From a philosophical standpoint, there is something unaccounted for in the inductive method of science: Inspiration. Should scientists work to seek out what lies in the cracks of accumulated evidence - not as fissures in the canon, but as unexplored totalities & dimensions? Reliance only on collected experience can also be thought of as provincialism.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Friday, October 31, 2008
Office Halloween Candy Roundup
1 box of lemonade-coated sour cherry nerds - already gone.
2 twizzlers - attrition rate: 50%
2 rolls of sweettarts. in smarties form. who do they think they're foolin? i'll eat them in traditional smarties fashion, biting off the rims first in my mouth. did they really want that?
5 tootsie rolls. chocolate taffy mongrels. typically smart mutts
1 box of apple-coated watermelon nerds. no word on whether the apple is sour or not, but i'm having taste-bud spasms just imagining the combination.
2 banana laffy taffys. TWO! truly blessed.
3 other laffy taffys of dramatically less important flavors. grape is a sleeper, though.
4 dubble bubbles that will get crammed in my mouth in rapid succession
1 solitary apple jolly rancher. why? why?
1 tootsie pop. orange. not the most exciting flavor, but classic. oh, we don't know yet? let's ask this owl. hey owl, you graduated, we get that. why do you still gotta wear the mortar board? is that all you're gonna do in life?
2 twizzlers - attrition rate: 50%
2 rolls of sweettarts. in smarties form. who do they think they're foolin? i'll eat them in traditional smarties fashion, biting off the rims first in my mouth. did they really want that?
5 tootsie rolls. chocolate taffy mongrels. typically smart mutts
1 box of apple-coated watermelon nerds. no word on whether the apple is sour or not, but i'm having taste-bud spasms just imagining the combination.
2 banana laffy taffys. TWO! truly blessed.
3 other laffy taffys of dramatically less important flavors. grape is a sleeper, though.
4 dubble bubbles that will get crammed in my mouth in rapid succession
1 solitary apple jolly rancher. why? why?
1 tootsie pop. orange. not the most exciting flavor, but classic. oh, we don't know yet? let's ask this owl. hey owl, you graduated, we get that. why do you still gotta wear the mortar board? is that all you're gonna do in life?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Plea from an American with Bad Credit
This may come as a surprise, but my plea is not for fairer treatment. It is expected that when large financial concerns such as AIG and Goldman Sachs tank, the government shovels money into their coffers to protect the savings of the country. The willingness of these once-reputable giants to defraud each other of unfathomable sums and then to show up, hat in hand, at the taxpayer’s door is an old story, sickening, yet accurately predicted by many. As a citizen of our economy who has bad credit, it is not for me to point fingers.
What I suggest, though, is a thorough re-examination of what debt actually means in our economy. Here is something else which may surprise: despite my abysmal credit rating, I have (almost) no debt. My wife, whose student loan debt is five-figures, has excellent credit. This seeming paradox makes sense in a way; she borrows money and pays it back regularly, with interest. She is the kind of person to whom a bank would want to loan money, because through their loans to her, they are assured a profit.
On the other hand, given my history of not taking out very many loans and not always paying them back on time, I present a host of worrisome questions to lending institutions. Will they lose money floating my missed payments? Will they ever hear from me again after I get their money, or would they end up having to sell my bad debt to a collection agency for pennies on the dollar?
By now, most people have heard of the massive switch in our economic thinking that has led to the current crisis. Namely, lenders figured out that overextended borrowers were good for business, because they usually could only afford to pay the monthly minimum on their adjustable rate loans. This meant that the lenders could make a profit off the principal for decades. Then, if the debt went too far into the red, the lender could package the debt, misrepresent its risk (the fraud part of the equation) and sell it to another financial institution. Tick, tick, boom. At some point, that all comes due, and then multimillionaires show up at the federal treasury asking for a hand-out.
I think I’ve done a good job avoiding the consumer end of this mess by not having a credit card. I am fiscally conservative. If I don’t have money for something, I don’t like buying it. I got butterflies in my stomach when I took out the loan to buy my first car, not because of consumer excitement, but because of debt anxiety.
Here’s the funny part: a friend recently told me it was imperative that I get a credit card, because I am not building up a credit rating. Having a credit card is tantamount to signing a contract where one party can alter the terms of the agreement without notifying the other party. To me, that is economic insanity, and a big part of the reason we’re in the pickle we’re in now.
Like any loan request, my plea carries an explanation of circumstances. Here is the preamble: I paid back my car loan in its entirety. Occasionally, like many people in our economy, I missed a payment and doubled up on my next payment. I basically carried a balance on the loan. I incurred late fees. I ended up paying slightly more interest. But, the loan company got back every cent it spent on me, and made a profit from letting me use its money to purchase a car. The system worked.
My plea is that someone create a credit agency that makes a distinction between someone like myself and the bum who has a nearly identical credit rating to my own, the person who has thousands and thousands of dollars in outstanding debt that they will never pay off, which the lender will end up selling as bad debt.
Allow me to take you back to a simpler time, only decades ago, when more people borrowed from the local bank or general store than from some corporation hundreds of miles away. Typically, the lender and borrower knew each other, and it was not uncommon for some people to have a running tab at the local saloon or market. In these situations, businesses did well for themselves by making the simple distinction between people who couldn’t always pay and people who never paid.
I have a job. I buy things in the marketplace. Occasionally (though rarely), I borrow money to do so. You’d think some enterprising lending organization would court me and the millions of Americans just like me, who don’t mind carrying a little debt once in awhile – or paying for the privilege – but who don’t want to be raped in the pocketbook for missing a payment here or there. This lender would do really well by offering a loan product that allowed for some flexibility in repayment, with a reasonable and well-defined penalty. Americans are a mostly fair people. They well understand the concept of fault and penalty, but they are coming to understand that incurring double-digit interest for missing a single payment is usually not worth whatever they bought with the loan.
You’d think that getting money back with interest would be most important to a lending institution. In diving to the bottom of the credit market, American lenders have missed out on a huge pool of consumers who should be seen as moderate credit risks, but have been lumped in with the deadbeats. Those of us not drowning in debt are waiting for the chance to help get the economy moving again.
What I suggest, though, is a thorough re-examination of what debt actually means in our economy. Here is something else which may surprise: despite my abysmal credit rating, I have (almost) no debt. My wife, whose student loan debt is five-figures, has excellent credit. This seeming paradox makes sense in a way; she borrows money and pays it back regularly, with interest. She is the kind of person to whom a bank would want to loan money, because through their loans to her, they are assured a profit.
On the other hand, given my history of not taking out very many loans and not always paying them back on time, I present a host of worrisome questions to lending institutions. Will they lose money floating my missed payments? Will they ever hear from me again after I get their money, or would they end up having to sell my bad debt to a collection agency for pennies on the dollar?
By now, most people have heard of the massive switch in our economic thinking that has led to the current crisis. Namely, lenders figured out that overextended borrowers were good for business, because they usually could only afford to pay the monthly minimum on their adjustable rate loans. This meant that the lenders could make a profit off the principal for decades. Then, if the debt went too far into the red, the lender could package the debt, misrepresent its risk (the fraud part of the equation) and sell it to another financial institution. Tick, tick, boom. At some point, that all comes due, and then multimillionaires show up at the federal treasury asking for a hand-out.
I think I’ve done a good job avoiding the consumer end of this mess by not having a credit card. I am fiscally conservative. If I don’t have money for something, I don’t like buying it. I got butterflies in my stomach when I took out the loan to buy my first car, not because of consumer excitement, but because of debt anxiety.
Here’s the funny part: a friend recently told me it was imperative that I get a credit card, because I am not building up a credit rating. Having a credit card is tantamount to signing a contract where one party can alter the terms of the agreement without notifying the other party. To me, that is economic insanity, and a big part of the reason we’re in the pickle we’re in now.
Like any loan request, my plea carries an explanation of circumstances. Here is the preamble: I paid back my car loan in its entirety. Occasionally, like many people in our economy, I missed a payment and doubled up on my next payment. I basically carried a balance on the loan. I incurred late fees. I ended up paying slightly more interest. But, the loan company got back every cent it spent on me, and made a profit from letting me use its money to purchase a car. The system worked.
My plea is that someone create a credit agency that makes a distinction between someone like myself and the bum who has a nearly identical credit rating to my own, the person who has thousands and thousands of dollars in outstanding debt that they will never pay off, which the lender will end up selling as bad debt.
Allow me to take you back to a simpler time, only decades ago, when more people borrowed from the local bank or general store than from some corporation hundreds of miles away. Typically, the lender and borrower knew each other, and it was not uncommon for some people to have a running tab at the local saloon or market. In these situations, businesses did well for themselves by making the simple distinction between people who couldn’t always pay and people who never paid.
I have a job. I buy things in the marketplace. Occasionally (though rarely), I borrow money to do so. You’d think some enterprising lending organization would court me and the millions of Americans just like me, who don’t mind carrying a little debt once in awhile – or paying for the privilege – but who don’t want to be raped in the pocketbook for missing a payment here or there. This lender would do really well by offering a loan product that allowed for some flexibility in repayment, with a reasonable and well-defined penalty. Americans are a mostly fair people. They well understand the concept of fault and penalty, but they are coming to understand that incurring double-digit interest for missing a single payment is usually not worth whatever they bought with the loan.
You’d think that getting money back with interest would be most important to a lending institution. In diving to the bottom of the credit market, American lenders have missed out on a huge pool of consumers who should be seen as moderate credit risks, but have been lumped in with the deadbeats. Those of us not drowning in debt are waiting for the chance to help get the economy moving again.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
First Fall of Ashes
First fall of ashes
Rained and turned the grasses brown
Dusted my fingers with pulverized time.
I sat out through it, and slowed my breath to the stench of our broken censer,
Smashed by that man we made, Atlas with his singed skin.
Too dry, this deluge, too choking white.
A molten river flow might wake things up, might somehow steam.
But those chambers are fused, and only bone slakes the land.
I thought those first flakes a miracle, wondered at the sky.
Someone's roof or dog or bed
Hit me in the corner of the eye.
Rained and turned the grasses brown
Dusted my fingers with pulverized time.
I sat out through it, and slowed my breath to the stench of our broken censer,
Smashed by that man we made, Atlas with his singed skin.
Too dry, this deluge, too choking white.
A molten river flow might wake things up, might somehow steam.
But those chambers are fused, and only bone slakes the land.
I thought those first flakes a miracle, wondered at the sky.
Someone's roof or dog or bed
Hit me in the corner of the eye.
Monday, October 6, 2008
SNL-ophone
I don't speak Palin-ese, but I don't speak Palin-mocking-ese, either. They both make my head hurt equally, except that one is comedy, and the other is late-night political satire on NBC.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
CAPTLST
Found myself last night behind a Porsche convertible with the license plate, CAPTLST. I was turning left and pulled up along side him. The driver didn't seem happy.
I wondered if he was listening to the same radio report I was, wherein pundits from all colors of the political spectrum were verbally lacerating our nation's top-tier financiers.
I kind of hoped he was.
I wondered if he was listening to the same radio report I was, wherein pundits from all colors of the political spectrum were verbally lacerating our nation's top-tier financiers.
I kind of hoped he was.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
In Urbis (New List)
Wishes for the city:
1. Gigantic canopy
2. Raft maze on the lake
3. Rats-to-work program
4. Solar power
5. Rooftop cabana telescope league
6. Skyscraper hang-gliding championships
7. Tryst fountain
8. Sewer psychiatrists
9. Alleycat WestSideStory Street Theater
10. Bicycle freeways
11. Rubber sidewalks
12. Granny-movers
1. Gigantic canopy
2. Raft maze on the lake
3. Rats-to-work program
4. Solar power
5. Rooftop cabana telescope league
6. Skyscraper hang-gliding championships
7. Tryst fountain
8. Sewer psychiatrists
9. Alleycat WestSideStory Street Theater
10. Bicycle freeways
11. Rubber sidewalks
12. Granny-movers
Seeming Doe
I almost thought you were a deer
Ruslting near the chain link
The eye corner stares with utmost uncertainty
Head hanging to your low seedlings
Thin limbs tight to the ground
Except for your grin, old lady
I might have been right.
Ruslting near the chain link
The eye corner stares with utmost uncertainty
Head hanging to your low seedlings
Thin limbs tight to the ground
Except for your grin, old lady
I might have been right.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
It's A Secret
All history is secret. All historians are liars. They are a cabal of wishful reverse prognosticators.
Also, history in the present tense we call "The News".
Also, history in the present tense we call "The News".
Monday, March 17, 2008
A Sleep Number
Hopefully, my own defiance prizewinner.
Had I a nickel for each batting eye,
The quinticential counting of a lie,
I'd take my bulging bag of riches far
To scatter all those pieces on the bar.
With every hundred nickels down my throat,
I'd kick myself for playing such a goat.
When chance was mine, to bare my treasured heart,
My pretense marked its own protective art.
Resuscitate me now, relight my torch,
I've stuporously passed out on your porch.
Oh take me in and put me down in bed,
And let me breathe noxiously on your head.
With poisoned vapors masking all my fear,
My heart can pour out on you now, my dear.
Had I a nickel for each batting eye,
The quinticential counting of a lie,
I'd take my bulging bag of riches far
To scatter all those pieces on the bar.
With every hundred nickels down my throat,
I'd kick myself for playing such a goat.
When chance was mine, to bare my treasured heart,
My pretense marked its own protective art.
Resuscitate me now, relight my torch,
I've stuporously passed out on your porch.
Oh take me in and put me down in bed,
And let me breathe noxiously on your head.
With poisoned vapors masking all my fear,
My heart can pour out on you now, my dear.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Sprung!
Gravel flowering into a field of dark scree
Emerges from potholes its shadow shorter
The air is thick with particles of once-ice
My nostrils pick them out of the air, and with them
The tickle of re-emerging life
Concrete hums with sun
The vernal ether effuses
No present tense
Like spring.
Emerges from potholes its shadow shorter
The air is thick with particles of once-ice
My nostrils pick them out of the air, and with them
The tickle of re-emerging life
Concrete hums with sun
The vernal ether effuses
No present tense
Like spring.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Non of Non = ...
Fiction, the most honest writing in the world, is all we have. Literally.
All writing in the world is fiction. I'll prove it. Here is a nice, verifiable, non-fiction sentence: "Yesterday, I walked to the car."
Uh-oh, we're already in trouble. "Yesterday". Whose yesterday? Yesterday-now, or yesterday-whenever-this-was-written? It's impossible to say. It really depends on that murky relativistic swamp known as "context". Break it into two words.
Next up in our ostensibly non-ficticious phrase is the word, "I". Wow, don't even get me started on this guy. Who is "I"? Is there a narrator anywhere, ever, whom you can really trust? This is the same narrator who is capable of saying such: "I always lie: this is the truth" and "I think; therefore, I am". You could spend an eternity trying to prove that such things were not fiction. Also, I (me) happen to know that the I (narrator) in this sentence is none other than I (me). Enough on this, I (me, but also narrating now) think we've got the point; but we'll be back.
"Walked". Finally, something solid to stand on. Guilty only of the sin of omission.
"To". At this point, we realize that there is a reason or goal at the end of the walking. The sneaky "I" is not just ambling aimlessly. There is a destination point. Again, this is a matter of reference and trust.
"The"... Yes....
"Car." Oh, the car! Walked to the car! Could there be anything more to say about this? We can be reasonably trusting that the car, as described with the word "car" (deconstructionists take note) is, in fact, a car. But wait, there's more. It happens to be a car that is in relation, somehow, to this highly suspicious "I". Does the car belong to "I"? Is "I" going to steal the car? We don't know, but more than just the simple act of walking to the car, the narrator has chosen to describe this act.
Okay, okay, so all authors are potential liars.
Authors of fiction are just more honest about their lies, and as such, are able to get closer to the truth.
Actually, yesterday (from when this was written), I (me) walked (steadily and with a positive gait, I can assure you) to my (yes, just about) car (pretty well true).
But you'll just have to take my word, for it.
All writing in the world is fiction. I'll prove it. Here is a nice, verifiable, non-fiction sentence: "Yesterday, I walked to the car."
Uh-oh, we're already in trouble. "Yesterday". Whose yesterday? Yesterday-now, or yesterday-whenever-this-was-written? It's impossible to say. It really depends on that murky relativistic swamp known as "context". Break it into two words.
Next up in our ostensibly non-ficticious phrase is the word, "I". Wow, don't even get me started on this guy. Who is "I"? Is there a narrator anywhere, ever, whom you can really trust? This is the same narrator who is capable of saying such: "I always lie: this is the truth" and "I think; therefore, I am". You could spend an eternity trying to prove that such things were not fiction. Also, I (me) happen to know that the I (narrator) in this sentence is none other than I (me). Enough on this, I (me, but also narrating now) think we've got the point; but we'll be back.
"Walked". Finally, something solid to stand on. Guilty only of the sin of omission.
"To". At this point, we realize that there is a reason or goal at the end of the walking. The sneaky "I" is not just ambling aimlessly. There is a destination point. Again, this is a matter of reference and trust.
"The"... Yes....
"Car." Oh, the car! Walked to the car! Could there be anything more to say about this? We can be reasonably trusting that the car, as described with the word "car" (deconstructionists take note) is, in fact, a car. But wait, there's more. It happens to be a car that is in relation, somehow, to this highly suspicious "I". Does the car belong to "I"? Is "I" going to steal the car? We don't know, but more than just the simple act of walking to the car, the narrator has chosen to describe this act.
Okay, okay, so all authors are potential liars.
Authors of fiction are just more honest about their lies, and as such, are able to get closer to the truth.
Actually, yesterday (from when this was written), I (me) walked (steadily and with a positive gait, I can assure you) to my (yes, just about) car (pretty well true).
But you'll just have to take my word, for it.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Well, Can It?
Last night, after a deluge, I met with some aliens. Astounded that they had wicker chairs in the kitchen of their spacecraft. Got a nice tour, and then asked them some very important questions. The only one I can remember is, "can art save the world??" The answer: "No."
In the In-Between
In trying to walk out the door this morning, I found myself pressed against the screen. The back door had swung closed, and my hand repeatedly pushed the screen-door latch, but kept absently missing. It took my brain a little while to figure out what was going on, and in that time I remained a malfunctioning robot, pushing at the wrong spot again and again. Later, I wondered if that's what we are all doing in life - ever pushing at the exit latch, and only once succeeding. Then it occured to me that in life, just like this morning, before you get to the middle state between the doors, you're in the kitchen, and afterward, you're in the back yard.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Packin Light
New List: Takin on the moon trip:
1. scuba dooba doo (for two)
2. my favorite earthbound moon
3. her hair clips (antigrav ponytail)
4. flourescent frisbee
5. yo-yo
6. folding shovel
7. travel trampoline (remember tether!)
8. sparklers (for re-entry)
9. flag with mcdonalds logo
10. snowsuit for making angels in moon dust
11. moon boots (duh)
12. calipers
1. scuba dooba doo (for two)
2. my favorite earthbound moon
3. her hair clips (antigrav ponytail)
4. flourescent frisbee
5. yo-yo
6. folding shovel
7. travel trampoline (remember tether!)
8. sparklers (for re-entry)
9. flag with mcdonalds logo
10. snowsuit for making angels in moon dust
11. moon boots (duh)
12. calipers
Pixel Pusher
I'm stacking boxes today. Boxes of boxes, made up of tiny boxes. It's called an excel shite. Jealous of the lady at Starbucks who gets to clean down the espresso machine. She gets to feel contours. She gets heat in her hands. Office plastic is neither hot nor cold. I'm pushing around little luminous squares of crystal color, using lukewarm dark-grey plastic. Coffee, put it in neutral....
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