Your 'Reputation'

(8)

Which logic seems to bring us to the question of who would most likely win a defecation suite: me or Walter Gerash. Lettuce hope it won't come to that.

Bringing us pretty much to the end of this dittie. But one thing bothers me: my failure to fully explore the concept of 'reputation.' You have no reputation. Your 'reputation' exists in the eye of the beholder. Your 'reputation' does not belong to you, it belongs to 'the others.'

It seems to follow therefore that all the blood and all the sweat and all the tears that you 'invest' in nurturing your 'reputation' do not really belong to you but to 'the others.' And they will do with it what they will.

We Are Vulnerable

(7)

As Kootch and I watched yesterday's Millionaire on tivo today the subject of 'defamation' came up and Kootch seemed to have no clue. I explained that 'defamation' was an esoteric subject related to 'reputation.' Kootch accepted my definition as usual.

Then I began to think about the relationship of defamation to reputation. It seemed to me that without reputation there could be no defamation. It seemed to me that only those folks who possessed a reputation could suffer defamation: No reputation - no defamation.

I have no reputation. Therefore I am immune to defamation (stomp above me at 2249). Walter Gerash, on the other hand, has a reputation, hence is vulnerable to defamation.

But is this correct? I think not. It seems to me that everyone has a certain 'base reputation.' That is to say that everyone is presumed to be an average citizen until proven otherwise. It is the same democratic rationale that everyone is to be presumed innocent until proven guilty. Therefore every citizen is vulnerable to defamation. Even me. Even Walter Gerash.

What Can I Say?

(6)

Kootch just walked by on her way to the potty and waved (about 2130).

Today is Mozart's 250th birthday. Ho-hum. I love Mozart and his glorious music, but it seems to me that a much more significant birthday has recently passed overlooked: the birthday of Albert Hofmann, inventor of LSD (lysergic acid diethylamide). I am a fan of both Mozart and Hofmann because both these great men have bestowed on poor little me the gift of exquisite beauty. Indeed, I credit Hofmann more than Mozart in this regard. Mozart's gift to me was purely musical whereas Hofmann's gift was existential. Hoffman's gift was 'life-changing' whereas Mozart's gifts were merely life-enhancing. Hofmann's gift of LSD was for me equivalent to Jesus' bloody death on the Roman cross. It was my salvation.

So I would like to celebrate Albert Hofmann's birthday belatedly on Mozart's birthday. My link doesn't seem to work but I think you can find the relevant piece on wired.com.

You Christians out there might be wondering what I mean by 'salvation' in this context. What can I say to that?

Good Question

(5)

Today is Mozart's 250th birthday. So I began tonight's seance with Mozart. But after a couple of hours I'd had enough, and so I switched back to Beethoven. I am currently listening to my favorite, Beethoven's Piano Concerto #1. I never get tired of it, possibly because it is my friday night 'drunk theme song' which I forget (boozewise) until the next friday night. I particularly like the last movement, especially the last half of the last movement.

The good news today is that Democracy worked in 'Palestine.' Hamas kicked Fattah ass. Did I get that right? Bad news is that Bush wanted Fattah to win. But Democracy worked. Hamas is in power. Now what? Now we wonder. Now we wonder whether the old saw that, 'power corrupts...' will prove to be correct in this case, or whether there might be a new saw to the effect that, 'sometimes power reforms.'

Will Hamas suddenly rise to the occasion, inspired by the sweet fragrance of New Power?

Or can we all look forward to the same old shit.

Science versus Religion

(4)

Which brings us to my favorite subject, the interplay of internal versus external, that is to say the interplay of Science and Religion.

I was watching tv last Saturday evening when I stumbled on a C-SPAN program featuring book authors. I was immediately transfixed by Sam Harris answering questions concerning his book, The End of Faith. I recorded (on tivo) the last half of the interview and played it later in order to confirm my first impressions. The results prompted me to buy the book, which has now become my current 'potty book' replacing The Story of Philosophy by Will Durant. I have not read it yet. Nowadays I rarely just sit and read, except on the potty. But I did read the first ten pages on the internet and I was impressed enough to buy the book.

My first impression is that Harris agrees with me concerning the deadly danger posed by the more or less sudden juxtaposition, at the turn of the second millenium, of old and odius religion with new and shiny science. There is the possibility that the volatile relationship will become explosive in the sense of dropping a cubic centimeter of sodium into a bowl of water.

You can choose your candidates in this metaphor, for science and religion, but you cannot deny the explosive result.

Kootch's Recipe for Spaghetti

(3)

Kootch's recipe for spaghetti is very simple: substitute Chineese bean noodles for pasta. I reveal this 'Kootch spaghetti secret' fully aware that it might upset Pastafarians. Believe me here, I have no wish to provoke a schism in the glorious religion devoted to worship of The Flying Spaghetti Monster. I simply offer up the proposition that bean noodles are healthier than pasta noodles. It is a testable hypothesis. Are the Pastafarians willing to submit a tenet of their faith to scientific judgement? The Dolly Lama has assured us that in questions of conflict between Science and Religion science always wins. Are the Pastafarians equally liberal?

The Nineteenth Hour

(2)

My only option seems to be 'legal counterattack' at this point. Naturally I will blog it all, recording encounters on my voice recorder and naming names as I go. Should be extremely boring.

Kootch got her first taste of my blog tonight as I read the relevant parts to her from last friday. She laughed, then hit the sack, wishing me goodnight (Another stomp above me just then, followed by skin gas. No more mister tap guy?).

So far tonight I'm following last week's booze recipe: three Mickeys, followed by six 3.2 NLs, followed by a couple of shots of Canadian Mist, as seems appropriate at the time. But I began last week on an empty stomach again, whereas today I ate 'breakfast' consisting of leftovers from last night's dinner, another Kootch creation. So I enter the nineteenth hour somewhat less toasted than last week.

Which brings us to Kootch's recipe for Spaghetti.

Current Local Events

(1)

I'm pleased to report that last week's liver bash was much less traumatic than the previous. I hit the sack at 0500 Saturday morning and was up at 1630 that afternoon, feeling surprisingly good for 'hangover day.' The rest of the week went fairly smoothly until about (huge stomp above me) Tuesday, when nightime gassing attacks began taking their toll. By this morning I was in bad shape, waking up at 0330, then gassed until 0430 when I finally decided to get up and play C-III. I tried to take a nap about 1030 or so, but gave it up after 30 or 40 minutes of skin gas.

I then took a shower and drove to ACSD HQ, intending to file a complaint against the gassers.

They had moved. So I visited the Arapahoe County Court System in Littleton. Those fine folks told me that the ACSD had a new location at 13101 E. Broncos PKWAY, and that furthermore the D.A. office was right upstairs. Armed with this information I did a bit of shopping, then headed home, where I got a couple of hours of naptime unmolested by Walter Gerash and his
'private contractors.'

I am sorry it has come to this.

A Malevolent Ritual

(10)

I've been following this phenomenon for weeks and I think it is the modern equalivent of the ancient realization that 'confession heals.' Unfortunately, the Catholics of old institutionalized this healing process by perverting it to their religious purposes. Although they retained the anomyous aspect of confession and made it a sin for such confessions to be revealed by the priests, they in effect cancelled the efficacy of such confessions by demanding that the faithful confess everything to any old priest. This gave the priestly cast much more power than it was entitled to, not only because of what it knew but what the penitent thought it might know.

Kootch just passed by me again on her way to the bathroom (0240). She smiled and said something like, 'Time to go to sleep.' I agree.

But I still have a drink left, undrunk. As I think back to my youthful confessions I remember them as painful experiences, not at all liberating. They were ordeals. I confessed my most grievous sins to those insensitive priests who then prescribed a prayer regimen based on the Rosary. After years of this it dawned on me that here was ritual in a most malevolent form.

Nighty night.

Big Blue Marvels

(9)

16 beers - soup

Jill Carroll

Pakistan problems

voice improves with leg

Joe Klein (in his 'distain for bloggers he bows to no one.')

Some time previous to this post I got the familiar 'server not found' error. So I changed the phone line to the alternate line and reconnected. My initial attempts to rejoin Blogger resulted in the familiar failure so I went to msnbc.comm and discovered postsecret.com here: http://http://www.postsecret.blogspot.com/ I was very moved by the msnbc piece, and I plan to revisit that website and post a secret next friday night. Find it if you can.

It's close to sign-off time for me so I will present you lucky devils out there one of my shallow little secrets. Here it is:

I love to walk around our apartment as I feel my panties slipping down. The 'payoff' comes when my panties have slipped all the way down and are hanging out of my shorts on both sides. I should mention here that the panties in question are HUGE size 14 cotton underpants. They are sooooo huge that when I suck my belly in a little bit they begin to slip down as I walk. I call this particular pair of panties, 'the big blue marvels' even though they are really aqua-colored.

Unaddressed Subjects For Tonight

(8)

A few of them I have already covered, so I will just comment on the rest of them briefly.

'Hostage' refers of course to Jill Carrol. If the idiots who abducted her do not release her they will be hunted down sooner rather than later and given a bloody sendoff toward the Muslim Paradise.

'Clooney vs Abramoff' refers to George Clooney's recent quip at the Golden Globe awards. Clooney pointed out in passing after he had thanked Jack Abramoff for unspecified favors, that it it seemed counterproductive for a parent to name his child, 'Jack' in view of a family name ending in the letters, '...off.' Implications were that the parents were clueless about masturbation - or had no idea what 'jacking off' really meant.

2.9 but no BB - God?

Allergy way down - no more orgasms - except today

9 years to Pluto

etrade sucks

Hoffman birthday? Mozart's birthday next week

Tonight's List

(7)

My voice is also much improved recently due no doubt to the recent (past several weeks) 'moritorium' on gasses which affect the respiratory system in favor of gasses which affect the nervous system.

Well, it's 2338 local time and this session is obviously drawing to a close. But before I sign off I want to at least list the subjects for tonight and comment on them briefly:

Hostage
Clooney v Abramoff (skin gas here)
2.9 but no BB - God?
allergy way down - no more orgasms - except today
9 years to Pluto
etrade sucks
Hoffman birthday? - Mozart's birthday next week
16 beers - soup
Pakistan problems
voice improves with leg
Joe Klein (bows to nobody in his distaste for bloggers)

Those are tonight's subjects in order as I wrote them. I've covered a few already.

Health Status

(6)

Whew. With that out of the way maybe I can get down to the business of Friday Night Blogging. BUT before I leave the subject entirely I want to a reassure all concerned that next week I will be presenting one or more of Kootch's more tasty and/or healthful recipes. Stay tuned.

Speaking of health, my leg is much improved. The swelling has been reduced considerably and I feel almost normal in all respects. My INR value is 2.9 as of today, so the general trajectory is slightly down but not alarmingly so. My tentative conclusion, boozewise, is that the current formula allows for continued friday night - oops, standby while I take my evening medication - I'm four hours late - liver bashes.

Bibleboogerwise, I've had only one (boom) pastable booger all week. This is waaay down from the peak of several weeks ago when I was injecting Lovenox into the fat of my belly just on either side (tap) of the navel. My presumption is that this indicates a healthy state of blood 'thinness' which is desirable in the long term. The alternative explanation - that god was so outraged by the recent flurry of boogers that he strengthened all the little nasal blood vessels - is dubious at best.

2210 and Kootch just walked by on the way to the bathroom and waved. Then she wished me goodnight on her way back to her bedroom (being gassed here, RLG).

The Recipe for Vile Green Soup

(5)

So without further ado I herewith present Kootch's recipe for Vile Green Soup:

1 frozen turkey carcass left over from Thanksgiving
1 can chopped tomatoes (being gassed here with skin gas)
1 package frozen spinach
1 can red beans
2 carrots, chopped
1 onion, chopped
1 stalk of celery, chopped
1 tsp chilli powder
a bit of salt and pepper

Defrost the turkey carcass in boiling water (in a pressure cooker). Add all ingredients, then cook at pressure for 30 minutes. Serve hot.

What you get is a vile-looking soup with absolutely no redeeming qualities other than possible hydrative-nutrient value. Try it. You'll hate it.

Cool Kootch

(4)

Now to the point: the recipe for 'Kootch's Vile Green Soup.' But before I continue I should mention that I gently, smilingly, complained to Kootch about her soup the next day - saying that I had thrown it up. As a result she froze the rest of it, defrosting and eating it later, as if to demonstrate to me that it was ok. Kootch is well acquainted with my paranoia, I guess, but paranoia had nothing to do with my evaluation of Kootch's Vile Green Soup.

In fact, tonight before beginning this blog I asked Kootch for her recipe for Vile Green Soup. She gave me the recipe, then wondered why I was writing it down since I hadn't liked it. I explained that I intended to blog her Vile Green Soup. Kootch was mystified, although I had previously attempted to explain blogging to her. So I told her that 'blogging is sort of like writing a diary except that you do it on the internet and anybody can read it and I am going to blog your recipe for Vile Green Soup.' I further explained that (damn this is fun) 'blogging is what I do when I get drunk on Friday night. I'm gonna make you famous.'

Kootch replied that my intentions were 'unkind,' then she hit the sack, apparently unperturbed by approching notoriaty.

Beer? Soup?

(3)

I went into the bathroom and fished the lower denture out, then emptied the contents of the pee pot in the toilet. I rinsed the dentures and the pot out, then went back to bed spending most of the rest of the night in bed. I thought, 'Things will be much improved in the morning.' I remember thinking that some of my Warfarin might have been puked up, so I made the mental note to disregard the instruction to take only one pill on Sunday night, and took the usual one and a half pills instead.

Things were indeed much improved on Sunday morning. But about an hour after drinking my morning Diet Pepsi I began to feel queasy again while watching tv. I got to the bathroom just in time to puke it all up in the sink. I felt slightly hungover for the rest of the day although my digestive system improved considerably. By Monday morning I was back to normal.

Which brings us to the inevitable question: Was it the beer or the soup (tap - sucked in like a fish!)? Obviously it was the beer. But this does not by any means excuse the soup. Let me explain. Kootch is a magnificient cook. I have enjoyed her unique Japanese-Italian-Mexican-American cooking for almost half a century. I have absolute faith in everything Kootch cooks. I credit Kootch's cooking for my good health in my old age. Only this faith could have allowed me on that queasy night to consume such a vile green soup (being gassed by skin gas at 2027).

Vile Soup

(2)

The soup looked - there is no better word to describe it - vile. It had a dark menacing green color to it but it smelled ok. I ladeled some of it into a bowl and heated it up in the microwave, then I took it with me to the couch and began spooning it down. It was (1907 and Kootch just walked past the bedroom door and wished me goodnight) fair, definitely not outstanding, soup. It looked even viler in the stark while bowl. I finished the soup and anticipated the usual bodily response of decreased queasiness as I continud to watch tv.

Instead the queasiness increased. I decided to head for bed again. As I entered the bedroom I got the definite signal that I was about to throw up. I thought, 'I can beat this if I can only lay down.' The first contraction came just as I sat down on the bed, filling my mouth with Kootch's vile soup. I sat there for several seconds debating what to do with it. Should I swallow it again and lay down as if nothing had happened? Should I go to the bathroom and puke in the potty? The next contraction ended all speculation forcing me to puke immediately in the pee pot next to the bed. I sat there dutifully following Nature's demand through about five contractions. When the 'all clear' sounded I was sitting there with a pot half full of a mixture of puke and pee. Furthermore my lower denture was in there somewhere (being skin-gassed here).

Don't Try This at Home

(1)

Damn that was fun.

By way of background I should mention that last friday night was a sixteen beerer. I had four beers left over from the previous friday, so when I had finished my usual allotment of twelve beers it seemed natural to just drink the remaining four, which I did. I remember that at the time (faint thump - mister doggie-doo is at it again) I was impressed by how smoothly all those beers went down and that this must be some sort of a record. Furthermore all that (3.2) beer was consumed on an empty stomach, which probably fascilitated timely processing. No whiskey was consumed. I anticipated a more or less normal hangover. I was so wrong.

Next day I stayed in bed 'til around 1800 or so. Then I got up in time to wish Kootch a good night before settling down in the LR to watch tv and play some unwatched tivo. Kootch advised me that she had made some soup for supper, then she hit the sack.

I felt a bit queasy. I decided to forego my usual Diet Pepsi. I figured that if I could just get some food into my stomach the queasy feeling would go away. So I investigated Kootch's soup, which was sitting on the stove in a large pot.

Nighty-night

(10)

Your guess is as good as mine. Nighty-night.

The Acid Solution

(9)

Your guess is as good as mine.

This brings us to about twenty minutes past midnight. As I think back on the preceeding series of posts I wonder where it all began to go downhill, and I seem to remember that modern science was the thematic solution: Modern Science provided what a plodding evolutionary path could not: The Acid Solution.

True, Modern Science was itself the product of evolution. But Acid was the product of Modern Science. Therefore Acid was the ultimate product of Evolution. That is to say that Acid is the ultimate solution provided by evolution.

Solution to what?

I Think Not

(8)

Multiplying cultural change rates against geographical- cultural differences in the modern world seems to bring us to a precipice: The World is about to end.

This 'precipice' has been around for thousands of years as recorded in the VOOT, indicating that the 'cultural gradient' previously described was well known to the ancients who worried much the same way about much the same observations of rampant change versus obvious ossification. But the ancients were much less justified in their speculations given the relative change rate.

So it would seem. But were they, really? I think not.

What do I mean by that?

Cultural Seams

(7)

The point of this dittie is that current theory explains well known human behavior over a wide age range. We presume that Kabir was 'programmed' by his early life circumstances to question 'authority' in some fundamental way, thus fitting into the current model. Kabir was obviously a crass heretic right from the beginning.

This brings us to wonder about the state of modern culture wherein literally millions of children are brought up in the manner suggested by modern scientific knowlege.

Is that good?

Pat Robertson would not think so. Pat would have your children living simultaneously in the modern world and in the ancient world of the Very Old and Odius Testament. Pat would have your children creating 'compartments' in their neural structures which would accomodate both the old and the new. Your children can do that. You have done that. It is a natural process which allows for the seamless continuity of culture.

Problem is that the current rate of change in cultural knowlege presents a challenge to those folks who represent the past, and who are inevitably the older segment of the culture. Modern scientific progress has begun to tax the ancient evolutionary mechanisms which allow for seamless cultural progress. The seams are showing now, in this modern age, and the seams stand out most as differences in age-groups. We are divided nowadays almost as much by age as by geography.

Dying in Magahar

(6)

'But when he was sick and old and just on the verge of death, Kabir asked his disciples to move him from Varanasi and take him to Magahar. Magahar is a poor village, a very small village on the other side of Varanasi. I don't know how it came about, but the story is that if you die in Magahar the road directly goes to hell. Perhaps just parallel to Varanasi you have to manage a road to hell too. And Magahar is just on the other side of the Ganges; on this side is Varanasi. Kabir said, 'I want to go to Magahar.'

'His disciples said, 'Are you mad? You must be.' He said, 'I have always been mad; but I cannot die in Varanasi, because if I die in Varanasi and reach to heaven then what credit is it to me? The whole credit goes to Varanasi. I am going to die in Magahar and I am going to see how they can take me to hell. I am going to die in Magahar and I am going to heaven; otherwise I am going to create hell there.'

'He insisted on moving; he forced his disciples and finally they had to take him on a boat to Magahar on the other side. He died there - the only man who came to die in Magahar in the whole of history.'

They Come to Die in Varanasi

(5)

'The roads are so small and the houses so ancient. Their doors are so small that in old times doors were made small and steps were made big so thieves could not escape easily. If somebody is running away the small door and the big steps will stop him. You cannot run; you have to be very careful. The windows are small too - you cannot get out of them or inside through them.

'Kabir lived his whole life in Varanasi. Hindus believe that if you die in Varanasi you will be born in heaven - just a simple panacea. All religions have to find some simple thing, because there are aesthetic practices but they will be followed only by a few idiots; anybody who has a little intelligence is not going to follow them. To those unintelligent people you have to give some recipe, very simple. So if you just die in Varanasi that's enough, because from Varanasi you cannot go anywhere else; the route goes directly to heaven.

'So people come to die in Varanasi. In Varanasi you will find old people, old women, widows, almost on the verge of death. You will not find that kind of crowd anywhere else in the world. They have all come to die: they are certain now that there is not much time left. So they come to die in Varanasi.'

About Kabir

(4)

Here is the background: Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, the discredited Indian 'guru' gave a 'sermon' to his 'disciples' which later found its way into a book which in turn found its way into my (being gassed here - R lung gas) little library. I read the book. One of the passages which impressed me was concerned with the phenomenon at hand: the tendency of old folks to relate to their impending death in a stereotypic way. Here is the quote. This will take a while:

'Kabir lived his whole life in Varanasi. Now, Varanasi, for Hindus, is the most sacred place on the whole earth, and it certainly is the oldest city in the world. You cannot find a single indian scripture, howsoever old it is, where Varanasi is not mentioned. It has always been there it seems. And if you go to Varanasi you can feel its ancientness; it is almost an eternal city.

'Its roads are so small that cars cannot move, buses are out of the question; not even an auto-rickshaw can be used. They are so small that only a man-pulled rickshaw can pass through those streets. And when two man-pulled rickshaws are passing each other it is almost a miracle to see that they have not got stuck to each other.'

(continued next section)

The End of Life

(3)

It's good to know that a major source of laughs will not be suddenly snuffed out! Humor is theraputic.

This model of brain development explains a lot more than Pat Robertson, of course. For one thing it explains me. And Kootch. Furthermore it explains why there are few 'converts' among the elderly, and many 'converts' among the twenty-thirty-somethings, and why 'old people' are said to be 'fixed in their ways.' We are! But we're not so fixed that we can't achieve a certain universal state of relative perfection called 'wisdom.' This verity is succintly expressed in the saying that, 'There is no fool like an old fool:' Some of us miss.

For example, there is the enduring caricature of the old woman who spends the last stages of her life praying. She attends church every morning not just Sunday morning. My mother was one of those old women. She was expressing the most enduring aspect of her conditioning in the face of impending death. She wasn't alone in this predelection, which seems to be universal. For example there is a quotation from BSR which I will quote in the next entry, illustrating how we ultimately face the end of life:

Breaking Connections

(2)

I bring that last question up because of an interesting piece on PBS last night titled, The Secret Life of the Brain, which claims that maturation is more of a pruning process than a growing process, brainwise. That is to say that infants are born with their brains extremely 'overwired' and that the major initial circuit changes to the brain are in the form of massive disconnections. This is anti-intuitive in the sense that one would suppose that the process of maturation was instead one of 'making connections.'

But the maturation process seems to be quite the opposite: that of disconnecting unneeded wiring, enabling the brain to become aculturated (formed) over time. The older we become, the less our neurons interconnect, up to a point.

But beyond a certain point the maturation process reverses course, concentrating on connection not disconnection. So I wonder about Pat Robertson. Where is he in this process? It seems reasonable to suppose that Pat is in the latter stages of 'personal brain evolution' at his advanced age. Which is to say that Pat's 'connection rate' is not enough at his age to fundamentally change his thinking processes.

This brings me to conclude that Pat's sudden acquisition of Christian Introspection is more apparent than real and that we will see the same old Pat in future broadcasts. Not to worry.

God Works in Mysterious Ways

(1)

Kootch and I just finished watching yesterday's 'Millionaire' on tivo during the course of which we both learned that 2 is a prime number. Oops. We both would have got the correct answer anyway, however, because we both misread the question, which was: 'How many prime numbers are contained in the sequence 2-10?' (we misread it as 1-10). Millionaire is fun for us and even funner on fridays because I get to drink beer.

My favorite televangelist Pat Robertson was back in the news this week due to his unfortunate suggestion of last week regarding Sharon's stroke. Pat at first tried to deny the undeniable but as the week rolled on he began to see the error of his ways, and today his 700 Club tv show carried his apology which was released to the media yesterday. The fact that the Israeli Government suddenly cut him out of a multi-million dollar deal for a 'Christian Heritage' tourist center in Israel probably had something to do with Pat's sudden acquisition of 'Christian Introspection.'

God works in mysterious ways. One wonders however, how permanent such an acquisition can be at his age.

My Dangerous Idea: Male Penis Envy

(10)

As I think about the barbaric practice of religious circumcision just now I am reminded that the influence of women in ancient cultures declined at about the same time that the practice of religious circumcision arose. The Goddess had no love for male sexual mutilation. Circumcision became popular only after the male gods gained dominance. Prove me wrong if you can. Ritual religious circumcision is a male phenomenon related to Penis Envy.

I've titled this post, 'Male Penis Envy' in contradiction of Freud who suggested that 'penis envy' was a female thing. Freud was wrong. Penis Envy is a male phenomenon very much related to circumcision status, not 'size.'

This is my dangerous idea.

The Jewish Mother

(9)

After I signed off just now I began to investigate the web site, www.edge.org. There I found an irresistable (to me) article titled, 'Why it can be a very smart move to start life with a Jewish momma.' What an opportunity!

So I hereby take issue with the author of that article (a Jewish female). I claim that it might be very smart to start life with a Jewish mother if you are female - but maybe not. I claim that, other things being equal, it is dumb - nay, very dumb - to start life with a Jewish mother if you are male.

The reason is this: Your Jewish father will insist on circumcising you on the eighth day. Your Jewish mother will go along, weeping for you theatrically, but she will go along. She will then spend the rest of her life 'making it up to you.' If you are female there is nothing for her to 'make up.' Hence the famous reputation of 'Jewish Mothers.'

But no mother can make up for the resulting lack of penile sensation which you will carry with you for a lifetime.

Nighty-night Again

(8)

Which brings us to the point of recognizing that any further exposition on my part will only serve to embarrass my progeny. Time to wish you all a nighty-night.

Nutty Ideas

(7)

Which brings us to the definition of 'nutty ideas.' Hmm. Nutty ideas grow like grass out of everyday existence, most never rising above 'the level of noticability.' Only when some recognized societal personage (like Pat Robertson) espouses such an idea does a nutty idea rise into the realm of public scrutiny.

The definition of a nutty idea is that it must be irrelevant, unimportant, soothing, and ludicrous. The keyword here is 'soothing.' Nutty ideas sooth their hosts. Hence they survive, like friendly parasites avoiding irritation. Damn this is fun.

Dangerous Ideas

(6)

Do you have any dangerous ideas? And how would you know whether they were 'dangerous' and not just nutty? That is the theme of a web site which appealed to me as I did a little bit of surfing before beginning this Friday night seance. I love the concept of 'dangerous idea' and this site appealed to me immediately. So what are the attributes of a 'dangerous idea?'

The idea in question must be culturally relevant, important, and irritating. While the new idea needs a certain plausibility (at least in 'academic circles') it need not be understandable to the masses. What matters is that the new idea generate intense interest in the appropriate sector of the culture because of its intrinsic merit.

For example, Darwin's Dangerous Idea remains 'dangerous' two hundred years after he first introduced it. Copernicus had a similarly dangerous idea. These are extreme examples of course, of 'dangerous ideas.' And in fact it seems from the definition that an idea, in order to be dangerous, must address something fundamental to the continuation of the said culture. The dangerous new idea must threaten the status quo in some way.

It seems to me that there are many dangerous ideas floating around out there. Dangerous ideas make life interesting... for some of us. But for others of us these dangerous ideas make life inherently insecure. Interestingly, many of the folks who are put off by 'dangerous ideas' are existentially warmed up by 'nutty ideas.'

The Civilization of God

(5)

Let us hope.

(I should mention that the previous entry was powered by whiskey, not by 3.2 beer. It seemed to me that the mood here was way too serious and needed to be upgraded.)

Concerning the general subject of religion (which we are now on) my notes (after Pat Robertson) read, 'prove Jesus?' Frankly I was mystified. PR would never touch such a subject. Then I remembered that some dude in Italy had brought a suit against The Church which claimed that the existence of an historical Jesus had not been proved and that The Church was therefore a scam, presumably punishable under the law. Did I get that right?

I laughed, of course, at the very idea. Jesus' actual historical existence is irrelevant and can never be proved or disproved in a court of law. No religion can be 'proved or disproved.' It is the nature of religion to be unprovable. 'Provability' belongs to Science alone.

But the very idea of Jesus seems to fit in with the VOOT: God, bloodthirsty back in the old days before he became somewhat civilized, demanded payment in blood from those humans who had offended Him. Lamb's blood would work, so long as you left the lamb in question for the priests in the Temple to cook. In fact, lamb was the priestly preference. God loved sacrifice. So did the priests.

This theme led logically to Jesus' cruci-fiction as the ultimate sacrifice which served to pardon believers who had offended God. Jesus became known as 'The Lamb of God,' 'The Savior,' The Messiah.' Through Jesus' bloody death God became civilized (more or less).

A Learning God?

(4)

Contrary to what may be mister dog shit's presumption I am not celebrating Sharon's misfortune. Not at all. I wish him the best. Not so apparently with Pat Robertson, who sees the unfortunate turn of events against Sharon in something of a celestio-malevolent light: God struck Sharon down because of Sharon's policies regarding the Palestinians. Robertson goes on to quote from the Book of Joel, a highly forgettable fable in the Very Old and Odious Testament. I had never heard of Joel, but when I looked it up sure enough there it was. I left the book open, ready for the next bibleworthy booger, and smeared it in when it arrived. (By the way, a 'bibleworthy booger' is one that contains blood. Regular snot won't work.)

I had recorded that particular version of The 700 Club knowing that Pat would have some comment on Sharon's misfortune, and sure enough! Pat even made the national news again with his suggestion that Sharon's cerebral hemorage was a direct result of God's wrath.

Is Pat correct here? Is God limited to the role of 'commentator?' Can God not direct human events on a macro scale? Is He limited to dubious dabbling in human affairs? Pat would have you think so. A little nudge here, a little push there - these are the extent of God's powers in human affairs? God apparently restrains Himself nowadays. It isn't like the good old days when God would drown your dumb asses or burn your dumb asses... God has learned, over the millenia, how to behave. Is that what we are supposed to believe? Do we worship a Learning God?

More Good News - Bad News

(3)

While I'm still on this general subject I'd like to mention something amazing: the orgasmic feeling in parts of my right leg (and to a lesser extent in other body parts) which arises when I direct very hot water (in the shower) to an allergenic itchy spot. The hot water is not felt as 'hot' but instead is felt as the very strange feeling of simultaneous itching and scratching which together produce a kind of continuous orgasm. Skin area near the itchy area registers the sensation as 'uncomfortably hot' but there is no sensation of 'hot' in the itchy area. The orgasmic sensation lasts for about five seconds (depending on water temp) and then disappears. I then move up or down about an inch for another five second orgasm. I can maintain a continuous orgasm if I move my leg slowly in the hot water stream. I eventually run out of itchy area, but when I start over at the beginning the orgasmic feeling is greately diminished. This is probably a good thing, otherwise I would spend most of the day in the shower.

Skin Gas

(2)

In what might be a related development I was gassed quite extensively the night before last with 'skin gas.' Skin Gas is the name I give to the unknown gas which causes my skin to feel 'prickly,' and is the nightime 'gas of choice.' Skin Gas also seems to amplify some kinds of itching. Skin Gas is unmistakable, especially at high concentrations, and prevents sleep. The previous 'record' of skin gassing was three continuous hours, but on this occasion that value was doubled (0330-0930) and I got no sleep at all that night. My conjecture is that this auspicious occasion was related to Sharon's (tap) cerebral hemorage in some bizarre way, the 'connection' being that we are (were) both on blood thinners. My subjective impression is that rage was the driving motivation here, not a play for Judeo-Israeli sympathy: I should have been the one selected by God to have the brain hemorage, not Sharon. But you never know... with crazies like Gerash...

I have 'timed' skin gas using the afformentioned warning (or celebratory) thumps. Skin Gas takes about one minute to 'work' assuming it is drawn into the bedroom immediately.

I'm Good to Go

(1)

Yesterday's blood test (3) showed me back in the 'good' range, so I imbibe tonight with much less guilt. Next test is in two weeks. Although my leg feels much better it is still quite bloated and redish compared with the other leg. Also, it is much more itchy, allergywise. I presume that the improvement in leg function is mostly due to the creation of alternative blood flow in the form of new blood vessels and not due to a reduction of the clot, which must be quite extensive. I'll begin to think that the clot itself is reduced when the swelling begins to go down.

I noticed a dramatic increase in my allergy symptoms two days ago and am wondering if this could be connected with the furnace configuration. I recently restored the furnace to its normal air intake configuration and blocked the 'alternate air' intake which I had been using. I had modified (thump - mister dogshit upstairs is at it again) the air source a couple of years ago because I thought the allergen source was coming from below, not above. The change seemed to reduce the allergy symptoms, but also decreased furnace efficiency, as the alternate air intake was smaller. I changed back because nobody seems to be living downstairs. But now I wonder.