Great Expectations

The year was 1985.  I was a couple of years out of high school, I didn't have much money, and I needed a new watch.  Fortunately for me, I also happened to be in Switzerland at the time.

So in the checkout line at a grocery store, I picked up an inoffensive-looking plastic watch from one of those displays that preys on impulse-buyers like myself and handed over the amount shown on the price tag.  It was twenty Swiss francs, the equivalent of about ten US dollars at the time.

It became virtually the only watch I owned and wore for the next fifteen years.  The other day, now 2012, I put a new battery in it and fitted a new black leather strap so I could start wearing it again.  For old time's sake I suppose.

I didn't have great expectations of it at the start, but I gradually came to appreciate the extraordinary quality and durability of this uncommon timepiece. It's 27 years old and works perfectly. Today I simply can't believe they were able to sell me this watch for next to nothing.  Sure, it looks like just another a mass-market plastic throw-away watch, but how many watches do you own that say this on the back?

It says "PAT PEND MONDAINE WATCH LTD ZÜRICH."  Mondaine normally makes the sort of high-end timepieces worn only by those individuals who are extremely committed to being on time for stuff.

Of the many watches I am lucky enough to own, this one if not the most attractive is the most special.  It has seen me through most of the defining events in my life.  It got me to most of my classes on time when I did four years of Physics at Arizona State University.  I say "most" because once I was 20 minutes late for class after a physics lab involving alpha particles and magnetic fields.  My watch seemed to be working normally, but was 20 minutes behind when it usually gains or loses no more than 0.5 second per day.  So what happened?

Did I accidentally discover a time portal into the very near future involving alpha particles and magnets?  The actual explanation is much more boring.  Checking my lab notes, I found that the magnetic field I was working with had been switched on for a total of exactly 20 minutes.  I hypothesized that the strong field had caused this watch to temporarily cease keeping time, and a subsequent experiment confirmed this to be the case.

After graduation, this watch accompanied me to various jobs, and eventually back to university for a Master's Degree.  I was also wearing this watch from 3 AM to 3 PM on the Sunday that my son arrived, the most traumatizing twelve hours of my life. Because this timepiece has far exceeded my expectations, it makes me very happy.  And there's the trap.

Are you waiting for something external to make you happy?  Real happiness either comes from within or not at all.  It is expectation that creates my unresolveable tension between the present situation that I can't change and what I ASSUMED being a father was going to mean.  That tension, which is a form of stress, saps a person of energy, strength, health and new ideas. And it is entirely a product of thought, not of anything real.

Is it possible to change the way I have been conditioned to think, and thus make the unendurable tension vanish? Is it possible to let go of judgement and expectation, and simply allow things to be as they are?  The pain in my heart is "bad" because I assume it isn't supposed to be there.  Couldn't I just accept it, instead of slowly killing myself through resistance to it?

It's only the little voice inside that holds me back.  It tries to tell me how others will judge me if I appear unstressed, unconcerned at a truly disgraceful situation.  Few people would justify a mother intentionally taking a child 6000 miles away from a loving, caring father.  Most people would be absolutely outraged to know that the child was influenced and encouraged to have no contact with his father.  By that standard, I should be in a continual state of outrage 24/7.

And I easily could be.  I would also be dead within 6 months from the stress.

Think of me then what you will, but I am changing my expectations of what fatherhood means.  I'm just here, he's just there, and whatever happens, happens.  I've done everything I can do. I have grieved the loss of my fathering life.  It is time for me to move on.

It's good to know exactly what time it is, isn't it.

The Cutting Edge of Technology

Western Australia is well known for being on the cutting edge of technology.  Why, it was as early as 1959 that Perth got the first TV station in Western Australia, barely three years after Sydney and Melbourne.  I honestly don't understand WHY some people say WA stands for "Wait Awhile."

And the blistering pace of technology did not slacken after that.  In 1965, barely six years later, Perth got a SECOND TV station.  Imagine that!  Your choice of TWO channels!  Then, a mere decade passes before, in 1975, trailblazing Australian TV broadcasters switched over to COLOR!  (Or 'colour' as they write it.)  I don't know how people were able to keep up with all that progress.

So what's next for Western Australia?  Well, on our street recently the power company has been busy upgrading the electricity distribution network to the very latest in cutting edge 19th-century technology: wooden power poles.

You see, the old ones were nearly rotted away and were falling over like dominoes.  Instead of converting to underground power, they opted to invest their time and money (8 billion dollars over the next 5 years) in fixing the old overhead distribution network, because it's cheaper.  But only in the short term.

It may be soaked in green insecticide and
have its own barcode, but it's still just
a tree trunk.  19th Century technology.

In the long run, overhead lines are far more expensive to maintain.  They are susceptible to insects, winds, falling tree branches, bush fires, car crashes, vandals, wayward  airplanes and children's kites.  I recall reading a news report of 900 homes being left without power due to "a light rain."

They say a major solar flare could disrupt power in modern industrial countries plunging entire civilizations into blackness, but in Western Australia, all it would take is a good stiff breeze.  Wind of the ordinary, non-solar variety.  Would this civilization survive such a fall?  Well, it's from no great height, so . . . .

WA has 660,000 wooden power poles, a fact which they now know, thanks to a new computer database which recently (read: finally) became operable after years of cost overruns and software development stuff-ups.  Actually, they admit that there are still some 4,000 poles on the network the locations of which are currently unknown.  How do you lose an entire power pole holding up your live wires?  Cutting edge technology, I guess.

In any case, the decision was made without the benefit of my whiz-dumb and all along our street the decrepit old power poles were methodically replaced with brand new ones.  For that to occur, the power had to be turned off from 9 AM until 5 PM on certain days while the work went ahead.  If you've been completely without power for an entire day recently, you will know what I discovered:  THERE'S NOTHING TO DO!

Overhead wires are only cheaper until something goes wrong,
like a light rain or slight breeze.  Or an idiot in a crane truck
forgetting to lower the boom before driving away.

But as I waited patiently for the power to be restored as the time approached 5 PM and the workmen were packing up and leaving, I heard a tremendous BANG!  I felt the whole house shake, and saw a crack open up in the ceiling.  I ran outside to witness one of their crane trucks heading down the street.  Its boom was sticking up in the air and it had the overhead power cables of half a dozen houses trailing along behind it, mine included.  It took out half a dozen more before the oblivious idiot stopped to see why there was now an entire power pole dragging on the road behind him.

Needless to say, the power did not come back on that evening.  Those workers (and many more, besides) were there until well after midnight feverishly stringing up wires to people's houses, and in some cases repairing the roofs of damaged properties.  Our house didn't get power until sometime the next day, making it more than 24 hours without electricity.

Fortunately none of the food in our fridge was spoiled, and we have a gas stove for cooking and gas hot water.  Thanks to another cutting-edge 19th century technology, candles, we were able to get through this without major injury.

OK - so maybe WA is a few centuries behind in the technology department.  But energy is just a fad anyway.  In a few more decades the electricity craze will be over and we'll wonder what all those poles and wires were for.  Meanwhile, Western Australia is catching up to the USA in one important area:  Junk Food.

I was recently able to purchase these items.  Not at a major supermarket chain, but at least in accessible stores in a suburban shopping center within 10 minutes' drive from my house. This is progress!  I've been deprived of these items for over ten years.  Soon, Western Australia will catch up to the US in obesity and diabetes.

Unless the power goes off.  Then we'll get plenty of exercise chopping firewood, like our ancestors did.  Hmmm - I bet those big wooden poles would burn pretty well . . .

Australia Is Not for the Squeamish

What a weekend it's been.  The first thing I encountered when I arrived at the shed was the peculiar absence of any Redbacks.  Instead I was assaulted by a pong that no living thing could emit.

"Pong" is an Australian word that means a stench, smell, or bad odour.  This might explain why the video game industry had difficulty getting established in Australia after its disastrous first attempt.

The reason for the bad smell was immediately obvious.  My rodent bait blocks appear to be doing their job.  These two little fellows had the decency to "shuffle off" out in the open instead of crawling up inside the walls or furniture.  This way I could find them and give them a proper burial. Their rodent souls may have gone to heaven but their essence remains with us here below.  It took me hours to air out the Shed.

While I waited for the air to clear, I got busy building.  There is a chill in the air and winter isn't far off.  This brick hearth is for the wood stove I acquired last year, but was unable to use.  I finally found a flue for it in a building salvage yard, and the brickwork will contribute by holding the heat in longer.




But the most fun I had on this trip was a discovery I've been looking forward to since I last wrote about the abundant wildlife in and around the Shed during the peak of summer.  The alert reader may recall that I had thoroughly squashed a scorpion and was therefore unable to use it as a photographic specimen.  Well, this weekend I found another specimen!  This time, I held my stomping reflex in check.

I immediately recognized the terror-inducing primeval shape from across the room.  I got excited and prepared for the catch.  One useful thing I learned from my ex, a field entomologist, was how to really kill stuff dead while keeping it in one piece.  In one hand I grasped the BBQ tongs, and in the other I held a wide-mouth glass jar (ex-pickles) with a few inches of methylated alcohol in it.  All I had to do was grab the scorpion with the tongs and drop it into the alcohol.  Within seconds it would be perfectly preserved.

Not without some disappointment did I discover that the scorpion was already dead. Probably from the pong of dead mice engulfing the Shed.

Anyhow, for your viewing pleasure I can finally present to you, in full color, Scorpion Fluorescence.  Enjoy!

The Fluorescent Properties of Urodacus novaehollandiae under UV Illumination.

Get your very own  Ultraviolet Flashlight HERE.  Disclaimer: use of your UV flashlight may or may not be accompanied by weird sci-fi sounds and/or applause.  It all depends upon how AWESOME you are.

Listening In with AWSMCBB

Lets listen in on a practice set with the All White Suburban Middle Class Blues Band.

Motto:  "We Play The Blues 'Cause We Paid Our Dues (and we got a tax receipt of course.)"


First up is an old original Fleetwood Mac number, "Heart Beats Like a Hammer" from their debut album imaginatively titled, "Fleetwood Mac."  This goes back to the days when Fleetwood Mac was still strictly a Blues Band, before the girls came to play.



(If there is a problem with playback, click "pause" for a few seconds and allow it to buffer.)


Next we have a go at Otis Rush's "All Your Love" which has also been covered by the likes of John Mayall and The Bluesbreakers (featuring Eric Clapton), Aerosmith, Stevie Ray Vaughan, The Steve Miller Band, and now of course The AWSMCBB. That's us.




Finally, one of our old standbys, "Tore Down" by the ineffable T-Bone Walker (aka Aaron Thibeaux Walker, 1910 - 1975). What does 'ineffable' mean? I assume it means "not able to be effed." So we'll do our best not to, this time.




The AWSMCBB is:

Tim (guitar & vocals)
Nick (bass)
Paul (drums) and
John (piano & organ).

Our music is NOT SOLD IN ANY STORES!   Gee, I wonder why.

The Most Fun I Ever Had!

The most fun I ever had using Mathematics to solve an original problem ('original' meaning I had to work it out for myself without any help) was back while I was working as a junior engineer/floor sweeper at Bently Nevada Corp.  To make measurements of rotor shaft position within a plain sleeve bearing, everyone up until that time would just "guesstimate" the limits of motion that indicated the bearing clearance.  I decided there would soon be a better way.

With just a few measurements of rotor position in X and Y (as shown here), can you construct the most likely circle out of these points?  It seems like it should be easy, but how can we be certain of getting the right result?  And how do you teach a computer to do this without your visual help?

We could take any three points and use the famous Three-Point Formula for a circle, then solve it algebraically for the radius and  X - Y coordinates of the circle's center. But which three points do you use?  And remember, these are measurements that always have some random error in them.  If you look closely, these points do not actually fall on an exact circle.

One solution would be to take every possible combination of three points, determine the circle's parameters, then make an average of all the possibilities.  But there is a better way.

If there are 47, 102, 18 or any other number of data points we'll call N, then the raw data are an N-dimensional object that can only be perfectly represented using all N dimensions.  But common sense tells us that most of those dimensions are unnecessary, because it really only takes 3 numbers to represent a circle: the value of its radius, and the X and Y coordinates of the circle's center.  If all these data points were exactly on a perfect circle, they would not be N independent entities, because there would be a very concise rule dictating where the points were allowed to be.  In reality, though, they won't all line up perfectly (see above), so we need a way of determining what is statistically the best circle described by the data.

Mathematically the problem is how to minimize the distance between every point and some proposed circle by adjusting the circle's position and radius.  The optimization parameter used is the sum of the square of how far off the circle each data point is.  Such an optimized circle will be known as the "least squares best-fit."

The question really boils down to this:  how do you smoosh an N-dimensional object (a data set with N points) into just three pieces of information? And how can we be certain that they represent the optimum best fit?  It's easy, if you know how to use a handy little thing called The Perfectly Normal Equations.

Don't panic - this is a Perfectly Normal Equation.

Many textbooks refer to these as simply the "Normal Equations," and this omission betrays the authors' ignorance regarding the real origin of the name, as well as their deplorable lack of familiarity with the works of Douglas Adams.  They assume it's because "normal" is another word for "orthogonal" meaning "perpendicular to each other."  In other words, no combination of any of the equations will adequately work as a replacement for any one of them.

While that is technically true, the real reason for the name "Perfectly Normal Equations" is so that when people see them, they will be prepared to accept these equations as "perfectly normal" and will not freak out and alert the Authorities, or do something equally dramatic and ill-advised.

The one slightly disconcerting thing about the Perfectly Normal Equations is that there appears to be only one of them.  And, they are not actually equations, but more like the pattern or formula one uses to create the specific Perfectly Normal Equations for any given situation.   The elegantly simple statement shown above is really a set of instructions for how to combine something called "Basis Functions" into Perfectly Normal Equations which will then perform all kinds of wonderful feats.

Actually, the only wonderful thing they do is cast mathematical shadows, the way a 3-dimensional object casts a 2-dimensional shadow on a wall.  But in this example, it's an object with hundreds of dimensions, and we want to "flatten" it down to just three pieces of information: the radius and two center coordinates of a circle.  But that is wonderful enough for me.  I am easily amused.

So.  What are the Basis Functions of a circle?  Whoops - they didn't teach us that in school, did they.  That is the part I had to figure out all by myself, and this is the stroke of jeenyous that leads to this amazing solution to a tricky problem.

First, what does the word "circle" really mean?  To get specific enough to be useful, we have to define it as those points on a plane that are all exactly a certain distance (called the radius) from one point (called the center).  We can use good ol' Pythagoras' formula for the distance between points.  And that is the rule or statement that defines what is a circle.


But not every circle is centered at point 0,0, and so we have to allow for the possibility that the center is located at some point (x_o, y_o) instead:

General Equation of a Circle

Just because I felt like trying something different, I decided to re-organize this equation to make it look like a polynomial in X and Y being equal to a function of X and Y.  The inelegant result is this:

The John S. Jacob form of the Circle Equation

And now the AHA! moment.  In that form, a circle looks exactly like something that might fit in the Perfectly Normal Equations:

If you've ever sweated through a math class, you might be experiencing some disappointment right here.  "What?  That's it? x, y and 1 are your basis functions?  That's LAME!"  Well, to be honest I expected something more complicated too.  But that's how it comes out.  Some days there's a fine line between genius and idiocy.

Now the Perfectly Normal Equations can be written out in all their salacious details.  I will spare your bandwidth here, but if you really want to see them in their exposed glory, contact me and I'll send you a pdf.

Three basis functions means there are three Perfectly Normal Equations, each containing three terms.  That forms a 3x3 grid, which itself makes a new kind of number that obeys a fancy sort of arithmetic called matrix algebra.  All we need to do is find the inverse of that matrix to solve for the three unknown constants, C. Why?  What will knowing the three C's give us?

Aha!  Another flash of genius.  The three C's are enough information to puzzle out the three exact values of  x_o, y_o and r.  And THAT tells us the absolute best circle that fits the entire data set.

Anyone can do this, because if you're reading this, you personally have access to about 1 million times the computing power needed to perform this calculation in less than a second. And the chances are very good that you have unknowingly already used Perfectly Normal Equations.

If you ever took a science, economics, business math or statistics class, you may have used Linear Regression to find a straight trend line that fits some data.  Did you ever stop to wonder where they first got the formula for doing Linear Regression?  No, of course you didn't.  Because you, unlike me, are Perfectly Normal.

Linear Regression is nothing more than the Perfectly Normal Equations using x and 1 as basis functions and a comparatively infantile 2x2 matrix inversion.

That's how Perfectly Normal they are!

Not to brag, but I've used the Perfectly Normal Equations and a 10x10 matrix inversion to save my former employer mega $$$ and heaps of space on a circuit board.  Talk about tough, I used up a whole pad of paper and an entire pencil working it all out.

But they were really nice about it - they bought me another one.










Exactly where did I learn all this stuff?  Oh, books, mostly.  This one by Kincaid and Cheney is a really good one:

My Reaction (Har!) to the Nuclear Debate

I crack myself up. Seriously, though. it has been observed that there is not one major global problem that could not be significantly diminished, if not altogether eliminated, by only one minor change that is entirely within every individual's reach.  Just one simple choice could solve the problems of Global Warming, peak oil, disease, poverty, war, urban overcrowding, crime, environmental degradation, extinction of species, water shortages, the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, traffic congestion, overflowing landfills, and American Idol.

That powerful but simple solution is this one easy-to-understand idea:  fewer humans on the planet.  That isn't likely to happen any time soon, since making more humans is just so gosh darned fun.

(Keeping one's pants fully in the "on" position is coincidentally also the solution to a surprising number of non-global, personal, legal, financial and medical problems, but that's another post.)

There is no question that we are going to run out of cheap energy relatively soon.  Yet everyone I've talked to recently still seems fully committed to reproducing themselves as many times as possible.  An alternative source of energy is needed if only to provide the illusion that everything is going to be OK while we continue to breed like teenage rabbits in a carrot silo.

This is the point at which some shill from the energy company pipes up and says, "Did you know that just one tiny kilogram of environmentally-friendly non-CO2-emitting Uranium replaces about two thousand TONS of horrible, disgusting coal?  With nuclear power, you humans could continue having sex for thousands of years to come!"

This raises two vitally important questions.  1) What happens after that?  2) Are you a robot, or an alien, or an alien robot?

His answer is, "Mumble mumble mumble mumble mumble."

"WHAT WAS THAT YOU SAID?"

"I said you're right back where you started, plus you have a bunch of, um, radioactive waste to deal with.  Hey, but at least it was cheaper than solar power!"

Is it really?  Not when you include ALL the costs.  Storage of the waste in particular is a blank-check expense.  Nuclear waste  is composed of an unmanageable jumble of highly hazardous substances all mixed together.  It really isn't worth mucking around with, because it's a never-ending game of whack-a-mole.  Just when you figure out how to neutralize one radioactive isotope, it decays into several new ones.  No, with this sort of muck, there's no point mucking about.  Best just put it someplace, and then never ever go there again.

That's why the Australian Goobermint has recently taken steps towards the establishment of a permanent nuclear waste storage facility (a shed, actually).  They considered the question of where to keep all this muck, and came up with the answer:  out in the middle of nowhere at a place called (and I am NOT making this up) -  Muckaty Station.

But how much is this going to cost?  Including a couple of rent-a-cops who will stand guard and prevent terrorists from stealing the glowing deadly muck, I optimistically estimate that it will cost 5 cents per day.  I'd make it 1 cent per day to be even more optimistic, but 5 cents is the lowest you can go in Australia, they having wisely done away with all the one-cent coins years ago. (Are you reading this, America? It works, it saves lots of time and tons of federal money.)

So, how many days will the radioactive waste need to be stored?  And keep in mind that we're going to be making more of it as time goes by.  It works out to be . . . infinity days.   Now, what is our very optimistic 5 cents per day times our frankly realistic infinity days?  Whoops - this calculator doesn't go that high.

-            -             -

Until someone figures out an affordable and politically acceptable means of dealing with nuclear waste, I say that it is NOT CHEAPER than solar power or any other form of energy.  Until that problem is solved, I maintain that the actual cost of nuclear power is infinity.

Plus thorium.  I meant to work that into this post somehow.  We should be looking at thorium fuel cycles, not uranium, because you can't make weapons out of it, it's inherently stable and stops reacting when you get hit by tsunamis, and the waste is slightly less nasty.  So, there it is.  The answer to all our problems is to stop having sex, and use more thorium.

A Complicated Day

March 10 is always a complicated day for me, for complicated and varied reasons.
For example, on this day in 1957, a man named Mohammad bin Awad bin Laden became a father.  Again.  He managed to do this a total of 54 times in his life, with 22 different wives.  See, now there's a guy who understood about putting all your eggs in one basket.  One smart man, if you ask me.  Obviously, not all your kids will turn out great, but what a disappointment little Osama turned out to be!

It's also the day  in 1940 that Ray Norris, famous Oklahoma mechanic and truck driver, became a dad for the first time when little Carlos was born.  Ray was destined for heartache however when the boys' mother moved to California, taking Ray's sons with her.  When Chuck Norris breaks someone's heart, it stays broken.

Graham Farmer, born on March 10th.

James Gerald Ray became a father on this day, as well.  In 1928.  We know so little about him, though.  Did he ever wonder, for example, where he went wrong with his son, the low-life assassin James Earl Ray?

It's not all bad news, though.  In 1935 on this day, a man named Farmer had a son nicknamed Polly.  This lad became the most famous Australian Rules Football player in history, Graham Farmer.  In America, he'd probably be the equivalent of Ronald Reagan or something.  Today, there's a freeway in Perth named after him, the Graham Farmer Freeway, which passes directly underneath the dodgy Perth suburb of Northbridge.  Good job too, because you wouldn't want to have to drive through Northbridge if you could help it.  The tunnel is known among your more humor-orientated locals as "the Polly Pipe."

Eddy Lincoln's proud papa,
shown here WITHOUT a hat.

On this day in 1846, famous beard and hat aficionado Abraham Lincoln became a father for the second time.  What a great man he was, who contributed so much to the world of public hat and beard wearing in spite of having such a miserable home life.  Even naming the child was mired in conflict:  "Eddy" versus the mother's irrational insistence on "Eddie."  What a nut-job that Mary Todd was!  But Lincoln's joy was to be short-lived.  Literally, as Eddy only lived to age three years, ten months and 21 days.  I cannot look at a  US one cent coin without seeing some of his anguish.

Also on this day, in 1947, famous Toledo resident Don Scholz became a dad!  This is wonderful news, because little Tommy did everything that typical boys do.  He fiddled with everything from go-karts to airplanes, was a basketball star in High School, took piano lessons, and went on to get a Master's Degree in Mechanical Engineering from MIT.  Don was incredibly proud of his boy Tom, but the best was yet to come.  After working as an engineer for a few years, Tom Scholz literally "gave up the day job" and founded one of the three greatest American Prog-Rock bands ever, Boston, and became a bazillionaire rock star!  Every parent's dream come true.

Founder of Boston born on 10 March.

(The other two are Kansas and The Mothers of Invention, in case you weren't sure.)

Many people misunderstand what it means when  father is "proud" of his boy.  They project their own insecurities onto the situation and assume that it is a kind of boasting, a self-validation, living vicariously, or the dad simply attempting to big-note himself for something the son has accomplished.  This is the wrong interpretation entirely.  That swelling in the chest that a father feels when his son makes good is pure joy from the knowledge that the boy has unlocked a little of his own unlimited potential and is experiencing some measure of fulfillment of his own life's purpose.  That's what every father yearns to be able to do.

On this day in 1964, a very lucky guy named Phil became a father for the fourth time.  Who exactly is this Phil person?  It's a little complicated.  His real name is Phillip von Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg.  But he's not German as one might assume, he's actually Greek.  He married well, though, to an English gal named Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor, otherwise known as Queen Elizabeth II of England!  Although the lad in question, Prince Edward, will never become king of England (I think even his Chauffeur is ahead of him in the succession line), Phil is still very, very proud of his boy Edward, Earl of Wessex.

Speaking of royalty, this is also the very date in 1845 on which Alexander Nicolaievich Romanov's life changed forever.  His son Alexander Alexandrovich Romanov born on that day succeeded him as Tsar Alexander III of Russia, but married the most unfortunately-named woman in History: Dagmar.

Karl Whilhelm Friedrich von Schlegel,
born 10 March 1772.

In 1772, on this day, Johann Adolf Schlegel became a dad for the second time.  Both his sons became important German scholars and philosophers, but the younger son born on this day was by far the shining star of the two.  Karl Wilhelm Friedrich von Schlegel achieved rock-star status among German intellectuals.  Of course today no one remembers exactly what their deal was, but at the time it was all terribly important stuff.


On this day in 1705, Johann Jakob Stöller (what an AWESOME name!) became father to a son who went on to do some tremendous things.  For example, he discovered Alaska.  No small feat, since Alaska is a frickin' huge, frozen object found way, way up there!  Young Georg Wilhelm also got a lot of animals named after himself, also as a result of discovering them.  I'm not sure how he missed out on naming rights to "Alaska" though.  So I'm going to start calling the place "Stöllerland" from now on.

March 10th was not really a wonderful day for one particular father, however. Jean Calas, a merchant from Toulouse, France, died on this date in 1762 at the hands of his torturers, fanatic Catholics (i.e. the French Government) who insisted that he had killed his own son.  In fact, the son had committed suicide, but out of shame the family tried to hide the fact, which led authorities to suspect the dad of filicide.  A terrible series of events, to be sure.  And as usual one with at least one positive outcome.  The famous French philosopher Voltaire, aka Françios-Marie Arouet, became interested in the case and through his incessant needling, haranguing and embarrassing the government, he succeeded in having the charges reversed posthumously.  He also secured a substantial payout for the bereaved and aggrieved family.  The government was thereafter a little more circumspect about torturing people to death whenever Voltaire was around.


On March 10, 1977, Astronomers announce that they have discovered a ring of debris around Uranus.

What's so funny?  It's a true fact.  Look it up.

On March 10, 1876, Alexander Graham Bell made the very first telephone call, to his assistant who it turns out was only in the next room over.  He was over-charged for the call, and is currently still on hold with customer assistance to try to get it resolved.

That means that as of today, the telephone has been around for 136 years.  But do you think my son will pick one up and call me?  Or is he going to wait another 136 years to talk to a dad who is very proud of him, no matter which nation or province he becomes supreme ruler over, how big a rock star he becomes or how many new species get named after him?

Son, you're always a star in my book.

The Story of Jiko Giman, an Artist who Was Not Similar in Every Way to Everyday People.

An acquaintance asked me whether I had ever been to Mainz, Germany.  I replied that I had, but that was almost forty years ago.

The Cathedral of Mainz,
photographed with a 110-format
pocket camera in 1978.

"So you probably haven't heard of the famous Painter of Mainz?" he said. "You'll enjoy this."

And he proceeded to tell me about a moderately talented and promising young artist from the 2000-year-old German city who, in his earnest desire to paint the world as he saw it, began his career by placing over his head a large cardboard box.

On the inside walls of this big box the young painter created images of everything he could think of, and made them as he believed they appeared in real life. The problem, as you may have anticipated, was that he spent so much time inside his box painting that he rarely took the time to see much of life.

It even became his habit to go walking around the city of Mainz with his painting box over his head, so that he could find new subjects to paint. But unknown to him was a young lady, also of artistic interests, who had been watching him for some time and was fascinated by this rather unusual young man. One day during one of his forays into the streets of Mainz, she decided to try to meet him. She placed herself in his path and waited.

The painter stumbled forward on his habitual round and stopped when he became aware of someone standing in his way.

"Oh - who are you?" he said.

"I'm - I'm Lisl, I'm an art critic," stammered the nervous girl. "What's your name?"

"I'm Jiko Giman," replied the artist. An art critic, huh? I'll paint you." The painter then made an image of the stranger on the inside of his box using his brushes and paints. He gave her red eyes, black leathery skin, lots of bristly whiskers, claws for hands, hooves for feet, a spiky tail, and even added some green, gnarled horns to complete his picture, of which he was really quite pleased and proud when it was finished.

"Can I see it?" queried the girl.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" said Jiko sarcastically. "Not on your life."

Lisl, who did not have horns or hooves at all, and only a few whiskers to speak of, and was actually quite attractive by teutonic standards, ran far from the cruel artist so that he would not hear her sobs of disappointment. Who knows - they might have had a friendship, or maybe even more, if he had only seen the person she really was.

But the artist blithely walked on, painting the inner walls of his box according to his assumptions and judgements of the people and things he encountered. At one place, he discovered there was a crowd of people on the footpath, all apparently waiting for something.

"This is a poor part of the city," he thought to himself. "It's probably a bunch of bums waiting for a handout from a soup kitchen." He then began painting an image of disshevelled, shabby people crowding against the side of the building, some holding bundles of rags, some pushing old shopping carts.

"Hey, you're that artist," said one of them. "Would you like to paint my portrait?"

Jiko did not bother to hide his disgust in his reply, "Get a job, you filthy bum!" He then turned his footsteps elsewhere.

The "filthy bum" raised his immaculately groomed eyebrows, adjusted his tophat, polished his diamond cuff links and patted the theatre tickets in the breast pocket of his tuxedo before glancing at his solid gold watch. "What a pity," he added. "I would someday like to become the patron of an aspiring young artist. I suppose I'll have to find someone else to give my money to."

The young painter, determined still to paint the world as he saw it, continued on his walk, and came to a quiet, peaceful place. He immediately judged it to be a park of beautiful trees, expanses of manicured lawn, and beds of wildly colorful flowers.

"What a perfect scene to paint," he exclaimed. But as he moved forward to find the best vantage point, as he supposed it, he stumbled and fell headlong into the municipal dump.

Lying there among the rotting banana peels and broken microwave ovens, injured but by some fluke still wearing his box, he heard some movement nearby. "My rescuers!" he said. "Over here! I'm injured, come and help me!"

But the rescuers were really a pack of wild dogs that lived at the dump, and they ate him.

Needless to say, Jiko Giman's career as an artist went into a steep decline at this point. There is really not much more to say about him.

So this is the end of the story.







To discover how self-deception could lead to YOUR downfall and subsequent consumption by wild dogs, I recommend that you read this before it's too late:

A Horrid Thing To Say

"That is a horrid thing to say, and you had no right to say it.  You don't know what it's like to lose a child!"

That's what the woman would have said if she had not been giving me "The Silent Treatment."

Girls, I'm going to let you in on a little secret:  IT DOESN'T WORK!

The "Silent Treatment" amuses and confuses, but it never has the intended effect, which presumably is to punish a man into recognition that whatever he did was wrong.  See, we're not actually all that put out when you ladies don't talk to us, and it is a decidedly ineffective means of giving us any new information or insights.

In this case, the woman who was not speaking to me (well, one of them) was a work acquaintance whom I barely know.  The conversation was about a friend of hers who had recently lost two children, one of whom went into a river and never came out again, and the other, her unborn baby, miscarried when the mother was confronted with the surprising and unexpected mortality of her first son.

Yes, it's a terrible, tragic event.  Yes, we all feel sadness at that mother's loss.  My mistake was not joining the pity-party, as I was expected to do, and taking a little piece of the pain into my own life.  As though that would help matters.

Instead, what I did which I shouldn't have done was to say:

"It's possible this could be the greatest thing to ever happen to her."

-     -      - 

Now, I recognize it was wrong for me to say this.  It was wrong for me to make a suggestion that the listener was not at all prepared to hear.  Is this what is meant by the somewhat unfortunate parable, "Cast not thy pearls before swine?"  Unfortunate because I would in no way wish to associate this essentially decent person with "swine." But the meaning is fairly clear.  Don't give people things, even precious things, that might do them more harm than good.

Of course I had no sure way of knowing beforehand what level this individual's state of personal growth and awareness would be.  I know now.

Was she correct in thinking the things she didn't say?  Was that a "horrid" thing to say and am I devoid of human empathy?  My assertion is, "No" and my reasons are twofold.

First of all, empathy.  I feel real compassion for the mother whom I don't know from a bar of soap.  As a matter of fact I do know what it's like to lose a child.  My own son was taken from me without good cause, legally, against my wishes and in spite of my every assertion and exertion.  I was forced to say goodbye to a child I would never see again, in the sense that he would be inches taller and a person I would not know anything about the next time I saw him.

I see my son about once a year for a couple of weeks.  That means I have basically no relationship with him at all, because he does not phone or write me.  His mother has neatly excised me out of his life, and I grieve my loss as much as any parent who loses a child.

Not only that, but I go through that grieving, months and months of soul-wrenching agony, all over again every time I say goodbye to him.  I will never see that child at that age and stage of development again.  Ever.  I will have no hand in raising him, helping him, enjoying his life with him, facing problems with him, or anything with him.  In another year I will be awkwardly introduced to a completely different young man who knows as little about me as I do of him, and with whom I have no connection.

Do I know what it might feel like to lose a child?  You're welcome to disagree, but I think I do know a thing or two about it.

Secondly, I have some reason for predicting a possible Divine outcome from this mother's experience.  We can run and we can sometimes hide from ordinary everyday setbacks, we can even take them in stride.  But something of this magnitude forces a person to ask some serious questions about life.  While I would never want anyone to suffer as I have, it is after all pretty much inevitable that many people will.  But suffering doesn't have to be in vain.  If the mother is an intelligent person as I assume she is, she will quickly recognize three things.

That this is way more than she ever thought she could handle.

That this amount of grief can't be ignored or just swept aside.  You don't just "get over it."

That barring something miraculous, she is about to serve a life sentence of grief and pain.

When someone realizes this, faces reality, does not run from life, run into drugs or alcohol, or escape through some other means, then that is the opportunity that a few lucky, blessed people have in life. This is their chance, because no other option is left, to look for that elusive door to the next level.

And when they have found that door, to open it.

And when the door is open, if she has the courage, she may even go through it.

She will enter a plane beyond sorrow, suffering, grief, conflict or pain.  A realm of light and knowledge, a place of pure understanding.  Just for a visit, you know.  Because the search for that door is one we can never be entirely finished with.

Some teachers explain this event as "dying before you die," and is one of the keys to really living.

When I heard that a mother experienced an inescapably tragic event, I felt a little rejoicing in my heart on her behalf.  My reflex reaction to the terrible news was one of hope for her.  This just might be the blessing that propels her to discover the door to her own personal End of Suffering.

As for the children, well, their problems are clearly over.  I like to imagine that they would gladly have given their lives for their mother to gain something that is worth far, far more than mere flesh and bone, mere matter and form. Infinitely more, and infinitely longer lasting besides.

Dear reader, if anything I wrote here offends you, feel free to give me all the silence you can muster. I think I can take it.  And if you broke a tooth on any of these pearls, I am sorry about that.  Really.




.

See The Real Australia

Most people only know about Australia through movies such as "Crocodile Dundee," "Quigly Down Under," or, for some reason, "Australia."  Do you really think you can understand an entire nation/continent from a few crappy fictional Hollywood movies?

Well, if you do, you're right.  It is an excellent way to learn about Australia, but those aren't the right movies to do the job properly.

If you really want to understand Australia and, like me, you are extremely lazy and like to sit on your fat sofa for hours at a time, then movies are the way to go.  And, you have come to the right place, because I have assembled a veritable compendium of the most important Australian movies that accurately portray life in Australia.

What about reading a book, you ask?  I tried that once.  I got about a quarter of the way through The Fatal Shore: The Epic of Australia's Founding before falling into a coma.  Sooo . . . boring . . . !  But on the other hand, an excellent cure for insomnia, which I used to have but don't anymore.  So definitely get this book, by all means.

All "hip" educators understand that everything is easier to learn when it's in the form of a story.  That's just how human brains are wired.  Furthermore, I feel that anything that isn't making me laugh is just wasting my valuable time on this planet.   Therefore I propose the following movies as your best window into the real Australia:

Kenny  Follow the epic tale of a blue-collar hero who through dedication and hard work rises to international prominence in his decidedly humble profession.  He also overcomes personal setbacks in his relationship to his son and finally meets the woman of his dreams.  Specifically, a live woman who will speak to him a second time.  Australians all have the ambition to 1) become the best in the world at something and then 2) act as though they don't care.  The irony of this movie is on many levels, so see if you can absorb the overarching "meta-irony" of this multi-award-winning film.  Best line:  "There's a smell in here that will outlast Religion."

The Castle  Set in a typical suburban family home, a typical middle-class suburban family fights the defining battle of their lives.  This is an absolute must-see and includes a brilliant and award-winning acting performance by legendary Aussie actor Michael Caton who plays the leading role of Darryl Kerrigan.  Though fictional, I would rank Kerrigan as one of the pre-eminent Australian philosophers, who gives us such wisdom as "(high voltage transmission towers) are a Monument to Man's ability to generate electricity."  There's a great deal of authentic detail in this movie relating to suburban life, middle-class culture, home handyman skills, and the legal system.  So watch carefully!

Another tidbit that should interest you:  this film grossed over AU$10,000,000 while costing only AU$19,000 to produce.  That's a rate of return of 50,000%.

The Dish  The plot of this movie, based on actual events, centers around Australia's involvement in the Apollo program in 1968.  In America, a movie like this (think Apollo 13) would be a patriotic, serious and heart-warming movie involving patriotic, serious and heart-warming actors such as Tom Hanks.  But in Australia, that schmaltzy, maudlin stuff just doesn't fly.  Instead, The Dish is a satirical laugh riot.  For me the defining moment comes when the Vice President of the United States visits the country town of Forbes, the closest outpost of civilization (such as it is) to the remote radio telescope which is preparing to receive the first ever live images from the surface of the moon.  To honor the most important person by far (such as he is) to ever set foot in Forbes, the house band of the town's pub plays what they sincerely believe to be the National Anthem of the United States.  I'll say no more.  SEE IT!

Rabbit-Proof Fence   I only laughed a little at this uncompromisingly serious film, but I recommend it nonetheless.  The main theme is Australia's condescending treatment of its aboriginal peoples, not dissimilar to the way the North American Indians were (and are) treated in the United States and Canada.  The between-the-lines theme is Government Incompetence, evidenced by attempts to make a fence several thousand miles long to keep destructive rabbits (introduced to Australia by Europeans) out of Western Australia.  And their incompetence at managing aboriginal peoples' lives for them.  It failed, of course. It turns out, rabbits can actually dig!  And small girls can run away from boarding school, ingeniously and courageously making the thousand-mile journey home on foot, using only the you-know-what as a guide.  Now THAT's irony only Government can provide.

The Craic  Have you noticed that the titles of all good Australian films are just two words long beginning with "The?"  Me neither. This film offers you the chance to see Australia from an outsider's perspective as one Fergus Montague from Belfast (played by Jimeoin McKeown) seeks refuge in Australia, the last place he expects to encounter his old enemies and make new ones.  Of course, both happen.  It wouldn't be much of a film otherwise, now would it.  Though not critically acclaimed, this film passes the only test that matters.  It made me laugh.  Watch for the scene in the world's only topless bar where patrons actually try to persuade the barmaid to put a shirt on, or something, for god's sake.

Malcolm  Any trip to Australia should include Melbourne, in my opinion the one really civilized city down here.  This movie, set in this scenic city, follows the adventures of Malcolm, an autistic, socially-incompetent genius who finally meets the sort of caring and non-judgmental people who appreciate his special talents.  Petty criminals.

As you may have guessed, Australians are not particularly "nice" (meaning delicate) about their humor.  Anything is a suitable target, including tragic disabilities such as autism.  Americans take such things (and themselves) extremely seriously and are likely to be offended at Australian humor.  Example:  A well-known Australian comedian says on TV: "knock-knock jokes, not really funny, are they.  Be honest.  But telling knock-knock jokes to homeless people - now THAT'S funny!"

My advice: get over it.  Learn to laugh at everything, then nothing will be a tragedy to you.  Far from being mean-spirited, it is actually the kinder and more enlightened way to deal with life's setbacks and unpleasant realities.

Douglas Adams praises Australians as having the most finely tuned sense of irony in the world, and any movie that does not expose you to the Australian sense of humor is doing you a disservice.  Their subtlety of satire is often such that the target does not even know that he is a target.  You must pay close attention to get most of the jokes.

These movies also expose you to the rich lexicon of the Australian language, which again, you might miss if you're not paying attention.

Is Australia really like these movies?  Do Australians really talk and act like this?  They say no,  but I say yes.  Yes, they do, in the same way that an editorial cartoon sketch often tells us infinitely more about a politician than their official press-release photograph does.  After living this last decade or so in Australia, I have to say that these movies accurately portray these people and this place in a way that nothing else comes close to doing.



.

In The Beginning . . .

... God made the earth flat because Man would have great difficulty comprehending it otherwise.  And as we knoweth, everything is designed either so Man can comprehend it easily, or so that he cannot know it at all.   Thus, if thou findest something is hard, then stop trying to figure it out.  Bury thou thy talent deep in the earth lest God be displeased with his servant and smite thee.

2.  And it came to pass that He placed the earth at the center of the universe, which at that time was a large glass sphere about sixty and six score cubits off the ground at the highest point, and was ordained with numerous tiny light bulbs that came on at night for decoration.

3.  This dideth He lest by any means Man might be scared shitless by the vast, enormous, humongous expanse of empty, violent Space in which the earth, yea the whole earth on which thou standest, is but a microscopic, infinitesimally tiny speck of dust.

4.  And it came to pass that Pharaoh and the Egyptians came and sent Eratosthenes to check out this "flat earth" thing and Lo! They discovered that the earth was actually round like unto a ball that was three thousand and seven hundred and four leagues in girth.

5.  And this displeased God mightily, who in his wrath caused Egypt to become a dodgy third-world country in modern times.

6.  And it came to pass that there arose a man named Johannes Kepler, and he did study the heavenly lightbulbs lo, for many nights studied he them.  And there came other men, named Nicolaus of Copernica and Galileo of Florence saying that the data prove the earth was not at the center of anything, and this glass sphere of God's was an illusion that didn't exist.

7.  And God saith, "Fine, have it your way."  Because it was three against one, anyway, and their data was pretty darn convincing.

8.  And on the 3.62004328966 x 10^12 day, God invented an astonishingly complex system of chemistry based on the Carbon atom which was capable of not only replicating molecules but adapting to conditions on the earth.

9.  And it came to pass that Moses came, seeking background material for a book he was working on which he called "Genesis," but it wasn't anything to do with the band.

10.  And God said, "See thou, Moses, my greatest work is a bio-programmable self-adapting system of biochemistry utilizing a code created from pairs of Guanine, Cytosine, Adenine and Thymine.  Behold!"

11.  And Moses said, "WTF are you talking about?"

12.  And God said, "(SIGH!)  Ok, the simplified version it is.  Basically, I created the plants and herbs of the field, and the fish and fowl of the waters, and all the barnyard animals male and female created I."

13.  And Moses said, "Can I quote you on that?"







Thanks, Kathy, for giving me the idea for this.  I learned something really valuable from writing this post.  Scripture is actually really easy to write.  Because if someone says, "hey, God didn't say that," then you just say, "prove it!" and that's the end of the argument.