Friday, October 31, 2003
Scary!
Today on NPR, there was a segment that confirmed what I've always suspected, and let's put it on its own line to make sure everyone sees it:
This in a study going back to 1958. It's all an urban legend, ladies and gentlemen.
There was also a long segment on gay marriages, which convinced me that it's only a matter of time until they are as culturally accepted as, say, interracial marriages are today. (And yes, if you're wondering, I think that's a Good Thing.) It also featured a couple who was A-OK with gay "unions" but said, "don't you dare call it marriage, because marriage means this, this, and this"; their "this"es were:
Never mind that they gave no references for these supposed "universal assertions"; take a look at that last one. Rather like Rick Santorum, these folks were stepping all over themselves to say, well, yes, "fruition" could mean children, but it doesn't have to mean it, of course it's all right for people to marry with no intention of having children, but, but, um, the women in the first part of the segment, who had a child via artificial insemination, that, um, doesn't mean fruition, that's only something that a man and a woman can have, because... um...
So a man and a woman who don't want to have kids can and should get married, but a woman and a woman or a man and a man who do want to have kids cannot.
In an odd coincidence, I was recently defending people who do choose to have kids (or have them accidentally, for that matter--hello, mirror!). But, really, can someone explain to me: if the point, as many folks have said, of a marriage is to have kids, and that's why gays shouldn't be allowed to marry... well, why should heterosexuals be allowed to marry if they have no intention (or ability) to have kids?
Come on, social conservatives! Convince me! Really! I'll enjoy telling many of my friends (and more than a few readers of this blog) they they have no right to be married if they're not breeding!
There has never been a death or serious injury due to tampered Halloween candy. Never, ever. Not even once.
This in a study going back to 1958. It's all an urban legend, ladies and gentlemen.
There was also a long segment on gay marriages, which convinced me that it's only a matter of time until they are as culturally accepted as, say, interracial marriages are today. (And yes, if you're wondering, I think that's a Good Thing.) It also featured a couple who was A-OK with gay "unions" but said, "don't you dare call it marriage, because marriage means this, this, and this"; their "this"es were:
- A coming together of opposites,
- A legal, social contract, and
- "Fruition" of the marriage, i.e. children or... uh... something else.
Never mind that they gave no references for these supposed "universal assertions"; take a look at that last one. Rather like Rick Santorum, these folks were stepping all over themselves to say, well, yes, "fruition" could mean children, but it doesn't have to mean it, of course it's all right for people to marry with no intention of having children, but, but, um, the women in the first part of the segment, who had a child via artificial insemination, that, um, doesn't mean fruition, that's only something that a man and a woman can have, because... um...
So a man and a woman who don't want to have kids can and should get married, but a woman and a woman or a man and a man who do want to have kids cannot.
In an odd coincidence, I was recently defending people who do choose to have kids (or have them accidentally, for that matter--hello, mirror!). But, really, can someone explain to me: if the point, as many folks have said, of a marriage is to have kids, and that's why gays shouldn't be allowed to marry... well, why should heterosexuals be allowed to marry if they have no intention (or ability) to have kids?
Come on, social conservatives! Convince me! Really! I'll enjoy telling many of my friends (and more than a few readers of this blog) they they have no right to be married if they're not breeding!
Alert! We have Jennifer Garner rampaging through the Senate!
So a toy gun shut down Capitol Hill yesterday. I wonder if the security guard who was "distracted" and let the "gunslingers" through is contacting a temp agency today.
Seriously, though, how the hell did this happen? I don't have any doubt that security guards are human like the rest of us, but gee whiz, you kind've expect them to at least look at the X-ray monitors for guns.
And more importantly, how the hell did everyone get their stories wrong? It was first reported as one unknown white male who grabbed the bag and ran before the guard could react; it turned out to be two white females who worked there who took their bags and leisurely walked on into the building. There comes a point (male vs. female is one of them!) where bad eyewitness testimony goes beyond "mistakes" and into "willful self-deception." I'm surprised they didn't have the imagined culprit become an Arab with an AK-47. (I'm sure that's what Ashcroft would have seen had he been on the X-ray machine. Or maybe he just would have seen the women as nekkid.)
As if that wasn't bad enough, at almost the same time there was an unattended U-Haul truck that sent the Pentagon into a tizzy; that turned out to be completely benign, too, but these two unrelated events were enough to bring me close to panic, I freely admit. Sometimes I hate living in the Washington area; yesterday was one of those times.
Seriously, though, how the hell did this happen? I don't have any doubt that security guards are human like the rest of us, but gee whiz, you kind've expect them to at least look at the X-ray monitors for guns.
And more importantly, how the hell did everyone get their stories wrong? It was first reported as one unknown white male who grabbed the bag and ran before the guard could react; it turned out to be two white females who worked there who took their bags and leisurely walked on into the building. There comes a point (male vs. female is one of them!) where bad eyewitness testimony goes beyond "mistakes" and into "willful self-deception." I'm surprised they didn't have the imagined culprit become an Arab with an AK-47. (I'm sure that's what Ashcroft would have seen had he been on the X-ray machine. Or maybe he just would have seen the women as nekkid.)
As if that wasn't bad enough, at almost the same time there was an unattended U-Haul truck that sent the Pentagon into a tizzy; that turned out to be completely benign, too, but these two unrelated events were enough to bring me close to panic, I freely admit. Sometimes I hate living in the Washington area; yesterday was one of those times.
Angel in the morning.
It would have been funnier had Wesley said, "Including this, I've had... this?"
Thursday, October 30, 2003
Is that a hypothetical, or a threat?
One of those questions that always got asked late at college parties was, "Which would you rather be, blind or deaf?"
(Well, that's what I got asked. Never once did anyone ask, say, "You have a condom, right?" Although people did often ask me why I wasn't dancing. Clearly, I went to less exciting parties than the rest of you.)
I was thinking about this after I read a profile of a blind acquaintance in the Washington Post Magazine. Well, strike that. He's not really an acquaintance, but rather someone who I recognize around town; in Greenbelt, by default, you recognize people who spend a lot of time in the town center, especially if you do, yourself. It's that kind of community. Anyway, a copy of the article is posted in the building where D's nursery school is, and I read it this morning.
Interestingly, my answer to the "deaf vs. blind" question has changed as I've gotten older. Throughout high school and college, it wasn't even an issue; I'd rather be blind, no question. Music was far too important a part of my life to lose. And though I was first and foremost an actor, I had very little interest in the visual arts.
Now, music is still an important part of my life; arguably more so, since I can play both the guitar and the piano (in high school, all I could do was sing). Yet my perspective has changed; I would choose (if it were a choice) to be deaf.
I'm not sure why; maybe because I've become more interested in film and animation in recent years, or maybe I don't want to miss my children's faces. I suppose, if nothing else, it's a metaphor for how I've grown and who I've become.
Naturally I'd choose to lose neither sight nor hearing, in the real world. But you can take my sense of smell any day (he says, changing his daughter's diaper).
(Well, that's what I got asked. Never once did anyone ask, say, "You have a condom, right?" Although people did often ask me why I wasn't dancing. Clearly, I went to less exciting parties than the rest of you.)
I was thinking about this after I read a profile of a blind acquaintance in the Washington Post Magazine. Well, strike that. He's not really an acquaintance, but rather someone who I recognize around town; in Greenbelt, by default, you recognize people who spend a lot of time in the town center, especially if you do, yourself. It's that kind of community. Anyway, a copy of the article is posted in the building where D's nursery school is, and I read it this morning.
Interestingly, my answer to the "deaf vs. blind" question has changed as I've gotten older. Throughout high school and college, it wasn't even an issue; I'd rather be blind, no question. Music was far too important a part of my life to lose. And though I was first and foremost an actor, I had very little interest in the visual arts.
Now, music is still an important part of my life; arguably more so, since I can play both the guitar and the piano (in high school, all I could do was sing). Yet my perspective has changed; I would choose (if it were a choice) to be deaf.
I'm not sure why; maybe because I've become more interested in film and animation in recent years, or maybe I don't want to miss my children's faces. I suppose, if nothing else, it's a metaphor for how I've grown and who I've become.
Naturally I'd choose to lose neither sight nor hearing, in the real world. But you can take my sense of smell any day (he says, changing his daughter's diaper).
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
I'm sure these are urban legends, but who cares?
Tip of the Spice to Stephanie for these:
- A kindergarten pupil told his teacher he'd found a cat. She asked him if it was dead or alive.� "Dead,"�she was informed.
"How do you know?" she asked her pupil.
"Because I pissed in its ear and it didn't move," answered the child innocently.
"You did WHAT?!?" the teacher exclaimed in surprise.
"You know," explained the boy, "I leaned over and went 'Pssst!' and it didn't move." - One summer evening during a violent thunderstorm a mother was tucking her son into bed.� She was about to turn off the light when he asked with a�tremor in his voice, "Mommy, will you sleep with me tonight?"
The mother smiled and gave him a reassuring hug. "I can't dear," she said. "I have to sleep in Daddy's room."
A long silence was broken at last by his shaky little voice: "The big sissy." - It was that time, during the Sunday morning service, for the children's sermon. All the children were invited to come forward.� One little girl was wearing a particularly pretty dress and, as she sat down, the pastor leaned over and said, "That is a very pretty dress.� Is it your Easter Dress?"
The little girl replied, directly into the pastor's clip-on microphone, "Yes and my Mom says it's a bitch to iron." - When I was six months pregnant with my third child, my three year old came into the room when I was just getting ready to get into the shower. She said, "Mommy, you are getting fat!"
I replied, "Yes, honey, remember Mommy has a baby growing in her tummy."
"I know," she replied, but what's growing in your butt?" - A little boy was doing his math homework. He said to himself, "Two plus five, that son of a bitch is seven.� Three plus six, that son of a bitch is nine...."
His mother heard what he was saying and gasped, "What are you doing?"
The little boy answered, "I'm doing my math homework, Mom."
"And this is how your teacher taught you to do it?" the mother asked.
"Yes," he answered. Infuriated, the mother asked the teacher the next day, "What are you teaching my son in math?" The teacher replied, "Right now, we're learning addition."
The mother asked, "And are you teaching them to say two plus two, that son of a bitch is four?"
After the teacher stopped laughing, she answered, "What I taught them was, two plus two, THE SUM OF WHICH, is four." - One day the first grade teacher was reading the story of Chicken Little to her class.� She came to the part of the story where Chicken Little tried to warn the farmer. She read, ".... and so Chicken Little went up to the farmer and said, "The sky is falling, the sky is falling!"
The teacher paused then asked the class, "And what do you think that farmer said?"
One little girl raised her hand and said, "I think he said: 'Holy Shit! A talking chicken!'"
The teacher was unable to teach for the next 10 minutes.
It's depressing when you get more comments on one post in someone else's blog than you've gotten on all the posts in your own.
No, really, why not?
E. J. Dionne, in yesterday's Washington Post, asked a trenchant question: if you believe that God is on your side, and that your God is the one true God, why shouldn't you try your best to kill or convert all non-believers?
After all, as he put it, "if you believe that you are in possession of something like the absolute truth -- and have an obligation to proclaim it and a duty to convert others -- religious toleration ultimately involves tolerating 'error' and allowing error to propagate itself." And who wants to tolerate mistakes?
The context, of course, was the certifiably nuts Lt. Gen. William "Jerry" Boykin (which reminds me, I need to ask him what the "Jerry" in "William" stands for), who has publicly stated that the U.S. is a Christian nation and that Allah is just an idol. Of course, I disagree with him on the first statement, but in the interest of fairness, I should point out that in a sense, I agree with the second; but then I thinkall gods are idols, or more generally silly fantasies.
From that perspective, a letter to the editor, also in yesterday's post, got it even more right than Dionne:
After all, as he put it, "if you believe that you are in possession of something like the absolute truth -- and have an obligation to proclaim it and a duty to convert others -- religious toleration ultimately involves tolerating 'error' and allowing error to propagate itself." And who wants to tolerate mistakes?
The context, of course, was the certifiably nuts Lt. Gen. William "Jerry" Boykin (which reminds me, I need to ask him what the "Jerry" in "William" stands for), who has publicly stated that the U.S. is a Christian nation and that Allah is just an idol. Of course, I disagree with him on the first statement, but in the interest of fairness, I should point out that in a sense, I agree with the second; but then I think
From that perspective, a letter to the editor, also in yesterday's post, got it even more right than Dionne:
Although Lt. Gen. William G. "Jerry" Boykin's remarks have been widely condemned as offensive, the extent of the national security problems created and revealed by those remarks appears not to be widely appreciated. One of those problems is that the deputy undersecretary of defense for intelligence believes he saw a supernatural entity on a surveillance photo.
If he had reported seeing a leprechaun in Belfast rather than a demon over Mogadishu, I suspect that the administration would have taken more immediate and drastic action.
JOE PABIS
Leesburg
I was wondering how she got so prolific.
Good gravy, is nothing sacred?
Now we have bloggers letting their blogs out for rent. Surely, this cannot stand. It's an affront to the American way of life. And don't we all want to be Americans?
Then again, maybe I should take up the offer and troll for links. Nah... I like to earn my stripes. (I have also earned some lovely polka dots in my time.)
Now we have bloggers letting their blogs out for rent. Surely, this cannot stand. It's an affront to the American way of life. And don't we all want to be Americans?
Then again, maybe I should take up the offer and troll for links. Nah... I like to earn my stripes. (I have also earned some lovely polka dots in my time.)
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
The integral of geek.
A recent Singing Potatoes has reminded me just how glad I am that I use Mac OS X. But as if that wasn't enough, I went and turned my old iMac into a GNU/Linux box over the summer.
My primary motivation was so I could port some of my Cocoa programs to GNUstep, but since I haven't actaully released any Cocoa programs yet, that may be a little premature. My second motivation was so I could use LyX to write a novel, but as LyX is also available for OS X, that's a trifle unneeded to say the least.
How much have I used GNU/Linux since I installed it? Almost never. Part of this is 'cause I kept OS X around on that machine as a dual-boot solution, and I've been busy with other projects that require Mac OS X on two machines. But the rest, I suppose, is because I am brainwashed by the Man into believing that I can only work on proprietary systems. Dammit, I should write MY OWN animation software instead of using someone else's non-free software, even if it is perfect for my temperament!
Speaking of novels, if anyone would like to read my effort from last year's NaNoWriMo--you know, the one that nearly forced me into a mental hospital--it's now online in a handy portable text format. Be warned, it's an unfinished novel; 15,000 words of 50,000 required. But some of it's actually pretty good, I think. (Karen: if you read it, feel free to count it as one of the fifty books.)
I haven't decided whether or not I want to go insane this year... only a few days left to weigh the pros and cons.
My primary motivation was so I could port some of my Cocoa programs to GNUstep, but since I haven't actaully released any Cocoa programs yet, that may be a little premature. My second motivation was so I could use LyX to write a novel, but as LyX is also available for OS X, that's a trifle unneeded to say the least.
How much have I used GNU/Linux since I installed it? Almost never. Part of this is 'cause I kept OS X around on that machine as a dual-boot solution, and I've been busy with other projects that require Mac OS X on two machines. But the rest, I suppose, is because I am brainwashed by the Man into believing that I can only work on proprietary systems. Dammit, I should write MY OWN animation software instead of using someone else's non-free software, even if it is perfect for my temperament!
Speaking of novels, if anyone would like to read my effort from last year's NaNoWriMo--you know, the one that nearly forced me into a mental hospital--it's now online in a handy portable text format. Be warned, it's an unfinished novel; 15,000 words of 50,000 required. But some of it's actually pretty good, I think. (Karen: if you read it, feel free to count it as one of the fifty books.)
I haven't decided whether or not I want to go insane this year... only a few days left to weigh the pros and cons.
Darth Vader: Luke! I know what you're getting for Christmas.
Luke Skywalker: How, Father?
Darth Vader: I have felt your presents.
I don't know what I'll get for Christmas, but I know what I want.
Luke Skywalker: How, Father?
Darth Vader: I have felt your presents.
I don't know what I'll get for Christmas, but I know what I want.
Monday, October 27, 2003
Chili gives you wings.
We went to a neighborhood chili party last night. Damned good food. And, by George, we actually know our neighbors enough to go to their chili party, which is a rarity in today's suburban America. Might help that we share one inch thick walls with them, I guess.
The brother-in-law of one of our neighbors is a professional jazz guitarist, based in Minneapolis... in his words, he spent most of his life working for IBM, and now he does music, usually playing in the various musicals that tour on their way in to Broadway. He had brought along a beautiful Ibanez jazz guitar, and our neighbor invited me to bring my axe over so we could play together (which I guess means she doesn't mind my late-night practicing sessions). He had chops, to say the least. We jammed a bit, starting out with a little twelve-bar-blues and "Blue Moon of Kentucky." He was kind enough to let me take the lead (in the sense of calling the tunes, not lead guitar--I'm strictly rhythm, or at least I should be) at first, then I came to my senses, and said to myself, "Squelch, you idiot, you should be learning from someone this good!"
So he taught me the progression to "Tequila" and a whole new kind of twelve bar blues from G, with ninth chords and thirteenth chords and... I realized just how much of a world of guitar-playing there is that I don't have a clue about; that's even without playing solos. (He could play solos. Damn, but he could play solos!)
It was an interesting way to jam with someone, no doubt, while people were munching on hot dogs, corn bread, and chili, crammed into a tiny living room because it was raining outside, and my son trying continuously to grab my pick away or play along.
I'm very much self-taught, musically; there's a certain honor about that, especially if you're a rock-and-roller, but I often, in jam sessions, am acutely aware of how limited my vocabulary can be. Not to say that I can only play I-IV-V--though there's a lot of songs you can sing on I-IV-V--but I certainly don't know jazz chords at all.
After the party was over I exercised the Stay at Home Dad's prerogative and took a night off to see a movie. There's an art house within walking distance from my home and they were showing Winged Migration, which, if you have any interest in avian biology, animation, culture, whatever, you must see. I don't know how they did it, but Canada geese and other species were filmed so close you could see the muscles on their backs working as they flapped their wings. Absolutely incredible, and with some beautiful touches of humor... I'll never forget the ballet music that played as a bird landed, stuck its tail feathers in the air, and strutted in perfect unison with its mate.
Migrating thousands of miles isn't all ballet, of course. A scene where a penguin cub is killed by some sort of gull (as its parents look on, helpless) is heartbreaking. They also had some pre-9/11 shots of New York City, too, which were heartbreaking for entirely different reasons.
All in all, it was insert pithy rejoinder here before publishing
The brother-in-law of one of our neighbors is a professional jazz guitarist, based in Minneapolis... in his words, he spent most of his life working for IBM, and now he does music, usually playing in the various musicals that tour on their way in to Broadway. He had brought along a beautiful Ibanez jazz guitar, and our neighbor invited me to bring my axe over so we could play together (which I guess means she doesn't mind my late-night practicing sessions). He had chops, to say the least. We jammed a bit, starting out with a little twelve-bar-blues and "Blue Moon of Kentucky." He was kind enough to let me take the lead (in the sense of calling the tunes, not lead guitar--I'm strictly rhythm, or at least I should be) at first, then I came to my senses, and said to myself, "Squelch, you idiot, you should be learning from someone this good!"
So he taught me the progression to "Tequila" and a whole new kind of twelve bar blues from G, with ninth chords and thirteenth chords and... I realized just how much of a world of guitar-playing there is that I don't have a clue about; that's even without playing solos. (He could play solos. Damn, but he could play solos!)
It was an interesting way to jam with someone, no doubt, while people were munching on hot dogs, corn bread, and chili, crammed into a tiny living room because it was raining outside, and my son trying continuously to grab my pick away or play along.
I'm very much self-taught, musically; there's a certain honor about that, especially if you're a rock-and-roller, but I often, in jam sessions, am acutely aware of how limited my vocabulary can be. Not to say that I can only play I-IV-V--though there's a lot of songs you can sing on I-IV-V--but I certainly don't know jazz chords at all.
After the party was over I exercised the Stay at Home Dad's prerogative and took a night off to see a movie. There's an art house within walking distance from my home and they were showing Winged Migration, which, if you have any interest in avian biology, animation, culture, whatever, you must see. I don't know how they did it, but Canada geese and other species were filmed so close you could see the muscles on their backs working as they flapped their wings. Absolutely incredible, and with some beautiful touches of humor... I'll never forget the ballet music that played as a bird landed, stuck its tail feathers in the air, and strutted in perfect unison with its mate.
Migrating thousands of miles isn't all ballet, of course. A scene where a penguin cub is killed by some sort of gull (as its parents look on, helpless) is heartbreaking. They also had some pre-9/11 shots of New York City, too, which were heartbreaking for entirely different reasons.
All in all, it was insert pithy rejoinder here before publishing
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