I recently read Nuggets of Knowledge by George W. Stimpson, first published in 1928. It is a compendium of hundreds of commonly asked questions and well researched brief answers. I got this cloth-bound hardback — a “Pathfinder Edition” — at a church sale, and it came with a vintage silk Bible-quote bookmark. Yes, some small fraction of the questions are Biblical.

Two particular types of questions in this book fascinate me most. First, the questions to which we now have better answers, because of the subsequent 80 years of thorough research and documentation. Back in 1928, there was only one galaxy (the milky way), continents were static in relation to each other, germ theory was beginning to catch on in the popular consciousness, and that British beer company had not yet compiled an authoritative list of World Records.

Secondly, there are the numerous questions that were obviously couched in terms that everybody knew, but I’d never heard of. For example: “What was the occasion of the remark made by the governor of North Carolina to the governor of South Carolina?” From reading the answer about interstate negotiations about slavery before the onset of the war between the states, the remark alluded to was, “It’s a long time between drinks.” Okay. Now remember that the 18^th amendment to our constitution was in force at the time this was written. I infer that one might have commonly alluded to the remark by said Governor to imply that one hadn’t been to the bootlegger in a while.

Also, many questions were about details of The World War. You know, the last war ever, the War to End All Wars. It ended less than 10 years before. The Civil War was as current and familiar as WWII is now, radio was becoming popular, most neighborhoods had a phone, and movie houses were introducing air conditioning. Talkies were still in the future.

Reading this book feels like time travel.

(more…)

Batteries (at least some batteries) are made out of other batteries.

[Before going any further, beware - this is a spoof video I fell for. Thanks to the commentors below.]

6 Volt Battery Hack! You’ll Be Amazed! - video powered by Metacafe

This Saturday, I visited the Atheist Coming Out Party in Westerville, Ohio. The event had numerous hosts and sponsors- American Atheists, Students for Free Thought, Secular Student Alliance, and many, many regional skeptical and atheistic groups. As such, the event drew in atheists, secular humanists, skeptics, and other assorted heathens from all around Ohio, as well as neighboring states.

Where, do you ask, does a group of such cursed godless people go to gather? A lovely event barn in a gorgeous park:

And what do atheists do at such a party? Well, they begin with a little bit of potluck dinner and socializing:

I sat at a table with atheists from Tennessee, Kentucky, and northern Ohio. Visitors had traveled for hours and hours on end for this lovely event. Our region, after all, does not generate many skeptical and atheist get-togethers. New England has Boston Skeptics in the Pub, Las Vegas has The Amaz!ing Meeting, but the midwest usually has a dearth of heatheny gatherings.

After a filling lunch of the unwashed souls of the damned (and carrot cake), we moved upstairs for a series of talks. First up was Hemant Mehta, Chicago-area atheist who wrote I Sold My Soul on Ebay, and who writes at the Friendly Atheist blog.

Hemant had one very important take home point in his talk: atheists need to capture the positive aspects of church culture. We need to provide a sense of community for one another. We need to advertise our messages as effectively as Christians do. And, especially, we need to use our organizations to do a boatload of charity work, like the Christians do.

Following Hemant came Edwin Kagin of American Atheists. He delighted the audience with a very impromptu series of atheist jokes and assorted ramblings.  Edwin does most of the legal heavy lifting for American Atheists, and has done so for quite some time. His take-home point was…well, I’m not exactly sure, but he definitely stressed the idea that atheists must come out of the closet, lest they remain a forever marginalized group.

Speaking of atheist marginalization, the event even had protesters! Unfortunately, my photo did not come out very well:

The protesters’ signs said things like “God Loves You”. They behaved in a very respectful and kind manner. We certainly returned the favor: some atheists brought the small group food and water, and I made sure to ask permission before snapping a quick shot of the gang.

Hopefully the group learned that atheists look normal, behave decently, and even have families themselves. Look at this beautiful family that attended the event:

Wow! This presumably atheist family has already taught its young daughters to play chess.

I had to leave the event not long after Hemant and Edwin’s speeches. I missed the “de-baptism” held later; formerly baptized theists were passed over with a large hair dryer, then given a certificate of their newly de-baptized state. I missed out on the certificate, but I did get a free shirt from American Atheists. It espouses the general, non-confrontational message of the event:

The chamber, flickering by massed candle light, is stuffy and just a bit noisy from all the shfting fabric and heavy breathing, muttered comments and borborigmi. The couple in the opulent bed seem annoyed, but they’re forcing themselves to play along and be jolly. He manages—he’s been through this before, of course—but she is having difficulty with the idea of being unclothed before an audience.

“We must do this quickly and have done,” says he, “then they will leave us to our bliss.”

She eyes him suspiciously, then nods curtly, hikes up what little she has around her hips, scoots down, and spreads her legs.

Ponderously, he rolls atop her.

A minister, a member of Parliament, two servants, and a Duke move closer to observe.

“A little to your left, Highness,” says the Duke.

Everything slides home. The woman winces visibly (it doesn’t really hurt, but there is the expectation of virgin ritual to fulfill).

“It is done,” the minister says, whereupon the Master of the Chamber begins shooing everyone out of the room to leave the newlyweds alone.

Macabre? Loosely, we’ve just witnessed the wedding night of Henry the VIII and…well, one of the six. It was a State Affair, the First Time, and required witnesses. The realm must be assured that the king’s thing shot home into the queen’s vagina. All is well, the security of the state is assured.

This obsession with where penises go—or whether they go somewhere at all—has, you may rightly agree, no place in a democracy where the provenance of royal spoor has no bearing on state matters (unless one is unfortunate enough to stain a dress with it). In Henry’s day, however, the royals had far less privacy in the matter than the commoners. You would think we’d have learned by now that, really, where what part fits when and with whom is totally irrelevant to anything, well, National…

Not so. California has legalized Gay Marriage and some of its citizens are Up In Arms about it. So much so that they are trying to enact an amendment to ban it. Of course, they’re a bit embarrassed about it as they are now suing to remove the current wording from their Proposition 8, which is one of the more truthful and straightforward such ballots I’ve seen. It states currently that by voting for Proposition 8, the right to marry and be married will be removed from homosexuals—who currently enjoy that right in California. The proponents of Prop 8 call the wording “inflammatory” and want it changed. The problem is, that is exactly what Prop 8 will do.

So why the fuss? Well, they’re afraid such wording will cause people to reject it. It’s too rough, you see.

Personally, though, I think they are also just a bit embarrassed, because underlying this desire to strip gays of the right to marry is this same old pesky problem of where all those penises are going. We can’t crowd into the bedrooms of all these folks—especially since it looks like domestic surveillance might be curtailed again under the next president and Alberto Gonzales is no longer in the Justice Department to make sure our search for terrorists can also be used eventually to root out, you know, perverts—so the next best thing is to try to make sure what Those People are doing is in no way protected by law.

A stretch? Well, take a look at this from Osron Scott Card. I pick on this because Card is an excellent fiction writer who seems to have the ability to empathize (in his fiction) with those he does not agree with. In fact, a read of his novel Songmaster would lead one to expect a profound level of tolerance for alternative perspectives. And yet, compartmentally, he seems incapable of extending such tolerance to, well, reality.

But it is his claim that such legalization of gay marriage is a threat to democracy that I think is interesting. This is another in the long conservative argument over Legislation from the Bench—which they hate when liberals do it, but then they do it themselves all the time in the guise of Strict Constructionism. So this would be great for them—enact a constitutional amendment which would bypass legislative bodies and allow a conservative court to strike down majority mandates based on constitutional law that can be construed as Founding Intent.

It is such a tortuous road, though, for such a silly prejudice. Do people really concern themselves with what other people do with their parts? Does it matter where someone else’s penis goes as long as such use conforms to laws that apply to everyone (statutory rape, forcible rape, etc)?

Maybe it is does. I know it concerns me where mine goes. But I always thought that was a strictly private matter. Maybe I’m wrong.

Tonight I watched “It’s Bad For Ya,” George Carlin’s final nationally televised performance. The entire show is available on YouTube (Below is Part I of VII). The show was broadcast live on March 1, 2008, only a few months prior to Carlin’s death (due to a heart attack, on June 22, 2008).

[I'm having some trouble with this YouTube link.  If the above viewer doesn't work, click here].

Carlin opened the show by announcing that he was 70 years old. In Parts I and II, he speaks bluntly about society’s failure to deal frankly with death. It’s impossible to watch this performance without feeling the irony. At one point, he states:

So don’t be afraid to get old. It’s a great time of life. You get to take advantage of people and you’re not responsible for anything! You can even shit in your pants!

He dissects many other topics, including law, religion, children, education and national pride. He shows no patience for the way our culture handles any of these issues. His performance gets especially dark when he asserts that there is essentially no hope for us, ecologically speaking—he predicts that in 40 or 50 more years, the entire planet will be a massive ball of pollution. At many points in the performance, it’s not easy to tell whether Carlin retains any personal optimism. Is his performance intentionally injected with hyperbole or is this really and truly what Carlin thinks. I suspected the latter, but I don’t really know.

I heard many gems during the performance (meaning that I heard many things with which I agree wholeheartedly). Here’s my favorite, this one delivered during the topic of society’s often-stated goal that “we should teach our children to read.”

It’s not important to get children to read. It’s much more important to teach children to question what they read. They should be taught to question everything. Everything they read and everything they hear. They should be taught to question authority . . .

Amen.

My family shared a vacation house with several other families this year.  One afternoon, one of my wife’s friends (a philosophy professor in his 40’s) was relaxing on the porch when I looked down and noticed his unusual right foot:

I found myself blurting out, “So tell me about your foot.”

He explained that his condition is known as “syndactylism, ” (which is Greek for together + finger).  It means “having two or more fingers or toes joined together.”  He looked me straight in the eye and announced, “I am a syndactylist.”

I pulled out my camera to grab a photo, while my embarrassed wife sternly pleaded, “Erich!  No!”   But how would I possibly pass up a scoop like this? The syndactylist explained that his big toe and second toe were wrapped in one skin ever since birth.   He explained that he has no functional deficit from this condition other than his inability to wear flip-flops.  Here’s a bit more on the condition.

To make the story a bit better, he explained that he was actually born with six toes (the sixth toe was between the current second and third toes).  The doctors “took care of that right away.”   He indicated that he is coping quite well in the non-syndactylist world in which he has found himself.  He also explained that each of us is a syndactylist, at least for awhile, while we are in the womb.   For most of us, though, the skin webbing surrounding our fingers and toes dissolves away.

As several of us were mulling around, actually starting to marvel the syndactylist’s special foot, a little girl, one of the daughters of another family walked through the porch, barefoot, and we noticed the she, too, was a syndactylist.

Based on my survey of the two syndactylists that I’ve now met, I would warn you that they all seem normal and they like ice cream, and that they could turn up anywhere, when you least expect it.

This morning I went to see the third installment of the Shrek movies. It was a 10 a.m. dollar show at a dying mall. As the escalator lifted me from the bowels of parking, my ears were assaulted by all manner of high pitched vocalizations. Apparently, every summer day care facility in the area decided that a morning movie was a good idea.

Armed with warm popcorn and a heavy flannel shirt, I picked the one theater of the three showing this film at this time that seemed less crowded and to have a higher ratio of authority figures to little darlings. It is July, so the warm shirt is a necessity in these venues.

This movie is better than the first sequel. Of course, the graphics and controls have evolved. But the story and characters seemed less forced. We are not talking high art, after all. There were plenty of wild takes, pratfalls, and flatulation jokes to keep the young-uns amused. There were also enough cultural references to both our modern world and to the various fairy tale universes to keep the adult intellect from nodding off.

But I was inspired to write this because of the audience. I hadn’t been to a kids movie with mostly kids since I was one of them. There never was a moment of silence from the audience. But to the credit of the herders, nannies, and moms, the dialog was only rarely drowned out. Some babies cried, some toddlers whined, and elder siblings sometimes forgot the public setting and began narrating along, until shushed. It really wasn’t too bad, once I accepted the inevitable. I’m about as adaptable as a cat, that way. Grudgingly.

I will have to see the movie again, in a venue where I can hear the nuances of the voices.

Schrecklichkeit? A German word that translates to “fearsomeness”.

You can buy a casket at Costco. I don’t really have any comment about this fact.  I was simply surprised to see that you could buy a discount coffin (and other discount accessories for the dead).  For less than $1,000, you can get the “In God’s Care Casket.” Not bad, considering that the average price of a casket is $2,000.

I can just imagine someone heading out the door right now, saying “I’m heading off to Costco to buy a casket!  They got some great deals out there on funeral accessories.”

I’m not in the market for a casket, mind you.  And when I do die, I’d like to be cremated and scattered to the winds.  Maybe by then, Costco will have a drive-thru cremation service.

Do any of you remember the Nick Smith of 30 months ago? Back then, Nick, based in Decatur, Illinois, designed a brand new site called Dangerous Intersection. At that time, DI was only the most recent of Nick’s accomplishments—he had already established himself as a graphic designer for music groups and entertainers, including Red Hot Chili Peppers, Mandy Moore, the Veronicas, Eric Clapton and Paris Hilton.

That was back then, of course, and some of you might be wondering, “Nick, what have you done lately?” The answer is not at all subtle. Today is the official launch date of Nick’s newest web project: PWN or DIE. What? Huh? PWN? Think of Funny or Die, and then change the content from comedy to video games.

PWN or Die is highly interactive forum where gamers gather to announce their accomplishments, to share strategy and to offer encouragement to other gamers. PWN or Die is a place where gamers may upload videos to illustrate their finest hours. According to today’s press release issued by the Or Die Network:

PwnorDie.com, a new website for gamers and enthusiasts of all levels and the latest venture from the Or Die Networks launched today, it was announced today by Dick Glover, CEO of the Or Die Networks.

“Given the tremendous impact of the video game industry on the web, the Or Die Networks would not be complete without a site dedicated to gaming,” said Glover. “Like Funny or Die, we have established a great destination for game enthusiasts of all levels and interests to be entertained and engaged on a daily basis. It is also a site where developers, manufacturers, bloggers and everyone else associated with gaming can find and break news, information, commentary and entertainment around and about their favorite gaming community,” he added.

Designed to pick up after users put the controller down, Pwn or Die is the ultimate “hub” of gaming videos for the casual user who enjoys the classics like Super Mario Bros., Tetris, or PacMan to the hardcore gamer entranced in World of Warcraft, Call of Duty, or Halo. From user generated videos to videos featuring the best gamers to methods and tips on how to excel in games to celebrities and their involvement and love of video games — Pwn or Die is designed to entertain and engage the game enthusiast in everyone.

The site also features content from the major game companies like Rockstar Games, Electronic Arts, THQ and Activision, as well as gaming sites like NextGenWalkthroughs.com. In addition, Roberty Bowling (aka FourZeroTwo of Infinity Ward, makers of Call of Duty 4), will have a personal video blog on Pwn or Die as well as pieces from Infinity Ward showcasing the COD4 game and their upcoming releases. Pwn or Die will have crews covering major gaming events, showcasing some of the best gamers and gaming companies in the world.

Pwn or Die is the brainchild of Nick Smith, an entertainment industry graphic designer who is most importantly an avid “gamer” and ultimate fan. In addition to the signature Or Die Network attributes such as a voting system and a rich embedded video player, Pwn or Die also features a point system which will reward users for interacting with the site and a state-of-the-art video player designed specifically for the ultimate gaming fan.

Truly, this is a site that is jammed full of valuable information for gamers, as well as those who like to see what the gamers are up to.

Congratulations, Nick!

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then here are about ten thousands words’ worth of photos for you. A few months ago, I bought a small camera that I try to take everywhere I go. The plan was to make myself look more careful at the world around me, which I actually do when I’m thinking of taking photographs.

It’s been a week where I’ve seen all kinds of unusual things. These days, life is thick with memorable images. Take a look and maybe you’ll agree. For starters here a baby giraffe and his mother (at the St. Louis Zoo). It’s really hard to believe that this huge animal is only about 10 days old.

Quick! What colors are zebras? Wrong! They are brown and white all over. Here is a sample of zebra fur up close, thanks to one of the volunteer educators at the zoo.

Here’s a photograph of my cousin. Really.

Rats? Almost. This is a capybara, the world’s largest rodent. I learned about capybaras by watching “The Tick,” the cartoon superhero. The Tick adopted a capybara as a pet and named him “Speak.”

And speaking of pets, have you seen the latest in treats for your dog? I took this photo in my local grocerey store. This new product is called Frosty Paws, a frozen ice-cream like substance made largely out of wheat and soy. Only $4 per box. Let’s see . . . what else do dogs supposedly need? I wonder what desperately hungry people would think of this.

The floods are still around in St. Louis. I took this photo from an airplane flying over St. Charles County. Lots of farmland is under water.

Tonight, while one of my daughters and I were cycling through Tower Grove Park (in south St. Louis), we happened to run across some civil war re-enactors. This cannon is not original equipment–it is a replica, because these fellows like to actually fire them.  They “work” as an artillery unit–about six soldiers operated a single cannon.  During the civil war, the soldiers who operated the cannons were often highly educated guys (unlike the soldiers who fought in the infantry). This particular type of cannon comes with a sight that works well enough that an expert artillerymen could nail a carriage from 1/4 mile away.

This is a piece of stone that was being thrown away by a local granite and marble kitchen shop (I was told that it is slate). I salvaged it because I thought the colors were striking. I hung it on my office wall on Friday. People come by and take a look because they wonder what I’m doing with the Ten Commandments hanging on my wall. I didn’t shape the stone at all, however. That’s a “natural” Ten Commandments shape (in a take-home-stone-that-a-merchant-is about-to-throw-away sort of way).

And yes, there are still lots of people covering their cars with bumper stickers.

Finally, my family’s refrigerator broke today and a neighbor kindly let us put some of our food into his extra freezer in his basement. I couldn’t help noticing all the butter. Hey, Joe, WTF, man! I wondered whether he was stocking up for End Times or whether he just (really really) loves butter. He says it’s the latter. Now I know what people do with those extra refrigerators in their basements.

I hope you enjoyed the little show.

Today we biked over to see the 2½ hour long gay pride parade. “You’re here, you’re queer, we’re used to it.” About 40,000 other people came to see the parade along the edge of my neighborhood today.

You can see the crowds looking down Grand Boulevard. Many people were festively dressed. There were many couples of every gender combination, and many pets and some children.

See Mayor Slay at the head of the Gay Pride parade, waving under a mural of Jesus on the Messiah Lutheran school.

Did you ever notice the yellow lilies in the median on Grand? Here, the throng standing on the southbound side watch the bees in the northbound lanes.

And it is no surprise to have a heavily cheered and well attended block of Obama supporters in this parade.

Yes, there were beads, beads, beads!

And the scattered showers failed to scatter the crowds:

Even unsheltered riders in the parade were undeterred by the rain:

And the rain passed, and a good time was had by all:

And after the parade, there were the stage shows and the booths. Food, drinks, finance, churches, travel, home improvement, wearables, and more.

It was a colorful day in one of our landmark parks, this 28^th annual Gay Pride Festival in Saint Louis, Missouri. On the eastern edge of this “red state”.

I’m learning a lot about honeypot ants. They are incredible little creatures.  Also known as repletes or storage ants, certain members of these ant colonies serve as living storage jars for the nectar gathered by the other workers.  Their abdomens extend many times bigger than the ant originally was, such that each of these living vessels looks like an ant with a grape stuck on its butt.

Image by Greg Hume

As I learned from reading an article called “Sweet Dreams,” in the April, 2008 issue of Natural History Magazine, repletes “hang from ceilings of domed chambers in the underground nest.”  The other worker ants fill up the repletes with nutrients.  The repletes get so large that they are forever trapped inside the nest, hanging from the ceiling.  What purpose do repletes serve?  “During time of scarcity, repletes regurgitate nectar to colony members, an especially valuable asset in arid environments.”

My question, then, relates to the dramatic onslaught of obesity in humans. If viewed traditionally, obesity is life-shortening and often deadly.   In fact, it’s senseless.   What if it’s not senseless, though?  What if the many huge people among us are sacrificing themselves for the well-being of those of us who are not huge?   What if the numerous humans who are obese are actually storing up nutrients to aid the rest of us in times of scarcity?

I know that this theory of human evolution might strike some as absurd and, indeed, it is (and I do speak as a former fatty).  Yet this is the image I had while reading about honeypot ants.

It’s the political season and there are a lot of bad arguments being made these days. There are plenty of non sequiturs, red herrings, ad hominem attacks and ex hominem attacks. It is the season when we vividly see that there is no such thing as pure reason. Instead, cognition is always infused with emotion (as Antonio Demasio described in his excellent work, Descartes’s Error).

This is also the season of unrelenting rhetorical tricks. One of the most common rhetorical tricks is the constant misuse of the word “because.” Simply uttering the word “because” tends to convince people that you are correct and logical even when you have said nothing meaningful at all. The great power of the word “because” has been demonstrated in a classic experiment involving a stooge trying to butt in line at a library copy machine. I discussed that experiment at a post that I entitled “Just Because.” I highly recommend a quick review of that psychology experiment before proceeding.

Considering the persuasive power of the word “because” reminded me of a special day in sixth grade, back in the late 1960s. This is a true story. I went to All Souls Grade School, a Catholic grade school in Overland Missouri. It was a school where boys wore pants and girls wore dresses (Catholic school girl’s uniforms, to be precise). A few times a year, one of the parish priests would drop by to teach religion to the students (we were usually taught by nuns). One of the parish priests at All Souls was an energetic, articulate and likable young man named Father Wilkins.

In order to convey the proper emotion of this story, I need to emphasize that the children in the sixth grade class were all starting to get laced with sex hormones, compliments of our maturing bodies. We were 12 and 13-year-olds. We were all fascinated with sex, but no one talked straight about sex back then (remember, this was back in the 1960s). It was a land of half-truths and outlandish lies. Now, back to the story.

Into the classroom walks Father Wilkins with a big smile. He sat at the teacher’s desk at the front of the classroom, chatted with us a bit and then paused for a couple seconds before starting his lesson:

“Do you know why boys wear pants and girls wear dresses?

I remember feeling shocked to hear this question. And I was also excited because I had wondered about this precise topic and I was eager to learn the answer. But no one raised a hand. I vividly remember the silence and I remember everyone looking down, hoping not to get called on. Undeterred, Father Wilkins asked the question again.

“Come on now. This is a simple question. Why do boys wear pants and girls wear dresses?”

Again, no one raised his or her hand and there was painful silence. Although my knowledge of female anatomy was quite limited back then, I assumed (with some embarrassment) that girls wore dresses for a reason that had to do with their lack of penises. I wasn’t about to raise my hand and volunteer such an answer, however. No one else was willing to volunteer an answer either.

Father Wilkins was starting to look frustrated. He cajoled us a third time.

“Nobody knows? Nobody’s going to answer my question? Well then, I’ll answer it. Why do boys wear pants and why do girls wear dresses?”

Father Wilkins folded his hands on top of his desk and looked straight at us.

“Boys wear pants and girls wear dresses because boys are boys and girls are girls! Now do you see? Now do you understand?”

Father Wilkins uttered his answer in a proud, almost smug way. He thought he was really onto something big. He went on to explain that things are often the way they are because that’s the way they’ve always been. And that’s the way they should be, et cetera. This was a perfect sort of answer for the sort of fellow who believed in the virgin birth and infallibility of the Pope.

To this day, I remember the immense disappointment I felt upon hearing this “answer.” His “answer” was actually no answer at all. I was certain of this, but I was not about to raise my hand to accuse the parish priest of pulling an intellectual con job on a classroom full of sixth graders. I can guarantee you, though, some of the kids in that classroom found his “answer” to be meaningful in the same way that they found his sermons to be meaningful. They believed that they had been provided knowledge when they had been subjected to nothing but a tautology anchored by that magically powerful word “because.”

“Because” is such an incredibly powerful word that a politician who sprinkles into his or her speeches sounds like he or she is a bubbling ferment of precision logic. We needed to attack Iraq because of 9/11. We need to fight them over there because we don’t want to fight them over here. We need to privatize Social Security because we’re trying to save it. We need to torture innocent people because other people are trying to kill us. Or “[Fill in this blank] because America is the worlds greatest country.” Or “because we’re freedom loving people.” or because [whatever].

For many people, it seems, hearing the word “because” turns off all sense of skepticism. It is for this reason that “because” is such a powerful and dangerous word.

Epilogue

I’m wondering whether the real lesson of Father Wilkins was the importance of stare decisis, the importance of doing something a certain way because that is the way it’s always been done.

I now believe that I have a much better answer to the father Wilkins question (and I do believe his question was a good one). I believe that girls wear dresses to display their legs in order to convince potential mates that the girls are biologically fit. In other words, this is a question for which evolutionary psychology offers an interesting perspective. For more on this connection, see my earlier post, “Killer High Heels.”

Do it just because.

As the mercury rose past 90 on this sunny Sunday, I biked over to see the Pagan Picnic in Tower Grove Park. I attend this event regularly, and it gets a bit bigger each year. There are many booths selling fair foods and drinks, and psychic readings, acupuncture, massage, crystals galore, and anything else out on the loose edge of New Age (”Ancient Wisdom”) Credulity.

It’s fun.

What I like most about the event is its disorganized ability to weird the normals. Does a top hat go with a black leather skirt and army boots? That guy seems to make it work. One post-apocalyptic sort with a blond Mohawk is videotaping the Creative Anachronisms/ Dungeons and Dragons/ Swords and Sorcery crowd beating each other about the limbs with padded swords and staffs. And the damsels. I admit that it is fun to see what young women wear to scandalize their elders. In the flesh, as it were. Well, one man with bones through his earlobes only had on “primitive” jewelry and a loincloth. But his tan seemed up to the job.

Yes, that woman is sitting under the tree spinning her own thread from wool she probably carded herself. Does Dr. Pepper go with a pterodactyl leg? Why not? Well, turkey, actually. But the hawker is convincing. Do glacier spalled obsidian needles make good wind chimes? Ya bet! I bought. And there are many drums. Several booths provide different sorts of handmade drums with wood or skin tops.

Various musical and dance troupes perform in the Bardic Circle, one of the pavilions in the park. Somewhere there is a schedule posted. But this crowd is anarchistic. No one seems to be in charge, but it works.

What is the entry fee? Well, free. But donations to a local food bank are suggested, and bins for collecting cans of food are provided.

Charity, like honor, mercy, and tolerance, are basic pagan family values.

Last night, I was flying from St. Louis to Minneapolis to participate in the 2008 National Conference for Media Reform.  I was flying in a small jet (the kind that holds about 60 passengers).

As we approached the Minneapolis airport, we started going through storm clouds.  Undeterred, the pilot started bringing the plane down for a landing.  The runway was in sight.  That’s when some huge storm clouds became apparent.  Not only that, lightning surrounded the airplane-it looked like the lightning was only a couple yards outside the window.  It was right after noticing the lightning that the plane went into a sustained stall.  It was not the kind of controlled stall that planes enter just prior to touching down.  Rather, this was the kind of stall where the nose of the plane goes way up (maybe 50° from horizontal) and the plane starts losing altitude, sliding backwards.

To make things worse, the plane started blowing sideways in the vicious wind.  This condition lasted for about 10 seconds. The feeling of being blown around like a leaf was really disconcerting.  No one on the plane reacted other than being extremely quiet. Nonetheless, I really truly thought that this was going to be the end for me.

Luckily (you knew the story would end well, since I’m writing this post), the pilot regained control of the plane, leveling out and fighting his way through five minutes of wicked winds.  There were lots of bumps and jolts, and many of the passengers were doublechecking and triple checking their seatbelts.

During the excitement, I could’ve sworn that I heard a cat.  As it turned out, the man sitting in front of me had a big black suitcase under his seat that was actually a carrier for a cat.  During the severe turbulence, the cat not only made lots of noise, it apparently shat all over itself, causing a thick stench of cat poop to spread throughout the seating area. The other passengers (including me) had to endure that smell (which was so bad that it was nauseating) while the pilot made a 20-minute detour around the storm in order to try to land the plane a second time.

Worse yet, I am highly allergic to cats.  My exposure triggered asthma, for which I needed to use an inhaler last night.

There’s no real point to this post, other than my need to rant.  I had no idea that passengers could bring cats in the passenger compartment of airplanes.  This especially surprises me, given the fact that numerous people (I’ve heard that it’s 10% of the population) are allergic to cats.

After the plane was safely on the ground (the passengers applauded when the plane safely touched down), I asked the flight attendant whether it was appropriate to have a cat in the passenger compartment of an airplane.  She stated that it is done all the time, and that the passenger needs only to pay an extra $100 in order to bring a pet in the passenger compartment of the plane.

I would suggest one modification to the $100 rule.  The next time a cat shits during a flight, the passenger bringing the cat should pay $100 to each passenger within 10 feet of the cat.

When we think of skies, we often think of blue sky with white clouds. As adults we often forget to appreciate the natural beauty available to us simply by looking up.

There are many other types of skies, of course. For the past ten days, we’ve had lots of turbulent weather here in the Midwest (St. Louis). We’ve seen thunderstorms almost every day. We’ve also see lots of sun, and we’ve seen many of combinations of bright sun while new storms were brewing. It makes for some spectacular skies. I couldn’t help noticing and photographing the dramatic cloud formations.

The photo above is actually a stitching together of three photos, looking to the north from a midtown St. Louis overpass. If you click on it you’ll get a much better view (you are invited to click on any of these, to enlarge them).

The above photo was taken by Charlotte, my seven year old daughter, who exclaimed that the huge clouds dwarfed the airplane.

Charlotte took this one too:

She snapped the photo out of the car window, which you can see from the blurred telephone pole.

I took the photo below outside my office window today. The formations changed so dramatically and so often that I found myself glancing out the window repeatedly. It made me feel like a kid that I was taking the time to notice the vista. It’s like living in a lava lamp.

If it weren’t that we so often have the chance to see spectacular skies, we’d stop taking them for granted. If they occurred only once each year, we’d probably gather outside to stare at the skies on that special night–we’d probably even create a holiday for that day where all of us would show up with our cameras. We’d sing special cloud songs and eat special cloud-watching food.

Truly, the colors, the formations and the movement make Fourth of July fireworks look amateurish.

Maybe we should even cancel the fireworks this Fourth of July to remind each other that we can also be peaceful people. We really could start to celebrate our peaceful moments as well as our war-like history. And we can do it with naturally-occurring glorious backgrounds many days each year.

I just found out why we English speakers use apostrophe-ess ( ’s ) to indicate the Saxon Genitive Case. “Huh?” I can hear you gasp. I’ve been using it for 40 years to indicate the possessions of an object by a subject. It just always was this way, like mountains or the alt-tab keyboard convention. But never did it occur to me to wonder why we write it this particular way.

Until today. I was reading some essays by a mollusk biologist, and he threw this tidbit in as an aside (with the supporting evidence): Up until well into the 17th century, an Englishman would have to say (for example), “Yoda, his force is strong.” By the 18th century, they were saying, “Yoda’s force is strong.”

See?

We acknowledge the inherent sexism of the language whenever we say, “Sally’s cookies” rather than “Sally’r cookies”. But that’s beside the point: The point is “his”.

I was leaving comments on other blogs this morning, and I had a thought. The Blogosphere is not just a platform for pundits, but a release valve for all the potential unabombers and other crazies. So here I am: One of the crazies. As one who comments much more often than I post, I had to feel that the backbone of the blog world is really the commentators.

That’s it. A pun from a cell-phone sel-fportrait.

I know that pre-written store-bought greeting cards are not the cause of America’s current downfall, but they are a symptom of America’s cultural, moral and educational decline. Really. I know that many of you are thinking that I’m way off base here, but let me give you a few examples based on today’s trip to my local grocery store (the name of the St. Louis grocery chain is “Schnucks”).

First of all, I just don’t get why we need to segregate “boy” cards from “girl” cards. Take a look at these cards for boys and you won’t be surprised at the themes. There are lots of superhero cards and other action/adventure characters and themes.

Now compare the “boys” cards to the “girls” cards, where you’ll find princesses and other characters much more concerned about their looks than with their accomplishments.

As if girls don’t enjoy superhero stories (my daughters certainly do) or anything other than trying to look pretty. This greeting card sexual segregation reminds me of this recent post on America’s rampant sexualization of young girls.

There are also cards for men and cards for women, of course, and they too are segregated. Why do we use greeting cards to instill a message into our girls and women that they should be interested in their own looks and body image to the exclusion of their accomplishments? This destructive message should be stopped immediately, especially when so many girls are getting messed up by this message, which causes them to stop taking their education seriously when they hit puberty.

There are other problems on the greeting card aisle. Consider the sympathy cards.

If someone close to me were to die, the last thing in the world that I would want from anybody would be a store-bought greeting card with a campy message.

Sending a card instead of writing me a note (or in e-mail) tells me that you would rather spend four dollars to let a stranger write a message then taking the time to communicate something meaningful. I suspect that many people will think that greeting cards are perfectly OK because many customers are not professional writers and they are, therefore, and incapable of precisely expressing themselves on emotional occasions. I think this argument is absolute garbage. The purpose of a note should be to take some time to attempt to express one’s own thoughts. If people are unwilling to take the time to write notes of their own, it’s better that they said nothing at all.  Just send a $4.00 gift certificate. It will accomplish as much or more. (more…)

I enjoyed the photos and commentary at this site. The blogger found a 1977 J.C.Penney catalog and had some fun.  The post could have been subtitled:  “How to get your ass kicked . . .”

Don’t assume that you know what types of causes are being touted on those message bracelets until you take the time to actually read them. A friend of mine wears this one:

He explained that he is “supporting the people who have rabies.”*

[*From 1980 to 1997, there were 22 documented cases of rabies in the U.S.]