On The Value of Theories and Hypotheses

The only reason for having theories and hypotheses is to guide
experiment. They have no value on their own as truth.
The very idea of "selecting" between competing theories is
ridiculous. It brings us no closer to the truth. The way to
decide among competing theories is to test them, not decide
which is probably true based on some theoretical calculations
or by using some trick, like Occam's Razor.
After you collect all of the data, then you can draw
conclusions as to what is or is not likely. And one theory will
usually emerge as superior. Truth does not flow from the human
imagination, it flows from experiment and observation. That's
the only thing that has value. Speculation is interesting and
keeps the mind amused and helps us to design experiment, but it
serves no purpose in it's own right.
Of course, the number of possible hypotheses is infinite.
The human mind can create an unlimited number of scenarios to
explain any observed phenomenon. But if that is true, it's not
just a minor flaw in scientific reasoning. It becomes quickly
evident that all possible hypotheses can never be tested.
This may not seem to be a problem until you consider that if
this is so, then the results of *any* experiment will never be
conclusive. The scientific method becomes incapable of proving
anything, ever.
But this is not catastrophic because fortunately, science is not
in the business of proving and disproving things. The business
of science is saying what is most and least likely. In addition,
what is sometimes referred to as "scientific truth" is a very
fleeting phenomenon at best, and is inversely proportional to
investigative effort. In the past, scientific truths lasted a
long time, because very few people were looking very much.
But as time goes on, their lifespan is becoming increasingly
shorter. Science finds itself today leading mankind, not to a
single, absolute truth, but to multiple, indeterminate, relative
ones. Rational science is supposed to eliminate this uncertainty,
but it does not. In fact, it contributes to the chaos. Look at
what we deal with on a daily basis. Studies of various kinds are
reported every day with wildly varying claims. This is good for
you today, but it was bad for you yesterday. Substance after
substance is demonized by alleged "scientific studies" that tell
us things that we know are not true. Sugar is evil, salt will
kill you, eggs will give you a heart attack, fat is poison,
blah, blah, blah. Science is not making things clearer its making
people crazy. So what happens?
They look for an anchor, something that doesn't ever change,
that is constant and supportive. So they turn to God and religion.
It's inevitable. I don't agree with it, but I understand it.

Facilitated Variation

For years I have been arguing that the neo-darwinian view of evolution, the slow accumulation of beneficial variations over time, has never had any empirical support. I have argued that science has failed produce any empirical evidence, either observational or experimental that supports a nexus between the trivial effects of mutation and natural selection and the emergence of highly organized structures, processes and systems.

I'm glad that people are beginning to notice this glaring defect.

"In the 150 years since Darwin, the field of evolutionary biology has left a glaring gap in understanding how animals developed their astounding variety and complexity. The standard answer has been that small genetic mutations accumulate over time to produce wondrous innovations such as eyes and wings. Drawing on cutting-edge research across the spectrum of modern biology, Marc Kirschner and John Gerhart demonstrate how this stock answer is woefully inadequate."

http://yalepress.yale.edu/yupbooks/book.asp?isbn=0300108656

Marc W. Kirschner and John C. Gerhart, The Plausibility of Life: Resolving Darwin’s Dilemma (Yale University Press, $30).*

(*just so there is no misunderstanding, these guys are opposed to intelligent design and have the misguided confidence that this new "patch" will somehow mitigate the growing belief that some sort of intelligent input is an absolute requirement for evolution.)

Now, just like Punctuated Equilibrium was proposed to explain the gaps in the fossil record, so a new "theory" has emerged to attempt to explain this glaring dilemma.

"The key is what they call “facilitated variation.” By this they mean that an organism does not merely tolerate environmental perturbations or developmental accidents, but in fact adjusts to the disturbances and incorporates them into its physiology or development. This buffering facilitates variation in traits by channeling environmental or genetic irregularities into integrated pathways of response. Furthermore, random inputs in the form of environmental perturbations or genetic mutations do not produce random outputs, because the outputs are shaped by the organism’s adaptive responses. Although genetic mutations may be random in their effects on the DNA sequence of an organism, facilitated variation implies that they may be far from random in how they affect the development of the organism. Facilitated variation therefore views the organism itself as playing a central part in determining how environmental and genetic variation is expressed

http://www.harvard-magazine.com/on-line/110512.html

"...random inputs in the form of environmental perturbations or genetic mutations do not produce random outputs, because the outputs are shaped by the organism’s adaptive responses."

That sounds an awful lot like "adaptive evolution", which sounds an awful lot like "directed evolution" (Barry Hall, are you listening? You were RIGHT!)

My, my, my....the organisms are responding to their environment, not just tolerating it? Now let me see, where have I heard THAT before?

http://makeashorterlink.com/?B1553205C

Harold Pinter's Nobel Lecture

Some exerpts from Harold Pinter's Nobel Lecture.

Read the whole lecture HERE.


"Political language, as used by politicians, does not venture into any of this territory since the majority of politicians, on the evidence available to us, are interested not in truth but in power and in the maintenance of that power. To maintain that power it is essential that people remain in ignorance, that they live in ignorance of the truth, even the truth of their own lives. What surrounds us therefore is a vast tapestry of lies, upon which we feed."

"I put to you that the United States is without doubt the greatest show on the road. Brutal, indifferent, scornful and ruthless it may be but it is also very clever. As a salesman it is out on its own and its most saleable commodity is self love. It's a winner. Listen to all American presidents on television say the words, 'the American people', as in the sentence, 'I say to the American people it is time to pray and to defend the rights of the American people and I ask the American people to trust their president in the action he is about to take on behalf of the American people.'"

"The 2,000 American dead are an embarrassment. They are transported to their graves in the dark. Funerals are unobtrusive, out of harm's way. The mutilated rot in their beds, some for the rest of their lives. So the dead and the mutilated both rot, in different kinds of graves."

"I know that President Bush has many extremely competent speech writers but I would like to volunteer for the job myself. I propose the following short address which he can make on television to the nation. I see him grave, hair carefully combed, serious, winning, sincere, often beguiling, sometimes employing a wry smile, curiously attractive, a man's man.

'God is good. God is great. God is good. My God is good. Bin Laden's God is bad. His is a bad God. Saddam's God was bad, except he didn't have one. He was a barbarian. We are not barbarians. We don't chop people's heads off. We believe in freedom. So does God. I am not a barbarian. I am the democratically elected leader of a freedom-loving democracy. We are a compassionate society. We give compassionate electrocution and compassionate lethal injection. We are a great nation. I am not a dictator. He is. I am not a barbarian. He is. And he is. They all are. I possess moral authority. You see this fist? This is my moral authority. And don't you forget it.'"

"I have referred to death quite a few times this evening. I shall now quote a poem of my own called 'Death'.

Where was the dead body found?
Who found the dead body?
Was the dead body dead when found?
How was the dead body found?

Who was the dead body?

Who was the father or daughter or brother
Or uncle or sister or mother or son
Of the dead and abandoned body?

Was the body dead when abandoned?
Was the body abandoned?
By whom had it been abandoned?

Was the dead body naked or dressed for a journey?

What made you declare the dead body dead?
Did you declare the dead body dead?
How well did you know the dead body?
How did you know the dead body was dead?

Did you wash the dead body
Did you close both its eyes
Did you bury the body
Did you leave it abandoned
Did you kiss the dead body"

A Typical Conversation

“As for the claim that you cannot create order through only random events—true enough. Except evolution is not random.”

I think you mean natural selection is not random. Are you saying that mutations are not random too?
I’ve discussed this issue many times. Natural selection is not random in the sense that all offspring do not have an equal chance of survival. Those better suited to their environment will have a better chance. Those less suited will have a lesser chance.
But natural selection can only act on what is already present. It has no power to create, assemble or design the variation it acts on. According to neo-darwinists, this variation is the result of random mutations. So, it’s disingenuous to say evolution is not random.
In addition, the jury is still not in on the randomness of mutations. As you see from Sean (Carroll)’s article, he pretty much puts paid to the Modern Synthesis. Mayr was wrong when he expected the genomes of vastly different species to differ vastly. As Carroll states “Natural selection has not repeatedly forged eyes from scratch. Rather, eye formation has common genetic ingredients, and a wide range of eye types incorporate parts, such as photoreceptor cells and light-sensing proteins, that have long been under the command of the Pax-6 gene.”
So, variation does not flow from random mutation, it flows from a pre-existing set of toolkit genes that pre-date the appearance of the adaptations they control.
And we’re left with the question: “where did these ‘toolkit’ genes come from?” They could not have arisen by mutation and selection because these mechanisms can only act at the organism level. For a “toolkit” gene to evolve, it would have to be present and functional in some organism. But we know now that these genes pre-date the organisms and the adaptations they control. They preceed all that comes after them.
They are “Genesis” genes.

PZ Myers Says:

Nonsense.

Evolution is not random, although it contains random components. Our chemistry is driven by stochastic processes, but no one claims that metabolism is random. Well, at least no one with any sense.

Regulatory genes have homologs in single-celled organisms. We are talking about genes that modulate the expression of other genes, and of course these are present in organisms that don’t have eyes. That is no big deal at all.

Also, these genes are found in families. They arise from duplication and divergence of precursors. Your objection is no objection at all, but simply yet another testimonial to your cluelessness.
Paul,
You wrote that “Evolution is not random, although it contains random components.” but you really mean to say that evolution is not random because it contains non-random components.
The fact that there is a non-random component to natural selection, the differential survival ability based on fitness, does not make the entire process non-random, just like the presence of random components does not make the whole process random.
You wrote: “Our chemistry is driven by stochastic processes, but no one claims that metabolism is random. ”
Agreed. The presence of stochastic processes
does not mean that the whole process is stochastic. Any more than the presence of non-random components makes the whole process non-random.
But the point is, that natural selection can only act on what already exists. The fact that natural selection has one non-random component does not overcome the fact that the variation is allegedly (by neo-darwinians) generated by purely random processes. In addition, as I have said many times, there is no nexus established between the components of mutation and natural selection and the emergence of highly organized structures, processes and systems. You simply cannot get from point A to point B.
You wrote: “Your objection is no objection at all, but simply yet another testimonial to your cluelessness.”
I might have let this go, and let you have the last word but you’ve always got to throw in the zinger. You have absolutely no scientific explanation for the existence of these “toolkit” genes. The development of form depends upon turning on and turning off genes at different times and different places. This is controlled in part by regulatory genes, which, as you say, have homologs in single celled organisms.
But the question still remains. Where did the regulatory genes come from and who (or what) programmed them to orchestrate the the symphony of development, to activate the genes at just the right time and in just the right places to create the final product: an integrated, functional system made up of multiple structures and processes?
"It is clear from Mr. Wagner’s last post that he probably has a firm belief in his statements and I agree that logic and reason will not sway him. However, I do enjoy these types of posts as they get you to think critically about such statements, and they give you an insight into some of the muddled thinking of ID proponents.

"But the question still remains. Where did the regulatory genes come from and who (or what) programmed them to orchestrate the the symphony of development, to activate the genes at just the right time and in just the right places to create the final product: an integrated, functional system made up of multiple structures and processes?"

This statement of Mr. Wagner’s really highlights the origin of his confusion and that of many creationists. The assumption is that a Genesis event must have occured. Without it, you can not explain your existence. Science does not deal with assumptions, it deals with data, therefore it can not include an assumption about God. Does this mean God does not exist? No it only means there is no testable data to point to a Creator’s involvement in the existence of life. Any IDers or creationists reading this, please remember that word ‘testable’.

Evolution does not disprove God, it instead simply shows that life is alot more complicated than originally envisioned 2000 years ago by the authors of the Bible.

I hope that in replying to these posts, we can help show non-scientists the flaws in ID or creationist reasoning with clear and concise rebuttals."
I went back and looked and sure enough, I capitalized “Genesis”. That makes it look like I’m referring to a supernatural event, which I’m not. I used the word “genesis” in the sense that they are the origin, rather than the result of a process of evolution. In my world, the world of science, god plays no role.
You say “Science does not deal with assumptions, it deals with data,”. This is true. But evolutionary theory (neo-darwinism) is based wholly on an assumption: that a nexus exists between the mechanisms of mutation and natural selection and the emergence of highly organized structures, processes and systems. There is absolutely no empirical data to support this audacious conclusion, yet it is the foundation of modern evolutionary thinking.
The main flaw in your thinking is that you equate the scientific consideration of intelligent input with religious creationism and a supernatural being. While it is true that a majority of ID proponents are religious creationists and their “intelligence” is god, that should not preclude science from investigating a phenomenon that most likely resides in the natural world and will eventually by explained by the scientific method.

And so it goes....

Intelligent Input and Evolution

No one who has looked at the evidence objectively can deny that humans have evolved. They have evolved culturally, morphologically and technologically in the time they have been on the earth. In addition, our kinship with our other primate cousins is clear. That all primates most likely had a common origin is obvious.
What is not obvious, however, is the mechanism by which these changes have occurred. In this matter we are still pretty much in the dark. Evolution is a process, that is strongly supported by empirical evidence. But it remains a process looking for a believable mechanism. Random mutation and natural selection are mechanisms of evolution and it is possible to accept the reality of evolution on a scientific basis and deny the claim that mutation and natural selection are capable of achieving it.
Intelligent input is also a mechanism of evolution, without any empirical support. But it is clearly obvious to me that random mutation and natural selection are insufficient to explain the complex systems that human beings possess as well as the cultural, intellectual and social components of our collective humanity.
What we observe in humans (and other living systems) are means adapted to ends. We see structures supporting other structures and we see processes supporting other processes. We also see that these structures and processes are integrated into functional systems in such a way that they all support the overall function of the organism.
Science has failed to establish with empirical evidence, any kind of believable link between the trivial effects of mutation and selection and the emergence of highly organized structures, processes and systems. Some important component is missing.
It seems to me that such a level of organization simply cannot be achieved by random processes and requires insight. Some kind of intelligent input seems necessary.

You're Doing A Heck Of A Job, Shrub...

I wrote this just before the 2004 election. Wow!


"After hearing Kerry's speech yesterday at NYU, I've decided to vote for George Bush. The logic is simple, yet powerful: why should we let him off the hook? He made this mess and he should clean it up. Keep him in office and make him undo the damage that he's done. Why should us poor Democrats have to save his ass? All of his life, people have been bailing him out of disasters of his own making. Why should we let him simply turn this mess over to Kerry and go peacefully back to Crawford and smirk? For once in his life he should stand up like a man, admit that he was wrong and correct his mistakes. Then he might be able to go to his reward standing on his own two feet, head held high instead of crawling on his belly like a reptile."

I'm a Liberal (and proud of it!)

"...if by a "Liberal" they mean someone who looks ahead and not behind, someone who welcomes new ideas without rigid reactions, someone who cares about the welfare of the people -- their health, their housing, their schools, their jobs, their civil rights, and their civil liberties -- someone who believes we can break through the stalemate and suspicions that grip us in our policies abroad, if that is what they mean by a "Liberal," then I'm proud to say I'm a "Liberal."
I believe in human dignity as the source of national purpose, in human liberty as the source of national action, in the human heart as the source of national compassion, and in the human mind as the source of our invention and our ideas. It is, I believe, the faith in our fellow citizens as individuals and as people that lies at the heart of the liberal faith. For liberalism is not so much a party creed or set of fixed platform promises as it is an attitude of mind and heart, a faith in man's ability through the experiences of his reason and judgment to increase for himself and his fellow men the amount of justice and freedom and brotherhood which all human life deserves.

I believe also in the United States of America, in the promise that it contains and has contained throughout our history of producing a society so abundant and creative and so free and responsible that it cannot only fulfill the aspirations of its citizens, but serve equally well as a beacon for all mankind. I do not believe in a superstate. I see no magic in tax dollars which are sent to Washington and then returned. I abhor the waste and incompetence of large-scale federal bureaucracies in this administration as well as in others. I do not favor state compulsion when voluntary individual effort can do the job and do it well. But I believe in a government which acts, which exercises its full powers and full responsibilities. Government is an art and a precious obligation; and when it has a job to do, I believe it should do it. And this requires not only great ends but that we propose concrete means of achieving them.

Our responsibility is not discharged by announcement of virtuous ends. Our responsibility is to achieve these objectives with social invention, with political skill, and executive vigor. I believe for these reasons that liberalism is our best and only hope in the world today. For the liberal society is a free society, and it is at the same time and for that reason a strong society. Its strength is drawn from the will of free people committed to great ends and peacefully striving to meet them. Only liberalism, in short, can repair our national power, restore our national purpose, and liberate our national energies."

John F. Kennedy, 1960

Gerontion by T.S. Eliot

Here I am, an old man in a dry month,
Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.
I was neither at the hot gates
Nor fought in the warm rain
Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,
Bitten by flies, fought.
My house is a decayed house,
And the jew squats on the window sill, the owner,
Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,
Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.
The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;
Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.
The woman keeps the kitchen, makes tea,
Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter.
I an old man,
A dull head among windy spaces.


Read the entire selection HERE

Why I Became A Yankee Fan

When I was a little boy, I lived near Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn. You could walk down to Eastern Parkway and then up to Ebbetts Field, the home of the Brooklyn Dodgers. My father often bad-mouthed the Yankees, as did other kids in the neighborhood. I was a Dodger fan, true and blue.
When the New York Mets appeared in 1962, it seemed only logical to transfer that allegiance to this new team and continue with my disdain for the Yankees. At first it seemed like a good idea. We won 4 pennants and 2 World Series and while there were a few "ouch!" moments, my loyalty remained strong.
I haven't given up completely on the Mets, but it hasn't been looking very good for the last couple of years. Should I abandon them altogether? I don't think that's possible. I still live with the hope that they can turn the team around and become the team that I would like them to be.
But what of the Yankees? I have been a New Yorker all my life. Why does it have to be one team or the other? Can I not like the Yankees if they're in a pennant race or a World Series? Should I root for Boston or Atlanta or St. Louis? Can I not have respect and admiration for their accomplishments?
Let's face it, the Yankees are a class act. Every player who puts on the Yankee pinstripes is proud to be a Yankee. The team is run well by a competent owner and dedicated, competent managers. The players know what's expected of them and they do their jobs, often very well. It would be absurd to hope that a team from another city would beat them based on an intra-city rivalry that goes back to 1955.
So, I hold the Yankees in the highest regard and I hope that they win the Championship Series and the World Series. And I still hold out hope that the Mets will rise from the ashes like the Phoenix and maybe regain their credibility and my respect.
Until then...Go Yankees!!!

My Latest Crisis

10 fucking years of suffering, ruined kidneys, neuropathy and enough medicines to kill a horse.

I should have started thinking for myself 10 years ago.

A Google search of "hypertension" led me to several good papers on the subject.

Hypertension can be primary (95%) or secondary (5%)

Primary hypertension is usually mild and responds to medication. It's cause is unknown.
Secondary hypertension is more severe and often is the result of KNOWN, TREATABLE causes and is almost always curable.

I discovered that the main type of secondary hypertension is renovascular and the main sub-cause is renal artery stenosis.

No one ever bothered to check my renal arteries. Not even the Chief of Nephrology at a major hospital.

I asked for a Renal Artery MRA (angiogram).

The results?

Major blockages in BOTH renal arteries. 99% certainty that this is the cause of all my problems.
And no one ever bothered to look.

Bottom line:

They put an expandable stent in one of the the arteries to open it up. The other side is completely closed and cannot be reopened. The kidney is atrophied and useless. Now we have to wait a week or two to see if the good kidney rebounds and the blood pressure and creatinine drops.

If I hadn't asked for the MRA, the other renal artery would have closed up in short time and both kidneys would have expired. It would have been Dialysis City for me.

I'm thankful that the technology was in place (interventional radiology and endovascular surgery) and I thank the doctors for their hopefully successful intervention. But I can't help being a little bitter that this was not diagnosed 10 years ago and that up till August 23, 2005, nobody had bothered to look at my renal arteries. It could have saved me a lot of grief.

Alan Fredericks

Alan Fredericks has died.

Those who knew Alan Fredericks probably identify him as the editor of "Travel Weekly" and a prominent travel journalist.

But to me, as a 15 year old teenager growing up on Long Island, he was much more. Each night, I would go to my room and turn on my radio and wait patiently for the opening theme song, "Night Train" by Ernie Englund. I kept notebooks full of musical information on songs that I heard, including title, artist, label etc. Often, there would be call-in contests to identify a song or artist and once I even won a copy of "You" by the Aquatones.
But the best part was the record hops. Alan used to bring the WGBB mobile trailer to supermarket parking lots and high school gymnasiums across Long Island and feature live bands. We could see local groups like the Rocking Chairs (A Kiss Is A Kiss) and the Belnotes (I've Had It). Once I even saw The Mello-Kings.
We got to see plenty of live Rock and Roll in those days by going into the Brooklyn Paramount theater to see Alan Freed's Rock and Roll Show or Murray the "K". But there was nothing better than going down to the parking lot of the local supermarket and coming face to face with live bands and if we were lucky, to talk to them. It was also a great way to meet girls, most of whom wouldn't be seen dead with us.

The War Prayer

by Mark Twain

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and sputtering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spreads of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country and invoked the God of Battles, beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpouring of fervid eloquence which moved every listener.

It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came-next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their faces alight with material dreams-visions of a stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender!-then home from the war, bronzed heros, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation -- "God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest, Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!"

Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was that an ever--merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory -

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there, waiting.

With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal,"Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said

"I come from the Throne-bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd and grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import-that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of-except he pause and think.

"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of His Who hearth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this-keep it in mind. If you beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

"You have heard your servant's prayer-the uttered part of it. I am commissioned by God to put into words the other part of it-that part which the pastor, and also you in your hearts, fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory-must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God the Father fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle-be Thou near them! With them, in spirit, we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it-for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

(After a pause)

"Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits."

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

I Sit In A Chair and Read the Newspapers

Smoke

by Carl Sandburg

I sit in a chair and read the newspapers.

Millions of men go to war, acres of them are buried, guns and ships broken, cities burned, villages sent up in smoke, and children where cows are killed off amid hoarse barbecues vanish like finger-rings of smoke in a north wind.

I sit in a chair and read the newspapers.

A Good Solution

Last winter, I discovered that my blanket was too long at the top and too short at the bottom. I had an extra foot of blanket tucked up under my chin and my feet were sticking out from under the blanket at the bottom of the bed. So I asked Gail to cut a foot off the top of the blanket and sew it onto the bottom, which she did. Now everything is fine.

Oh, by the way, I must remember to set my clocks back an hour this fall...

My Talk With God

It started just after midnight, Monday February 14th. First came the shortness of breath, followed in moments by the rales. I woke up Gail and informed her of what was happening. She wasn’t even out of bed when the gurgling started. My breaths became shorter and shorter.
I knew I was in a world of shit.
I threw on my shoes and a jacket and headed for the car. By the time I got there it was painfully obvious that I had only minutes before my window of life would close completely, perhaps forever. North Shore-Long Island Jewish hospital (the *good* hospital) was 20 minutes away. Fortunately, I was less than a mile from the Nassau University Medical Center (the county hospital). Gail dialed 911 while I struggled to keep breathing. I was literally drowning in my own body fluids.
The cops were there in minutes. I was unconscious when I arrived at the hospital and the doctors were fast, efficient, and very young! I thought to myself, “I hope they know what they’re doing…” But I knew right away that I wasn’t going to die. I watched intently as they went about their business, like they had done it a thousand times before. Not like on ER! No shouting, no rushing, no emotion. The breathing tube was inserted, the IV installed, the Foley in place, the respirator hooked up. It was only a matter of minutes. This is all still clear in my consciousness. After all, I was standing right there watching them the whole time.
I began to notice that the room was getting very bright, like someone had opened the window and the warm sunlight was streaming in. It got so bright that I could no longer see anyone in the room. I began to walk towards the one figure I could still see, down the corridor in front of me. As I approached, the figure did not become clearer, but more amorphous. A great wave swept over me, a sensation of complete peace, joy and contentment. As I approached the figure, it stepped aside and I looked into the beyond.
I saw a young man nervously trying to get up the courage to ask a pretty girl on a date. I saw an old man, sitting quietly in front of his beloved wife’s casket, his head buried in his hands. I saw a young father, scolding his son for writing on the wall with a crayon. I saw a soldier, pinned down in a trench, praying to God that he would live to see his daughter get married. I saw my mother, walking across the street in Brooklyn to the neighborhood hospital, where she would give me life. I tried to understand what I was seeing.
And then, God spoke to me.
“This thing you call time, is an artifact, composed of eidetic simulacra. Imagine that you are wandering over the surface of the earth for all eternity. Every point on the earth’s surface exists simultaneously, even though you are not present at all locations. So it is with time. Every point exists simultaneously, even though you are not there. The human mind creates beginnings and ends. There is no past, no present, no future. It’s all the same thing. Every moment, every event, every joy, every tragedy exists simultaneously. Only in your world, your mind, your reality is time linear, with beginnings and ends.”
I pondered this for a while, trying to absorb this simple yet profound truth. Then I spoke to God.
“I want to go back. Send me back to Afghanistan. I’ll assemble an army, I’ll hunt down Osama bin Laden and convince him of the error of his ways. I’ll teach him about love and tolerance and humanity. I’ll save all those innocent people.”
But God said no. “You’ll strike up a conversation with him. He’ll try to convince you that his actions are justified. You’ll listen and be convinced. You’ll join his cause and become an Ayatollah like Cat Stevens and move to Iran.”
“Send me back. Send me back to Memphis. I’ll find Elvis, I’ll take away his drugs. I’ll tell him that we love him. I know that he will listen”.
But God said no. “You’ll ask him if you can ride in his plane, come to Graceland and eat peanut butter and banana sandwiches. You’ll fall in love with his daughter and want to marry her.”
I sensed that I was losing and that I would soon be beaten. I tried one last time. “Send me back to Calvary. I’ll talk to the Romans and convince them not to kill Jesus. If they don’t listen, I’ll help him escape, hide him in the desert. If they hurt him, I’ll treat his wounds, nurse him back to health, follow his teachings.”
But again, God said no. “You would listen to his teachings, but you would not follow them. You would call yourself a Christian and claim to follow the precept ‘Resist not evil: but whoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also’, but you would make war on innocent women and children for the flimsiest of reasons. You would call yourself a Christian and you would claim to follow the example of Jesus to ‘judge not, lest ye be judged’, yet you would be filled with moral indignation and self righteousness and permit envy and hate to be acted out under the guise of virtue. You would believe in your heart that ‘if thou wilt be perfect, go and sell what thou hast, and give to the poor’, yet you would allow children in poor countries to go to sleep hungry, perhaps to die of malnutrition while you gather up to yourself great wealth, far beyond your simple needs.”
God continued on. “I will not send you back in time because time belongs only to me. This is why I am who I am and you are who you are. All you have is now. That is the difference between us. Eternity belongs to me and I reserve it for myself. It is, you might say, the one real advantage that I have over you. You cannot change what you call the past and you cannot affect what you call the future. Now belongs to you. Do you want it?
“Yes I do.”
I turned slowly and began to walk back down the corridor. The bright light began to fade until it became almost impossible to see anything. Soon it was totally dark. I heard a voice calling my name and I slowly opened my eyes. It was Gail, standing at the side of my bed.

The Attic

I visited my old neighborhood recently, where my mother still lives, and there by some unseen, yet strongly felt force I was drawn to the old attic. I hadn't realized how many things were stored there, things that I had imagined had been disposed of long ago. And yet, there they were. It is a delightful, yet frightening experience to revisit the old memories and to look back upon the path that has been followed to bring us to our present place. Each tattered remnant marks with crystalline clarity a point where life could easily have taken a different turn, and by doing so, have produced a different outcome.

One cannot help wondering if these paths were bound to be taken, as set down by the hand of fate, or chosen as a result of carefully reasoned free will and unerring judgment. Also, one cannot help wondering if it really makes any difference at all which is the truth. What is clear however, is that I have spent the better part of my life meandering from side to side, widening the banks of my river, but never cutting deeper into the channel. I do not hope to break any new ground at this point, only to deepen what is already there.

All of these things that I see connect me to the rest of the world and to the events in which my life is intertwined with the lives of others. But standing here, I sense that I am completely alone in the world. I have drifted through peoples lives, like a river flows through its channel, touching each rock and branch, exploring each swirling eddy and current, but leaving no hint or evidence that I had ever been there. My goodness, there's a lot of dust on these old memories. Once, they had meaning and value and were carefully stored here when their usefulness was over, as the great flow of life advanced to newer and uncharted regions. But now, their only value is to me, insofar as what they represent. They are the stations of my life, where my train has passed, and I, the lonely passenger, looking out the window into the mist, feel unable to draw their attention.

(uncle eddie, mom, grandma, 1923)

I'm sitting by my daughter's bedside in the pediatric ward of the hospital. She has just come down from the recovery room and I am waiting for her to wake up. In the bed across the way, a young boy, around 14 years old is asleep. His father sits at his side, his eyes half closed in weariness. It seems like he has been there a long time. After a while he begins to stir and gets up and walks over to the window. We exchange a brief glance and I sense the recognition in his eyes. Then the surprise. "Mr. Wagner!" he says. "Do you remember me?"

Unfortunately, I don't. "I was in your class in 9th grade". I struggled with the face but I could not produce the name. "Billy Daniels" he went on, "I was in your 4th period science class at Island Trees Junior High". Good God almighty, I thought, that was almost 25 years ago. He must be 40 by now, just ten years younger than me. We talked for a while about my daughter's accident and he told me about his son's knee, which he damaged playing soccer.

Then he asked me if I was still teaching. He seemed happy to hear that I still was.
"I'm a teacher too", he said, obviously proud to be able to tell me this. "Do you remember that story that you told us about the zoroastrian temples along the Jersey Turnpike?" He began to laugh like a kid. "Well, I still tell that story to my students! And it's just as funny now as it was when I first heard it".
I still tell that story to my students too.
"And do you remember telling me that you hoped that someday I would become a teacher and you hoped I would have a student just like me?" Sure I remembered. I say that all the time when students aggravate me. "Well, I did, and you were right. I've got plenty that are just like I was. And I never forget that. And that makes all the difference".

They say that life is like a river that flows deep and wide. But I think that it's more like a chain, and each one of us is a link to the past and to the future. I began to realize that every kid that ever sat in my room carries a little piece of me with them when they leave. And every one of them is forever a part of me... and I am a part of them.

Patti and Patty

Patti Smith, left

Patty Smyth, right

Listen to "FREE MONEY" by Patti Smith

Listen to "GOODBYE TO YOU" by Patty Smyth

Mystery

Some time ago, I found myself walking along the beach. As I looked out over the ocean, sunlight sparkled on the gently rolling swells. At one point in my view, the beach, the ocean and the sky seemed to merge into one. There is something compelling about the ocean, and I was a lone water-gazer upon this beach. Mountains have a certain grandeur and likewise canyons and forests. I have seen them all. But the ocean is special, and I always feel the need to venture as close as I can without getting wet. But at some certain point in time, I am always constrained to remove my shoes and socks and place my feet into the swirling waters. It is a holy baptism of life.



On this particular day, as I walked further down the beach, I saw a young boy who looked to be about five or six years old. He had dug a deep hole in the sand just above the water line and was going back and forth with a paper cup, dipping water from the ocean and pouring it into the hole. I watched him for some time and finally asked him what he was doing. He replied that he was going to empty the whole ocean into the hole. Since the water disappeared down the hole each time he poured, he assumed that it would only be a matter of time until his task was accomplished.

When I was a young boy, I looked out into the night sky and marveled at the beauty of the stars. I began to learn about the stars and the planets, and I soon took to the task of counting the number of stars that I could see. I would lie on my back on the beach and divide the heavens into sections, counting each one carefully and adding them up. Twenty, forty, eighty...one hundred! When I was older, my father bought me a small telescope and I soon realized that there were many more stars than I thought. I learned in school that there were almost 2500 stars that could be seen with the naked eye on a clear night. I soon realized that some of the points of light were not stars at all, but huge galaxies, filled with countless numbers of additional stars. Even today, with our most powerful telescopes, the farther we look, and the better we see, the numbers of stars and galaxies keeps ever increasing. Needless to say, I have given up trying to count the stars in the sky and just as surely, that little boy will someday realize that he has a better chance of getting the whole ocean into that little hole than he does of ever understanding the mysteries of the universe.

Friday Top Ten: Doo Wop

Doo-wop is a style of vocal-based rhythm and blues music popular in the mid-1950s to the early 1960s in America. The term was coined by a DJ, Gus Gossert, in the 1970s referring to (mostly) white Rock & Roll groups of the late 50s and early 60s. It became the fashion in the 1990s to keep expanding the definition backward to take in Rhythm & Blues groups from the mid-1950s and then further back to include groups from the early 1950s and even the 1940s. There is absolutely no consensus of opinion as to what constitutes a Doo-Wop song, and many, many aficionados of R&B music dislike the term intensely.

Find out about Doo Wop HERE:

I used to have many hundreds of 45 r.p.m. records but they were in very poor condition, having been played repeatedly on cheap "phonographs". Here are ten of my all time favorites. Just click on the link to hear the song:

Bad Boy - The Jive Bombers

The Fool - Sanford Clark

You Cheated - The Shields

Bo Diddley - Bo Diddley

Pledge Of Love - Ken Copeland

Pledging My Love - Johnny Ace

Oh Julie - The Crescendos

Little Darling - The Gladiolas

Roses Are Blooming - Joe Therrien Jr. & the Rockets

Roses Are Blooming - The Silvatones

Chi-Wa-Wa - The Silvatones

OK, 11 of my favorites!

Cries in Darkness

I wish I had written this, but I didn't.
Compliments to Pissed_Off_Patricia at Blondesense

I wonder if he ever hears them. When the president of the United States is alone in his bedroom at the end of the day and he turns off the light, I wonder if he hears them. Does he ever hear somewhere in his head the cries of a soldier as he lays dying? Many say that a wounded and dying soldier will cry out for his mother. I imagine that’s right. I imagine that’s exactly what goes through a dying soldier’s mind, his mother. As he feels his life slipping away, why wouldn’t he want to cling to the woman who gave him that life. She was his source. I wonder if the president ever hears that cry and if he doesn’t, how does he avoid it?

Perhaps he might hear the cries and screams of the tiny children who lay dying in a land far away from the presidential bedroom. Or maybe it’s the sound of mothers and fathers caressing the bodies of their lifeless children. What must those sounds be like? Do they curse the man whose soldiers dropped the bomb or fired the shot? Do they wail at the top of their lungs or do they suffer the deep and retching sobs as only a mother or father can? Do you think those sounds ever make their way to the president’s pillow? How can he avoid hearing this sad concert of sadness?

Maybe there are reasons the president doesn’t hear the mournful cry of the dead and dying, the living and hurting. Maybe he’s praying. Maybe he prays out loud. Maybe he prays as loud as he can to drown out the voices and the sobbing.. Maybe he prays himself to sleep each night and maybe he thinks if he prays loud enough and long enough the cries will fall silent. If he prays, what is he praying for? He’s probably praying that the voices will stop and leave him alone. Will his prayers be answered? They won’t.

Another morning will come, another day will begin. He will have managed to make it through another night. The sun will rise and he may escape the darkness and the voices for one more day. But with the new day will come more voices, more deaths, more pain, more suffering and those new voices will await him on his pillow tonight. Tonight there will be more voices and they will be louder. He will need to pray louder and longer than he did last night. Will he be able to avoid the voices forever? Cries from the darkness never go away. No matter how loud or long he prays, the voices will be patient and they will linger until one day he will be unable to pray any longer or any louder and then he will hear them. He’ll hear them and he may go mad, because once he listens to the sounds of their pain, he will hear it forever. The next cry in the darkness may be his own.

Just a Theory?

No!

JUST A STORY!

Friday Top Twelve

Along with "Nebraska" and "Ghost of Tom Joad", "Devils & Dust" is one of Springsteen's finest.


1. Devils & Dust
2. All The Way Home
3. Reno
4. Long Time Comin'
5. Black Cowboys
6. Maria's Bed
7. Silver Palomino
8. Jesus Was an Only Son
9. Leah
10. The Hitter
11. All I'm Thinkin' About
12. Matamoras Banks

Mencken's Creed

H.L.Mencken
http://www.io.com/gibbonsb/mencken/

I believe that religion, generally speaking, has been a curse to mankind - that its modest and greatly overestimated services on the ethical side have been more than overcome by the damage it has done to clear and honest thinking.
I believe that no discovery of fact, however trivial, can be wholly useless to the race, and that no trumpeting of falsehood, however virtuous in intent, can be anything but vicious.
I believe that all government is evil, in that all government must necessarily make war upon liberty…
I believe that the evidence for immortality is no better than the evidence of witches, and deserves no more respect.
I believe in the complete freedom of thought and speech…
I believe in the capacity of man to conquer his world, and to find out what it is made of, and how it is run.
I believe in the reality of progress.
I - But the whole thing, after all, may be put very simply. I believe that it is better to tell the truth than to lie. I believe that it is better to be free than to be a slave. And I believe that it is better to know than be ignorant.

And so do I...

Friday Random Ten

A lot of blogs do a Friday Random Ten.
You're supposed to write down the first ten songs selected at random from your Ipod. I've learned a lot from this. Mostly that a lot of people have really crappy taste in music.
One problem for me is that I don't have an Ipod and I don't intend to get one. When I'm home, I listen to music from my computer pumped through my awesome stereo system. When I'm driving in the car, I listen to the radio. All other times, when I should be paying attention to what I'm doing, there's no music. And no cell phone. It distracts me from the really important work of thinking and daydreaming.

Anyway, here's my Saturday Random Ten, culled from my computer playlist:

Land of Hope and Dreams- Bruce Springsteen
A Face In The Crowd- Tom Petty
I Walk The Line- Johnny Cash
Tumbling Dice- Rolling Stones
Chimes of Freedom- The Byrds
Wonderful Tonight- Eric Clapton
Thrasher- Neil Young
Lilac Wine- Nina Simone
Sing, Sing, Sing- Benny Goodman
Lonely Boy- Paul Anka
Nation of Shopkeepers- Graham Parker

OK, Random Eleven...

Medical Update

It's been six weeks since my surgery and I must say that I'm almost back to normal. My left arm has mostly recovered its full function and my incisions are mostly healed.
The timing was perfect since I wouldn't have been doing much in February and March and now the cherry tree is beginning to bloom and the pear tree is in full bloom. Spring is on the way and I'm even beginning to think about my travel plans for the summer and fall. It just doesn't get any better. You can have that attitude so long as you don't concern yourself with what the rest of the idiots in the world are doing.

As Carl Bernstein recently said:
"For the first time in our history, the weird, the stupid, the coarse, the sensational and the untrue are becoming our cultural norm, even our cultural ideal."

Maybe for the rest of the world, but certainly not for me.

You Can Be Too Thin, After All

From today's New York Times editorial page

"The whole notion of what constitutes normal weight and overweight may have to be rethought."

And when they finish with that, they can rethink the notion of what constitutes high blood pressure and high cholesterol.

But then, how would they be able to justify selling billions of dollars worth of useless pills to people?

We're Seeing Things Falling Apart

"The consequences to a society that is misinformed and disinformed by the grotesque values of this idiot culture are truly perilous. For the first time in our history, the weird, the stupid, the coarse, the sensational and the untrue are becoming our cultural norm, even our cultural ideal."
Carl Bernstein

Never was this more obvious than the appearance of Ann Coulter on the cover of Time Magazine.

When I was a kid, we used to joke about it: "Life" (magazine) for people who can't read and "Time" (magazine) for people who can't think"

Eric Alterman wrote:
(http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7545644/#050419)

"Time’s cover story/whitewash of Ann Coulter will make it impossible for serious people to accept what the magazine reports at face-value ever again. It is as if Time had contracted a journalistic venereal disease from Rush Limbaugh and Bill O’Reilly and is now seeking to lower itself to their level in pursuit of their ideologically-obsessed audiences."

The Oldest Child

by Charles Simic

The night still frightens you.
You know it is interminable
And of vast, unimaginable dimensions.
"That's because His insomnia is permanent,"
You've read some mystic say.
Is it the point of His schoolboy's compass
That pricks your heart?

Somewhere perhaps the lovers lie
Under the dark cypress trees,
Trembling with happiness,
But here there's only your beard of many days
And a night moth shivering
Under your hand pressed against your chest.

Oldest child, Prometheus
Of some cold, cold fire you can't even name
For which you're serving slow time
With that night moth's terror for company.

"Blink" by Malcolm Gladwell

What is "Blink" about?

It's a book about rapid cognition, about the kind of thinking that happens in a blink of an eye. When you meet someone for the first time, or walk into a house you are thinking of buying, or read the first few sentences of a book, your mind takes about two seconds to jump to a series of conclusions. Well, "Blink" is a book about those two seconds, because I think those instant conclusions that we reach are really powerful and really important and, occasionally, really good.

You could also say that it's a book about intuition, except that I don't like that word. In fact it never appears in "Blink." Intuition strikes me as a concept we use to describe emotional reactions, gut feelings--thoughts and impressions that don't' seem entirely rational. But I think that what goes on in that first two seconds is perfectly rational. It's thinking--its just thinking that moves a little faster and operates a little more mysteriously than the kind of deliberate, conscious decision-making that we usually associate with "thinking." In "Blink" I'm trying to understand those two seconds. What is going on in inside our heads when we engage in rapid cognition? When are snap judgments good and when are they not? What kinds of things can we do to make our powers of rapid cognition better?

How can thinking that takes place so quickly be at all useful? Don't we make the best decisions when we take the time to carefully evaluate all available and relevant information?

Certainly that's what we've always been told. We live in a society dedicated to the idea that we're always better off gathering as much information and spending as much time as possible in deliberation. As children, this lesson is drummed into us again and again: haste makes waste, look before you leap, stop and think. But I don't think this is true. There are lots of situations--particularly at times of high pressure and stress--when haste does not make waste, when our snap judgments and first impressions offer a much better means of making sense of the world.

Read the rest of the interview with the author HERE

Individuals Think Better Than Groups

"The years between 1950 and 1965 were the golden age of American nonfiction. Writers like Jane Jacobs, Louis Hartz, Daniel Bell and David Riesman produced sweeping books on American society and global affairs. They relied on their knowledge of history, literature, philosophy and theology to recognize social patterns and grasp emerging trends.

But even as their books hit the stores, their method was being undermined. A different group rejected this generalist/humanist approach and sought to turn social analysis into a science. For example, the father of the U.S. intelligence community, Sherman Kent, argued that social science and intelligence analysis needed a systematic method, "much like the method of the physical sciences."

Social research - in urban planning, sociology and intelligence analysis - began to mimic the hard sciences."

David Brooks (New York Times April 2, 2005)
Read the entire article HERE
(user name: RKRAMDEN, Password: busdriver)

My Talk With God

       It started just after midnight, Monday February 14th. First came the shortness of breath, followed in moments by the rales. I woke up Gail and informed her of what was happening. She wasn't even out of bed when the gurgling started. My breaths became shorter and shorter.
      I knew I was in a world of shit.
       I threw on my shoes and a jacket and headed for the car. By the time I got there it was painfully obvious that I had only minutes before my window of life would close completely, perhaps forever. North Shore-Long Island Jewish hospital (the *good* hospital) was 20 minutes away. Fortunately, I was less than a mile from the Nassau University Medical Center (the county hospital). Gail dialed 911 while I struggled to keep breathing. I was literally drowning in my own body fluids.
       The cops were there in minutes. I was unconscious when I arrived at the hospital and the doctors were fast, efficient, and very young! I thought to myself, "I hope they know what they're doing..." But I knew right away that I wasn't going to die. I watched intently as they went about their business, like they had done it a thousand times before. Not like on ER! No shouting, no rushing, no emotion. The breathing tube was inserted, the IV installed, the Foley in place, the respirator hooked up. It was only a matter of minutes. This is all still clear in my consciousness. After all, I was standing right there watching them the whole time.
       I began to notice that the room was getting very bright, like someone had opened the window and the warm sunlight was streaming in. It got so bright that I could no longer see anyone in the room. I began to walk towards the one figure I could still see, down the corridor in front of me. As I approached, the figure did not become clearer, but more amorphous. A great wave swept over me, a sensation of complete peace, joy and contentment. As I approached the figure, it stepped aside and I looked into the beyond.
       I saw a young man nervously trying to get up the courage to ask a pretty girl on a date. I saw an old man, sitting quietly in front of his beloved wife's casket, his head buried in his hands. I saw a young father, scolding his son for writing on the wall with a crayon. I saw a soldier, pinned down in a trench, praying to God that he would live to see his daughter get married. I saw my mother, walking across the street in Brooklyn to the neighborhood hospital, where she would give me life. I tried to understand what I was seeing.
      And then, God spoke to me.
      "This thing you call time, is an artifact, composed of eidetic simulacra. Imagine that you are wandering over the surface of the earth for all eternity. Every point on the earth's surface exists simultaneously, even though you are not present at all locations. So it is with time. Every point exists simultaneously, even though you are not there. The human mind creates beginnings and ends. There is no past, no present, no future. It's all the same thing. Every moment, every event, every joy, every tragedy exists simultaneously. Only in your world, your mind, your reality is time linear, with beginnings and ends."
       I pondered this for a while, trying to absorb this simple yet profound truth. Then I spoke to God.
      "I want to go back. Send me back to Afghanistan. I'll assemble an army, I'll hunt down Osama bin Laden and convince him of the error of his ways. I'll teach him about love and tolerance and humanity. I'll save all those innocent people."
       But God said no. "You'll strike up a conversation with him. He'll try to convince you that his actions are justified. You'll listen and be convinced. You'll join his cause and become an Ayatollah like Cat Stevens and move to Iran."
       "Send me back. Send me back to Memphis. I'll find Elvis, I'll take away his drugs. I'll tell him that we love him. I know that he will listen".
      But God said no. "You'll ask him if you can ride in his plane, come to Graceland and eat peanut butter and banana sandwiches. You'll fall in love with his daughter and want to marry her."
      I sensed that I was losing and that I would soon be beaten. I tried one last time. "Send me back to Calvary. I'll talk to the Romans and convince them not to kill Jesus. If they don't listen, I'll help him escape, hide him in the desert. If they hurt him, I'll treat his wounds, nurse him back to health, follow his teachings."
      But again, God said no. "You would listen to his teachings, but you would not follow them. You would call yourself a Christian and claim to follow the precept 'Resist not evil: but whoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also', but you would make war on innocent women and children for the flimsiest of reasons. You would call yourself a Christian and you would claim to follow the example of Jesus to 'judge not, lest ye be judged', yet you would be filled with moral indignation and self righteousness and permit envy and hate to be acted out under the guise of virtue. You would believe in your heart that 'if thou wilt be perfect, go and sell what thou hast, and give to the poor', yet you would allow children in poor countries to go to sleep hungry, perhaps to die of malnutrition while you gather up to yourself great wealth, far beyond your simple needs."
      God continued on. "I will not send you back in time because time belongs only to me. This is why I am who I am and you are who you are. All you have is now. That is the difference between us. Eternity belongs to me and I reserve it for myself. It is, you might say, the one real advantage that I have over you. You cannot change what you call the past and you cannot affect what you call the future. Now belongs to you. Do you want it?
       "Yes I do."
      I turned slowly and began to walk back down the corridor. The bright light began to fade until it became almost impossible to see anything. Soon it was totally dark. I heard a voice calling my name and I slowly opened my eyes. It was Gail, standing at the side of my bed.

Where's Charlie?

Just got out of the hospital. Triple bypass followed by a small stroke. Thank god I was in NY, not in Hawaii. I'll have a full report just as soon as I can get this damned left hand to work properly.
What else did I have to do in February anyway?

Backflow

I was sitting on the dunes just above the surf on a warm September evening when I first saw Mary. The sun had not yet set and the golden rays were glistening on the swirling waters breaking chaotically on the beach. The colors were beautiful; golden yellow, deep azure blue and sparkling green. The water was flowing chaotically around clumps of sand and rock near the shore and spray occasionally burst onto the face of the dune. On one level, it was totally unpredictable and the water could take any number of different paths as it flowed onto the beach and receded back to the great mother sea. It would be impossible to predict what path a floating object would take as it bobbed, apparently aimlessly, just beyond the breakers.

But there was a kind of serene order to it as the various pathways became clear and a certain order emerged from the chaos. Life itself has this same kind of appearance. On one level, it appears chaotic as people move about and change their jobs, their homes, their loves. A single event can change a person's life forever, and it is impossible to anticipate or control these events. But as I look deeper, certain patterns seemed to emerge as the chaos slowly goes out of focus and the orderliness becomes evident. People live, they die, they marry, they love, they hate, they laugh, they cry and they get hurt. Not much ever seems to change if you step back from your own personal situation and view the great panorama of existence. Surely the world is unfolding as it should whether or not it is clear to me how or why.

Mary had gotten up and taken her shoes and stockings off and was wading in the shallow pools of swirling water. As I watched her longingly, my soul was nearly exploding. I was standing at the very center of the wild heart of life. She was like a sea-bird that had just alighted as she stepped gracefully among the rocks and the swirling rivulets of water. Her skirts were pulled up above her knees, to avoid the spray of water that was dancing around her feet. Her legs were bronze and smooth and the tiny droplets of water glistened like diamonds on her skin. Her hair was blowing carelessly in the warm breezes as it fell here and there around her bare shoulders. I watched her for a few minutes but I couldn't see her face. I got up and began to walk towards her and as I did, she turned her head around slowly. As the setting sun splashed across her face, I could see that she was without a doubt the most beautiful girl that I had ever seen.

I turned to my brother, who was sitting next to me on the sandy shore. "Who is she?" I asked. "She's a senior at our school, I think her name is Mary." Now I remembered. Seniors had very little use for freshmen, and the joke was that the only time a senior would notice you was if you dropped dead in the hall, and they had to walk around you. Mary was a cheerleader but her life did not revolve solely around school. She had a boyfriend, who had graduated and he also had a car. He would be waiting for her each afternoon and they would drive away together, undoubtedly to adventures that I could only imagine in my wildest dreams. But the hopelessness of my situation certainly didn't dissuade me from my longings. I became obsessed with her, and followed her each day as she passed from class to class. Sometimes I would even cut chemistry to go to the cafeteria where she would eat her lunch and I would sit there and just watch her and silently plan our lives together. Each day I would adamantly vow that this would be the day I would speak to her. But what to say? I went over and over in my mind how it would go. But I never got up the nerve. Never even once. By June, my hopes had diminished and finally she graduated and as far as I was concerned, I would never get the chance again.

When we returned to school in September I was filled constantly with a great emptiness. Actually, there was no reason at all to come to school any more. But gradually the pain subsided as new adventures filled my days and I began to look forward to the following year, which would be my senior year. Sometime around Halloween of that year, news began to circulate that a girl from our school was pregnant. The school officials were quick to point out that although she had attended the school last year, she had graduated and no longer could be considered to be under their moral guidance or responsibility. We soon learned that the girl under discussion was none other than my beloved Mary. Information was very hard to come by because in 1961 there was a tremendous stigma attached to these kinds of occurrences. Most people adopted the view that the less said the better. Would she marry the boy? Would she raise the child herself? Would it be put up for adoption? No one seemed to know.

The approach of the holiday season distracted our attention. Soon it was New Year's Eve, 1962, and I had just turned 18. I was allowed to accompany my mother and father to the local tavern where we would welcome the New Year. I was cautioned that I would only be allowed one glass of champagne, at the stroke of midnight, but after a short while, my parents lost track of my activities and I was on my own. I found the whole situation rather depressing and kind of silly. Here I was on New Years Eve, in a bar with my parents. I began to think about my predicament. Most of the girls I knew were still under age, and certainly would not have been allowed to accompany me to a bar. Those girls that were old enough to drink had boyfriends who were even older, and certainly would not have wasted their time with me. So I had more or less resigned myself to my fate and set about planning how I would make next year better.

It was a little after 1:00 a.m. and I was falling asleep, wishing that my parents would tire of the party and decide to go home. I was suddenly jolted awake by the piercing sound of the siren from the fire department down the street. It's purpose was to alert volunteer firemen to respond to some emergency. I waited for the horn. Four blasts in a row meant a house fire. I heard one...then two....silence. Only an aided case. Probably some old guy had a heart attack. Or a car crash. Within moments, two police cars raced by, followed by an ambulance. Everyone piled out into the street. The crash was just down the road. "Can anyone see anything"? "A car hit a pole near Boundary Avenue!' "Who is it?", "what kind of car?" "It's a '59 Impala convertible, with a white top" I felt like I had been hit in the head with a baseball bat. I knew that car. After all, I had seen it almost every day last year, waiting at the school gate.

We are flesh, and we are spirit. We have bones, and we have grace. We are mind, and we are soul. We have a name, and we have a face. We have eyes, and we can see, we can touch, and we can feel. We are happy and we are sad, we are good and we are bad. But why must we die? It's been 38 years since that awful night, and I still remember it like it was today. I sometimes drive by the spot and just stop and think about the indifference of life to our deepest feelings. I think to myself, how cruel it is to give us life and then snatch it away mercilessly, without regard to those who care about us. But we are the exception. The world does not care. Only we care. It is a special quality that raises us to the pinnacles of joy and then plunges us into the depths of despair. And we cannot help but wondering why.

We used to get our Christmas tree at the lot across from K-Mart. Ever since I was a kid, we would go there and hassle old George about the price. After a while it became kind of a joke. But old George was gone now, and a shopping center stood on his spot. The only other place to get a good tree now was at Frank's Nursery, down by Wantagh Avenue. I set out as I had so many times before but there would be no more haggling. Each tree was bar-coded and the cashiers just zapped it with the computer and that was it. I found a nice tree, not the best ever, but not the worst and dragged it up to the wrapper. A young kid, about 15 or 16 cut off the tag and told me to take it inside to the cashier.

Inside, it was crowded and I waited patiently on line, not paying much attention. It soon became my turn and I pulled out my tag and handed it to the young girl. I hadn't noticed her face, but as she slowly turned towards me, the sunlight splashed across her face. I could see that, without a doubt, she was the most beautiful girl that I had ever seen. "Mary?" I blurted out. She looked at me kind of funny, and then looked down at her smock. There were two small holes where her name tag usually was, but it was missing. "Yes." she replied, "but how do you know my name?" "I don't know. You reminded me of someone, I think." But I knew. "It's kind of unusual to have an old-fashioned name like Mary" I said. "Most everyone today is Allison, or Jessica." "Well, I was named after my grandmother. She was killed in a car accident a long time ago."
I stood there mute. I wanted to pour out the whole story, to touch her, to know her. But what to say? Would she understand, would she care? I looked directly into her eyes. It was enough for me that she existed. There was nothing here for me anymore. Nor was there ever. It was just a child's infatuation. I took my receipt and walked quickly out of the store.

When people are transported back in time, they must be very careful not to disturb anything. Any change, no matter how inconsequential, could alter the future. Time is like the flow of water onto a beach from the great mother, the sea. Every once in a while, some cosmic disturbance will cause a backflow, and a finger of the sea will find it's way into the backstream. But at the next wave, it is washed away, and the great mother sea rolls on, as it has since the beginning.

Arthur Miller

"All My Sons" is my favorite:

"We used to shoot a man who acted like a dog, but honour was real there ...But here? This is the land of the great big dogs, you don't love a man here, you eat him. That's the principle; the only one we live by - it just happened to kill a few people this time, that's all. The world's that way..."

This is the kind of stuff that should be in every English curriculum in every high school in the United States because it teaches us about duty, honor, compassion, responsibility and ethics, values that seem to be sorely missing from todays world.

"Once and for all you must know that there's a universe of people outside, and you're responsible to it."

It rings as true today as it did in 1947.

Kaua'i and Moloka'i

Gail and I recently visited Kaua'i and Moloka'i.
Kauai is the oldest of the Hawaiian Islands and therefore the most eroded. It's often called the "garden island" because of its lush vegetation. It's my second favorite, after Maui of course!
The most prominent landform on Kaua'i is the Waimea Canyon, called "the Grand Canyon of the Pacific". It's not the Grand Canyon but it sure is impressive. Also, on the northwest side of the island is the NaPali Coast, with its 4000 foot high cliffs and magnificent waterfalls. This is not accessible by car, so you must hike in, take a boat or fly.
Moloka'i also has sea cliffs that are over 3000 feet high and is the island where Father Damien administered to sufferers of Hansen's Disease (leprosy) in the 19th century. The Kalaupapa region, where his colony was located is also inaccesible by car and you can either fly in or take the mule trek.



To see an album of pictures, click HERE

Just A Theory?

I haven't said much about evolution here, but my position is simple: You have to believe in magic and suspend all reality to believe that life emerged as the direct result of random, accidental, fortuitous mutations, filtered by natural selection, without the help of any kind of intelligent input.

Read the whole comic HERE

Read my paper on this subject HERE

The Bear

There's a different quality to the silence in the wilderness. I don't know if you've ever noticed it. It's a purer, more penetrating silence than we experience in the populated areas. It gets inside your head and it clears out a lot of the cobwebs, leaving more room for introspection. It has a real calming effect on the spirit. No, it's not total silence. That can be very unnerving. It's more of an honest silence, the gentle rustling of the trees in the soft breeze, the trickling of water coming from a small spring on the side of a hill, the birds chirping pleasantly and the insects buzzing around your head. And off in the distance, the unmistakable sound of someone, or something approaching.
I crouch down quietly in the brush and check the direction of the wind. Damn! It's blowing directly towards the sound. Not good. He'll have my scent in just a moment. I reach behind into my backpack and take out the field glasses. And wonder. Moose? Elk? Bison? I catch a glimpse of the brown fur and I notice the silvery tips of the brown hairs. Double damn! Ursus horribilis...the grizzly bear.



He stops and looks up straight in my direction. He's got the scent. He probably doesn't want me, but these bears know that where there are humans, there's usually human food. I do what I've been taught to do by those who say they know. Nothing. Maybe he'll lose interest and continue on. But he continues towards me, and I reach down and pull the revolver from its holster and wait. All the while, I'm wondering why I loaded it with .38 specials. They're not going to help me all that much against this bear. He's probably about 10 meters away now, so I stand up straight in order to back slowly away. Now his dark eyes are focused directly on me. He stops about 3 meters away and I raise the revolver so it's pointing directly at his head. Right between the eyes. It's the only chance I have.
We are now frozen in time, him and me, just standing there, waiting for something to happen. I'm fascinated by his elegant beauty and power. The hump behind his head is pure muscle and the long claws are used for digging. His rump slopes downward and is much lower than his head. I look directly into his large eyes. Damn, I really don't want to hurt this guy. But if you walk in the woods, and a bear bites your butt, is it the bear's fault? He's only doing what he's supposed to do. I'm the intruder here.
Now I begin to see something happening. He's still looking directly at me, but his mouth seems different. The corners have turned upwards and I can see his teeth clearly. Is he getting ready to attack? But then I realize what is happening. His mouth has curled upward into a ...smile.
He turns his head slowly to the right and then again, slowly to the left. I can almost hear him thinking to himself: "well buddy, I could mess you up pretty bad if I wanted to, but today is your day. Enjoy!"
And he just turned and walked away..

I made Johnny Carson wait!

From 1986 until 1992 I spent every summer working at Kennedy Airport in New York City as a United States Customs officer. One of the best things about the job was getting to meet a lot of famous people.
The Concorde usually came in around 9:00 a.m. every morning and we always wondered who might be on it. This particular morning, we heard that it was full of people coming back from the Wimbledon Tennis Tournament. As the doors opened and the passengers began to enter the hall, many of the tennis players stood by to sign autographs or answer questions. Naturally, I was stationed way down at the other end of the hall and I was straining to see who might be there. It looked like Ivan Lendl! Behind me, two ordinary looking guys were waiting to be processed. I was busy watching the tennis players. After a few minutes, one of the guys banged on the counter and asked if I would take care of them. He seemed a little annoyed. I turned my head and answered him over my shoulder: "wait just a minute, please, I'm looking for Ivan Lendl. Again, an annoyed plea: "can you take care of us please? Finally, I decided that I shouldn't make them wait any longer and I turned around and angrily began to rebuke them for rushing me.
I didn't need their passports to know who they were:
Johnny Carson and Chuck Scarborough*. Oops!
(Chuck is the New York anchor for the evening news on WNBC)

Shirley Chisholm

Shirley Chisholm, the first black woman congressman, died yesterday.





"Our representative democracy is not working, because the congress that is supposed to represent the voters does not respond to their needs. I believe the chief reason for this is that it is ruled by a small group of old men."

"I'd like them to say that Shirley Chishom had guts. That's how I'd like to be remembered."

Well Shirley, unlike many of the members of the present Congress, you certainly had guts.
I'm sorry you had to live to see the sad state of affairs that our country has come to. And just when we naively thought it might be getting better.

Read the entire obituary in the New York Times