%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |    Not for the faint of art. |
|
Complex Numbers A complex number is expressed in the standard form a + bi, where a and b are real numbers and i is defined by i^2 = -1 (that is, i is the square root of -1). For example, 3 + 2i is a complex number. The bi term is often referred to as an imaginary number (though this may be misleading, as it is no more "imaginary" than the symbolic abstractions we know as the "real" numbers). Thus, every complex number has a real part, a, and an imaginary part, bi. Complex numbers are often represented on a graph known as the "complex plane," where the horizontal axis represents the infinity of real numbers, and the vertical axis represents the infinity of imaginary numbers. Thus, each complex number has a unique representation on the complex plane: some closer to real; others, more imaginary. If a = b, the number is equal parts real and imaginary. Very simple transformations applied to numbers in the complex plane can lead to fractal structures of enormous intricacy and astonishing beauty. ![Merit Badge in Quill Award
[Click For More Info]
Congratulations on winning Best Blog in the 2021 edition of [Link To Item #quills] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Award-1375927_6.gif) ![Merit Badge in Quill Award 2
[Click For More Info]
2022 Quill Award - Best Blog - [Link To Item #1196512] . Congratulations!!!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Award_2-1375927_6.gif) ![Merit Badge in 30DBC Winner
[Click For More Info]
Congratulations on winning the Jan. 2019 [Link To Item #30dbc] !!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-30DBC_Winner-2064535_14.gif) ![Merit Badge in Blogging
[Click For More Info]
Congratulations on winning an honorable mention for Best Blog at the 2018 Quill Awards for [Link To Item #1196512] . *^*Smile*^* This award was sponsored by the blogging consortium including [Link To Item #30dbc] , [Link To Item #blogcity] , [Link To Item #bcof] and [Link To Item #1953629] . For more details, see [Link To Item #quills] .](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Blogging-2180.gif) ![Merit Badge in Highly Recommended
[Click For More Info]
I highly recommend your blog.](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Highly_Recommended.gif) ![Merit Badge in Opinion
[Click For More Info]
For diving into the prompts for Journalistic Intentions- thanks for joining the fun!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Opinion-1150.gif) ![Merit Badge in High Five
[Click For More Info]
For your inventive entries in [Link To Item #2213121] ! Thanks for the great read!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-High_Five.gif) ![Merit Badge in Enlightening
[Click For More Info]
For winning 3rd Place in [Link To Item #2213121] . Congratulations!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Enlightening.gif) ![Merit Badge in Quarks Bar
[Click For More Info]
For your awesome Klingon Bloodwine recipe from [Link to Book Entry #1016079] that deserves to be on the topmost shelf at Quark's.](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quarks_Bar-2046190_12.gif)       |
| I've been hanging around on the internet for a long, long time. While I can't say I was an early adopter, I was browsing newsgroups and visiting websites at some point before 1995. I don't recall exactly when. One of the first things I got into was IRC, which had bugger-all to do with the World Wide Web, but it was social media before social media was even a thing. I chatted with a lot of people there, most of us hiding behind aliases for our own protection. I even met some of them "IRL," as we called it. Some of them are still my friends. "IRL" was early webspeak for "In Real Life." There was, then, this sense of separation between meatspace and cyberspace, that anything that happened online didn't really count. I knew better from the beginning. These people I spoke with were just that - people. No different from the folks I'd meet in my job or activities, except that they were spread out all over the world. While the internet wasn't as ubiquitous then as it is now, it was widespread enough so it wasn't just other people from the US that I'd be talking to. That, to me, was the draw. I think a lot of people go on the net looking for like-minded individuals - and there's nothing wrong with that; I do it as well - but I was always open to another perspective, possibly from people completely different from me. Inevitably, I'd find that they weren't so different, after all. At least, we could find some common ground. Age, gender, race, nationality, sexual identity, religion, favorite sports team, whatever - all that becomes secondary to who the person is. Now, it's often different. People identify themselves by how they fit into these categories. That's okay, but it does focus on what separates us rather than on what unites us. It seems to me that everyone wants to be unique in some way. That's easy enough if you've only got a few other people around. When I was in high school, I was one of about 300 in my graduating class, 1200 total in the school. I went to university and I was but one out of 20,000. After that, when competing for jobs, I was one of 40,000. On the internet, I'm one of 7 billion. And so are you. Excelling in a milieu like that is tantamount to winning a lottery. It's not just a matter of not being a big fish in a small pond; it's more like being a piece of plankton floating in the Pacific. So there's this tension - a sense of competitiveness. A pull between wanting to be unique and wanting to fit in. This woman has 20,000 Tweeter followers. This man's YouTube channel has 50,000 subscribers. What can the rest of us do except follow along? I figured out early on that there's nothing that I can do that someone else hasn't already done, and better than I could possibly do it. Nothing I can say that hasn't already been said, in a more elegant or satisfying manner. Nothing I can invent that someone else hasn't already patented and started making money on. No jokes that haven't already been told to death. And nothing I can write that would ever stand out amidst the teeming billions of writers. The best I can hope for is to connect with someone, occasionally. And I'm okay with that. So thanks for reading, and - specifically addressing this to others in the November blog challenge - thanks for writing. I'm supposed to cite one new fact I've learned about a fellow blogger this month. Incidentally, just to see if you're actually reading this, anyone who comments on this entry before the end of today based on website time will get a season ticket chosen at random. Just throwing that in here as a thanks for reading this far. So anyway, one new fact about a fellow blogger? That's tough, because, as with the early days I mentioned above, I've learned a lot of things about a lot of people. I don't think I really knew most of you other bloggers before this started; of course, I don't think I really know you now, apart from what you've chosen to show us in your writing. If I mention one author, or a few, I feel like I'm shafting the others. But mentioning everybody would be an even more daunting task. Just know that I've appreciated reading all of the different entries and seeing everyone's perspective on things. So I don't even want to tag anyone here; therefore, I'm not going the {user:name} route. If I have to call out just one person, I'll make it pwheeler. She and I are obviously very different (well, except for the cat thing), and yet I've learned a few things from her entries, notably about food. And food, as you know by now, is one of my favorite things, as long as it isn't too healthy. Just another example of finding commonality, I suppose. We could do with more of that. Arguments and debates have their place, of course, but in the end, aren't we all just people trying to make our way through the crowd? Don't answer that - someone's bound to say "no, some of us are lizard aliens from Antares 7" or something. That someone is usually me, so I'm nipping that right in the bud. |
So, it has come to this: my penultimate entry into "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  [13+].We've been asked to come up with potential prompts for future rounds of the contest. Now, keep in mind that for the last 10+ years, I've come up with prompts for "The Writer's Cramp" [13+] approximately once a week, usually at the last minute, but I still have no idea what makes a good prompt - whether for a story or poem, as in the case of the Cramp, or for a blog entry. Still, it's easier to come up with ideas than it is to actually execute them, so let's give this a shot. Grab your donuts. Write a blog entry from the point of view of your evil (or benevolent, as the case may be) twin. Be sure to have the twin plot your downfall. Write a letter to your parents from before your birth, warning them about what horrors lurk in their future in the form of you. Include the following words in your blog entry: syzygy, nihilism, ramifications, turtleneck, and theobromine. Describe a missed opportunity you encountered, and how things might be different if you hadn't missed it. Start your blog entry with "So, it has come to this..." and go from there. Write about an invention that would make your life better... or worse.Eh, I think I'll stop there. That's six prompts, and I'll have to save some ideas for if I do this challenge again. One of my favorite things about blogging; that is, one of the reasons I keep doing it in these days of bumper-sticker sound bites, selfies, and superficial life updates, is the opportunity to go into depth about something. I've said before that I'm not one for depth, opting instead for breadth, but some things just can't be expressed with any kind of nuance in 140 characters or fewer. I appreciate one-liners as much as anyone and more than most, but the brief formats of social media just can't do justice to a lot of ideas. Consequently, when it comes to these blog prompts, I like it when I have to think (but not too hard - that would be work). So if I had to pick my favorite challenge day theme, it'd be "Talk Tuesdays," where I'm sometimes guided to consider things I haven't considered before. But honestly, I've enjoyed most of the prompts, and I've especially liked seeing other points of view on the same topics expressed in other contestants' blogs - and their comments in mine. In this month-long exercise, I've tried to make the prompts my own, to go beyond what was asked for. But I've also put off writing about some of the things I want to write about. That's okay; I like having a backlog of potential topics, and I can always get to them after tomorrow's final Challenge entry. I do hope you will stick around for that. |
| I haven't always liked beer. This is probably because of one of my first experiences with beer, which involved a bunch of other underage drinkers, a houseboat, and this swill. I suppose I should be grateful for that, because if I actually enjoyed drinking when I was in college, I might not have graduated. As it is, I drank to be social, and I got used to the mass-produced crap that passes for beer in the US, which has the distinction of being cheap enough for fraternities to buy it by the keg. Like many college students, I drank to get drunk. And then, one day, around this time of year oh, about maybe 25 years ago, I went to a local brewery - one of the first in this area - with some friends. I don't remember exactly what or who convinced me to try it, but there was a Russian Imperial Stout brewed on premises. Rarely does a person change their opinions when presented with logic or facts. Occasionally, an appeal to emotion will work, but even then, you're facing down the weight of that person's supposedly secure knowledge, which will, studies have shown, persist even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Their ego gets so wrapped up in being right that their minds simply do not process conflicting data. It's dismissed: fake news. I try not to be that kind of person. I'm sure I must have some deeply-held personal beliefs to which I stubbornly cling, because everyone does, but the nature of these things is that unless they're pointed out to me, I won't even know that I'm wrong. But once it is pointed out to me, I do make an honest effort to revise my thinking. Sometimes, though, it's not logic nor emotion, but experience that proves to be the trigger to a new way of thinking. And this particular beer, this... nectar of the gods, it changed my perception of everything. No more was beer to be a cheap way to alter consciousness. From the moment the dark, magical liquid touched my lips, I was a changed man. It was the beginning of my alcohol-positive lifestyle: not about getting drunk, or being social, or succumbing to peer pressure, but about enjoyment, about immersing oneself into the experience of the sublime. Not about drinking to excess, but about drinking to access - to access the joy that can be so elusive in sober life. It is a state that I term beerenity, although it can be achieved through other libations also. True happiness is rare and fragile, but I found mine, and it was all because I was willing to try something new. Naturally, sometimes when I try something new, it doesn't work out so well; but sometimes it does, and I never know until I try. |
| I'm not on good terms with food. I have almost no self-control, so left to my own devices, I'd be eating pizza and cheeseburgers every day. It wasn't always that way. In a complete reversal of the way I've always heard things are supposed to be, I had more self-control when I was younger. I think I ran out, or maybe I just realized that having discipline never got me anywhere, while indulging myself got me immediate gratification. I figured I could force myself to eat kale, quinoa, and strawberries, hate life, and maybe get hit by a truck; or eat foods I actually enjoy like pepperoni pizza, and still maybe get hit by a truck after at least enjoying my meals. Incidentally, I actually kinda like kale, quinoa, and strawberries - they're actually not bad mixed together, with maybe a bit of balsamic vinegar or lemon juice and olive oil - but if I had to eat that every day, I'd go looking for the truck. It occurred to me that if I eat more healthy food, I might actually be fast enough to get out of the way of an oncoming truck, so I make the attempt. But I have to make it as automatic as I can, and ensure there's variety with, yes, the occasional indulgence that would give my cardiologist a heart attack, such as bacon or a grilled cheese sandwich. Or a grilled cheese sandwich with bacon. Dammit, now I'm hungry. The key, I decided, was to take advantage of my innate laziness, and not get too complex with the food preparation. The less work I have to do, the less likely I am to say "Fuck it; I'm ordering pizza delivery." So I found a website that generates random meals based on calorie count targets, and it strives to balance macronutrients (carbs, protein, lipids) while providing a variety of fruits and vegetables. The downside? It's not cheap, especially since I can't be arsed to drag my lazy self to the grocery store twice a week (if I only go once a week, everything spoils by day 7). Thus, I get delivery, as I mentioned a few entries ago. And there's a lot of wasted food. I haven't figured out how to use everything I buy before it spoils, since the food industry is hell-bent on making things difficult for singles unless they want to buy single-serving microwave meals. Like, say, one meal calls for celery and almond butter. The almond butter will last a long time, but I might use one stalk of celery out of the entire bunch, and the rest gets thrown away or fed to my housemate's guinea pigs. So my choice is: eat high-sodium prepackaged foods, no waste, and die of another heart attack; or buy fresh foods and be unable to use them all before they go bad. Which reminds me of a story. One time when I was in a non-shit-giving phase, I went to the grocery store and loaded up on microwave meals, frozen pizzas, snack foods, beer, breakfast cereal, and other easy food. Went through the line and the cute cashier looked at my selection and asked, "So, you're single, huh?" I chuckled. "How could you tell?" "Because you're ugly." Anyway, I could probably find a way to use the foods a little more efficiently, but that would take work to get the meal plans just right, and I'm allergic to work. It cuts into my game-playing time. Consequently, I usually just go with the random food it generates, and only change out meals if they involve food I can't stand. So that's how I discovered that kale, quinoa, and strawberries makes for a pretty good salad. But I'd still rather have pizza. |
| In my life as an adult, I've never done anything I didn't want to do. Now, before you call bullshit on that, let me explain. It's a matter of framing. Let's talk about a dirty toilet, for example. As I suspect is the case with most humans, you don't enjoy cleaning the toilet. But let's further say that you can't afford to pay a servant to do it for you, and you're unable to trick your kids into doing it, but there it is, a toilet, in your house, and it's got... stains... in the bowl, and maybe on the seat, too. You want a clean toilet, but there's no one else who can make it clean; consequently, it stands to reason that you want to clean the toilet. I mean, if you didn't want to clean the toilet, you wouldn't, and you'd decide that you can live with a dirty toilet, after all. You can apply this to anything in life, at least anything that's a conscious decision. (Though there could be an argument about exactly what constitutes "consciousness," I'm not wading into that quagmire in this entry.) A college professor assigns you homework; you're not thrilled about the idea of doing homework, but you would like to graduate. The dog begs for a walk; it's 20 below out there and windy as hell, but you wouldn't like the dog to pee in the house. You run out of liquor, and you don't particularly feel like going to buy some more; but you want liquor, so you do so. Maybe when you're a kid, things are different. Sometimes you do what your parents say, even if you don't want to. Or maybe there are things, as a kid or an adult, that get forced upon you whether you like it or not, but in that case, you're not consciously doing something you don't want to do; you've been thrust into a situation you didn't want to be in, which is different. Now, you can, if you want, choose not to see it that way. You can frame it as "I don't want to clean the toilet." But that's how you end up resenting things in life, and that's no way to go around. So I've never done anything I didn't want to do. My problem is actually the polar opposite of this: I very often don't do the things I do want to do, like decluttering the kitchen or going to the gym. I know I want to do these things, and others, and yet, somehow, I don't get around to them. And that's a problem I haven't figured out how to reframe, yet. Or maybe I just don't want to. |
| As some of you know, my entries this month have been based on prompts in "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" [13+]. I figured if I'm going to try to write here every day anyway, I might as well go outside my comfort zone a bit and attempt entries based on other peoples' ideas. When I was a kid, one of the writing exercises I did was to open a book to a semi-random page, grab a phrase or sentence, and expand upon it. This isn't really much different. Sometimes it's easy, and the words just flow. Other times, I have to think about it a bit. The challenge for me is to do something to make it my own - usually by means of comedy. For a while over the past few years, the only thing I was writing were newsletter editorials, usually 2 per month. I felt like they were using up my entire creative urge, and some months I struggled to find topics. But, as I noted several entries ago, I found it doesn't really work that way, not for me, at any rate. The more I write, the more ideas I get. The more ideas I get, the more I want to write. I guess the advice you hear is worthwhile: a writer writes. Maybe it doesn't matter that not everything is profoundly deep or funny, as long as you're writing. I should have known, really; I used to be a photographer back in the days before that medium went all-digital, and my trick was always to shoot half a dozen rolls of film in hopes of getting just one good image. And I found, then, that the more I shot, the more frequent the good images became. So yeah, if I'd been thinking straight, I might have concluded that something similar would apply to writing. Thinking straight isn't always my strong point. But writing helps with that, too. The hardest part of this challenge, for me, has been to write about things I wouldn't normally give half a shit about. But at least I've found that I can still write about them. This is important, because while it's good to concentrate on the things you care about, it's also good to branch out and learn new things. If I had it all to do over again, though, the only thing I'd change is throwing in more comedy. Maybe a brick joke, but brick jokes are more funny to the writer than to the reader (a brick joke is the metaphorical equivalent of throwing a brick up in the air at the beginning of a story, and then, at the end of the story, after everyone's quite forgotten about the brick, it conks someone on the head). Or more repeated themes; what could be funnier than if I somehow worked a duck into every entry? Ducks are inherently funny, silly waddling quacking dinosaurs that they are. Anyway, I've got less than a week left of this, and then it's probably back to (mostly) riffing on crap I find on the internet. I've got a backlog, now. I keep getting targeted with breezy articles about how to increase one's productivity. For some reason, the algorithms-that-be have me pegged as someone who gives a damn about that sort of thing. Spoiler: I'm not. But I have yet to see an article about how to reduce one's productivity, which would be more my speed. Guess I'll have to write one. |
| On every world, wherever people are, in the deepest part of the winter, at the exact mid-point, everybody stops and turns and hugs. As if to say, “Well done. Well done, everyone! We’re halfway out of the dark.” Back on Earth we call this Christmas. Or the Winter Solstice. On this world, the first settlers called it The Crystal Feast. You know what I call it? I call it expecting something for nothing! -Doctor Who, A Christmas Carol (2010) Well, Black Friday Eve and Black Friday are over. This can only mean one thing: endless reminders that it's the holiday seasontime for rampant consumerism. The best thing I can say about this time of year is that it's not February. The abundant food, holiday cheer, and festive atmosphere are largely lost on me. When I was a kid, my family observed Hanukkah, and that was nice: eight days of gifts and candle-lighting. I learned pretty early on, though, that Hanukkah isn't "Jewish Christmas," no matter what well-meaning Christians tried to make it out to be. Don't get me wrong; I appreciated the attempts at inclusion, once I got old enough to understand more about the world. Even acknowledging that I was different (but that's okay) is a big step up from the historically prevalent anti-Semitism. But it still set me apart. By definition, most people don't know what it's like to live someplace where their observances aren't shared by the majority. It can set a person apart, keep him feeling like an outsider. But I'm grateful for that. I think it's made me a better person, in general; I can empathize with the marginalized, the square pegs in the round holes, those who never quite felt like they fit in - even people who had a much worse time of it than I did. But I never really wanted to conform to the social norms. I can fit in when I try. Both times I married, it was to women from Christian families. Though neither of my exes were what you'd call religious, they and their families took Christmas (and Thanksgiving) for granted, and were open-minded enough to include me in their celebrations. I'd hang out, drink eggnog (the good stuff), exchange presents, stuff my face with cookies and the occasional candy cane, and otherwise participate in their celebrations. Mostly, they didn't care that I was different; I never felt pressured into the more religious aspects of the observances. Not really surprising, since both my ex-wives were even more of the rebel type than I am. The only thing about this time of year that ever really resonated with me was the astronomical aspect. Axial tilt: it's the reason for the season! Long before there was a Christmas, there were solstice observances. If you've been paying attention, you probably already know that Christmas is when it is because they co-opted earlier celebrations. To watch the days get shorter and shorter, until one day, on the solstice, the daylight is as short as it ever can be at a particular place in the northern hemisphere, and knowing that, from there, there's nowhere to go but up - that's cause enough to celebrate. And the thing is, with all of our different religions and quasi-religions and other groups into which we like to divide ourselves, that - the solstice - is one event that, if we wanted to, we could all agree on. Well, almost all. It'd be different in the tropics, and completely reversed south of the equator, but (for now) we're all sharing one planet and we could, were we so inclined, all acknowledge the natural cycles of sun, moon, and planet. It could be a point of commonality, something that binds us together, not only as humans, but as part of the larger domain of life. Which, as far as we can know for certain, only exists here on Earth. (Okay, chances are it's more widespread in this vast universe than that, but we don't know for sure yet, not to "kitten" levels of certainty.) But we can't have that, can we? No, we have to argue about whose holidays are more correct to celebrate, which foods we should and shouldn't eat, whose deity is the right one (if any), hell, whether or not it's rude to say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." The best we can do, some of us anyway, is to appreciate our differences and our diversity, and be accepting of those who are different from us; but for the most part, we can barely even acknowledge that we're all human and all on this ball spinning in the darkness together, let alone agree on any one thing that unites us as a species. And that's why I dislike this time of year. For some, it's a time of joy and wishes for peace, sure, and that's commendable. But in practice, it's more divisive than uniting, and that's what I, from my perspective as a thoughtful and cynical outsider, see in it. So yeah, I'd like to think that we're "halfway out of the dark." But that's more of an ideal than the reality. Still... I think I'll hold on to that ideal a little while longer. |
| So, supposedly, Americans eat 46 million turkeys on Thanksgiving. That sounds like a lot, but let's put it in perspective. That's one turkey for every 7 people in the US. For comparison, https://brandongaille.com/27-great-pizza-consumption-statistics/ In the United States, an estimated 3 billion pizzas are sold every year. That comes out to over 8.2 million pizzas a day. Every. Day. Not just on one holiday. This only makes sense. There are only two reasons to eat turkey: 1) it's Thanksgiving; 2) you want a low-fat source of protein. On the other hand, there is only one reason to eat pizza, but it's an overwhelmingly convincing one: 1) it's fucking delicious, because it's pizza. Now, let me be clear: That stuff they sell in Chicago? It's not pizza. So if that's part of the statistics, it's wrong. This isn't opinion, but objective fact. Chicago "pizza" is casserole. I'm not saying I don't like it, but I am saying it's not pizza. There is also exactly one place west of the Mississippi that makes decent pizza, and that's Las Vegas. They can do it because they're a cosmopolitan city with immigrants from all over, including New York. And the One True Pizza is the style they sell in New York. And don't even get me started on California. Avocado is not a pizza topping. Avocado should never be put in an oven, period. And I'm not sure about seafood as a topping. Oddly enough, I have no opinion on ham & pineapple pizza, aka "Hawaiian" pizza - I've had it, it's okay, I don't get the hate, but give me a pure New York pepperoni pizza any day. No, really, any day. I could eat pizza every day if I didn't think it would kill me in a month. Not that that's ever stopped me from choosing pleasure over practicality. But as long as there are still beers I haven't tried, it's worth trying to stay alive to try them. |
| In honor of Thanksgiving, five things I'm grateful for: 1) Beer. 2) Wine. 3) Scotch. 4) Gin. 5) Tequila. Cheating? Okay, yeah, that's cheating. Let's condense those into one category and try again. 1) Alcohol. 2) Hookers. 3) Drugs. 4) Porn. 5) Gambling. ...nah, that won't play very well with the test audiences. How about one more try, this time serious. 1) Alcohol. (Yeah, this one's staying on the list.) 2) The internet. (I mean, where else can I meet people from pretty much everywhere? Besides Las Vegas or New York.) 3) Modern medicine. (Because of it, I'm still alive to make lists.) 4) Cats. (Dogs are fine, but too much work. Cats appeal to my lazy nature.) 5) Money. (Anyone who says the best things in life are free has never had a really good single-malt scotch.) And in honor of the Thanksgiving holiday, I have composed a poem, the first one I've attempted in a long while. It's inspired by my second attempt at a list, above. It's called... Alcohol, Hookers, and Blow There are many things to be thankful about In a life of contentment and joy. But on this fair Thursday, I think I will go With alcohol, hookers, and blow. Weed is just fine, and legalized now, But meth is a dangerous drug. So I'll stick with the stuff I already know, Like alcohol, hookers, and blow. Our vices in life can be curious ones, And sometimes the secrets we keep, So I'll leave this out here and put on a show With alcohol, hookers, and blow. Beer is terrific and wine is okay, While gin is my poison of choice For when I get ready to spend all my dough On alcohol, hookers, and blow. From Reno to Jersey the gamblers play In casinos and Indian bars, But really, the answer is hitting the flow With alcohol, hookers, and blow. Life is uncertain, could end anytime And death is a permanent state. So I thank the gods and the folks down below For alcohol, hookers, and blow. |
| I was born with Star Trek. Once, I read somewhere that what would become known as The Original Series was greenlit by the studio the same month I got shoved into the world, and I always imagined it happening on the same day. The show made its TV debut later that year. The series ran no more than three seasons, so if I saw any of them when they originally aired, I don't remember. There's not much I can recall from the first three years of my life, and what memories exist from that time are highly suspect. The first thing I do remember with any certainty was my mom waking me up to view the first moon landing, an event whose significance I would only appreciate much later in life. Similarly, I'm sure I didn't fully appreciate Star Trek when I was a kid. I remember enjoying the action and the aliens, and wanting very much to be Spock, and I watched the reruns whenever I got a chance, but it was only later that I began to appreciate its nuances and social commentary. It was still later before I began to cringe at what passed for special effects. Part of that was me becoming more discerning, but part of it was being spoiled by advances in SFX technology. They did the best they could with what they had, I think, and if you watch the contemporary episodes of Doctor Who (Patrick Troughton, Second Doctor era), well, those are even more primitive. But that never really mattered to me - what mattered was the story. At least the Enterprise wasn't powered by lava lamps. Seriously, something in Doctor Who was powered by lava lamps and I can't even. Since then, of course, we've been treated to numerous other Star Trek series and many movies, some of which were even good. But I can't overstate the impact the original series had on my life. It wasn't just that it inspired me to read more science fiction, or write it, but it was also the vision it had of interpersonal relationships, the spirit of exploration and discovery that is so central to all of science, and the understanding that it is merit, not privilege, that should determine one's position in life. Perhaps as importantly, it provided an optimistic view of the future: hope, not despair. As I am prone to despair and cynicism, I need that sometimes. Sure, it's unrealistic, but when has realism been a prerequisite for a good story? I'm by no means alone in my appreciation for the show, of course. That imagined world has influenced our real one in significant ways, and also insignificant but very funny ones like when William Shatner's character on Boston Legal opened his flip phone and it chirped. Life, as they say, imitates art. It's had its ups and downs over the years, but it endures. And isn't that what every creator hopes for? |
| I think I'm running out of shits to give. It's not that I don't have strong opinions about things. Anyone who's read a decent number of entries here can figure that out. It's just that I no longer think it's my job to do anything about it, except maybe write. Oh, I donate to certain causes, like most people do, I think. And I'm usually conscious of how my actions might impact the environment, but I won't usually do anything about it if it inconveniences me too much - because I've used up most of my shits. Part of that is awareness of the proximity of my own mortality. I'll be dead soon enough, and with me will go whatever remains of my shits. Another part is the secure knowledge that no matter what I do - or what anyone else does - if we don't put colonies in space and/or on other worlds soon, we're doomed as a species. But a big part, I think, is the realization that, inevitable doom notwithstanding, things are getting better regardless of what I do. It's not a smooth improvement - there are fits and starts, and sometimes it's a three steps forward, two steps back sort of thing - but there is a definite sense of ethical development over the years. It's a kind of cultural awareness that when something is wrong, eventually we overcome its inertia and begin the slow process of making it right. These changes don't happen overnight. For instance, it was within my lifetime (just barely) that interracial marriage was illegal in my state. Not just frowned upon by conservatives and racists, but actually, written-into-the-law, illegal. Now, it's not, and we even have same-sex marriages and other things that would have been unthinkable when I was born - and make no mistake, these are changes for the better. After all, everyone should be subjected to the horrors of marriage, regardless of their race or sexual orientation. It's only fair. Another thing that has received more awareness and attention is animal rights. While I think some people go too far (*cough*peta*cough*), there has been an evolution in the way we see nonhuman species, how we relate to them. Circuses have all but dropped animal acts. Zoos have moved from cages toward more natural habitats. Animal testing, where it's still done, is subject to ethical protocols and reviews. People become vegetarian or vegan, sometimes in a bid to protect the other animals on the planet. Places like SeaWorld align themselves more toward marine animal rescue and rehabilitation than exploitation. And in general, awareness has increased as scientists and researchers have found more and more commonalities between nonhuman lives and human ones. That's nothing to do with me, though. I'll probably be eating a cheeseburger on the day I finally kick it. But I'll die secure in the knowledge that things will continue to get incrementally, if fitfully, better - until the giant meteor or supervolcano makes it all irrelevant. |
| As you probably know, I'm not doing NaNoWriMo this year. I've had three successful NaNos, meaning I met my 50,000 word goal and got out something that passes for a coherent narrative each time, but I just wasn't feeling it this year. So, what does it take for me to "feel it?" Let's take as a given that I want to get more writing done. I mean, I think I'm pretty good at it, and there aren't that many things I'm good at, so it strikes me as something I should want to do. But, as I've explained before, I like to do a lot of things, not just concentrate on one activity (not even video games or drinking, both of which are activities that don't require much creativity). One thing I've learned from my NaNo experiences: writing, really, isn't about inspiration or motivation; it's about work. It's about getting the words out there, outlining, planning, coming up with characters and situations, and - my personal monster - editing. So, first, I'd have to get past my aversion to work. I like the easy paths. I may be an adequate writer, but writing is hard. Not physically demanding, at least, but mentally challenging - at least if I'm doing it right, and I demand of myself that I do it right. It's why I don't brew my own beer. Beer is one of my favorite things in the entire universe, but how could I possibly brew a superior beer when there are over 6000 breweries in the US alone, many of which create a delicious amber nectar that I couldn't even hope to approach, let alone surpass? So I'm content to drink those, in the same way that I enjoy reading Brandon Sanderson or Jim Butcher and going, "Okay, there's no way I can ever be that good, so why bother?" The second thing I need is ideas. Not just one idea. I never do anything for just one reason; that would be inefficient. I think my best work combines two or more ideas and plays them off each other. But I'm not a very creative person by nature, so even coming up with one idea is like hiking up a mountain. And finally, there's the discipline to sit down and actually do the work, ideally every day. I know I can, because I have, but thinking about doing it again makes me itchy. The worst thing is, I don't know whether I'm more afraid of failure or success. Failure sucks, and success is great, but if there's one lesson that I've truly internalized in life, it's that you can't bring anything new into your life without making room for it by releasing what's already there. That may be the most difficult part for me: I'm pretty much where I wanted to be in life. But it's a giant Jenga tower: at any time, something could bring it all crashing down if I remove it, but I'm not sure which block will cause the catastrophe. So I keep everything as close to the way it is as I possibly can. Hell. Probably I need to see a shrink again, although the last one wasn't all that helpful with his "you know, most guys would give their left nut to be where you are right now." Yeah, thanks, I know that; but that doesn't mean there's no room for improvement. |
| With Thanksgiving just a few days away, there are three things I can be sure of: 1) A plethora of "helpful" articles on the internet about traveling over the Thanksgiving holiday; 2) Nonstop ads and news "stories" about Christmas shopping; 3) Endless talk about being grateful. I've heard people wondering why atheists observe Thanksgiving. After all, who or what are we thanking? Well, fortunately for you, I'm here to atheixplain. There are two distinct forms of gratitude. The first is what I talked about in my last blog entry: simply expressing gratitude to someone who has done you a service (whether or not you paid for it). Religious, or spiritual, people use God, or gods, or the Goddess, or the Universe, or whatever, as the target of their gratitude, because they feel the deity (or whatever) has done them a service, so for them, it's all this first type. I have some experience with this, because I used to be religious. Of course, there's a great deal of variation among religious/spiritual people, so I'm sure one can find counterexamples, but I'm writing about generalities. The second form of gratitude doesn't have a target. Or, perhaps, the target can be one's younger self - which certainly doesn't qualify as a deity, but what Young You did might have set the stage for today's bounty. Either way, this kind of gratitude, I think, is more about expressing a feeling of appreciation for what one has. It's an internal thing, a kind of acknowledgement that, okay, things could always be worse, but I'm going to focus on the positive. In a more logical language than English (should one actually exist), perhaps these two expressions might be described by different words, much as the Greeks had more than one term for "love," or (and this is probably apocryphal) some Inuit supposedly have a multitude of words for "snow." Because of this second definition, atheists can be perfectly happy to celebrate Thanksgiving in the US. I'd argue that, either way, you're acknowledging that things could be worse - and that has certain psychological benefits. Rather than dwelling on regrets, drama, or missed opportunities, you're reflecting on all that is good and helpful in your life: family, friends, french fries, fuckbuddies, finances... whatever. Also, there's stuffing ("dressing" for my fellow Southerners). That in itself is sufficient reason to have a traditional Thanksgiving, regardless of one's religious or political point of view. Unfortunately for me, I'm a bit of a contrarian. Okay, I'm a lot of a contrarian. In the past, I've purposely made lists on or around Thanksgiving of the things for which I am most decidedly not grateful. Telemarketers. Ice storms. Coors Light. Autoplay videos on websites. The cancellation of Sense8. Those sorts of things. But I... I don't think I'm that person anymore. Near-death experiences can do that, I've heard. And I've had at least four of those, so sometimes the Universe or karma or fate or whatever has to kick me in the balls a few times before I'll pay attention. I just hope that doesn't mean I'm losing my edge. When snark becomes part of your personality, you come to depend upon it. So... I'm grateful that I almost died at least four times? Maybe? It's probably disappointing to other people, though. Just goes to show that you can't please everyone, so you might as well drink. Thank you, scotch! |
| I'm introverted and I'm trying to eat more healthy food, so I have groceries delivered. That way, I don't have to deal with people at the grocery store or get tempted by Oreos. One of the regular delivery drivers is deaf. I've never learned ASL (I don't think the New Jersey State Bird counts as ASL), but I looked up how to sign "thank you," on the theory that one should always be courteous to someone who is handling one's food. He's not the first Deaf person I've encountered, of course, but the situation did get me thinking about how life would be different without hearing. I'd imagine that, as with blindness, it would be different if one is born without the sense than if one lost it later in life. A fair bit of the English language is built around onomatopoeia - such a fun word to say and spell. There are words describing animal noises, such as bark, meow, or moo; every child, I think, loves to learn these words and associate them with their respective sounds. You also get words describing the sounds of nature, such as the whisper of wind, gurgling of a stream, roar of the ocean, crunch of leaves or snap of twigs underfoot. Even more artificial sounds have associated onomatopoetic words - the ringing of an alarm, the beeping of a clock, the squeak of a shoe, the gong of a gong, and so on. But what of those who lack the referent for these sound-words? I don't think it's the same thing as trying to describe color to a person blind since birth; it seems to me that, perhaps, the formation of these sounds themselves, in speech, might help with understanding their source. When I say, for example, "quack," I'm reminded of the sound a duck makes - but what do those who have never heard a duck make of the word "quack?" It's not like I'm going to ask the delivery driver these things. That would be rude; besides, it's far more likely I'll encounter Deaf people to correspond with online. I've sometimes wondered if onomatopoeia might have been the ultimate origin of language. I don't think we can know this for sure, but it would make sense that humans started out by mimicking the sounds around them. Like, maybe, the hiss of a snake might have become a name-word for the reptile, for example. Most of our words are pretty arbitrary in their representation, but onomatopoeia connects language to what it represents - symbol to referent. This has been used to great effect in comics. Comics, and comic books, are primarily a visual medium, but when you see a "Bang!" or "Pow!" or "Snikt!" your mind translates that to sound. And I think that's pretty cool. I still wonder how Deaf people process that, though. |
| It's hard to be certain of almost anything. I say "almost" because there is one thing we can all be absolutely certain of: "I exist." Not me, I, but every one of us I, each to their own mind. Now, you can play games with that, saying that "I" is an illusion, but it's difficult to argue with Descartes: I'm pink; therefore, I'm spam. Er, I mean, I think; therefore, I am. It doesn't matter if we're meat suits, actors on a stage, avatars in a simulation, or disembodied brains trying out this thing called material existence; we simply are. Well, I am. I'm not so sure about the rest of you lot. In life, we all like to make statements with certainty, and find things we feel we can be absolutely sure of. Apart from my own existence, though, I'd put a degree of certainty on everything. Like, I'm sitting here looking at a kitten. Does the kitten exist, or is she a figment of my imagination? The scratches on my arm and the fact that I see her tell me she probably exists. Like, 10-50 uncertainty, and I'd call that as certain as I can get about anything. I'll call this the kitten level of certainty - basically, indisputable proof. Now, I understand that you've never seen this kitten (you should; she's incredibly cute), so your level of certainty that this kitten exists is - and should be - much lower. You only have my word on it, and I could be deluded or lyingcreating a fictional story to support a point. Her name is Katushka, and she actually belongs to my housemate, if it can be said that a cat belongs to anyone at all. Does Afghanistan exist? I once met a person who said he was from Afghanistan. I've met a few people who claim to have been there and returned. I've seen it outlined on a map. I've heard reporters talking about it. It's usually first on the list of countries on dropdown menus on the internet. But I've never been there, myself, so I'd only give it a 10-10 probability of nonexistence. After all, the only thing a map proves (to kitten levels of certainty) is that the map itself exists. On the other end of the spectrum, if you were to ask me if my mother were alive, I'd have to give that a near-zero probability - the polar opposite of kitten level certainty. I mean, I watched her die, there's a death certificate, I saw her body in the coffin, and I was there when they lowered it into the ground. But memory could be playing tricks on me. So if anyone were to ask me if I'm certain of - I don't know - the existence of the sun, the best I'll be able to do is kitten level certainty - and that's during the day if I'm outside. At night, it becomes slightly less certain. I've been burned too many times by saying I'm certain about some fact or other, only to find out later that I misremembered or was misled. So I've learned - much to the annoyance of non-pedants everywhere - never to be 100% certain of anything. This might become a problem if I'm ever in court. "Mr. Waltz, are you absolutely certain you saw someone drive off in your car?" "Well, I'm 99.999999999999% sure, but I suppose it could have driven off on its own, or maybe someone slipped me some acid." "So, you're not 100% certain." So when I see something like "Only 66% of 18-24 year olds in the US are certain the Earth is round," it doesn't surprise me much (assuming that's even an actual statistic and not something made up out of thin air). But it worries me. Not because it implies that 34% of 18-24 year olds aren't completely certain the world is round (that statement says nothing about the level of certainty of the other 34%; it could range from "I believe the Earth is flat" to "I'm almost completely sure the Earth is round") - but because 66% of them are so absolutely sure of themselves that they don't stop to think that absolute certainty is (almost) absolutely impossible. I've never personally seen the curvature of the Earth, but I have seen ships disappear over the horizon, and I've looked at plenty of evidence, and heard statements from scientists and astronauts - so I'm going to give this one Afghanistan levels of certainty. In addition, "round" has a squishy definition when it comes to a planet. Obviously the Earth isn't perfectly round; it has ocean trenches and mountains, and an equatorial bulge - plus, if you consider the atmosphere to be part of Earth, its boundary isn't clearly defined. Consequently, if you asked me "Are you certain the Earth is round?" well... I might answer "no" just to be pedantic about it. |
| I've written here before about my lovely experiences with sleep paralysis and its accompanying nightmares. But those are relatively rare; like most people, the majority of my somnolent experiences are just dreams. When you think about it, dreams are weird. I don't just mean that the dreams themselves are weird, but also that the concept is strange. As I understand it, we don't really know why we dream. Or sleep, for that matter. What evolutionary advantage is there to be unconscious for a third of the day? Or even more, if you happen to be a feline. The benefits to survival must outweigh the risks of being caught napping by a predator or a tax collector. Sleep does seem to play a role in processing and organizing experiences, turning them into memories, and it's probable that dreams are key to that - a time for the brain to integrate the latest inputs into one's consciousness, or to discard the unimportant bits. Like a defrag routine for a storage medium, maybe, though it's not really accurate to compare organic processes with electronic ones. Those of a more mystical bent might interpret dreams as messages. Perhaps it's a time for the subconscious to alert us to something important. I know that there have been many times I've gone to sleep after banging my head against a problem, for instance a spreadsheet solution that has eluded me, and woken up with the key to working it out. This is, I suppose, why sometimes you're urged to "sleep on it" when something's bugging you. But I've also woken up with ideas that turn out to be dead ends - though even failures are useful if you can learn from them. I have to wonder, though, what role lucid dreaming might play in this kind of explanation for dreams, though. Lucid dreams, as I understand them, combine the knowledge that one is dreaming with the ability to control the dream. And just typing that sentence is enough to send me down the rabbit hole of a discussion about free will, which is not something I'm prepared to go into here just yet. For the sake of argument, let's say that one is in control when one believesone is in control. For myself, I feel like I have some degree of control most of the time once I realize I'm in a dream. Usually when that happens I verify the hypothesis that I'm dreaming by willing myself to levitate. Since I can't levitate in real life, if I find myself starting to leave the floor or ground or whatever, I know I'm dreaming (of course, there are flying dreams that I don't initiate, but that takes the "will" out of the situation). As for what I do then - well, let's just say this blog doesn't have a high enough content rating, and leave it at that. I think it was Dave Barry who said something to the effect of "The holodeck [from Star Trek: The Next Generation] will be humanity's last invention." In their purest form, lucid dreams are like being in a holodeck simulation. Not only do I see and hear, but I have also engaged my other senses. The surroundings seem real. If you have control over not only yourself but your realistic surroundings, why would you ever go back to a world where random crap can happen to you, you have bills to pay, and the car needs new tires? I suppose some would, but not me. I'm always disappointed when I wake up from a lucid dream. Not that my life is horrible - far from it - but the dreams are just more interesting. |
| Everything I needed to learn about love, I learned in kindergarten. I suppose it would be more accurate to say that everything I should have learned about love. See, there was this girl, Connie. At recess (or whatever they called it in kindergarten) I'd sit on a bench because I didn't know what else to do. Connie would come over, sit next to me and hold my hand. It was nice. This went on for, I don't know, days? Weeks? And then, one day, I saw Connie sitting on the bench with Troy, holding hands. Reflecting back on this now, as a grown-ass adult, I see a pattern that changed only in the details. You know how some (most?) guys, they'll meet someone, and their minds immediately skip ahead to the part where they're boning? I don't mean in kindergarten, you pervert; I mean as an adult. Anyway, me, my mind skips ahead to the part where she ends up on the bench holding hands with some other guy. And so I don't date anymore. What's the point? It's only going to end badly. |
| If you do what you really want to do, you feel like you're playing. - Stan Lee (1922-2018) Stanley Martin Lieber wanted to save his real name for literature, so when he got started writing the supposedly lowbrow stories for which he'd later become famous, he used the pseudonym we've all come to know well. As I've said before, I've always hated the term "genre fiction," and I never use it. It's intended, I think, to distinguish fantasy, science fiction, horror, supernatural and other stories from "literature." But all stories have a genre - some, more than one. I noticed that yesterday's science fiction, fantasy, etc. become today's literature - Mary Shelley, Poe, Twain, Stoker, Verne, Wells, Burroughs, etc., and I saw no need to wait for time to pass so that others could appreciate fiction with otherworldly elements the way that I did. When I was a kid, I tried reading comics, and I tried reading The New Yorker. The former stuck. The latter... well, I figured when I got older, I might understand and appreciate that magazine's post-modernist, rambling, allusion-laden, snobbish style. I never did. I did like the cartoons, though. Comics are a strange blend of genres - so much so that they have become a genre of their own. From the outset, which for the sake of argument I'll place at the first publication of DC's Action Comics 80 years ago, they have always blended science fiction and fantasy. I've mentioned in this space and in newsletter editorials that I have problems with stories that get the science wrong. Boy, do comics get the science wrong - but the best of them are internally consistent; hence the fantasy aspect. They are, you might say, modern fantasy; or, as I prefer, modern mythology, the stories of those with powers far beyond those of ordinary men and women. Gods, in a sense - gods who walk among us. Or fly. Or teleport. Or run really, really fast. Even those comic book heroes without identifiable powers have honed their skills in ways that make them greater, but whether human, alien, mutant, or irradiated, most of them share one trait: the desire to do good, even if the heroes themselves are just as flawed as we - or their creators, writers, and artists - are. They urge us to become the best that we can be. Apparently, for me, the best that I can be includes an abiding love of comics: in their original words-and-pictures format, in their TV and movie adaptations, in books, in behind-the-scenes interviews. I guess you can call me a fanboy, even if I've never dressed up as Spider-Man or gone to a comics convention (I have been to general F&SF conventions, but none of the big Comic-Cons). These past 10 years or so - the time since Marvel's Iron Man first exploded onto the big screen - have seen a renaissance of comics adaptations. Some people are tired of that. I get it - it's not everyone's vial of super-serum. Comics movies were made before 2008, though, and will continue to be made until they're no longer making money for the studios, which probably won't be anytime soon. Personally, I'm tired of rom-coms, but my solution to that is to simply not go see them. Problem solved. I can say with some certainty that if it weren't for comics, I wouldn't have had the urge to write, or to appreciate science (even if the latter was out of the curiosity to see just how bad they did science). I wouldn't be the person that I am. I never did get a taste for The New Yorker's snobbery, but look at this: https://www.newyorker.com/news/daily-comment/black-panther-and-the-invention-of-... That's an article in the most snobbily literary of art-snob magazines post-modernistically deconstructing a movie based on a comic book character co-created by Stan Lee - and unabashedly praising the film. And the man - The Man, as he was known - lived long enough to see his "lowbrow" life's work join the ranks of literary fiction in being analyzed, scrutinized and reviewed by that magazine, and in a positive manner at that. So if you're wondering why so many people are reminiscing on this one guy's life today, well, it's because he's one of the people who actually changed the world for the better, inspiring millions of people and adding to the world's body of great literature. Not bad for a pulp fiction writer. (Note: I'm probably going to crib heavily from this entry for next week's Fantasy newsletter, so if that editorial seems familiar, that's why.) |
| A ship is safe in harbor, but that is not what a ship was built for. - William H. Shedd I like bars. This should come as no surprise to anyone. One of the reasons I like bars - besides the obvious - is that I sometimes get to meet interesting people. I was sitting at a bar in my town once when I overheard the woman two seats down from me say something to the bartender that indicated that she - the customer, not the bartender - was in the Navy. So of course I butted in; the seat between us was empty. "You're at the JAG school?" (UVA is home to the Judge Advocate General school, and there's little other reason for Navy officers to be around.) "That's right. I teach there." The officer was a slim woman, perhaps in her forties, with short-cropped dark brown hair and the kind of steely eyes you only get if you're in the military. "That's cool," I said. "My dad was Coast Guard." Now, I'm not the type to pick up sailors in bars, but I do like chatting with fellow drinkers, so we got to talking about ships and boats. "Something I've always wondered," I told her. "And my dad never really explained it. What's the difference between a ship and a boat?" She laughed. "That's a big thing in my classes," she said. "Every once in a while I'll show a picture and ask, 'Ship? Or boat?'" "Not always easy to identify, then?" "Well..." she went on after ordering another beer. Navy people can drink, let me tell you. "Sometimes it is. Anything that stays on a river? That's always a boat." The bar was starting to get busy, so I shifted to the seat between us so I could hear her better. I don't regret a single rock concert, but they haven't done wonders for my hearing. "Huh." I thought about this. "Yeah, I've never heard of a ship on a river." "Unless it's a ship that's sailing to or from a harbor on a river." "...Oh. Yeah. What about on the Great Lakes, like the Edmund Fitzgerald?" "That was a ship." "Because it had cargo?" "Yep, but not all ships have cargo." "I think I need another beer." For the record, the connections between many of the Great Lakes are known as rivers, and yet the Fitzgerald was a ship. That's why I needed another beer. "Also, a ship can carry a boat, but a boat can't carry a ship." "It can push one, though," I noted, thinking of tugboats. She nodded. "I've been thinking about it like: A ship travels between ports, but a boat always returns to its own port." "That's not a bad distinction," she acknowledged. "Oh, and a submarine is always a boat." "My head hurts." "You could always just Google it." And so, later, I did. Now, it's been a few months, so the conversation didn't go exactly like that, but I think I covered the gist of it. I keep going back to that bar, but I haven't seen her again. I guess you could say that ship has sailed. |
| https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-46137121 A sudden cold snap in the Pyrenees cost a young man his life as he slogged through the snow, smuggling cigarettes for a few €10 notes. The 20-year-old Algerian was found unconscious in the snow by a French police patrol last week. He died of hypothermia. Note that the article isn't unclear about who's being assigned the blame for this death: "Traffickers are the ones who benefit from these weak people who are impoverished, and who are ready to take any risk for a few dozen euros," Perpignan prosecutor Jean-Jacques Fagni told France 3 TV. But let's be clear on this: the ultimate blame lies with government. Look, I'm no fan of unregulated free markets. There needs to be some oversight, or unscrupulous vendors could sell whatever they can while misrepresenting the product. Sure, people in government can be corrupt, too, but it's still an additional layer of protection for the consumer. I just wanted to state this up front lest I be mistaken for a pure libertarian. The only reason I know of to smuggle like this is to get around taxes and/or tariffs. The health risks of smoking are well-documented, and so governments slap taxes on cigarettes ostensibly to discourage their consumption. They do the same thing with alcohol. Other drugs are banned completely, which, as we all know, doesn't stop people from using them. We tried that with alcohol here in the US, and they tried it in other countries as well, with disastrous consequences. But if the purpose of such a tax is to reduce health problems, then a) it utterly failed in this case, because here's a dead dude; and b) why, then, don't these taxes go directly toward mitigating the health problems caused by the product in question? I get that secondhand smoke is an issue, but ultimately, the choice of how to treat one's own body is a personal one - whether the product in question is alcohol, nicotine, methamphetamine, opiods, or kale. Sure, it can take a toll on one's friends and family, but Western concepts of personal freedom and choice dictate that we allow people the liberty to make their own decisions, though it's perfectly acceptable to encourage or discourage certain behaviors - and necessary to provide education on consequences. Had the laws been devised with an eye toward personal freedom, there would be no incentive to smuggle smokes, and this guy might still be alive, if possibly earning less money. But that's the free market for you - when there's a demand, there's going to be a supply; and market efficiency will dictate the remuneration for products and services. All prohibition does is encourage this sort of illicit behavior - whether said prohibition is all-out banning, or excessive taxes. I've seen it here in Virginia, where someone will buy multiple cartons of smokes at a convenience store, then load them into a truck with, say, New York plates, New York being a state with draconian taxes on cigarettes. The tax thing raises another question of governmental ethics, as well: governments come to rely on whatever revenue they receive. If they're putting the taxes into the general fund, or using them for anything other than mitigating the health risks involved in whatever they're taxing, then they start to need that income just as surely as a junkie needs that next shot of heroin. Everyone, whether private citizen, corporation, or government, responds to incentives - this is a basic axiom of economics. And with all that sweet, sweet sin tax revenue, governments have less or even no incentive to discourage the use of whatever substance we're talking about. They'd rather make a big show of discouraging it through excessive taxes, while actually promoting it in order to keep the revenue stream alive. So yeah, shame on the crooked traffickers for paying a pittance to impoverished people who have to make a mountain trek in snowstorms, but mostly shame on the governments involved for setting up a system that results in that situation in the first place. Solution? Any such taxes should be reasonable, and the proceeds should go exclusively toward healthcare and education. In other words, that'll happen in the US about the same time as Hell freezes over, trapping cigarette smugglers crossing the borders between its various circles. |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
Finally. Fascinating stuff. All of them. There is something rather philosophical about comedy. You are certainly right there. 
