Stem Cell Research II: Guest Commentator, Science Guy

Science Guy said...

There are 3 types of stem cells. There are the embroyonic stem cells(ESC), There are adult stem cells, and there are embryonic germ cells. The last category is derived from a fetus' ovary/testicle.

The most useful one is the ESC. This is because when they are harvested at 4 to 5 days, they contain hundreds of undifferentiated cells. Undifferentiated means that the cell has the ability to grow into any type of tissue (muscle, skin, bone, epithelial, etc.).
I apologize to those who already know this. I'm not trying to lecture here.

But I digress from my point. Harvesting embryos is not killing people. A 4-5 day embryo in a test tube is not a person. It has no chance to be a person. If left alone in the test tube it would not make it to term. In order for a fetus to develop it must be implanted in a uterus. Failing that it will not be a human. It is just a possible human.

This failure to implant in the uterus is not common to the "detached" researchers in the lab. It happens on a daily basis to women all over the planet. (Check out this website to learn more about the causes and possible treatment http://www.illinoisivf.com/recurrent-pregnancy-loss/pre-implantation.html)

Conception does not necessarily make a person. The potential for the zygote to become a person does not make it a person. If that was the case then the arguement could be made that masturbation is as bad as stem cell research. Every sperm is a potential person, it just needs an egg. A woman ovulation cycle is wrong too. Every egg is a potential person, it just needs a sperm. Every zygote is a potential person, it just needs a uterus.

"Let the heathens spill theirs on the dusty ground. God shall make them pay for each sperm that can't be found."
-Monty Python "The Meaning of Life"

Aristos responds:

The semen that you so cavalierly shoot about like Egon Spangler in the hotel scene of Ghostbusters is laden with sperm, and your callous disregard results in millions of sperms' death, but this kills no one. Sperm cannot grow into a person. Nothing can be done to make sperm into a person. If it could, then you'd have people popping out of your old socks and wadded up t-shirts. That's like calling butter a cookie, because there is butter in cookies. Cookies are cookies whether or not they are cooked. It's not just "dough" which is why we call it cookie dough. I would be wary on buying chocolate chip dough ice cream, for I'm kind of a stickler for cookie dough. It would suck to take a bite and taste rye.

Your comparing a zygote to sperm seems careless, considering your screen name. Zygotes do grow into people, and human zygotes formed by human sperm and human eggs are humans. They are not potential humans. Do they have the potential to be anything else? You might say that they are zygotes, but you have to throw the adjective "human" in there to be clear. When people wish to deny the humanity of the unborn, they revert to the use of jargon: an unborn baby is a fetus, or an embryo, or a zygote (depending upon its stage of development). Such semantics are not new. Slavery was called "The Peculiar Institution." The Holocaust was "The Final Solution." And Saved By the Bell was called a "Comedy." A human being can be a specimen, if they are the object of the experiment. This sounds awful, so let's just call them embryos, but let's not even do that, let's call it embryo cell research, but let's not do that, let's call it "stem cell" research and show pictures of brave, noble Christopher Reeve. If we do this, then people won't really know what we're doing. Jews who were thrown into boxcars and sent to death camps were told that they were being relocated for their own safety. Goebbels often equated Jews with vermin, and Hitler himself wrote of them in Mein Kampf as parasites. Such manipulative use of language is absolutely essential in order to dehuminze the victims and turn the masses against them.

The destruction of sperm is not comparable to the destruction of an embryo. Embryos have unique DNA, and it is human DNA. Only human's have such DNA, so an embryo is a human. Embryos live, and their lives are human lives. Purposefully killing an embryo without just cause is murder. I've known (or a least known of) some people who deserve to die (e.g. Screech) but that's because of something that they did. Embryos did nothing wrong. They cannot deserve to be killed, so scientists should not kill them.

Just because embryos cannot survive "left alone" means nothing. All babies would die if left alone, as would many old people. This does not make them less human.

It doesn't matter how useful this research might be. It does not justify murder.

Stem Cell Research

Stem-cell research has the potential to save lives. Of course there is no better organism with which to experiment than a human being, but this does not validate it. The ends do not justify the means, lest we should have to re-evaluate the actions of "Dr. Auschwitz," Josef Mengele.

Let's not re-evaluate him. Let's call him a murderer. Let's not use human beings as unwilling participants in medical experimentation.

But embryos are not people, some might say. They have human DNA, so what else are they? They're not Martians. They're not turtles. They're humans who cannot scream; humans who cannot survive to relate the horrible ordeal. That's why it's so easy to kill them.

Don't tell sob stories about those afflicted by disorders that might be cured by stem cell research. Sob stories are irrelevant. They are ad miseracordiam. The issue is, should some humans be killed intentionally and undeservedly (i.e. murdered) in order to save others possibly.

If the government has any authority, it is only to protect the human rights to life, liberty, and the ownership of property. Embryos are human, embryos live, and they have the right to live.

Connotations

In today's forecast, The Detroit News proclaims that a "cold front" is coming in to take us below the 90's. While I, sitting in my non-air conditioned home and presiding over a eutrophic pool, can appreciate temperatures below 90, I have to say something about this supposed "cold front."

According to the weekly forecast, this "cold front" will still leave us in the 80's. The 80's are tolerable (except for music and fashion), but I decline to accept it as a "cold front."

Denotatively, it fits. The 80's is colder than the 90's. However, one must also consider the connotation of a word. There is nothing cold about a weather system that carries temperatures in the 80's. 85 is cold if it's your body temperature (in which case you're either dead or my wife's hands and feet at bed time). 85 is cold if it's your oven setting, and you're cooking meat. When the air is 85, it's quite warm. Maybe it's not [insert profanity] hot, but it sure as heck isn't cold. Something that is not cold should not be called cold, even if it is colder than something else. If the temperature were 150, you wouldn't walk around saying, "Hell this is cold! After all, we could be living on the surface of the Sun!" (or in my living room).

Would you wear a sweater if it's 85? Would you start a fire in the fireplace? Would you turn the thermostat up to 90 because 85 is too cold?

The 80's is not cold, so it can't be a "cold front," even if it's colder than the 90's. The 80's isn't even a "mild front." It's a "milder front," but that doesn't make it mild. Someone who murders fewer people than another isn't by definition more philanthropic.

Like I said, the denotation is appropriate, but there's more to a word than its denotation. If denotation were all that mattered, then I wouldn't get upset if one of my kids told me that the bathroom smelled like [insert profane synonym for feces]. If connotation didn't matter, then I could tell people that I've got a real bitch at home without fear of offending anyone.

*Disclaimer: Nala is a bitch. She's a two year old beagle.*

If connotation is irrelevant, then I could issue any racial epithet with impunity (Polacks can go to www.dictionary.com to look up impunity. Better yet, ask an Ango-Saxon to do so for you).

And this brings me to a new rant. What's with almost every blonde joke being a simple revised Polack joke? Was it decided that jokes depicting a nationality in a bad way are not appropriate (unless it's France), but jokes deriding people with low levels of eumelanin and higher levels pheomelanin are funny?

What's wrong with racial jokes? If the answer is that they're offensive, then blond jokes are similarly inappropriate. If the answer is that they create a false stereotype, then blond jokes are likewise inaccurate.

Is there some fear that I might actually think that racial jokes depict the truth of people? I know many blond people, and I see new ones every day, and I have never assumed that they are stupid because I heard the one about the blond who climbed over the chain-link fence to see what was on the other side (originally, this was a Polack joke).

But connotation is a problem, and it's not easily describable.

There's a difference between racial epithets, racism, and racial jokes. Should I push aside a black guy and say, "Out of my way, nigger," I have used a word with a negative connotation with the purpose of being pejorative. It's not the word that's bad so much as what I meant by using it.

Suppose I should say that I hate dagos? Again, the key is not the word dago. The important and truly pejorative word is hate. Am I somewhat nicer if I say, "I hate Italians"?

Now to the racial joke. When I ask, "Did you hear about the Polack who broke his arm while raking leaves? He fell out," I'm not trying to be hurtful to Poles. It's just for some reason (and I don't know it), they're the butt of jokes, and these jokes depict them as being dumb. By telling the joke, I am not suggesting that Poles are dumb, nor am I expressing my personal belief that Poles are dumb. Just because I laughed at the joke, "What did the black kid get for his birthday? My bike!" doesn't mean that I'm supporting the KKK or about to hang one from a tree. Besides, how would I get him down? (I'd tell some Mexicans that he's a piñata).

Do such jokes support irrational stereotypes? Yes, in some ways they do. However, I still want to know what's so PC about a blond joke? For that matter, what's so funny about a redneck joke, if Jewish jokes are so taboo? If I tell or laugh at a Jewish joke, I'm not saying that Auschwitz was a fine institution. However, if you wish to punish me for telling or laughing at a Jewish joke, then you've got something in common with Auschwitz's proprietors.

What's funny if everything's PC?

Non-PC Joke: How do you confuse a Polack? Stick him in a round room and tell him to pee in a corner!

PC Version: How do you confuse a dignified individual of Polish descent? Send him to a location but provide him with incorrect directions.

Non-PC Joke: Why do Italian men grow mustaches? To remind them of their mothers!

PC Version: Why do Italian men grow mustaches? Because many of them wish to do so, and since it is within their rights to do so, they may so.

Non-PC Joke: What do gay men call hemorrhoids? Speed bumps!

PC Version: What do gay men call hemorrhoids? A condition in which the veins around the anus or lower rectum are swollen and inflamed!

In spite of all of this, I completely disagree with the connotative ignorance of calling the upcoming weather a "cold front." It's not a "cold front" if it doesn't make it cold, and the 80's is not cold. Historically, the 80's weren't even cool.

By the way, if I offended you with my candor, then get a life.

Fantasy Football

One of my Fantasy Football Leagues is a "keeper" league. These players I have opted to keep.

QB: Payton Manning, Ind
RB: Larry Johnson, KC
RB: Rudy Johnson, Cin
WR: Steve Smith

Now I have to decide on whom else to keep
QB: Kurt Warner, AZ (I'm trying to trade him for a draft pick)
RB: Corey Dillon, NE
RB: Ron Dayne, Den
RB: Chester Taylor, MN
WR: Keyshawn Johnson, Car
TE: Tony Gonzales, KC
DST: Chicago Bears

Any advice?

Tsk Tsk Tsk

I said some pretty hard-core things in my "Old People" post, and none of the few (yes, I admit that I am not even a regional phenom) who read this post said anything at all. Shame on you. Either sound like and idiot and argue against me, or step up and show your good sense by saying, "Well done."

Reason for the Previous Post

The reason for the previous post is, if you haven't guessed, that our air conditioner is broken. Some might respond that people lived for eons without air conditioning, but I counter that these people were unfortunate.

People lived for eons without lost of stuff that we now "need." If you want to take that line of argument, then I only ask that you not drive a car or take a bus anywhere. Watch flowers grow, but don't watch TV. Listen to the breeze, but don't listen to Brittney Spears.

Actually, that last one sounds pretty good...

Some people think that air conditioning has contributed to obesity in this country, for it keeps people idle and inside their homes instead of active and outside. I say B.S. I don't have air conditioning, and I'm obese, idle, and, whether I'm inside or not, I haven't the ability to be active. The simple act of typing this is making me sweat.

Still, you might disagree. Perhaps you think that sweating is good for me. Very well, then, continue with your Richard Simmon's routines to Little Richard tunes. Vote Democrat for "social justice." Vote Republican because you're one of the "moral majority." Either way, you're an idiot, and I'm still hotter than hell.

Abolish Summer

There are far more songs written about the summer than any other season. The only season that comes close is winter, and that's only because of Christmas. Seriously, think about it. There's all sorts of winter songs: "Winter Wonderland," "Let it Snow," "Baby It's Cold Outside," etc.; but how many of them are played after Christmas? They're Christmas songs, not winter songs.

I bring this up because I'm tired of celebrating summer. Give me late spring or early autumn. Screw summer. It's too dang hot.

I edged my grass today and nearly dehydrated. I went inside and drank a bit of water (I say a bit, but I mean a lot more because exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement). I decided to sit and do nothing for a while. The problem was, I had to breathe, and that made me sweat even more. I had to get more water. The process of lifting the glass of water to my lips cost me in fluids as much as I consumed. I thought, for a moment, that I might be in Hell: George W. is still president, and that supported this hypothesis. However, I was still able to access Catherine Zeta-Jones on the internet, so I knew that I was OK. She's so beautiful, and to think that the only things standing between us is her marriage to Michael Douglas and that pesky restraining order.

Seriously, what's so awesome about the summer? I'm sweating my [insert dual male organs] off!

Have you ever noticed that most "summer" songs are written by people living in climates that are warm whether or not it is summer? Think about it. Jimmy Buffet hangs out in the Caribbean. The Beach Boys were from Southern California. When was the last time that a "summer" song was recorded by a band in northern Irkutusk? "I Wish They All Could Be Siberian Girls" just doesn't sound right.

I think that summer songs are coolest in the winter, when, ironically, it is coolest. That's when I can curse how freaking cold it is and wish for the warmth of the summer. When the summer comes, bring on the Christmas songs because I'm melting.

Screw summer and screw winter. Give me May and October twelve months out of the year. It can snow on Christmas, which, on my calendar, will be on May 25; and it can be hot on Independence Day, which I will allow to be on July 4, but only because I'm a historian and dates should jive whenever possible (please note that there is conclusive evidence that Jesus was not born on December 25, so my special calendar can still maintain quite a bit of integrity).

This calendar--which will only include the latter half of April, all of May, the first part of June, the latter half of September, all of October and nothing else--would be beneficial to all. All we need is for Congress to vote on it.

If you think that's stupid, that we can't change the seasons by a simple vote, then you must agree that it is stupid for Congress to take steps to stave off global warming. I'll accept that refutation, for I believe that global warming is a natural process and that Al Gore would have preached phrenology in the 19th century and probably believes that a good bleeding will cure whatever ails you.

If summer is abolished because it is too hot, and winter was abolished because it is too cold, the only problem would be changing a few song lyrics. For instance:

"Pleasant time, spring in the city" would replace "Hot time, summer in the city."

And "Oh the weather outside is delightful" would replace "Oh the weather outside is frightful."

If we put our minds to it, we can do it. It's a hell of a lot easier than enduring this unrelenting heat, only to endure piercing cold six months later.

Braveheart

Every time that I watch Braveheart, I want to put on a kilt (I'll fashion one from a beach towel), grab a sword (I guess I'll have to settle for my fireplace poker), and slaughter some Englishmen (Aussies will do just as well, I guess--so look out, Outback).

Old People and My Money

There's nothing really original about this one. It's pretty much old hat, but it's what's got me right now, so live with it.

Medicare should be abolished instantly.

Virtually every rational person that I know recognizes the problem with Medicare, but they think that we're somehow trapped into it, that we owe it to the old people of today and can only hope (at best) to phase it out in the future.

Bull.

No one deserves my money except for me. It's mine, and I should be able to distribute it in exchange for my wants and needs as I see fit. It doesn't belong to anyone else: not old people, not even the government. It's mine.

But [enter unsubstantiated and most likely grossly inflated number] will die! It's like murder to say that Granny can't have her pills. It's our moral duty to care for the elderly.

Shut up. I didn't say that Granny can't have her pills. I said that no one else has the right to my property, and someone else's wants or needs cannot alter this right. Let Granny have all the pills that she can get. I don't care. Heck, I don't even care if she's smoking crack, as long as she's leaving me and my property alone.

Charities would be established to help the elderly pay for their medications. It works for food in this country, and I can't remember the last time that a person starved to death in the country for lack of access to food. Hunger is different from starvation, so if you were about to jump on me for that, you'd better give up (or at least get a stinking dictionary).

Are old people too proud to beg from charity but not too proud to aim guns at me and demand money from my bi-monthly paycheck?

Oh, I'm so heartless. I would leave those poor seniors to die! Some of them, yes. Let me take care of my old people. You take care of your old people.

What about old people who don't have anyone? Well, you read Stave 4 of A Christmas Carol, didn't you? Ralphie finally gets a Red Rider BB Gun, and he accidentally shoots himself in the eye. No, wait, that's A Christmas Story. My bad. In Stave 4 of A Christmas Carol, Ebenezer Scrooge dies alone and is not mourned because he deserves no pity. If you've got no one, then it's your fault. Even allowing for exceptions, I still have the right to my property and should not be forced to surrender it to another.

What about old people whose families are too poor to support them? Well, that's what the charities are for! They're not there now because the government has a monopoly on the industry. Dump the government, and the private sector will provide the service. Even if there is a shortage in donations, and old people start dropping like flies, I still don't see how anyone--even my grandmother--has the right to force me to surrender my property to them. If you care so much, then take out a new mortgage on your house. Leave mine alone.

Old people think that it's not stealing, for they get it from the government. They might call it some gentle euphemism like "state assistance" or (duh) "Medicare." They kid themselves. The government got that money because they threatened me and my countrymen with bodily harm if we did not cough it up.

Old people think that they earned it for putting in years and years of work and taxpaying. The years and years of work was for you. I didn't ask you to do it. As for the taxpaying, it was as wrong then as it is now. Two wrongs don't make a right.

After medicare is gone, let's take out social security. After social security is gone, let's take out the federal income tax. After the federal income tax is gone, I'm going to Ruth's Chris every day for the month of April (and I'll still be ahead!).

You're probably thinking that I've got something against old people, but I don't. I also don't think that churches should receive state funding. This doesn't mean that I'm against religion. Think about it. If I'm a Catholic, how wrong would it be for me to be forced to support a Mosque?

Here's a way to think about things, and I cannot take credit for it. However, I cannot recall the source (Bob probably does, so maybe he'll throw me a bone). If it would be wrong for an individual to do something, then it is wrong for the government to do it. It would be wrong for me force someone into my religion, and it is likewise wrong for the government to force a religion on others. It is wrong for me to force someone to cede his or her property involuntarily, and it is likewise wrong for the government to force someone to sede his or her property involuntarily. There's no difference between the two, but one gets called theft at best (robbery at worst), and the other is let off as taxation.

It's simply wrong to deprive anyone of his or her right to life, liberty, and property; and there is no exception for government, for old people, or alia. There is no exception for need. Even if you need food, stealing a loaf of bread is wrong.

Lastly, let me deal with this: It's easy for you to say, you're young, robust, sexy, healthy, and everything for which anyone could wish. Wait until you're old and in need.

Even if I do sing a different tune when I'm old, it won't alter the truth of what I've said. It will just make me a whining, thieving, dirty, old S.O.B. (aka Democrat) who thinks that AARP is gospel and Matlock should be canonized.

Go ahead and preach about how unChristian and unAmerican what I've said is. A s Shakespeare said, "The devil can cite scripture for his purpose" (The Merchant of Venice). Show me where Christ said, "Goeth ye forth and useth guns to seizeth the property of others for thineself. Getteth viagra and haveth thineself a good time, but seeth a doctor if thine erection lasteth for longer than four hours." Tell me which founding father said that we have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of other people's property. I don't even owe anyone for fighting the Japanese and Germans from '42-45. They didn't do it for me. I was born in '76. If I'd been there, I'd have done it myself. I didn't even exist, so don't stick me with the bill for your weakened colon!--An extra thought: what if I'm the immigrant grandson of a man killed fighting the Americans in the big one? How in the hell do I owe this so-called "Greatest Generation"? If this were the case, then I'd owe them a kick in the nuts.

Now's when people jump in about how disgusting it is for me to spit on the graves of vets, but I didn't! First of all, when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, people signed up for one of two reasons: "I'm going to get those Japs for what they did to us!" and "Sweet, a war! I'll be a hero!" Not even my grandfather (a veteran of both the Pacific and European theaters (he was an underwater demolitions specialist--aka "Frogman") signed up for me: "I had relations who were buggered up in Hawaii, and I was doing it for revenge on one side of the spectrum. On the other side, I was doing it for revenge because I don’t like bullies. . . I became revengeful and resentful. But Hitler, I wanted to castrate him, " and I think that the cranky old bastard actually cares about me!

I can't end on this note.

I just wish I could express clearly that I would like to see no one suffer (who doesn't deserve to suffer). People who deserve to suffer: Osama bin Laden, George W. Bush, Richard Simmons.

Dead Ain't Funny

It's really odd when a funny person dies. It's one of those cases in which you say, "He's gone, but we'll always remember him."

Seriously. If you were walking down the street, and you saw a clown dying from multiple stab wounds, that would be both tragic and funny. You'd think to yourself, "Man, it sucks that the clown is dead. Who would stab a clown through the aorta?" But then you'd chuckle when you remembered how, like water, blood shot through the flower on his lapel; and how his face was painted like a smile, but inside he must have been writhing in abject misery. That would be ironic. What do you think, Alanis?

I downloaded a comedy album by Mitch Hedberg and laughed uproariously throughout its 45 minute duration. To my dismay, I later learned that Mitch died last year. He has another album, and I'm sure to get my hands on it, but it won't be the same. While I will certainly enjoy his humor, knowing that this is it, that I will have heard both of his albums and will never hear another, my spirits will be dampened.

Carrot Top lives, and Mitch Hedberg is dead. Add this to the list (between Iraq and extra-large spandex) of what's wrong with this world.

Recommendations

For hours of fun, try "the "Urban Legends Reference Pages" at www.snopes.com. Trust me. You'll be fascinated.

When you're done, check out John Stossel's two bestsellers: Give Me a Break: How I Exposed Hucksters, Cheats, and Scam Artists and Became the Scourge of the LIberal Media and Myths, Lies, and Downright Stupidity: Get Out the Shovel--Why Everything You Know Is Wrong.

Favorites II

My six year old daughter has thoughtfully countered my argument that you can only have one favorite, but it was not completely successful. Still, I will modify my argument to reflect her insight. While it was not groundbreaking, it was mature and reasoned enough for me to mention.

The conversation started when I asked her which of the Disney princesses was her favorite, and she tried getting away with saying Jasmine, Ariel, and Aurora (i.e. Sleeping Beauty). Next, I asked which of these three was better than the others, and she admitted that Aurora was the one that she liked most. This led me to suggest that Aurora is her favorite, but she was uncomfortable with this. She didn't like leaving out Jasmine and Ariel, so I qualified my statement by saying that while Jasmine, Ariel, and Aurora were her favorites, Aurora is her favorite. This led to more thoughtful discussion.

By definition, you can only have one favorite. However, Natalie points out that you may have favorites. As she described (but I paraphrase), this category includes an undefined but vaguely restricted number, usually a few. While a favorite stands above all others, favorites are not typically ranked against each other but are set above all the unmentioned rest.

Admitting to favorites rather than a favorite would be tantamount to saying (as I suggested two posts ago) "I don't know which is my favorite, but these are contenders."

So, next time you want to say that you have more than one favorite, don't. You can't have more than one if the possessive noun is singular. However, if you make the noun plural (e.g. favorites), you may do so with no denotative non sequitor.

Well argued, Natalie.

She pulled another thoughtful one on us yesterday. We use Netflix, and we love it. On Thursday, we received Disney's 8 Below, a dramatic tale of loyalty and survival in the Antarctic wilderness. Since it was set in Antarctica, Jennie and I assumed that the title, 8 Below, referred to degrees Fahrenheit.

At the end of the movie, Jennie and I were arguing over how many dogs had died. We knew how many lived, and I saw too many living ones, since I recollected that the starting number was seven. This left me thinking that the filmmakers had erred. Jennie however, remembered that there had been eight dogs at the beginning. However, she was not arguing from a position of certitude.

That's when Natalie chimed in, "There were eight. That's why it's called 8 Below." It took a nano-second to process before I realized that she was right. My wife and I had been trapped semantically. I had even noticed the inconsistency of the title with degrees Fahrenheit, since an early scene noted that the temperature was 31 degrees below. Still, I was confined by my rigid usage. Natalie, however, was relatively unfamiliar with the concept of degrees below zero, and was thus able to approach the title in another way. Knowing that Antarctica was at the bottom of the Earth, the title made perfect sense to her.

Well noted, Natalie.

The Need for Tort Reform

There is something very wrong about the institutionalized plundering made possible by this country's legal system.
This guy, Allen Heckard, is suing Michael Jordan and Nike because he (Mr. Heckard) is tired of being mistaken as the basketball star. The lawsuit is for over 800 Million Dollars (try saying it as Dr. Evil in the first Austin Powers
It's Nike's fault because they have promoted Jordan, and it's Jordan's fault because when his mother's and father's DNA mixed together, it called for his physical features. Maybe he should sue Jordan's parents as well.
Maybe Heckard should also sue anyone who mistakes him for Jordan. Maybe I should sue Tom Cruise. Maybe my friend, Bryan, should sue Chris Burke ("Corky" from the late '80s TV show Life Goes On)?
What, now, constitutes a tort? Anything that I find annoying is a tort? Hell, if that's the case, then I'm prepared to sue Mr. Heckard if he wins. However, I'm far more reasonable. I'll only sue for 100 million.

http://msn.foxsports.com/nba/story/5766288?FSO1&ATT=HMA

Favorites

Do you want to know what I hate? I hate it when people claim to have more than one favorite. You've heard this B.S.

"So which is your favorite?"

"I love them all. They're all my favorite."

Shut up. That's what I say. I didn't ask, "Which of these do you love?" I asked "Which is your favorite."

Look it up. Favorite (n):
a. One that enjoys special favor or regard.
b. One that is trusted, indulged, or preferred above all others

It's "one" in both definitions, and in the second one it's clarified as "preferred above all others." So next time I ask you "Which is your favorite?" Either tell me your favorite, or just say, "I don't know."

What's the problem with people saying, "I don't know?" Are they afraid it will make them look stupid or that they haven't thought things out well enough? Give me a break. I'll tell you what makes you look stupid. It's when you say that more than one thing is your favorite.

By the way, my favorite Spice Girl? Posh. Oh yeah.

Lysander Spooner

I spoke of the needlessness for a government run postal service. A friend of mine sent me the link to this article. The lesson is twofold: 1) Competition is better for consumers. 2) The U.S. government is not benevolent or even benign, and it never has been.

http://www.lysanderspooner.org/STAMP2.htm

More about Lysander Spooner at lysanderspooner.org and wikipedia.

A Shabby Attempt at a Rant

I love it when people look at me like I'm crazy, or an idiot, or a crazy idiot. I was talking about how absurd is the federal post office. There is no reason whatsoever why the delivering of mail must be done by the government, but there are plenty of reasons why the government should not do it--the most obvious is that private companies would do better. This one guy actually thought that I was threatening his wife's job (she, apparently, works for the USPS). It took him a second to see that I wasn't saying that she should be unemployed, but that her bosses should be businessmen and not politicians and political appointees.

Next came the fire department. Again, homeowners insurance would either provide or require subscription to a fire-fighting service, so why must it be controlled by local politicians? The same goes for a police department (and this is where I lose those who had been with me thus far).

Seriously, the more important something is to us the less we should want the government to provide it. The police department is so important, so let's not leave it to municipal officials. The same is true for school districts, health inspectors, air-traffic controllers, etc. If we're going to let the government do something, then it should be something that we can afford to be done inefficiently. It could be allowed, for instance, to secure crowd control at the Goldenhawk golf course, where I will be golfing tomorrow afternoon. There is a good use of the government. They can have agents deployed throughout the course, keeping fans, well-wishers, and Brad Pitt (he's still jealous about that "thing" I had with Angelina) away at a safe distance. The only problem with this scenario is that it would cost everyone money in taxes, and no one else should have to pay for freaking security that I don't need. Supposing I should need the security, and more security than the average person, then I should be the one to cover it.

If I'm not willing to pay for it myself, then I obviously don't need it bad enough to pass the bill on to others. If I need it, then I'll pay for it.

The point is, the government is not the best option for those things that we (for some reason) think that only a government can do. Supposedly, government exists to secure our rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Look at history. Governments are horrible at protecting life (though they are rather good at taking it). Where people do not have liberty, who's to blame? The government. As for the whole pursuit of happiness thing, anyone who's ever tried to start a business or do anything that requires cutting through "red tape" knows that governments impede happiness.

"So," the guy says to me, "why even have a government?"
"Exactly," I said, smiling.

I'm Out

On vacation. Will be back on Thursday. I apologize for the inconvenience.

That's right. I'm arrogant enough to think that this bothers some people, in the very least my mom.

The picture's old, but it's of vacation, at least.

My Father's Day Gift

I like playing music. I am pretty good at the piano, fairly decent at the guitar, quite capable at the tenor saxophone, and pretty bad--but not inept--at the harmonica and violin.

I decided to expand my horizons. I wanted to learn something unusual, something that very few people know how to play. My options included the kazoo, the accordion, the harp, the autoharp, the mandolin, or the ukulele.

The kazoo is ridiculous. It sounds like a wounded goose and requires about as much skill as is necessary to run for Congress.

The accordion isn't as rare as you think (or as it probably should be). Furthermore, my dog howls unmercifully whenever an accordion is played. I don't need that.

The harp is too expensive and too feminine.

The autoharp is not too expensive but it's extremely feminine.

The mandolin is awesome, but decent ones are expensive and it looks really hard (not that I'm afraid of a challenge, but the cheapest ones at Guitar Center are around $250).

This left the ukulele.

I was well aware that I would endure ridicule for taking up the uke. First of all, it looks like a novelty toy (at least the cheap ones do, and that would be my first purchase--in case I didn't like it). Second of all, people think that it's just a knock-off guitar--though it isn't. A guitar has six strings, and a ukulele has four. Chords are not similar, nor is the sound.

One thing I learned immediately is that there are many different kinds of ukuleles, and they range in price from $40 to over $1,000. As I did not know if I would like it, I opted for a cheaper soprano ukulele (the kind that most people picture in their heads).

So on Saturday, my wife asks me if I really want a ukulele for Father's Day. She seemed to think that I was joking, as if no one in his right mind would want to learn the ukulele.

I told here that I did, and we headed for the Guitar Center.

At the Guitar Center, there was a limited selection. There was only one model, and of that model, there was only one ukulele. I took it down and tinkered with it. The first thing I noticed was how odd the tuning was compared to a guitar; but it sounded neat, and I figured that no one I know has or can play one, so it would be pretty cool to learn it.

I said, "I'll take it. I don't know anyone who plays one, so it will be something different."

That's when the salesman began teasing me. He laughed that I was the first person to buy a uke from the store, and that he appreciated having this to tell everyone.

That's when I figured that he doesn't work on commission. Here I am, a patron about to make a purchase, and he's mocking me. To make matters worse, my wife started teasing me.

I said, "Hey, it's not like I feel the need to pick up women anymore."

To which, she replied, "Yeah, but don't you want to keep around the woman you've got?"

Well, I persisted and got my ukulele. I brought it home, tuned it up, and searched for some ukulele sites on the internet. I found a few and began playing. It was a bit tricky because the neck is so small, but I stuck to it for about three hours until I was playing pretty well for a novice (this evaluation has been seconded by my wife). On Sunday, I played for another hour or so, and today I putzed around on it for about a half hour. So far, my best songs are "Help Me, Rhonda," by The Beach Boys, "I Wanna Be Like You," from Disney's The Jungle Book, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World," arranged by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole (you heard it in "Finding Forrester" and on that old eToys commercial), and "When I'm Sixty-Four," by The Beatles.

I really don't care that people laugh when I tell them that I got a ukulele and that I'm going to get good at it. Most people can't play anything. If they want to deride me for seeking something different, something relaxing and fun, then go ahead.

Struck by a Vehicle

Today, something happened straight out of a Dane Cook routine.

I saw someone get struck by a vehicle.

Two friends and I were on our way back to work from lunch. Jeff was driving his new Ford Freestyle (not to be confused with the Greco-Roman Ford), and I was seated in the front passenger seat. We were stopped at a light, about two cars back, and I spied an old man crossing the street on his Rascal (you know, the motor-powered bikes for old people).

I couldn’t help but observe how quickly that Rascal was shooting across the street, so I pointed it out: “Hey guys, look at that Rascal go!”

That was the best part, for we saw this entire thing unfold. We watched in earnest as he neared the curb, when the green arrow for a free right turn appeared.

What happened next happened in slow motion (as it always does). The three of us went from chuckling to shouting “Whoa!” “Ooo!” and “Gah!” in unison (it sounded like Wha-oo-gah!” The old lady in the turn right only lane saw her green arrow but didn’t see her decrepit peer. As she slowly moved forward, we watched in horror.

“Wha-oo-gah!” we said.

For a moment, it looked like he would make it. He was oblivious to her, and she was oblivious to the fact that she was alive and behind the wheel of a 2000 pound vehicle.

But he didn’t make it.

In the slowest car accident in recorded history, we watched her roll into his rear tire and begin pushing his Rascal. It pivoted to the right upon contact, but she didn’t stop. He reacted by throwing his hands in the air and shouting something, but we couldn’t hear over “Wha-oo-gah!”

I thought that I was to be the spectator at another fatality accident. I’d even unbuckled my seatbelt, thinking that I’d run to the aid of this destined-to-be broken man, but rather than simply drive over him at .5 miles per hour, she came to a less than screeching halt. He sat there, waving his hands in the air for a moment, but quickly kicked that bugger into gear and headed for the safety of the curb.

I relaxed a moment, then the three of us started laughing. For this, we will probably be ridiculed by females, but male readers will understand how freaking funny this was. We saw a man get struck by a vehicle that was moving a cool three miles per hour—and everyone was OK.

The light for us turned green. Jeff hesitated for a moment, but eventually proceeded on our way.

Sic Semper Tyrannis!

A few years ago, the United States congress passed and the president signed an absurd piece of legislation called "No Child Left Behind." I haven't the time to take it apart piece by piece (at least not at this moment), but I would like to bring up an observation.

One of the provisions of this act requires that teachers be "highly qualified." This means that teachers teach in either their major or minor, provided they have passed certification exams on the subjects. That's what highly qualified means. It sounds good, but anyone familiar with secondary education knows its hidden flaws. It means that teachers who have been instructing a given subject for thirty years may suddenly be considered not "highly qualified." Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and many other great teachers would have been rendered unemployed by this federal legislation--all of which is unconstitutional, as the 10th amendment reserves such powers for the states or the people.

I wonder if there is any way for us to devise some method for ensuring that our governing officials are "highly qualified." The democratic process certainly has not worked well. Ironically, you have to major (or minor) in social studies to teach government, but you don't have to have even gone to college to "serve" in government.

More than likely, the halls of Congress would soon empty on both the House and the Senate wings. The White House would sit vacant. The elderly sophists on the Supreme Court would die off and not be replaced. A new dawn of liberty would descend, and, for the first time in nearly two centuries, we would be free to enjoy our rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Ontology 101

I sat, today, beneath the shade of a lilac. For a moment, I felt as if I was tuned into the very frequency of mother nature herself. The meaning of life, death, and the way to happiness were all apparent to me. About a moment later, I realized that it was indigestion, and I spent the next 20 minutes on the toilet.

Dang huckleberries!

Screw you, Thoreau.

Adam and Steve

The Senate once again rejected the notion that an amendment banning gay marriage should be made to the constitution. I'm amazed that for the first time in a long time, a branch of the Federal government did not seize the opportunity to restrict freedom.

I'm not for gay marriage. Homosexuals simply cannot marry each other and it mean the same as marriage between a man and a woman. It's not Christian, but a law against it is just plain wrong. Marriage is a religious institution, and neither the federal, state, nor municipal governments have any business weighing in on it.

There are many churches that call themselves "Christian," yet I do not believe that they are very much so. Supposing one of them should begin marrying men to men or women to women, I would disregard this practice just as I disregard that church's practice of auto-castration and mandatory convulsions during revivals.

Just because two gay people have a ceremony and call themselves "married," I do not have to accept that they are married in the same way as my wife and I. It's like when my son calls himself a pirate. It's kind of cute, how foolish he is to think that he's a pirate, but no matter how often he grunts "Arrrrgggg!" and slashes the dog with his plastic sword (and, unfortunately, digs for treasure in the backyard)--he's not a pirate. Supposing I should tell a real pirate that my son thinks that he's a pirate. What should that pirate say? (Other than "Shiver me timbers!") He'd probably laugh, steal my wallet and wedding ring, and walk me off the plank. Consider the movie Dodgeball. That guy dressed and talked like a pirate--but everyone knew that he wasn't a pirate. Let him pretend, if it makes him happy.

The real issue is one of legal status, of the ease with which estates are passed from spouse to spouse and other legal issues. That's really where the state gets into "marriage." I cannot see why two homosexuals devoted to each other should not be able to enjoy the same legal rights in this sense. Besides, acknowledging such rights would not be tantamount to acknowledging the sanctimony of gay marriage.

If you're really going to go against gay marriage, then you should also go against any marriage done in a Las Vegas chapel (witnessed by Elvis, of course) or by a mere justice of the peace. If you're going to lay down the God card and say that marriage is sacred, and that the sacredness of marriage ought to be protected by the violent capacity of the state, then you must also support violence against those who marry outside of churches. Heck, you should also seek amendments to prohibit any marriage outside of your particular denomination: since yours is the only true church. Baptists should oppose Catholic marriages. Catholics should oppose Lutheran marriages. And everyone should oppose Heaven's Gate marriages.

Since I am at least nominally a Catholic, should I promote legislation against Protestant churches, for they are an affront to the Holy and Apostolic Church? Should I design a bill to forbid the Amish from calling themselves Christians because I am offended by their lifestyle and excessively priced furniture and chicken?

The bottom line is this: If marriage is indeed sacred (and I believe that it is), then the government's position on it is irrelevent. In fact, any governmental position on it is flat out tyrannical. Marriage falls under the jurisdiction of De Civitate Dei. No amendment is necessary, just as no law forbidding my son from calling himself a pirate is necessary.

The Cure (not the band)

I believe in charities. They actually seek to do good, and they aim no guns at people to force donations--unlike the government, which will harm you if you don't cough up the cash. In most cases (though I really haven't quantified it), charities also do more for the people who need help than the government does.

But what's with the marches? Seriously, it's marching season again, and they're going to resume all over the place. Militant activists march, but middle class yahoos (who want to feel like they're doing something other than living a life that is merely the downtime between episodes of House, MD) usually "walk." You've seen these, surely.

March/Walk to cure cancer.
March/Walk to cure breast cancer.
March/Walk to cure skin cancer (bring your freaking sun block)
March/Walk to cure diabetes.
March/Walk to cure juvenile diabetes.
March/Walk to cure this.
And March/Walk to cure that.

Seriously, I think that they're silly. Marches and/or walks don't cure anything. What they need is money. Just cough it up if you care, because you're not curing diabetes because you walked around the Oakland University campus.

Hands down the worst are the AIDS activists. They walk, they march, they talk, they shout, they bemoan--all for a disease that is spread voluntarily. Like I said before, it's not like the plague, flu, or chicken pox. You don't get AIDS just by being around. You have to be around, that's for sure, but it's a little bit more involved than that.

The AIDS activists' coup de grace is their giant quilt. Of course, that's what we needed twenty-five years ago! If we'd made a giant quilt in 1981--when the CDC first started noticing AIDS related symptoms in gay men, women, and IV drug users--then Liberace would still be with us today.

A quilt will not cure AIDS. And don't tell me it's the symbolic value, that it raises awareness and such. If you want symbolic value etc., then make a giant condom. Now that would get publicity. Imagine, a group of dedicated AIDS activists acquires a helicopter and drops a 152 foot Trojan right on top of the Statue of Liberty, the reservoir tip would cover the torch (come on, you can picture it); it rolls all the way to the ground, soaking tourists in nonoxynol-9. Tell me that wouldn't be noticed a heck of a lot more than a stinking quilt: Lady Liberty enshrouded by a giant condom (ribbed for her pleasure, of course).

What will cure diseases or aid those afflicted with them is not marches, walks, quilts or even giant condoms. Money, straight donations to reputable charities is the trick. Certain diseases such as AIDS, diabetes, and certain forms of cancer, can be prevented if people simply improved their habits. AIDS is 100% preventable. Diabetes is often caused due to people's poor diets. Cancers too can be prevented (or at least reduced) with sun block (skin cancer), temperance (smoking), etc. None of these diseases rank with the bubonic plague. The black death swept through Europe like a scythe at harvest time, and there was nothing that people could do but pray and bury the dead. There's plenty of things we can do about today's epidemics that won't cost a single dime. So let's stop bemoaning and do it, or at least stop bemoaning for goodness sake.

AIDS: The Worst Epidemic?

So AIDS is the worst epidemic in history? I seem to recall the Black Death (not to be confused with OJ Simpson) killing between 1/4 and 1/3 of Europe's population. Comparatively, then, AIDS is not even close to on-par with the Bubonic Plague.

Furthermore, the Plague could be spread simply by breathing or being around certain rats. AIDS is completely preventable. How pathetic that our day and age suffers from an epidemic that could be eradicated without medicine.

The Five Worst American Caesars

The five most tyrannical chief executives in the history of the United States: those most responsible for loss of life, freedom, and economic prosperity.



1.) Abraham Lincoln. What, you can't believe that I have him at number one? See Thomas DiLorenzo's The Real Lincoln: A New Look at Abraham Lincoln, His Agenda, and an Unnecessary War, and the King Lincoln Archives at www.lewrockwell.com.








2.) Franklin Delano Roosevelt (The New Deal).


















3.) George W. Bush (Civil Liberties violations, an unjust war, an insane budget--see Lincoln)







4.) Lyndon B. Johnson (The Great Society, Vietnam...)











5.) John Adams (Signed the Sedition Act)
















The best president in history? Thomas Jefferson, term 1: 1800-1804

What a Brat!

I was at Kroger today, when I saw the biggest brat in the world.

I know what you're thinking, you've seen a bigger brat. Well, Dr. Freud, let me sadly inform you that, at least this time, yours is not as big as mine. I wanted to walk over and whack the kid on the back of the head and say, "Hey, stop being such a GD little brat!"

This kid was such a brat that I saw an Amish guy run up to him and kick him in the nuts. That's how big of a brat this kid was.

There was a brief moment, at the beginning, when I thought that the kid might have some kind of mental problem, perhaps even autism (think "Hot water burn baby!). But it soon became apparent that this was just a jerky kid, the kind that Moses meant when he wrote in Leviticus that children who disrespect their parents should be put to death. Hell, all I wanted to do was boot him in the ass.

Mark Want to Go Baseball Game

We took the kids to a Tiger's game today. It was a beautiful day for baseball: clear skies, 80 degrees, complemented by an occasional breeze. It's too bad that the Tiger's lost. It's also too bad that we took the kids.

We should have known better.

Why, every time I go to Detroit, do I feel like I'm visiting that cantina in Mos Isley?

All Mark's been saying for the past week is "Mark want to go baseball game." To which, we suggest, "I would like to go to a baseball game." And he replies, "I want to go baseball game."

Natalie's also begged to go. Why? That's a good question. Even I get bored at baseball games, and I'm the guy who poured through the official government records of the Civil War.

Still, we went. It was a family outing, sponsored by Natalie's school, St. Thecla, and we're a family.

The drive there was uneventful. We listened to Johnny Cash and tried to get Mark to sing along during "Ring of Fire" (which he usually does), and we walked in an hour before game time.

We made our way up to the 200 level picnic area, ate hamburgers and hot dogs, drank pop, and planned to watch the game through the third inning, at which time we would go to the merry-go-round.

Three innings can take an amazingly long period of time when you're with a two and five year old.

Throughout those innings, Natalie remarked nonstop that she was thirsty. Mark simply moved from his seat to my lap to Jennie's lap to his seat to my lap to Natalie's lap to Jennie's lap to his seat and so forth.

The final out of the third inning was a blessing, or was it a curse? First, Mark wanted to go to the baseball game, and there was no explaining to him that we were at the baseball game. He must have somehow imagined that he'd be playing baseball at the game. Perhaps a couple of years ago, the Tigers could have used him, but not now. Second, a stinking bottle of water cost me $3.50. Third, we had to pass a vendor who was selling (in Mark's words), "Big tiger claw!" (one of the giant foam hands--in the shape of a tiger claw). He wanted one. I didn't buy it, and I might as well have shot our dog in front of him. He threw himself to the pavement, crying out, "Mark want big tiger claw. I want, Mark want, big tiger claw." But I, apparently, kept pouring lead into our beagle's midsection.

So I picked him up and walked on towards the merry-go-round. He wiped his tears and snot on my shoulder (lovely), but kept on about the big tiger claw. Natalie, throughout this time, was quite good. We weren't just sitting there, and she was downing water that cost its weight in gold.

To get Mark to stop crying, I told him that we were going on a horsy ride (I wasn't sure that he knew what a merry-go-round was by name). That did the trick, and he even walked nicely to the ride. That's when he sees that the merry-go-round at Comerica Park is not a horsy ride, but, apropos, a tiger ride. This revelation begat another meltdown. "Mark want horsy ride! I want horsy ride!" Why this was an issue, I don't know. Riding a tiger must be ten times cooler than riding a horse. Hell, you never saw John Wayne ride of into the sunset on a Bengal Tiger, did you?

So Mark and I leave Jennie and Natalie. We go for a walk. For pretty much the whole time, Mark told me that he wanted to go on the tiger ride. Once he was calm, we returned--and just in time. Natalie was about to get on the ride. Jennie told me to go on with them and that she would take pictures. As we walked through the turnstile, the lady there told me "Two dollars." I showed her my wristband, which meant that I was part of the St. Thecla party and was thus entitled to free rides. She replied that the rides were free for children, but for adults they were two dollars--as if I was going on the merry-go-round because I thought it would be awesome.

I told her to forget it, that I just wanted to strap the kids in securely, so she let me pass. I did my paternal duty and stepped off the ride.

The kids had a blast, which was only partially good. The second I had Mark off the ride, he chimed in, "I want ride tiger ride." This, of course, meant that I had to endure another tear and snot drenched shoulder whilst we made our way back to our seats (at least he used the same shoulder).

We stayed for the whole game. Mark fell asleep in my arms at the start of the eighth inning, and I dozed off as well. With one out left in the bottom of the ninth, Jennie woke me up to say that we should move toward left field. That was where kids were lining up for a chance to run the bases after the game.

To be honest, I wanted to run with the kids. It would complement my dream--the one where I just hit my hundredth homerun for the season. I would round the bases with my hands in the air, and of course thank God and anabolic steroids for all of my blessings.

Don't laugh. It's just a dream. A hundred homeruns in a season? You might ask, so sue me. I aim high. Hey, it's a dream, so why not make it AWESOME? Then why not make it a thousand homeruns in a season? You reply. BECAUSE I"M NOT AN IDIOT, that's why. There's no way that I or anyone could hit that many homeruns in a season, so stop being such a moron and read on.

Let me tell you about this line. Have you ever imagined the line to enter Noah's Ark? It was nothing compared to this line. It made a new ride line at Cedar Point look like the line to buy tickets for a porno starring James Gandolfini and Hillary Clinton. It wrapped 2/3 around the stadium. Needless to say, we didn't wait in it. I'm not sure if I'd wait in line that long for access to the Pearly Gates.

So we leave the stadium and head for the car. We get to the car, and I strap Mark in to his car seat, and he says, "Mark want to go baseball game."

I will ponder for the rest of my days what he meant by going to a baseball game. We'd been at the ballpark for four and a half hours. It would have been twice that if we'd waited in line to run the bases.

Oh well, I grow tired now.

Cord Gnomes

How is it that nicely wound extension cords and such somehow manage to entangle themselves with no outside force whatsoever?

Perhaps it's the same gnomes who mess with my socks and car keys.

Soccer: (n) Sport for wussies

For as big as hockey is in this town (it is still, I presume, Hockeytown?), it sure is hard to tell now that the beloved Wings are out of the playoffs. Check out the national sports sites. Hockey is a side note, a mere notch above horse racing, and sumo wrestling (but a couple of notches at least above sumo horse wrestling).

It's too bad, for I really like the sport; but there's something about it that just isn't appealing to the mass market. It's lacrosse and soccer on ice with an occasional fistfight thrown in, so why can't people love it? It's not as pretentious as lacrosse (and don't give me any trash about lacrosse not being pretentious--it's the sport that separates thugs with money from gentlemen with money--who invariably play polo), nor is it as wussy as soccer (sorry Steve, but I'll go to my grave believing that soccer is either lame, wussy, or lame and wussy), so why the lack in appeal?

Now's the time when someone rings in about how soccer is the most popular sport in the world, so I'm some kind of jank for ripping on it. Let me respond first. It's a pre-emptive response, and it's damn near nuclear in its devastation of the opposition.

Soccer is only popular because people in the impoverished damn countries that love it so much can't afford anything else. All you need for soccer is a freaking ball and four posts (two on each side, and they can be natural--e.g. trees--or manufactured--e.g. Pablo's younger brothers Juan, Roberto, Antonio, and Muhammad). If you don't have a ball, then you can just lop off someone's head and stuff it in a sack (if you're playing by Taliban rules, that is). It requires little strategy and is thus easy on the uneducated masses of countries like Angola and Mississippi.

That's why soccer is so popular amongst kids in the U.S. but not adults. While kids are simple-minded little mamma's boys (note that they're all from the middle class), they love soccer. Once their testes start to produce testosterone, they turn to football.

Indeed, football is a man's sport. It's aggressive, involves clearly outlined and executable "battle plans," and it's not something that someone can just pick up. It's like knighthood. You need the armor because it's brutal. In soccer, you might get hurt because you don't wear pads. In football you will get hurt if you don't wear pads, and you still might get hurt even if you do.

I would continue this rant, but Lost's season finale is on in about a minute.

Render unto Caesar What Is Caesar's, But What's Mine Is Mine!

Today I drove past a team of cops who were staking out Gratiot for seatbeltless drivers. What utter nonsense. What utter tyranny.

It occurred to me then, as it has occurred to me now, that the whole idea of a victimless crime is absurd.

The strong arm of the executive branch (e.g. the police) of a "good" government exists, supposedly, to execute the laws of the land--so it's not the cops' fault: they're only doing their job, which I why I didn't shout out of my window that they were a bunch of *insert inappropriate gerund* fascists. It's the legislative branch that exists, supposedly, to create laws. Thus, police cannot really be blamed for a bad law. It's the legislators who are to blame.

According to John Locke's "Social Contract" (a contract that I have yet to sign), the law-making powers of the government (i.e. legislative powers) exist in order to protect our rights to be secure in life, liberty, and property (i.e. that no one will kill us, injure us, control us, or deprive us of what is properly our own--exempting taxes, of course). All other actions can be deemed as tyrannical (i.e. going beyond the government's contractual jurisdiction, and thus interfering with our rights as free men).

Who is harmed by my deciding to drive (or ride) without a seatbelt? No one is harmed, of course. Surely I might be injured, in the event of an accident; but I am my own master. The government is empowered to protect me from others, not myself. I have every right to risk my own safety on the streets, just as I have every right to consume copious amounts of Twinkies. Eating Twinkies is certainly a risky choice (inasmuch as health is concerned), but it's my choice. No one else will be harmed by my increased risk of heart disease and diabetes. What's different about the seatbelt?

I can only conceive of one organization empowered to tell me to wear a seatbelt, and that is my insurance company. Should I not wear a seatbelt and incur injuries because of my neglect, my insurance company would be within its rights to refuse coverage--supposing that it had required that I wear a seatbelt as part of our contractual relationship. Under this scenario, I am encouraged to wear a seatbelt, but not threatened with violence--and whether you like the idea or not, the police mean violence: hence the guns, clubs, and cuffs). Should I not wear a seatbelt, I assume the physical and financial risks. No one else is hurt.

Why would the state presume to step in on this? There are two reasons. First, they have been paid off by insurance companies that don't want to be in the business of telling their clients what to do. Second, the state just wants to get money ($65 for a ticket).

Since insurance companies have had no problem stipulating conditions for coverage in the past (e.g. no-smoking clauses), there is no reason to suspect the prior assumption. Thus, this whole "Click-it or Ticket" mumbo-jumbo is little more than a scam, a way for the state to extort me for more money. I do not dispute that it is a wise idea for me to wear a seatbelt, but it's my decision (just as it's my decision to eat healthy foods in lieu of unhealthy ones).

Think about it (and I apologize for this argument being so disjointed--it really is off the cuff). If the government's powers exist simply to protect me from others, upon what basis to they presume to have jurisdiction over my decision to wear a seatbelt? The same is true for many currently illicit decisions.

If I'm not violating someone else's right to life, liberty, or property, then I should be left alone--even if I am an idiot.

I don't see prostitutes, but, if I wish to exchange money for sex, who is harmed? I might contract an STD or get into trouble with my wife, but that's my business. Similarly, I do not snort cocaine, shoot heroin, etc. But, if I did, who is hurt? If my job performance lags, then my boss can fire me. Hell, my boss should be able to say, "If you want to work for me, you'll stay away from drugs," and he has the right to require drug tests. If I don't like that idea, then I don't have to work for him. Honestly, it's not my job. It's my employer's. If he wants to forbid me from watching 24, for whatever reason, then he can do so--and fire me for an infraction. Again, if I don't like it, then I won't work for the guy. In the end, competition over good employees would render such conditions nonsensical. Smart employers only care that their employees are productive. However, in theory even ridiculous conditions for employment are valid.

Seriously, this crap with the seatbelts needs to go. It is not befitting of a free society to tolerate such tyranny. It shouldn't matter if you think it's a good idea and are willing to allow cops to check you. You don't have the right to tell me what to do with myself. Leave me alone, for goodness sake. If my insurance company wishes to make my coverage dependent upon seatbelt usage, then I'll have to live with it (or live with the consequences). That's their right, just as it's my right to look for insurance elsewhere (as if I'd find it, for wearing seatbelts is a pretty damn good idea) or ignore my insurance clause and face the financial consequences (supposing, of course, that I survive to face them).

Icky Pop!

Several years ago, when my daughter was an infant, she learned that not all beverages are created equal. To be specific, she learned that some are fermented and others are not. Indeed, for at least two years all forms of beer were little more than "icky pop."

Now it's my son's turn. I'm Barbequing some chicken legs (I know, it's peasants' meat, but it's what the wife wanted). It's about 6:30 PM, and I'm in the mood for a little something in my Diet Coke.

Smirnoff to the rescue.

I was drinking it out of a Big Gulp cup of about 75% Diet Coke, 25% Vodka (enough to ease the sunburn on my shoulders, but not enough to turn me into a Kennedy). I put down the cup and turned to the fire pit, about to add some fodder, when Mark walks up and says, "Mark want Daddy pop."

This is what you call one of those "teachable moments." I knew that if I stopped him from sipping, Mark would just think that I was not allowing him refreshment. However, if I allowed him the sip--just a sip--he would learn not to go after my drink without some assurance as to its alcohol content.

As I watched him, I was a little amused and a little disgusted with myself (for just letting him take a swig). His sip was not great. It was merely a trifle. Just enough for him to set the cup down and say in horror, "Daddy's pop icky! Mark no like Daddy's icky pop. Icky pop too hot!"

There's just some comfort in knowing that all the money I've thus far and yet will put out for my kids will not come close to equalling the bills they'll be shelling out for therapy. On the other hand, who do you think they'll ask for the money?

Dammit!

Ubi Sunt!

Oh, let us lament the untimely death of Jim Croce. If this seems an odd post, perhaps you ought to download (legally, of course--lest the proposed new head of the CIA is somehow listening in--and I flatter myself to think that if not now, one day he might) a few of his songs.

Curious George (W. Bush)

If scientists can ever read DNA the way that a person can read a book, I'm pretty sure that George W. Bush's reads like a Curious George book.

I can see it now, Curious George W. Invades Iraq, or Curious George W. Drafts a Budget, or Curious George W. Defecates on the Bill of Rights. (I believe that this last one is filed under non-fiction)

Dick Cheney would, of course, play the Man with the Yellow Hat: that ever inept master who can't seem to keep the little rascal out of trouble.

Out of Town

I will be out of town, this evening through Monday. Don't expect much in the manner of postings.

Guantanamera

José Martí wrote, and I admire the words:

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma
Guantanamera, guajira Guantanamera

Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmín encendido
Mi verso es un ciervo herido
Que busca en el monte amparo
Guantanamera, guajira Guantanamera

Cultivo una rosa blanca
En julio como en enero
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca
Guantanamera, guajira Guantanamera

Con los pobres de la tierra
Quiero yo mi suerte echar
El arroyo de la sierra
Me complace más que el mar
Guantanamera, guajira Guantanamera

Nulle Viva La France!

What's with all the unrest going on in France over these new labor laws? The best quote that I've heard on it, the one that characterizes it best--and Lord help me, I can't remember the source, but I've pretty sure that I read it in a daily article posted by www.mises.org--is something very close to "now the French people are demanding, 'Let us eat cake!'"

The silliness of socialism is trumped only by its wretchedness.

Hay, Caramba!

I was on the telephone, just a few moments ago, and, to my horror, I realized that I was using body language and hand gestures--and not an ounce of Italian or Latino blood runs through my veins.

I find this inexcusably lame. But I wonder, am I the only one?

A 24 Prediction that That Will Take at Least 144 to Reveal (Check the Math: It's Good)

24 is a top-notch subversive program, demonstrating (though via fiction) that power corrupts.

With that said, I predict that President Logan, who lacks the guts to finish himself off, will be assisted involuntarily by his wife.

Furthermore, I predict that Chloe O'Brian is nearing the end of her tenure.

Speaking of Democracy

Winston Churchill once remarked, "Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all others" (or words very near to that). In context, this means that Democracy is better than Fascism and Communism (or lesser forms of Socialism--all of which are often close buddies to Democracy: see Canada, Europe, and, yes, the United States as evidence).

However, Churchill's assessment of Democracy excludes the possibility of other forms of organization. In this case, I mean the anarcho-capitalism proposed directly by current scholars such as Dr. Robert P. Murphy, the late Murray Rothbard, and indirectly many more of the Austrian Economics ilk (e.g. Ludwig von Mises, Frierich Hayek, etc.).

Perhaps, as Thoreau said, "The best form of government is that which governs not at all" (Thoreau, "Civil Disobedience").

Before you dismiss this as radical nonsense (a reaction which your state-funded education has instilled within your very soul), consider that life--social, economic, political, personal, etc.--has improved whenever bold ones have led away from statism, whether that statism is in the form of absolute monarchy, fascism, communism, etc. Dare you ask yourself, why?

Alas, Democracy.

This nut job who is the elected President of Iran reminds us daily that voting does not normally (or, dare I say usually) lead to wiser, better leaders.

The Ice Cream Man: A Remedy

A colleague of mine, let's call him "Shayne" (since that's what it says on his birth certificate), has solved the Ice Cream Man dilemma. *See my semi-rational rant against the Ice Cream Man--it's back a few posts*

It hinges on the whole Pavlov idea. I complained that the Ice Cream Man has the children conditioned, like Pavlov's dogs, to salivate at the sound of his music (speaking of, what's with the lame music? It makes "midi" files sound like Zepplin). He suggests that I take the conditioning a step further.

As is, the kids associate the music with Ice Cream. So why not change it up a bit? Use classical conditioning/behaviorism, and let the Ice Cream Man become the Spanking Man. I know, it's sheer brilliance.

Here's what I'm to do. When the evening's interrupted by the Ice Cream Man's music, I'll jump up (no matter where I am) and shout: "It's the Spanking Man! Who wants spankings?" Next, as the kids run to the door, expecting to be let out for their frozen dairy deserts, I snatch each of them up and spank the hell out of them, yelling the whole time, "Yeah! It's the Spanking Man! Woo-hoo! Spankings!"

After only one or two treatments, children should be conditioned away from the Ice Cream Man (think baby Albert--or was it Alfred?--in Watson's experiment, the one that made him scared of bunnies). While this might sound cruel, it's only because you're not looking at it from an objective position. Is it really better that their father goes to jail for murder ('cause that's what I'm a-hankering for, if he comes down my street tomorrow)? So what if they endure a couple of unnecessary spankings and involuntarily piss their pants and tremble every time they here "Pop! Goes the Weasel"?

Thanks a lot Shayne. And although my children won't understand (and may one day track you down and kill you), they thank you too.

I Spin Out of Control

Lord, forgive me my trespasses, as I somewhat--but not completely--forgive those who trespass against me. You know what? I'll forgive them if they JUST STOP TRESPASSSING!

By the way, and in case you didn't know, this is the whole reason why Christians believe that Jesus was a necessary sacrifice. For those "Christians" who have been changed by Dan Brown and the Da Vinci Code, I must admit that I'm impressed. You're so freaking stupid that I never figured you for being literate in the first place. Good job on reading an entire book. Hey, it was crap; but at least it was a book.

By the way, there's a part of me that knows that this is out of line, but it's that wussy part of me that the masculine part usually pummels into oblivion. Seriously, if you think that The Da Vinci Code was, in the least, food for thought; then you are, at least, retarded.

P.S. Yes. I used the word "retarded," and I meant it as an insult. "To retard" means "to slow down." A "retarded" person is, thus, a slow person. So, if it bothered you, perhaps it's because the term hit a little too close to home. Or are you able to come up with a rational rebuttal?

I didn't think so.

Also, I know that this posting reeks of ad hominems. So help me, but I don't believe that the opposition deserves any better.

P.P.S. Be careful about responding if you haven't read the piece of trash from which Dan Brown plagiarized: Holy Blood, Holy Grail. On top of this, don't respond if you haven't at least read the Bible. On top of this, don't respond if you know nothing about Roman history and can't figure out that Constantine had nothing to do with the canonization of the Bible.

A Change of Heart (perhaps for the worse--must be the booze talking)

I changed my mind. I hate the son-of-a-whatever who decided that the constitution should be amended to allow for an income tax. What damn business do the feds have knowing what I make for a living? The federal government's only stinking job is to make sure that no foreign powers invade. Everything else is the responsibility of states, municipalities, and individuals.

While I'm at it, let me alienate my colleagues. This won't be difficult, as most majored in college only for their profession and with no desire whatsoever to learn much of anything.

Labor unions are not to thank for the rise of the middle class in America but for the decline of the middle class in America. The only middle class created and sustained by American labor unions is the middle class in countries with economies undamaged by labor unions.

If you want to challenge me on this, go for it. I'll post your comment (and rip it to shreds) as long as you avoid profanity. Call me whatever you want to call me, but if you defend the labor unions then you are either a fool or a socialist (and socialists are, quantatively--and qualatively--fools to the tenth power).

Note: Not all labor unions are socialistic, but the loudest ones--the AFL-CIO and the UAW--must have trembled in the McCarthy Era (which, despite my hatred of socialism, was a sad chapter in the history of freedom).

Note also: While certain friends might be offended by what I've said, stop and think about from where I'm coming. To me, a labor union's only value is to ensure that employers stick to the written contract. If you thought more (or, in a way, less) of me, then I apologize for misleading you. I advocate the abolition of the state (in all forms) as ardently as I advocate the death of labor unions. Perhaps labor unions had their place in history, but when they married into the government, they sold their soul to the Devil. To hell with them, then.

P.S. Remember what I said about letting this disrupt our friendship (Lawanda, Steve, Brian, et al.)

Puzzles

I just spent the last hour putting together dinosaur and Spongebob puzzles, and even though we are short one dinosaur piece, I can't right now think of a single thing worth hating. So much for my blog theme. Hey, don't blame me. Blame my kids.

The Ice Cream Man

The Ice Cream Man: I hate him. He is scum of the Earth and a pain in my keester. I can't prove it, but I'm fairly certain that he may be the principle reason why Al-Queda hates us.

Every day, since it's gotten warm, this guy strolls through my neighborhood at a leisurely 3mph, blasting his music and causing my kids to go nuts. "Ice Cream Man! Ice Cream Man! Ice Cream Man!" they shout, spazzing about like chimps at feeding time. It doesn't matter even if they're already eating ice cream. This guy has them conditioned like Pavlov's dogs.

So he rolls down my street, blaring his call, like a Siren from Greek mythology. He does this every stinking day. If he did it once a week, I'd probably be cool with it. I'll spring for ice cream once a week. But he does it EVERY DAY, so inevitably my kids are devastated when I let him pass. Now I'm the jerk, and I hate that.

I'm not one of those dolts who, about something he dislikes, says "There should be a law against that." In fact, I think that the problem with my ice cream man should not be solved by passing any new laws. Actually, I think that certain laws, like those restricting homicide to circumstances involving self-defense or defense of another, should be relaxed. Uncle Ron (the ice cream man) would be far less apt to harass me and my family if it meant having to pick birdshot out of his face every time he hit my neighborhood.

Gas Price Addendum

I wanted badly to rail on those silly e-mails about how to fix the gas prices by boycotting one or another company or by filling up only slightly or by asking the government to intervene--which is, by the way, the dumbest damn thing you can do (see stories of the gas shortages and lines at the pump during the late '70's).

The following are links to some essays/articles that express better than I can this principle. There is more to read, but you can pretty much get the picture from articles at www.mises.org and www.lewrockwell.com. Mises.org is an especially wonderful source, and (if you like its essays) you can sign up to receive them daily.

If you feel strongly about the gas-price issue, please take the time to read at least some, better most, and best all of the following articles. A reading of Henry Hazlitt's Economics in One Lesson would also do a copious amount of good.

These first few are pretty simple.
http://www.slate.com/id/2140848/?GT1=8190
http://www.mises.org/story/1191
http://www.mises.org/story/451
http://www.mises.org/story/389

These are more "academic."
http://www.mises.org/story/2008
http://www.mises.org/story/1942
http://www.lewrockwell.com/french/french15.html
http://www.mises.org/story/1936
http://www.mises.org/story/1894
http://www.mises.org/story/1801
http://www.lewrockwell.com/rockwell/ghoultank.html
http://www.mises.org/story/1520
http://www.mises.org/story/2129
http://www.mises.org/story/2128
http://www.mises.org/story/2026
http://www.lewrockwell.com/rockwell/gas.html
http://www.mises.org/story/2028
http://www.mises.org/story/1962
http://www.mises.org/story/1322
http://www.mises.org/story/1276
http://www.mises.org/story/718
http://www.mises.org/story/678
http://www.mises.org/story/454
http://www.mises.org/story/398

Tanks A Lot

All this talk about how gas is more expensive than it should be is uninformed. There's simply no such thing as price gouging. No company can charge more for its product than what that product is worth to consumers, lest consumers boycott the product and/or seek alternatives.

I'm not "happy" about gas prices. They have cost me money. Since I drive an SUV, current gas prices have cost me dearly indeed. Still, I have refrained from anger (which is really odd, since I tend to get really angry at things), and I have not echoed the populist rhetoric about some conspiracy between oil companies and the Bush administration. If this is your opinion about the situation, then I'm willing to bet that your "knowledge" of the situation involves not even a basic tinge of market economics. In fact, I'll go so far as to suggest that the bulk of your knowledge comes from one, some, or all of the following sources: the mass media (e.g. TV, radio), the "water cooler," (e.g. some guy at work who acts like he knows everything--and yes, at my work I am that man), or "intuition" (i.e. what you feel but don't really know or remotely understand). Yet another possible "source" of this knowledge is the willingness to blame George W. Bush for everything that's bad. That's why I hate this. It's gotten to the point that I've got to defend a fascist like George II.

Still, even I talk about it, and I am not a so-called expert. However, allow me to state what I know before you dismiss me. I would appreciate any informed criticism of my analysis.

When we talk about prices, we're really talking about value. Prices equal dollars, and for most people, dollars equal a certain amount of time spent laboring in exchange for those dollars. In this sense, money equals time. Since time equals life (that's how we measure it, in years), the price of a given good or service equals a certain amount of your life (in a way, that is--I admit, it's a bit of a stretch, influenced mostly by Thoreau).

With that said, most people discriminate in the market. They buy only those things which they need and want badly. Needs are fixed. Among them are food, water, and shelter (clothing is a form of shelter). Contrary to popular opinion, medical care is not a universal need.

Wants include anything that we seek but do not require for survival. This can include material goods such as jewelry, cable television, computers, or even specific types of goods that might otherwise fall under the "needs" category (e.g. if you live in Michigan, you might need shoes in the winter, but you don't need Timberlands).

Prices for any given good reflect its value, and value is determined by the quantity of the given good or service (i.e. supply) and the intensity of consumers' desire for the given good or service (i.e. demand).

When a good or service is in high demand but in short supply (e.g. an autographed copy of Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer), it commands a very high price on the market. This makes sense. There are very few of these available, but many people would love to get their hands on one. Therefore, the price is very high. This way, the seller maximizes the value of his or her product.

Prices go down only if the supply of a good or service is increased (in excess of any long-term increase in demand) or if the demand for a good or service declines (in excess of its supply).

Therefore, a free market will fix this gasoline "problem." If the price is indeed beyond market value (i.e. where supply and demand meet), then people will consume less gasoline over time (those e-mails about skipping gas stations on Wednesdays or only filling up a quarter of a tank at a time and such are nonsense). People consuming less gas will lead to a decline in the value of gas, and thus a decline in the price of gas.

Also, if gas prices are high for a long enough period of time, people will turn to alternate modes of transportation. Whether this mode is hybrids or buses or anything else is yet to be determined. But if left to the market, it will reflect what most consumers want.

Right now, we feel that gasoline is a need--not a want. That's B.S. I can't tell you how many times my lazy butt has jumped into the car to go a half-mile to the 7-11 for a Slurppee. If I lived closer to my job (and perhaps I will soon, if fuel prices continue to rise), then I can walk to work.

The bottom line is--and I'm here because I've been rambling and it's late; not because I've said all that I can say--stop bitching about gas prices. Either pay for gas or don't. If you do, then you validate the value of the gas and have no business complaining about it and advocating some insane socialist measure to curb the costs.