Am I a Butterfly or a Fossil?

In many ways, our internet footprint is ruining our lives.  Especially for young people. We've always been infected by the quest for "permanence" that is the static description of who a person is. Even if we as individuals have inserted ourselves into the dynamism of change and improvement, the society around us insists on characterizing "who we are", and in no way "who we are becoming."  Are we human beings or "things?" I am assuming there is difference.

Yes, we have a personal sense of identity.  But we are also identified by others. The latter seems to be profoundly affected by the assumption that we possess a set of static distinguishing features. People don't ask who we are becoming, they ask who we are. In today's world, that means our cache on the World Wide Web.

But even the static-oriented personal interviewer faces a problem. He wants to know your "is-ness," as it were. But what he gets instead is chaos.

In non-digital person, whatever a person's incidental thoughts are from moment to moment is highly unlikely to be orderly, consistent, or logically interrelated. As Susanne Langer  wrote, "the world of pure sensation is so complex, so fluid and full, that sheer sensitivity to stimuli would only encounter what William James has called... 'a blooming, buzzing confusion.'" Our being is, in a word, impermanent.

Turn instead to the past.  The absolutist on "who you are" examines your history, now with the advantage of Google, and then selects (by what criteria?) those things that are the essence of "you."  Note that the investigation is one of "was-ness" and not "is-ness." Startlingly, you are who you were, not who you are. And this effect is heighted for young people in the social media age.

So the past is more real than the present.  "For what I am," observes Alan Watts, "seems so fleeting and intangible, but what I was is fixed and final... and  so it comes about that I am more closely identified with what no longer exists than with what actually is!" I am a character of history, not the guy standing next to you in the elevator.

In the 60's and 70's we were all warned about our "Permanent Record."  It was really more myth than reality in those days; the government and big corporations really didn't know all that much about us as individual citizens.  It is creepy, though, to note that in the internet age, and in the post 9/11 age in particular, the idea of one's "Permanent Record" has become so much more a disturbing reality.

These records carry a greater weight than we possibly override at any moment of the here and now. We may see ourselves as Butterflies who are "becoming", but the agents of permanence see us as characters of the said and done. To them, we are fossils.

We can have careers with great accomplishment over decades. And then we make a mistake. That mistake then becomes the summary of our lives. In our age, we are remembered for the worst thing we ever did, not the general good we served. The media is largely to blame: "If it bleeds, it leads" is their mantra. But as society at large I wonder if we can take a larger, more considered view of our fellow man. Nah, it's not going to happen. It's way too much fun to hate each other.

nom de Twitter: @unrefuted
Email: myirrefutableopinion@gmail.com

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The Waterboard by M.W. Thomas

Eyebrows

The best eyebrows are these:  you have two of them and nobody notices them.  They are the same color as your head hair and not other manifestations of your hirsute self.  The worst eyebrows are of two kinds: 1) they stand out like paintbrushes; or 2) you don't have any.

Men's eyebrows should be merely functional.  Lose the mono-brow dude.  Let the brow be part of your sign language.  Let them travel up and down with the furls in your forehead, to seduce that shape in a drape (that's "beatnik" for a girl in a cute dress), to flash disapproval, to convey surprise, or to rebuke stupidity.  The male eyebrow's job is done with these simple assignments.

Women's eyebrows, on the hand, are the stuff of YouTube videos. Women keep their eyebrow threader on speed dial.  I've known some older women who simply shave their eyebrows off altogether and then draw them back on with a pencil. The latest thing seems to be to have your eyebrows tattooed on. Good grief! Please don't start me on piercings.  Now that is low brow.

The Theory of the Perfect Female Brow, like Physics, is unfinished business.  What is the ideal taper toward the temple?  Does it depend more on the shape of your face, or your personality? To tell the truth, I don't give a rolling donut. Here's what matters to me, ladies. I don't care how well acquainted you feel we are, I don't want you suddenly reaching up and yanking out any wild hairs from my eyebrows. Nonconsensual epilation is strictly out of bounds.

nom de Twitter: @unrefuted
Email: myirrefutableopinion@gmail.com

Variations on a Monday

Some Mondays punch you in the face.  I overslept.  With my commute, oversleeping means I get up at 6:00 a.m., instead of 4:30 a.m. It's all your fault, Refuters.  I was up too late admiring my last blog article. (It was good wasn't it?)

I've got a coffee maker that automatically grinds the beans, and then clicks over for the drip brew.  It's what I call a gadget.  I make a full pot.  It is set to grind for four cups.  Dammit.  My coffee tastes like hot water steeped in yesterday's grounds. Hell, maybe it is yesterday's grounds. I don't bother to check. Don't want to know.

I cut myself shaving. I reached a little too high and the razor bit my left cheekbone. Great, now I have to dedicate one hand to apply pressure to stop the bleeding, and do everything else with my other hand.  Tie a necktie with one hand pasted to my face? Sure, why not?

Finally dressed.  Where's my sports coat? Why isn't it where I always put it?  It's getting late.

In the garage now, I throw my computer bag into the car, go back in and pack my lunch, and let the dogs out.  Ready to roll.

Where's my sunglasses? Why aren't they where I always put them?

I search the house up and down, and to and fro.  I finally find the glasses on the basement floor.  Of course!  That's where I put them!  I don't think so.  I may have to call the gremlin exterminator.

I back my car out of the garage.  My side view mirror catches the molding around the door and I get a nice streak of white paint on my nice shiny black paintjob.  My, that's attractive.  Screw it. I'm outta here.

I pass the elementary school.  Not so fast.  Badge-heavy crossing guard girl leaps out in front of me and practically thrusts her palm through my windshield.  Stop! she orders wordlessly, as she turns the traffic in favor of the school buses. I wait "patiently".  Finally, she allows me to pass.  At least she doesn't collect a bribe.

Most of the rest of the ride to Dilbert Town is uneventful.  Until I get to the bridge.  The traffic is reduced to one lane again. No problem.  I've got all the time in the world.  When I finally get to the office, owing to my late arrival, the parking lot is practically full, so I have to park on the back forty.  The long walk to the building gave me some time to practice a fake smile, and insert an artificial spring in my step.  Monday.

My boss says, "The front office wants a back brief on the Multi-Nostril Hodonovich Project."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Nobody seems to know.  Veronica just said to throw something together."

I booted up my computer and pondered.  This company usually does singleton nostrils.  I decided to take the "multi" term literally and started stringing together multiple nostrils, showing various options with different numbers of nostrils and geometric configurations.  I built CAD models and slapped sexy 3D views on PowerPoint slides.  I decided to show an implementation of the multi-nostril concept on our upcoming, improved Hodonovich 6.1 platform.

I showed the slide deck to my supervisor. "That looks good," he says.  He then proceeds to explain the whole business case I had constructed as if it made all the sense the world.  Boy, he got a whole lot more out of my charts than I put into them.

Finally, 5:00 arrives.  Where's my car?  Why isn't it where I usually park it?

Oh yeah.

The best thing about a Monday is ending one.  And now here I sit blogging to myself about it, and everything seems alright now.

How was your day?

nom de Twitter: @unrefuted
Email: myirrefutableopinion@gmail.com

The Colossus That Is Stupidity

The approximate size of human credulity
 

Belief without doubt is just credulity. ~ Soren Kierkegaard.


Knowledge is gained in bits and bites. Stupidity is achieved in stupendous galactic scales of measurement. Therein lies one of the simplest tests you and I can apply to distinguish truth from falsehood. A lie is voluminous in its breadth and depth.  It appears instantaneously in full form and encompasses all that is knowable about a thing.  The truth, on the other hand, is puny by comparison.  It provides only partial answers; it is piecemeal and painstaking. If the truth is presented to you in any way describable as comprehensive, it is only through facts accrued through many years, or even decades, of research.

Thus, I say if you have suddenly thrust upon you a rumor of great import, all-knowing, and without a modicum of doubt, you can safely conclude it is a big fat lie.

Here is the problem with the truth. We are all very busy people with our own work, our own lives, with our familial and other obligations. It is impossible for us to independently verify every fact dropped on our doorstep. Even if we did have time, we do not have the resources.  What really happened in Ferguson?  Frankly, most of us have no way of knowing by the light of our own senses. We don't have our own squads of investigators to ferret out the facts. We can only rely on what we are told, and apply our experience and judgment to make something of it. Results will vary.

Another recent example is the mega-tonnage explosion of stupidity that was the Ebola crisis in America.  Honestly, we all know this circus had more to do with the mid-term elections than public health. There is a reason that Texas hospital was ill-prepared for the first case: Ebola is (thankfully) unheard of in America, and it surprised them.  The CDC was not incompetent; the response was scientifically valid and effective. It was the politicians who pointed the disease vectors of hatred and fear to promulgate a "crisis" that never was. Let us conflate it with brown people crossing the southern border too! A case study in flagging stupidity.

Let me summarize. If you want to know, you have to work at it and take your time. And you have to accept incomplete answers. The truth is usually provisional, uncertain, and awaiting more data. To acquiesce in stupidity, you have to do nothing more than blink, and you "know" all.

Doubt is uncomfortable for many people. To be honest, I have no trouble with that state of mind. I'm pleased to be a "doubting Thomas" and it troubles me not that I don't know everything.

Updated May 8, 2015

Squirrels in the Doohickey

Diane Holcomb

That's the name of a blog written by Ms. Diane Holcomb (subtitled "...and other profound observations of the absurd".) The title, she explains on her ABOUT page, is "a phrase the cable guy delivered after climbing up the telephone pole to determine why my television was losing channels."  Her ABOUT page is marvelous, by the way, and should be the first stop on your tour of her site.

Squirrels in the Doohickey becomes inner and outer metaphor for her blog's theme; whether the article look introspectively into her own squirrely sleep habits (THREE A.M. AWAKENINGS, and other insomnia related posts), confront the Bates Motel that is the peeping tom's mind (I HAD A VISIT FROM A PEEPING TOM), or the intrusions of the myriad dystopian particles that dope our otherwise pleasant world (MY TWO CENTS AIN'T GONNA LIGHTEN YOUR LOAD.)

Before proceeding any further, I hasten to emphasize that this post is not a review of Diane's blog. This piece is commentary and intended as a recommendation to my readers.  If I didn't like the blog, I wouldn't bother writing about it.

Diane's writing style is breezy, easy to read, and her word choice and phrasing are splendid, all the while speaking plain English. She has a punchy cadence too, in that she makes liberal use of one-sentence paragraphs, which is unusual in anywise except dialogue.

Do yourself a favor and follow the links to her blog that I have sprinkled herein. I believe you will find yourself taking her up on her offer to subscribe.  I did, because I am interested in hearing what she has to say next.

nom de Twitter: @unrefuted
Email: myirrefutableopinion@gmail.com

Food Trivia Quiz

Take the food trivia quiz! Do you know, or can you guess, the right answers?  You will find those below.

1. Black-eyed peas are not peas.  What are they?

2. The pretzel shape was created by French monks in the seventh century A.D. to resemble what?

3. In cooking weights and measures, how many drops are there to a teaspoon?

4. What flavor ice cream did Dolly Madison serve at the 1812 presidential inauguration?

5. Who said, "Never eat more than you can lift"?

6. Who first developed frozen foods?

7. How tall was Julia Child?

8. What breakfast food gets its name from the German word for "stirrup"?

9.  How many flowers are in the design stamped on each side of an Oreo cookie?

10. What is the name of the dog on the crackerjack box?

If you score:
1-3: you are a dumpster diver
4-5: you are a casual diner
6-8: you are a gourmet food critic
9-10: you cheated

Answers:
1. Beans; 2. A child's arms folded in prayer; 3. Sixty; 4. Strawberry; 5. Miss Piggy; 6. Clarence Birdseye; 7. Six feet, two inches; 8. The bagel; 9. Twelve; 10. Bingo

nom de Twitter: @unrefuted
Email: myirrefutableopinion@gmail.com

Spirited Toasts

Since this is the season of holiday parties, and since holiday parties often put one on the spot to "say a few words", and since saying a few words often means offering a toast as beverages are served, I thought I would share a collection of some of my favorites. I'll start with the most innocuous ones that tend to be suitable for any occasion, although I fully intend to push the envelop before I'm done with you.  This first one is a favorite with mariners and never fails to please.  Memorize it, as it will win friends, influence people, and will be the one thing you say all night that won't embarrass your wife.

Here's to tall ships, here's to small ships
Here's to all ships on the sea;
But the best ship is friendship,
So here's to you and me.

This next one is in the same sentimental vein, but is a little easier on the memory-challenged.  I still like it, even though it is a little bland.

May you live as long as you like,
And have all you like as long as you live.

Or you may like this next one, which is a bit clever.  Notice the parallelism, and how it follows the "rule of threes."

May you have the hindsight to where you've been,
The foresight to know where you're going
And the insight to know when you've gone too far.

A tease on the ladies, as I'm sure you know, is a time-honored theme.  The first of my offerings is blushingly innocent.

May we kiss who we please,
And please whom we kiss.

But some gatherings allows one to be a bit degenerate.  Here's the kind of wit that pleases me:

Here's to wives and sweethearts!
May they never meet.

Here's to hell!
May the stay there
Be as much fun as the way there!

Another point of departure is a riff on contention. Let 'er rip!

Here's to you and here's to me,
Friends may we always be!
But if by chance we disagree,
Up yours! Here's to me!

May his soul be forever tormented by fire
And his bones be dug up by dogs
And dragged through the streets of Minneapolis. ~ Garrison Keillor

I thought I'd throw in the latter just in case you happen to be Minnesotan. I suppose you could substitute your own metropolis of choice. 

Of course, the mainstay of the toast is the reference to drink itself.  The first example below is perfect for the Christmas festivities.

Here's to holly and ivy hanging up,
And to something wet in every cup.

But you can't exaggerate the improvement accomplished when you work the fairer sex into it.  There's just something about it...

I'll drink to the girls who do!
I'll drink to the girls who don't!
But... I won't drink to the girls
Who say they will and won't!

On the chest of a barmaid in Sale
Were tattooed the prices of ale
And on her behind,
For the sake of the blind
Was the same information in Braille!

You see that limericks make perfectly fine toasts, as long as there are women and alcohol in it.  Below is an interesting attempt at applying logic to the whole affair.

When we drink, we get drunk.
When we get drunk, we fall asleep.
When we fall asleep, we commit no sin.
When we commit no sin, we go to heaven.
So let's all get drunk and go to heaven.

But, there is always virtue in brevity:

Gentlemen: start your livers!

Finally, I will gift to you an original toast of my own. The inspiration for it will remain my little secret.

Here's to Dads and here's to Moms
I cherish them all without qualms
But check your praise for their earthly lives,
For they are also Husbands and Wives. ~ M.W. Thomas

nom de Twitter: @unrefuted
Email: myirrefutableopinion@gmail.com

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A Tortured Response

Rectal rehydration? Really? I am of course referring to one of the euphemistic "harsh interrogation" techniques listed in the so-called "Torture Report" released by the Senate Intelligence Committee today.  CIA rebuttals have been all over media, whether lame-stream, social or anti-social, making the most astonishing arguments.  These techniques were "clearly defined."  Therefore they are not "torture."  Are you kidding me?  Shoving a device up someone's butt is clearly defined, so not torture. Well, the argument has been tortured anyway.

So our embassies, military, and other facilities are on high alert.  There are renewed calls from around the world for George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, and other Bush administration officials to be prosecuted for war crimes.

I wonder how many Americans know how much Bush's and Cheney's travel outside the US has been limited by fear of arrest.  In 2011, Bush had to cancel a trip to Switzerland under just such a threat based on that country's signatory status to the convention against torture. Apart from that, the only trip outside the country he has hazarded was a post-earthquake trip to Haiti with Bill Clinton.  He has become our Pinochet.

It is not very original of me to call this program a travesty.  Before Bush, I never would have imagined that my country, my beloved America, would engage in such soul-destroying practices.  Call me naïve.  Many of you, I'm sure, will call me exactly that.

nom de Twitter: @unrefuted
Email: myirrefutableopinion@gmail.com

Peanut Butter and Jelly Soup

Here's an alarming thing: you can type literally anything into google and get a search return. You can even fat finger completely random characters into your search box, and you will get pages full of hits. Go ahead and try it. Type in some gibberish and push go. I'll wait.

Weird, huh?

I introduce this little demonstration because if you google Peanut Butter and Jelly Soup, you will get oodles of suggestions, but none will actually lead you to a soup recipe. So you will have to get it from me.

This recipe was not my idea, although I don't remember where I got it, so I cannot assign proper credit. I may have heard it on NPR, somewhere in between the news bulletins and the Schweddy Balls interview.

Here it is. First, you make a vegetable broth. Fill a stock pot with four to six cups of water. Add yer onions, celery, carrots, and your favorite herbs, all the while humming "parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme." Simmer until you've extracted the flavor from your aromatics. Run it through a fine mesh strainer and keep the liquid. If you're really ambitious and you've got the muscles for it, you can strain it through cheese cloth.

Or you can just run down to the store and buy a box of vegetable stock and cut your prep time by about 10,000%.

Now, just before serving (this is important) add about 12oz of honey roasted peanuts to the broth and cook until somewhat softened (it should take no more than ten minutes.) At the last minute, add a similar amount of blueberries and bring them up to temperature. You don't want to cook them into mush. Salt and pepper to taste. Light on the pepper please!

The incredible thing is that this soup doesn't just remind of a PB&J sandwich, it tastes uncannily just like a PB&J sandwich. Go ahead and try it. It's alchemy. Bon appetite kids!

nom de Twitter: @unrefuted
Email: myirrefutableopinion@gmail.com

 

How to Sound Smarter Than You Are

Thank God for online dictionaries. You're going to need one.  Your manner of speech is the number one predictor of how other people perceive you as 1) a genius; 2) smart); 3) mediocre: 4) dumb; or 5) a candidate for eugenic experimentation.   I'm here to put you in that upper tier.

It's all about your vocabulary, folks.  Here's a quick example.  If things are at right angles, don't say they are perpendicular, call them orthogonal. It's the same thing, only better. Better means smarter.

You know a "nice guy".  Obviously he's beneficent.  Are you with me? Don't talk about your family finances, those are your pecuniary responsibilities. You don't find this laughable, you know it is risible.

While we are at it, let's wash out your potty mouth. Nothing says stupid faster than your bland use of swear words.  Are you looking at bullsh*t?  Why, that's piffle.  Is that overbearing guy an a**hole?  Let us say he is imperious.

In your new smart speech, self-righteous becomes sanctimonious. You don't relate to your peers, but to people of your vicinage.  You are no longer the victim of a lie, but of calumny. You do your best to avoid the subjects of politics and religion at community gatherings, but when push comes to shove you can worm your way forward by referring to the Decalogue, rather than the Ten Commandments.

I could adduce many more examples to build my tower of Babel, but I will take my leave here.  If you follow my advice, nobody will understand what you are saying.  But, by God, they will know you are smarter than they are.

nom de Twitter: @unrefuted
email: myirrefutableopinion@gmail.com

Keepin' The Old Farmer's Honest

THE OLD FARMER'S 2015 ALMANAC by Robert B. Thomas is the real deal, as they will be the first to tell you, so don't be fooled by their many imitators.  While it is filled with gardening wisdom, betty-crockerish recipes, and home remedies, its main claim to fame is to forecast the weather for us.  As a public service, I am here to let you know how they're doing so far, now that the data are in for November.  I use the mid Atlantic region as my exemplar.

Here is the OLD FARMER'S forecast for the Atlantic Corridor (page 197):

NOV 2014: Temp. 44 deg. (3 deg below avg.); precip 3.5" (avg.). 1-2 Rain; mild north, cool south. 3-7 Rainy north, showers south; mild. 8-11 Sunny, cold nights. 12-15 Rain, then sunny, cold. 16-22 Scattered showers, cool. 23-30 Showers and flurries, then sunny, cold. 

 According to NOAA, at Reagan National Airport, the average temperature for the month was 48 deg., which is 1 1/2 deg. below normal.  Not much of a miss.   The precipitation was 2.65 inches, approximately 1/2 inch below normal.  Almost a full inch less rain than the prediction.

Boston Logan averaged 42.5 deg. F, or 2.2 deg. below normal ( source: National Weather Service.)   Taking the two together, I would say the almanac's temperature prognostication for the region as a whole is pretty darn reasonable.

Total rainfall in Boston was 5.27 inches, an inch and a quarter above the norm.  So the almanac's guess undershoots up north, and overshoots down south.  Hmmm.  Still defensible, I would argue.

What about the period forecasts?  Well, the DC Metro area did get snow flurries on November 26, the day before Thanksgiving, so that parcel posts. Without putting you through too much unnecessary pain, and just taking the Boston data, the record is a bit hit and miss, but the ALMANAC was right about a quarter of the time, depending on your scoring methodology and how you interpret the prediction ("12-15 Rain, then sunny,..."?)

All-in-all, the ALMANAC describes the mid Atlantic's November 2014 weather reasonably well.  Maybe there's something to it.  Think?

Twitter: @unrefuted
Email: myirrefutableopinion@gmail.com

The Water Board by M.W. Thomas

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He's BAAACK!

MIO has suffered a bit of neglect the past week, owing to all the visiting with friends and family over the Thanksgiving holiday.  My regrets for the dearth of new content, but surely all you Refuters would agree I've had my priorities straight? But now it's back-to-work.  I hadn't even been keeping up  with the news of the day, and find myself in catch-up mode.

If you have been a reader of mine, you will know that I generally write focused articles that provide my vizier's insight on a single topic.  Today, I feel like zig-zagging a tad.  Maybe just to shake off the tryptophan-induced ennui.

One smart thing I did this past week was to set a DVR in front of dear old Dad (who is about 77) and collected a good six hours of interviews and stories from him, to preserve the family history.  We had a grand time doing it, and I have no reservation that it will be a family treasure in the years to come.  Should you want to do something like that with a family member, here is some quick advice.  There are two features you want to make sure your digital recorder has (the cheaper versions don't.) One, is make sure the audio files are exportable to other devices.  You will need that.  Two, make sure you can rewind and fast forward within a single audio file, and not just back and forth among separately recorded file segments.  The latter is very important  if you later decide to capture any transcriptions. Sony makes a good one, and it's not that pricey.

As for catching up on the news: of course, everyone is digesting the Ferguson grand jury decision. I'll say this about that.  This prosecutor was pretty choosy about his witnesses, and was clearly determined to achieve failure to launch from day one.  The saying goes, a prosecutor can indict a ham sandwich if he wishes.  Clearly officer Wilson is not a ham sandwich.  So, the story goes, Mr. Brown, turned and charged Wilson RUNNING INTO A HAIL OF BULLETS like some kind of comic book super villain.  Right.  According to the prosecutor's witnesses of choice, if the kid's hands were up, well, they just weren't up high enough.  And he was making "fists".  Couldn't be his hands were clenched in a physiological response to having a chest full of bullets.  Nah. As we used to say, it doesn't pass the smell test.

The Grand Jury was not tasked to convict Officer Wilson of anything.  The only question is whether under the very low threshold of "probable cause" there will be a trial on the facts.  Well there won't be.  Rest assured white America, Officer Wilson shouldn't have to answer any questions.  Just give a speech to the Grand Jury.  Trust us, he's a swell guy.  Think Jake from State Farm.  Immediately afterwards, he goes on TV, showing not even the slightest sub-atomic particle of regret.

Enough of that. What else.  Oh yeah.  Then there was the kerfuffle over  some mean-spirited comments about the Obama daughters posted on Facebook by one Elizabeth Lauten, a hit-person, er, communications director, for an obscure congressman from Tennessee. The opprobriums were as awful as unnecessary, and I won't reproduce them, but you can  read it here.  Nevertheless, her apology seemed, unlike so many, heartfelt, and you would think that would be the end of it.  You will have correctly guessed not.  Her resignation was reported today.

Let me know what else I missed.  It's good to be writing again.  I'll be back. And remember, record your family stories.  Even from your crazy uncle with the NRA tattoos.

Twitter: @unrefuted
Email: myirrefutableopinion@gmail.com