This is the text of my first book club presentation this month on Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist.
When the protagonist of the book, a Spanish shepherd named Santiago, was sixteen, he told his father that he wanted to travel. His father objected, saying that all the travelers who pass through Andalusia, where they live, are the same as the Andalusians, and say that they want to come to live in Andalusia. In his words, we hear the echo of what we ourselves have said on vacation: “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live here?”
Obviously, Santiago’s father is proud of his home. He cannot imagine why anyone would ever want to leave. The only Andalusians who travel are shepherds because their job requires it. He gives Santiago three ancient Spanish coins as part of his inheritance, telling him to buy a flock of sheep. The older man thinks this an “acceptable” way to travel.
The boy could see in his father’s gaze a desire to be able, himself, to travel the world – a desire that was still alive, despite his father’s having had to bury it, over dozens of years, under the burden of struggling for water to drink, food to eat, and the same place to sleep every night of his life. (pp. 9-10)
Reading that passage, I had to wonder if Santiago was projecting a bit of himself onto his father. We do this to our parents, and for that matter, to other people we think we know – or even those we simply encounter. “If this makes me happy, it will make you happy, too,” we tell them.
My mom and sister, for example, tell me that a busy social schedule would make me happy. Frankly, the thought of being as busy as they are, without time to sit and write, would make me miserable. I get exhausted and need a nap after just glancing at their calendars. Then again, sitting and writing for the three to five hours a day (or longer when I’m on a roll) as I do would probably drive them nuts.
The impetus for the story happens when Santiago spends the night in the ruins of an old church and dreams a dream he has had once before. Both times he has awakened from the dream before he reaches what he thinks should be the end. In the dream, a child comes to play with his sheep. Suddenly, the dream child takes Santiago’s hands and transports him to the Egyptian pyramids. “If you come here, you will find a hidden treasure,” she tells him.
Once he begins his journey, Santiago encounters Melchizedek in the plaza of the first town he visits. Melchizedek tells him that the greatest lie is one everyone comes to believe:
[The greatest lie is] that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what’s happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. pp. 17-18)
According to Melchizedek, someone’s Personal Legend is what they have always wanted to accomplish. When people are young, they know what their Personal Legend is and the path to it seems clear. Anything is possible because young people are not afraid to dream. “But as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them that it is impossible for them to realize their Personal Legend.” Then he tells Santiago,
To realize one’s Personal Legend is one’s only real obligation.” (pp. 21-22)
Coelho tells the story of Santiago’s journey to find his Personal Legend in the form of a fable or morality story. Perhaps because of my mood when I read it, I received the message. This book is one I will buy multiple copies of and insist that my friends read.
I sit at a table and I reach for a pad of paper and a pen. I sit at a computer and automatically click to open the word processing program. My empty fingers itch for an good fountain pen or even an antique dip pen and a bottle of ink.
I write.
Sometimes I’m funny. Sometimes I’m serious. I may be disgusted, irreverent, playful, reflective, or melancholy. I can be imaginative or philosophical. I teach. I lecture. I question. I explain. I research. I investigate.
I write.
I have pretty leather-bound journals scattered all over my life, and all of them have writing in them. I write my dreams, my thoughts, my observations. I write my memories to save for my son. I write the news, to save for posterity – if there ever is posterity. I write love notes to whomever I feel love for at the moment. I write letters in those journals – letters to old high school teachers, to friends from the past and present, to family, to grandchildren not yet born. They will never be sent or read by anyone, but I write them anyway.
I write.
No subject is sacred. I have strong opinions. My opinions can be changed by compelling evidence and cogent arguments, but my positions are stated clearly and occasionally even with footnotes. I don’t reach my strong opinions in a vacuum. I want links, supporting evidence, and documentation to support a position.
I write.
The dreams I live at night are vivid. They form the basis for my short stories. I have lots of them. I doubt I will publish very many of them to this blog. They are beyond science fiction and fantasy, sometimes.
I love to write.
So, I write.
I have rules about my writing, and I trust when there is debate in the comments to my blog, others respect these guidelines.
I write to communicate ideas.
But, I can’t abide rudeness. Points can be made without resorting to name-calling, taunting, or other grade-school behaviors. Threats, harassment, and general nastiness never persuaded anyone of anything other than the rudeness of the person threatening, harassing, or being generally nasty. I am literally and figuratively unable to hear someone who uses these techniques to communicate.
I write to persuade.
Pundits, politicians, bloggers, and others who have an “Us vs. Them” mentality when it comes to making their points lose credibility with me in a hurry. I love politics and I love discussing politics. Good political arguments must be as well documented as scientific arguments. It must appeal to logic and reason, not emotion and fear.
I write for respect.
Name calling, stereotyping, finger-pointing, and blaming an opposing political party or some other person irritate me beyond reason. They are as irritating as a fly or mosquito. Their buzz and their whine are not words but an annoyance to be swatted away without much of a thought as to their purpose. I do not respect those who engage in such behavior. I will never do it myself. Respect is critical to real communication.
I write to make a point.
As a lawyer I have to make arguments that make sense to the judge and jury, opposing counsel, and my clients, so I strive to be careful in crafting my arguments. I encourage feisty, vigorous debate, but the arguments should always be backed up with facts and wherever possible with citations. I can be persuaded, but only with facts and a coherent argument.
I write as a craft.
Proper grammar, punctuation, spelling are essential. This is not to say I don’t make mistakes, but I correct them the moment I see them. It’s difficult to proofread one’s own work, and as hard as I try there will be things I don’t catch. Technically good writing is the bare minimum of what I expect of myself. I wish it was as important to others. I am fond of saying that my dream date would be with a guy who would drive me around and carry the bucket of red paint for me to dip my brush into so that I might correct the misplaced apostrophes on all the signs in public places. Does such a piratical Prince Charming exist? And will he carry a ladder tall enough for billboards?
I write to write well.
Style makes good writing great. I want to write with a style that stays with my reader. I want to write with a style that makes my point in a way that inspires reflection. I want to write with a style that inspires a belly-laugh. I want to write with a style that is readable and fun, readable and educational, readable and poignant.
I write because I have to write.
It’s me. My compulsion to write will never go away. It is as much a part of me as the knuckles on my fingers and the gray wisps in my hair. Even if I hide my compulsion to write it is still there, pushing me, moving my fingers unconsciously toward the pen, to pick it up.
There’s no telling when we might come to realize the practical applications for this particle. If we look at the history of particle physics, our ability to understand, use, and control the elements of each discovery took more than just decades. They took well over a century.
(source)Alessandro Volta with the voltaic pile (left) and the electrophorus (right). (Source)
In 1733 French chemist Charles-François de Cisternay du Fay discovered that electricity had both negative and positive charges. A decade later, Benjamin Franklin would claim that the tiny particles of matter contained co-existing positive and negative “fluid” electricity. Utilizing the discoveries of the positive and negative charges, Alessandro Volto invented the first known battery in 1800, and proved that electricity could travel through metal wires. (When I say “first battery,” I am discounting the so-called Baghdad battery, since its function is unknown.)
But the existence of electrons and protons were first theorized in the 1840’s – over a century after DuFay – by natural philosopher Richard Laming, who conceived the atom to have a central core surrounded by layers of both negative and positive charges. Working with these theories, Farraday made his cage and discovered electromagnetism.
Discoveries in the 19th century proceeded at what seemed like a breakneck pace. Then, in 1897, J.J. Tomson developed his notion that the positive and negative charges were actually particles in each atom. In the meantime, and Tesla and Edison were using the positive and negative currents of charged particles to invent ever more amazing electrical devices. Simultaneously, Pierre and Marie Curie would isolate radioactive isotopes of polonium and radium. The lightning speed of 19th-century discoveries was supplanted by the 20th century’s explosion of knowledge. Within 40 years, we had not only discerned the nature of isotopes, we had split the atom and devastated a country with the raw power of fission. Only a generation after that, we walked on the moon. Each new discovery led to many, many more. Magnetic tape, the computer, interplanetary travel, the microchip. By the end of the century, we had such a dizzying array of devices that even science fiction couldn’t keep up.
Now, in the second decade of the new millennium, we continue to develop technology at such a speed that it is obsolete almost the moment it gets into the hands of consumers.
So when we ask ourselves whether we should pour resources into researching theoretical physics, history tells us that we not only should but must. Had researchers not pursued the weirdly conflicting positive and negative charges present in electricity, you couldn’t read this blog post and I couldn’t write it. We cannot imagine the advances of the next 300 years any more than duFay could have conceived of smartphones.
What technology are we missing?
What about something cool and heretofore science-fictiony, like, say, Faster Than Light (FTL) travel? Well, no. The Higgs boson doesn’t change the laws of physics. It confirms what physicists already thought. So, if the smart guys already have ideas about what it is, why don’t they know what it can do for us?
Wireless power delivery would be nice. So would cheap, renewable energy. How about a substitute for plastic that does not rely on petroleum? Even if we can’t go faster than light, speeding up and cleaning up the environmental cost of travel would be a most excellent way to use new technology. Matter transference. Beam me up, Scotty.
Advances in optics go hand in hand with advances in particle physics. Because of both, we know that the universe is expanding, how stars are formed, and where we might find sibling planets. We are learning the stuff of the creation of life itself, which leads us back to the medicinal uses of technology. Hypocrites could never have imagined the x-ray, that allows doctors to see hairline fractures and dental caries. He certainly could never have imagined the MRI. And what about shrinking deadly tumors with radioactive elements? Even the most learned Arab doctors of the Middle Ages weren’t thinking of such a thing.
So, medical applications. We’re missing medical applications.
And there have to be more out applications out there.
We spent tons of money to go to the moon, and many say that we did it for political reasons, not scientific ones. It’s been said that the missions to Mars are just a way to keep ahead of the Chinese, the way Apollo 11 was our competitive “gotcha” against the Soviets. We have to allocate the limited resources we have.
How do we prioritize spending on research and development?
Without a bottomless well of money to tap, how do we prioritize where to spend? Shouldn’t we look at what we hope to get out of it?
Absolutely. For instance, there are some who believe that everything we classify as “life” violates the 2nd law of thermodynamics, because as evolution goes on entropy should increase; life should not get more complex. This argument has holes in its logic that won’t be addressed here, but even assuming that it is true, we definitely stand to benefit from the research. If we don’t understand what happens on the quantum level, we may never understand how life arose. We need to understand how and why life has evolved to better understand our own bodies, the living plants and animals we share the Earth with, and the earth itself.
But that answer begs the question, in a way. If all research is important, where do we start? And if some R&D projects are funded at the expense of other projects, how are we supposed to choose?
We cannot spend all our money only on things that seem to promise immediate benefits. We have to spend on things that do not yield instant applications so that someday we can hope to realize those applications. Faraday’s cage was a nifty creation in 1836, but its use was not readily apparent. Further study in the behavior of electricity showed that its structure protected its contents from high electrical charges. Now, Faraday’s invention is put to a mind-boggling array of uses. Without the Faraday cage, we wouldn’t have microwave ovens, coaxial cable, or MRIs.
And no one starved because we went to the moon.
So should R&D be completely unrestrained?
Physics students don’t have to take ethics courses. In fact, most students of science don’t take ethics courses. This seems somewhat at odds with the ethical outcry that is raised about certain kinds of research. Stem cells come to mind immediately, as does the atom bomb.
Technology scares some people. We should not assume that technology will always be put to positive use. We want to improve standards of living, but negative uses of new technology – and old technology – are still a danger.
Should ethics training be required?
Of course, the more technology we have, the more practical applications we’ll find. But should physicists be required to take classes in ethics? Should ethics be part of the continuing science education curriculum?
We cut corners on technology. For instance, buildings wired with aluminum are more likely to catch fire. Yet we continue to use aluminum wire, even though resources aren’t an issue, because of comparative budgets. this seems to be as much an ethical issue as anything.
And so, at Socrates Cafe, we had this discussion:
Chris: Assume the existence of a supervirus. If it is at only one lab, should it be given to other labs to study? Is the added danger of a weaponized virus worth the risk of spreading it around to study it?
Rudy: 100 years from now, or 1000? What will life be like?
Wilson: Humanity won’t kill itself off within the next millennium. We’ll keep improving our lot.
Lisa: If science is tied to economic gain, how can the fields that are only theoretical really expand?
Chris: Relations between those on the ground and those developing theory. How will we pay for R&D if there are no practical applications?
Paul: Inspiration for future generations is worth the cost of doing theoretical research today.
Wilson: Part of being alive is seeking out an understanding of how we connect to other people and things.
Elaine: Some stuff is just plain fun to think about, like string theory.
Paul: And multiverses.
Wilson: String theory is a cult. The string theorists adjust their theory to fit the world; it’s not provable or stable.
Paul: So, you’re saying that string theory is no more than a religion.
Chris: If we can apply theory to reality and get a predictable result, the theory is proven.
Wilson: String theory is neither provable nor observable; therefore, it is a cult.
Elaine: Scientists hold on to theories, and despite their best efforts tend to be stubbornly biased in favor of their own interpretations. They are just as guilty as the religious in that regard.
Stellus: But observational science bows to peer review.
Wilson: Religions evolve, too, according to the popular will. They aren’t provable like science is, but something makes adherents.
Rudy: Who decides what is worthwhile? In fact, we should define “worthwhile.”
Roxana: If it gives me pleasure, if it has some benefit in the world, then it’s worthwhile.
Lisa: To have science considered worthwhile, people have to believe in it, despite its lack of immediate practical application.
Stellus: Highly educated people work as menials because there are not enough positions available in their fields. IS what they do worthwhile? Are their lives and talents and purpose worthwhile?
Rudy: So, what are worthwhile endeavors?
Anne: Something worthwhile will improve the world. It might eliminate reliance on non-renewable resources, for example.
Elaine: Or ensure adequate clean water.
Paul: Or eliminate over-reliance on electronics.
Lisa: “Worthwhile” is always someone else’s judgment.
Rudy: What good was Hubble? Was the flawed telescope worthwhile?
Wilson: We learned that the universe is expanding, and we got amazing pictures of nebulae.
Elaine: And the optics were repaired in a feat never before attempted. The flaw itself was worthwhile because we had to figure out how to fix it.
Paul: We also learned more about the size of the universe.
Wilson: The knowledge Hubble gave us changed how we relate to the world. Check out the YouTube documentary “Mindwalk.”
Elaine: If we had to choose between science and poetry, which would we deem more worthwhile?
Anne: We can’t eat poetry. Science is how we survive.
Let’s just accept it as fact: the whole energy from fossil fuels thing is bad.
Only a finite amount of oil and gas exists under the crust of our planet. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. We aren’t reclaiming it after we use it. Recycle gasoline? Come on, who are we kidding? We burn it and convert it into greenhouse gases, which just pollutes the planet. We don’t use those greenhouse gases for fuel or convert them into something more useful and less dangerous. We spill oil and petroleum products in our oceans and saturate our ground with them, but we can’t pick them back up and use them afterward.
No, we have a real problem on our hands. We’re going to use up all our fossil fuels, and then we’re going to be screwed.
Big Oil isn’t investing nearly enough money into developing alternative fuel sources. With chart-busting profits from oil and gas, why should they? They’re riding a tsunami of a wave of corporate irresponsibility, but with all that money, who’s going to stop them? Their lobby is way too strong for the government to shake them up.
It’s up to someone else to find a renewable, reliable, and economical alternative fuel source. Altruistic oil giants just don’t exist.
Or do they?
Last week, there was a huge meeting in Calgary, Alberta of Canadian oil and gas magnates. According to its website, “Canada’s largest oil and gas event had a record-breaking pre-registered attendance of nearly 20,000 visitors and exhibitors. Over 600 exhibiting companies had the opportunity to showcase the latest technologies, products, and services.” The keynote speakers at the luncheon on the last day of the conference were Shepard Wolffe of the US National Petroleum Council and ExxonMobil’s Florian Osenberg. Word was that these notable gentlemen would talk about a study commissioned by the US Department of Energy.
The 300 or so luncheon attendees were treated to an impressive PowerPoint presentation and entertainment by the YesMen. The execs just didn’t realize that the YesMen were entertainment, exactly. They appeared to be representatives of Exxon-Mobil and the National Petroleum Council and had a mind-blowing proposition.
Why not use human remains as a renewable energy resource? We’re just like whales, after all, just slightly smaller. Since we like to “biggie size” ourselves, that makes so much more of us that is just being wasted when we die. Something should be done about the wasteful behavior associated with our funeral rites.
Burial? Inefficient and expensive. The half-lives of these bodies in their satin-padded, air-tight caskets are too long. Cremation? No, no. Cremation actually consumes the fossil fuels we’re trying to conserve these days. Viking funeral? What? Do you mean litter the oceans with more garbage?
The GO-EXPO actually distributed a news release to assure people that “Keynote Luncheon speakers were impersonating representatives from Exxon Mobil and National Petroleum Council.” These are not the droids you’re looking for, lunch-goers. Move along.
This is satire by The Yes Men on par with Jonathan Swift’s “A Modest Proposal.” The pranksters actually distributed vigil candles made of their product, “Vivoleum.” Brilliant!
According to its website, “The Yes Men agree their way into the fortified compounds of commerce, ask questions, and then smuggle out the stories of their hijinks to provide a public glimpse at the behind-the-scenes world of business. In other words, the Yes Men are team players… but they play for the opposing team.”
It took me hours to access Vivoleum.com, the web page touting the Yes Men’s “product.” Perhaps because Exxon was busy yelling “trademark infringement” and generally not being good sports over being the tool and butt of one of the best practical jokes I think I’ve ever heard of.
America has asked why Eleusia has the happiest citizens and enjoys unprecedented economic stability and security. Our government structures appear to be the same as yours, yet our government functions smoothly while yours is rife with gridlock and acrimony; our people are happy while yours suffer and argue acrimoniously.
The difference is integrity.
Over each Electi’s seat in our Cubiculum Corpus Electi hangs a heavy sword held in place by four hair-thin strands. The swords are copies of the one carried 346 years ago by the great philosopher and founder of Eleusia, Damn Oakley. According to legend, the hairs holding the swords came from the heads of Damn Oakley’s virtuous daughters, Liberty, Truth, Justice, and Compassion. They are charmed and adhere strongly and firmly to those swords. They don’t stretch, sway, or move, even when someone touches them. Each Electi casts votes only when occupying their assigned seat below the sword.
They say Damn Oakley hated his name from a very early age. Why was his name a word other children were not allowed to say? A typographical error on his original birth certificate doomed him but made him reliable, kind, and thoughtful.
He learned that the teasing laughter turned into companionable laughter when he joined in. First, he would agree with his bully and say something humble. A conversation would ensue, and a conversion would occur. Inevitably, a friendship would form. Damn Oakley never gave orders. He always suggested and then explained why. Others understood his reasoning and followed him. If they disagreed with him, they explained and sometimes persuaded Damn Oakley to a different position.
As he grew to manhood, Damn Oakley (even his closest friends and family always used both names, slurring the words together) became the ethical barometer by which his contemporaries gauged everyone’s actions. They asked themselves, “What would Damn Oakley do?” They recognize that while Damn Oakley acted a certain way during his time, now he might choose differently. The question always assumes that Damn Oakley has sufficient information to assess a situation.
As Damn Oakley taught, our Electi cast votes in the Cubiculum based on their conscience and only after Deep Thought. They carefully weigh the consequences of each vote. Each cynical or disingenuous vote causes a hair holding the sword above them to snap. If they cast a vote based not on conscience but upon promises of gifts, upon deals made in smoky back rooms or over tiny but delicate cups of the rarest caf shat from the asses of even rarer wild cats of the night, or in consideration of money promised toward re-election (or the Electi’s daughter’s wedding, or their son’s education, or their mistress’s jewels, or to compensate the parents of the child the Electi molested most recently), one hair holding the sword releases its grip. We believe that a single hair from the head of only one of Damn Oakley’s daughters is strong enough to suspend the sword, but no Electi has yet had the nerve to test that theory. No great sword has ever fallen to split the skull of a dishonest member of our Corpus Electi. None has needed to.
Unlike in your realm, these swords of Damn Oakley’s result in a pork-free diet in the halls of our Cubiculum. None of the Electi must temper loyalty to one issue by his loyalty to another. Our Eleusian Electi have more integrity in one hair of their heads than all your legislators collectively have in their greedy, grasping hands and their factional allegiances.
Of course, our Electi may try to persuade their colleagues to act on legislation that would benefit the home Canto of only one or two members of the Corpus Electi. To succeed, they must make a good case for their causes. If your Congress did this, American spending would fall sharply. The Deep Thought requirement would be sobering enough to stop voting based on greased palms.
Are your politicians capable of Deep Thought? Just to be able to engage their thought processes, they will have to stop sniping at one another like middle school siblings. It is painfully evident that these Electi of yours are not doing the jobs they were elected to do.
The Hedonist school was a short-lived Philosophical Fancy. It is well known in Eleusia that for any government to succeed, the philosophies of all political factions must bend. None need break, but all must bow. Honor compels it, just as honor compels thoughtful rhetoric.
When our Electi carefully consider the ramifications of each vote, regardless of whether it is cast for, against, or held null, they are impervious to the charms of luxury vacations, sexual dalliances, or personal adulation. Our Electi will never hesitate to accept such gifts, but they retain strength of purpose. They will enjoy the gifts for what they are and, in the morning, stride purposefully to the Cubiculum Electi and cast their conscience with the pull of the bronze lever, leaving the sword above to hang firmly in place. Your lobbyists are as corrupt as the Senators and Congressmen whose favor they seek to curry. They shout each other down in the hallways of your Capitol Building, each spending more than the last in bribes for your elected officials. We cannot understand why you are not ashamed of these lobbyists’ behavior. Half act as though they own the Congressmen and Senators, while the other half are such boot-licking, sniveling, obsequious suck-ups that even we cringe for them.
You ask us how to repair your system. Eleusia has ten suggestions. Change will be difficult, and your politicians will not be happy. Perhaps you should replace them all at the start.
First, amend your constitution to declare that only living, breathing human beings are persons. Corporate personhood is fiction. Your government was laudably established as one “of the people, by the people, and for the people,” not for economic entities or blocs of people acting solely for financial interest. Corporations should not have a right to vote or government representation. By treating corporations as people, your country has stifled the voices of the people who must live within it.
Second, pay your highest elected officials the average wage of your state or nation. Allow them access only to the same health care plans and retirement benefits as ordinary workers. When they share the status of those they rule, they will govern with compassion, reason, and integrity. Officials who do not perform their jobs adequately should lose them. Require an automatic “no confidence” ballot when the official’s popularity polls show that 35% or fewer of their constituents approve of their job performance. Require elected officials to attend every session of their Corpus Electi, excusing absences only for illness, tragedy, or other unavoidable matters. More than three unexcused absences should trigger the “no confidence” ballot. If one is to represent, one must be present. It’s part of the word.
Third, limit the bills presented for votes to a single subject. Of course, some will be more wide-ranging than others, but by keeping the components of each bill relevant to its primary purpose, you will remove the temptation of a quid pro quo. Limiting these bills to a focused subject will allow them to pass or fail on their own merits.
Fourth, limit your congressional sessions. Convene them twice yearly, for two weeks each in February and August. The public should be knowledgeable and able to discuss bills with their elected representatives, who would be accessible to their constituents in the weeks preceding the session. Publish proposed bills at least two months before the semi-annual sessions. Demand that your officials study any bills introduced and be able to discuss them intelligently. Any preliminary committee or other business should occur in the months before the session. The two weeks in session should be dedicated to voting on bills, with safeguards that require the integrity of your elected voting officials.
Fifth, require that public discourse by your elected officials remain civil. Censure anyone who engages in name-calling, insults, stereotyping, or shouting, and remove from office anyone who repeatedly violates the civility rule. Require debate to include substantiated facts, statistics, witnesses, data, and analysis that makes sense. Inquests and committee hearings should function to gather information. At this time in your country, they do not; instead, they serve as a platform for shameful grandstanding. Forbid filibusters and forbid blocking of votes. Rational, compassionate laws come only from logic coupled with sincere empathy.
Sixth, address appointments to the executive or judicial branches of government promptly. The appointee should take office automatically if their appointment is neither approved nor disapproved within two sessions.
Seventh, open your country’s borders to admit those who want to live there and can contribute to their communities. Even the most negligible contributions of menial or unskilled labor help a community. Everyone residing in your country should have the right to guide its laws and policies through an elected representative. Ensure that anyone legally living within your borders can vote in local, regional, and national offices.
Eighth, recall and replace any elected official who demonstrates an appearance of impropriety. Improprieties include violations of the law, sexual misconduct in which there is an imbalance of power or coercion, knowingly false statements, and statements and actions of intolerance based on race, religion, national origin, gender, sexual orientation, age, or any other status held by any identifiable group.
Ninth, limit the length and cost of election season. No candidate should spend more than the sums available to every other candidate in any contest. The electorate should not be subject to election advertising for longer than six weeks. Hold only one election per year. Institute ranked-choice voting for every position.
Tenth, institute a code of ethics and oversight independent of the political process. While you do not have access to our magical swords of Damn Oakley’s, find another device that works equally well. Your lack of integrity compromises your government and your nation.
Remove money and disproportionate influence from government decisions. Create an atmosphere where integrity is valued. Emphasize ethics.
In Eleusia, our Electi know that the swords are only a symbol of our founding myth. Still, those swords remind them to act with integrity, which our culture values.
If your culture and its politicians valued integrity, your society could be as great as ours.
So, yeah. I quit talking on Yahoo instant Messenger a couple of years ago. Well, longer ago than that, really. But I still have this one friend, let’s call him my Best Girlfriend Forever (because that’s what I call him), who likes to chat on it.
He doesn’t like Skype, and he insists on using Messenger even though the only time I’d see his messages were when I’d check my Yahoo mail once a month or so, since I only used it for shopping and I absolutely never checked it because so much spam comes to that account it’s impossible to find real correspondence there anymore. Actually, one other friend who moved to Baltimore several years ago, and whom I hardly ever hear from, uses Messenger, too, and I’m embarrassed to say that I miss his messages most of the time.
So just for these two friends, let’s call them my Best Girlfriend Forever and That Guy Who Moved to Baltimore, I reinstalled Yahoo Instant Messenger when I got a new laptop. Just for Kicks. And for them.
Of course, only my BGFF knows I have it installed. I’m invisible to everyone else. Tonight, though, somehow and for some reason, I was visible for awhile. Out of the blue comes a certain troll I had not chatted with for several years. Like, since I had used Messenger back in the days of the Virgin Training School. The conversation, predictably, went like this:
winteret: Hi Aramink… the last time that we chatted I had told yo that I was fascinated with bellybuttons since each one is as unique as a fingeprint. You were beginning to tell me about yours…
aramink_rust: I doubt that. Mine is uninteresting. I mostly use it for lint storage. I also use it as a focus for meditation and contemplation.
winteret: That’s great. What type do you have?
winteret: ????
aramink_rust: Lint-filled. I already told you.
winteret: Lol… so you have an Inne?
aramink_rust: Sometimes I take the lint out when I want to contemplate it, but when I have no other place to store the lint I have to contemplate a navel orange instead. It can be a problem.
winteret: You’re such a tease…. what coin size and how deep is it?
aramink_rust: Oh, I wouldn’t take money for it. If I sold it, where would I store my lint?
winteret: Oh come on now… please stop being sarcastic…
aramink_rust: Who’s being sarcastic? Not every container is suitable for lint storage, you know.
winteret: What does your knot look lke?
winteret: ????
aramink_rust: My knot? I’ve never examined it.
winteret: Your knot is the pattern located at the bttom of your bellyhole. What does it look like?
aramink_rust: Um… I’m thinking it looks like, well, a belly button.
winteret: Every bellybutton is as unique as a fingerprint… the outer rim, the inner walls and the pattern (knot) at the bottom of the hloe. What does yours look like?
aramink_rust: There’s a lot of lint in the way. I’d pick it out, but I think I need a crochet hook. I can knit a sweater with all the lint I have crammed in there.
winteret: do you like having it tongued?
aramink_rust: What?! You just asked if I like having it tongued! Fucking freak-ass fucktard! You want to turn my collection of belly-button lint into boiled wool! I just know you do!
winteret: Mmmmmm… do you do any bondage?
aramink_rust: You want to tie me down with my own belly button lint! Shit! You’re freaking me out, Dude! I mean, how crazy is this going to get? Next you’re, like, going to want to have belly-button buttsecks! Ew!
winteret: What’s wrong??
aramink_rust: What’s wrong? WHAT’S WRONG? You’re tying me down with boiled wool made from my own belly-button lint, you’ve threatened me with belly-button buttsecks, and you want to know what’s WRONG?
winteret: What type of gag do you prefer to be gagged with?
winteret: ????
aramink_rust: Mmmffff!!!!
winteret: mmmmmmmmmmmmm… I thought so
So tell me: What do you do with your lint while having smokin’ hot belly-button buttsecks?
There are people who say they don’t have to accept that people who have darker skin are entitled to equal rights. There are people who claim that simply because I don’t believe in the same god they do, I am not a moral person or that I am not worthy to be in their presence. There are bigots and small-minded people everywhere.
Fortunately, when they come right out and spew their bigotry and hatred for the world to hear, we can see them for the small-minded, hateful bigots they are.
When they name themselves “Christlike” as they vomit this hate, I always have to wonder what their Christ would think of them. If he ever existed, and if he really preached love and acceptance as they claim, wouldn’t he want them to accept the people who are different? After all, according to their New Testament, the vile, bad-tempered, mercurial god of the Old Testament – the one that smote thousands of people for no apparent reason other than they were in the way of his chosen people, who stoned people to death for making a fire on the Sabbath, and who said homosexuality was a sin, etc. – that mean god wasn’t really the god anymore. Their new, improved god was a loving god called “Abba” or “Father.” New Testament = new rules. New rules = love thy neighbor, not hate thy neighbor.
It kind of makes me wonder why the hate-mongers spew Old Testament hate with such abandon, yet the Jews, who actually follow those old books, are much more tolerant of things like gay marriage.
The news says that Oklahoma – OKLAHOMA! – experienced an earthquake measuring 5.7 on the Richter Scale about the time I felt it.
Geologically stable areas of Arkansas have been experiencing earthquakes in recent months. Some reports connect them to fracking because the epicenters are where natural gas is extracted in significant quantities.
I wished my cousin a happy birthday on Facebook, and Jack Wagoner, a law school compatriot, jumped in to ask how we knew each other. I created what I thought was a great answer:
We went on a crime spree together back during Prohibition. I had my gat and Lisa had hers. We confronted Al Capone in Hot Springs. Told him to hand over his booze or get the heck out of town. He was “blown away” – and we got our booze. I’ll let your imagination fill in the blanks.
We ruled at Oaklawn after that, and each of us ruled a bath house, too. We had the finest food, the best masseurs, the sleekest automobiles, and the widest whitewalls on our sleek black automobiles. We dressed in ropes of diamonds and decorated the ballroom at the Arlington with our mere presence. Crowds threw flower petals down before us, and the soles of our shoes never touched the soil.
Then liquor was made legal. We were forced out of business and grudgingly retired to a small lake in southeast Pulaski County, where I spent hours reading books, and Lisa chased after children. She swam and played on the Lake, basked in the sun, and entertained lavishly. I hid out at my mama’s, too disgruntled for company, and thought about taking revenge on the damn government. How dare it make liquor legal? I was making money hand over fist, running all those vices out of my bathhouse in Hot Springs! Now I hung out at a Lake House, where the only mineral water came in a bottle, and other bottles were professionally filled with legal booze. What a hideous way to live!
Not only that, Lisa and I both had to work hard to avoid the golf course. Our great-grandfather, the sports-loving Scotsman, conspired with his sons-in-law to build the silly thing, and generations of Campbell-spawn have proven themselves to be pathetic duffers out there. Just ask our cousin Donald K Campbell, III. That’s right. My law partner. Do you know how hard it is to work with a family member? I have to be nice to him. Mama says so. And his daddy says he has to be nice to me. It sucks! Lisa Jacobs is the only cousin I’ve ever been able to be partners with – and that was partners in crime.
Well, I’m not counting Lisa’s sister-in-law, Kendall Pickens Jacobs, who wasn’t a family member yet when she and I were partners in crime. That was eons ago. We maintained dens of iniquity from Arkansas to New Jersey to New York and back again, and no one knew but us. Well, and our “clients.”
I was shocked one morning when I got up, and Kendall told me my ears had grown overnight. I looked in the mirror. Fearing donkey ears like Pinocchio, I looked into that mirror with some trepidation, let me tell you. But no, no donkey ears greeted me. Instead, they were the floppy ears of a friendly dog. I had dog ears! How was I going to work if I had dog ears? This was a tragedy! And I had a class that day!
It wasn’t as though I could just call the plastic surgeon and get it taken care of immediately. I asked Kendall if she had a gat. She thought I said “cat,” and offered to take me to the Humane Society. I burst into tears, thinking she wanted to be rid of me, but eventually, I got up and took a shower. I had to. One just doesn’t bag law school classes and think one can get away with it.
So that afternoon, after lunch, just moments after I had reached the plastic surgeon who agreed to take me on an emergency basis that very night, I walked into Torts class. And there you were, Jack Wagoner. There you were, with your irreverent grin and your lack of empathy. You crowed about my misfortune, “Oh, look!” you notified the entire class at top volume, as though you were the paper boy selling the “Extra” edition of the paper because some really juicy news had broken. Like Superman’s identity had been revealed. Or Batman had been unmasked. Or the bill had come in for the $6,000,000.00 man.
“Look!” you yelled again, barely containing your laughter. “Orsi’s a dog-eared slut!” The entire class looked. None of them were surprised about the “slut” part, but all of them wanted to see my ears. John Pagan could not get anyone’s attention that day and declared the class a complete loss. I’ll never forget his cruel words: “Well, Ms. Orsi, I’d say you are an attractive nuisance, but you’re just a nuisance.” That hurt worse than Kendall’s offer to take me to the Humane Society.
After that, I could only get a date with T. Kevin O’Malley, who took me to a wrasslin’ match out at Barton Coliseum, where grannies called encouragement to their favorite athletes by crying out endearments such as, “Rip his fucking head off!” How low I had fallen. T. Kevin and I only stayed until the first granny yelled, but several others yelled as we left. I was terrified. I didn’t have my gat, which Kendall had taken from me the moment I declared myself a danger to my own life upon seeing the shape and size of my fur-covered floppy ears.
So it all belongs together. Me, Lisa, Kendall, you, Skip, Don, everyone. It’s the Great Circle of Life, Jack. So now you know how Lisa and I know each other. We go WAY back.
Jack said, “Orsi, I am so honored to have you devote that kind of time to entertaining me.”
What are you talking about, Jack?! I entertained myself! …And then you told me you called other people “dog-eared sluts,” which absolutely crushed me.
There is a great tragedy unfolding in my hometown. Des Arc is experiencing the worst flooding in 75 years – maybe longer. I-40 is closed because of the flooding. Parts of the county were evacuated last week. The National Guard is there, and two highways into town are underwater. People have lost their homes, businesses are deep in water, and farms are in the middle of a vast, wild river. This disaster is as great as any tornado in Alabama or any hurricane in Florida.
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