and the threat of nuclear annihilation remains the x-factor in our calculations.
It's in this context that I'll embark on this, probably the last leg, of my journey here on our fragile planet Earth. My hope is to have cobbled enough posts that serve to connect the dots to give one a fair portrait of one lad's journey, interesting and variable, but not very remarkable. In that context, I'm happy to consider myself typical, if not more or less normal.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Carry On, Mate!
So, here we are, barely into the 21st century and at least the Awaken acknowledge the damage our collective transformation of underground energy to sustain our life platform is a terminal condition. Global warming is a reality, just as sure as the rotation of our fragile planet is real. Global warming has begun to seriously degrade the ice covering both ends of our planet and the high elevated glaciers that serve as mankind's water towers. When these reservoirs peter out, great upheavals along most of the major rivers will be a colossal -- massive migration, starvation, and death. -- will be the dominant headlines of 2020 and onward.
Is it only fitting that the human species be punished for the devastation it has brought forth for other species as well as the environment that sustains all forms of life? For every advantage there's a disadvantage, according to one of nature's ironclad rules. That we've been deriving energy from the burning of fossil-fuels that degrade the atmosphere for well over a century, leaves us where civilizations first degraded their environment with the destruction of forests used for energy. Humans, we suppose, could have continued living in trees and caves and left the land intact, to be shared with other beasties.
Or, had our limbs and hands remained as they are with our relatives who still swing from trees, and our brains not evolved larger and we had kept our fur and tails, perhaps we'd all be enjoying romping in the veld today. So, for those great sardine tin cans in the sky and giant ocean travelling canoes of steel, and tall steel boxes on boxes clad with glass and mortar, we have sacrificed our innocent and guiltless role in the story of planet Earth, or whatever it is the gods call it.
We are stuck in this time period called Now. That's where all 6.3 billion of us find ourselves. We can't move time back one single day, or move it forward a day. What happened yesterday might be instructive in averting the more destructive behavior of yesterday tomorrow, but we can't actually see what tomorrow has for us -- only what our puny brain power tells us is most likely, or probable.
Theoretically, the primary contributors to the global warming scourge can change the course of this phenomenon. Political leaders can lead and those who believe the threats to civilization are real can contribute with their individual actions. The vested interests who stand to lose out will do everything they can to thwart progress. You'd think that with the inevitable movement toward renewable energy, sooner or later, that these same interests would begin to contribute to the solution rather than fight progress. That is the rationalist's hope, so often in vain, but we can't help it. We were taught logic and we learned psychologic, and knew illogical when we witnessed it, even as we were guilty of our own illogic and willingness to have our emotions rule our heads.
Is it only fitting that the human species be punished for the devastation it has brought forth for other species as well as the environment that sustains all forms of life? For every advantage there's a disadvantage, according to one of nature's ironclad rules. That we've been deriving energy from the burning of fossil-fuels that degrade the atmosphere for well over a century, leaves us where civilizations first degraded their environment with the destruction of forests used for energy. Humans, we suppose, could have continued living in trees and caves and left the land intact, to be shared with other beasties.
Or, had our limbs and hands remained as they are with our relatives who still swing from trees, and our brains not evolved larger and we had kept our fur and tails, perhaps we'd all be enjoying romping in the veld today. So, for those great sardine tin cans in the sky and giant ocean travelling canoes of steel, and tall steel boxes on boxes clad with glass and mortar, we have sacrificed our innocent and guiltless role in the story of planet Earth, or whatever it is the gods call it.
We are stuck in this time period called Now. That's where all 6.3 billion of us find ourselves. We can't move time back one single day, or move it forward a day. What happened yesterday might be instructive in averting the more destructive behavior of yesterday tomorrow, but we can't actually see what tomorrow has for us -- only what our puny brain power tells us is most likely, or probable.
Theoretically, the primary contributors to the global warming scourge can change the course of this phenomenon. Political leaders can lead and those who believe the threats to civilization are real can contribute with their individual actions. The vested interests who stand to lose out will do everything they can to thwart progress. You'd think that with the inevitable movement toward renewable energy, sooner or later, that these same interests would begin to contribute to the solution rather than fight progress. That is the rationalist's hope, so often in vain, but we can't help it. We were taught logic and we learned psychologic, and knew illogical when we witnessed it, even as we were guilty of our own illogic and willingness to have our emotions rule our heads.
It was my chronic curiosity that led to my initial interest in Mr. Pant. He came across as a different breed ofHomo sapien. But, I suspect that my interest in him was fueled by his weirdness. Weirdness can be a strong magnet to the curious, but etiquette (and common sense) demands that you dare not stare at a weird Homo sapien. and certainly you would never, never ask such a person why he was wearing, for example, a raccoon coat when it was hot inside.
When Mr. Pant abruptly told me that my "report" was late, it did cause me to lose my rational bearing -- for, all my worldly training is based on Q & A. Someone asks a question, not just any person, but a person identified as worthy of asking you a question to which, by custom, you are obligated to respond. A hairless, bluish persona wearing a raccoon coat doesn't really qualify, but when you are the aggressor, the Q person, you are inevitably exposed to whatever the answer is, even if it is not even an answer, but embodies a command. Where is that report?
We've been through all this by far too much, I know. I haven't seen Mr. Pant for quite some time, since last year, before the election in November. Nobody at the fitness center has seen him. Good riddance, I say. Except for the fact that he planted a seed, which was probably his intention, I' feel relieved with his absence. But that's not a resolution, that's maybe just a temporary reprieve.
Well, I remember now -- the last time I saw him I told him I'd decided to go ahead and do the report and wanted to know what my compensation would be? That was sensible, don't you think? Pant didn't give me an answer, and got away before I could gather my wits, much less restrain his exit.
I'm still ambivalent about doing that report. What would I put into that report? Why do the report at all if our specie is headed for extinction? Who would be around to read it? Well, if our friends from Outer Space want the report, and don't intend to hang around our doomed planet, what's the point? But, then, I remember doing all kinds of reports for clients in the past, and once they had the report, they ignored the information in the report. Would that be my experience once again?
I wish I could get over my hangup looking for Mr. Pant. It is most annoying. I've got to work on how best to "disappear" him. Phoof!! And just like that he's gone.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
The Last Seven Months
The day after the last post, 9/18/08, Hank Paulson and Ben Bernanke announced that the bottom was about to fall out of the U.S. and world financial system. Most major commercial banks and investment banks were insolvent because the high risk bets made on the housing market, securitized by too-high leveraged bets by Wall Street high rollers, fizzled, big time. Since that fateful day, the U.S. government has invested at least a trillion and a quarter dollars into the bankrupt banks and investment houses plus the world's largest insurer, A.I.G. This was the surprise that "W" left our new president, Barack Obama, for his honeymoon. Supposedly, after seven months, the fall has become less precipitous, says the Fed and Treasury.
The damages have been painful to many millions who've lost their jobs. The rate of job loss is over 600,000er month and to date more than 6 million are living off of unemployment insurance., and that doesn't count those whose benefits have expired. Foreclosure rates are rising fast, notwithstanding emergency measures for many troubled owners. Banks are still shy on lending and small business owners, and students are too often unable to get banks to take a risk. The bastards.
We'll probably pull out of this ditch, not soon, but perhaps within the year begin to climb out with traction. The Obama administration has before Congress now its proposed budget for '09-'10 at $3.6 trillion. More debt and the prospect for cutting into the deficit in the next couple years is very dim. The outlook for the national debt is that it will exceed $13 trillion, and the annual deficit about $1.3 trillion. It's a bloody mess, but the choices are between more or less, and draconian cuts are pure fantasy. It's like a giant machine whose balance wheel is too heavy to slow down, much less stop the slide, and we'll all have to hang on tight and stay cool.
The choruses of Nay-Sayer's is gaining momentum slowly but surely. All those experts who were sleeping when the "sub-prime' debacle was in full swing, now pretend to know what formula will work; or, to be more accurate, they pretend to know that the Obama formula won't work, but, without saying just what would work. And so it goes.
For those out of work, it's going to be a bitch finding work that brings in money for food and shelter. In a couple months, some of the stimulus money ought to be having an impact, but, meanwhile, that's no comfort for the job seekers. Will this economic downturn become worse than a bad recession? I don't think anyone knows for sure. Will this nation become less dependent on debt financing? For awhile, I suppose. But, maybe with the increasing visibility of the long-term perils facing all peoples, there may be some sobering going on that might continue to be a strong strain in our culture.
The glaciers which serve as global water reservoirs are shrinking as the atmosphere becomes warmer. The rate of glacier recession is accelerating. Is it possible to inact measures that slow down the rise in global temperature to any significant degree? I doubt it. Water will continue to be a serious regional problem; ecological imbalance will bring all kinds of nasty disruptions in the ecosystems of grassland and forests, in addition to the problem of scarce water.
In just four days, Mr. Obama will have finished his 100 days as President. There will be much tooting of horns, but that's okay. Of course, the Republicans -- who got us in this mess -- will complain about irresponsible spending, etc., just the very thing that they were guilty of for eight years.
Will we muddle through the next four years? Will global warming lead to calamity? Will the good earth remain a good place for humans? Will our species survive in the long run? At the current rate of population growth, we'll be reaching seven billion in a few years. At the current rate of global warming, world population will begin to decline well before the end of this century, and it will not be a pretty picture.
I must admit that this world drama continues to hold everyone's attention. And this drama promises to be an unmistakable catharsis if not total and final denouement in mankind's unlikely rise from the swamps to Predator in Chief of the animal world. Who will be next? Ants, termites, or some unlikely plant like kudzu, or a virus that does everybody in as the final conqueror, who leaves nothing to conquer and thus nothing to sustain itself.
Right now, though, there is some awakening among the masses to give the Paul Revere's of our time a reluctant nod of approval for action to stem the tide. Too little too late is the most likely outlook, based on historical precedence. When the undeniable symptoms become too obvious to be ignored or even countered, the subsystems of water and rising atmospheric heat will conspire to ravage of ecological balances and the bottom line effect will be to disrupt all kinds of growth and harvest cycles. When these dislocations become too much to maintain civil order, even the rich with their bunker abodes will be hard pressed to remain upright in the crash of civilization's domino's.
It's no comfort for people of my generation to realize we won't be around to see the worst case scenarios. We'll all be gnashing our teeth and tearing our hair out as we cry out, "why, o why, didn't we do more, the take the threat to civilization seriously? Why o why did we not stand up and just holler our heads off? Why? Because we're civilized, right? Civilized folk mind their manners and we don't panic until it's too late.
Is it even too late to do that report Mr. Pant wants me to do?
The damages have been painful to many millions who've lost their jobs. The rate of job loss is over 600,000er month and to date more than 6 million are living off of unemployment insurance., and that doesn't count those whose benefits have expired. Foreclosure rates are rising fast, notwithstanding emergency measures for many troubled owners. Banks are still shy on lending and small business owners, and students are too often unable to get banks to take a risk. The bastards.
We'll probably pull out of this ditch, not soon, but perhaps within the year begin to climb out with traction. The Obama administration has before Congress now its proposed budget for '09-'10 at $3.6 trillion. More debt and the prospect for cutting into the deficit in the next couple years is very dim. The outlook for the national debt is that it will exceed $13 trillion, and the annual deficit about $1.3 trillion. It's a bloody mess, but the choices are between more or less, and draconian cuts are pure fantasy. It's like a giant machine whose balance wheel is too heavy to slow down, much less stop the slide, and we'll all have to hang on tight and stay cool.
The choruses of Nay-Sayer's is gaining momentum slowly but surely. All those experts who were sleeping when the "sub-prime' debacle was in full swing, now pretend to know what formula will work; or, to be more accurate, they pretend to know that the Obama formula won't work, but, without saying just what would work. And so it goes.
For those out of work, it's going to be a bitch finding work that brings in money for food and shelter. In a couple months, some of the stimulus money ought to be having an impact, but, meanwhile, that's no comfort for the job seekers. Will this economic downturn become worse than a bad recession? I don't think anyone knows for sure. Will this nation become less dependent on debt financing? For awhile, I suppose. But, maybe with the increasing visibility of the long-term perils facing all peoples, there may be some sobering going on that might continue to be a strong strain in our culture.
The glaciers which serve as global water reservoirs are shrinking as the atmosphere becomes warmer. The rate of glacier recession is accelerating. Is it possible to inact measures that slow down the rise in global temperature to any significant degree? I doubt it. Water will continue to be a serious regional problem; ecological imbalance will bring all kinds of nasty disruptions in the ecosystems of grassland and forests, in addition to the problem of scarce water.
In just four days, Mr. Obama will have finished his 100 days as President. There will be much tooting of horns, but that's okay. Of course, the Republicans -- who got us in this mess -- will complain about irresponsible spending, etc., just the very thing that they were guilty of for eight years.
Will we muddle through the next four years? Will global warming lead to calamity? Will the good earth remain a good place for humans? Will our species survive in the long run? At the current rate of population growth, we'll be reaching seven billion in a few years. At the current rate of global warming, world population will begin to decline well before the end of this century, and it will not be a pretty picture.
I must admit that this world drama continues to hold everyone's attention. And this drama promises to be an unmistakable catharsis if not total and final denouement in mankind's unlikely rise from the swamps to Predator in Chief of the animal world. Who will be next? Ants, termites, or some unlikely plant like kudzu, or a virus that does everybody in as the final conqueror, who leaves nothing to conquer and thus nothing to sustain itself.
Right now, though, there is some awakening among the masses to give the Paul Revere's of our time a reluctant nod of approval for action to stem the tide. Too little too late is the most likely outlook, based on historical precedence. When the undeniable symptoms become too obvious to be ignored or even countered, the subsystems of water and rising atmospheric heat will conspire to ravage of ecological balances and the bottom line effect will be to disrupt all kinds of growth and harvest cycles. When these dislocations become too much to maintain civil order, even the rich with their bunker abodes will be hard pressed to remain upright in the crash of civilization's domino's.
It's no comfort for people of my generation to realize we won't be around to see the worst case scenarios. We'll all be gnashing our teeth and tearing our hair out as we cry out, "why, o why, didn't we do more, the take the threat to civilization seriously? Why o why did we not stand up and just holler our heads off? Why? Because we're civilized, right? Civilized folk mind their manners and we don't panic until it's too late.
Is it even too late to do that report Mr. Pant wants me to do?
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Hope Without Hope?
Hope without hope? Doesn't make sense, does it? I mean, what are they talking about? What?
The presidential election, of course. Here we are just 48 days until what I call D-Day -- Decision Day. I remain convinced that given the perilous condition of this time in our history, time is not on our side for the perils are most likely to be catastrophic if not confronted forthrightly; and, even if they are addressed with courage and intelligence, there's no solid assurance that the worst-case scenarios can be avoided.
Global warming is a factual phenomenon. We have something like 40 to 50 years to minimize the devastating effects of irreversible global warming. Long before that deadline, the global water problem will have wrought deadly serious mass starvation and dislocations in many parts of the planet.
We've faced the threat of nuclear winter for six decades and that threat has not been diminished during that time period, rather it is greater now with more members of the nuclear weapon club growing each decade, and international terrorists more experienced in finding chinks in our defense.
With the advance of global warming comes an inevitable disruption of food supplies for many of the world's population, which continues to grow far beyond a sustainable level. The world community before long will be forced to decide whether to deal harshly with the issue of "freedom to reproduce yourselves" It's either curtail population growth voluntarily or by natural selection; i.e., survival of the fittest.
Through the next batch of time (next four years) we need a strongly principled and realistic leader for our nation. At best, he will be able only to redirect the course of our ship of state -- modestly. The super problems will remain unsolved, but they can begin to be addressed seriously.
I have believed fervently that that leader is Barack Obama and I've supported that belief with far more money than I'm willing to tell the missus.
Likewise, I most fervently hope that McCain will not become our leader -- the best I can say is that he is a doomed romantic and a faux populist who has even less governance ability than his friend, George W. Bush -- the worst President ever.
I'd rather not tell Mr. Pant about my hopeful hope in the face of hopeless fears. Obama is up and denouncing McCain as "not getting it". We know that -- my far greater fear is that the majority of the voters don't get it.
When I see Mr. Pant, I'll simply ask him -- uh, er, hey -- who do you favor to win? Will he know what I'm talking about? Should I ask him who he's planning to vote for? Has he registered? Is he even following our quaint ancient custom of choosing leaders? Does he even have a TV set? Can he read? What does he read? I mean, what language? Yes, I'll corner him with questions.
Yeah, sure. Corner. Who's the romantic?
I suspect my Mr. Pant will be curiously detached from my concerns. If indeed he is the guest observer I believe he may well be, he may point out that the vast bulk of life on planet Earth is not our minuscule species. Even if there is a nuclear holocaust, it'll clean itself up in a dozen centuries or so. "No big deal," he might say.
The presidential election, of course. Here we are just 48 days until what I call D-Day -- Decision Day. I remain convinced that given the perilous condition of this time in our history, time is not on our side for the perils are most likely to be catastrophic if not confronted forthrightly; and, even if they are addressed with courage and intelligence, there's no solid assurance that the worst-case scenarios can be avoided.
Global warming is a factual phenomenon. We have something like 40 to 50 years to minimize the devastating effects of irreversible global warming. Long before that deadline, the global water problem will have wrought deadly serious mass starvation and dislocations in many parts of the planet.
We've faced the threat of nuclear winter for six decades and that threat has not been diminished during that time period, rather it is greater now with more members of the nuclear weapon club growing each decade, and international terrorists more experienced in finding chinks in our defense.
With the advance of global warming comes an inevitable disruption of food supplies for many of the world's population, which continues to grow far beyond a sustainable level. The world community before long will be forced to decide whether to deal harshly with the issue of "freedom to reproduce yourselves" It's either curtail population growth voluntarily or by natural selection; i.e., survival of the fittest.
Through the next batch of time (next four years) we need a strongly principled and realistic leader for our nation. At best, he will be able only to redirect the course of our ship of state -- modestly. The super problems will remain unsolved, but they can begin to be addressed seriously.
I have believed fervently that that leader is Barack Obama and I've supported that belief with far more money than I'm willing to tell the missus.
Likewise, I most fervently hope that McCain will not become our leader -- the best I can say is that he is a doomed romantic and a faux populist who has even less governance ability than his friend, George W. Bush -- the worst President ever.
I'd rather not tell Mr. Pant about my hopeful hope in the face of hopeless fears. Obama is up and denouncing McCain as "not getting it". We know that -- my far greater fear is that the majority of the voters don't get it.
When I see Mr. Pant, I'll simply ask him -- uh, er, hey -- who do you favor to win? Will he know what I'm talking about? Should I ask him who he's planning to vote for? Has he registered? Is he even following our quaint ancient custom of choosing leaders? Does he even have a TV set? Can he read? What does he read? I mean, what language? Yes, I'll corner him with questions.
Yeah, sure. Corner. Who's the romantic?
I suspect my Mr. Pant will be curiously detached from my concerns. If indeed he is the guest observer I believe he may well be, he may point out that the vast bulk of life on planet Earth is not our minuscule species. Even if there is a nuclear holocaust, it'll clean itself up in a dozen centuries or so. "No big deal," he might say.
Monday, September 8, 2008
The Election Game
D-Day America is fast approaching. In just 58 days, some 130 million voters will have selected one of a half dozen names for President & Vice President of the U.S. The final tally may well depend on the number of Wishywashies who decide which of the lesser of evils to choose. This number might well add up to less than 150,000 when electoral votes are posted. This would mean that, in the final analysis, roughly 1 boob out of every 2,000 informed voters will carry the day, and therefore the fate of the Republic will depend on the indolent and/or clueless.
Oh, I hear the caterwauling of the Society for the Perpetual Care of Dumb Animals saying, "how dare you, picking on our poor little boobs -- they can't help it -- their parents were boobs, and their parents were boobs. What did you expect?" Our precious Constitution doesn't cast aside the votes of the lame and infirm and boobs. One man, one vote; of course, now it's one citizen.
I listened intently to most speakers at the Democratic Convention. There was a parade of ordinary elected officials and private citizens who cited the many virtues of the Democratic Party and the chosen nominees for the top spots. There was a constant background of popular younger-folk music that I didn't dance and jiggle to in front of my TV set. That's okay because I realize that jazz wouldn't do nor jitterbug big band music and certainly not these days good ole folk music and fiddling for square dancing, though fiddling maybe is more appropriate.
I can't blame Senator Obama and Senator Biden for not wanting to tell their supporters just how bleak the global situation actually is. If Emperor Nero had to worry about the citizens of Rome voting on his record, would he have worried about a backlash with his cruel treatment of that uppity religious cult who called themselves Christians? Hardly, the prototype soccer fans at the Colosseum needed their entertainment diversion because the good citizens of Rome didn't want to even think about the demise of their darling Empire.
That ole rascal Nero. Actually he was an interesting guy and in our age could have been a tremendously popular rock star. Loved loud music, the young adored him and it's only the liberal media that finally did him in. The Romans touted Pax Romana which is what our political leaders praise for our time. But Pax Romana was actually "peace on our terms", and, as long as you can get away with it, it's a banner that can fly high, just as our own warrior leader today brandished his "Mission Accomplished" banner on the deck of the embattled aircraft carrier Lincoln 6 miles from San Diego harbor. He did look like a gladiator didn't he, with that helmet tucked in the crook of his arm? Imagine what an immortalizing painter like Joshua Reynolds or Charles Wittson Peale could do with that pose. Precious.
But Roman politics during the Republic was crude by our standards, yet they had some virtuous characteristics. For one, if you were a candidate for the top job, you had to prove yourself as a military commander in chief by leading your own army in the conquest of foreign lands and/or wayward former Roman commanders. Wouldn't that be a better test than boasts of "I coulda if I had to".
Which leads to recollecting the Republican Convention. The made for TV spectacle reminded me of P.T. Barnum's travelling circus with the carnival atmosphere of hokum that featured the Greatest POW Who Ever Lived and the Beautiful Virgin Mother Princess of Wasilla, a mythical kingdom of Moose-eating Eskimos and Evangelicals.
I realize I'm clumsy in trying to appear objective. Actually, I'd be the first to admit that I'm a incurable rationalist. I believe that honesty is the best policy in politics as well as business and in life generally. I simply dislike liars and phonies and hoodwinkers. When I was a teenager, I went through a period when I exaggerated aspects of my personal life and soon found myself mired in the job of keeping track of to whom I'd told what. It was tiring as well as tiresome, I'm sure. I quit cold turkey for I didn't have the energy to keep up with my tiny web of lies. I still have a bad taste in my mouth at that period when I was a forlorn new guy in town and needed enhancement on my bio, or so I thought. How much more refreshing it would have been to be honest and candid, which was the case when I first wrote about my lack of character.
Has truth become so feeble in our current political climate that hokum reigns supreme? Have the people tired of bread and circus and want to listen to the shrill siren of the carnival barker? Perhaps.
Today, I'm thinking about Mr. Pant and whether he might be putting one over me. After all, I did initially approach him (and I bet you would have too seeing him looking like a bear) -- and, he did throw me for a loop chastising me for being late and demanding a stupid report nobody told me was due or even what the devil it was supposed to be about.
Do they have elections on his home planet or whatever space platform he happened to be hatched on? I imagine his kind are way ahead of us because we don't have anyone that I know about visiting far away planets or space platforms. And if they're way ahead of us, wouldn't they have figured out a better way of choosing all powerful leaders? Maybe they'd have a lottery to decide which infant would be educated solely to order others around, but with strict limitations on what mischief they could do, and if they did cross sacred lines they'd automatically implode and the next programmed leader would automatically take his place. Sort of like the bees and ants manage continuity of leadership.
Next time I see Mr. Pant, I'll try to wheedle out some juicy gossip about his home planet. Ha!
Oh, I hear the caterwauling of the Society for the Perpetual Care of Dumb Animals saying, "how dare you, picking on our poor little boobs -- they can't help it -- their parents were boobs, and their parents were boobs. What did you expect?" Our precious Constitution doesn't cast aside the votes of the lame and infirm and boobs. One man, one vote; of course, now it's one citizen.
I listened intently to most speakers at the Democratic Convention. There was a parade of ordinary elected officials and private citizens who cited the many virtues of the Democratic Party and the chosen nominees for the top spots. There was a constant background of popular younger-folk music that I didn't dance and jiggle to in front of my TV set. That's okay because I realize that jazz wouldn't do nor jitterbug big band music and certainly not these days good ole folk music and fiddling for square dancing, though fiddling maybe is more appropriate.
I can't blame Senator Obama and Senator Biden for not wanting to tell their supporters just how bleak the global situation actually is. If Emperor Nero had to worry about the citizens of Rome voting on his record, would he have worried about a backlash with his cruel treatment of that uppity religious cult who called themselves Christians? Hardly, the prototype soccer fans at the Colosseum needed their entertainment diversion because the good citizens of Rome didn't want to even think about the demise of their darling Empire.
That ole rascal Nero. Actually he was an interesting guy and in our age could have been a tremendously popular rock star. Loved loud music, the young adored him and it's only the liberal media that finally did him in. The Romans touted Pax Romana which is what our political leaders praise for our time. But Pax Romana was actually "peace on our terms", and, as long as you can get away with it, it's a banner that can fly high, just as our own warrior leader today brandished his "Mission Accomplished" banner on the deck of the embattled aircraft carrier Lincoln 6 miles from San Diego harbor. He did look like a gladiator didn't he, with that helmet tucked in the crook of his arm? Imagine what an immortalizing painter like Joshua Reynolds or Charles Wittson Peale could do with that pose. Precious.
But Roman politics during the Republic was crude by our standards, yet they had some virtuous characteristics. For one, if you were a candidate for the top job, you had to prove yourself as a military commander in chief by leading your own army in the conquest of foreign lands and/or wayward former Roman commanders. Wouldn't that be a better test than boasts of "I coulda if I had to".
Which leads to recollecting the Republican Convention. The made for TV spectacle reminded me of P.T. Barnum's travelling circus with the carnival atmosphere of hokum that featured the Greatest POW Who Ever Lived and the Beautiful Virgin Mother Princess of Wasilla, a mythical kingdom of Moose-eating Eskimos and Evangelicals.
I realize I'm clumsy in trying to appear objective. Actually, I'd be the first to admit that I'm a incurable rationalist. I believe that honesty is the best policy in politics as well as business and in life generally. I simply dislike liars and phonies and hoodwinkers. When I was a teenager, I went through a period when I exaggerated aspects of my personal life and soon found myself mired in the job of keeping track of to whom I'd told what. It was tiring as well as tiresome, I'm sure. I quit cold turkey for I didn't have the energy to keep up with my tiny web of lies. I still have a bad taste in my mouth at that period when I was a forlorn new guy in town and needed enhancement on my bio, or so I thought. How much more refreshing it would have been to be honest and candid, which was the case when I first wrote about my lack of character.
Has truth become so feeble in our current political climate that hokum reigns supreme? Have the people tired of bread and circus and want to listen to the shrill siren of the carnival barker? Perhaps.
Today, I'm thinking about Mr. Pant and whether he might be putting one over me. After all, I did initially approach him (and I bet you would have too seeing him looking like a bear) -- and, he did throw me for a loop chastising me for being late and demanding a stupid report nobody told me was due or even what the devil it was supposed to be about.
Do they have elections on his home planet or whatever space platform he happened to be hatched on? I imagine his kind are way ahead of us because we don't have anyone that I know about visiting far away planets or space platforms. And if they're way ahead of us, wouldn't they have figured out a better way of choosing all powerful leaders? Maybe they'd have a lottery to decide which infant would be educated solely to order others around, but with strict limitations on what mischief they could do, and if they did cross sacred lines they'd automatically implode and the next programmed leader would automatically take his place. Sort of like the bees and ants manage continuity of leadership.
Next time I see Mr. Pant, I'll try to wheedle out some juicy gossip about his home planet. Ha!
Monday, August 25, 2008
Games and Gamesmanship
Just two weeks ago, Saturday, August 9, I encountered Mr. Pant at the fitness center and he won handily that round, after I failed to return even one lob volley. After I finished my workout, I began to realize -- with a thump -- that I was victimized by a master gamemeister. No, I was victimized by my own poor gamesmanship skills. I had made a fatal mistake of taking Mr. Pant seriously, and I was being punished for my naivete.
For the next two weeks I consoled myself by watching hours of boring commercials interwoven with riveting glimpses of highlights of popular games. Just about every organized sport imaginable or so it seemed (actually 28). Every four years we're treated to the spectacular feats of professional (or quasi amateur) athletes whose ability to train untold hours, months, and days on end is remarkable itself. For the athletes, the Olympic games (and preliminary contests in between), there comes the moment when -- according to the rule bibles -- crowns them winners or losers. All their efforts pay off in a brief "15 minutes" of fame, and bragging rights forever.
It is all to show mankind's humane side to have these extended ceremonies, especially when compared to the world of "sports not" -- murders, wars, assassinations, bankruptcies, divorces, disease, and a multitude of other disasters (man-made and natural), plus all the games for which there are no written rules for winners, only rules of punishment for the losers.
The nice thing about organized sports is that there's a beginning and an end at which moment the entire endeavor is scored and thus a "final" reckoning, unlike the game of life which ends in a score of years lived, and, for which accomplishment there is no medal or garland, but there may well be flowers and wreathes. Isn't that why we watch or play organized sports -- at the end there's the dead reckoning, also, come to think of it, would include gambling (casinos, insurance, capitalism, etc.)?
The game that I find myself playing, only because I'm a player with Mr. Pant, supposedly has unwritten rules that apply. And, right now, I have every right to become, if I want, a sore loser. But out of adversity, I can overcome my awkwardness, my naivete, and witlessness. Supposedly. But, what if the other player is from another Galaxy or time in history? What if every response, every statement, has been programmed into a supercomputer -- programmed to keep the opponent hopelessly off balance?
I know what Jake would advise, if I was so beaten as to ask. "Awesome, just awesome", he'd say, and, with equal fervor he'd say the same if I wreaked the car -- Jake is, if nothing else, a perennial booster, an genuine enthusiast for things that move. Or the Missus -- no, no, she'd tell me -- quit while you're ahead.. Like the lottery, you can't lose if you don't play. But, THEY SAY, you can't win IF YOU DON'T PLAY. And, you do want to win, don't you? Don't you? You can't win if you don't try, that's what the Voices are telling me. Not one of those Voices are telling me to quit.
Americans don't quit! True Americans don't quit, do we? Why, that's the same as surrendering. John Wayne never surrendered, did he? Our great political leaders didn't surrender, did they? They don't accept defeat. They must never surrender, even to overwhelming odds against them, do they? If you've been sitting at the game table and lost a fortune, you don't give up, you must believe the odds will turn in your favor -- ultimately -- and so you give the house your IOU which obligates your precious grandchildren, who, after all, will inherit your recovered fortune, won't they?
So, watching the Olympics 2008 has served to revive my faint heart and vow to continue to play this game with Mr. Pant. The tide will surely turn -- ultimately -- won't it? I'm going to keep thinking of those some 940 athletes who stood on those podiums and listened so valiantly to their nation's anthems, and tried very hard not to think of physical embrace due on delivery. I'm not letting those 10,000 plus losers mess up my dreams. After all, most will get another chance in just four years. And, so, next month, maybe next week, I'll think of a way to get even.
Now, while I'm turning my attention to my contest with Mr. Pant, I'll watch the other spectacular quadrennial sport of the U.S. presidential election preliminaries called the major party conventions. The one in Denver this week features the Democrat party and all it's fractured elements and next week the Republican party in St. Paul, Minnesota featuring it's star windbags.
For the next two weeks I consoled myself by watching hours of boring commercials interwoven with riveting glimpses of highlights of popular games. Just about every organized sport imaginable or so it seemed (actually 28). Every four years we're treated to the spectacular feats of professional (or quasi amateur) athletes whose ability to train untold hours, months, and days on end is remarkable itself. For the athletes, the Olympic games (and preliminary contests in between), there comes the moment when -- according to the rule bibles -- crowns them winners or losers. All their efforts pay off in a brief "15 minutes" of fame, and bragging rights forever.
It is all to show mankind's humane side to have these extended ceremonies, especially when compared to the world of "sports not" -- murders, wars, assassinations, bankruptcies, divorces, disease, and a multitude of other disasters (man-made and natural), plus all the games for which there are no written rules for winners, only rules of punishment for the losers.
The nice thing about organized sports is that there's a beginning and an end at which moment the entire endeavor is scored and thus a "final" reckoning, unlike the game of life which ends in a score of years lived, and, for which accomplishment there is no medal or garland, but there may well be flowers and wreathes. Isn't that why we watch or play organized sports -- at the end there's the dead reckoning, also, come to think of it, would include gambling (casinos, insurance, capitalism, etc.)?
The game that I find myself playing, only because I'm a player with Mr. Pant, supposedly has unwritten rules that apply. And, right now, I have every right to become, if I want, a sore loser. But out of adversity, I can overcome my awkwardness, my naivete, and witlessness. Supposedly. But, what if the other player is from another Galaxy or time in history? What if every response, every statement, has been programmed into a supercomputer -- programmed to keep the opponent hopelessly off balance?
I know what Jake would advise, if I was so beaten as to ask. "Awesome, just awesome", he'd say, and, with equal fervor he'd say the same if I wreaked the car -- Jake is, if nothing else, a perennial booster, an genuine enthusiast for things that move. Or the Missus -- no, no, she'd tell me -- quit while you're ahead.. Like the lottery, you can't lose if you don't play. But, THEY SAY, you can't win IF YOU DON'T PLAY. And, you do want to win, don't you? Don't you? You can't win if you don't try, that's what the Voices are telling me. Not one of those Voices are telling me to quit.
Americans don't quit! True Americans don't quit, do we? Why, that's the same as surrendering. John Wayne never surrendered, did he? Our great political leaders didn't surrender, did they? They don't accept defeat. They must never surrender, even to overwhelming odds against them, do they? If you've been sitting at the game table and lost a fortune, you don't give up, you must believe the odds will turn in your favor -- ultimately -- and so you give the house your IOU which obligates your precious grandchildren, who, after all, will inherit your recovered fortune, won't they?
So, watching the Olympics 2008 has served to revive my faint heart and vow to continue to play this game with Mr. Pant. The tide will surely turn -- ultimately -- won't it? I'm going to keep thinking of those some 940 athletes who stood on those podiums and listened so valiantly to their nation's anthems, and tried very hard not to think of physical embrace due on delivery. I'm not letting those 10,000 plus losers mess up my dreams. After all, most will get another chance in just four years. And, so, next month, maybe next week, I'll think of a way to get even.
Now, while I'm turning my attention to my contest with Mr. Pant, I'll watch the other spectacular quadrennial sport of the U.S. presidential election preliminaries called the major party conventions. The one in Denver this week features the Democrat party and all it's fractured elements and next week the Republican party in St. Paul, Minnesota featuring it's star windbags.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Can This Be Gamemanship?
It was Saturday, just before noon, when I encountered Mr. Pant again. He was sitting alone in the snack alcove at the fitness center, reading a magazine and biting his fingernails, as if he was waiting for someone. I almost missed noticing him as I was so preoccupied and wired for scanning for a raccoon fur coat and whatever it was concealing. This time he was wearing the proper male costume -- long baggy shorts and a tee shirt without affiliation affixed. As I approached him, I realized he was not biting his nails but sucking his thumb (his left thumb, if you must know) .
"Whatever," he says and then repeats it for emphasis, "Whatever." "That's okay with me, " says Self. "Now, what about compensation? We need to talk about that, you know." "Of course, of course", says Mr. Pant. That's when his cell phone rings (Call to Post ringtone). Now, I can get a sense of who he deals with -- maybe the poor woman who has to make do with the dog food plus condiments galore. It's all one sided, the caller is doing all the talking and Mr. Pant was either grunting or growling. I wait, I wait. And I wait. Finally, I realize I've been snookered and get up slowly to leave, when suddenly he snaps shut his cell phone, leaving it on the table.
"Norm, the maintenance guy, said he saw you doing some advanced yoga exercises the other day. What kind of yoga exercises were they?" "Ashtanga", says Pant. "What?" I ask. We repeat. "How do you spell it?", I ask. "Why?", he asks. "Because . . .", and then I lose it.
"I was told you know everything," Pant said without bothering to spell ashtanga. "You were?", I said. "Yeah, that's why they said to ask you to do a report", Pant says. "Who they?", says I. "People in the know," Pant replies. "What?" I say incredulously. "They said you were a know-it-all", says Pant. '
Of course, it hurt to hear someone say that to my face. Know-it-all? Well, yeah, there was a time, in my youth, but not now -- as I grow older I know less and less and there will come the day when I will join the great voting bloc of "Know-Nothings".
Well, at least I was getting some information and was loading up for another question when he suddenly he stood up and said, almost in a whisper, "Gotta go, bye", and he went.
I was left with a bruised ego, nothing new really learned and I trudged slowly up the stairs for the waiting treadmill. For the next 45 or so minutes I'd be going nowhere fast, but I'd have some time to reflect on my latest encounter with Mr. Pant.
What was I to make of him sucking his thumb? Well, at least he's human, I supposed. He was clearly indifferent to me and my assignment. Whatever? If James Bond or Batman were dealing with some strange bird, they wouldn't have been blocked by a smart-ass nonchalant retort, "Whatever"'.
It slowly dawned on me that in addition to dealing with someone obviously from some other galaxy or period in history, I was being confronted with a master of gamesmanship. I realized with a thud that I'm way over my head (and there's nobody I can go to and whine).
"Hi", I said, "I wasn't sure it was you . . . " Mr. Pant looked up and cocked his head to one side, and then to the other, like a hawk. "Wuzzup?" he says. "Wuzzup?" I repeated (like a parrot). "You tell me," I added. "May I?" then promptly sat across from him at the round table.
Pant leaned back and again giving me the once over, pretending he didn't know who I was. "Look", about that report, I've decided to go ahead and do it -- I just need you to tell me what the topic is, what the subject is -- for the report". I was feeling on top of the situation, calm, ready, I thought, for his off-the-wall shots."Whatever," he says and then repeats it for emphasis, "Whatever." "That's okay with me, " says Self. "Now, what about compensation? We need to talk about that, you know." "Of course, of course", says Mr. Pant. That's when his cell phone rings (Call to Post ringtone). Now, I can get a sense of who he deals with -- maybe the poor woman who has to make do with the dog food plus condiments galore. It's all one sided, the caller is doing all the talking and Mr. Pant was either grunting or growling. I wait, I wait. And I wait. Finally, I realize I've been snookered and get up slowly to leave, when suddenly he snaps shut his cell phone, leaving it on the table.
"Norm, the maintenance guy, said he saw you doing some advanced yoga exercises the other day. What kind of yoga exercises were they?" "Ashtanga", says Pant. "What?" I ask. We repeat. "How do you spell it?", I ask. "Why?", he asks. "Because . . .", and then I lose it.
"I was told you know everything," Pant said without bothering to spell ashtanga. "You were?", I said. "Yeah, that's why they said to ask you to do a report", Pant says. "Who they?", says I. "People in the know," Pant replies. "What?" I say incredulously. "They said you were a know-it-all", says Pant. '
Of course, it hurt to hear someone say that to my face. Know-it-all? Well, yeah, there was a time, in my youth, but not now -- as I grow older I know less and less and there will come the day when I will join the great voting bloc of "Know-Nothings".
Well, at least I was getting some information and was loading up for another question when he suddenly he stood up and said, almost in a whisper, "Gotta go, bye", and he went.
I was left with a bruised ego, nothing new really learned and I trudged slowly up the stairs for the waiting treadmill. For the next 45 or so minutes I'd be going nowhere fast, but I'd have some time to reflect on my latest encounter with Mr. Pant.
What was I to make of him sucking his thumb? Well, at least he's human, I supposed. He was clearly indifferent to me and my assignment. Whatever? If James Bond or Batman were dealing with some strange bird, they wouldn't have been blocked by a smart-ass nonchalant retort, "Whatever"'.
It slowly dawned on me that in addition to dealing with someone obviously from some other galaxy or period in history, I was being confronted with a master of gamesmanship. I realized with a thud that I'm way over my head (and there's nobody I can go to and whine).
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